After ten, they would fry. Where they were going, shade didn’t exist.
“Mr. Bellows,” I said, “while you’re gone, can me and Casey swim out to the island?”
Mr. Bellows thought as he boiled catchment water for his canteen over the small propane stove. “I’d really rather you waited until we get back.”
I glanced out toward the island, called Keaoi, which was little more than a mound of rocks rising out of the sea. An easy swim, about fifty yards.
“We’ll be careful, Dad,” Casey said.
Mr. Bellows turned off the propane and looked up. “All right, fine…but listen, you can only do it if Mike and Louie go with you. In fact…” He looked back over his shoulder. “Mike, Louie, come here a minute.”
“Sir?” Mike said.
“Dylan and Casey want to swim out to the island today. I said they could, but only if you and Louie went with them. That okay with you?”
“No problem, Mr. Bellows.”
“Good. Since you four will be here alone while we’re gone, I’d like you to stick together. That’d make me feel better.”
“Sure, we can do that.”
There goes the day, I thought. But I really wanted to swim to the island, even if Louie had to be there.
Mr. Bellows poured boiled water into his canteen, then into Reverend Paia’s. The younger Scouts were doing the same at their own fire. I still had a little fresh water left, and was drinking it as slowly as possible. Not a great idea, considering how badly you needed to stay hydrated down here. But just the smell of catchment water made me gag.
Mr. Bellows stuck his canteen into his small day pack, then slapped on his Dodgers cap. “You remember the heat equation, Casey?”
“High temperature plus high humidity plus physical work equals heat illness or death.”
“Exactly. Remember that, and stay hydrated.”
“Can we use the propane to boil catchment water?”
“Sure, just be sure you turn it off afterwards.”
I looked up, feeling someone’s eyes on me. Louie smiled. Did he know I was trying to make my fresh water last? I frowned and looked away.
Louie smirked.
By seven-thirty the younger guys were ready for their hike. I wondered, if Louie was going to be a Scout, why wasn’t Mr. Bellows taking him, too? Mr. Bellows hadn’t let the rest of us slide like that.
“Men,” Mr. Bellows said, giving us a snappy marine salute. Except for when we had a formal meeting, he preferred that salute to the three-fingered Scout one.
We gave him full-on
semper fidelis
salutes back. Except for Louie, who stood leaning against a coconut tree with his arms crossed.
They left, a slow line snaking out over the rocks.
“Time to swim!” I said.
Casey and I went back to the shelter.
I took another sip of fresh water. I could have guzzled two gallons. Already it was hot and my throat was dry. Was the heat equation starting to work on me? Maybe death was just around the corner. I drained my canteen. Now I
had
to drink catchment water. But not just yet.
We yanked on our swim shorts and ran down to the small beach. The ocean was calling me…. Dylan, come swim.
Louie and Mike were still at the main campsite. Mike was putting snacks the young guys had left out into plastic bags so the bugs wouldn’t get to them. Louie was throwing his knife into another tree. Mike got him to stop and the two of them picked trash up around the coconut grove, taking their time.
“Mike!” I shouted. “Let’s go!”
“Stop yelling,” Casey said. “It’ll only make them take longer.”
We sat looking at the sea glittering like a field of jewels in the sun. “So,” I said, glancing back at the grove. Mike and Louie weren’t in a hurry to go swimming. “You were telling me about how your dad found Louie in a warehouse.”
“I don’t know if I should be telling anybody about that.”
“Too late. You already did. Come on, Case, why did he run away from home?”
Casey grumbled, then said, “In a way, he didn’t.”
“What does that mean?”
“His
“Mr. Bellows,” I said, “while you’re gone, can me and Casey swim out to the island?”
Mr. Bellows thought as he boiled catchment water for his canteen over the small propane stove. “I’d really rather you waited until we get back.”
I glanced out toward the island, called Keaoi, which was little more than a mound of rocks rising out of the sea. An easy swim, about fifty yards.
“We’ll be careful, Dad,” Casey said.
Mr. Bellows turned off the propane and looked up. “All right, fine…but listen, you can only do it if Mike and Louie go with you. In fact…” He looked back over his shoulder. “Mike, Louie, come here a minute.”
“Sir?” Mike said.
“Dylan and Casey want to swim out to the island today. I said they could, but only if you and Louie went with them. That okay with you?”
“No problem, Mr. Bellows.”
“Good. Since you four will be here alone while we’re gone, I’d like you to stick together. That’d make me feel better.”
“Sure, we can do that.”
There goes the day, I thought. But I really wanted to swim to the island, even if Louie had to be there.
Mr. Bellows poured boiled water into his canteen, then into Reverend Paia’s. The younger Scouts were doing the same at their own fire. I still had a little fresh water left, and was drinking it as slowly as possible. Not a great idea, considering how badly you needed to stay hydrated down here. But just the smell of catchment water made me gag.
Mr. Bellows stuck his canteen into his small day pack, then slapped on his Dodgers cap. “You remember the heat equation, Casey?”
“High temperature plus high humidity plus physical work equals heat illness or death.”
“Exactly. Remember that, and stay hydrated.”
“Can we use the propane to boil catchment water?”
“Sure, just be sure you turn it off afterwards.”
I looked up, feeling someone’s eyes on me. Louie smiled. Did he know I was trying to make my fresh water last? I frowned and looked away.
Louie smirked.
By seven-thirty the younger guys were ready for their hike. I wondered, if Louie was going to be a Scout, why wasn’t Mr. Bellows taking him, too? Mr. Bellows hadn’t let the rest of us slide like that.
“Men,” Mr. Bellows said, giving us a snappy marine salute. Except for when we had a formal meeting, he preferred that salute to the three-fingered Scout one.
We gave him full-on
semper fidelis
salutes back. Except for Louie, who stood leaning against a coconut tree with his arms crossed.
They left, a slow line snaking out over the rocks.
“Time to swim!” I said.
Casey and I went back to the shelter.
I took another sip of fresh water. I could have guzzled two gallons. Already it was hot and my throat was dry. Was the heat equation starting to work on me? Maybe death was just around the corner. I drained my canteen. Now I
had
to drink catchment water. But not just yet.
We yanked on our swim shorts and ran down to the small beach. The ocean was calling me…. Dylan, come swim.
Louie and Mike were still at the main campsite. Mike was putting snacks the young guys had left out into plastic bags so the bugs wouldn’t get to them. Louie was throwing his knife into another tree. Mike got him to stop and the two of them picked trash up around the coconut grove, taking their time.
“Mike!” I shouted. “Let’s go!”
“Stop yelling,” Casey said. “It’ll only make them take longer.”
We sat looking at the sea glittering like a field of jewels in the sun. “So,” I said, glancing back at the grove. Mike and Louie weren’t in a hurry to go swimming. “You were telling me about how your dad found Louie in a warehouse.”
“I don’t know if I should be telling anybody about that.”
“Too late. You already did. Come on, Case, why did he run away from home?”
Casey grumbled, then said, “In a way, he didn’t.”
“What does that mean?”
“His
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