by Ronan Cray
“I need the two of you,” he pointed at Lauren and Carter, “to grab each side of that bucket and bring it with us.” He indicated the pot below the latrine.
“You’re kidding.” Carter couldn’t hide his disdain.
Paul was nonplussed. “I can’t stress to you how valuable this position is. And, you might be glad to learn that it’s also the cushiest. Others of us on the island have waited years for this duty, but Tuk insists that residents of Departure Camp take it.”
No one moved toward the bucket.
“Someone has to do it,” Paul shrugged. “Today is your turn.”
Lauren took action first, and Carter followed. There was no lid. A shallow moat of black liquid puddled around a mountain of waste. Much of the pile dried in the sun, but enough of it remained fresh. Lauren’s body sent back a sample of what she ate for breakfast.
Paul looked in the pot. “Seems some of you didn’t follow directions. Liquids in the bucket, solids only in the pot. Get it right next time.”
Carter and Lauren lifted it very slowly to avoid spills. She gripped the handle as hard as she could. Paul followed close behind them, his hand on the small bag at his waist.
They hadn’t gone ten yards from camp when Lauren stumbled. A blob of black slop broke free from the top of the pile and fell in the moat, splashing a few drops of greenish liquid up over the rim and onto the sand. Quick as lighting, Paul pulled a red dust out of the bag and sprinkled it over the wet sand. His eyes were wide, his chest heaving. “Do not do that again.” They didn’t.
Emily and Mason were careful to walk upwind. They followed the trail back toward the Great Wall. Paul talked the whole way. “Tuk says, ‘Departure Camp people put their heart and souls into our gardening.’ You’ll probably put in a few ounces of blood, sweat, and tears, too, but at least you get to eat the fruit of your labor.”
“He’s full of clichés today,” Carter grumbled.
“He forgot one,” Lauren giggled. Carter looked at her, waiting. “Don’t let go or you’ll be in deep shit.”
He smiled.
They reached the portal in the Wall. Just as before, two guards stood before it with spears. One of them stepped forward and lowered the spear.
"Who goes there?!"
Paul rolled his eyes. "C'mon Cliff. That got old five years ago.”
Paul turned to the group. “Everyone, this is Cliff and Chuck. They are the Great Guardians of the Gate, in their minds. I like to call them C&C Music Factory. You can, too.”
“We’ve got a job to do.”
“Cliff, right now you're either drunk on power or pruno. Probably both.”
“I don't have to let anyone in.”
“You're tilting at vines, my friend. Don't make me tell Ados you were responsible for holding up his work detail.”
Cliff put the spear up and backed off. They opened the heavy wooden doors of the gate.
Paul waved them forward. “This is as far as I go,” he said as they neared the gate. “You’ll walk straight ahead until you get to the greenhouses. You can’t miss them.”
“You’re not coming with us?” Mason asked.
Paul glanced at the two men guarding the portal. “No, I’m posted at Departure Camp. You’ll be working with Ados, our gardener. He’ll explain everything to you. Have fun.” With that, he turned on his heel and left them.
Once everyone passed through the gate, Cliff and Chuck closed the doors.
Carter made a strange noise.
“What is it?”
“When we got to the Wall, they were standing on the outside. Now that we’ve passed through, they’re posted on the inside.”
“So?
“What are they guarding against? It looks as if they were meant to keep us in.”
Lauren looked back. He was right. They stood in the portal, watching the group go.
A series of low structures squatted on the lava plain. Wooden strips supported layers of mismatched plastic sheeting, translucent fiberglass, a wall of glass bottles, and more than a few patches open to the sky. It looked like a quilt of condom latex. Stepping out of this monstrosity was a curious man with steel rimmed glasses. He stood straight and tall, to a height of six foot seven inches. He had a book in one hand and some kind of mechanical device in the other.
“Ados,” the man said, by way of introduction. He did not shake hands. He stood inspecting them for a moment before saying a word. Like Paul, he seemed to be sizing them up. At last, he spoke, “Come. Let me show you the center of our world.”
Lauren thought she detected an accent. Portuguese? She followed him in, pushing back a canvas flap. The distinct tang of manure swept over her first. She wanted to gag.
“You may pour the contents of your honey pot here. The sun will evaporate the liquids, similar to our salt ponds, and the solids will later go in this pile. This is our compost room. These bins store everything from human excrement to fish remains to whatever organic waste washes up on the beach. We stir them for up to a year, while the juices are drained out. If the smell makes you vomit, please do so in the bin. It would be a shame to waste anything. Yes?”
Emily had her hand up. “My kids had to do some composting in the back yard for a school project. They said you’re not supposed to compost meat.”
Ados stared as if a small animal had inexplicably learned the art of speech. “All matter decays, given enough time. I believe you are referring to the fear that meat will attract predators to household compost bins. We have no large predators on this island. You may pour your bucket now.”
