Kal, Male, 36

	- Narrator, disaster survivor and castaway

	- 6'1, 190lbs, straight, shoulder-length dark-brown hair

Bailey, Female, 13

	- Disaster survivor and castaway

	- 5'2, 110lbs, golden-brown tanned skin, shoulder-length light yellow-brown sun-streaked hair

Keekah, Female, 14

	- Young teen on Isla Gale

	- 5'3, 125lbs, mocha-brown skin, waist-length mostly-straight black hair

Gale, Female, 42

	- Survivor on Isla Gale

	- 5'5, 130lbs, dark tanned skin, waist-length dark reddish-brown hair

The heat hit us hard in the middle of January. Temperatures soared. A small gauge in the boat's steerage read 104 degrees, but I don't know if it was accurate. The breeze died for several days, the force that usually mitigated the radiating heat. Rain continued to fall regularly, which kept the garden from being destroyed, but the high temps had the four of us miserable and spending a great deal of time in the water.

The one thing I was missing terribly from my pervious life was ice. I would have traded every bar of gold in the boat's hull for a single glass of cold, crispy ice water in the middle of January. There was no escape. Even the shade felt miserable. With no breeze moving against our skin, we felt like we were baking. It was difficult to drink enough water, knowing we had to keep refilling the jugs whenever we emptied them. We drank a lot, and it never felt like enough.

Despite the miserable heat, we pressed on, did most of our work in the first and last couple of hours of daylight, or during the regular afternoon downpours, otherwise doing as little as possible in the middle of the day. Nights were usually spent outside near the water. The boat cabin was stuffy and stale in the best of conditions, but four sweaty, uncomfortable bodies made the room unbearable.

So, we often chatted together under the stars, listening to the waves lapping in a few feet away from our toes.

An excerpt from Gale's journal should be included here, taken from her entry on January 26:

… and this summer has already felt like the hottest yet on the island. With no breeze blowing lately, we've all been miserable, sweaty, gritty, and dry. Water, water, water. We drink water constantly, avoid enjoyable time together, cook and eat little except in the mornings and late nights, and then it is mostly muscle memory keeping us moving. Water, water, water. We swallow it and wallow in it to try to keep cool, but it is never enough. If not for the garden, and my new family, I don't know how I'd have made it this far...

Two days a week were spent in the North, tending the garden. There were weeds and slugs and other items that had to be addressed regularly. It made our task much easier to not have to hand water the plants, the daily showers were doing a great job keeping them hydrated.

Gale surprised us one afternoon when she showed us five small trees along the edge of the cleared area that had shot up over the weeks. They were limes, seeds taken from those on the boat. She hadn't expect them to sprout but they had and looked great. She explained that it would probably be several years before they bore fruit, but it was nice to see them anyway.

Each visit to the garden was refreshing in its own way. The sweaty slog to the North was miserable and draining, and the work in the garden certainly was the hardest we did each week, but the reward of fresh vegetables and other goodies was worth the effort. We'd been spoiled since finding Gale and her green thumb, and none of us doubted how important it was to keep the garden thriving.

It also beat back a bit of the monotony of the boat home. In the cooler weather, the monotony was great and relaxing, but in the tremendous heat of the Southern Hemisphere summer, monotony brought on sensations of claustrophobia, apathy, ennui. Pushing ourselves to make the weekly trek kept that from becoming lethal and left us ready once more to face the return to the beach.

Needless to say, our sex lives took a nosedive in January. It was uncomfortable enough just to hug Bailey for more than a few seconds. But I did it, often. Had to. Keekah and Gale, too. We were all close, and despite the miserable conditions, that soft touch, with each of them, was another means of regenerating our will to press on through the tropical sauna.

But that was it. None of us had the energy to battle the heat more than we had to, and unfortunately, it meant that we all spent many frustrating nights without the intimate touches we'd all come to expect and enjoy.

February wasn't much better except that the wind returned and blew strong. It was barely more tolerable. It was a hot wind, sticky and salty. It made my skin feel like it was coated in a waxy sandpaper, and combined with the steady sweat that poured from my body, produced a film that neither cooled nor allowed me to radiate away the heat from my flesh. It was better than the stillness from January, but just. The rain continued to visit most days, and we experienced our only reprieve on February 25 and 26, when we had a driving rain over the island which cooled us down marginally and kept the blazing orb in the sky at bay.

March drifted in slowly, continuing the hot and breezy conditions of February. Things turned for us on the evening of March 19, my 200th night on the island. The afternoon rain drove hard and fast for a couple of hours, then brought the sweetest cool gusts down on us with a force we hadn't seen since the terrible storms the previous spring. We huddled in the cabin, everything locked down. The heat at first was miserable, but we had no choice. Soon enough, though, cooling temps started to creep into our room and the howling air became a welcome sound as we soon chilled and stop sweating.

