The Triangle by Jennifer Victores & Debbie Viguié

Author:Jennifer Victores & Debbie Viguié [Victores, Jennifer & Viguié, Debbie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: JIV Publishing
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

~

Mark ripped off the last cabinet door inside the boat. One by one, they had all been sacrificed to make fires. He had managed to catch some more fish earlier and he was going to cook them. His mouth was watering just thinking about it.

They had been stranded on the island for a week now and he’d had time to explore the whole thing. There was nothing in the way of wildlife or fruit, which left him having to fish for their lives.

All his life, he had only fished for sport and pleasure. The activity took on a whole new meaning and an entirely different feel when it was the only way they could keep from starving to death. Every fish that got away felt like one more nail in his coffin.

Survival had become a real, tangible thing, and he vowed if he made it through this, he would never again take anything in his life for granted. He threw the wooden door off the boat and then jumped down beside it. Then he picked it up and walked the short distance down the beach to where Dave was set up with the best view of the horizon.

The other man wasn’t looking well. His foot was healing, albeit slowly, but the wound in his shoulder was festering. Together, they’d removed the metal shard which had impaled him days earlier. Mark had tried to clean it as best he could and was faithfully applying antibiotic cream. It wasn’t enough, and they both knew it.

Mark tossed the door onto the fire, which began to hungrily lick at the edges of the wood. He pulled a small, folding Swiss Army knife from his pocket and a tiny, airplane-sized bottle of whiskey from his other pocket.

“How are you doing?” Mark asked, carefully eyeing his friend.

“Worse than I look,” Dave said, his voice shaking slightly.

“We can’t have that,” Mark said, trying to keep his tone light. The specter of losing Dave was hanging over his head. He knew that if they didn’t do something drastic soon, in another day or two, the priest would be dead.

He crouched down and carefully removed the bandages from Dave’s shoulder, scowling as he surveyed the white puss oozing from the wound.

He shook his head.

“You never can do anything the easy way, can you?” he asked. “Always got to make it difficult.”

Dave snorted. “Why would I want to make things easy on you?”

“I’m not going to lie to you. This is going to hurt. A lot.”

“I’m not going to lie to you. I’m going to be cursing at you. A lot.”

“As long as you bless me later, Father,” Mark said.

“Let’s get the cursing over so we can get to the blessing part, then, why don’t we?”

Mark poured a little of the whiskey into Dave’s wound. The priest screamed and Mark did his best to ignore the stream of words pouring out of him as he took the knife and thrust the tip into the fire, heating it up. Not only

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