The Last Resort

by Susi Holliday

  Laid out neatly on one of the beds is a thin, strappy sundress. Pale yellow with abstract dark flowers. And on the other, a pair of turquoise shorts and a soft white T-shirt. Under each bed is a pair of towelling-covered flip-flops, like the kind you get in spas.

  Music is being pumped from somewhere unseen. An old chill-out tune, something that’s always on those Ibiza compilation playlists but no one can ever remember the name of.

  She barely notices Giles as he comes down the steps behind her. ‘Babe,’ he says, ‘this is just what we need.’ She feels his hands on her shoulders, and her earlier anger melts away.

  Yes, she thinks. This is perfect.

  Lucy

  Lucy follows behind Giles as far as the top of the steps before she realises that this little scene is meant for two only. ‘Oh, right,’ she says, laughing to herself at the boring cliché that is Tiggy and Giles’s luxury fantasy. ‘Have fun, guys.’ She turns back and heads towards the others, who are still standing in the clearing despite Tiggy’s instructions for them to go on ahead.

  Brenda is smiling for the first time since they arrived, and it makes her look younger. That harsh hairstyle is what ages her the most, Lucy thinks. Not to mention the M&S Classic range clothing. She glances around at the rest of the group. Isn’t it interesting how people can come from a similar age bracket and yet look and act so completely different? She’s often thought this about the celebs she’s massacred in her column. They try so hard to stay young that their whole perception of age gets lost. Poor, unsuspecting members of the public have no chance of keeping up, although plenty seem to try it – Botox and fillers, dressing too young for their age. Brenda has managed to do the opposite of this, despite probably having more disposable income than any of them.

  Then take James, the kind of man who looks like he’s lucky to remember to clean his teeth every day, never mind using any sort of grooming products. Yet he looks younger than any of them.

  There’s a chance, of course, that the ages that showed up on their holographic bios weren’t accurate. Like Scott, Lucy is still not convinced that there’s a biometric element to the trackers, other than the basics.

  Brenda is still smiling, but she’s nodding too now, as if in response to someone. But she’s standing alone, a few steps away from Amelia, who is repeatedly tapping her watch, her face scrunched in concentration. Scott is sitting on a rock, eyes closed, head tilted back like a sunflower.

  ‘Who’re you talking to, Brenda?’ Lucy asks.

  James is sitting on the ground, cross-legged, fiddling with the lens on his camera. He looks up when Lucy speaks, and his eyes flit towards Brenda, awaiting her reply.

  Brenda blinks. Frowns. ‘I wasn’t talking to anyone. I was listening – but it’s stopped now. What did you do that for?’

  ‘What’s stopped?’ Lucy says.

  ‘It was an audio play. The House on the Strand. It was just getting to a good part. I was remembering . . .’

  It’s Lucy’s turn to frown. ‘You’re listening to an audio drama? Now?’

  ‘It’s the tracker,’ Scott says, without opening his eyes. ‘Hasn’t yours kicked in yet?’

  Lucy taps her tracker, but it stays silent. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘It’s a transmitter, and an acupressure device . . . as well as all the other stuff it’s apparently meant to do,’ James says. He shrugs. ‘All mine said was “wait for instructions”.’

  ‘Mine too,’ Amelia says. ‘It scrolled over the screen. Vibrated on my wrist. I keep tapping it, thinking it’s going to tell me something else, but it’s been quiet ever since.’

  ‘But Brenda’s got an audio drama?’

  They all turn to Brenda, who is sitting down on a rock now, her back to them. She doesn’t respond, so Lucy assumes her audio has kicked in again.

  She’s about to walk over and tap Brenda on the shoulder when there’s a crackling in her ear, and a voice says, ‘Leave the ones who want to relax, they’ll be taken care of. The rest of you should start exploring. Head to the brow of the hill and await further instructions. You like mysteries, don’t you? Well, keep your eyes peeled and your ears open.’ It crackles again, then stops.

  ‘Oh, right,’ she says. ‘Now I get it.’

  ‘You got instructions?’ James says. He uncrosses his legs and stands up. ‘Lead the way.’

