Page 77 of Obsession Under the Southern Stars

I take her face in my hands. “You saved yourself. You swam all that way, even though you’d nearly drowned the day before, and then managed to make it through the trees and up the hill. You’re amazing.”

Her eyes brim with tears. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Joel.”

“It was my fault we were in that predicament in the first place. I shouldn’t—”

“Joel!” She snaps loud enough to jerk me out of my wallowing. “It’s not your fault. We both knew bad weather was coming. We both fell asleep. It’s just one of those things. We adapted, and we made it through. We’re alive.”

“You’re right.”

“You need to get out of the habit of apportioning blame—it isn’t healthy or helpful. It’s not arrogant to admit you saved the day. It’s only boastful to talk about it non-stop and refuse to admit anyone else’s part in it. And it’s not being puffed up to accept a compliment. Humility is cool, but everything in moderation, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.” I brush my thumb across her lips. “Can I kiss you?”

Her lips curve up beneath my thumb. “Of course you can kiss me.”

I lower my head, close my eyes, and touch my lips to hers.

Outside, it feels almost as if thetaniwhahas crawled out of the ocean and made its way up to the hut. It rages around us, rattling the tin roof and hammering on the windows. It cracks and roars and claws at the door, its fury unmeasurable. But here, inside the cabin, it’s dry and warm, and we’re safe from its wrath.

Zoe leans on my chest, and I slide my hands into her wet hair, then wrap my arms around her as I deepen the kiss. I slide my tongue into her mouth, and she meets it with a thrust of her own. Although her murmur is lost in the rumble of thunder above us, I feel it reverberate through her.

When I eventually lift my head, her eyes are sleepy, and she gives a satisfied sigh.

“You look shattered,” I say, stroking her cheek with my thumb.

“We should get sorted,” she says. “Then maybe we can catch some sleep.”

“Yeah. Come on.”

“First of all we need to sort out your leg.”

She makes me sit in a chair, then finds the first aid kit. Kneeling in front of me, she washes the wound with an antiseptic wipe from the kit, places a gauze pad over what has turned out to be a deep scratch, and wraps a bandage around it, tying it securely. She does a good job, and the bandage looks as if it’s going to stay in place. She gives me two paracetamol, and I take them without arguing.

When she’s done, I check the fire is burning well and add another couple of logs. Zoe retrieves a pail of water from the tankoutside, and we pop a couple of the purification tablets in and leave them to work, as there isn’t much bottled water left. We get out the food and drink, draw the chairs up to the fire, and sit and eat a couple of pies while we warm ourselves.

“What’s our plan?” Zoe asks.

I pick up my phone. Amazingly, it’s still working, but of course there’s no reception. “Tomorrow, when the storm has cleared, we’ll head west and see if we can find the houses at the other end of the island.”

“How long is it, do you think?”

“I’m not sure. Three kilometers? Not huge.”

“That seems doable.”

“Yeah.”

“So we’ve just got to get through tonight.”

“Yeah.” I look at my phone. “It’s nearly seven p.m. It won’t be properly dark for another hour or two. But I guess we might as well try to get some rest.”

“I don’t know if I can sleep with all that noise.” But her eyelids are drooping, and she looks exhausted.

“We might as well try. Come on.”

We make sure the lids are on the containers, then investigate the bunks. The mattresses have plastic covers, and they look clean and relatively comfortable. We have one thermal blanket and two towels. Zoe stands there watching, shivering slightly, as I unpack the blanket and shake it out over the bottom bunk.

“You need to get out of those wet clothes,” I tell her.

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