Promise me, Liam, Nelly said. Promise you’ll be back.
Of course, love, Liam said. Always have, and always will.
Promise me, she repeated. Promise me.
Liam realized that he was alone in the plane, and Nelly was far away. The throttle screamed in his hands as the fuselage quaked. A trail of smoke spilled from one side where the flap had dislodged. Liam fought against the turbulence, but the wing’s rotary engine was coughing up sparks and wasn’t long for this world.
Promise me, Nelly repeated. Promise you’ll come back home.
I’m coming, Nelly! Liam screamed below his oxygen mask, but the plane’s radio antenna must’ve been nicked when the flap went, and she could not hear him. I’ll make it home. Just you wait!
He flipped the emergency brakes and retracted the other flap a beat. There was no way he’d have a clear landing, but if he could keep himself stable long enough, he could at least limp his way south to Hawaii.
Promise me. Don’t leave us.
Warning lights flashed across the cockpit and the fuselage moaned under the added strain, but Liam kept his arms locked and eyes on the horizon.
I won’t lose you! He roared.
But then Purgatory rose in front. Its twin hills stood above the beach like two dark eyes, pulling him in. Liam resisted as hard as any human could, but the throttle had a mind of its own, and the plane had found the one piece of solid land in sight.
Liam gasped. No, you bastard! Not here. It can’t be here!
Promise me, Liam. Promise you’ll be back home.
The sand rushed forth. It rolled to either side like arms, ready to embrace him. Faster and faster, longer and wider. The beach prostrated itself into a runway, even as the rest of the sea turned sharp and jagged.
Promise me, Liam. Promise me.
Oh, God, he cried. I’m sorry, Nelly. I’m so, so sorry.
He stopped struggling. The plane was going down. There was no choice. If he was to survive another day, it would have to be here.
The second engine finally gave, and the plane began to stall, but Purgatory stood as it always had. Ready to grab him. Ready to save him. Ready to imprison him.
* * *
Liam awoke with a groan. The world was grey and blurry, and his head was on fire. He started to stroke his scalp, but thought better of it halfway through. This pain was too much.
At least the air was cool. A powerful but steady breeze washed over him. Liam breathed deep, his thoughts coming back together. When was the last time he’d escaped from the oppressive heat of the sun? It was a godsend to feel such a strong, chill wind on his skin again…
Until he remembered the source.
Liam lurched straight up and took in his world once again. The clear, blue sky had been replaced by a pale, darkened roof. The roar of water against rock echoed from the shoreline, even this far away. And everywhere he looked, the trees were bent inland, struggling against the torrent that was only just beginning to press against them. How long had he been out!?
A crack eclipsed the sound of the wind, and Liam was powerless to watch as one of the palms tipped over. The stump dislodged itself from the top of the cliffside and tumbled through his cistern before crashing directly into the valley below. Planks and dust exploded out where it struck his campsite.
Most people weren’t well versed on the nuances of naturalist living. Their idea of it had been romanticized by popular culture. They’d think of a heavily muscled man, his shirt sweaty yet somehow never dirty, always sprinting through the trees, spear brandished as he stalked some new prey. One day, he’d be cave diving. The next, he’d be fighting sharks in a reef. The next, he’d be climbing a mountain for some essential purpose. Every day an adventure, every hour a battle of life or death. With all modern amenities gone, what else could life be but a savage war against a chaotic and unforgiving world?
But the truth was quite droll. Whether it was his time or his energy, Liam had to spend each efficiently, lest his circumstances turn bleak. Why run when he could walk? Why scale a cliff when he could go around? The destination was the same, but the path was less demanding. In the end, Liam spent most of his days simply walking from one place to another as he strategized what else was needed to stay alive.
That’s what it all came down to. Sustainability. Death stalked the unwary differently than people imagined. It wasn’t about getting mauled by a tiger or being buried in a landslide. Any seasoned survivalist had already developed countermeasures against those risks within the first few days of isolation. No, death was a slower burn. It’d come from that cough that wouldn’t quite go away, or that summer heat that was a bit too intense, or those weeks where game was a little too scarce, or perhaps, some combination of each.
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So to see a tree crash right in the middle of camp as a tsunami of bad weather closed in… It was hard to put into words just how completely fucked Liam was right about now.
He jumped to his feet and rushed through the camp, gathering what little he could salvage. Rain began to fall. At first a mere couple drops splashed against his face, but it wasn’t long before the typhoon struck in full force. His old pilot suit became drenched within moments.
This was bad. Very, very bad. He had lost too much time unconscious, and there was no way for this to end in any manner close to how he’d envisioned. Hell, even under the best of conditions, this plan of his was equal parts reckless and bold. The kind of plot that screamed against every fiber of his being.
But now that the weather had turned? It was damned near suicidal!
