The Dark Atoll: The Castaways: Book 1

by Marilyn Foxworthy

  Yeah, now that I was riled up, thinking about a beautiful soul being mistreated, I was determined that Allie and Christie would be loved and happy if I could make it happen. Damn it, it was time for me to really man-up and grow a good pair of balls. I had fought five men to the death, really for the sake of Allie, and now I needed to fight to the death for a real family marriage with these two wonderful girls who were currently out in the atoll fishing for our lunch. A few days ago, I had hurried to fight for our right to survive here; now I was ready to fight for our reality as a family. It might take some time, but it would be my first priority and the focus of my efforts until I felt like it was accomplished.

  I’d start right now.

  I had been sitting on the beach, staring out at the ocean where the girls were diving for fish but now I got up and got to work. First, I gathered firewood. For the past two weeks, I had eaten plenty of raw fish, but it was time to establish civilization again. This little house was my castle and this tiny part of the atoll was my kingdom. By rights, the entire atoll was mine because my grandfather had owned it just before the world collapsed but the population wasn’t aware of that and certainly wasn’t in a mood to give it back to me. For now, the squatters were in possession of about 30 percent of the land, but this little piece was mine.

  All of the wood that I could find was wet. Rain was the natural weather pattern about 360 days a year now, and nothing was ever dry. It wasn’t raining now, though.

  I stacked some of the wood that I gathered under the house so that it would start to dry over the next few weeks. The rest I took down to the sand and arranged for a small campfire. But it was useless. The wood was too wet and there was no dry tinder to get a fire started. It would be raw fish again today, but I was determined that we’d have fire again as soon as I could manage it. The electric stove would work again soon but I wanted a fire on the beach, outdoors.

  The girls came up out of the water with one large fish for us to share.

  As we started breakfast, I said, “Girls, um, Allie and Christie.”

  I used their names as a way of trying to connect and make things personal and as intimate as I could.

  I said, “It’s me. Florin. Do you remember me? I’m your boyfriend. I love you and we are together now.”

  Allie said, “Florin. Oh, that’s right. Hi. I like you. Christie, remember? We have a boyfriend.”

  Christie smiled as if she were fully aware of who I was.

  She said, “That’s right, Allie. Florin is our husband. We’re married now. Do you remember? He rescued us and now we live here with him on this nice beach. In the house.”

  Allie squealed, “Oh, that’s right! I think that I forgot. Um, I still kind of forget, I think. So, we’re really married? Like in stories? Oh yeah. And your name is Florin. Do want to kiss me? Oh, what is the wood for. Um, it looks like a campfire.”

  I said, “It was supposed to be a campfire, but the wood is too wet. We will have to stack wood under the house so that it will dry out. Then we can cook on the beach.”

  Allie said, “That’s nice.”

  I said, “We’ll be able to cook the fish.”

  Allie said, “Oh, cook the fish!”

  Christie squeezed my hand and whispered, “I remember you. Thank you for being so kind. I’m glad that I’m here with you. Do you think that Allie will get fixed? Like you fixed me?”

  I whispered back, “I hope so. But even if she is always like this, I’ll love her and take care of her, just the same. We’re a family.”

  Christie scooted closer to me on the sand and leaned into my side.

  She said quietly, “It’s nice to be touched, not handled.”

  I realized that she was right. It was nice to be touched. And if it was done right, it created connections. There was an oxytocin hormonal release if the touch was positive. Christie had been “handled” often enough. Now she was enjoying our touch.

  I said, “Allie, do you want to come sit with us and have me put my arm around you?”

  Allie smiled and rushed to sit very close to me on the side opposite Christie. I put my arm gently around her waist and pulled her close. The three of us sat there for a while, just watching the ocean.

  Eventually, I broke the silence and said, “Girls, it’s nice here. But we can make it even nicer. I want us to live here together. In a home.”

  Allie sat up suddenly as if startled by something.

