Stranded With The Navy Seal. Susan Cliff
we...drink it?”
“Hell no.”
“Is it toxic?”
“Not as toxic as salt water, but it won’t help you rehydrate. It will just get your mouth wet and taste bad.”
“How do you know?”
“I’m a SEAL. I’ve had extensive survival training.”
She dug her fingernails into her palms. “What if it doesn’t rain again?”
He took his pants off his head, scowling.
“What if we don’t see a plane, or a ship?”
“You want to drink pee, is that it?”
“No, that’s not it,” she said, raising her voice. “I’m just scared. I don’t want to die, okay? Maybe you can take all of this in stride and go thirty days without water and fly around the world like a superhero, but I can’t.”
He draped his pants across his broad shoulders. “We’re not going to die today, Cadence. Is that clear?”
“It’s Cady.”
“What?”
“No one calls me Cadence except my grandfather. And he’s dead now.”
His expression softened. “Was he a military man?”
“Army. Drill sergeant.”
He nodded his approval. “The most important element of survival isn’t strength or intelligence. It’s tenacity.”
She didn’t argue, because that sounded legit.
“People with quick minds and vivid imaginations can struggle in situations like this. Sometimes creative thinkers are their own worst enemies, believe it or not. It’s healthy to be afraid, but you can’t let your fear take over. What you need to do is focus on simple tasks. Keep your thoughts occupied.”
“How?”
“For now, you can be my lookout. If you put that extra fabric over your eyes, it will reduce the glare. Then you can scan the horizon and the sky in sections.”
She did what he suggested, for as long as she could. Even with the tulle shade, it was hard on her eyes, and there was nothing to see. While she kept watch, he used his knife to remove the lining from his wallet. He made something similar to a Zorro mask, with narrow eye slits, and tied it to his face with a piece of fabric from his pants pocket. Then he fooled around with the engine again. Birds circled overhead, waiting to feed.
On them.
When he told her to take a break, she tucked her body into a tiny bit of shade along the side of the raft and pulled his shirt over her head. The task had worked to blank her mind, but it had also exhausted her. Without food and water, she had no energy.
It didn’t rain that afternoon.
She slept.
The next thing she knew, it was full dark, and the raft pitched beneath her. Waves sprayed over the side and threatened to dump them into the sea. She bolted upright, sensing a large presence.
There was an island! That was the good news. The bad news was that it didn’t look hospitable. It looked like a giant cliff in the middle of the ocean. Instead of washing up on a breezy, white-sand beach, they were about to get dashed against some jagged rocks—and there was no way to avoid the impact.
Logan shouted over the din of the crashing waves. “Hold on!”
She gripped the rope on her side of the raft just in time. The raft flipped over, rolling in the breakwater like a surfboard after a spectacular wipeout. She didn’t let go of the rope, and that probably saved her. The raft buoyed upward. She broke the surface with it and managed to take a quick gasp of breath before the next wave hit. Then she was caught inside again, tumbling around in the giant saltwater washing machine.
She endured several more cycles of this before the real danger presented itself. There was an underwater fortress of razor-sharp rocks. The raft got shredded against it. So did her skin. Her legs scraped over a surface that felt like a cheese grater. She cried out in pain, struggling to swim. The raft was snagged on something. She had to let go of the rope, but she didn’t know if she could make it to the shore.
Luckily, Logan was right there. He grabbed her from behind and shoved his forearm under her chin, urging her into a reclined position. She didn’t fight him. With swift, sure strokes, he towed her to safety.
Well, relative safety. There was no safe space here, no easy escape from the wicked rocks and relentless waves. He deposited her at a granite outcropping near the base of the cliffs. She clung there, breathing hard.
Then he left her.
“I have to get the raft,” he shouted. As if the raft was the more useful item, between the two of them.
She managed to keep her head above water while she waited. It took him several tries to unsnag the raft. She looked around for a way to get out of the water. In the dark, she saw only pounding waves and vertical cliffs. They might have to circumnavigate the island in hopes of finding an access point.
But—at least they had hope. Out adrift, there was nothing. So she held on tight to the volcanic rock, grateful for its presence. Grateful for its gritty, porous surface. She’d been terrified that she’d never see land again, let alone touch it. She thought she’d never see anything but endless ocean and the inside of a raft.
As the waves kept rolling in, she rested her cheek against the rock and wept. Because they were here, and they were alive.
Logan woke up on the beach at dawn.
He had sand all over his face. Lukewarm surf tickled his feet. His mouth was dry, his head pounding. With a low groan, he rolled onto his back and wiped his eyes. A tiny crab scuttled away from his ankle. He was lucky it hadn’t crawled up the leg of his pants.
Cady was lying next to him on top of the deflated raft. It was flat from the impact with the rocky shore. She had her hands tucked under her cheek. The extra material from her dress covered her head like a red wedding veil. Her skirt was twisted around her upper thighs. Her feet were bare and pretty, with unpainted toes.
The crab that had been investigating him touched the heel of her foot. She let out a startled shriek, kicking it away. Then she sat upright and pulled the veil off her face. She looked a little worse for the wear. Still beautiful, because her features were lovely. But dehydrated, with chapped lips and bloodshot eyes. Her hair was a natural style, not straightened. Now it was a wild tangle of curls.
They’d been forced to swim around the island last night after getting slammed into the rocks. She was a strong swimmer, thank God. He couldn’t have saved the raft and her. They’d slogged through at least a mile of rough water before this cove appeared. As soon as their feet had hit the sand, they’d dropped.
“Are you okay?” he asked. His voice sounded like crushed gravel.
“Thirsty,” she said.
“We have to find water.”
She glanced at the high cliffs behind them. “Up there?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t move.”
He knew she didn’t mean it. She didn’t want to move, but she could do it. She only needed a bit of encouragement. He spotted some coconut trees along the edge of the beach, and a couple of fresh green fruits sitting on the sand. A mature coconut rolled in the surf. He went to retrieve both kinds. The green ones had more juice, so he used his knife to chop off the end and bore a hole. Then he gave it to her. She took an experimental sip.
“Oh my God,” she said, gulping more.
“Good?”