“That’s a switch,” I heard John Paul say under his breath. When I glared up at him, he winked at me. I had no idea what this Nick knew, but I didn’t need John Paul running his mouth like that. It would have taken too much effort to un-strap myself from the harness just to move up front and smack him, so I ignored his stupid-ass comment instead.
“He saved me more than once,” Raine continued. “He caught fish, and collected rain water, and told me how much we could drink every day. We ate raw pelican, which was awful, but we only ate it because it had rained and we had water again.”
“What’s the plan?” I asked John Paul before Raine could recount all the shit that didn’t matter now. He nodded his head to Nick.
“I’ll fly us back to Bonaire,” Nick said. “From there, we get a small plane to take us to Maiquetía – the airport in Caracas. We’ve been staying in a house I have rented while we’ve been looking for you – it’s close to the airport. We can stay there tonight and then get the next flight booked back to the States. There are some places to get you guys some supplies, too – clothes, shoes, whatever you need. You can get cleaned up and go back home tomorrow.”
Home. Yeah, where the fuck was that now?
No one spoke much for the rest of the ride. We would have had to yell at each other over the noise anyway, so there wasn’t any point in talking. Raine kept looking over at me and trying to get my attention, but I ignored her. Part of me felt angry, and I could understand that part, but there was another part – one that went much deeper – and I didn’t know what it was trying to tell me. My gut was tight, and I was having a hard time taking deep breaths. I couldn’t look at either Nick or John Paul without wanting to punch the shit out of them, but when I stole a glance at Raine…well, that shit made my stomach cramp up more. I was losing everything. I was losing her.
Deep, deep inside of me, I wanted to fucking kill John Paul and Nick – and not in the figurative sense. I wished John Paul hadn’t made it when The Oblation sank. I wished Nick had given up like the rest of the would-be rescuers. I wished they had run into a freak crosswind and crashed the fucking helicopter rather than having found us. I knew how evil and callous that was even as a thought, but I couldn’t help it. John Paul was probably the only person in the world I could consider a friend, and I would happily wish him dead if it would take me back to an hour ago and just fucking leave me there for eternity. The farther away we were from my paradise, the more I wanted to curl up with a bottle and fucking forget everything.
Raine watched out the window as the island disappeared behind us, and the larger islands of the Netherlands Antilles appeared in front of us. It wasn’t too long of a flight, and soon we were landing at Flamingo Airport.
It was all going to be different now. I knew it would be.
*
I don’t know how I ended up in the fucking window seat. I fucking hated window seats.
The prop plane had room to seat nine, not including the pilot. There were only the four of us on it, though. The pilot was a dark skinned-guy with tightly twisted braids hanging all around him. It was so long, it made me wonder if it was all real or if he had fake shit weaved into his own hair. He spoke English with a Jamaican accent, and I wanted to strangle him with a Bob Marley hat for being so stereotypical. I didn’t speak to anyone during the flight, and as soon as we landed, I unclipped my seatbelt, climbed over Raine, threw open the door, and dropped onto the asphalt. I got about ten feet before six people were in front of me, flashing fucking cameras in my face and yelling out questions.
About a half second before I would have thrown a punch, John Paul was in between me and the journalist in front of me, pushing gently against the guy’s chest and telling him to lay off for a while. At least ten other guys dressed in uniforms approached, and a couple of them did a little crowd control. The others escorted the four of us out of the landing area and inside to a lounge of some sort. I had to take a piss, and I couldn’t decide if I was more annoyed that I couldn’t just whip my dick out and do it anywhere or gladder to be able to actually flush and wash my hands when I was done. Raine was chattering away about how fucking awesome toilet paper was – well, she didn’t actually say fucking, but still – and I couldn’t take how fucking thrilled she was to be away from our island.
I locked the bathroom door, leaned my back against it, and lit one of the Lobelia cigarettes I still had in my belt pouch. I guess I could have gone and bought some real fucking smokes, but I didn’t have any actual cash on me and I wasn’t about to ask anyone for some at this point. I still didn’t even have a fucking shirt, for that matter. Shit – I’d have to get some money so I could find a fucking drink somewhere. My head was literally spinning – everything was happening way too fucking fast. I was back where I could get smokes and alcohol and clothes and a fucking hooker, if I wanted one. I didn’t want one. I didn’t want any of that shit.