Lauren and Carter dumped the slop, set the pot down, and stood with their hands out as if looking for a place to wash them. Ados offered nothing but moved to the next room.
“This is our mycofarming room.” Tiny white button mushrooms pushed out of dark earth. “The mushrooms are native to the island. We found them when we first arrived. I had to determine if they were edible by eating one myself. They are.”
He waved them to the next room. Green leaves filled the air with a pungent, living odor. It smelled wonderful. Tomatoes, cucumbers, squash, and peppers grew in various containers up and down the walls. “This is the bulk of our food supply, when we are not eating salted fish. There are potatoes, too. These provide the minimum of nutrients we need to survive. The peppers provide Vitamin C to prevent scurvy. We get Vitamin A from carrots. Vitamin B from fish…” his voice droned on with very little intonation. “You get the idea.”
“The water, of course, is evaporated off the salt pans as you saw yesterday. It is then brought in buckets and sprayed onto the roots.
Lauren interrupted him, “Where did you get all these vegetables. They’re not native, are they?”
He stared at her for a moment. “No. We collected them from the debris of various ships. You may notice that these are the vegetables that float. Their seeds were carefully extracted and cultivated. It took years to assemble this variety.”
“Why don’t you just grow them on the island? Why grow them in greenhouses?”
“The island is not hospitable to agriculture.” He spoke simply, but this simplicity lent something sinister.
Their day was like a day on the farm. They shoveled out compost and spread it along the beds. They plucked ripe vegetables and prepared them for dinner. They opened and closed roof panels to keep the plants from overheating. It felt like a collective. Unfortunately, this uncomplicated work gave them all day to think, to replay the days before, to wonder about the days ahead, to fear the ominous specter of death which hovered nearby. At first they made small-talk with each other, but by mid-morning that petered out into silent introspection.
Carter approached Lauren in the afternoon under the pretense of watering the vegetables beside hers. Carter whispered to her, “I’ve been watching you. You always have a smile and something nice to say to everyone.”
She smiled at him. She was glad for the company.
“I’m not like that at all,” he said.
Laure
n blushed. “I’m not as innocent as you think. I have my own secrets.”
“Really?” His eyes held hers as he looked for the way in. “Were you with someone on the cruise?”
“No. I came alone.”
“Is there a Mr. Lauren waiting back home for you?”
“I had a boyfriend, but…” She could feel him close to her. “That feels like a long time ago.” She grinned. He didn’t smile back, but the back of his hand brushed hers before he moved on his way.
Their lunch was small - bits of rock-hard, salty fish atop raw vegetables. After lunch, someone came to speak with Ados. He disappeared for over an hour. Work continued on without him. They had nowhere else to be.
Stooping and bending to pluck and clean made Lauren’s back sore. The greenhouse was incredibly hot, even with the windows open. As the afternoon wore on, Lauren found herself hungry again. She drank water, which was plentiful in the greenhouse, but it didn’t ease the hunger. By late afternoon, food was all she thought about.
Ados returned. Half an hour later, the door opened, and someone carried in a basket of dark meat, already starting to dry and rot. He dumped it on the compost heap and walked out.
Lauren marveled at all the wasted food. Her stomach rumbled. “What’s all that meat?”
Ados did not interrupt his work to look at her as he responded, “Your friend, Max.”
His casual delivery of this news delayed any reaction. Reality took on a dizziness of incomprehension. Several seconds of stunned silence ensued. Emily broke it when she retched into a patch of zucchinis. The other responses were more verbal.
“What the f-!?”
“Oh my god!”
“Who did this to him!?”
Ados’ eyebrow rose a quarter inch in surprise. “Your friend Max died this afternoon. We do not waste nutrients on the island. I believe I explained this quite clearly.”
Only Carter remained calm. He moved forward to inspect the remains.
Mason stood with his hand on his forehead. “That is just… wrong.”
Ados looked offended. “It is essential. Dust to dust, as they say. The earth nourishes our bodies. We must give back. You will remember your friend every time you eat.”
“I don’t think I’m ever eating again,” said Emily, still bent over.
“Then you will sooner join him,” said Ados unsympathetically.
They stood rooted in place, unsure how to respond.
“I see that this disturbs you,” Ados remarked. “We are nearly done with our work. I believe you can retire for the day. You will not be reassigned here tomorrow, as we work on rotation. By the time you return, you will understand.”
The compost heap now lay between them and the only door out. As much as they wanted to leave, they didn’t want to leave that way. Mason put his arm around Emily to shield her view. Carter mimicked this for Lauren. She was glad of it. Though she didn’t see the remains, she couldn’t block the pungent, warm smell of meat. Even worse, she couldn’t control the growl in her stomach as it recognized the smell of food.
Back at Departure Camp, the sun set swiftly. Even after sunset, the flies kept biting. Everyone huddled around the fire pit where the noxious smoke deterred some percentage of insects. A chill breeze set in from the North. Their huts were designed to keep out the sun, not the wind. The warmest place to sleep would be near one another.
