Echoes of the Past

Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Cole's POV

The next few days were spent gathering materials and searching the island for anything that could help us construct the raft. It was grueling work, but we worked in silence, both of us focused on the task at hand. The raft slowly began to take shape, a small, rickety thing made of logs and branches lashed together with whatever we could find. It wasn't much, but it was our best shot.

When it was finally finished, we stood on the beach, staring at our creation. It was small, barely big enough for me, but it felt sturdy enough to hold up against the waves. I could feel Ava's apprehension matching my own, the weight of what we were about to do hanging heavy between us.

"I'll go at first light," I said, breaking the silence. "The water will be calmer then, and I'll have the whole day to fish."

She nodded, her eyes never leaving the raft. I could see the fear in her, the uncertainty, but I also saw the determination that had gotten us this far. She was scared—hell, I was scared too—but we didn't have the luxury of giving in to that fear. We had to keep going, no matter what.

That night, as we lay in bed, I felt Ava holding onto me a little tighter, the reality of what we were about to do settling in. I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close, and felt her relax slightly against me.

"Don't worry, everything will be fine," I whispered, hoping my voice was as steady as I wanted it to be. "We've made it this far, Ava. We'll keep going."

She didn't say anything, but I felt her nod against my chest.

As sleep finally claimed us, I held onto her, my mind racing with all the possibilities of what could happen tomorrow. But there was no point in dwelling on the unknown. We would face whatever came, just like we had faced everything else. Together.

At dawn, I woke up to the sound of waves gently lapping at the shore. Ava was already awake, sitting on the porch with a pensive look on her face. I didn't need to ask what she was thinking; I felt it too. But there was no room for second-guessing. We had a job to do.

After a quick breakfast, we pushed the raft into the water. It bobbed unsteadily for a moment, but then settled as I climbed on. Ava stood on the shore, her eyes never leaving me as I picked up the makeshift oar and started to paddle out. I could see the worry etched into her face, and I hated leaving her behind, even for a little while. But we both knew it had to be done.

The water was calm, the sun just beginning to rise over the horizon. As I paddled further from the shore, the island grew smaller behind me, a dot of green in an endless sea of blue. The raft creaked beneath me, but it held together, and I kept paddling, pushing myself further out into the unknown.

I don't know how long I paddled, but eventually, I found a spot that felt right. I dropped the makeshift anchor—just a heavy rock tied to a rope—and started to fish. The hours passed slowly, the sun climbing higher into the sky as I waited for a bite. It was quiet out there, the only sound was the gentle splash of water against the raft.

Finally, just when I was starting to lose hope, I felt a tug on the line. My heart leaped in my chest as I pulled it in, the fish thrashing as I reeled it closer. It wasn't much, but it was something—a small victory in the face of everything we'd been through. I caught a few more after that, enough to feed us for a couple of days, and then started the long paddle back to shore.

Ava was waiting for me when I returned, her face lighting up with relief when she saw the fish. We cooked them over the fire that evening, savoring the taste of fresh food for the first time in days. It wasn't a lot, but it was enough to give us hope—to remind us that we could survive this.