In places, the water was dear enough that I could see to the bottom. Mostly, though, it was still cloudy because of the explosion. I turned away pretty quick—afraid that I might spot some leftover Wesley.

On the other side of the point, there’s a lot more beach and jungle. No docks, no houses, no roads, no telephone poles, nothing to indicate the island has inhabitants.

I studied the sky and ocean. No aircraft, no boats.

After a check of our beach to make sure nobody was coming my way, I found myself a nice, sheltered nook in the rocks, sat down and started to write.

It’s been very nice. No one can see me here. An overhang keeps the sun off me, and mere’s a wonderful breeze. All I can see is a bit of ocean and the sky.

Now, I’m caught up to the present.

I feel like I’ve been at it for at least an hour, maybe a lot longer. I didn’t keep track of the time. My butt’s a little sore. I’m about ready to head back down and see what’s going on.

Maybe I should leave my journal up here. Hide it in the rocks.

No, I’d better take it with me. If I leave it here, might be tough to retrieve it in case we suddenly get rescued. Also, something could happen. Some sort of wildlife might attack it—I don’t want my precious pages getting munched by an iguana or ending up as insulation for a bird nest. I’ll keep it in my book bag, and take it with me everywhere so nobody will have a chance to lay eyes on what’s written in here.

That’s all for now.

The First Supper

I’m back.

It’s early evening, and we’re still here. Looks like we probably won’t be going anyplace tonight.

Andrew and Keith spent most of the afternoon making trips to the scene of the explosion to salvage things.