Well, at least I had courses in survival – one of the perks in being in, as Diane calls them ‘third world countries’. It’s a miracle I actually managed to survive. Dad would’ve been proud.

Blaire had dug a deep hole with what remaining strength she had left inland – just where the sand stopped.

Sand acted as a filter for sea salt, so whilst the water tasted horribly salty – it wasn’t quite as dangerous as drinking from the sea.

It’s nourishment was greatly appreciated by her throat, so frankly, Blaire didn’t give a fig about how it tasted.

Feeling considerably better, she supported herself on her knees until she felt ready enough to walk down another stretch of beach.

Blaire came across something that made her stop dead in her tracks.

It was one half of the yacht, lying on its side like a beached whale.

Not caring about her burning legs’ protests, she jogged up to it and crawled inside, recognizing the dismantled living room.

Thank God for decorative fruits!