Stranded

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by Sarah Goodwin


  The shock and helplessness I felt made me sob breathlessly, shaking. I clutched myself and curled up, angry, wronged and, most of all, afraid. Afraid for myself and for Zoe, for what Duncan might do to me and what nature might do to her. I’d been trying for the last week to carry on as normal, but the reality of our helpless situation had hit me full force in the last few hours. We were trapped. I was trapped. I had limited food and no means to grow more, no sign that rescue was imminent. The others were against me. I was alone even amongst my fellow castaways.

  At last, face tacky with tears and hiccupping with residual sobs, I asked myself what I was going to do. What could I do? Part of me wanted to just get the book and take it to them. It would solve this most immediate conflict. But I knew that there would be something else after that. They’d demand my map, my food stocks, my tools. Taking from me was the only way they could increase their supplies. It was also the only form of entertainment they had, a sort of group bonding ritual – baiting the outsider. No, handing over the book would ultimately be pointless.

  Duncan hadn’t known that he’d missed some supplies at the portacabin. He seemed to think they had them all and that I had basically nothing. From what he’d said it looked like his plan was to wait a while, for me to start going hungry, at which point I’d hand over the book. He probably thought that would be in a week or so. I couldn’t imagine him waiting longer. After a short while he’d realise that I had resources hidden somewhere and then he’d start looking, or try to force me to reveal them. He wasn’t stupid. If I stayed where I was I’d have a visit from them sooner rather than later. I was afraid to see what he’d do under further stress, with more at stake.

  That left me with one obvious course of action: not be here when they came back. I could move to the cave. It was hidden, secret and already had most of my belongings in it. The only problem was that my established infrastructure was at the beach. I’d be leaving behind the latrine, fire pit, smoke hut and the sea – my most valuable food source. But I couldn’t see a way around it. I had to make it work at the cave, or face the others when they came to act on their threats.

  By the time exhaustion carried me off to sleep, I had a plan. One week was all the grace I could hope for. Maybe less. In that time I would transport everything I could to the cave and get it ready as a sort of bunker, to wait out my time on the island until rescue came. I only hoped that Zoe would come to me before I had to disappear.

  Chapter 25

  ‘I’m sure our viewers have seen some of the coverage surrounding Buidseach and the events there. But, as a lot of the information has been conflicting and inconsistent from several parties … are you able to confirm the number of people who sadly lost their lives there?’

  I assess her steadily. This glossy, perfectly poised woman, pulling her sentiments from the autocue scrolling behind me. Like her own brain is empty except for those digitised letters, spooling from a control room somewhere behind the studio lights. It isn’t her fault. She isn’t the one thinking up these questions, piling on the sugar to hide the bitterness of the truth. Obscuring gleeful thoughts of ratings with well-feigned distaste and journalistic pride, even as the audience at home leans in to catch every horrific detail. Lapping hungrily like wolves at a fresh kill.

  I think of everything I could say, the things I could reveal. The many ways I could wipe the brittle-as-icing smile off her face. But no. Some truths are for me, and me alone.

  ‘Six people died on Buidseach, that I knew of at the time I left the island,’ I say.

  ‘That number has since risen though, hasn’t it?’ Rosie presses.

  ‘I believe so, yes. The trial, of course, was … well, I think the ordeal was too much for some people. Having to face what happened. I don’t blame them for not being able to cope.’

  That’s actually true. I blame them for other, far worse things.

  Rosie smiles that same saccharine smile, slick with gloss. Her eyes flick over the lines of text presumably rolling behind me. What horror does she want me to conjure next? Is she going to ask for the causes of death? The full details of every last breath taken? The starvation, cruel accidents and malice that snatched lives away?

  ‘I’m sure I speak for our audience when I say, your bravery is to be commended,’ she says, turning away, to smile at the cameras. ‘And we’ll be right back, with Madeline Holinstead, after the break.’

