The storm outside the cabin is imprisoning. The frigid, biting rain dissuades any attempt of escape. The back door rattles from wind hissing through any crevice available, like water into a cracking submarine. Phineas locks his hand around the back doorknob. He pulls it open and holds the door from the wind.
"I'm going to find her!" he yells over the wind, sliding out the door. "I must get her..."
Phineas disappears into the storm for the second time as MaryAnn and the boys push the door closed like the lid over a box of snakes.
In the downpour, Phineas holds his arms up to shield himself from the wind. He fights through the storm, arriving at the southern end of the island with sand clotting halfway up his soaking trousers.
He runs through the rain to the guest cabin, where he hears a small voice shouting in the storm. It sounded like it was calling out "grandpa."
He pulls open the lattice door, then slams it behind him. The room is dark and damp like the interior of a storm fairing ship. He hears the faint cries of Marie whimpering in the corner. The storm evolves outside as Phineas kneels beside her. The cracking sound of the thunder claps easily through the walls, causing Marie to jump. He lets his hand down to her, and she takes it.
"You should have run to the other cabin, dear."
"I got lost. I'm sorry, Grandpa."
"What was that you were shouting?"
"I was looking for Grandma. I thought maybe she would come out because of the rain. Maybe she could stay in this place."
"She isnt there, Marie. And nothing is worth more than you, so keep yourself safe. Dont do that ever again, you hear me?"
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay. We are going back now."
Marie doesn't want to go. She wonders why they can't stay here.
"Does someone live here?"
"No."
"It's a guest house?"
Phineas waits a moment before answering.
"Yes."
"Oh."
Phineas takes her hand and guides Marie out the door, back into the storm. As they run down the beach, the cracking thunder is much louder. Each explosive shock of the atmosphere compels the two storm travelers to duck. Marie learns to guard her face from rain for the first time in her life.
The rain spikes Marie's cheeks. To her it feels like hail. She pulls her wet hand from Phineas' grip to wipe some of the water from her face.
"Hey!" Phineas says while reaching out to grab her arm again.
"The rain! Its—" Marie tries, but Phineas couldn't hear her.
She rushes off ahead of Phineas, and he chases. But Phineas is already near his physical limit. In one short jog after her, he drops to a knee and coughs—then looks up and spots her silhouette against the house lights. She changes direction, adjusting toward the rear of the cabin. The back door? Phineas considers as he pushes himself to his feet. He continues toward the house, Marie dissipates into the grey.
...
MaryAnn is chewing her nails when Phineas burst through the back door.
"Marie!" Phineas says, looking around the room. "Where did you go?" he shouts.
MaryAnn watches Phineas open all the doors in the house, shouting his granddaughter's name into each room.
"She wasn't out there?" MaryAnn asks, stopping him beside the guest room door.
"She—I saw her out there. I had her hand...."
"What happened? Where is she now?"
Phineas glares at her.
"You think I know? She ran ahead of me. I thought she got in."
"Ran ahead?" MaryAnn asks. "Slow down. You're yelling, Phineas."
"Fuck!" he yells. "I have to go back out, I'm just—tired. Lord, please."
MaryAnn turns away. She looks outside at the storm, then to her boots by the door.
"Maybe, well. Maybe Timon could-"
"He is cooked," MaryAnn says.
"Cooked— oh."
MaryAnn takes her boots from beside the door and sits on the couch to pull them on.
"You're going?" Phineas asks.
MaryAnn doesn't respond. She can tell Phineas thinks of her as a housewife, she knows he might protest—even just to protect his own masculinity.
"Stay here," MaryAnn tells him.
She pulls her second boot on and leaves Phineas standing alone in the living room, confused and useless.
...
Timon rolls over in his bed. He hears people arguing in the kitchen and wonders what it is all about. He knows only that it is something about his daughter.
The spot he rolls onto is wet with his sweat, which is why he left the other. Nowhere to go, he thinks.
...
MaryAnn stands in the rain, partially sheltered from the storm by a Narra tree. From Phineas' story, she makes out that Marie went missing somewhere around the cabin.
Maybe she ran past the cabin, definitely not the ocean?
She spins in the dark, wishing she had brought a flashlight.
"Marie!" she yells into the night.
The jungle?
MaryAnn yells again, aiming her call into the jungle. She walks deeper into the trees, still calling out for Marie.
