Page 91 of Shipwrecked

“Knife,” I say. “Cillian’s.”

Mathieu braces my hip when he bends and retrieves it, sliding the blade back into the sheath. “There we go.”

He wraps his arm around my waist and guides my right hand to his shoulder. My left arm hangs uselessly. I lean on Mathieu as we limp down the path. Thick, black smoke follows us.

“What are you doing here?”

“You told me to get everyone upwind.”

It takes me a long time to understand what he means. When I do, I let out a weak laugh that hurts my chest. “You just saved my life.”

“I had taken one step up the hill path when you came tumbling right off the edge of the cliff. Like a falling angel. Though in this instance, not a particularly graceful one.”

I laugh again and groan. “Please, I can’t. Don’t be funny.”

“I’ll do my best.”

The jungle path gradually lightens. We pause for breath. Through the branches above, the sky is glowing orange. “It’s spreading fast,” I say.

“That’s what you want, isn’t it? Are you able to walk faster? It’s getting hazy in here.”

I tore through the path on the way in, but I can barely amble now. When we reach the halfway point, there’s smoke all around us. Mathieu stops.

“Find some energy for me, just for a second, okay?” Mathieu asks. He turns his back on me and crouches. “Climb on.”

I clumsily do as asked. Mathieu fastens his hands beneath my thighs and stands up, keeping his torso forward so I can lie against him rather than needing to hold on.

“There we go.” Mathieu starts forward, going far faster than I was managing. By the time we break through, we’re both coughing through the smoke. I can barely see because my eyes are burning so badly.

“Upwind is this way,” Mathieu coughs out. He guides us in the direction of our hut, leading us past everyone’s abandoned camps. Everything is illuminated in the orange glow of the fire.

Mathieu’s breathing heavily, his arms shaking, when I spot everyone. They’re pacing on the edge of the surf, heads on swivels. There are two people on the ground. Cillian is lying out on the mattress, and Mary is sitting next to him.

I can still smell smoke, but the air isn’t hazy here. The breeze is blowing the right way to push it to the other side of the island.

Seán rushes to us. “Over there. Mary, can you move? Mathieu, lay him down in her spot. Don’t touch that arm.”

Mathieu guides me down, Charles and Yasop helping, and I don’t know if I follow orders or collapse. Either way, I end up on the edge of Cillian’s bedding. From this angle, I can see the island. The fire is blazing so large that it’s probably visible from space. Someone will see it. Someone has to see it.

Mathieu sits next to me and rests his hand in my hair. He tells me it’ll be over quick when Seán does something that makes my knees feel like they’re on fire, and I feel Mathieu’s tears wet my forehead when I cry about my arm.

“Don’t touch it, don’t touch it.”

Mathieu stoops, pressing a sorry kiss to my forehead. “Your fingers are swelling up. We have to get the necklace off so it doesn’t cut off circulation.”

“Don’t throw it away,” I say blearily. “That’s mine.”

“I won’t,” Mathieu promises. “See? It’s going around my neck right now. I’ll keep it safe.”

“I see lights—there’s a boat!” Mary cries out.

There’s a ruckus as everyone flies to their feet. Mathieu stays with me. Punctuating cries of jubilation is Cillian’s ragged breathing. My pained groans.

Don’t be too late. Please.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Cillian