  Christie stroked my arm and said, “Of course. Florin, I’m different. I’m not mushed anymore. I don’t remember being that way as much as I should.”

  Allie said, “Live here! In a home! But what about if They or the Others find us? We will leave after breakfast. Oh, but there’s no fire. We should go now. To a hiding place.”

  I held my arm firmly around Allie’s waist, but she didn’t try to get up or move away. I didn’t say anything yet. Allie had a habit of filling things in if I gave her time to think and respond. So, we waited. And I touched her. It was just small movements on her hip and waist and back and shoulders, but it was touch and it wasn’t forceful or unwelcome.

  Allie spoke again, saying, “We were at the trade village. They gave us a canoe. Christie was mushed. Then she drowned and now she’s dead. Christie, you died. I’m sorry. I tried to get you. I’m sorry that you’re dead. I tried. Stay with us, OK? I don’t hate um, Florin. He’s nice and he likes us and he thinks we’re pretty and he doesn’t hurt us. Um, you look different than I thought you would.”

  Christie said soothingly, “How do I look different, Allie?”

  Allie said, “Well, you don’t look dead. You look like an angel. Does Florin know that you’re here? Can he hear you and see you?”

  I said, “Allie, I see Christie and she is right beside me. I’m glad that you might not hate me.”

  Allie sat for another minute and then stood up. I didn’t try to stop her. She had a strange look on her face and when she started to wander off toward the house, I let her go but turned to watch what she would do.

  She disappeared into the little house and came back about two minutes later, wearing my T-Shirt. She walked out onto the sand again and stopped, standing a few feet in front of me. Then she knelt facing me where I sat.

  Allie looked at me and then at the shirt that she was wearing and said, “You said that you would give it to me. I told you, no. But I want it now. I want to…” and her voice trailed off.

  She continued, “I wish that Christie was here and not dead.”

  I said, “Sweetie, Christie is right here. Right beside me. She isn’t dead anymore. Allie, you rescued her. At the trade village. You told the coach that he had to give her to you, and he did. You rescued her. She came with us. Here she is.”

  Christie said, “Allie, I was dead. For a long time. I’m alive again now.”

  Allie said, “So, is that why I can see you?”

  Christie said, “Yes. You can see me because I’m alive now.”

  Allie had tears in her eyes now as she said, “I’m glad. I love you. Where are we? Are we home now?”

  I said, “Allie, this is going to be our home now. We can’t go back to where you lived before the cataclysm. Before the darkness. But we can live here and have a home and not have to hide and move every day. Allie, you rescued Christie, and you rescued me. You didn’t let me fall in the pit when I first got here, and you kept me hidden and you fed me until it was time for me to take care of you. Now it’s time for me to take care of you. And Christie. We are home now.”

  Allie played idly with the fabric of the T-Shirt and said, “I belong to you.”

  She paused for a while, looking down at the shirt, the first thing that she had worn in perhaps a decade or longer.

  She finally raised her eyes and said, “I belong to you now.”

  I said, “Um, well, we belong together. I belong to you too.”

  Allie was thoughtful for several more minutes and then pulled the shirt half way off and then dropped it back down again.

 
She said, “I belong to you. I want to. I don’t hate you. I like you. You said that I’m pretty. You had to fight, and you weren’t killed. I don’t know why Christie isn’t dead. She drowned. Christie, stay here. Don’t leave. I love you. Stay here. Florin come talk to me. I want to say something. Christie can stay here. She won’t go away or get lost.”

  Allie stood up and held out her hand to pull me to my feet. Christie smiled and assured me that she would stay and wait for us. When I was on my feet, Allie held my hand and started walking south along the beach.

  We walked for a while and as we did, Allie started to tremble. A little, now and then at first but as the minutes wore on and we moved farther and farther from the house, her shaking became more frequent and more pronounced. She was going through something, and it wasn’t my job to keep her from what was happening. She wasn’t in physical danger, so I needed to wait and let her have her moment of whatever this was.

