Chapter 7 - The Island

My head throbbed with pain.

The world around me was a blur, and standing felt nearly impossible. A relentless ringing filled my ears as if sound itself had torn through me. I had the sickening sense that blood might be flowing from them. Leaning sideways on my right arm, I reached up with my left to check my head for injuries.

It hurt.

As I shifted, discomfort flared in my lower body. Something heavy pinned me down. No—someone.

And it hurt.

I blinked hard, shaking my head to clear the haze. Gradually, my vision sharpened, and the first thing I noticed was the overwhelming blueness of everything around me.

The figure sprawled limply across my legs was Finlay. His disheveled black bangs clung to his pale forehead, framing a face too striking for its own good—wide eyelids, a broad nose, well-shaped lips, and a firm jaw. I never felt so annoyed at a handsome face before.

Then, everything came rushing back.

The pieces of memory slammed together—sharp, painful, undeniable. Concern twisted into something raw and bitter. I had cared too much for this child. Now, all I felt was anger. He was reckless. Ungrateful. Disrespectful. I wanted to shove him off me, but my fury collapsed as the last fragments of memory clicked into place.

Chevonne.

I shoved Finlay aside and scanned the area. There was no sign of her.

I struggled to my feet but collapsed to my knees, trembling. The tears came before I could stop them. They were hot and stinging as they fell onto the damp sand.

I whispered desperate prayers. “Please, let her be safe. Let her be alive. If something terrible has happened, let it be me instead. Let my ability be useful just one more time, even if it’s the last.”

“Josh?”

Her voice pierced through the fog—so soft, so real, it made my heart lurch.

Chevonne stood there, pale and unsteady yet alive. She offered her hand, and I took it—gently, almost shyly. A wave of relief washed over me, but I couldn’t bring myself to meet her eyes. Instead, I stared at the sand, hoping the tightness in my chest would speak the words I couldn’t find.

“Why are you crying?” she asked.

It was the first time she’d spoken directly to me since starting at Arullina.

Crying? Me?

I touched my face, startled to find my cheeks damp. My skin felt cold under my fingertips.

Damn it. Why now?

I forced out a weak defense. “It’s the wind,” I muttered, the words fumbling from my lips. “The wind’s strong. Makes your eyes water. That’s not crying. Those are... different things.”

The explanation sounded pathetic even to me. I dropped my hands behind my back as if hiding them would erase the evidence.

“Is Finlay okay?”

“Oh—Finlay!” I turned back to the boy, grateful for the distraction, and nudged his shoulder to wake him. Anything to avoid Chevonne’s gaze.

Finlay remained unresponsive, and I must have been too rough because Chevonne gently intervened, brushing past me to kneel at his side. With quiet care, she cradled him, holding him as though he were her own child.

“Are you okay?” she whispered as Finlay stirred, his eyes fluttering open.

“Where are we?” he murmured, dazed.

I gritted my teeth, torn between concern and frustration.

There was a part of me—an ugly, bitter part—that wanted to shake him for being so oblivious. If not for him, we would still be safe on the barge. Why was he even with us? They said he needed a chance. To prove he could change. Change into what, exactly?

“I’m not sure,” Chevonne answered gently. “Try to sit up and clear your head. We’ll figure it out soon.”

Her calm reassurance struck something in me. I wanted to be spoken to like that and feel that kind of care. Maybe, just maybe, I’d pretend to be a little more helpless next time.

But Finlay wouldn’t stop. Again and again, he kept asking, “Where are we?” until I finally gave up trying to ignore him and took a long look around.

What a tiresome child.

We washed ashore on a white, horseshoe-shaped beach. The sand spread soft and fine beneath us. Gentle waves lapped the shoreline, coaxing us for a swim. Sunlight glinted on the water, sharp and clean like marble. The warmth touched my skin without burning it.

For a heartbeat, I imagined we were a family on vacation, carefree and whole. But reality lingered—soaked, ragged clothes clung to us, and bruises marred our skin. Still, the weather felt so perfect I could picture Chevonne and me sharing a quiet picnic, talking about everything and nothing under the sun.

