Water.

Harry said that the first stage of getting 'out of this mess' was water. And he knew exactly where to look for it. But instead of sharing that information he's just stood staring blankly out to sea, fiddling with that fabric bracelet on his wrist again.

I can't read his expression; it's sort of vacant but also confused.

"Harry?" I say his name for tenth time in the last two minutes, not that I've got any concept of time here. He doesn't respond. It's like he's...gone?

A wet drip running over my nose tells me I'm crying again. I turn away and am greeted by a gentle breeze. It's welcome against the blistering heat but even the wind feels warm.

My head pounds and my mouth is still dry.

I'm dehydrated.

Beyond dehydrated. And Harry has to be too.

We need this water.

I step towards Harry and give his shoulders a gentle shake. His exposed left arm is already peeling and hot to the touch. Maybe if I can get him under some shelter, he'll be more responsive.

I try to tug him up the beach but he stands firm.

"Suitcases." He says in a vacant voice. I drop his arm. "I pulled some suitcases out of the water. Some people pack bottles because they don't trust the local water works."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" I lick my lips at the thought of liquid moistening my insides. "Where did you put them?"

He points further inland but doesn't move.

"Harry?"

"I can't." His voice is so small and quiet and that's it's barely audible above the sound of the waves crashing into shore. "I can't do it."

I don't understand. I go to push my hair out of my face, but like Harry, I'm met with a matted mess.

"What can't you do?"

Harry sighs and his lower lip trembles. He's going to cry.

"They're dead, Sarah. I can't just help myself to their belongings. It's not right."

I understand now. I really do. But we're going to be just as dead if we don't do this. And Harry said we weren't going to die. Either of us.

"I get it, Harry." I tell him. He's still fiddling with the bracelet. "But these cases are of no use to them now. And they would understand if they could. We need to do this."

I have to pinch the bridge of my nose to control the pounding in my head. It's like a constant pulse now. A constant reminder that our survival is on a countdown.

"I can't." He says again. "I'm sorry."

I know I shouldn't, but I feel agitated. I've never felt discomfort like I'm feeling right now and I'm certain that Harry is in just as much pain. Except I don't know Harry and I don't know how to get through to him.

"I'll do it." I announce. I've never been one to be assertive so I'm surprised I'm taking the lead on this one.

Harry doesn't say anything so I start to walk away. But something springs to mind.

"Harry?" I turn back to him. He tilts his head in my direction but doesn't make eye contact with me. "The bodies you pulled out of the sea - what did you do with them?"

Bodies.

I can't believe I'm even saying the word. I shouldn't be. Like Harry said, It's not right. But I haven't seen anyone aside from us on this part of the island and I don't want to come across a nasty surprise when I leave him.

"I buried them."

I open and close my mouth a few times, desperately trying to think of something suitable to say. But what honestly is 'suitable' about this situation?

"Oh. That was kind of you. I think their families would have liked that."

I doubt this brings any comfort to Harry. It certainly doesn't to me.

He doesn't reply so I start to make my way inland, leaving him on the shoreline. He doesn't even really seem to notice my departure. Perhaps he is in shock after all.

My heart aches for him - a guy I've only just met and in the most tragic of circumstances. I can't imagine how difficult it must have been, being so alone and then that glimmer of hope at the sight of more people. Only to find them blue and unresponsive. And it wasn't even his job to do that. To take it upon himself to give these people a final resting place. People he didn't even know, people he merely shared air and in-flight entertainment with on an aeroplane.

If I hadn't been so incredibly lucky, I would have been another body he'd have to dig a hole for.

I have to drag my feet through the sand. They feel heavy, like dead weights, but I seem to have already developed asbestos skin, not even noticing the feverous grains. Or perhaps I've damaged my feet beyond repair now. It's not worth thinking about.

There's a bit of an incline before palm trees loom up in front of me. I'm so relieved that I break into a run, albeit a slow one. Their expansive leaves will provide decent shelter for Harry and I. I'm pretty sure I saw Bear Grylls do it once anyway. And it's not long before I see Harry's suitcase collection. There are about five of them, piled up on top of one another in a big soggy heap.

He was certainly hard at work while my body was fighting to bring me back into the world.

Something appears out the corner of my eye.

Long mounds in the sand. About seven of them and arranged neatly in a row.

It's not difficult to figure out what this is.

My stomach lurches and I vomit noisily onto the sand, just missing the tips of my toes.

