Page 59 of Storm over the Caribbean
He nodded. “We must head inland to find a stream or pond. If we don’t, we won’t last longer than a few days.”
I glanced at the forest again where, just a moment ago, the yellow eyes had been. “But if we go, we won’t have access to food anymore. We might not even last that long.”
The icy look in Mr Ambrose’s eyes told me he had already realized that fact.
Or it just told me he was being his usual arctic self. But I was pretty sure it was the former.
“Quite correct, Mrs Ambrose.” He gave a curt nod. “The moment we step into that jungle, we risk our lives just by being there.”
“Also, if our escort ships come searching for us, and we aren’t at the beach anymore…”
“Yes. They will pass us by.”
“We have no idea what kinds of predators or poisonous animals are inside that jungle.”
“Indeed.”
There was a moment of silence. Those were pretty prevalent recently, weren’t they?
“So…” I cocked my head, one corner of my mouth quirking up. “When do we go?”
He met my eyes. There wasn’t a hint of surprise in his gaze. Instead, what I saw there was a mirror image of my own steely determination.
“An hour. I’ll gather all the food I can.”
“What about water?”
His face hardened. “We should take some with us, but…” He gestured to the remaining heap of coconuts.
I understood. We didn’t exactly come equipped with bags or knapsacks, so taking more than one or two each would be nearly impossible. But without water we wouldn’t even last two days! What could we—
Ah!
I snapped my fingers. “I think I’ve got an idea.”
“Mrs Ambrose?”
“I’ll have to thank Ella for this,” I muttered, striding towards the coconuts. “Never thought this would come in useful!”
“Pardon, Mrs Ambrose, but how does yourlittle sisterrelate to surviving on a deserted island?”
“Easter decorations, of course!”
“Easter decorations?”
“Yep!” Tearing a thin strip of cloth off my dress, I used my shell shard to punch through two of the eyes of a coconut, and nimbly threaded the cloth strip through the holes. Then I did it with a second coconut, and a third. “Never thought I’d do this with coconuts instead of painted eggs, though.”
Mr Ambrose stared for a moment—then cocked his head. “That was actually an…adequate idea.”
“Oh, I know,” I told him and, finished with my string of a dozen coconuts, hung it over his neck. He nearly buckled under the weight. I beamed at him. “I’m a genius, aren’t I?”
“You…!”
Sweetly, I batted my eyelashes up at him. “You wouldn’t ask your poor little pregnant wife to carry heavy weights, now, would you?”
A muscle in Mr Ambrose’s jaw twitched. “No. Certainly not.”
I hugged him tightly. “You’re such a gentleman!”