  Suddenly, Allie stopped. She turned and looked at the water and dropped my hand. A few seconds later, she grabbed my hand again and held it tightly.

  She said, “Florin, Christie drowned. She died. I watched it. I was happy for her. I was sad for me. But you brought her back and saved her. Oh, it was like a lifeguard. You resuscitated her. Like CPR.”

  I said, “I love you both. I will always do what I can to save you.”

  Allie said, “You saved me from being tied up. You kept me from getting mushed. You looked for me when I ran away. You made them give us Christie when I told them to.”

  She went silent for a few minutes. She was remembering.

  She spoke again, saying, “Florin, you brought us here. We have a house. We have a family.”

  I thought, “Yeah. All of that. Take your time. Review it all. Every morning if we have to. And I’ll be here and listen and help. But the truth is, it’s getting old.”

  I let her go through her litany of remembrance, reviewing each thing that happened. Not always in chronological order. Sometimes in the local dialect and sometimes more coherently. She popped in and out of her “Lana” voice and her “Allison” voice. Like different characters.

  This went on for at least a half an hour. I suggested that we lie down on the sand and relax as she continued to process not just her past two weeks but also her past 36 years. For another hour, Allie lie on my shoulder with my arm around her. And she cried. She cried a lot. And then she would stop crying. Lana didn’t cry. Allie cried. At least that’s how I interpreted it.

  Eventually, she seemed to have cried herself to sleep as she lay against me. I let her sleep and wondered who she would be and what she would remember when she woke up.

  It started raining again. Not overly hard, and it wasn’t actually one of the storms that we were used to. We were used to storms that lasted for up to three weeks at a time, and they came every week or two but even when there were no storms, it rained almost every day. If it didn’t rain continuously all day long, we counted it as having been “dry”.

  It was overcast to the point where time was impossible to tell. I may have fallen asleep for some amount of time myself. Like I had said, time wasn’t that important since the cataclysm.

  The next thing that I was aware of was that Allie was gone again. I sat up quickly to look for her and was relieved to see her standing just a few feet away, looking at the ocean again. She heard me stir but didn’t look around.

  She said, “Come swimming,” and she walked slowly toward the water.

  I hurried to follow her. There were no waves right here. The beach was fairly steep, and it wasn’t far from the sand before we were waist deep. Allie looked around for a moment and then walked back to shallower water and sat down where just the tops of her breasts were covered. She beckoned me to sit beside her.

  As I settled down next to her in the shallow water, she pulled me closer and put her head on my shoulder.

  She said, “Christine was dead. I was a vegetable. Everybody died in the plane. We all gave up and quit living like we used to. Some people woke up and started to be different but alive. Some people died because others killed them. Some didn’t make it onto the rafts. Some got pushed off. They cried and no one helped them. When we got to the beach, lots were dead. I was dead. I didn’t know it. And I didn’t remember. When you found me, I was bait. I was dead. Christie died like me. Then they mushed her, and she died a different way. Then she came with us and she drowned and died again. Maybe now she’s the only person alive here. Oh, you are alive too. Am I alive yet? I don’t know. I wanted to go swimming with you. I haven’t been swimming since, what do you call it? The cataclysm. I swam all the time, but I never went swimming.”

  She went silent.

  I said, “Allie, before I came, it was all messed up. It was all broken. But you understood the rules.”

  Allie gasped and said, “Yes! I did. They, Others, Breeders, Vegetables, Coaches. Oh crap! Florin! Florin! I’m not stupid!”

  I said, “Of course not.”

  I was lying. I didn’t know if she was stupid or not. She was certainly broken. I really didn’t actually know her mental capacity.

  She exclaimed, “I had a full-ride scholarship to study biology. I was the nerd-cheerleader. I took calculus. And I aced it.”

