Page 45 of Storm over the Caribbean
Mr Ambrose sent me a look. One ofthoselooks. “I said,” he said in a tone of voice that made clear how very much he detested repeating himself, “without supplies we will not last long. If we want to survive, we will have to get to work immediately.” Flexing his fingers, he took a step forward. “Or ratherIwill.”
“What are you planning?” I asked with trepidation.
“What will be necessary if we want to have any chance of survival on this island: getting water.”
With that, he strode off towards the forest.
“Err…the ocean is that way.” I pointed in the opposite direction.
He didn’t stop.
“And you intend to drink salt water, Mrs Ambrose?”
“No, of course not! I thought maybe we could…”
My voice trailed off. Truth be told, I hadn’t thought that much about it. But hell would freeze over before I ever admitted such a thing!
Quietly, I had to concede he was right, though. Drinking water from the ocean would only make us die faster. Still…where else were we going to get water? It wasn’t as if we were stranded right next to the River Thames!
“I…” I hesitated. “I thought maybe we could gather some, make it evaporate somehow, and catch the condensation.”
He shook his head without turning around. “Too little, too late. By the time we manage to gather enough to drink, we’ll have long died of thirst.”
“Then what are we going to do?” I asked, looking around. I prided myself on being an independent and resourceful woman. But more importantly, I prided myself on being an independent and resourcefulcitywoman, with running water in the houseand a grocery store in walking distance. Survival training for a deserted island hadnotbeen in my plans! And it was clearly audible on my wavering voice. “What are we going to do?”
“This.” And he started to run. “Stay back.”
“What the…!”
Then he jumped! With a thud, he hit the palm in front of him…clung onto it with both arms and legs? A moment later, he started climbing, and climbing fast. I blinked. I had seen many strange and startling things in my life, and had expected to see many more. But watching Mr Rikkard Ambrose in his mint-condition tailcoat climb a tree like a monkey wasnotone of them.
“Err…what are you doing?” I enquired—then one corner of my lips twitched. “Water doesn’t grow on trees, you know.”
“Wrong,” Mr Ambrose announced from atop the tree. “Catch.”
Instinctively, I reached out—but the object landed more than a dozen feet in front of me. Good thing, too, I realized once I got a good look at it.
“Oy! What…” I stared at the thing, confused. Big, brown, oval…? “What is that?”
“Coconut,” was Mr Ambrose’s curt reply. “It should contain a sufficient amount of water for us to survive for the time being, if we act quickly.”6
“We?” I perked up, not missing his use of the pronoun. “You’re actually allowing me to help, Mr Fearless Hunter-Gatherer? And here I thought you were going to tell me to sit tight like a good little wife.”
“Oh, of course not,” came his answer from up the tree. “I value your help, and we need to work together to survive.”
I beamed. Seems like, in this desperate situation, he had finally put aside his chauvinist ways.
“I’ll continue gathering coconuts,” Mr Ambrose told me. “Meanwhile, can you open the coconuts and gather the water?”
“Sure!” Eyes sparkling, I tightened my grip on the coconut. “Leave it to me!”
***
Roughly ten minutes later…
Bam!
“Bloody!”
