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AS WE CONTINUED TO walk, we came upon the large dip in the sand where the plane had crashed. We moved through the water, which cooled our feet until we were back onto the flat area of the beach, where the sand was warmer.
“I keep thinking about Wenn,” Blackwell said. “And that sonofabitch, Stephen Rowe.”
“I can’t get him or the situation out of my head. What do you think has taken place?”
“At this point? Somebody is working as interim CEO. My guess? Rowe lobbied for that position and got it.”
“Even with my threat against him?”
“We’ve been missing for nine days now. He might think that we’re dead. The board might have come to the same conclusion.”
“If that man even dared to go for interim CEO, I will crush him when we return.”
“As I know you will.”
“I wonder where our stock is now...”
“Your guess is as good as mine. Without Alex there, it’s not unreasonable to think that it’s at its lowest point yet. We’ve officially gone missing. I’m sure Alex’s disappearance is daily newspaper fodder. Worse, I’m even more certain that the tabloids have pronounced all of us dead, which many people will believe. Investors were worried before we even got on that damned plane. But now? Now, they’re likely in a panic because Alex is not behind the ship. He’s the face and the voice of Wenn. Investors need to see him and hear from him, but right now he’s gone from their lives. And he has been for nine days. For investors, nine days might as well be a year, especially after the hit we took in creating the SlimPhone, which might not even be in production now because of the memory chips we need. You know I never pull punches with you. I think the outlook is bleak—at best.”
“Will we recover?”
“How about if we focus on getting off this island first? If we do, yes, Wenn will recover. Alex can fix this, even if it takes years to rebuild confidence in Wenn. But if no one comes for us, does it even matter? If they don’t, we’re stuck on this island until we die. And doomed to live out the rest of our lives here, however long that might take.”
“Well, that is bleak,” I said.
“I’m feeling bleak.”
I was about to respond to that when something stopped me dead in my tracks. I turned away from Blackwell, went silent—and just listened.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“Shh,” I said.
“Don’t shush me.”
“Do you hear that?”
“Do I hear what?”
“That noise. It’s faint, almost like a rumbling. Do you hear it?”
“All I can hear is the ocean, those damned squawking birds, and the wind in the trees.”
“It’s above the trees. To our left.”
“I don’t hear anything.”
“Well I do. And it sounds like a plane.”
That got Blackwell’s attention. With expectation on her face, we each faced west. Together, we stood still, our heads lifted toward the bright blue sky, my heart beating in my throat, hoping beyond hope that this would finally end our nightmare. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who heard the sound, because far down the beach, I saw Tank, Alex, and the others start to move out of the shade and onto the beach. Their heads also were raised to the west.
“It’s like thunder,” I said. “Only coming from a distance. Do you hear it?”
“I hear something now.”
“It’s a plane,” I said with excitement in my voice. “I know it is. It’s unmistakable. Come on. We need to get back to the others.”
“I don’t think it’s coming this way. It sounds so far off.”
“They could circle back. We need to get out in the open and stand next to Lisa’s SOS sign. Hurry.”
“We’ll walk,” she said sternly. “We will not hurry. The others already are at the sign. You need to slow down and think about your child.”
“Then we’ll walk quickly,” I said, taking her hand in mine. “So, come on—move it!”
* * *
BY THE TIME WE REACHED the rest of the group, you could feel the anticipation in the air. It was so electric that the idea of possibly being rescued settled deep into my bones and offered me a wealth of promise.
“It’s a plane,” Daniella said. “It’s got to be.”
“Tank?” I said. “Is it?”
“It sounds like one to me.”
“Oh my God.”
“It’s miles away from us, but it might come closer,” Lisa said. “Did Cutter get any flares off the plane?”
“He did,” I said. “There are three or four of them in one of the boxes.”
“Which one?” Tank asked.
“I’m not sure...”
“Everybody stay put. I’ll look. Stay out in the open so you can be seen. If a plane flies into sight, wave like hell at it. Do whatever you can to attract its attention.”