“Haaay,” I sighed, shaking off the thought.

Behind us, strange trees crowded inland. Their trunks looked like coconut palms, but the leaves were covered in soft, hair-like needles. I approached one and brushed my fingers against a strand. To my disbelief, it felt as smooth as hair.

Beyond that, nothing on the shore stood out—except us. We were the odd ones here.

We were on an island. Maybe Bantayan. Or one of the neighboring islands.

Chevonne helped Finlay to his feet.

“I guess we’re in some sort of island,” she said, echoing my own thoughts.

“Yes. We’re on some sort of island,” I repeated and instantly regretted it. My words sounded stiff as if my tongue worked on its own.

“What about the others?” Finlay asked, his voice already stirring the heat of my earlier frustration.

“Maybe they washed ashore on the other side of the island,” Chevonne guessed, pulling out her phone. She pressed the screen several times before sighing. “No signal.”

“Same,” I muttered, holding up my own phone by the ring holder before tucking it back into my pocket. It was useless here.

“I guess we should start by asking the locals,” she suggested.

“You’re right. That makes the most sense.” I turned to Finlay. “Come here. I’ll carry you. You’re still limping.”

The offer surprised me. Maybe it was duty. Maybe I just wanted Chevonne to see I could be reliable.

“I’m alright, cher. I’m sorry for what I did—”

“Again,” I cut in, making sure he heard the correction.

“Ag’n,” he mumbled, his head lowered.

Chevonne gave him a patient smile. “It’s alright. We understand. Let bygones be bygones. But if I were you, I’d be more careful next time.”

Finlay’s face lit up, his energy returning as if all his mistakes vanished. He nodded, beaming, and skipped ahead toward the tree line, humming a strange tune I didn’t recognize.

I exchanged a glance with Chevonne, who looked just as puzzled.

The boy kept hopping forward as if nothing had happened.

“So, you’re that kind of teacher, huh?” I whispered, my voice uneven. My eyes refused to meet hers. My armpits prickled with sweat.

Chevonne smiled gently. “I majored in Science, but we still had professional education units on handling students, remember? Though, honestly, I think I got most of it from my parents.”

Her smile stunned me.

For a moment, everything felt safe.

I was safe. She was safe.

I opened my mouth to speak but only managed a weak, “Uh-huh.”

We followed Finlay’s tracks toward the trees, the island’s perfect beauty stirring something uneasy inside me. It felt too calm. Too peaceful.

And that gave me chills.

*****

I felt hungry. Thirsty, too.

We had been walking inland for what felt like an hour already. Strange trees and plants surrounded us. They were unfamiliar not only to me but to Chevonne as well.

As we wandered, she shared bits about herself. I learned she had been born into a wealthy family. Her parents were both botanists with various plant businesses, and she knew most of the plants native to Cebu. She described several species—many I didn’t recognize—but I kept listening. I couldn’t argue with her opinions about the island; I rarely had a chance to talk with her like this, so I let her speak freely and nodded along, offering small gestures of agreement.

She mentioned how she dreamed of keeping a garden in her room—roses, butterflies, the works. That detail stuck. She especially loved bonsai trees. I made a quiet promise: Once we got rescued, I’d give her one. Not just the plant but something with more meaning—a poem by Edith Tiempo.

The forest thickened as we searched for locals. Towering, ancient trees pressed in around us, their crowns tangled with bursts of sunlight that painted the dense shrubs below in flickering patterns. I checked my phone again; it was ten p.m. However, the sun still blazed high above, its heat pressing down on us. The time had to be wrong. Water damage, probably.

I shoved it back into my pocket.

We trudged through damp, knee-high lemon grass. It brushed against my ankles, leaving a warm, tingling sensation. Stout tree limbs with those strange, hair-like needles we’d seen near the shore dangled from a rocky cliff ahead. Clusters of vibrant, unfamiliar flowers added rare beauty to the damp soil.

