Page 16 of Wild for You
I collapsefrom exhaustion underneath the shade of a palm tree near the beach. I’ve just spent the last twenty minutes chasing Gwen like an off-duty parole officer, which isn’t the best use of my time. Apparently, she needed to see for herself just how alone we actually are on this island rather than taking my word for it, but what I do know is that I’m the survival expert.
She eventually got tired and gave up on her one-woman hunt, and now we’re back to where we started, sitting with our backs propped against opposite sides of a palm tree because neither one of us can manage to look at the other right now.
I’ve got the contents of both of our bags splayed out in front of me as I try to catalog everything in my mind. Unlike Gwen, I’ve come to accept our situation, and instead of denying it’s happened, I’m trying to formulate the best plan to keep us safe until I can figure out a solution.
I close my eyes and try to focus on the task at hand. It’s so easy to get caught up in fear of the unknown, but smart survivalists know that the faster you adapt to your environment, the more likely you’ll have to survive.
I shake my head at the irony of the situation. Sure, I’ve intentionally set out to emulate similar situations for my viewers, surviving off the land and using only the things I’d normally keep in my backpack, but I’ve always known there would be an end. My life was never really in danger, not to mention I’ve always done those extreme-survival excursions alone.
Gwen’s hushed sniffling brings me back to the moment, and I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut with a wrecking ball. Not only do I need to keep myself alive long enough to be rescued, but now I’ve got another person to worry about. And it’s not as if she’s exactly easy to work with.
I grab a nearby twig and begin to draw a map in the sand of Florida, Costa Rica, and the nearby islands, adding every detail I can muster from memory. I mark an X and draw a large circle around it that takes up most of the ocean space on the map, indicating the approximate vicinity where I think we landed. The problem is, I don’t know when the compass was compromised, so it’s hard to predict just how off course we are.
I do the quick mental math, trying to predict the search radius as a wave of sinking dread sends another blow to my stomach. The odds aren’t looking good for us, but I cling to the hope that maybe we’ll get lucky. I need to start thinking of an escape plan.
One thing at a time, Jack.
I can’t focus on the probability of being rescued right now because the most important thing is surviving, so we actually have a chance. I shake the heavy intrusive thoughts away and try to spin my fear into a more productive emotion.
I can’t control the search radius or whether they’ll find us, but I can control my attitude and how comfortable we are until they do. I sit up in a rush with my newfound enthusiasm and grab my recording equipment, garnering Gwen’s attention.
“Jack? What’s that? What are you—”
I ignore her as I hit record.
“What’s up, Dubbies. Wombat Willy here coming at you from a real-life plane wreck. We’ve got a survival challenge as you’ve never seen before! Hell, I don’t even know if we’ll make it out of here alive for you to actually watch this, but hey, my fans are always the first to know about my quests.”
“Absolutely not!” Gwen whisper-hisses from the other side of the tree. “I do not consent to this. As your PR representative, I forbid this. Now turn off the camera right this second.”
I can’t help but chuckle at her use of the word forbid, and rather than ignoring her further, I pull her into the frame in a side hug. “This here’s Gazelle Gwen, and she’ll be tagging along for this adventure. Well, mostly because we’re stuck here together.” She tries to pry herself free, but I don’t budge, pinning her against my side as she struggles to push me away. “You’ll have to forgive Gwen here. She’s still getting used to the idea of roughing it out here all alone. She’s a bit of a city girl,” I whisper. “But don’t worry, by the end of this series, I’ll have her building fires, shelters, and living off the land like a pro.”
“Will you let me go!” she huffs, and I pull her face next to my own.
“Well, as you can see, I’ve got my work cut out for me, so I’ll check back in tonight. Adios!”
Her boney finger stabs me in the eye, and I release her, then click off the camera. “Ouch! What the—”
“I cannot believe you right now!” She pushes herself up to stand, placing her hands on her hips. “Is this some kind of joke to you, Jack? Do you really think making content is the best use of your time? Why am I the only person on this island—with a population of two—who’s freaking out right now?”
I purse my lips in a flat line and shrug. “I’m the survival expert, and I’ve just landed on a deserted island with all my recording equipment. I’m making lemonade.”
“Lemonade! You call this—” she gestures in a circle around us, “lemonade?”
“The way I see it is, we’re already out here stranded. That’s not going to change … so we may as well make the most of our time and create some epic content.” I shrug. “Then, when we’re rescued, we’ll at least have something to show for it. Just think of the content we can make. Who wouldn’t want to watch two people surviving off the land when the stakes are so high? I mean, that's literally what I’m doing in my videos, trying to mimic a real-life survival situation. This would be the behind-the-scenes, gritty details documenting it all. My viewers are going to eat this shit up like root beer flavored Kool-Aid.”
Gwen’s silent for a moment as she stares at me, blinking. “So, like actual root beer, then? How is root beer flavored Kool-Aid any different than real fucking root beer, Jack!”
“Obviously, Kool-Aid isn’t carbonated.”
“I can’t do this.” She scowls and tries to storm off, but I catch her hand and stop her.
“Think about it, Gwen. You’re here to fix my reputation, right? What better way to do that than give the people something so juicy they can’t turn away? There’s no way my sponsors will pull out when I’ve got this kind of content.”
She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Jack, it won’t fucking matter if you have the best content in the history of YouTube if we die here alone and no one finds us!”
“At least we’ll have documentation of our last moments alive. I don’t see the problem.”
“Ugh!” she screams, turning her head up to the sky.