  Allie looked at me frantically and then kissed me. She grabbed my face and kissed me hard. Suddenly I had a tongue down my throat and a naked girl in my arms begging me to show her that I could see her and that she wasn’t dead.

  I put my hand to the back of her neck and kissed her with as much passion as I could. I’m sure that my technique was awkward but so was hers.

  When Allie pulled back, she said, “Florin! We made love!” and she recounted what happened that day in the rain two weeks before.

  She remembered making love, talking about belonging to each other, discussing being married and being a family. Then she told me that she’d be back, and she dove into the water.

  Just seconds later, she surfaced again, with a fish in her mouth. I noticed that she had her teeth sunk deeply into its flesh, nearly biting the thing in half. Allie marched up to the sand and I ran to follow her.

  The first thing that she did was to tear her catch from her teeth, ripping a large bit out of it without opening her mouth. She held it by the tail in her left hand and took the piece of meat from her mouth with her right.

  Allie looked vicious. She stared at the meat in her right hand and squeezed it until it ran through her fingers. She tried to tear the rest of the fish in two with her bare hands but ended up mostly just mangling the thing. When ripping it didn’t satisfy her, she threw it on the ground and began stomping on the thing with the heal of her right foot.

  I heard her utter quietly, “Kill them all.”

  CHAPTER Thirteen - Clarity

  When Allie was done stomping on what apparently symbolically represented her lost years and her lost life and her hellish treatment, all that was left was a pulpy mass of pinkish-white jelly that had once been a fish. She scooped up a handful of remains in each fist and held them high and screamed. Or roared. She paused for a few seconds and then screamed again, seeming to try to outdo her previous outburst. When she had exhausted her breath, there was a short pause, and then she roared again.

  Finally, Allie was still and silent, clenching her fists as if she could squeeze even more life out of the remains of the fish in her hands.

  I had been watching the episode closely, looking for small and large clues as to what might be happening to the girl internally. Watching the muscles of her back, shoulders, and thighs. Watching her face and eyes for hints and explanations. Mostly, looking for timing. What phases was she going through? At what points did she relax? Was she amping up or settling down? Was she in crisis or catharsis?

  When Allie had clearly exhausted herself, standing still and seemingly lifeless on the sand, I said simply, “Allie, go take a bath.”

  The girl didn’t even look at me as she walked out into the water and started to scrub herself clean
. I sat down on the beach and watched. Allie was in water up to the bottom of her breasts, washing her hands first, and then her arms.

  I called out, “Wash all over. Everything.”

  Allie bathed her entire body, including her legs and feet, and I assumed her abdomen, ass, and crotch.

  I told her, “Wash your hair and face. And wash out your mouth.”

  Allie did as I told her and rubbed her face and rinsed her mouth with saltwater several times.

  There are times when we need choices, and there are times that we need to be told what to do. Allie still had a choice, of course; I wasn’t going to force her to bathe. She could do what she wanted, assuming that she had enough self-will to act on her own. But now, she needed to bathe, regardless of what she might want. She didn’t have to, but she did need to. Not because I told her to but because she needed a bath. It was like being told to take your medicine. You might not want to, but you need to, and you might need someone to tell you too and to stand over you until you do.

  It took Allie about ten minutes to bathe herself to the point where she felt that she was clean, and then she just stood in the water and looked westward at the darkened morning sky. She ducked down into the ocean one more time and stood up, rivulets of wetness running down her skin.

  She turned her head part way in my direction and said solemnly, “Florin, come take a bath.”

  I got myself up off the sand and walked down into the ocean to stand beside her. The way that she had told me what to do marked a turning point. I could hear it in her voice. It was a suggestion: a mark of caring for my wellbeing and health. She wanted me to bathe because it was good for me. It was an invitation: an opening to intimacy, standing close in the water, naked together in a bath. It was an acknowledgment of our bond: a declaration that we shared this life now and had a mutual responsibility for each other. Those five words spoke volumes: “Florin, come take a bath.”