.7
It took a little over an hour for Harold to search the island from one end to the other.
He turned back to Jack who was were he left him, half buried in the sand to pack his broken bones.
One of the crates of cocaine was open.
"You're sampling the merchandise?" asked Harold angrily.
"It takes away the pain," said Jack. "How far away are we?"
"We didn't make it as far as the mainland," said Harold.
"I can't see the coastline at all. But that's not all. I haven't found anything edible anywhere. Just weeds and a few scraggly trees."
"And no other survivors?" asked Jack.
"No, it looks like we're the only ones. I guess, the nice way to look at it is that if we're rescued, we can divide the profits between two rather than between twelve."
"So we'll either be rich or dead," said Jack. "That's a comfort."
Jack was too battered to be of much help, but Harold was able to construct a crude shelter, weaving the sand weeds.
As night fell on the small island, the two men discussed the smuggling operation and what went wrong.
Their boat, laden with five crates of pure cocaine, was supposed to meet another, the Sanchariot, off the coast of Colombia.
Who could have predicted the storm? Who could have predicted that everyone would drown?
From the bold captain to the mysterious figure with ties to one of the royal Houses.
everyone except for Jack and Harold.
They decided that it was all the whim of Satan or one of the other Gods with cruel senses of humor.
Finding fresh water was their first goal, and it turned out to be a fruitless quest. Harold dug deeply, but there were no springs under the island, just sand and rock.
Jack felt panic seizing his soul, until he saw the small, quick, golden fish swimming at the edges of the island.
He had read somewhere that fish not only were food, but there was always a little fresh water within them. If he could catch one, the two men could be saved.
With his broken legs, he was a pathetic predator and he was soon reduced to hurling rocks at the alert and nimble little fish.
Harold watched Jack's futile endeavor for a little while before getting to work.
He used his small knife to whittle a point on a long, straight tree branch until he had fashioned a spear.
Again and again, he thrust the spear at the fish, but he had no more success than Jack and his stones.
"Have you never used a spear before?" asked Jack.
"It's not my weapon of choice," said Harold, quietly, watching his prey and missing another with a splash and a curse. "Nchow!"
Jack laughed, "Do you want a rock?"
Harold ignored Jack. murmuring, "The trick as I've heard it is to anticipate where your target's going to go and aim your spear there, not where they are now. I just have to observe them a little longer. Why can't the little fechers swim in straight lines?"
After an hour of flailing about, Harold, by luck, managed to spear a fish.
The men tore it apart and ate it raw.
As the days and weeks went by, Harold got better and better until he was able to strike quickly and with great accuracy.
He could hit a fish by throwing the spear or by plunging at one at his feet.
Jack made fire, but being lame, he had to rely on Harold for all the food.
It was nearly two months after washing ashore that the men saw a boat on the horizon.
They set a large fire, and the crew saw them.
As it approached, they saw that it was the Sanchariot, the very boat they were to have met on the night of the storm.
The smugglers aboard would pay them good money for the Cocaine. Luckily, Jack had used only a little bit of it, and they still had five nearly full crates.
They were not only going to be saved, they were going to be rich, just as Harold had said.
Harold excitedly started to help Jack to his feet, but the man rose on his own.
"You can walk!" he said, laughing. "It's a miracle!"
"I am not too steady, though," said Jack. "Would you gather up the crates?"
Harold, overjoyed at rescue at long last, began picking up the crates and stacking them.
"I wish you had told me that you could walk though, mate. I could have used your help spearing dinner all these months."
"Jack watches though," said Jack, speaking of himself in third person.
"You'd be surprised how much you can learn just by watching. Don't forget the fifth crate over by the tree."
Jack shuffled over to the shore and saw that the boat was only a few minutes from landing.
"And Jack listens. When you said that a fortune divided by two was more profitable than a fortune divided by twelve, Jack listened to that too." Jack shuffled back to the crate by the tree.
"And it occurred to me that a fortune divided by one was even better." Jack pulled the spear out of Harold's skull.
The trajectory had been perfect: it had fallen down from the branches as soon as the crate was removed, just as he had planned.
"Like you said, the trick is to anticipate where your target's going to go and aim your spear there."
Jack pushed the crate to the shore and waved the boat in.
