Page 65 of Totally Wrecked
“So your theme tune is…” I start to sing the ad song. “No one wants a sting when they wipe their thing! So what’s the thing to bring? Tushy Tickles!”
“Noooo! Not the Tushy Tickle song here on an island paradise!” He throws a lychee at me. “I’m going fishing. Wanna come, Key?”
“Yay! Fish!”
As Leander and Key walk off, I hear her start to sing the Tushy Tickle song, and it makes me crack up. I care so deeply for those two. We have to survive this, we just have to.
Over my shoulder, the rain storm approaches steadily. Time to get busy. We’ll get soaked if I just sit here.
What should I do about shelter?
If Brooke were here, she would have already made a shelter, caught fish, and probably done a million other things to improve our situation. If I wanted to improve our situation, I’d need to be Brooke for a while instead of Daisy.
First—shelter.
There is a fallen tree not many yards away, some kind of pine. It’s huge. We’ve been hanging our clothes off it to dry. That would be the base of our shelter.
I need to work fast to beat the storm. First, I find as many broken branches as I can and lean them against the fallen trunk. The battered tarp goes on top, then I gather armfuls of palm leaves; the fronds are huge, and I just dump them on top of the lean-to branches. Finally, I step into the jungle and pull down lengths of the long vines that hang off the trees like ropes. I’ll use these to lash everything together.
The fire is easy, and I take the time to move all the flat stones we’d collected and lay them around the new pit closer to the fallen tree. Now the fire will be sheltered. Still, it could be better. Alotbetter. I move into the jungle and find some more branches. As I heave them out onto the beach, I feel my back twinge.
Yep, not used to this kind of physical activity. My work-outs usually revolved around stacking books on the go-back cart.
I’m puffing and panting when a hand reaches around me.
“Need some help?” Leander and Key have returned with several weird looking shells.
“What are those?”
“Giant clams,” Key tells me proudly. “There is a clam sanctuary on Samoa. My mami took me there, so I know what they look like. We can eat them, though I feel a bit sad. They’re protected back home.”
“There are loads over in the shallows, though,” Leander says, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “So we’re good to harvest them here.”
“I guess we could eat sea snails too?” As soon as I say that, Key vehemently shakes her head.
“No, Daisy. There is a snail called the cone snail. It’s so dangerous that it'll kill you just like that!” She snaps her fingers. “We get warnings about it at school—even touching the shell can really hurt you.”
“Whoa! No snails then! Looks like you are going to be our resident mollusc expert.”
That makes Key puff up her chest. “In October, we can eat the palolo worms. They can only be harvested one time a year.” As soon as she says that her face falls. “Do you think we’ll be here in October?”
“No, honey! Don’t even think it! You’ll be harvesting worms back on Samoa by then!” My stomach turns at the thought, but Keyara looks happier.
“Leander, can you take over here? I’ll cook the clams.” I turn to the little girl. “Keyara, can you collect more palm fronds and try and stuff them in between the branches?” She nods and immediately runs off.
“No luck with the fishing I take it?”
“Yeah, no. The fish aren’t buying the blue rope as a fishing line, unfortunately.”
It’s a shame; these clams don’t look very appetizing. I take Leander’s pocket tool and try to decide whether you cook clams in or out of the shell.
The rainstorm rolls in. Waves buffet the shore, and the wind blows rain and sand towards us, almost putting the fire out. I kneel in the wet sand, my body sheltering the flames, while I poke the clams (shell off). Leander has Keyara already in the shelter, while he is lashing down foliage for the roof. Leaves are flying everywhere—I can’t believe how quickly the temperature has changed. It’s not exactly cold, but I’m so wet and tired that I’m shivering.
“This is as good as I can get it!” Leander yells to me, “get in…”
I give the clams another couple of minutes, then crawl into the shelter. We huddle together picking under-cooked clams off a sticks. Surprisingly, the shelter is holding up reasonably well, but without my body as a shield, the fire quickly dies.
As night falls, and the rain continues, we wrap our arms around each other and try to sleep.
