Shipwreck Island (10 page)

Just as Marco stepped closer to the fireplace, a rush of wings flew out of the opening and he yelled, startled.

John fell backward on the floor and his glasses fell off.

Marco froze as he got a glimpse of the bird that flew past him on its way out the door. He asked, “Did you see that?”

John found his glasses and put them back on. “What? Was it a bird?”

Marco was silent for a moment. Then he nodded, because to say what he was thinking—
That didn't look like any bird I've ever seen
—would have sounded dumb. He still felt like he was in motion from the boat; maybe that was going to his head, affecting his vision maybe. After all, no bird has …

He shook his head, pushing away the thought, because it simply could not have been real.

“What kind?” John asked.

Marco's heart pounded. He said, “I have no idea.”

John smiled. “Maybe it's in that bird book of yours.”

Marco looked out the door the way the bird had flown. “Yeah. Maybe.” But something told him that he wouldn't find that bird in that book. Or in any book for that matter. His hands had begun to tremble. He wanted to leave that place.

John got to his feet, then pulled out a chair and sat down. “Solid. Someone knew what they were doing.”

Marco asked, “Do you think whoever lived here … still lives here?”

“No,” said John, maybe too quickly. His eyes moved slowly over the table, the place settings, then lingered on the abandoned meal.

“Maybe there was a storm,” said Marco. “And the people had to leave right away?”

“Maybe,” said John. “Or … maybe the people here were waiting for a boat, like we are, and it came during dinner. Whatever happened, no one has been here for a long time.” He tilted his head to the fireplace. “That obviously hasn't been used recently. I mean, if birds are nesting in it…” He stood up. “I'm going to look around outside. You coming?”

Marco nodded and began to follow John out the door. But then he stopped. Something glittered under the bed. He walked over and squatted beside it. Whatever it was lay a few inches under, so he reached in and his hand closed around something small and cool and smooth. He pulled it out and opened his hand.

On his palm lay a glass bottle of some sort, with a pyramid-shaped stopper and strange gold legs. Something inside the bottle—perfume?—swirled. He pulled out the stopper, held up the bottle to his nose, and sniffed. A lovely scent, like some exotic flower he'd never smelled before, invaded his senses.

As did a woman's voice:
Come back.

“Mom?” Marco looked at the door.

No one was there.

“John!” he yelled.

A distant “Yeah! Over here!” came from outside.

Marco's heart began to pound. He knew he had heard something. He shoved the stopper back in and rolled the bottle over in his hand, looking for a mark of the maker, a name. All his mom's perfumes had names on them. But there was nothing.

The outside of the bottle was completely blank.

Once more he held the bottle up, removed the stopper, and sniffed.

Again, that heavenly scent. And, again, the woman's voice.
Please come back.

Suddenly, the walls pressed in on him. His chest felt heavy and he couldn't breathe. Marco shoved the bottle into the pocket of his board shorts and ran outside. He stooped over, hands on his knees, sucking in air until his head felt clear.

Marco stood back up.

He had to be imagining things. First, that …
bird.
Then the woman's voice. Maybe the sun and the heat … maybe he needed to drink some water. With a quick glance back at the house, he headed over to John, who stood under a tree.

John cradled something in his palms as he glanced up at Marco. He frowned. “You look like you saw a ghost. What's wrong?”

Marco caught his breath and shook his head. “Nothing. Just … I thought you'd left. I didn't want to get lost.”

“I wouldn't leave you,” said his stepfather, sounding a bit insulted, maybe even hurt, at the idea.

“I know.” Trying to change the subject, not wanting to think about what he'd heard—or thought he'd heard—Marco looked down at John's hands. “Wait. Are those … are those what I think they are?”

“Yeah.” John's hands were full of acorns. Slowly, his eyes traveled from his hand, to the trunk of the tree, then up to the branches, laden with more of them. He looked puzzled. “What in the world is an oak tree doing on a tropical island?”

Despite the heat of the day, Marco felt a chill run up his arms.

