He held it out to her, meaning that they were going to finish it and be done, and she seemed to understand.
Before putting the bottle to her lips, though, she reached out for his hand, linked her fingers in his—not a test but the real thing.
She took a sip and handed it back to Shy, who drank, too. They did this twice and then the water was gone.
He dropped the empty jug near their feet and continued holding her hand as they closed their eyes on the night, and Shy sat there wondering what he’d see next, if anything.
Time marched past him holding out a trayful of memories. Sprinkling food flakes into the bubbling fish tank in his and Miguel’s dirty room. The alley behind his building where he’d sit alone on an overturned plastic bucket to think. Pulling books from his locker while Maria went off about some girl who had pissed her off. And he was finally able to remember the faces of his family again, even his dad.
Then he thought back to a basketball game from two years ago. One that had come down to the final seconds. They threw him the ball and he raced down the court, dribbled around a screen, and launched a long jumper over the outstretched hands of two defenders. Time slowed as the ball arced through the air—everyone’s eyes stuck on its game-deciding path. The refs looking up, whistles hanging from their mouths. The players on both benches on their feet. The coaches holding them back.
When the ball found the bottom of the net the entire gym erupted—everyone on his team jumping up and down and hugging him and shouting his name. It was the first and only time he’d ever nailed a game-winning shot. After a few seconds, he separated himself from the celebration to search the stands for his mom. Spotted her high in the bleachers, off by herself, waving her arms around and looking so proud of him.
Maybe this was the moment, Shy thought as his mind hovered high above the boat, in this other time and place. Maybe this was his reason for being here. Some people probably wanted to look back at the end and feel like they’d left some kind of legacy in the world. Like having kids. Or making a movie. Or inventing something that made lots of money. Or they wanted to feel like they’d done something heroic. But Shy decided he was happy knowing he’d made his mom feel proud.
Shy’s eyes were still closed, his thoughts switching back to the sensation of the cold ocean water creeping up his legs, into his lap, when he felt Addie’s breath against his ear. “Just so you know,” she whispered, “I think I was going to love you, Shy.” He tried to turn his head to look at her, but she stopped him with her hands. “Please don’t say anything back.”
He didn’t, but his heart quietly swelled inside his chest. Because of her words. And the feel of her fingers linked in his. And because he now understood how lucky he was to have experienced a life in this world. He could never use a bullet on himself. Or Addie. The world would have to take them the old-fashioned way if that was what it wanted. And as his mind continued drifting away from his body, he had one final realization. The world itself was alive, too. It swirled around you and sped past your eyes and ears, so fast you could never see it, but slow at the same time, like a tree growing taller in a park. And all the sounds you heard—the wind whipping past your ears and the ocean’s whispering and the trickle of whitecaps against your boat—that was the earth’s blood pumping through imperceptible veins, and some of those veins were nothing more than people like Shy or Carmen or Addie.
And when the end came it smelled like morning dew and brine and everything around you morphed into a man, and that man shined a flashlight in your eyes and kneeled down beside you to pet your hair, and he said: You’re gonna be okay, young fella. Now come on.
And he lifted you into his arms and carried you like a child into a hidden cave, where you would grow back into the earth’s rich soil from which you came and where you would forever belong.
Day 7
41
Jones Island
Shy cracked open his eyes.
He found Shoeshine hovering over him, moving a syringe toward his right shoulder.
He flipped himself over and tried to push away, but Shoeshine was surprisingly strong. “Easy now,” the man told Shy, pulling the needle away. “Just a few vitamins you’re gonna need on the island. Trust me.”
“What vitamins?” Shy’s eyes darted around, taking everything in. It didn’t make any sense. He’d come to the end. Yet here he was looking around a familiar-looking boat cabin. Alive. The oilman’s ring still safe inside his pocket. Over Shoeshine’s shoulder, Shy saw Addie standing against the wall, rubbing her arm.
“You gonna stop fighting?” Shoeshine asked.
“It’s okay, Shy,” Addie said. “He saved us.”
Shy locked eyes with the man. Crazy gray hair and braided chin beard. Leathery face. No way Shy was gonna let some shoeshine guy stick him with a needle. But his mind was so clouded he couldn’t think straight.
Shoeshine slowly lowered the syringe toward Shy’s shoulder, the short needle piercing his skin, cool liquid pushing inside him. Instead of fighting, Shy looked around the cabin again. Identical to the one where he’d found the dead doctors. But there were no doctors on the floor now. And no bloodstain. The only thing he recognized was the duffel bag he’d found, which was wide open. One of the packs unwrapped and two of the syringes missing. The shot he was getting had come from the bag he’d found.
Soon as Shoeshine stepped away, Shy pushed off the thin mattress and hurried to a trash can to throw up. His eyeballs bulging from the pressure, lips cracking and bleeding. He was shocked by how much came out of him.
Addie put her hand on Shy’s back. “He saw the flares,” she told him, her eyes filling with tears. “And he found us. We’ve been rescued, Shy.”
The look on her face told him it was true.
They’d survived.
When they got to the top of the stairs, Shy saw the island and it took his breath away.
And he saw a ship. Big enough to carry them home.
He was so overcome by emotion he dropped to his knees, fighting back tears of his own.
Addie kneeled down next to him and held out a banana. “Can you believe it?” she asked.
“I told you we’d be okay,” he said weakly as he peeled his piece of fruit. “Didn’t I tell you?”
“You told me,” she said, wiping her wet cheeks with the back of her hand.
They both made quick work of their bananas, and Shy tossed his peel in the trash and looked around. This boat wasn’t shot up. And “320” was written on the side instead of “220.”
“Where’d you get this boat?” he asked Shoeshine, who was busy steering them toward the shore.
“Docked inside a cave on the other side of the island,” Shoeshine answered. He kicked the cooler next to his feet. “There’s more food in here. You all must be starving.”
Shy pushed himself up to his feet again. “We found one exactly like this,” he said. “Only burned up. It was just floating out there.”
Shoeshine nodded.
“It’s where I found the duffel bag.” Shy looked for a reaction from Shoeshine, about the gun and the bodies, but there was nothing. “I also found two dead people.”
Now Shoeshine turned to him. Shy could see in the man’s eyes he wasn’t surprised. And for a second he wondered if Shoeshine had something to do with the murders. But wouldn’t he have taken the duffel, then?
“How’d you know what was in the bag?” Addie asked, rubbing her arm again.