The next day stayed cool, and the next, and the next. The rest of March and most of April were ok, tolerable, almost comfortable, and finally, we all felt like resuming our intimate activities. In many ways, it felt like a lot of first times all over again.

I'm sorry that several months of time have been compressed here in such a short passage. I need you to understand why. The heat was intense, nauseating, it made us all want to sit and stare off into the distance and pretend we weren't affected. It made me feel thick, tired, and the wonderful free time we all shared in November and December was replaced with miserable labor of necessity for weeks on end. There was no time to write, to recollect, to keep my journal up to date. When we were done with our chores, we either sank neck-deep in the surf or dug holes under shade to find cool sand.

And there wasn't much else to report. We did as little as possible. We kept the garden going, we drank and refilled our water, and we ate as much as we could that required no cooking. Sure, we ate fish and clams and such, but the banana-fruits, purple nuts, and onions took a hit that summer as we all preferred to avoid the need to create a fire to eat.

Needless to say, the summer on the island made me seriously rethink my plan to live my life there. For Bailey to suffer through that every year. To possibly bring our children up in such a distressing environment. Bailey, too, had second thoughts and we talked often about other options. We still knew very little about what the rest of the world was going through and hadn't had any new information in months, but we assumed there was no way for the two of us to go back to the real world and continue our relationship. I would rather suffer through three months of debilitating heat every year than lose my Bailey, and she felt the same way.

In the middle of April, the 14th, the four of us had just returned from the seasonal harvest. We spent nearly three weeks gathering veggies and other edibles, then turning the soil, supplementing it with the loamy, nutrient-rich topsoil near the lake, and planting row after row of seeds and cuttings.

We had bushels of fresh beans, peppers, tubers, mini-radish-like roots, onions, potatoes, leafy and stalky greens, peas, even a few small melons that Gale promised would be as sweet as sugar. The marijuana plants had a strong season and we strung the fresh buds to dry for a couple of weeks before we had to haul them back. We had enough weed to smoke for two years, if not more. We didn't plant new pot seeds after such a haul and used that space instead to try a couple of new items Keekah said were edible and delicious, both looked like green cherries, one slightly rounder and smaller than the other.

Back at the boat, we'd brought back everything but the drying pot and finished storing most of it in the hull. Some items we set out to dry, others, we cleaned and would eat quickly. We cut into one of the melons in the early afternoon, and the four of us shared a mouthwatering treat. It looked like a cantaloupe, orange inside, but the taste was musky, almost citrusy, reminded me of eating a spiced orange cake.

The four of us were back to our pre-summer feelings of family and comfort. The harvest and planting were done, and we all felt an extreme sense of relief, knowing we'd survived the heat and had several months of more pleasant weather ahead. Bailey and I had been making love every day, even during the harvest and planting. The cooler weather left us feeling like we had boundless energy, and we used every ounce we could with each other. Gale and Keekah joined us frequently as well, and the four of us were back to touching and kissing and penetrating each other freely.

After we ate the melon, Gale and Bailey set out down the beach a bit to try a new fishing spot. The clams and oysters had been less abundant in front of the boat, and I suspected we just needed to move away a bit to find them again. While they went off with buckets in hand, Keekah wanted me to take the raft and help her collect what she said was a large amount of the banana-fruits.

She'd told us they were around the East side and up close to the ridge that met the beach to the North. The banana-fruits were at the point where they needed to be picked to give them the longest shelf life. We'd found that if picked at the right time, the banana-fruits would stay good for at least three months. Some of them had even survived the summer heat and been edible. Keekah had spotted the large collection while investigating for edible plants.

Together we walked along the surf with the raft tugged along behind us, bouncing in the waves. We were in no hurry, really. I had a couple of knives, gloves, and a few other things we might need tucked safely in the raft, and we both chewed leaves to prepare to slide into the trees.

Keekah was horny the whole way. She'd run in front of me, then bend over and wait till I approached before running off again and repeating her act. Each time, her lovely dark labia glistened between her thighs, her hairy snatch inviting me inside. If only she'd let me catch her!

She continued the game until we got to the spot where we had to haul the raft up and head into the woods. She paused before me, looked at me with dark eyes, said, “Kowl... I'm wet... for you...”

I pulled her to me and kissed her, running my hands down her front and marveling at the way her breasts had grown heavy and full. Keekah moaned into me, let her hand find my penis and stroke it to life. I leaned her against a tree as my hands slid across her nipples and caressed her tender, swollen tits.

Her thighs parted as my fingers found her hairy, wet teen snatch. I loved fingering Keekah. Her slick labia seemed to suck on my fingers as I slid in and out of her hole. They stuck to my flesh and to each other, a perfect seal to create wonderful suction. It was no different when it was my penis.