John dumped the acorns on the ground and wiped his hands on his shorts. He looked back over at the small house. “Well, at least we know there's an option. I mean, if we find ourselves having to spend more than one night here, we'll have an actual roof over our heads.” He smiled at Marco and patted his arm. “I mean, whoever used to live there won't mind, right?”

Marco nodded slightly.

“Better head back, your mother will wonder where we are.” John turned the way they'd come, but Marco paused and looked back at the house. He noticed a wooden barrel by the side of the house, in the shadows of an overgrown tree that kept it nearly hidden. “Hey, what's that?” He pointed.

John headed over and Marco followed. By the time he got there, John was already lifting the lid. He grinned. “Rain barrel.” He dipped his cupped hand into the water and then lifted it to his nose. He touched his tongue to the water, then dumped it on the ground.

“Is it bad?” asked Marco.

“Nope.” John smiled. “It's fresh, not seawater. We better boil it, just to be safe. We can come back tomorrow with some containers.” He frowned. “Is that…”

“What?” asked Marco.

“Do you hear that?” asked John.

Marco listened for a moment. He heard running water, but the water in the rain barrel was absolutely still.

John took a few steps behind the house and swept aside a curtain of vines. “Well, would you look at that.”

Marco followed John through the opening in the vines and froze. A clear, crystal stream flowed at their feet. Lining it on either side were trees laden with fruit: mango and papaya and guava, so ripe that some were bursting. John squatted beside the stream and cupped some water in his hands. He lifted them to his nose and sniffed. Then he stuck out a tongue and tasted. He shook out his hands and stood back up. “I think this is better water than the rain barrel. We still have to be safe and boil it, but this is amazing.”

Marco said, “Should we pick some fruit?”

John nodded. “Definitely.” He pointed. “But let's follow the stream a little ways first.” He headed past the fruit trees and Marco followed, reaching up to pick one of the mangos. He asked, “Do you have a knife with you?”

John nodded and reached into his pocket, then unfolded a pocketknife and held it out to Marco. He cut off a slice and held it out to John, then cut off another and stuck it in his mouth, scraping the fruit off the skin with his teeth. He chewed and swallowed. “Oh, wow.”

John grinned. “That is great mango.”

They stood and ate that one and two more. Marco's chin and hands were all sticky. He looked up ahead and grinned. “Avocado!”

John shook out an empty mesh bag that he'd stowed in his pocket and handed it to Marco. “Go for it. I'm gonna see what's up ahead.”

Marco picked a few dark green ones off the ground that would be ready immediately, then chose a few lighter ones that would ripen soon. He jogged to catch up with John. The sound of running water got louder as they neared a corner, and then when they rounded it, Marco stopped and stared.

A waterfall rose nearly thirty feet above them, then ended in a pool that fed into the stream.

“That solves that mystery,” said John.

Marco dropped the bag of avocados, kicked off his shoes, pulled off his shirt, and cannonballed into the pool. He went down a ways into the clear, warm water, and then surfaced with a whoop. “It's perfect!” he called. As he treaded water, he dipped his face under, wiping the last of the mango remains off.

John took off his glasses and his shirt, stepped out of his shoes and jumped in. He emerged with a grin. “Wow. That feels wonderful.”

They swam around a bit, then John said, “We should bring the others here. They'd love it.”

Marco floated on his back in the crystal-clear water, staring up at the cloudless blue sky. If they had to be stuck on an island, at least they'd picked a good one. But as he lay there, relaxing, the whole thing seemed so perfect.

Too perfect?

He had a feeling that he wouldn't want to be there at night.

Marco swam over to the grassy side and got out. John did too, and they dried off as best they could, then headed back the way they'd come.

At the fruit trees, they stopped and picked some of each types of fruit. Then they walked past the house.

As they headed out of the clearing, Marco turned and looked at the house one more time. He knew he would come back to that place to help haul the water and pick fruit and swim in the waterfall pool. But only in the daytime. And, if he could help it, he would never spend a night in that house.

Because, for some reason, he had a feeling that whoever had lived there … might just mind after all.