  Chapter 26

  I woke early the next morning and went out to take stock of my supplies. Mostly these were in the smoke shed and comprised split logs and some dried seaweed. I also had my clothes, bedroll, sleeping bag, buckets and other tools to think of. As I went about checking things and then lighting the fire for my breakfast, I became increasingly certain that I was being watched.

  Without being obvious I scanned my surroundings in quick glances. The woods were dark and hiding places plentiful, but I thought I saw a flash of orange among the pines. Shaun had been sent to spy on me. The least they could have done was lend him a green jacket. I carried on my morning routine as normal, making spruce tea and eating a sparse meal. All the while my mind was working.

  Duncan knew I had hidden the book somewhere and was clearly hoping to catch me going to that hiding place. Before I’d always gone to the cave at night in case I was seen, but I’d not seriously thought I was being watched, not constantly anyway. However, as the day went on the feeling of being followed didn’t go away. As I foraged along the shore I felt my neck prickling and when I turned around I caught movement in the trees. In the woods sticks snapped behind me and in retracing my route I saw other footprints in the snow patches. They were not very good at being sneaky. But then, they didn’t need to be. Even if they were aware that I noticed them, what was I going to do? How could I stop them from following me?

  The constant surveillance was weighing on me by the time night started to fall. I had to start moving things to the cave, I had to make it liveable. Most importantly, I needed to fetch some food for the coming days. I went through the motions of preparing for bed, and then lay in my tipi, fully dressed and waiting.

  I had no way of marking the passage of time, but it felt like hours. The fire burned down to nothing and I made no move to rekindle it. I didn’t want to give any sign that I was still awake. I weighed my chances. If I left now and was followed, I would lose everything. If I simply went to sleep I would lose precious time in setting up my bolthole. Worse, what could I take? There was nothing to stop them searching my tipi again. It would surely raise suspicion if my bedding and clothes vanished.

  In the end, as my eyes were prickling with tiredness, I decided to wait. I would go the next night. Hopefully if they were watching tonight they’d be satisfied that I wasn’t going anywhere. One night stationed in the cold would more than likely be enough to make them not want to repeat the exercise. Mentally I picked through my possessions. I would have to move them slowly, in small batches.

  Over the next few days I started making my night runs again. Only whereas before I’d felt slightly silly creeping around in the dark, now it felt deadly serious. I went to the cave via a meandering route, doubling back and hiding for long stretches in case I was being followed. It took me a long time to get there and back, and I could only take small amounts of stuff with me. Mostly this was wood, carefully split and stashed in my backpack. I had a lot of it and would need even more. Keeping a fire going was the only way to battle the cold, to cook food and purify water. Fire was life.

  To that end I needed a way to have a fire lit in the cave without the light or smoke attracting attention. Light was easy; I’d read Andrew’s SAS book extensively and knew I could dig a hole to hide my fire from view even in the open. In the cave, with the barrier across the outer entrance, it would be invisible. Smoke was the problem. My first night back at the cave I explored the back wall of the inner chamber thoroughly. There was another crack there, too small to get through. It appeared to lead into another chamber or tunnel, one that went further back und
er the hill. I dug my fire hole under it. The smoke would be channelled into the crack and find some outlet further on, I hoped. It was the best I could do.

  I stacked my wood along the wall, each piece a guarantee of warmth. I used ripped fishing net and rope to hang my tools and drying plants from the walls and across the ceiling. Being in that cave for a few hours each night was the only time I felt safe. It was no longer a scary reminder of the witch’s house, but a protective warren. In comparison my tipi felt about as protective as a child’s playhouse.

  As the days went past I started to panic a little. The week I had given myself was only an estimate, after all. I had no idea when Duncan would run out of patience and return for the book. I didn’t know what he would do, or when he would do it. I still had lots of wood and most of my bulkier things to move. I had to keep up the pretence that I was planning to stay in my tipi. I knew I was being watched and was certain someone had been through my things while I was out. The need to move silently also meant that I couldn’t take much with me when I went out to the cave.

