Amongst the whining motor of the skiff and the rolling seawater, they barely looked at each other, let alone try to speak. The heat was unforgiving and no clouds gave mercy. Elena watched as Santa del Luna’s main island shrank into the distance, the resort’s crystalline towers shimmering. “We shouldn’t have come out today,” Elena said. “It’s too hot.” “What?” Shane said. “I said it’s too hot to be doing this.” “You wanted to see the preserved islands, didn’t you?” She turned away and looked to the ocean. Twenty minutes of tension passed. Elena flicked her wrist and watched her wedding ring cascade shards of light onto the boat’s bottom. Finally, she reached into the cooler and grabbed two bottles of water, opened them, and handed one to Shane. He looked down at the drink then back up to her through polarized sunglasses without emotion. Her eyes were buried under her own pair of sunglasses that hung under a bright pink sun hat with an enamel sunflower pin. “A peace offering?” he said. “Take it if you want it.” He drank it quickly. Once done, he clasped Elena’s hand. “Are we going to talk about what happened, or are we starting this marriage with unsaid baggage?” She grabbed the two empty bottles and handed one back to her husband. “Whisper whatever angry things you want to say about me into the bottle,” she said, yelling above the motor and waves. Shane smiled and whispered into the container and Elena did the same with hers. Then she grabbed both bottles, twisted the caps back on, and tossed them overboard. They immediately drifted away into the restless blue. “Some fish will swallow those,” Shane said. “Well, then that fish will have a bunch of terrible words in its belly. As for us, we’re starting fresh.” The preserved islands were coming up now, an archipelago of sharp-peaked masses like tree-laden teeth jutting from the sea. Dozens of vessels traveled from one island to the other. One sped by close to the couple’s boat, causing it to rock in the wake. As Shane cursed, Elena pulled out a tourist map to study the chain, consisting of thirteen islands in a crescent-moon shape. Then they spotted an island that wasn’t on the map, one isolated from the others. They headed toward the lone land, where no boats followed. The lone island was larger than any of the others. A singular bare peak stood at the center with a thick jungle draping the land. Shane shifted the boat to idle and they drifted toward the empty shore. It was hotter than ever now, no wind went through that place. Waves of heat danced above the white sands. Elena began to run on the open beach as Shane laughed and watched while opening a beer. A hundred feet away she tripped and slammed onto the scalding sand. “We didn’t even break out the drinks yet,” he said, laughing as he came to her. “It’s this heat,” she said, her voice slurring. She began to stumble and sway. Shane brought her to the treeline and sat her down under a palm. Her breathing became faint and her skin that landed on the sand was getting redder by the second. As Shane panicked, he started to feel lightheaded himself. Soon, the scent of incense was in the air and shadows appeared behind them. People looked down at them with blank expressions. Each one bald, their skin was the color of paper and eyes were black as coal. They wore black toga-like garments and some were armed with spears while one held a censer emanating a black smoke. Shane drug Elena away who screamed when she finally saw them. She tried to stand, yet she collapsed again, causing her to yelp with pain. Shane picked her up and turned to run, yet he saw others had closed in behind them. “Let us leave,” Shane said. A man then approached, holding a net. Inside was a large, gray dead and bloated fish. He pulled it out and began to gut it. He then extended the fish carcass to them. He had sliced open its belly and now a gaping and bloody hole was there. “Reach inside,” the man said in perfect English. Trembling, Shane set down Elena and did so. He pulled out a water bottle, empty and closed. “Now you,” the fisherman said, gesturing to Elena. Struggling to breathe, she did so and found another. “You killed this fish,” the fisherman said. “We are so sorry,” Elena said. “Switch bottles,” he said. Two from the tribe untwisted the caps and placed the bottles against Shane and Elena’s ears. A whispering was heard, and as the words spilled from their containers the plastic crinkled as if there was a vacuum. Shane and Elena stared at each other, eyes raw and red and deflated. The fisherman then said something in a language the couple did not know. The words were guttural and sharp. The tribe began to move together toward the jungle, taking Shane and Elena with them. “Where are you taking us?” Shane said. “My wife is sick. Just let us go back.” “Back to where?” the fisherman said. The crowd stopped and allowed the two to look out at the ocean. No other islands could be seen. No boats. Nothing but a vast, empty sheet of water. “You are now removed from the world,” one of the others said. “You now belong to Santa del Luna, the real Santa del Luna.” They entered into the jungle as the tribe hummed something in the foreign tongue. “Elena,” Shane said, panting. “Elena, honey, we’ll get through this. I will get us out of this.” Yet she didn’t look at him. Instead she turned and looked away into the jungle, sobbing. The people bound the two with coarse rope and as they did, they wrenched their wedding rings off and their voices rose in elation through the jungle’s heat.