They both started running toward the beach, out from under the canopy of the trees. The faint whipping sound of a helicopter was barely able to be heard in the distance.
"HEY!" "HEY!" "HEY!" They both began yelling at the top of their lungs, waving their arms wildly on the beach.
"Where is it?" Emma asked, referring to the flare gun.
"Here it is, load and shoot, Em," Dean said, handing it to her, "Pull the trigger, Prom Queen."
Emma shot the flare just as the helicopter was becoming visible, but for whatever reason, the people in the helicopter did not see the flare or the two youths on the beach.
As they watched the helicopter fly off into the distance, Dean took Emma in his arms and let her cry into his chest. Leaning back, Dean tilted Emma's face so that she was looking him in the eyes.
Emma's lower lip quivered as she said, "That was the second helicopter in four months," Her voice seemed to come from the depths of the sea.
"I know," he murmured as he took her in his arms.
Leaning against his chest, Emma breathed in Dean's scent. Nowadays he constantly smelled like the ocean with a earthy male fragrance.
"We are going to be stuck on this island forever."
Dean didn't answer. As much as he had come to accept that this was where they were going to spend the rest of their lives and that they would never see their families again, Dean knew he could not take that hope away from Emma. He knew that the hope was what sometimes kept her going.
For the next two hours, Dean and Emma reconstructed the S.O.S message, making it lager.