Once the bags were full, it took the two of us to move each one to the exit.
“Fuck me.”
By this point, the handful of adults had made their way over, trying to talk to Quinn. Of course, my homegirl stood her ground and was able to delay them from edging closer. Inès was surrounded by plane carry-ons, paper, and pencil in hand as Zahra sifted through the items. The others, blessedly cooperative for now, stood guard around the all over it in a circle.
“Show time.” Octavia was on one side, I was on the other, and we sandwiched the bags between us down the slide. The light burn from going down is ignorable as a mid-forty-year-old man barreled towards us.
“Micah, be a dear and help Octavia with these.” Micah, bless his long legs, was there in two seconds, lifting the heavy-ass duffle like it was nothing. Octavia began dragging the suitcase away when the man approached me.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Um, excuse me. Why are you in my personal space?”
“What the hell is wrong with you? Instead of helping people who were possibly alive get off that plane, you and that girl,” he said, pointing towards Octavia. “Ransacked that plane without a care. And now you’re hoarding the supplies!”
He said that last line loud enough for everyone on the island to hear, and I felt dozens of stares on my body.
Briefly, I did feel bad. Truly. Maybe there was someone who was still breathing in that plane, praying that someone was going to help them. Praying that someone remembered them. And perhaps I could’ve helped them, or at least taken a second to look at their faces...but I didn't. And neither did this man.
“First of all, back the fuck up. I don’t see you running at the chance to climb up that plane and search for survivors, so don't play that card with me. If they are survivors on the plane, chances are if they were so injured that they couldn't move or call for help, they weren't going to make it anyways."
As his mouth started to open, I put my hand up to stop him from interrupting me.
"Between shifting them, walking to the exit, sliding them down to the sand, and settling them somewhere, their wounds would be contaminated and or exposed to stuff we don't have the means to deal with. Not to forget we could've made any existing injuries worse." The more I talked, the more entered his space until he had to start walking backwards; cowing him. "There is a slim chance they would've made it until the end of the day. I don't know about you, but I don't think I can handle watching as they slowly die, unable to do anything. If you want to put yourself and them through that, be my guest, but we," I said, pointing to my friends. "Will not apologize for thinking about the ones who are clearly still here. As for ransacking, I don’t know if your head is so far up your ass that you can’t see we are possibly on an island that has never been touched by humans. It would explain why your breath smells as shitty as your personality.
“And for the record, sir, my friend and I were retrieving our belongings, and we thought better of getting as much off the plane before it couldn’t be entered anymore. While you were standing there like a bozo, me and Octavia were risking our lives to make sure we and our peers would be able to attempt to survive this horrible situation. This is our foreseeable future. We don’t know how long until they find us if they ever do. Respectfully, until you get it through your brain, you can fuck off. Now, we will give you cotton clothing for sifting, water, blankets, cups, snacks, and minimal first aid items, but after our needs are met. After we’ve picked through the luggage, you can have our leftovers and your side of the island and bitch and moan all you want.”
“Excuse me?”
“Yes, you are excused. Now leave before I don’t feel like giving you anything.”
His face turned red like a tomato, and I saw him shift his weight forward as if he wanted to do something.
“Try me. You may be a grown man, but I can and will gouge out your eyeballs in broad daylight. I will keep them in ziploc baggies. Then, I will spend my nights praying that some jungle pathogen jumps into your empty sockets and eats on your rotting flesh. Flesh, which I will gladly use as bait for animals. And I’ll have you know, my prayers are veryrarely unanswered.”
“You little bitch!” Some spittle from his outburst hit my jaw. I simply smiled and put on my waitressing voice.
“Leave. I will call you back when we are done.”
His eyes, I finally noticed, were blue, darkened with anger, if not hatred. I could release the sigh I'd been holding as he stomped away, waving and yelling his version of my words to the other grown folk. I already made an enemy the first day of us being stranded. Still, I wouldn't take it back because, eventually, it would have needed to be done. The other adults were going to call us selfish Gen Z’ers who had not one iota of respect or empathy, but I’m doing this because I care. Seriously.
Sure, I do not know about them or the whole group on a personal level, but as a human, I do care. It’s not like I wanted people to starve, be cold, or die, but I also refuse to let some hot-headed middle-aged man boss me around like God didn’t give me any good sense. For me and mine to have the best chance at survival, we need to break the numbers down and get ahead before the frenzy starts organically. Get ahead while everyone is flustered and discombobulated. This is our moment to manipulate the situation to our advantage.
I turned to see my friends looking at me, waiting for my next plan. Their eyes held a little of the shock we all are dealing with right now, but mainly their trust in me to come up with something, and I decided at that moment I’d do anything to get through this. I won’t think about the consequences as I do what I feel it takes to stay alive. I will stick to my principles, but-
Looking at my friends, who are basically my whole world now, I can’t lose them. I refuse to. So I have no choice but to see us through it no matter what it takes. Until I'm back home in my queen-size bed, I'm not above doing anything.
There's no one watching us after all.
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