Where did that suit come from? Trees blow in the wind, reminding me of weather reporters trying to stand on the beach when a hurricane is on the way, but the shelter doesn’t shimmy and shake like I would expect it to do in such weather. I run my hand over the poles on the floor, wondering how something that looks so haphazardly constructed could be so sturdy. The poles are perfectly smooth under my palm, and there are no drops of rain sneaking through the roof. Because none of this is real. “Did you get enough to eat?” Bastian asks as he plants a kiss on my neck. “Can’t cook anything at the moment, but there are almonds, coconuts, and mangos.” “I love mangos.” I pull my hand from the floor of the shelter and try to recall what I had been thinking about, but the thought is gone. “You want some?” Bastian produces a large clam shell with perfectly cut pieces of fruit all over it. I blink a couple of times. It smells delicious, but I can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t quite right.
