Survival plan

Nathaniel's POV 

I sat on the sand for several minutes, my lungs burning as I forced air into my body. The adrenaline was finally fading, replaced by a heavy, bone-deep ache that made every joint protest. I wiped the wet grit from my face and looked at the island. It was a dark, jagged wall of green against the fading light of the sky. The rain was no longer a downpour, but the wind was picking up, turning the mist into cold needles against my skin.

I lifted my wrist and checked my watch. The crystal was scratched from the impact, but the dial glowed steadily. 7:12 PM. According to my schedule, I should have been finishing a dinner meeting in California right now, sipping an expensive vintage and discussing logistics. Instead, I was dripping wet on a beach that didn't appear on any map I recognized. My life was built on knowing exactly what came next, but as I stared at the dark jungle, I realized I had no script for this.

I turned my attention to the intern. She was still out cold, her body limp on the sand. I grabbed her by her clothes and dragged her further up the beach, beneath the sprawling canopy of a massive tree with thick, waxy leaves. I glanced down at her and wondered, in a moment of sheer exhaustion, why I didn’t just leave her sorry ass in the ocean. It would have been easier to swim alone. I could have lied to the rescuers and said the crash killed her instantly. Then I shook my head, clearing the morbid thoughts away. It is good to be a good person, I told myself. Good thoughts, Nathaniel.

I knelt beside her and pressed two fingers to her neck. Her pulse was thumping steady, but fast. Her skin was deathly pale, and her lips had a distinct blue tint. We were both on the verge of freezing. If I didn’t get us dry and warm, the night would finish what the crash started.

I needed to regain a semblance of control. I needed to know exactly what resources I had. I pulled the waterproof survival sack toward me and unzipped it. This was the "ditching kit" the pilots kept behind their seats, designed for the worst-case scenario I had always assumed was just a formality.

I began to lay the items out on a dry-ish patch of sand under the tree. There was a compact nylon tarp with several yards of paracord, four bottles of water, a vacuum-sealed pack of high-calorie protein bars, and a heavy-duty lighter. I also found a first-aid kit containing antibiotics, antiseptic wipes, and gauze. There were three signal flares, a multi-tool, a compass, and a silver, heat-retaining blanket.

I felt a spark of confidence. I could work with this. I had seen enough survival shows and been on enough high-end camping trips in my youth to know the basics. I just never envisioned needing them in real life. Fuck my life, I muttered. I really needed to stop talking to myself, but the silence of the island was starting to feel like a physical weight.

As I stood up, a wave of dizziness hit me. I was seconds away from freezing. My wet suit was sucking the heat right out of my skin. I rummaged deeper into the bag and found another miracle: a vacuum-sealed pouch of emergency clothing. It was just two pairs of thick gray sweats and thermal shirts. It was practical, dry, and at that moment, more valuable than my entire stock portfolio.

I looked at the trees. I couldn't build a fire because everything was soaked and I didn't have the energy to hunt for dry wood in the dark, but I could build a shelter. I worked with a frantic energy. I found two sturdy trees spaced about six feet apart. Using the paracord from the kit, I tied a ridgeline between them. I draped the tarp over the cord, creating an A-frame tent. I used heavy stones from the tide line to pin the edges of the tarp into the sand, ensuring the wind wouldn't catch it.

I had always been neutral about the rain, but now I hated it with a passion. The only upside was that if this weather kept up, we wouldn't die of thirst. We’d always have fresh water to collect.

When I was done, I looked back at the girl. She was still knocked out, blissfully resting and oblivious to my struggles. She couldn't be older than twenty-four or twenty-five. To me, she looked like a little girl compared to my age. I wondered if she had family or friends who would be worried about her before I shook myself. Of course she did. Normal people have things like that, lives that aren't just built on contracts and board meetings.

I really looked at her face properly for the first time. She had a straight, delicate nose and long lashes that were clumped together with salt. She was actually quite pretty in a natural way that I hadn't noticed in the office. Not my type, I reminded myself. I usually went for women who were more polished, more "appropriate" for my station. This girl was snarky, sarcastic, and currently a major liability.

I decided we would have to do without a fire for tonight. Hopefully, the heat-retaining blanket would be enough. I transported all the gear into the shelter and took off my wet clothes, shivering as the air hit my skin, before pulling on the dry thermal ones. The shelter was high enough that we could sit up and even stand while bending completely at the waist. It was a bit spacious, and I felt a strange surge of pride in my handiwork.

I carried the intern into the tent and laid her in the corner so she wouldn't get the rest of the floor wet. I touched her forehead and wondered why she wasn't awake yet. Despite not knowing her, I found myself wishing she would wake up soon and keep me company. The thought of being on this island alone was a darkness I didn't want to face.

Now came the problem. I had to remove her clothes. She was wearing a blazer over a light shirt that was now glued to her like a second skin. It was soaked through and freezing. If I left her in them, she’d be dead by morning. As I began to unbutton her shirt, the wet fabric clung to the swells of her chest, making the situation feel lewd and intrusive. I averted my eyes, trying to remain clinical. This was about survival, not desire.

I had just popped the third button when her breathing changed. It hitched, becoming deeper and more conscious. Her eyes slowly opened, bloodshot and unfocused at first.

I froze. My hand was still hovering over her chest, halfway through undressing her. Her gaze cleared and landed directly on my face, then down to my hand on her shirt.

Just great. She chose to wake up while I was undressing her. I was about to have a very difficult time explaining myself.

"Mr. Coop?" she whispered, her voice a dry, confused rasp.

I didn't move. I didn't even breathe. I just looked at her, waiting for the inevitable scream that I knew was coming.