sighed. The strain of his efforts was plain to see.
Sarah handed Chris his tea and came and sat down, cross-legged, in front of Dylan’s legs, much to his surprise. She had that distant look again, a wandering sort of gaze that was only partially here. He desperately wished he could go with her, to wherever it was her thoughts took her in these late hours, when the sun had perished and the bear in her had started its slow waking from hibernation.
He reached down and stroked the top of her head, and averted his eyes from a piercing glance that shot at him from Chris across the room. The older man grinned to himself and buried his face in the tea, wincing at the heat as steam rolled up his broad cheeks.
“You two are adorable,” he finally breathed under his breath, making both Dylan and Sarah turned at him with accusing eyes. As if he’d uttered something so obvious that it became distorted by stating it so blatantly, and both of them blushed.
Sarah regained her composure first and buried her head harder against his knees. “You’re drunk on pain, old bear,” she sniffed at him. “Shouldn’t we be planning something else? I mean, a contingency plan, a plan B… in case they do come back?”
A look passed between Chris and Dylan, which said in just one look: there is nothing more we can do but wait and hope . And hope was useless, in the face of rifles . They had no weapons on the island, save for their own wits.
“We’ll be okay,” Dylan said again, but it had become a rote sentence, something he said only to convince himself of it anymore. “It’s the trails that have me concerned. They’re everywhere, but anyone with half a brain of wilderness in them would quickly recognize that they all sort of spiral inward.”
“Like the roads to Rome,” Chris added with a flair of erudition.
“To the cabin,” Sarah nodded, finishing the thought. “Crap.”
Dylan reached down with both hands and began to rub her shoulders, and she let out a little sigh and leaned against him dramatically, her eyes closed. All three seemed to share in a single unalterable truth: there was nothing they could do but wait. Chris offered to take first watch and ushered Dylan and Sarah to bed, and was prudent enough not to say anything when they both went into Sarah’s room. He achingly reached across the couch toward the unreliable satellite radio.
His quiet habitual swearing was eaten up by the impact of rain, even as it sped up and became a kind of damp sledge, pressing on the cabin and all inside.
***
Sometime, in the middle of the night, Sarah was awoken by a crack. In her dreams, she was a bear and had found a fresh kill. The crack echoed the piercing shock of bone, shattering under her jaws, followed by the sweet gasp of marrow that leaked onto her tongue. Then another crack, this time she sat up straight in the dark. Sweat stained her back, leeching through the thin tank-top. Her breasts heaved against the tight fabric and she felt like tearing at it, as if it might urge the air into her lungs faster. Already, her skin was drying in the open air, and beside her Dylan was still asleep, although his brows were knitted as if he too were suffering some nightmare.
She looked around, letting her eyes adjust to the dark until she could make out the shapes of the door and her backpack by the wall. Outside, the rain was a full on torrent. After so many days of sunshine, it was both terrifying and exhilarating, a reminder of how fickle nature was, and how unrelenting it could be once it had made up its mind about something.
I was just dreaming , she panted. The sound had been so explosive though, even if she had imagined it. Her heart was still thrumming. When she lay back down, Dylan sleepily splayed his hand across her breastbone. She could feel her own pulse like a hummingbird under her skin; a tremolo of blood. She turned her head and peeled back the sheets, which were damp with her sweat, revealing the long dark lengths of
Sarah handed Chris his tea and came and sat down, cross-legged, in front of Dylan’s legs, much to his surprise. She had that distant look again, a wandering sort of gaze that was only partially here. He desperately wished he could go with her, to wherever it was her thoughts took her in these late hours, when the sun had perished and the bear in her had started its slow waking from hibernation.
He reached down and stroked the top of her head, and averted his eyes from a piercing glance that shot at him from Chris across the room. The older man grinned to himself and buried his face in the tea, wincing at the heat as steam rolled up his broad cheeks.
“You two are adorable,” he finally breathed under his breath, making both Dylan and Sarah turned at him with accusing eyes. As if he’d uttered something so obvious that it became distorted by stating it so blatantly, and both of them blushed.
Sarah regained her composure first and buried her head harder against his knees. “You’re drunk on pain, old bear,” she sniffed at him. “Shouldn’t we be planning something else? I mean, a contingency plan, a plan B… in case they do come back?”
A look passed between Chris and Dylan, which said in just one look: there is nothing more we can do but wait and hope . And hope was useless, in the face of rifles . They had no weapons on the island, save for their own wits.
“We’ll be okay,” Dylan said again, but it had become a rote sentence, something he said only to convince himself of it anymore. “It’s the trails that have me concerned. They’re everywhere, but anyone with half a brain of wilderness in them would quickly recognize that they all sort of spiral inward.”
“Like the roads to Rome,” Chris added with a flair of erudition.
“To the cabin,” Sarah nodded, finishing the thought. “Crap.”
Dylan reached down with both hands and began to rub her shoulders, and she let out a little sigh and leaned against him dramatically, her eyes closed. All three seemed to share in a single unalterable truth: there was nothing they could do but wait. Chris offered to take first watch and ushered Dylan and Sarah to bed, and was prudent enough not to say anything when they both went into Sarah’s room. He achingly reached across the couch toward the unreliable satellite radio.
His quiet habitual swearing was eaten up by the impact of rain, even as it sped up and became a kind of damp sledge, pressing on the cabin and all inside.
***
Sometime, in the middle of the night, Sarah was awoken by a crack. In her dreams, she was a bear and had found a fresh kill. The crack echoed the piercing shock of bone, shattering under her jaws, followed by the sweet gasp of marrow that leaked onto her tongue. Then another crack, this time she sat up straight in the dark. Sweat stained her back, leeching through the thin tank-top. Her breasts heaved against the tight fabric and she felt like tearing at it, as if it might urge the air into her lungs faster. Already, her skin was drying in the open air, and beside her Dylan was still asleep, although his brows were knitted as if he too were suffering some nightmare.
She looked around, letting her eyes adjust to the dark until she could make out the shapes of the door and her backpack by the wall. Outside, the rain was a full on torrent. After so many days of sunshine, it was both terrifying and exhilarating, a reminder of how fickle nature was, and how unrelenting it could be once it had made up its mind about something.
I was just dreaming , she panted. The sound had been so explosive though, even if she had imagined it. Her heart was still thrumming. When she lay back down, Dylan sleepily splayed his hand across her breastbone. She could feel her own pulse like a hummingbird under her skin; a tremolo of blood. She turned her head and peeled back the sheets, which were damp with her sweat, revealing the long dark lengths of
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