Whistle at the Sky

The three of us stand in the rubble and whistle loudly at the sky. Our cries fall to deaf ears. Olivia and I wonder if perhaps we had lost our touch to communicate with our feathered friends. "Which one are we waiting on?" Barry asks. "Lucky." I reply. Barry rolls his eyes. "What's the problem?" I ask. "Lucky is unreliable." "Does that mean he won't show up?" Olivia asks. "He might or he might not. But I'm not going to wait around to find out," He responds. Barry starts to walk away. "Where are you going?" Olivia shouts. "We're on an island. There has to be a boat around here somewhere."