‘OK,’ she says, giving George a huge grin.
‘Oh, fantastic. You won’t regret it! I’ve got so many things to show you. They’re all up here, in my den.’ George points to a hollowed-out tree. The limbs have long fallen off, leaving an array of fat stumps. In front, there’s a large round boulder. George rushes over and bends down, pushes it away, revealing an entrance to the tree.
‘Wow,’ she says, genuinely awed. ‘This is so cool.’
‘Told you!’ George smiles shyly. ‘We’ll be safe in here.’
‘Safe from what?’
‘Never mind. I meant to ask . . . do you like sci-fi? You know, like Star Trek and stuff?’
She ducks down and follows George into the hollow. The place is lined with pillows and blankets, and boxes spilling over with comics.
‘Oh, yes,’ she says, grinning. ‘I love science. It’s my favourite subject at school. I keep wondering about all the inventions that we know about, and all the things that haven’t even been invented yet. Do you think the stuff in Star Trek might happen one day? Like teleporting and holograms and finding life on other planets?’
George sits and gestures for her to follow, then flicks down a curtain from the top of the entrance and they are basked in muted darkness, until the light of George’s torch brightens the space again.
‘Definitely,’ George says. ‘Well – I’m not sure about the life on other planets part, or even the type of spaceships they have . . . but the rest of it is definitely going to happen. People are already working on it, you know – in America, and Russia, and Germany too. I can’t wait to leave school and go to university. Because then I’m going to start up my own lab and I’m going to invent all of the things you could ever imagine.’
‘Wow,’ she says. ‘That would be so cool. Maybe I could come and work for you?’
George frowns. ‘Well, I reckon I’m going to have a lot of strong candidates. What makes you so special?’
She grins. She sits up straight and puts on her poshest, most formal voice. ‘I’m loyal. I’m a quick learner . . . and we have the same shared vision.’
‘How loyal?’ George says. ‘Because this is actually the key requirement. In fact, I need someone I know I can rely on.’ George looks away. ‘I don’t just mean in the future. I mean now. I . . . need hope. I need to know that one day, I can get away from this place. Can you help me with that, Anne?’
George’s gaze weighs heavy on her, and she feels butterflies fluttering in her tummy. It’s as if there’s a lot more at stake here than just a fantasy future job idea, and this strange island child is somehow making her feel significant. ‘Of course . . .’ She lets her sentence trail off when she sees what George is doing.
A drop of blood pops and glistens on George’s thumb.
‘Give me your hand.’
Mesmerised, she complies. The pain is quick and hot. Just a sting, then it’s done. George takes hold of her thumb and presses it hard.
‘We’re blood now, Anne. You can’t let me down. Promise?’
She nods. ‘I promise.’
Tiggy
Tiggy feels sick. She opens her eyes, expecting to see the dressing table and stool in her room, and is surprised to find that they’re not there. Also, the pink flocked wallpaper has been replaced with green and gold, with what looks like deer printed on it.
She pulls herself up to a sitting position, and the room spins and tilts for a moment before settling down. She’s on a chaise longue that she doesn’t remember seeing before, and she’s wearing a long, floaty lemon dress that she definitely did not put on by herself. As her eyes swim back into focus, she takes in the rest of the room. Another similar chaise opposite, plus a selection of mismatched but all equally period armchairs, wing-backed chairs and a couple of footstools. Everything is upholstered in clashing, gaudy fabrics. The curtains are green, to match the wallpaper, and the carpet is a shimmering gold weave. The room is lit by orange glass wall lamps, and at the far end are folding partition doors.
Through the gap in the partition, she can make out the silhouettes of several people moving around.
They’re here!
She blinks herself awake and jumps up. Then holds on to the end of the chaise to steady herself. She’ll be OK in a minute. She must have slept too long. She has a vague recollection of leaving her bedroom to walk downstairs, but there’s a black hole between then and getting changed and ending up asleep down here. There’s an empty champagne flute on the small table next to where she was lying. That would explain it, if she’d had a few on an empty stomach. As if reading her mind, her stomach growls. She walks towards the partition and catches the scent of something delicious wafting through.
