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BEFORE WE LEFT, I WENT into the hut to tell Cutter that Tank and I were going for help. But there was no response. He was shivering, unconscious, and struggling to breathe. He no longer was taking in fluids. His fever was perhaps the highest it had ever been. And in my heart, I knew that when I returned, he very well might be gone. And so I kissed him on the forehead, and told him to wait for me and that he was loved by me, by Alex, by his friends, and also by his family.
“Believe in me,” I said. “If you can hear me, I need you to do that, Cutter. We’re so close to ending this, I can’t tell you. This will end today, so please, hold on. You’re a strong man. Don’t let this beat you. Fight for yourself, and fight for the rest of us. We can’t lose you now.”
With tears in my eyes, I gave him a hug and held his body close to mine, but I refused to say goodbye to him. Instead, I said that I’d see him soon. And then I left the hut in a haze of frustration, despair, and a crushing sadness that would have overwhelmed me if I hadn’t locked eyes with Catherine, who was eager to leave. In haste, I hugged Blackwell, Lisa, Alexa, and Daniella. And then, Catherine and the others led Tank and me over the beach and into the jungle.
* * *
WHEN WE ARRIVED AT the compound, I couldn’t believe the size of it, though I could see how it could have gone unnoticed all these years. Just as Tank and Alex had said earlier, it was built within the jungle, with a canopy of palm trees hovering over all of it, thus concealing it from sight if, say, a plane should fly over it. Still, it was difficult for me to believe that nobody knew that these people lived here. Perhaps it was just tolerated.
And perhaps I shouldn’t give a damn and should instead focus on just getting off this island.
As we moved through the compound, I was aware of hundreds of eyes upon me, and the tension I felt was so great, it unnerved me. Men, women, and children either stopped what they were doing as we walked past them, or they came out of their huts to join the others. Many of the men carried guns, though none of the weapons were trained on us. Instead, we were allowed to move through the space in an uneasy silence.
Until one man spoke.
“I might be in the minority, Catherine,” he called out. “But I won’t remain silent. You’re about to destroy everything we’ve built here. Not all of us are unhappy. Some of us are the happiest we’ve ever been. I know nothing else but this island. And because you dare to betray your husband and sons when they are gone, I consider you a coward. You’re about to steal away everything from us—and you can go to hell for it.”
At that, Catherine stopped and turned to her accuser, who was a young man in his late twenties.
“You think my husband is king?” she asked him. “Then what do you make of my face? Would a proper leader do this to his wife? Would you do this to your own wife? And what about what he’s done to me before—time and again? You’ve all seen it. These bruises on my face are nothing new to any of you. Nor is it new to many of those who support me now. Too many people have felt my husband’s wrath. My sons have betrayed plenty of you. I believe my husband also has beaten your wife. So, let me ask you this in front of everyone who stands in judgment of us now. How can you stand by my husband knowing what he did to your wife, to me, and to others? What kind of a man are you? What kind of husband? What kind of friend? My husband put his fists on your wife. All of us know that. He’s gone mad. He’s not the man I married. For me and for those who join me, I’m ending this cycle of abuse now. If you want to remain here, good luck to you. But most of us are leaving here. That’s something you’re just going to have to accept.”
“You’re a coward!” I heard one woman shout.
“A coward is a person who doesn’t stand up for themselves, as many of us are doing now—with this opportunity. So, here’s my advice,” she said. “Rescue planes and helicopters will be arriving here shortly. What you need to decide in the meantime is either simple or complicated, depending on where you stand. If you stand by my husband, then expect him to repress you even more—if the authorities even allow him or you to stay here. Otherwise, talk to your families and friends, and decide whether this current situation is right for you. If you want to go back to the States with us, you are welcome to join us.”
“And what will be there for us?” the woman asked.
“Freedom,” Catherine said. “The end of my husband and sons’ oppression of us. There will be a chance for a new life. So, consider it. Many of us have chosen this opportunity to leave this hellhole. We’re getting off this island, and we have the support of many. Just so we’re clear, those people are armed. So if you try to stop us, be forewarned—we outnumber you. If you try anything, we will protect ourselves. Consider that before—or if—you decide to act.”
With that said, Catherine turned to us. “Enough of this bullshit. We’re losing time. The boat is just over there, through those trees.”
When we arrived at the boat, I noticed that it wasn’t as old as I was expecting. Instead, it was sleek and relatively new, which confirmed our thoughts that somebody on this island had money.
“At this point, they have a good fifteen minutes on you,” Catherine said as one of the men started the boat’s engine. She was standing on the dock, surrounded by dozens of men, women, and children, who had followed us from the compound. “But this boat is equally as fast, if not faster, so those fifteen minutes should be all the time that separates you.”
“How many here are expected to leave with you?”
“At least two hundred. And after that exchange, possibly more.”
“Then I’ll prepare the authorities for that. What language do they speak on that island?”
“Both Marshallese and English. You’ll be fine.”
“Good. Now, please go back to my friends,” I said. “They need you. Cutter is dying. I need you to use all of the knowledge you’ve learned since you’ve been on this island to help keep him alive. All we need is a few more hours, but I’m not sure he has even that left in him without absolute support, which he needs to feel. And to hear. He’s unconscious now, but I believe that he’s still able to hear you when you speak to him. He needs to hear from everyone. Not just his friends, but from you as well. Will you do that for us?”
“We’ll do it for you. And for him. Now go.”
And with that, I turned to Tank, who took my hand and helped me down onto the boat. Then, with a fierce jolt that came the moment the throttle was pressed forward, we roared across the ocean—and into an adventure that might save our lives.
Or end them.
