The island was approximately the size of a parking space.
Gary Mitchell stood on it and took measurements with his eyes. North to south: about fifteen feet. East to west: maybe twelve. It was made of mud and industrial debris—a rusted dumpster lid, a tangle of barbed wire, a plastic shopping bag that once contained cereal, and a piece of plywood with the word HELP written on it in black marker, which Gary had written himself two days ago. His phone...
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