This might make the wasted day worth it then, she hopes. Especially once she’s seen Giles.
But where is Giles?
Her head is fuzzy, and fragments of the last few hours are missing. She remembers that she and Giles had an argument. And she remembers being on the boat, and him not waking up. But he must be awake now, if the others are back and the food is being served?
The gap in the partition is narrow, but she’s small, so she slips through without having to open it further. The first thing she notices when she enters the room is that everyone is on their own, doing their own thing. Have they fallen out with each other since she left them behind in the bay? Or are they just enjoying a bit of space?
She surveys the room, taking them all in. Lucy is wearing a navy velvet cocktail dress and very high heels. Her hair is pinned up, with small diamanté studs peppered throughout. When Tiggy’s heels clip-clop on the tiled floor of the dining room, Lucy turns round. She’s holding a champagne flute and her eyes are slightly glazed.
‘Tiggy! Oh my God, I am so glad to see you!’ She rushes forward, stumbling slightly in her shoes, and throws her arms around Tiggy. She smells of coconut and an expensive, heady perfume.
Tiggy pulls back, slightly bemused by her over-the-top display of affection, and Lucy senses it and laughs. ‘Sorry. I’ve had a few of these. They brought a bottle up to my room, and two women with a load of fancy clothes to dress me. I felt like an eighteenth-century queen. Or a drag queen, more likely.’ She laughs again.
The others hear the voices and laughter and come trickling over from their various positions.
Scott and James are both dressed in perfectly cut tuxedos, their hair neatly styled. They each lean in to kiss her; they smell of orange and sandalwood.
‘Tiggy,’ Scott says, touching her arm. ‘You look sensational.’
‘How are you?’ James says. ‘I bet you’ve been in the lap of luxury while we’ve been sheltering in a cave and staggering here in the pitch-dark.’
‘A cave?’ she says. ‘Well, I’m glad I missed that. I’m not keen on small dark spaces.’
‘Hello, Tiggy.’ Amelia doesn’t kiss her. It was obvious early on that she wasn’t the kissing type. She looks lovely though, in a purple off-the-shoulder ball gown, her dark hair swept up to the side, adorned with a simple silver leaf-shaped clip. Her eyes scan the space around Tiggy. ‘Where’s Giles?’ she says. ‘Is he going to make it to dinner? Harvey told us it was going to be quite special, and that we’d be rewarded for our treacherous day.’ She looks at the others. ‘I don’t know how you all feel, but I almost feel like today was just a bad dream . . . and that this’ – she raises her palms, gesturing to the room – ‘is what this trip was really about.’
‘Totally agree,’ James says. ‘It might be the champagne they brought up to the room, but I can hardly even remember all the drama from earlier.’
‘And my ankle doesn’t hurt a bit, but I know I did something to it.’ Scott holds out his foot, turns it from one side to the other. ‘I couldn’t have done this a few hours ago. I tried my best not to put weight on it, but it hurt like hell most of the day. Even more so when Amelia knocked me over in the hallway.’
‘I said I was sorry,’ Amelia says, her cheeks flushing.
Tiggy has no ide
a what’s gone on since she left in the boat with Giles, but they are all acting very strangely. All day, they’d been questioning the ‘game’ and everything that was going on. Bickering with each other, trying to decide who to trust – and now they’re all washed and changed and sipping champagne as if none of it even happened.
‘Anyway,’ Lucy says, her face still fixed in a grin. ‘Giles? Where is he? The three of you were in the small sitting room by the fire when we arrived.’
Tiggy is even more confused now. ‘The three of us?’
Lucy’s smile slips, just a little. ‘You, Giles and Brenda, of course. Who did you think I meant?’
Tiggy swallows hard. ‘I . . . um . . . I don’t remember seeing Brenda since I got here.’ She looks at Amelia, pleading for help. ‘I thought she was with you?’
‘They brought her back here a bit before us,’ Amelia says. ‘She collapsed.’ Her forehead pulls into a frown. ‘You haven’t seen her?’
‘I haven’t seen her or Giles!’