Liam gathered the last of his supplies, rushed back to the beach, and gazed upon his final hope. Two drums of bamboo shoots laid wrapped above a landing of smooth stone, angled into the sea. A double-layered slate of wood sat atop the main deck, breaking only for a wooden rudder that cut below, and a matching mast that towered above. Its sail was woven from a mix of scavenged nylon and cured pigskin, and would have more than enough strength to capture the wind once it was unfurled. Even the main deck had ample room for storage, shelter, and a firepit, all without compromising the greater design. The total construction must have weighed more than two tons, taken the better part of a year to rebuild after last year’s catastrophe, and had cost more calories and grit than he could count.
As escape rafts went, Liam had done quite well for himself.
He rubbed the water from his eyes and gave Thirsty a pat. “Come on, come on. Now or never, mate. We’ve got to get going if we’re to survive this.”
He paused in spite of himself. Survive. A word that had once meant so much to him. It was his livelihood. His identity. He’d gotten so many things accomplished utilizing its every nuance, ever since those first days of his youth where he’d look out the window of his family’s home in Bristol and stare into the trees.
And yet, now that very same word had become his prison, because if there was one thing that was anathema to survivalism above all else, it was risk, and there was no greater risk than swapping a tenuous but established struggle for one that was unknown entirely. To escape now would be to jeopardize not just everything he had done to survive on this island, but to hurl himself into exponentially worse odds and hope for the best. All for this naive dream of his.
It’s not just a dream, Liam reminded himself. It was Nelly. It was Lilith. His wife and his daughter. They were real. They were his. And he’d abandoned them.
But not anymore. Liam fought against the torrent as he loaded the last of his supplies. Sure, his mind rebelled against the stupidity of the act, but his heart fought twice as hard. He’d been sucking the narcotic of complacency for too long. It was time to fight.
The shore was steep, waves were smashing below, and the stone had been carved to match, but his raft was still anchored in place by a single set of logs, lodged at just the right angle and altitude to keep static friction from being overcome on its own. The second they were pulled however, gravity would take control, and there would be no going back.
Promise me, Nelly had said. Liam had been a young man when he’d left, only in his thirties, with still so much life in front of him. He threw Thirsty and his coconuts into the bin he’d fashioned to keep them from spilling. Promise me. He’d told her that he’d be back, and had meant it with every fiber of his being. What little food he’d scavenged came next, shoved inside the raft’s shelter to keep the wind from tearing them away. Promise me. Liam had never expected it to take this long, and truly believed that someone would have come for him. The linens were stored next, along with his tools. There was no telling how long he’d be stuck at sea. Promise me. So long as he was alive, there was still a chance to be saved, and to have sacrificed himself on some stupid escape plan would have guaranteed nothing more than an unfulfilled promise. Promise me. He thrust in his weapons last – a set of spears, a bow, and his last dozen arrows. If this was to be his end, then he would go down swinging. Promise me.
The typhoon exploded in front, but Liam was beaming back like a Viking rushing for Valhalla.
“Well, Thirsty,” he cheered. “Let’s get ourselves back home!”
He yanked the anchor free.
The raft screamed as it scraped against the stone and gained speed. It tumbled into the sea. Liam braced against the mast, his heart racing. As wood struck water, the entire raft quaked before rocketing through the reef.
Liam rushed for his oars. He wouldn’t have much time before the unstable tide forced him back into the rocks. Seawater rained from above, he gasped with each breath, and no matter how hard he pushed against the storm’s chaos, he seemed to gain little purchase. His face reddened, and his heart thumped against the wind. The raft moaned against the assault, from above as well as below.
This would not last. His raft was sound enough to survive against the initial assault, but it was already beginning to crack in some places, and if he did not clear shallow water soon, it would break apart altogether. It had not been built to handle the level of strain it would face as soon as it got trapped against the reef.
The reef! Liam remembered. He plunged his oar low and grinned when it struck something solid. The intensity of this storm could be worked to his advantage, as the depth of these exaggerated swells were lower than ever. Low enough to anchor his oar into the reef below for added strength.
Liam changed tactics, and timed his thrusts against the beat of the waves. Little by little, second by second, the battled turned in his favor. With each swell that struck supplemented by the advantage his oar gave him, the undercurrent bought him a few feet more. Soon his oar missed the reef altogether, but by then, Liam looked up and realized that Purgatory was farther away than he had ever seen it. Had he won?
There was no time to waste. With a final pull against the mast, the sail unfolded. The hand-made fabric hissed but once before catching the typhoon’s gusts. It quaked as Liam adjusted the angle, but it did not tear loose. The raft launched further into the sea where it would not break. There the tide took control again as he hit an offshore channel.
He laughed. It started as a giggle, but grew into a roar as the sheer stupidity of his fears became undone. He was Liam Fucking Fenix, and if there was one thing that he’d learned to do over the course of his interesting life, it was to stare the natural kingdom in the eyes and force it to submit to his will. Not even a storm of this magnitude could stop him!
As Purgatory’s shores disappeared into the haze of falling rain and the raft rocked against the waves, Liam had only one thought left.
Wherever you are… Whatever has happened to you… I’m coming for you, Nelly.
You and Lilith both.