When I awoke, my fever had broken. I sat up and looked around. I was alone, and I smelled awful. I removed my pants and wiped myself as clean as I could. I lay there on the cold, dry wooden bench as the fire burned down to embers; I threw more wood on it. I would survive even if my dignity would not.
Then I watched the sky go from black to pink as the sun started to rise. I looked at my arm, touching it for the first time. It felt like my skin except for the patches where moss grew a blue-green color about an inch long; I touched a patch, and it just fell off. I wiped my arm clean, and the moss fell out in some places but wouldn''t budge in others. The patches that were left were growing in strange spiraling patterns across my skin; it moved like hair underwater gently blowing around in the currents, except there was no air movement in the cave.
I shivered, remembering what the voice had said, “I can save you, but there will be a price.” My skin crawled.
I flexed my fingers and felt no pain. I touched my knife to it and made a small cut and was horrified when blue-green blood welled up and then turned red before closing up, leaving a thin line of moss growing.
I calmed myself with long, deep breaths. I picked up a rock with my infected arm and felt the weight; it felt normal. It actually felt better than normal. Like it weighed half as much as it should. It was horrifying but also fascinating, and there is no doubt the symbiont had saved my life.
I stood and tried to find where the shadow had gone, but the cave I had seen him come and go through was gone. Leaving behind a solid wall. I called out, “Hello, where did you go?” but there was only an echo in return.
The sky had turned blue, and it was time to leave this shelter. I needed food and water and to clean the filth from my illness away. I built up the fire big enough for several hours before I had to worry about it.
I climbed down the slippery magma tube wearing only my shirt with one sleeve and holding a small flashlight and my soiled pants.
My battery was nearly dead. I carefully moved along the wall until I found the crack leading to the outside world. I crawled through and closed my eyes from the brightness. But I felt the sun on my back. It was warm. The air was filled with the noise of birds and insects. The loud bubbling of the water out of the ground. I slowly opened my eyes, and it was like I had found a paradise. I walked to the bubbling stream; the water was ice cold, but it cleaned me and my pants and my shirt. Then I drank the water upstream of my pollution. I''m drinking slowly; no need for a repeat of throwing it up.
In the water''s reflection, I saw a pineapple pinecone; that is what it looks like. I gathered a stick and smashed down the object, breaking it open.
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It fell apart in hexagonal chunks, and the root was tender and edible; the rest was stringy and made my mouth burn. It tasted like a mix of mango and carrot. I ate as much as I could stomach.
I lay on the rocks, the air warm, the jungle around me filled with life. I examined my arm again, flexing it and watching it move.
I had questions. Who saved my life? Why?
I wrung out my wet clothes and put them on; I climbed and walked my way back to the cliffside. With a clearer head and a stronger body, I have no idea how I managed to climb up this tricky path and not get swept away. I stumbled twice on my way down and slid several feet on the slimy rock. My cyan-colored mossy arm found things to grab onto with dexterity higher than I had ever had.
I made it to the base of the stream where the water plunges over the cliff into the sea. I rested for a moment, scanning the horizon. I looked up and spotted an avocado tree filled with fruit.
The meat was delicious and would keep me alive and healthy, unlike the pineapple pinecone. I ate more than I should have of the fatty fruit.
I walked to the cliff edge and looked down; the water roared over the edge a few feet to my left and splashed down into the ocean 30 feet below.
“It’s amazing you survived,” a voice said in my ear; it had long S sounds that made it sound like a snake. I turned to look, but there was no one there. My hair stood up, and I grabbed my knife.
“Who is there?” I yelled, scaring some large black birds.
“There''s no need to yell; I can always hear you,” the voice said from above me. I looked up and saw nothing but sky.
“That''s it; I am losing my mind,” I responded. And backed away from the edge of the cliff. The voice went quiet. I suddenly felt very alone.
I sat down in the sand, confused, scared, and focused on figuring out how screwed I was. I drew a rough map in the sand. Even if I had drifted 300 miles in any direction, I was still at least 700 miles from any solid ground. This island should not be here.
Then I drew what I knew of the shipping lanes. One of the reasons I stayed so far south of Hawaii is to avoid the shipping lanes at night. The idea of a cargo vessel sneaking up on the Express Delivery in the night is horrifying.
I dusted my shorts off. I doodled the list of things I needed to survive in the sand. My script was illegible, but it helped me focus.
Shelter—the crevice in the rock
Water—the bubbling stream outside the crevice in the rock
Fire—the big fireplace in the crevice in the rock
Food—there is tons of food on this island.
As long as I maintain access to the weird room in the rock, I should be fine.
Was it a sacred site? Maybe a meeting place. I had no idea, but for now it was my sense of security.