‘What?’ Lucy says. ‘But—’
She doesn’t get a chance to say any more. There’s a double handclap, then Harvey appears through the partition. ‘Ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for your patience.’ Behind him, two men push the partition doors open wider, revealing the lounge room behind. Both men are youngish and awkward-looking in their white shirts and neat black trousers. Tiggy notices that her glass has been cleared away. ‘It’s time for our final presentations, before you meet our wonderful, yet elusive, host – the CEO and founder of the incredible Timeo Technologies, Merryn Hicks.’
Are they supposed to applaud? Scott catches her eye and shrugs, then starts a slow handclap. James joins in. Then Lucy.
The two young men stand watching, expressionless.
Behind her, Tiggy hears James whisper to Amelia. Something that sounds like, ‘Is one of them your friend?’ She whips her head round just in time to see Amelia give a small shake of her head and look away from Tiggy’s gaze. James smiles, still clapping.
Her friend? What on earth is that all about?
She thinks back to the earlier presentations of the day. Giles’s awful projection. Then hers. Then that really boring one on the beach afterwards, going through all the ‘hashtag amazing’ inventions that the company has come up with – that this host, this Merryn Hicks, has come up with, if they are supposed to believe all of that. Tiggy still can’t understand why someone who’s so bloody clever would want to keep it all a secret. Surely they’d want to be on TV and the front cover of TIME, telling the world what a genius they are – getting even more funding to invent even more things? Why would anyone want to share that across so many different companies and not take any of the credit? And why would they go to all this effort to test it in such secrecy?
‘But first,’ Harvey continues, ‘please enjoy the feast . . . as you may have worked out by now, we’ve been suppressing your appetite all day to build you up for this.’ He looks slightly sheepish.
‘So you did drug us?’ Tiggy folds her arms across her chest. ‘How?’
‘The water, dummy,’ Scott mutters. ‘Why do you think I drank so much of the stuff?’ He turns to Harvey. ‘Amphetamines, I assume?’
Harvey continues with his insipid smile. ‘I expect so. Not really my department.’
‘And the champagne?’ Tiggy says. ‘What was in that?’
‘Just a little something to keep you calm. Help you get past the stresses of the day.’ He pauses. ‘Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you don’t like it?’ He turns to Tiggy. ‘You, of course, had a little something extra at the top of the stairs. But I don’t suppose you remember that.’
A fragment of a scene flashes into her brain. Leaving the room. Heading for the stairs. Something holding her back.
‘You grabbed me!’ she says.
He shakes his head. ‘Again – not my department.’ He nods towards the two young men, who remain stony-faced. ‘But we had to look after you, I’m afraid. You couldn’t go wandering off on your own. Who knows what you might have found.’ He laughs, but it sounds mirthless and forced, and after a moment he stops – his face falling serious once more.
‘As I said, please enjoy your feast. You deserve a bit of luxury now – after all, isn’t that what you signed up for?’ He refuses to catch anyone’s eye as he sweeps his arm towards the long dining table, laden with all sorts of fancy-looking treats.
‘Well, I guess I am kinda hungry now.’ Scott makes his way across to the table and picks up something small and round, topped with a pile of what looks like caviar. He pops it into his mouth, smacks his lips together. Lifts his flute. ‘Any chance of a top-up here?’
Another staff member appears from a door to the side, a slight woman with her hair pulled back in a severe bun. She looks vaguely familiar, and Tiggy wonders if she might have been one of the women who dressed her earlier on. She rushes over clutching a bottle in a white linen napkin, and with one hand behind her back, expertly pours champagne into Scott’s glass. She then walks over to James, who waves her away.
Tiggy picks up a glass and holds it out. But she doesn’t look at the woman. She’s back to looking at Harvey. Still waiting for him to say more. When he doesn’t, she takes a sip of her champagne, then says, ‘And what about the others? Aren’t they getting to enjoy this treat?’
There’s a murmuring from behind her: Lucy and Scott agreeing.
Harvey tips his head to the side and lifts a finger to his mouth, putting on an exaggerated look of confusion. ‘The others?’
