I flipped through the book 3 times and stopped at page 125.
All variety of pants-pissing thoughts descended on me as I stared up at the fortress of trees marking the entrance to the forest. I remembered that we had no idea just how big the island was. It could be absolutely swarming with the undead or it could be some kind of killer bear sanctuary.
Carl’s knife was big but it wasn’t that big. There was a a bitter innuendo in there somewhere, but I was just too damn frightened to consider it.
“Don’t leave me here!” I shouted and waved wildly at the seaplane as it floated away with a roar and spray of salty water.
I was standing on a twelve-by-twelve floating dock in the middle of the Indian Ocean. I had survived twenty hours trapped on planes — forty-five minutes of that on a seaplane — and then me and my bags had been abandoned here. My brain and mouth felt fuzzy from recycled air and plastic plane food.