 

17

After the hallucination on the beach, Sarah was only too happy to spend the rest of the afternoon helping Yvonna and Nacho set up the camp in the shade. She had hauled a pile of coconuts from a tree down the beach, and then spent the better part of an hour trying to crack one open with rocks, to no avail.

Then she helped Nacho find driftwood to add to the fire, which was blazing. Sarah sat in the sand next to Nacho, holding a stick out, the skewered hot dog on the end dripping juice onto the flames with a sizzle. She hadn't noticed him put hand sanitizer on at all since he'd started the fire. Probably because he seemed as worried about safety as he was about germs.

Nacho said, “I thought you were a vegetarian.”

She lifted and lowered one shoulder. “Too hungry to be a vegetarian.”

He sighed. “You just wanted to make my mom feel bad, huh?”

Sarah's mouth fell open. The way he said it, straightforward like that—no trace of accusation—made her feel awful. Because it was the truth. She'd picked up the PETA shirt online, but only because she liked animals, not because she wanted to be a vegetarian. “I was mad, I guess.”

Nacho slowly rotated his stick. “Marco was too. He didn't want Mom to get married.”

“What about you?” asked Sarah.

He shrugged. “Sometimes she seems lonely. I want her to be happy.”

Sarah swallowed. She could say the same thing about her dad. “So you're glad they got married?”

“Kinda.” He nodded. “I mean, your house is way cooler than ours. I always wanted more brothers and sisters. But it was hard to leave home. I miss my friends.”

She hadn't thought about that. They would have had to leave everything back in Texas just so their mom could marry her dad. At least she got to stay in her own house.

Before she could say anything else, John and Marco returned. John held the bag aloft. “Look what we found! Fruit!”

Yvonna exclaimed, “I love mangos!” She took the bag from John and said, “I'll cut some of these up.”

Marco knelt in the sand on the other side of Nacho. He shoved a stick into a hot dog, then held it over the flame.

Yvonna hugged John. “And did you find any water?”

“Yep.” John nodded. “A waterfall and a stream!”

Sarah asked, “Nice enough to swim in?”

Her dad nodded. “Yeah, we did! It was like an oasis. We'll go back with containers when we start running low.”

“And to go swimming?” asked Nacho.

“Definitely,” said John.

Sarah said, “So if we do have to stay here for a few days, it will be safe, right?”

Her dad nodded. “We have fresh water and fruit, and enough food to last until then.” He smiled. “We were already heading to an island, and I can't picture a better one.”

As they sat there, Sarah watched the palms fluttering in the warm breeze, then gazed around at the stunning alabaster sand and sparkling turquoise waves. She had to admit that, as much as she didn't want to be there, the island was beautiful.

Nacho asked, “Do you think this place has a name?”

Yvonna said, “We should name it.”

“Island of the Blue Waters,” suggested Nacho.

“Right,” Marco scoffed. “Because no other islands have blue water.”

Nacho crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. “So what do you want to call it?”

Marco said, “What about Island of Eco Boy and his Hand Sanitizer?”

“Marco,” said Yvonna.

“What about Shipwreck Island?” asked Sarah.

Yvonna quickly raised her hand. “I vote for Shipwreck Island.”

John smiled at her. “Me too.”

“Fine,” said Nacho.

Sarah glanced at Marco and he shrugged, so she said, “Shipwreck Island, it is.”

John asked Yvonna if she wanted help slicing the fruit, and they wandered over to the makeshift kitchen.

Sarah's thoughts drifted, zoning out their conversation. She put her hot dog in a bun and shot a glance over at Marco, waiting for him to comment about her eating meat, like Nacho did, but he didn't say anything. He didn't even seem to notice. Marco was very quiet, too quiet, as he simply stared into the flames, his eyes glazed. His hot dog reddened and began to blister.

Sarah said, “I think it's done.”

“Huh?” Marco seemed to wake up. “What?”

Sarah pointed at his hot dog. “Unless you prefer charcoal in your bun.”

“Oh.” Marco yanked back his stick and flipped it over. “Not too bad.”

Sarah handed him the bag of buns.