  Finally, on the fifth night I decided to try and do multiple trips. I was reasonably sure that I wasn’t being watched or followed after dark and, as nerve-shredding as it was to navigate the woods evasively, I’d rather be done in one night than chance waiting a few extra days. I could make one trip with my bedding, come back for my clothes and remaining personal things, then the last of the wood and be done. The wood might take more than one trip, but I was going to cross that bridge when I had to.

  It was a good night for it. I’d started taking notice of the moon phases as on a full moon it was harder to find shadows to hide in. That night was a new moon and the very air seemed dark around me. I rolled my sleeping bag and foam mat up as one and tied them with string. With a longer piece of string I made a strap to carry them on my back. I waited until the darkness seemed at its most dense, then I set off.

  As had become routine I snaked my way towards the cave. I doubled back a few times and hid for a while under some brambles. I didn’t hear anyone in the woods aside from me. There was very little sound at all, as most of the animals were hibernating still. The others would have a long wait for their meat.

  At last I reached the cave and separated my roll and sleeping bag. Getting them through the crack into the inner cave was a struggle. I had to feed them through bit by bit, one after the other. Inside I made my bed up in an alcove on the left-hand side, out of the draft from the entrance.

  I slid out of the cave and pulled the panel into place behind me. I was pleased with how effective it looked; even when I’d passed the cave in daylight it looked like nothing so much as a slight indent, choked with leaves. I made my way back towards my tipi, legs already strained from struggling in all the snowmelt mud.

  Inside the tipi I cursed myself for not packing sooner. I’d been preoccupied with keeping up appearances and not wanted to spend too long in the tipi during the day. I now had to feel about in the dark, picking up clothing and stuffing it into my backpack along with soap, towels, clothes and the rest of my daily use items. A sudden sound made me freeze, hand still in the bag. Was that someone stumbling on the gravel beach? I strained to hear beyond my own heartbeat. Footsteps. Not close, but loud on the gravel as people slithered and tripped on the loose stones.

  I was caught, trapped by indecision. If I stayed they’d be on me in a matter of moments. What would they do then? Something told me they weren’t here in the middle of the night to negotiate. If I ran now it meant leaving things behind; the remainder of my clothes, my wood store. Would those things be there when, if, I came back? Doubtful.

  It was no choice at all, but I made it just the same. With a tight hand on my half-filled rucksack I darted out of the tipi and, using it as cover, made a beeline for the trees. Once hidden under the shadowy pines, I turned, despite my better judgement, to see what they would do. I wiped the camera lens with my sleeve to remove any dirt or water droplets; deep down I think I knew I’d need some kind of witness for what was to come.

  Their shadows came out of the greater darkness, carrying torches. They were the battery-operated kind, not flaming, and no pitchforks were evident. But the mood was threatening none the less. I watched as they surrounded the tipi as if by agreement, spaced evenly around it with Duncan at the entrance. He grabbed one of the three supports and shook it.

  ‘Maddy, come out. Now.’

  There was silence as they waited for a few moments. Then Duncan pushed aside the plastic door flap and shone his torch inside.

  ‘She’s not here!’

  The figures shifted and turned to each other in consternation. I watched their torch beams whirl as they shone them around, looking for me. I was grateful for the position of the tipi; I’d made my escape over packed earth, not sand. There were no prints to betray me. Duncan started to throw things out of the tipi, my clothes splashing onto the ground like ink.

  ‘Her bed’s gone. She’s done a runner.’ He threw down the last piece of clothing in disgust. ‘Fuck! I thought you were watching her?’

  He turned to one of them – it looked to be Shaun from the height and shape of him. Shaun appeared to hang his head, clearly saying something in his own defence because the next moment Duncan exploded.

