Callum Drift's Arc

Chapter 2 of 6

Morning came gray and cold. Callum crouched by the fire and studied his friend. Rowan lay on a bed of dry grass, one leg swollen and dark at the knee. He had tried to stand at dawn and dropped with a cry. There was no way he could walk the island. And Callum could not carry him while searching for five lost crewmates. He needed Rowan safe here first. "Go find them," Rowan said. His voice was thin. "Don't sit here watching me." "I'm not leaving you in the open," Callum said. "One storm and you're gone." Rowan pushed up on his elbows, then winced back down. "Then build me a box and be done with it." Callum looked at the wreck line. Planks. Rope. The saved boards from the surf. He had the tool bag with its knife, and two hands. A box was exactly what he would build. He worked all day. He dragged planks up the sand and lashed them into a frame with the rope. He notched joints with the knife and drove the pieces tight. The walls went up crooked and rough, patched with torn canvas from the wreck. He roofed it with slats and weighed them down with stones. By dusk a small shelter stood above the tide line, ugly but solid. He shook the frame hard. It held. He carried Rowan inside and set him on the grass bed. Rowan looked up at the low ceiling and let out a slow breath. "It's hideous," he said. "I love it." Callum grinned, but the day was not done. Rowan needed food to last the days Callum would be gone. He picked up a straight sapling he had cut earlier and lashed the tool bag's knife to its tip. He wrapped the joint tight with cord and tested the point against his palm. A spear. He waded into the shallows and stood still. Fish flickered over the sand. He struck, missed, struck again. On the third throw the point drove through and pinned a fish to the bottom. He speared a second before his legs went numb from cold. Two fish, dripping, hung from his fist. He cleaned them by the fire and set them near Rowan, along with a share of water. "This holds you a few days," Callum said. "Ration it. I'll be back before it runs out." Rowan gripped his wrist. "Bring them home. All of them." Callum stepped out of the shelter and looked at the tree line rising past the beach. The others were somewhere in there, scattered and cold, waiting. He had a roof for Rowan, food in his hand, and a spear on his shoulder. For the first time he could leave without leaving Rowan to die. He shouldered the tool bag and walked into the trees.