Rosalind
"Three days," I say, crawling out of our makeshift shelter. "Three days of nonstop rain. I'll never be dry again. I think I've got mold growing in all my creases and crevices. I might have mushrooms growing on my ass."
"I have mangoes growing out of my pores," Orlando complains. "I've eaten fruit for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for three straight days. Vegans suck donkey d***s, Wilson. Fruit is a dessert. Maybe a snack. Man cannot live on fruit alone. I'm going to eat all the fish in the lagoon. C'mon, Wilson. Let's see the sun again. Maybe the storm brought in a ship, and we're saved."
My heart leaps at the thought. Rescued. Dry clothes. A toilet. Heaven.
The walk to the beach takes longer than usual because we need to climb over downed trees and foliage. Birds seem to cover