  Lucy doesn’t know why she’s become the leader now, or how the voice – whoever it might belong to – knows she likes mysteries, and that Brenda likes audio dramas, and that Tiggy and Giles like to lie on loungers and drink cocktails; but she’s glad that they have a plan. Even if it is only getting to the brow of the hill. Maybe that’s where the house is, where the party is being held. That would make the game a bit short, but that’s all right. So far it’s not proving to be particularly exciting.

  She marches off up the hill, and hears the crunch of footsteps as the others follow behind.

  ‘Can’t say I’m impressed so far,’ Scott huffs behind her. ‘Can you slow down a bit?’

  She glances back, slowing slightly. Scott is already red-faced, from the sun and the incline.

  ‘Thought you were the health guy,’ James says, sliding past Scott. Amelia follows and the two of them fall into stride together. Scott slows even more and falls further back. He doesn’t reply, focusing his energies on getting up the hill instead.

  Lucy turns back to the front and keeps walking. She’s a keen walker – racking up miles every day while she dictates her column into her phone. Easiest way to keep in shape, and always a good way to shake off the fuzzy head that seems to greet her more mornings than not. As they climb higher, the path arcs to the right and a rocky cliff face comes into view. She stops, letting the others catch up. An idyllic turquoise cove lies a long way down below, with rippling white horses lapping into the shore, breaking as they reach soft white sand. A bamboo-topped tiki hut sits back from the water’s edge, with what looks like bar stools lined up beside it. Next to that, a pile of single-person kayaks and a couple of paddleboards.

  ‘Now that’s more like it,’ she says. It’s a long way down, but there must be a reasonably easy path. She looks back at the current path; the top of the hill is not quite in view, but it can’t be far now. They hadn’t been screened for fitness, and it looks like James and Amelia are fine, but Scott is struggling. He’s almost bent double by the time he reaches them, his breath coming in short, heavy puffs.

  ‘Jeez,’ he says, forcing the word out with a breath. ‘I think they misread my preferences by quite a long shot.’

  ‘Have you got some kind of problem, mate?’ James says. ‘Because you seem particularly unfit for someone who promotes health products.’

  Scott wheezes, puts his hands on his hips. ‘Screw you, buddy.’

  ‘Maybe you should stay here,’ Amelia says, reasonably. ‘Maybe you could tell the tracker . . .’

  ‘The tracker . . . is . . . nonsense,’ he says, shaking his head. He takes his backpack off and yanks the zip open, grabs the water and gulps it down greedily. ‘I told you already about the trackers.’

  ‘Well, they’re clearly working for some people,’ Lucy says. ‘The other three back there have got what they want. Maybe you need to ask more nicely.’

  ‘Brenda told me she’d asked for “me time”,’ Amelia says. ‘I guess that’s what she’s getting right now.’

  ‘And what did you ask for?’ Lucy says.

  Amelia shrugs. ‘Nothing. Not yet. I’m still trying to figure this thing out.’

  Scott shoves his arms through the straps of his backpack and barges past, marching off ahead. ‘Come on then, Miss Leader Lucy. Let’s go.’

  James rolls his eyes. ‘He’ll be huffing again in a minute.’

  They follow Scott up the hill, and thankfully it’s not too much further to the top. Lucy has hiked many hills like this, and she’d half expected it to be a false summit. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d eagerly marched to the top, only to find that there was a much bigge
r peak hidden behind. They’re here now, though. They made it to the top.

  The landscape has changed from sandy scrub to lush green leaves. The path is soil and stone. And there are trees that weren’t visible at all from further down the hill, their trunks slim and bent over like willows by the wind. The island is proving to be quite the roving landscape, and all the while the sun beats down, and they still haven’t found any refreshments, except for the one bottle per bag – which, as Lucy discovers when she takes hers out for a sip, is not just water. There is a slight metallic taste to the clear liquid, and judging by the new spring in Scott’s step, it contains something to keep them going until they figure out what they’re actually doing here. She’s not madly into drugs. The occasional recreational smoke or pill now and again. But she decides to go with this. Just like the sedative they were given earlier, it can only help them – right? Thirst taking precedence over the potential risk, she downs half the bottle.

  James and Amelia watch her, and then follow her lead.