When Tank dashed away from us, I went over to Alex, grasped his hand, and said, “Tell me this is going to happen.”
“I hope it will. But the cockpit fell off in the direction where the sound is coming from now. There was a black box in the cockpit. They might have located a signal there, and now they are exploring that area.”
“But if that’s the case, they aren’t close to us at all. Tank said that we were going so fast that the cockpit could be fifty miles away from us.”
“He did.”
“They’ve got to come this way.”
When he turned to me, it was with concern in his eyes, and when he spoke, he did so only I could hear him. “If the box on what’s left of our plane did get destroyed, which is a possibility, then there’s only one signal being emitted, and that may lead them to conclude that the entire plane is in the ocean. That said, if for some reason the box at the rear of the plane has just sparked to life, then they might fly over us. But here’s the thing, Jennifer—the currents have moved the cockpit far away from its original resting ground. God knows where it is now. Is it closer to us? Farther away from us? None of us knows. But there’s no question that the cockpit has moved since we crashed. If luck is on our side, it has moved closer to us, which means that the plane is closer to us. If we’re even luckier, they’ve pinpointed two signals—the one from the cockpit and the one from the plane itself. But we won’t know anything until they come—if they come. I don’t want to get your hopes up. We need to pray, and also we need to wait and see.” He looked over my shoulder. “Tank found the flares—he’s coming with them now. Maybe that will attract their attention.”
“But it’s so bright out. Will they even see it in the sunlight?”
“If they’re close enough, they might. The flare isn’t just about the light it emits—it’s also about the ribbons of smoke it leaves in its wake. In this sun, that smoke would be very visible.”
Tank rushed past us, moved to the center of the beach, aimed the flare to the westward sky, and let it rip. The bright pink globe that soared into the air did indeed leave a trail of smoke as it arced high into the air. As I watched it, the light seemed to hang in the sky for several minutes before it landed somewhere in the jungle.
“Do you think anyone saw it?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Should we use another?”
“No,” Tank said. “We only have three left, and we need to choose when to use them wisely. If there’s a search party looking for us, which there might be, I want to save those flares so we’ll have them in case we hear another plane. But it will be different next time. If they don’t come for us now, I’m going to patrol the island tomorrow morning, and go west to see where the island meets the ocean. If the only signal being emitted is on the far side of the island and those planes return, I need to be ready with a flare to catch their attention.”
“Can I go with you?” Alexa asked.
“If you’d like,” Tank said. “You can watch my back—and I’ll watch yours. But you need to be ready for anything. You’ll need to be careful walking through the jungle because of what happened to you when you walked into that web. You already know there’s a tribe on this island. What we don’t know is what they will do to us should we venture too far into their territory.”
“I also want to come,” I said.
“Same goes for me,” Alex said.
“That’s fine,” Tank said. “The more eyes, the better. But I’ll need Lisa, Daniella, and Barbara to stay behind in case a plane does come this way.”
“What do we do if one does?” Lisa asked.
“If you hear one come very close, then you use one of the flares. But hear me on this—only use it if you’re certain that the plane is upon you. Otherwise, don’t waste it. Is that understood? You need to be absolutely certain that the moment is right before you fire it.”
“Done,” she said.
“The plane,” I said. “The sound of its engine is fading.”
“It could be circling,” Blackwell said.
Tank was about to respond when something behind me caught his eye. Although Tank rarely showed emotion, this time his jaw dropped, which caused all of us to turn around.
There, at the far end of the beach and limping toward us, was Cutter himself.
What stopped us all from running toward him was what we saw behind him—a group of four men of various ages, none of whom seemed particularly happy to see us. These men weren’t indigenous to this island. They were Caucasian. Some wore shorts and T-shirts. Others wore only shorts.
Worse, they were carrying guns. One was trained on Cutter, who looked haggard and weak as he struggled not to fall.
And the other three were pointed at us.