MaryAnn decides Marie couldn't have gone into the jungle. She is probably running laps around the Island. As she turns away to search the beach, a lone wild call comes from the jungle. At first, it is terrifying. The call sounds like nothing she has ever heard. It is a growl, something like a wild cat. But the call repeats like a chant. She thinks it could be a boar — Phineas had mentioned boars to her.
Either way, she rushes off. The surroundings are too dark, whatever it is can creep up on her — on Marie, she realizes.
MaryAnn comforts herself with a stronger inclination to believe Marie has not gone into the jungle. Maybe under a tree to be safe from the rain, but not getting lost in there. Has to be the beach.
The storm has calmed in her time under the Narra tree, but only slightly. On the beach, she is able to see further, and her struggle against the wind and rain is ignorable. She comes to a fallen palm and climbs over it.
"Marie!"
MaryAnn finds herself at the northern tip of the island. She looks to the right, back toward the cabin, then the left, around the backside of the island.
There is no choice—she goes left.
The island's backside turns out to be far more challenging to traverse than the front, where the cabin is built. The beach is slim, and taken up by long stretches of rocky terrain where tide pools develop and drain. It is good she had worn her boots, or her soft feet would have never survived these jagged boulders. She calls out into small accesses that could be considered caves—though she had no idea how deep any of them went.
She becomes too exhausted and is forced to retreat to the cabin.
...
MaryAnn returns an hour later without her daughter. Phineas is gone. He has left to search for his grandaughter as MaryAnn rests. She allows herself to be comforted by the hope that perhaps Marie is hiding, maybe under a rock or a tree. After the storm, it will be easy to find her way back. Of course, this is only hope. She drops to the floor in the living room, her clothes heavy with water that seeps out around her.
Without any control over the situation, MaryAnn grips her hair and squeezes, crying only as hard as her tired body will allow.
When Phineas returns, MaryAnn is asleep in that spot. In his own battle with failure, he stands over her, considering what to do. He crouches beside her and takes off her boots, which dump rainwater and sand as they slide off.
He takes her shoulder and shakes it lightly trying to wake her.
"MaryAnn, wake up. You're soaking."
She grumbles and stews, rocking herself onto her back.
"Marie?" she asks.
Phineas shakes his head.
"No, not yet."
"Marie?"
Phineas stands up again, then looks over his shoulder at the guest room door.
"Can I take you to your room, Mary?"
"Marie?" she asks again.
"Okay—let's go," Phineas says.
Phineas picks MaryAnn up under her arms and drags her into the guest room. He pulls her up onto the bed beside Timon, who snores on the opposite end.
"Just get some rest. I'll keep looking."
"Call the police," MaryAnn says.
"I will," Phineas responds.
Phineas leaves her and searches for his flashlight, finding it in his desk drawer. He takes the flashlight outside and beams it around. Nothing. In his mind, he sees Marie vanishing into the storm—his instinct tells him she has gone into the jungle for shelter. Maybe the thunder or some other noise has scared her off course.
Phineas walks south, thinking she made her way back to the southern cabin.
This search reveals nothing. The southern cabin is vacant.
The storm passes with the night. Marie never shows.
...
Phineas wakes up on the cabin porch, still wet with rain. As his eyelids separate, he is confronted by the sun, and for a moment, he does not remember the night. He rolls over and looks into the house—it is early, Jack and Havel still haven't woken up. Then he remembers: Marie.
Phineas stands to his feet and takes a panicked look up and down the beach. No one to be seen. Then he rushes to the guest bedroom to check on MaryAnn but finds Timon alone in his bed. The place MaryAnn had lain is still darkened with rainwater. She went out again, he reasons. As he kicks off his wet shoes at the door in preparation to resume his search, he spots a figure walking down the beach from the north end. Phineas rushes toward the figure waving his hands out. As he gets closer, he realizes the figure is two: MaryAnn and Marie.
"Marie! Is that you!" he yells in his approach.
It is them. They walk toward the cabin like the living dead. Marie's dress is torn and wet. Her mother is in no better shape, limping in her walk.
Phineas reaches them.
"You found her!" Phineas says. "Where—"
"We need to rest," MaryAnn says, walking by him without pause. "She was shouting for her grandma when I found her."
Phineas looks to Maries eyes but she avoids his.
"Wait," Phineas says. "What happened? Was she up there?"
Phineas gestures up the beach behind them. He notices a bright red scratch on Marie's cheek—likely from a branch.
They avoid the conversation, too tired to discuss what had happened. Phineas trails them into the cabin after giving up on questioning.
MaryAnn and Marie fall asleep together on the living room couch while Phineas works on building a fire.