  Soon they’re all smiling, enjoying the sun and the mild buzz from whatever is in that water. Then an alarm sounds – a single high-pitched screech – and as they turn to face the direction of the sound, the familiar green holographic writing starts to scroll out in front of them.

  WELCOME.

  YOU MADE IT TO THE STARTING POINT.

  THE OTHERS WILL JOIN YOU SOON.

  FOR NOW, PLEASE THINK OF YOUR FAVOURITE DRINK . . .

  IT WILL BE SERVED TO YOU SOON.

  AND THE ARROWS WILL GUIDE YOU DOWN TO THE BAY.

  WHERE THE FUN WILL REALLY BEGIN.

  . . .

  . . .

  AND EVERYONE WILL FIND OUT WHO YOU ALL REALLY ARE.

  Summer 2000

  There’s a low roar from below them. Something between a scream and a howl. But George doesn’t look, just keeps staring at Anne, with a grin so rigid it hurts. It’s OK, the grin says. We just need to stay calm. We can get past this.

  Anne’s eyes are wild. ‘George . . .’ she tries but can’t get any more words out. She yanks herself away and flees down the hill, dark braids whipping behind her like reins.

  ‘Wait!’ George cries after her, but Anne doesn’t wait. It only takes a moment before she’s gone from sight.

  George turns slowly back towards the cliff edge. The wind is howling now, waves crashing against the rocks. George takes a careful step forward, peers over.

  The boat is in pieces, but there’s something much worse than that down there now.

  A wave of nausea. Knees hitting the ground, then retching and retching until there’s nothing left but bile. Stomach constricting in waves of pain.

  Purge the sin! Let it all out! Repent!

  It’s hard to tell that it’s a man at all. His jacket has puffed up with air, but it hadn’t made much of a parachute. He’s face down, half on the rocks, half in the sea, his hair swirling back and forth as the waves hit his broken body, each retreat pulling him further and further away.

  His hand slides off a rock. Dear God – is he still alive? Still trying to claw himself up to safety?

  But no one could survive that fall.

  The wind whips and whirls.

  What have we done?

  A moment of madness. Bravado. Something they’ll replay over and over in their minds for the rest of their lives. Memories tarnished forever.

  And what about Anne? Will she already have made it to the bottom? Will she have gone straight to the police?

  Perhaps they’re already on their way . . . with Father. No!

  Repent! For all your sins will consume you!

  George takes a deep breath and another step closer to the edge.

  ‘Please.’ The voice comes from behind. ‘Don’t jump.’

  It’s not Anne. She’s not coming back.

  George turns round. ‘You . . . Go away! I’ve told you before. You need to stay away from here. Go back home. Now!’

  Amelia

  They fall silent for a moment as the writing scrolls away. Then Scott begins to laugh. It starts off as a giggle, but before long he is hysterical.

  ‘Oh, this is the best,’ he says, leaning forward, hands on his thighs as he tries to catch a breath. ‘They really are trying to mess with us now.’ He stands up straight again, and his face is streaked with tears. ‘Well done, Big Brother,’ he shouts up to the sky. ‘You got me.’ He starts a slow handclap, but no one joins in. Everyone is staring at him with various expressions of amusement and alarm.

  ‘Scott, mate’ – James steps forward and lays a hand on his shoulder – ‘are you . . . ?’

  Scott shrugs him off. ‘Pina colada for me, please.’ He glances around. ‘Are you listening? Did you get that?’ He makes off down the hill at a pace.

  ‘Jeez, Scott. Wait up,’ Lucy says, marching off behind him. She looks back at them, eyes wide and questioning.

  Amelia stares at James, not quite sure what to say. He holds her gaze, and she feels a connection forming deep inside. So far, he seems the most normal of the group and she wants to build on that. Things are already starting to get weird, and she needs an ally. Maybe this is intentional. Whether Tiggy was right or not about it feeling like a reality TV set-up, there are group dynamics at work. Is she just playing into their hands?

  ‘I guess we’d better follow them,’ Amelia says.

  She and James head off down the hill after them as the track winds and twists towards the bay.

  ‘Those two need to go slower,’ James says. ‘This path is too unstable to be running so fast.’

  ‘Especially someone like Scott. It’s not long ago that he was huffing his way up the hill.’

