Authors: Kristin Dearborn
They came out of the jungle into a clearing, a big courtyard of sorts for the dormitory. A marble gazebo stood over the Virgin Mary. The statue was identical to the one on the beach, save for the absence of the giant clam shell. This Mary’s outstretched hands were empty. Cool and inviting benches beckoned from the shade.
“This marble is from the same place as the Taj Mahal,” she told Alex. He ran a hand over one of the pillars.
The gazebo’s curved roof reflected a blast of white light from the sun. Jemma averted her eyes. Even behind her sunglasses, the light hurt.
Alex went off to explore, to see if he could get into the dormitory. Jemma lowered herself onto the cool marble of one of the benches and admired the lovely grotto.
Spirits are sometimes shy, and she hoped sitting quietly might bring some to her. More likely their equipment would pick some up overnight. She couldn’t wait to see what the readings found. But that was a project for tomorrow.
Alex moved from window to window, peering inside the blocky building. The sounds of the island lulled her, soothed her. So much so that the cacophony of
Baby Roxanne
’s engine starting, moments after they’d left the beach, startled a small cry out of her.
Alex sprinted past her, down the little jungle path toward the beach.
“Hey!
Hey!
”
Jemma smiled a little smile. Mr. Lucky was taking the boat back to El Nido. She and Alex were alone on this island.
Once Alex ran out of sight, Jemma tried to remember a time when she’d been outdoors and not able to see another person. She remembered a time when she was indoors and very alone. That time she pushed away, tamping it down.
She supposed she ought to go to Alex. She stood, stretched in the sun, and followed the path he took to the beach.
The white sand lay in disarray. He’d run back and forth, and now he stood panting, wet and covered in sand. The distasteful sound of the
Baby Roxanne
faded into nothing as the little boat rounded a spit of land and vanished from sight.
“Easy,” she told him.
“How can you be so calm?”
“We’re in paradise.”
“We’re on an island that drives people to kill themselves. We’re trapped here. And it makes you act weird.”
“I’m not acting weird. I’m not panicking. It’s a beautiful place. You can’t argue.”
“You’re right. It’s lovely. That said, I’d like a way off it.”
Alex seemed afraid. He scanned the jungle. Nothing here would harm them, she could feel it.
“I thought about bringing a satellite phone, you know?”
She began to tune him out. “I’m sure we’ll be rescued.”
He gawked at her.
“What?” she asked. Terry knew where they were. Besides, this jungle must be full of things a person could eat.
“I hope he makes it quick.”
Jemma frowned. He didn’t like her happy. Why did he hold it against her that she liked this place?
Alex stalked off down the beach, kicking at the sand. Jemma drew deep breaths of fresh air. She couldn’t see the downsides that upset Alex. She hated people; it was her dream to be this alone.
He came back after a few moments.
“Okay. We sit tight for a while. Hang out. Relax. Once we have our shit together—or I have my shit together, as you seem unmoved by the fact that we’re marooned—we have to find water. Food can wait, water’s the first priority.”
Jemma watched the sea.
Alex flopped onto the sand. The breeze blew it around, and Jemma could feel it in her teeth. Not ideal, but it didn’t ruin the loveliness of the vista. She folded herself in, and sat beside him.
6
The sound of a boat out on the water brought Terry to the beach. The
Baby Roxanne
approached, teal hull bouncing over the waves. This was early. Too early. Mr. Lucky rode in his boat alone.
A million scenarios darted through Terry’s head. He glanced up at the sun. It wasn’t even noon yet, hours of daylight remained.
As long as she hides, she should be safe.
Terry jogged into the shallow sea and waded over to where Mr. Lucky moored his boat.
“Where are they?” he called.
“I took them to the island.”
“But
where are they
?”
Mr. Lucky hopped into the shin-deep water with a splash.
“I took care of them.”
“You killed them?” Terry lowered his voice. Relief flooded him, like a cooler of Gatorade poured over a winning coach.
“I left them. She’ll take care of it for us.”
The relief left as quickly as it arrived. For a moment Terry’s thudding pulse overcame the rest of his world. Then it receded. “No. We don’t know what they brought. What they know. They could kill her.”
Mr. Lucky stared at him with the least expressive eyes Terry’d ever seen.
“All I care is that they don’t write this book.”
“If they kill her, they’ll write the goddamn book.” They couldn’t kill her. He wouldn’t stand for it. If they’d come all this way to write the book, they must know her weaknesses, her vulnerabilities.
“Did they carry a
bagacay
?” He racked his brain to remember if he saw them carrying a sharpened spear. “Did they smell like garlic?”
“Doesn’t matter. If they kill her, they starve on the island before they can write a thing.” Mr. Lucky made to walk past him, and Terry stuck his hand out to stop the bigger man.
“No,” he protested.
Mr. Lucky pushed Terry’s hand away and slogged toward the shore. Terry stood in calf-deep water, thinking. He had to go out there, to make sure no harm came to Virginia. He wanted to cry. No one paid Mr. Lucky to think; he simply did what he was told. Dammit. Terry hated this helpless feeling, the one he’d felt so frequently over the past four years. Virginia and the people of El Nido played him like a pawn.