The air smelled thick and sweet, like honey mixed with crushed green mangoes. The scent only reminded me how empty my stomach felt.

From somewhere deeper in the woods, a jumble of strange sounds echoed—low calls, rustling branches. Probably animals. A deeper roar rumbled through the trees, vibrating the air like a warning.

The tension gnawed at me.

I couldn’t keep track of time anymore, and our walk no longer felt pleasant. I knew Chevonne and Finlay were on edge, though they stayed quiet. I was the only man here. If something threatened us, I’d have to protect them, but the truth sank deeper with every step. I wasn’t ready for that.

We picked up the pace until we stumbled into a small meadow.

The sunlit grass felt warm under us as we collapsed, breathless. Silence stretched for a few precious seconds while we caught our breath.

This wasn’t the kind of trip I wanted.

Finlay suddenly stood. “I need to go for a while.”

Chevonne and I exchanged a knowing glance. No need to ask what he meant.

He disappeared through the shrubs, leaving the two of us alone.

It took me minutes—too many—to realize the chance I had. Alone. With her.

I forced myself to speak, gathering every bit of courage left in me.

This time, I wouldn’t mess up. I’d make sure to build the friendship we had always left untouched.

At first, the words felt stiff, but then the conversation softened. Our words flowed more easily, the forest blurring around us. I grew comfortable—but maybe too comfortable. I lowered my guard, letting something slip I never should have.

My secret.

Thick silence dropped between us.

I stared down at the grass, which suddenly looked dull and lifeless.

She didn’t laugh.

I braced for it, even expected it—that sharp burst of mockery. Maybe a teasing jab, or worse, the kind of laughter that said she didn’t believe a word I’d just confessed.

But she didn’t.

She just sat there, quiet. Her eyes stayed on me, calm and thoughtful.

Seconds crawled by. I didn’t dare move. I was frozen like I’d stepped on a landmine.

Finally, she broke the silence.

“Wow, that’s great.”

What?

I had so many questions racing through my mind, but first—she believed me?

Did Chevonne really just accept that I had the power to think my thoughts out?

I should have felt relieved, but after so long of no one ever believing me, her reaction left me flabbergasted.

I wanted to thank her, but the words clogged my throat. I discovered in that moment it was safer to stay quiet than risk stammering like a fool.

Thankfully, Finlay returned, sparing me further awkwardness.

We kept walking, about fifty meters by my rough guess, when we noticed a shift in the forest around us. The trees here grew thicker than those near the shore, their bark a muddy brown with leaves as wide as our faces. Insects buzzed over us, and it took us far too long to realize they weren’t just drifting leaves.

Finlay clapped his hands together, killing one with a casual smack, as if he’d done it a hundred times before.

We leaned in and examined the squashed bug.

It resembled a mosquito—but not quite. There were too many differences: fifteen eyes, an odd number of legs—six on the right, five on the left—and antennae twice the length of its body.

Worst of all, it was massive—easily the size of a butterfly.

I stared at Finlay, more surprised by his lack of fear than the bug itself.

Before we could catch more for comparison, an eerie screech echoed from deeper in the woods.

Was it even an animal?

“Wait. Chers, did you hear that?” Finlay whispered.

I heard it. So did Chevonne.

But I didn’t like this—acting scared over sounds we couldn’t see. It felt too much like giving in.

“Relax. Maybe it’s your stomach,” I snapped. “We’ll find fruit soon. I’m getting hungry, too.”

Finlay scowled. “No, cher! I heard a cry!”

“You sure? Teacher Josh didn’t hear a thing. Right, teacher Josh?” Chevonne added quickly, sensing my unease. Not real fear, of course. Just... a tiny bit of fear. Microscopic.

“Exactly,” I nodded. “Nothing. Not one bit.”

Finlay’s head whipped around. “Wait! There it is again! Heard that?!”

“Finlay, enough. If you keep this up, we’ll leave you behind,” I warned, my voice sharper than I intended.

“But cher! I really heard something!”

Chevonne hushed us both. “Let’s check that opening. Quietly.”

