I don’t think I’ve ever felt so lifeless in my life. My body feels like rubber and my lungs are painfully warm from holding my breath in the churning water. Once I fell off the raft I was running on auto-pilot so it’s a little surprising now to find my feet touching sand without having even the slightest memory of how I made it to land. I wade ashore and collapse, feeling as though I’ve gone ten rounds with mother nature and once again the bitch has won.

I want to raise my head to see where I am but I honestly can’t seem to muster the strength. I wonder if I’ll just lie here until the tide pulls me back out or...maybe until some animal finds me and eats me. And what a fine meal they would have. I close my eyes and figure I’ll just rest until my fate is decided for me.

Yeah. That sounds like a good plan.

Wait. Justin. I have to find Justin!

With a small surge of strength returning to my body, I lift my head up from the sand and cry out weakly. "Jus?"

"I’m...here." I see him now, just a few feet away. He’s spread out upon his stomach, his face turned towards me and his eyes closed, but his answer has assured me that he is, at the very least, still conscious.

I lower my head and nod. "Good. Others?"

Apparently Justin isn’t quite so drained as I seem to be for he’s suddenly looming above me, blocking the rain from my face. "I think they’re okay. Neil and Rory are still conscious. I think Cynthia passed out, but...yeah, her chest is moving. She’s still alive."

I grunt my acknowledgment. I wouldn’t mind passing out at the moment. A nice...long...nap. Dry and out of the rain.

My calm, drifting thoughts dissipate as Justin slaps his palm to my cheek. "C’mon Brian. Now isn’t the time to pass out on us. You might drown in the rain." I give Justin a tentative smile to let him know that I have no intention of passing out. Well, not after that slap anyway. It takes us all around an hour or so to rouse ourselves enough to get to the shelter of the trees above the beach. Cynthia, of course, needed to be carried but none of us were up to such a task. Instead, Justin and Rory took it upon themselves to drag her up the slight incline.

Neil points towards the waves that are coming in. Several pieces of wood, obviously carved down to fit together, roll through the swirling water and tumble onto the sand below us. We say nothing as there is nothing to say. We had taken our first steps towards going home and now... Now the only hope we’ve had since we crashed here is washing onto shore, piece by shattered piece.

For another hour or so, we watch the lightning in the distance and the waves pound the shore. It seems as though the water is growing rougher right before our eyes. We didn’t make it home, but it could have been worse. A lot worse.

I feel like I should say something, but I think the world just might come crashing down around us if I dared to. Instead, I tear my eyes away from the mighty ocean and look at the people surrounding me.

Cynthia, who finally came to several minutes ago, is crying silently. I always get so flustered when I see her so upset. It happens so rarely... It’s like seeing your mom or sister cry. I guess. If you care about your mom or sister. I guess it would be something like that.

Neil is staring blankly at the horizon as he has been. I can almost see his mind turning. He’s trying to figure out if there was something more he could have done to get us through that water. If he could have made the raft stronger. Maybe he’s even kicking himself for suggesting we take on the rougher water. Whatever. No point dwelling now. No point.

Justin has his eyes closed tightly, his lips chalky white, his face tensed with stress. It’s a familiar scene, or at least it used to be. This is the first headache I’ve seen in a long time but there’s no helping with this one. No medicine, no dark rooms, no cold compress, no herbal tea. I want to comfort him but he looks like he may just throw up if he moves so I leave him be.

The person that seems the least effected by this is Rory. She looks as if she is somehow relieved. Probably spinning it into some silver lining. Some ‘now we won’t have to be out in the middle of the ocean, under the scalding sun, running out of wind, waves and fresh water’ kind of silver lining. Maybe that’s the way we should be thinking of this. Or maybe we should take it as a sign that we’re not meant to leave.

The way I see it, it was just bad timing and bad weather. We all made it. That’s the important thing.

Rory puts a comforting hand on Cynthia’s shoulder, careful to avoid the bloody line that marks a somewhat nasty cut on her upper back. "Maybe we should go back now."

