The spark sputtered, danced, then disappeared, giving me hope. Hope that exploded like an overblown balloon as the spark suddenly appeared and burst into open flame.
“Do something!”
The words formed in the depths of my panic and came out screaming from my mouth.
But he just stood there. As did I. Opened mouthed.
The flames grew bigger, billowing smoke into the night air.
Jerking into motion he ran to his pack, took out a knife and leaped towards the boat. In one swift motion the rope was cut. The boat now had the air of a Viking funeral, floating a few feet before starting its slow descent into the dark water.
In the light of the flames, I turned to him in horror. Now what?
He shrugged.
We collapsed on the beach, a despair of being lost surrounding us.
And at twenty-five years old I realized something I had never thought of before: I didn’t know how to be an adult.
At twenty-six, it didn’t seem like he did either.
I voiced the words aloud, something that typically worked in other situations. Just keep asking or pushing and the situation will finally change.
“Now what?” I asked, smoothing the worry from my forehead. No sense getting wrinkles from this as a cruel pile-on.
“I don’t know. We swim?”
I looked across the water. That wasn’t an option for me. I couldn’t hold my breath for longer than three seconds and the last time I did cardio was about a year ago.
Survive until they come for us. But how?
“My dad would know what to do.”
“Yeah,” he said absently.
But we don’t.