She pointed toward a narrow break in the foliage ahead. The shrubs were thick, but two people could squeeze through.

We crept forward, tiptoeing across damp grass littered with dry twigs. Towering coconut-like trees loomed closer now, their sharp shadows shifting. The insects buzzed louder, nearly masking the sound Finlay had described.

Chevonne led, brushing past thorny vines that scratched our skin but not enough to stop us. I hadn’t noticed Finlay falling behind until I felt his tug on my arm. Without thinking, I scooped him up and switched our places. He didn’t protest. Maybe he expected me to do it.

A sudden rustle in the canopy froze me.

I looked up. A dark shape plunged toward us—fast.

I lunged, shoving them both aside.

Something heavy slammed into the spot where Chevonne had just stood.

We stared, breathless, at the massive object lying between us.

A coconut. It was as tall as Finlay.

Cautiously, we reached out and ran our fingers over its prickly surface. Definitely a coconut. Real. But why so enormous? And why was it so... hairy?

I tilted my head back. More coconuts crowded the treetops above.

The wind shifted. Shadows flickered as the crowns swayed.

More rustling.

I didn’t wait.

“Move!” I shouted.

The coconuts dropped—one after another—pounding the ground with heavy, earth-shaking thuds. We scrambled, dodging the falling fruit while keeping our footing on the uneven terrain.

Finally, the last one crashed down with a final, ground-trembling impact.

We checked ourselves—scratched but safe.

Finlay caught his breath and stared wide-eyed at the coconuts scattered across the forest floor.

“Oh my god... Are those real coconuts? They’re huge!”

He looked around as if expecting the trees to answer.

“Yes, but they’re way too huge. And too hairy,” Chevonne confirmed, eyeing the oversized coconuts with a frown.

“So, should we—” Finlay turned to her, waving his arms in exaggerated motions. When that failed, he approached me and repeated the same bizarre gestures.

I squinted. “No, we can’t. The shells are too hard, and I don’t have anything to crack them open. Besides, I have no clue what you’re trying to mime. It’s not like we’re playing charades here, Finlay.”

He stifled a laugh. “Why not? We won’t know how hard it is until we actually try, right? Come on, cher. We’re starving! And it’s perfect—we could eat the meat and drink the juice. Two birds, one stone!” He licked his lips and rubbed his stomach for emphasis.

“If they weren’t that hard, they’d have cracked open the moment they hit the ground. Look up there.” I cupped his chin, gently but firmly, and tilted his head toward the towering treetops. “Imagine falling from that height. What do you think would happen to your skull when you hit the ground?”

“Josh!” Chevonne scolded. “Don’t talk to him like that. He’s still a child.”

“I’m not a child, cher. I’m big enough for this,” Finlay shot back, puffing his chest. “And, yeah, it’d crack my head open.”

Wow. Did he just admit that?

And—great—I made her mad.

“Wait, cher! There it is again!” Finlay suddenly jumped, pointing toward the break in the foliage where the strange noise echoed louder.

I sighed, finally giving in. “Yeah... I hear it, too.”

It wasn’t an animal. Not some strange predator either.

The sound felt out of place. Too familiar.

We’d have to investigate it first. The coconuts could wait, especially since cracking one open barehanded seemed impossible. But before moving on, I asked if they could hold their hunger a little longer. Of course, they both lied and said they could.

As much as I wanted to try breaking open the fruit, pushing forward seemed smarter.

This whole situation was starting to wear on me. Overthinking like this drained my energy. Normally, I’d brush it off, but with Chevonne here, I couldn’t let myself look weak. Not now.

When we turned to continue, Chevonne suddenly sprinted ahead toward the opening.

“Hey! Wait—”

Finlay and I rushed after her.

She stopped dead.

Her face—tight with worry—made my chest tighten, too. I wanted to help. But help with what?

Finlay and I caught up, pushing past the last few branches blocking our view.

Then, we saw it.

My jaw dropped.

Finlay froze, blinking as if trying to process the sight.

“Chers... Is this for real?” he whispered, dumbfounded.