But no.

I opened my eyes, and stared up at the shifting mist. The dark clouds moved violently through the sky.

I was not going to leave Jack and Travis. I would keep my eyes open. . . I would try to record in my memory the direction and distance the boat traveled, and the moment my body was able to move again, I would find my way back to them. I would stop at nothing to save Jack and Travis.

No one gets left behind. We are all in this together. . . I may be the only girl here, I may be sick, I may even be dying, and I may be the only one on this boat who wants to go back. But I am willing to sacrifice myself for my friends, especially Travis who was always helpful to me and always had the answers. And especially my love, Jack. . . my tortured writer boy. . . he made this world worth every second, filled it with meaning, filled it with purpose!

The rising piano keys played with the sudden trickling of rain on my face—the sky littered the surrounding sea with waterdrops that played melodious ripples across the ocean--

The muscular, submissive Brett wouldn't stop me from getting to Jack.

The selfish, molesting George wouldn't stop me from returning to Jack.

And Craig, with whatever hate, whatever vengeance he may have for Jack, for the way it might have seemed, when Jack and the other boys had sent Craig across the bridge to the burning building to fetch food and a boat after Craig had cuckolded Jack, would never win over Jack's memory.

I would return to Jack.

I could already feel my body lifting out of the weight of sleep's paralysis. . . And I planned to hide my waking conscious long enough for the venom to completely wear off. . . and for the chance—maybe we would find a place to rest if we came to a standing land mass or unbroken building--

Then, oh, then—I would desert these three deserters—and return to the boy who loved me.

The piano keys of the ocean crescendoed. The rain turned from sprinkle to shower. The boys began to curse, and the thoughtful Craig bent over and kissed my forehead as he covered me. But I could not take his loving gesture for love. . . for his kisses were tainted with hate of being left to die.