  James kicks a stone and it hurtles off the path, disappearing over the edge, somewhere into the rocks below. ‘I’d like to know what’s in this water,’ he says. He holds his bottle up.

  ‘You haven’t touched it?’

  ‘Not yet . . . I’m waiting to see if Scott keels over first.’

  ‘Wise. Although Lucy seems OK on it. Besides, I took a sip and I feel fine.’

  He mutters what might be a ‘Hmm.’

  They keep walking, and as the decline increases she starts to feel the burn in the front of her thighs. ‘What drink are you hoping for down there?’

  ‘Well . . . I think Scott’s choice is a good one, but a bit obvious. I mean, it’s a tiki hut. It looks like the set of Cocktail.’ He pauses, looks at her. ‘You probably don’t even know what that is.’

  ‘Eighties film. Tom Cruise. The Beach Boys sang the theme song.’

  ‘“Kokomo”! What. A. Tune,’ he says. He starts humming it. ‘Sometimes I think I’m the only eighties movie fan I know. And far too many people dismiss Tom these days . . .’

  ‘Oh, come on. Tom Cruise is excellent. He might have a questionable personal life – although I’m not one to judge – but he is the perfect action hero. Did you see that stunt he did on the wing of a plane for one of the MI movies?’

  ‘Legend. Only surpassed by him smashing his ankle when he jumped across a rooftop for—’

  His sentence is cut short when they hear a piercing scream from somewhere below them. They both speak at the same time.

  ‘Scott.’

  ‘Guys, can you hurry?’ Lucy’s voice now, yelling up at them from further down the path. They can’t see her, but she can’t be too far ahead.

  They pick up the pace, marching faster but trying not to step on any loose stones and staying as far from the edge as they can. Her thighs are burning now, but she ignores it – adrenaline kicking in. Their march turns into a jog, until Amelia slips on the path. Stumbles.

  ‘Careful,’ James says, grabbing her arm. ‘We don’t need another casualty.’

  They slow down, and soon the path dips and they can see the others. Lucy is crouching next to Scott, who is lying across the path, one leg dangling over the cliff edge, the other bent at the knee, his foot turned inward. He is shaking and blubbering and, despite his earlier histrionics, clearly in
real pain.

  ‘What happened?’ Amelia hurries around to the other side of him, keeping close to the inside of the path.

  ‘Tripped over that, I think.’ Lucy nods towards what looks like a gnarled tree root pushing out from the side of the bank. The tree is some kind of shrub – scratchy with thorns and bent from the wind. But the roots are wiry, and she can see it would have been easy to dismiss them. He’s lucky too, where he’s landed. He could have gone right over the side. The footpath is perilously close to the edge here.

  James walks over and tugs at the clump. ‘Hard as nails and bedded in tight.’ He turns to Scott. ‘Unlucky, mate.’

  ‘You’re telling me,’ Scott says between groans. ‘I wish I’d brought some of my new painkiller formula with me. I could sure use it right now.’

  Amelia leans in towards his foot. ‘May I?’

  Scott lets loose a burst of expletives, ending with, ‘Don’t touch it!’

  She leans away from him. ‘I won’t hurt you, I promise. I’ve dealt with this kind of thing before. I know how to set it, so that you’ll be able to walk on it.’

  ‘First aid training?’ Lucy says, crouching down beside them.

  ‘A little.’ She takes Scott’s hand. ‘Please? Otherwise I’m not sure what we’re going to do. I don’t think any of us can carry you.’

  ‘They’ll send someone, won’t they?’ Lucy says. ‘They know we’re here. Scott, tell your tracker you need some assistance.’

  Scott groans again.

  ‘You know,’ Lucy says, ‘there was a wee flash of light, just before he fell. Like it came out of the bushes or something.’

  ‘It flashed right in my goddamn eyes,’ Scott says. ‘Coulda blinded me.’

  James flinches. ‘Maybe a bit of broken glass or something. Sun just caught it. Like I said . . . unlucky.’ He goes back to the offending bush and rummages around underneath it. ‘Can’t see anything.’

  ‘Never mind that now.’ Amelia drops from a crouch to her knees. ‘James? Could you try and get a straight piece of wood for me? And maybe something flat . . .’ She looks around at the landscape. Frowns. ‘Whatever you can find.’