Tiggy puffs out a stream of angry air. She never thought she’d feel this again, but she has the urge to ram this champagne flute into his face. ‘Yes,’ she snaps. ‘The others. Brenda and Giles, of course. Where are they?’
Harvey pales, his forced joviality gone. ‘Oh, I see. My apologies. I thought you’d realised that all surviving players were present.’
Tiggy feels a burning in her gullet, as if the champagne is going to make a swift reappearance.
‘Surviving players?’ Scott holds another caviar blini, but he stares at Harvey now, leaving the canapé hovering close to his mouth. ‘What in hell does that mean?’
‘Where are Brenda and Giles?’ Tiggy demands, clutching the flute tighter, her hand shaking. ‘Tell us. Tell us right this second!’
Harvey taps his tracker. ‘I’m sorry. I assumed you knew.’ A holographic screen pops up. Two bodies, covered with white sheets. He taps the tracker again and it vanishes. He stares at them all, holds his palms up. ‘I’m afraid Brenda and Giles are dead.’
Lucy
This is not happening, Lucy thinks. We saw them . . . in the other room. Didn’t we? She feels sick. Walks over to a high-backed chair and leans her hands on it to steady herself.
Scott slams his glass down on the table and the stem snaps off. He flicks it angrily away. ‘What the hell d’you mean, they’re dead? Where are they? Did you take them to the hospital?’
Tiggy collapses onto the floor, sobbing. ‘I can’t believe it,’ she manages, between wails. ‘I know he was a . . . a . . .’ She can’t speak any more. James goes to her and crouches down, puts an arm around her shoulder, and she falls into him, broken.
The nice little drunken buzz that Lucy felt earlier is gone in an instant. Despite everything, she’d still thought it was all a game. Well, seems it is a game, but not one that has any winners. She looks over at Amelia, who is standing perfectly still, her face contorted in a mixture of shock and terror. She won’t catch Lucy’s eye.
None of this makes any sense. This is the kind of thing you see in a horror film. A group of strangers thrown together in an isolated place, forced to band together for certain challenges, but their bickering and in-fighting spilling over the more tired and hungry and scared they become. It’s a classic set-up. But that’s fiction. Fantasy.
This is supposed to be real life.
She’d just about bought the holographic projections and the trackers linking to their individual biometrics – but,
if this latest holographic image is to be believed, two of them are dead, and the organisers don’t seem to be the slightest bit concerned.
Scott is pacing up and down along the length of the dinner table, muttering to himself, occasionally taking a swipe at one of the platters, sending fancy canapés skittering across the floor.
James is comforting Tiggy.
Amelia still hasn’t moved.
‘Hey.’ Lucy walks over to Harvey and stands right in front of him, putting her face close to his. ‘I need to talk to you.’
He flinches slightly, taking a step back from her.
She pushes a finger into his chest. ‘Now listen, pal. I’ve gone along with this charade. All. Fucking. Day.’ She jabs his chest to punctuate each word. ‘I’ve gone along with it, because I was promised something in return. I was promised—’ Her sentence stops abruptly as she screams, grabbing her ear. ‘Oww!’ The tracker vibrates hard, giving her a sharp shock. ‘What . . .’
‘You were told not to talk about the conditions of your agreement,’ Harvey says, smoothing a hand down the front of his shirt to remove the dents from Lucy’s probing finger. ‘You were warned.’
‘This is insane!’ Tiggy shouts, stepping away from James as she grabs hold of Lucy’s arm and glares at Harvey. ‘Stop this. Stop this now.’
‘It’s OK,’ Lucy says, her voice faint. ‘It’s stopped.’ The sharp pain has subsided, but there is still a dull ache, and she rubs the skin behind her ear as she addresses Harvey. ‘I get it. No talking about our agreements . . .’ She’s fuming, but she tries to rein it in.
Finally, Amelia stirs – blinking, as if she’s just zoned back in from a trance. ‘I . . . I . . .’ She shakes her head, trying to wake herself up. She turns to Harvey. ‘Please. Can we talk to the host now? Everything’s got out of hand. We need to keep calm and work out how to deal with all this—’
The Last Resort Page 21