Escaping the Lost Island (working title)

Chapter 21

The next two days were brutal. Clouds had provided a barrier between us and the sun up until this point, but the eighth day of our journey, the sky was clear, leaving our bare skin at the mercy of the intense rays. Our sleeping mats provided some cover, but the heat was still stifling. It was worst up front steering. For each two hour shift, there was no protection, nothing to slow the sweat that rolled off of our bodies like a leaking faucet.

This would not have been so bad if it weren't for the lack of water. By the second day of the heat wave, we were all feeling the effects of dehydration. The waves swam hazily in front of my eyes when I stood up and my tongue felt rough and dry. Still, we had to ration what little water we had left since we didn't know when another rainstorm would come up.

There were no more games. Everyone just lay around in a dazed sort of state, trying to keep cool and submit the least amount of skin to the punishing rays. Isaac tried swimming around to cool off, but he tipped the raft so much getting back in that we lost two days' worth of bananas to the sea. After that, we all agreed it wasn't worth the risk.

It was amazing how drastically changed everyone looked by the eve of the second day. Rita and Jessie's respective shades of bronze skin were flushed red and dried. I was sure my own tanned face looked no better. Toby's eyes were rimmed with red and looked dull.

Isaac was the worst off. His fair skin looked like it was stretched tight on his gaunt face, but it had lost the sheen of sweat. It was his leg, however that concerned me the most. The sweltering heat had induced its swelling until there was a lump roughly the size of half a grapefruit around the cut. When he rose to take his turn steering that night, he moved stiffly.

"How are you doing?" I asked him as I reluctantly relinquished my hold on the rod. He didn't look like he was in any sort of shape to be steering.

"Fine," he said shortly.

I knew he would never let me take his shift for him, he was far too stubborn for that. So I said nothing and moved to my sleeping corner. My skin itched but scratching it only made it raw. I looked at the red scales on my hands that were in grave danger of splitting. Perhaps Rita knew how to make a salve for them. I looked over and saw that she was fast asleep. That was good. The last time I had talked to her, she had looked exhausted.

For the millionth time, I reflected on how grateful I was for Rita. Without her, we would all be dead. Period.

I didn't want to think about dying. I rolled over onto my stomach and closed my eyes. Tomorrow morning, I would ask Rita about the salve.

The next day was cooler, but there was no rain. Our water supply was dangerously low and we allowed ourselves two sips each for the day. I dreamed of lakes and rivers and waterfalls that night but the next morning, I felt more parched than ever.

Only one swallow each that day. Then the water was gone. I knew that I should have been terrified by the empty shells, but at this point, death was seeming like a welcome option.

God, I wanted water. I thought about lemonade on a summer's day, ice cubes clinking against each other. My lips parted uselessly and I tried to suck moisture out of the very air. Thirsty. So thirsty. My eyes drifted towards the waves that lapped against the edge of the raft. Water was inches from my fingertips. Why wasn't I drinking that? I knew there was some reason but whatever it was, it probably wasn't that important. It was pretty water too. Sparkling and blue in the sunshine.

My thoughts made no sense. I felt far away. I shook my head and it hurt, but I felt a little less foggy. I couldn't have water and I needed to get over it. Salt water would just dehydrate me more and make me sick.