  ‘Oh, was it cold? Fucking hell! I didn’t know you were such a fucking pussy. Well now we don’t know where she is, do we? Her or the book or God only knows what else she’s hiding away from us.’

  ‘She’ll come back’ – this from Gill, her voice clear and sharp as a gull’s scream. ‘We’ll get her then, won’t we, Duncan?’

  ‘If she’s had her bed out of here she’s not coming back tonight, is she?’ Duncan snapped. ‘Fat chance we’ve got of catching the sneaky bitch with Shaun here on the case. Gill, get her clothes up, anything else we can use.’

  Gill hurried to do this, scooping up my things in her arms and making a bundle. I watched as another figure approached Duncan. The torchlight rested on him for a moment and I recognised Andrew. I also saw that Duncan had black streaks on his face, as if painted on with charcoal, like he was off on a guerrilla mission. It would have been funny if I’d not been so frightened.

  They’d clearly come intending to surprise me. To do what I wasn’t sure, but nothing good. I was frozen, afraid to move in case they heard or saw me. I just wanted them to go away so I could make a run for it. It didn’t seem like they were in a hurry though.

  I watched as Duncan and Andrew put their heads together. Then Andrew ducked into the tipi and emerged with a smouldering branch from my fire. He passed it to Duncan and went back for another. Duncan waved the stick, fanning the embers until the dry wood burned greedily, throwing jagged shadows on his face.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I heard Zoe ask, her voice layered with apprehension.

  Duncan answered her by throwing his burning stick onto the tipi. The outer layer of pine bough thatch was wet from the day’s rain, but under that there was clearly more than enough dry kindling, not to mention the plastic sheeting. After a few moments the flames started to spread and Andrew added his own stick on the other side. Gill clapped and cheered, linking arms with what I assumed to be Maxine. I watched as the home I’d made months before went up like a bonfire. For a moment the figures around it almost looked like revellers waiting for a firework display. It seemed almost normal that they’d be there, on the beach, watching the fire burn. Then light flashed in my eyes and I heard Gill’s voice cry out.

  ‘She’s over there!’

  The torch was like a searchlight, momentarily blinding me. I was frozen in fear, but the sound of people running towards me snapped me out of it. I turned and sprinted into the trees, fleeing from the shouts and cries behind me.

  Fear gripped me as the feeling of being chased, being prey, coursed through me. I crashed through the undergrowth I’d previously navigated cautiously. I twisted my ankles sliding in the mud. A branch whipped across my face, stinging my eye and making me cry out.

  Th
eir voices hounded me through the trees. I ploughed on, head down. Eventually I looked up and realised I had no idea where I was. Panic was blotting out all my thoughts, making the familiar strange and terrifying. No landmarks came to me out of the darkness. I was completely lost.

  I ran on, not daring to stop. My heart was racing, my side seized with cramp. Suddenly the uneven ground was snatched away and I was falling. Plunging down into a gulley. I hit the ground hard and it knocked the wind out of me. My ankle was badly twisted, my clothes soaked and my breath wheezing as I gaped and spluttered like a landed fish. I struggled, trying to stand only for my ankle to stab pain through me.

  Then I heard footsteps over me.

  I froze, lying still in the mud and water. All thoughts of pain were swallowed up by the black hole of my terror. Someone was near, almost on top of me. I heard twigs break and pebbles grind under boots.

  When a hand grabbed my arm and turned me over, I nearly screamed. Had a second hand not quickly covered my mouth I likely would have given myself away. It was Zoe, and she looked almost as afraid as I was.

  ‘Quiet!’ she hissed. ‘You need to get out of here – that way.’ She pointed to the left of my original path. ‘There’s no one looking over there yet.’

  I struggled to sit up, then to crouch. ‘Thank you,’ I whispered.

  ‘I don’t know what’s going on with them,’ Zoe said, and I could hear she was almost in tears. ‘They’re all off their faces … I don’t know what to do.’

 

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