I look at her for a few seconds and process what she’s just said. "Can everyone make it?" I ask, staring at Justin. The other’s nod, Justin swallows hard and opens his eyes. His stare makes me wince, it’s so full of pain, but he blinks and pushes past the pain, slowly getting to his feet. I take that as a yes as well.

Moving slowly, Neil leads the pack. Rory puts a supportive arm around Cynthia and they move out onto the beach, turning left towards home. After taking a few deep breaths, I grab and hold tight to Justin’s hand and we follow suit.

***

The pain is searing, throbbing through my head. It hasn’t been this bad in a long time. I can barely think without wanting to vomit so I more than appreciate Brian’s guiding hand.

Only a little further. A little further. We’ll be back and I can sleep it off.

It must be the stress.

God it hurts!

Brian starts to release my hand and I moan, afraid to lose the contact.

"It’s okay. We’re here," he says gently. Never did I think I would feel such relief over hearing this. We’re still on the island. Home. Safe. We all made it. Still together.

I feel Brian’s arm around my waist, urging me forward. I pry open my eyes and try to make out the house. But the world has been reduced to blurs. And now...spinning.

Oh...I’m gonna...be sick.

***

This is horrible. I hate that I’m watching this but it’s hard to tear my eyes away. Poor Justin is curled into himself, hands and knees on the ground, his body turning itself inside out. He vomits and then cries out from the pain of it. It’s a headache. I recognize the symptoms. But he hasn’t had one this bad in a long, long time.

Right now he looks distinctly like someone that might not have minded going down with the ship. But tomorrow he’ll be better and... And he’ll join us back at square one.

Another cry tells me that Cynthia has finally come out of shock and is now starting to feel that nasty gash on her back. I look over and see her hands desperately reaching behind her to survey the damage. She looks at me helplessly. "Rory - is it bad?"

I don’t necessarily know how to answer that. I can see that it is bad. The blood has started seeping through her shirt. But I can’t tell her that. Not now. So I just say, "I can’t really tell. Lift up your shirt." She obliges and I grimace. I hope she didn’t notice my reaction. The truth is that the cut is really deep and very ugly and ragged. It’s running vertically about midway between her spine and her side. I think she would know if something was damaged internally. At least I hope she would know, because I don’t know that any of us would be able to tell. Oddly, it isn’t bleeding too heavily. But I don’t know if that’s good or bad.

I need a second opinion. Justin’s out. Brian’s tending to Justin so he’s out too. "Neil?"

"What are you calling him for?" Cynthia asks, sounding more worried and curious than annoyed.

"I just want his opinion."

"Is it...that bad?"

I look at the side of her face turned towards me. It’ll do no good to lie. "It isn’t bleeding so much but...it’s pretty deep."

She lowers her head and nods, rubbing her eyes with her thumb and index finger.

Neil takes his time shuffling towards us, a preoccupied look on his face. I want to smack him. He’s not the only one that was on that raft. He needs to remember that because I refuse to put up with him acting like some lone victim in this whole thing.

"Holy shit!" He swears, coming out of his funk momentarily. Yeah. Figures. He comes out of it just in time to freak Cynthia out. Jerk.

"Will someone tell me..." Cynthia starts shakily.

"No...no, sorry," Neil says, catching himself. "I didn’t mean to upset you Cynthia."

I don’t think I’ve ever heard Neil sound so professional. Or kind. Maybe he hit his head.

Neil traces a finger down one side of the cut and leans in for a closer look. "Hmm. It is deep. If we had some strong thread, a needle, I might insist on stitching you up," Cynthia’s entire body tenses. "But...since all of our first aid went down..." He shrugs and something flashes in his eyes. Maybe guilt. "I suggest you keep off your back, don’t do anything that might pull at the skin any more and, well the salt water should help it heal somewhat. That’s all I know to tell you."

I stare at Neil in disbelief. Cynthia turns tentatively and does the same. "Thank you," she finally manages.

He nods and walks off quietly, disappearing into his room. It takes a minute but I tear my eyes away from his doorway, put an arm around Cynthia’s shoulders - careful to avoid the injury - and lead her towards our own room. Just as we reach the house, we cross paths with Brian and Justin, who also seem ready to drop. Especially poor, deathly pale Justin.