People I shared a flight with are buried here. One of them could quite easily be the praying passenger seated beside me or even the couple across the aisle. And what about the crying baby at the back of the plane? Or the head flight attendant?

I have to turn away. It's too much.

I approach the suitcase mound and drop to a kneeling positioning. The sand is much cooler up here under the shade of the trees. I want to bury myself in it. But then I remember what's only an arm stretch away and I banish the thought.

I'm about to jump right in and get to work on a navy blue case, the zip pinched between my index finger and thumb, but the luggage tag stops me in my tracks. Most of the writing is completely illegible due to water damage but the name is clear as day in a printed bold font.

'GEORGE DALEY'.

George Daley is dead.

George Daley is dead and he's never going to use any of these things ever again.

It's my lower lip's turn to tremble. Harry's reluctance is more understandable than ever.

"I can't do this." I say out loud. I drop the zip and shuffle away, too ashamed to be too close.

"Yes you can."

I whirl around.

It's Harry.

His face is blotchy and his eyes are red rimmed.

"We'll do it together." He tells me and drops to his knees at my side.

We don't make eye contact, we just focus on the task at hand. He takes hold of the zip this time and after what feels like forever, he pulls the case open, allowing a fountain of water to spill out and pool onto the sand in front of us.

There are layers and layers of sodden clothes. Harry rifles through, managing to produce a variety of t-shirts, a beach towel and an extremely unattractive mauve chequered bucket hat. There's a small bag of toiletries but the containers have been so battered in the crash that the contents have leaked and formed a sticky pile of goo in the bottom. Harry tosses it to one side.

No water.

One case down, four to go.

"As frustrating as it is, they will be extremely useful to us. We just need to dry them out." His voice is bleak but I know he's trying to be positive.

I nod because I know he's right but I'm slowly becoming terrified that nobody will have packed what we are looking for. I don't know about Harry, but I've never packed bottled water for any trip that I've been on, so here's hoping the owner's of the remaining four cases thought more like him than like myself.

We move onto the next case. It's still heartbreaking, helping ourselves to other people's possessions without their permission, but it's already easier than the first time. We've jumped the first hurdle now. We've ripped off the plaster. Still though, neither of us really speak about what we're doing or the fact that it's terrifying we're having to do it in the first place.

The second case is floral and unsurprisingly feminine inside. I'm amazed to be excited at the sight of a drowned swimming costume and a pair of jersey shorts. Both in a smaller size than I would usually wear. But I don't care. It's something. Something that will make me feel less like I am stranded in the middle of the South Pacific. The contents of this case might actually help keep a hold of my sanity.

There's one of those large floppy sun hats. The ribbon has become completely unstuck but I clutch it to my chest anyway. I want to make a joke about Harry having to make do with the bucket hat but I can't bring myself to make light of this situation.

We continue to dig through the contents of the bag, pausing when we come across tiny outfit sets. Pairs of shoes designed for the tiniest of feet. Bibs. A bag of disintegrated nappies. Loose, gloopy mounds of formula.

I think of the crying baby and go cold all over.

It's awful. Too awful.

Harry's closest hand squeezes mine. Squeezes it hard.

And then he's back to searching. Carefully moving the items to one side before producing several sippy cups and milk bottles.

"If worst comes to worst, we can use these to make a solar water still."

I don't even have it in me to ask what one of those is. I can't stop thinking about the baby. About the owner of the case.

"Sarah, start on the next case." Harry's voice is completely monotone and void of any emotion. I know he's trying to keep me on task. Keep me distracted from my morbid thoughts.

I do as I'm told and reach for another case. It's heavy but unfortunately mainly just full of books. I know we can probably burn them. I even consider eating paper for a moment. There are some socks in the bottom and various men's boxers. I find a pair of board shorts and throw them towards Harry who accepts them gratefully. There's a hairbrush - although I think it's probably a lost cause for my hair - and more pools of gloopy shower gel. Still nothing drinkable. Still nothing life-saving.

We're halfway through raiding the last two cases when Harry begins to cry.

Big fat tears dribble down his lips and chin, falling into the case in front of him.

He's hysterical but he's smiling.

He's found it. I just know he has.

My hands begin to shake as he gathers four bottles of water into his arms and hugs them against his chest. He looks like a parent reunited with their child.

I burst out laughing and stagger to my feet to go to him. He drops his precious cargo and lifts me into a hug, swinging me round and round and round until we're so dizzy we collapse in a heap in the sand.

"I told you." He says. "I told you neither of us were going to die."