I slid down and inhaled Keekah's aroma. She was sweaty, earthy, her odors powerful and intoxicating. I slipped my tongue along her dark brown flesh, tasting her arousal and her sweat, felt her clit throb with each touch. Inside I moved, letting my lips surround hers, sucking her labia in and letting my tongue push deeply between them.

Keekah moaned her pleasure, let her hips rock, her back pressed against the tree. I hummed into her snatch, let her juices slather on my tongue, savored each and every rich flavor I could collect.

“Oh... Kowl... Kowl...” Keekah's body rocked side to side, her head was tilted, eyes watching me eat her cunt. She loved to watch me between her legs, her dark eyes taking in the face between her thighs. She was approaching orgasm and I wanted her to cum on my cock.

I slid up against her and she took my penis in her hand, stroked it a couple of times, and moved it between her legs, letting me slide in quickly and root within her vagina. I still hit Keekah's cervix, but her channel had matured over the months, and though she was still incredibly tight, she took my length more easily. It let me stroker her more firmly, faster, with more driving force. She loved whatever we did, and she moaned as her orgasm pounded through her body.

“aaahhh... AAAAHHH... AAAAAA... AAAA... AAAAHHH... KOOOWWLL... AAAAAHH...”

I stroked in and out of the fourteen-year old, her creamy pussy wrapped darkly around my pale cock. I wanted to cum in her cunt so badly but I'd promised Bailey that I wouldn't and was still honoring that promise. Keekah's body shuddered as her orgasm washed over her, her channel spasmed and pushed a tight ring around my cock, trying hard to hold me inside long enough to coax me to cum.

Sperm was rising from my balls and racing out my cock when I quickly pulled it out of Keekah's slimy pussy. She knew to drop down and had my spurting penis in her mouth instantly. Waves of euphoria spread through me as I unloaded my semen in the dark teen's mouth. I came against her tongue, shot several spurts into her throat, felt her swallow and hum as I ejaculated between her lips. She let me finish inside her then swallowed twice, licking my penis all over and clearing away my sperm and her own vaginal discharge from my flesh.

I stood her up and brought her close to me, kissed her and tasted my sperm in her mouth. She held me tight, kissed me strongly, whispered, “Kowl... mmm... Kowl... I love you shooting in me... wish I can give you babies... but my mouth is good too...” She smiled and we kissed again.

Every time she talked to me, every time her English got a little better, it made me melt a little inside. Keekah was special, so wonderful, but the language barrier had kept a small emotional barrier in place as well. As the one was being shredded, so was the other. We held and rocked together for a few moments before moving off to the surf to wash up and then headed into the woods to start gathering the fruits.

- - -

It took almost three hours but when we were done late that afternoon, we had a raft that was overflowing with the banana-fruits we all loved. Keekah was right about the time to pick them. They had just reached that point where they were not quite edible but would ripen slowly over the coming weeks. It was a perfect haul that would add days worth of calories to our stores.

We towed the raft back to the boat slowly. Keekah chattered, mostly in English, asking me to tell her about places I'd been, told me about foods her family made, even described a game they played that sounded somewhat like baseball, only without the bases. The girl held my hand as we talked, and once more, I melted as we connected tighter as a couple.

After we offloaded the raft, I realized I had left one of my knives where we'd cut down the fruits. I wasn't about to leave it and forget about it, it was my favorite, so as Bailey and Gale got their catch ready to eat (they'd found plenty of scallops and clams and oysters down the beach), I hustled back to the East and North, Keekah jogging with me. We found the knife quickly and started to return.

A light caught our eyes as the sun was falling and the orange tones in the sky marked the coming dark. A light danced a few miles out to sea, to the East and South. We watched it for some moments as it appeared to move cautiously but toward us.

I feared the worst.

I ran and Keekah sprinted with me. We were quickly back at the boat and I retrieved the .45 and a couple of full clips, slid on my pelt holster, and had everyone chewing leaves in case they needed to hide in the woods. We had no idea what to expect, but we weren't going to be met unprepared.

It had been months since the last signs of the rest of the world had intruded on our island. No jets, no ships, no bodies or bottles or booms. As the light drew closer in the growing dark, the early moon shined bright enough for us to see that it was a decent sized boat, perhaps similar in length to our current home.

An hour passed as the boat came nearer. We could hear a motor, but it was either running near idle or it was a low-HP version. It had a high pitch, not terribly loud, and it was only as the boat got within a mile or so of our camp that we could even hear it.

There was a shout across the water, the boat close enough in the calm water for someone to try to call out to us. I couldn't make it out. Again. Again, words almost hit my ears but I didn't know what was being said. Keekah rose quickly and ran forward a bit. “Keekah!” I followed her, gun in hand. She looked back suddenly and shushed me. The voice called again, a longer sentence, and this time Keekah answered with a sentence of her own.

Gale was beside me suddenly, exclaimed, “It's Keekah's mother! She's calling to her mom!”