Hopefully everything will look better after a little rest. Or maybe after a few days of sleep.

***

Too quiet. It’s been nearly twenty-four hours since we got back. I know this because I feel that I’ve counted every painful second. Twenty-four hours and no one has so much as made a peep much less stirred from their rooms. Not even to find food.

It’s an eerie sound, the silence. Since the storm has passed, very few birds have been heard. Even the waves seem to prefer a whisper to the usual roars. And since Justin is still trying to sleep off the bitch of a headache he had, I’ve been going out of my mind with boredom.

After making a game of synchronizing my breath with his for a full ten minutes or so, I’m ready to scream. "That’s it."

I push the thin blanket off of me and stand quite abruptly. Justin recoils from the sudden movement, his eyes fluttering open wide. "What? What is it?"

I feel bad for waking him, but - what‘re you going to do, ya know? "I’m going to get food. And water." I pull my shorts up my legs in one swift motion and glance down at him. "I’m bored and I’m thirsty. I’m sure everyone is. But no one seems too up for going. So I’m taking it upon myself."

He widens his eyes as if to wake himself up a bit more. "O...Okay. If you’ll calm down and just give me a second, I’ll come too." He rubs his fingers over his face and through his hair. "Just let me...wake up."

I eye him closely. He seems to be feeling better. Maybe a little sluggish, a little irritable, but he’s speaking without tossing his insides. Always a good sign. "Yeah. Alright."

He takes his time, making sure to stretch every muscle slowly, standing slowly, yawning leisurely. "I’ll be outside," I finally say in hopes of moving him along.

It takes longer than usual to make it to the falls. There’s debris spread out all over the beach and it’s next to impossible to cut a straight path. The deafening silence from my partner makes the journey even worse.

"Feeling better?" I ask, trying to draw him out.

He cuts his eyes at me in annoyance. "Yeah. Thanks."

"Good." We finally get to our destination and make quick work of filling the old water bottles. "You missed one," I point out the empty bottle at his feet.

"Thanks," his voice oozes with sarcasm.

"What is wrong with you?" I finally ask, unable to deal with his bitchiness. This day - this week - this YEAR - has been too fucking long. I refuse to deal with unnecessary asshole attitudes.

He glares at me with more spite that I could have seen coming but just as quickly as he became annoyed, the life seems to leave his body and he slumps onto the ground.

"We almost made it," he cries helplessly. His eyes widen taking on the eerie appearance of an innocent young boy. "I...want to go home."

"I know." It occurs to me that he never really had time to be upset yesterday. He was far too busy throwing up. So apparently I guess he’s getting it out of his system now. What can I do, besides taking a seat beside him and commiserating?

"No! You don’t know! I should never have been here! I should never have been on that plane. You insisted...!"

He’s blaming me now. It’s just the frustration and disappointment talking.

"Dammit!" I try to put my arm around him but he pushes it off, almost violently. "I want my fucking life back," he whispers. "I want things back to the way they were before!"

"You don’t mean that." I know he doesn’t mean that. He can’t. Even if this isn’t where we thought we‘d end up- I mean"

"I do! I want to go home! We should have made it! We should have-" He starts to shake, but he doesn’t cry. It reminds me of how he acted after he was bashed. The memory almost makes me sick to my stomach. "I want to leave this fucking wasteland and go HOME!"

I start to respond but fall short when I hear a loud noise in the distance. It seems to me that I’m hearing things. That maybe-maybe his frustration is getting to me. But -no- I hear it. I don’t see it, but I know I hear it, even over the sound of the water falling.

I stand, leaving Justin on the ground, and stare up at the sky in disbelief. It’s as though Justin’s words have willed it here.

Justin is at my side now, holding tightly to my arm, gripping it painfully, his bad feelings momentarily forgotten. "Brian-"

No more words are spoken. Together, we stand in the clearing watching the whirling blades of a helicopter as it hovers above us.

To Be Continued