Something hot and fierce sprang between us.

Something so intimately sexual about feeding another.

Something so raw and primal.

My core melted at the thought of replacing the bottle with my lips and kiss kiss kissing him. Kiss him so hard. Kiss him so gratefully. Kiss him just for the sake of being alive and being able to kiss him.

His hand came up to curl over mine, steadily draining half the bottle before tugging and guiding the rim to my mouth. Completely bewitched by him, I opened and never looked away as he tipped my share down my throat.

I moaned.

How could I not?

The water was too warm, slightly plasticy, and held a faint taste of evergreen but it was the best, most delicious water I’d ever had. And the fact that the most courageous, mercurial, complex man had sourced and fed me every drop made my heart sing with possibility.

I didn’t know who ended the spell, but the bottle switched from full to empty and we were down to one.

I could’ve drunk ten more.

But for now, it would have to do. The throbbing headache from lack of hydration faded a little as my body greedily accepted its gift.

I licked my bottom lip, savouring the final taste. “Are we ready for dinner?”

The children fell dramatically in the sand, holding their grumbling stomachs. “Yes! Feed us.”

I laughed.

Galloway flinched as he inspected his hands.

I’ll take care of him after we’ve eaten.

Together, we headed back to the pot of cooked clams.

As the sun set on our third day, I vowed that tomorrow would be better because today was better than yesterday and this week was somehow better than the last—even though it was so incredibly different.

Our lives had changed so much, but we’d found we could survive it.

“You did a really good thing today,” I whispered as Galloway tore open the shell of a steaming clam and slipped it into his mouth.

The children devoured theirs. The food hit my stomach, spreading its happy welcome through tired, starving muscles, and little by little, smile by smile we left the shadow of death.

He looked at me but didn’t speak. But his gaze said a thousand things.

We did a really good thing.

We can do this.

Together.

Chapter Twenty-Four

...............................................

G A L L O W A Y

......

THE SMELL WAS what killed me.

The rotting, sickening stench.

My hands ached from using a rock to hammer the fuselage, the cuts on my fingers stung, and my ankle...crap, my ankle felt ten times worse.

All I wanted to do was sleep.

To rest.

To heal.

The clams had scratched the intolerable itch for food and the third shared water bottle had tempered my thirst for a time.

But I’d meant what I said about Estelle avoiding the dead. I didn’t want her or the children going anywhere near them. It was bad enough Conner and Pippa had seen their parents after the crash.

It would be million times worse if they saw them now.

I stood over Akin.

His neck had broken. The sudden arrival had sent him smashing through the cockpit windscreen. A spider crawled from his nose and his black hair was matted with dried blood.

Christ.

The moon barely made it through the canopy. There were no rainclouds, no hint of a storm. Fiji was supposed to be tropical, but for days, we’d had no rain.

Luckily, my imperfect eyesight wasn’t too much of a hindrance. All I needed to see was the silhouettes of trees and enough illumination to dig three graves before the sun came up.

I groaned under my breath.

How?

How exactly are you going to do that? You’re hurt beyond hell. You can’t bend. You can’t dig.

As a guy (the only guy older than thirteen), I had to man up and protect the others. But what was the use in wanting to do what was necessary when my body point blank said to get screwed?

I took a deep breath, trying to calm down. Standing with a dead body gave me the damn creeps.

Get it together. You need to work fast.

I didn’t know the time. Probably not too late as we’d fallen drowsy after our meal and retired. For the first time, we settled into our dug-out leaf-lined beds and were warm thanks to the fire.

Perhaps, I’ll have to wait until I’m healed.

I rolled my eyes. Eight weeks minimum before I had full use of my ankle and foot again and that was only if they healed correctly. I couldn’t wait eight weeks. The bodies would stink out the entire island by then.

We might be found before that happens.

We had a fire now. A way to signal. We had enough resources (hopefully) to keep us alive until that day.

But as much as I wanted to believe that in eight weeks I’d be somewhere where indoor plumbing and supermarkets reigned, I didn’t hold my breath.

I’d stopped believing in miracles unless I had the power to grant them. And I had no power to guarantee a rescue.

Not until I’m well enough to build a raft.

The only option I had was to suck it up and get it over with.

Pain or no pain.

Hobbling, I moved closer to Akin. His skin was purple-bloated with congealed discoloration. I gagged as I grabbed his wrist and hauled him from the helicopter windshield.

The squelch of his body sent repugnant disgust rippling down my spine.

I had to let go.

I had to clamp a hand over my mouth.

I had to stop this.

I can’t stop.

Gritting my teeth, I picked up the smaller piece of fuselage Estelle had salvaged and looked for a clearing to dig.