Tuesday, April 17, 2012
The Infected: Fogo Island (2)
two: across the sea
I can see it coming closer. The boat that came to pick up Felix yesterday. It glimmers in the sunlight, its powerful rays blinding me if I dare look too long. But this is a good sign. Hopefully.
I empty everything that can be useful from the Jeep; canned goods, knives, and makeshift weapons. I consider bringing my cardigan with me but for some reason, I have a feeling that's how mom has been tracking me. I contemplate my yellow cardigan, review the evidence inside my head and come to the conclusion that I should dump it in the Atlantic Ocean.
I lug everything to the docks, making several trips to accomplish the task. The boat is nearing but still too far for me to make out any of the shadows that appear on the boat. I sit down by the rocks, and I feel safe for the first time since Victoria attacked me. I don't even check behind me, don't even bother to keep my guard up.
"I miss you David." I find myself saying in a whisper, playing with the rocks by my feet.
He would have loved it here; the grandeur, the refreshing breeze, all of it. David would have thrived had Aleksandra not followed us. I still play the event over in my mind, attempting to find an explanation for that bitch's actions.
As if giving me a sign from above, a gentle breeze caresses me. The saltiness in the air reminds me of our summer vacations at the Cape. Three weeks out of the year I would spend them running on the beach and making sandcastles with David.
The boat finally arrives at the docks and I place my hand above my eyes to hide the sun's blinding rays. I catch a glimpse of a man. I can only guess he's in his mid-thirties, has a shaved head and he's wearing clothes fit for a Mexican vacation. I get up just as he gets out and I look again in the boat. I don't see Felix. He walks up the shabby docks and waves at me.
I sit back down and carefully grab the knife from the bag behind me. I hide it behind my back and wave at the man.
There's something wrong here. Felix promised me he would come back. He wouldn't have allowed someone to come back for me without him.
"Where's my friend?" I ask the man when he's finally in ear shot.
"He's back at camp. Poor boy was dehydrated. Told us to come get you." His voice is hoarse, as if he smoked a pack of cigarettes a day. He finally walks up to me and extends his hand in greeting.
"My name is Connor. I'm here to take you across the sea."
I shake his hand and our eyes meet.
"My name is Charlotte. It's a pleasure to meet you."