INFINITE: Island of the Immortals

5. It Also Rains in Paradise

"I love rainy days." Michael tried to cheer Amanda up as she pushed her breakfast around the plate.

"At least the surf's up," was all she replied, staring blankly at the weather crowding the lagoon.

Waves broke in fierce white flares on the reef beyond the bungalows. Spills of foam rolled in under the boardwalk and high up the beach. Even the musician's tropical soundscapes were lost under the pounding waves and harsh static of rain on the roof.

"I don't know about anybody else but I feel better since I came to the island," chirped Jill, catching Uncle Michael's eye.

"It's wonderful what a bit of fresh air can do."

Jill nodded shyly at her plate.

"No I'm serious," said Uncle Michael. He put a casual hand on her arm and Jill froze. "On this island, we drink only pure rainwater. But in the city, it's all chlorinated to kill the germs."

Her eyes darted from his hand to his face.

"And you breathe the pollution of thousands of cars every day."

He removed his hand, giving her back control of her body. She absentmindedly popped a forkful into her mouth.

"Baa wha-does all that doo-too us?" Jill said through her mouthful.

"Sorry, waahh waass that?" Uncle Michael grinned cheekily. "Only joking. What's happening is the pollution starts filtering out of your system. You'll only feel better the longer you stay."

"I'm sure of it. You should put that in your ads."

Uncle Michael smiled at her until Wayne cleared his throat.

"So how about this weather?" he yawned, a knowing curl to his lip. "Coming down from a tropical low off Fiji."

"Are we safe here?" asked Jill.

"Yeah, unless it develops into a cyclone, which these things have a tendency to do. For safety's sake brother-dearest closes the island after New Year's Day for cyclone season."

Jill stopped worrying about the weather. "So we all have to go home?"

"We can cop the weather pretty bad out here."

"Guess we should all book our tickets?" Jill looked at Wayne and Nicole.

"We're gonna stick around, but everybody else will be leaving," said Wayne apologetically.

"Yeah, I don't care if my family all perish in a cyclone but I'd really feel bad if it happened to you guys. Sorry." Uncle Michael did seem genuinely sorry that Jill would have to leave.

Jill wasn't alone in her feelings. To hide his disappointment, Michael focused on the sea, where gusts of rain scoured the surface. But he didn't have long to be sad – Amanda was taking him out surfing.

The swell had picked up with the approaching storm, curling into little cylinders just off their rooms. Amanda produced a couple of longboards, threw them from the balcony and jumped in.

Frothing breakers slammed Michael back as he paddled the board out after Amanda. Finally he passed the violent, broken waves and sat up. He didn't like the idea of catching one in and having to battle the whitewater again. He was happy to float there, rising and falling as the swell rolled underneath, and watch the storm clouds gather themselves up off the horizon. Dark purple and putrid grey-turquoise bruises stained the sky and the water below. Wind sucked out to sea, down the storm's open throat – a long breath drawn by the beast that billowed in a great swelling chest of thunderheads leaning over the island.