She smiled. “I don’t mind, T.J. But you go first. It’s yours.”

I brushed my teeth and then rinsed the toothbrush in the ocean and handed it to her. She squeezed more toothpaste onto it and brushed her teeth. When she was done, she rinsed it and handed it back to me. “Thanks.”

We waited for it to rain and when it did, in the early afternoon, we watched the bottle fill with water. I handed it to Anna; she drank half of it and handed it back to me. After I finished it, we put the leaf back in, and the rain filled it up again. Anna and I drank that, too. We needed more, a lot more probably, but I started to think that maybe we wouldn’t die after all.

We had a way to collect water, we had breadfruit, and we knew we could make a fire. Now we needed shelter because without it, our fire would never stay lit.

Anna wanted to build the shelter on the beach because the rats freaked her out. We broke off two Y-shaped branches and drove them down into the sand, placing the longest stick we could find between them. We made a crappy lean-to by propping more branches up against each side. Breadfruit leaves lined the floor except for a small circle where we could build our fire. Anna collected pebbles to place in a ring around it. It would be smoky inside, but that might help keep the mosquitoes away.

We decided to wait until morning to make another fire. Now that we had shelter, we could collect wood and store it inside the lean-to so it could dry.

It rained again and filled our water bottle three times; I had never tasted anything so good in my entire life.

When the sun went down, we took the seat cushions, life jackets, and my backpack into the lean-to.

“Good night, T.J.” Anna said, laying her head on one of the seat cushions, the fire pit between us.

“Good night, Anna.”

Chapter 7 – Anna

Day 5

I opened my eyes. Sunlight filtered between the cracks of the lean-to. The pressure on my bladder – something I hadn’t felt in a while – confused me for a second, and then I smiled.

I need to go to the bathroom.

I left the lean-to without waking T.J. and walked into the woods. I squatted behind a tree, wrinkling my nose at the strong smell of ammonia coming from my pee. When I pulled my pants back up, I cringed at the dampness between my legs.

T.J. was awake and standing next to the lean-to when I returned.

“Where were you?” he asked.

I grinned and said, “Peeing.”

He high-fived me. “I need to go, too.”

When he came back, we went to the breadfruit tree and scooped up three lying on the ground. We sat down and ate our breakfast.

“Let me see your head,” T.J. said.

I leaned over and T.J. combed through my hair with his fingers until he found the cut.

“It’s better. You probably should have had stitches, though. I can’t see any dried blood, but your hair is so dark it’s hard to tell.” He pointed to my cheek. “The bruises are fading. That one is turning yellow.”

T.J.’s appearance had improved, too. His eye was no longer swollen shut, and his cuts were healing well. He’d fared better than me thanks to his seatbelt. His face – very handsome, though still quite boyish – would bear no permanent scars from the plane crash. I didn’t know if I could say the same, but I wasn’t concerned about that at the moment.

After breakfast, T.J. made another fire.

“Pretty amazing, city boy,” I said, squeezing his shoulder.

He smiled, adding small pieces of firewood and coaxing the flames higher, clearly proud of himself. He wiped the sweat out of his eyes and said, “Thanks.”

“Let me see your hands.”

He held them out to me, palms up. Blisters covered the raw, calloused skin, and he winced when I touched them.

“That has to hurt.”

“It does,” he admitted.

The fire filled our shelter with smoke, but it wouldn’t go out when it rained. If we heard a plane, we could knock it down and throw green leaves on the fire to create smoke.

I had never gone so long without a shower, and I smelled horrible. “I’m going to try and clean up,” I said. “You have to stay here, okay?”

He nodded and handed me a short-sleeved T-shirt from his backpack. “Do you want to wear this instead of your long-sleeved shirt?”

“Yes. Thanks.” The T-shirt would fit me like a dress, but I didn’t care.

“I’d give you some shorts, but I know they’re too big.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “The shirt will really help.”

I walked along the shore, stopping to take off all my clothes only when I could no longer see T.J. or the lean-to. I scanned the blue, cloudless sky.

Now would be an excellent time for a plane to fly overhead. Surely, someone would notice the naked woman on the beach.

I waded into the lagoon, and the fish scattered. The sunburn on my hands and feet had faded into a dark tan, which contrasted with my white arms and legs. My hair hung to my shoulder blades in a rat’s nest of tangles.

I washed my body with my hands, and then retrieved my clothes from the shore, rinsing them out in the ocean. I finger combed my hair and wished for a ponytail holder.

Slightly cleaner when I came out of the water, I put my wet underwear and bra on, and pulled T.J.’s T-shirt over my head. It hung down to mid-thigh so I didn’t bother with my jeans.

“I know I’m not wearing pants,” I explained when I returned to the lean-to. “But I’m hot, and I want to let them dry.”

“No big deal, Anna.”

“I wish we had something to catch fish with. There are tons of them in the lagoon.” My mouth watered and my stomach growled.

“We could try and spear them. After I get cleaned up, we can look for some long sticks. Our firewood supply is low, too.”

T.J. came back to the lean-to five minutes later, with wet hair, wearing clean clothes. His arms were wrapped around something large and bulky.

“Look what I found in the water.”

“What is it?”

He set the object down and spun it around so I could read the writing on the side.

“That’s the life raft from the plane.” I knelt down next to it. “I remember seeing it when I was looking for the life jackets.”

We opened the container and pulled the raft out. I ripped open the attached waterproof bag and took out a sheet of paper that listed the contents. I read it aloud:

“Raft canopy, located inside accessories case, features two roll-down doors and a rain water collector in the top of the roof panel. Custom packs available including radio beacons and emergency locators.”

My hopes soared. “T.J., where’s the accessories case?”

T.J. looked in the container and pulled out another waterproof bag. My hands shook as I tore into the plastic, and as soon as I made a big enough hole, I turned it upside down and dumped everything onto the sand. We rifled through it, our hands bumping into each other as we examined each item.

We found nothing that would lead to rescue.

No emergency locator. No radio beacon, satellite phone, or transmitter.

My hopes plummeted. “I guess they figured the custom pack was an unnecessary upgrade.”

T.J. shook his head slowly.

I thought about what might have happened if we’d found an emergency locator.

Do you just turn it on and wait for them to come get you?

Tears filled my eyes. Blinking them back, I began inventorying the contents of the accessories case: knife, first-aid kit, tarp, two blankets, rope, and two collapsible sixty-four ounce plastic containers.

I opened the first-aid kit: Tylenol, Benadryl, antibiotic ointment, cortisone cream, band-aids, alcohol wipes, and Imodium.

“Let me see your hands,” I said to T.J.