He had to go to her. Couldn’t simply leave her there. His boat, the
Virginia
, was indisposed, taking three French tourists and a South African on the C tour. He glanced at the
Baby Roxanne
. What would Mr. Lucky do? What could Mr. Lucky do to him?
Mr. Lucky made it to the beach and paused to talk to a little Filipino boy. The boy played with a discarded plastic cup, using it to mold shapes in the sand. He smiled up at Mr. Lucky as he passed. Probably a nephew or cousin. Everyone was related to everyone here. Everyone kept a nose firmly planted in everyone else’s business.
Terry made up his mind and hauled himself up and into the
Baby Roxanne.
He poled out into deeper water, got the boat turned around, and fired up the motor. Mr. Lucky ran after him, even plunged into the water and swam a few feet, but the
Baby Roxanne
left him behind. Mr. Lucky gave up, slapping the water with his broad palm and cursing in Tagalog. Terry pretended not to hear. He would save his wife, and no one could stop him.
7
Alex didn’t want to go into the shadows. He didn’t like this place, and it blew his fucking mind that Jemma seemed so taken by it. Suicides don’t make for nice environments. He wasn’t sensitive, but did believe there were things out there he couldn’t see. The equipment would have interesting things to say when they set it up tomorrow.
If they made it back…
Why would Mr. Lucky have left them here otherwise?
The jungle teemed with life. Alex wondered how many creatures out there watched him as he blundered around. He’d hoped to see monkeys and monitor lizards. Now he didn’t want to see either.
They had to kill time somehow. He steeled himself to explore. To do exactly what they’d set out to do. While he walked the path, he thought about Ralph’s signal fire. Was Jemma his Jack? Or was Jemma Ralph, and he was Piggy?
Alex stared into the jungle, at greens so dark they turned black.
“I haven’t sensed anything,” Jemma said.
“No?” With all the surrounding creepiness, he expected a maelstrom of spirits.
“I’m rather sad about it, actually. Though they may be shy, they may only come out at night. I’ll know for sure after we set our gear up.”
“Or night falls on the island here.”
“I would be surprised if we spent a night here and didn’t discover some evidence of the supernatural. I’d rather not be here when that happens.”
So she didn’t entirely adore this place. Though he felt petty, it pleased him. Made him feel like they played on the same team again.
“I’m thirsty,” she said.
He agreed, and listened as hard as he could. The wind in the trees mimicked the sound of water rushing over rocks. He wished all this nature would shut up. Give him the sound of horns, of cars, shouting. Good, city, human sounds. You couldn’t be isolated in New York.
“Maybe that’s a path?” She pointed to a black spot of jungle, darker than the foliage surrounding it. “It could lead to water? Maybe the stream that runs red?”
Before he could argue, before he could tell her the gaping mouth scared the shit out of him, she headed off. He wasn’t particularly interested in finding a blood stream, particularly when they’d been abandoned here.
The trail reminded him less of a trail and more of a route frequented by hungry predators, the vegetation worn down by wily, ravenous paws.
“I hear water,” Jemma said. He willed her not to be so loud here. The jungle bore down around them, listened to each word.
She froze. Scanned the trees.
“Something’s here,” she said. He’d heard the expression about blood running cold, but there in the jungle he felt it.
“Hello?” she cried. He first resisted the urge to pounce on her and clamp a hand over her mouth, second the urge to bolt back to the beach and wait it out. A boat would go by at some point, surely?
“Hello?” a voiced echoed back.
Jemma and Alex stared at each other. Someone else on the island. Someone else who spoke English.
Alex still wasn’t sure they should answer. Just because they called “hello” didn’t mean they were friendly.
“Hello!” Jemma called back. She moved past him, and he reflexively shrank out of her way and gave her space to pass unimpeded. “We’re coming!”
Alex could have kissed Terry he was so happy to see him. The perpetually nervous Englishman stood by the dormitory.
“Are you all right?” He stared past them at the jungle.
Oh shit, what was back there?
Alex kept looking over his shoulder, trying to figure what kept Terry’s attention.
“We’re fine,” Jemma said.
“What the hell happened to Mr. Lucky?”
“Mr. Lucky has had a family emergency,” Terry said, still scrutinizing the jungle. He turned and headed to the beach at a brisk pace. “He asked me if I would be so kind as to see to your safe return.”
“He left us here without a word!” Jemma said.
Terry kept glancing over his shoulder, past Alex. Every time, Alex looked back, too.
“The island’s a nice place,” Jemma said.
“I’m so glad you like it. Let’s get back to the resort now.”
Alex could have kicked her as Jemma said: “Already?”
“We’ve had plenty of time to check the place out,” Alex said.
“What did you find?” Terry finally focused some attention on Alex. “No, never mind, we can talk on the way back. Get on the boat, please.”