Emily's P.O.V
It wasn't until a few days later that any search crews actually arrived on the island. The risk was apparently 'too high' the days before, but after three days with no extra eruptions, it was deemed possible. Every time I heard them talking about it all, I filled with anger. My dad and my younger brother were over there! As well as my closest friends and people who weren't but felt like family! But I had no say. Everything was up to the rescue teams.
The search groups took radios with them, and linked them up with our captain. This meant every time something big happened, he told us. And we were all so glad they did so.
"Pretty much perfectly alive people have been found around the beach and pier! Around a hundred, they say, are going to immediately be admitted to hospital for their cuts, burns and bruises".
"They're going to continue searching for more survivors for the continuation of today and the next few days".
"A few bodies have been found around the paths of the volcano. It seems they collapsed under the low levels of oxygen, though nothing is confirmed. The bodies are going to be transported back to the mainland for identification".
Tears flowed from nearly everyone's eyes. Except mine. I only kept thinking about the fact that only around a hundred people had been found. Two hundred had gone over on that tiny boat. What had happened to the rest of them?
Burnt alive?
Chocked to death?
Hiding out someplace else that hadn't been discovered yet?
I liked to encourage others to believe the last point, as if that was what I only believed in too. But honestly, and now I'll admit it, I only thought the bad stuff. They were all already dead in my head. I actually imagined all of them, lying on the beach and on dusty paths, face down, collecting the ask in the air. Their deformed figures, already slowly disintegrating. Limbs that remained, a single arm or leg, maybe a head or torso here and there. The rest of their bodies already broken, maybe eaten by an animal that had survived. The memories of those visions still haunt me, and I think they forever will.
Mum was always pale and on edge, much like Luella. The mums (or parents, actually) that remained became overly protective, like if we left their side, we'd die from the volcano too. Jack hung out in the arcade a lot of the time, I assumed to distract his mind. That meant mum would drag me and any other willing Johnson/Watson kids with her, to supervise. Pheobe came the first couple of times, but once she worked out that I wouldn't talk, she soon stayed with her own mum and sisters.
We all took it badly. Though until it was all over, we'd never know how each of us was feeling at the time.
YOU ARE READING
Death on Holiday
Teen FictionI shrank back, pushing his hands away. As my brother glanced nervously at me, I rolled over. I didn't want to see him, or more accurately, I didn't want him to see me like this. I knew deep down I was a mess. But there was no way I could be cured. H...