Mason related the incident with Max to the others.
Lauren sat beside Carter next to the fire. Despite the horror, the cold, and the stress, or perhaps because of it, her thoughts were carnal in nature. She liked having Carter next to her. She wanted to feel his warmth tonight. She wanted him to remind her she was still alive.
“He should have received a burial.” Mason stalked around the edge of the fire pit, unable to sit down. “Or last rights, or something. Was he Catholic?”
“I think he was Jewish,” Lauren pitched in, though she wasn’t sure. “I don’t know what they do.”
“A rock at the gravesite,” Carter added. “I’ve heard.”
“That’s good enough for me.” Mason bent down to pick up one of the omnipresent lumps of black volcanic rock lying in the camp. “For Max,” he said, placing it ceremoniously near the fire.
Each of them found a rock and placed it on the pile. “For Max,” they said.
Lauren found it more pagan than religious, but it felt good to do something, anything. Somewhere in the darkness, Max’s body lay cut up and decaying in a garbage heap. If she died here… it was too horrible to contemplate. She had to know that someone would remember; that there would be something left behind. Even a heap of stones beat nothing at all.
This pile of stones wasn’t for Max, it was for themselves.
His job done, Mason sat down at the fire next to the woman named Amy. It was the same woman he’d offered a napkin to the night before. She seemed to gravitate toward him whenever they assembled.
“I don’t like it here,” Emily said, hugging her knees.
“I agree.” Lauren couldn’t stand it. She had to get off this island.
They fell into a mutual silence, almost a prayer. Lauren’s hand sought Carter’s. When she put her hand in his, he didn’t pull away, though his eyes did not waver from the fire.
“Max’s death isn’t the only thing odd on this island,” Carter said, breaking the silence. “Did you see how Paul didn’t go past the gate? What’s up with that?”
“I didn’t notice,” Lauren said when no one else pitched in.
“In fact, I don’t think I ever saw Paul inside the Wall. Did any of you?”
No one nodded their head or seemed to understand where he was going with the discussion.
Carter sat silent for a moment, then said, “Paul is the only one who doesn’t have white hair.”
The discussion moved on. Mason asked Amy what her task had been that day.
“We were assigned to fishing. We caught fish in the bay and loaded them into baskets filled with salt. They preserve them that way.”
“That doesn’t sound too bad.”
“It was bad. The waves push you up against sharp rocks. The fish we caught had spines. Just before we waded in to get the nets, they told us about all the dangerous fish in the water – blowfish, jellyfish, sharks, anemones, and some kind of venomous snail. Then they sent us in anyway.”
“Nice.”
Someone else joined in. “That sounds better than our task. We were stuck in the salt pools. The sun fried us all day. The water acts as a mirror, so now I’m sunburned even under my chin.” He tried to show them, but it was indiscernible in the firelight. “The sun reflected right up my shorts to burn places the sun’s never seen.” Some people laughed. “You don’t believe me? Look!” He stood up.
Everyone held up their hands. “No, no, that’s all right.”
“Anyway, I’m so glad we’re rotating tomorrow.”
“Don’t be. We were working with manure all day,” Mason said.
“And worse,” Emily added. Silence fell again.
Lauren grew weary of the discussion. She wanted to be alone with Carter. She whispered in his ear, “Let’s go somewhere private.”
She pulled his hand and stole out into the shadows.
The moon came out in full, almost as bright as day. Before them, the shore glowed in a surreal blue light. In the distance, waves crashed over the reef in phosphorescent splendor. Behind each dune lay a darkness as deep as the universe. They walked the path toward the beach in silence, hand in hand. She stole meaningful glances at him, smiling. He smiled back.
“I don’t know about you,” she said. “but I need a bath. I feel wretched.”
“There’s no fresh water on the island.”
She cozied up to him. “I was thinking of going for a swim in the surf.” As they reached the beach, she started to unbutton her shirt. “How do you feel about skinny dipping?”
“With sharks?” he asked, but his words were lost on the wind.
Lauren f
elt crazy, torn between her desire for Carter and her disgust at the day. The wind brought goose bumps to her naked skin. She felt clothed in death. The desire to scrub that off overwhelmed her fear of sharks.
The waves grew rough, but the water was warmer than the air. She dove beneath the froth of the next big curler. Darkness closed over her.
When she came up, she looked back at the beach. Carter stood there, fully clothed. She shouted to him, “You wouldn’t leave a naked girl alone, would you?” He didn’t stir. He looked as if he were guarding her clothes. He had collected whatever she had thrown off and folded them into a neat pile.
She rubbed sand across her arms and legs to scour them clean. Handfuls of sand scraped her body. The image of Max in a compost heap wouldn’t leave her. She felt as if she were covered in blood. She couldn’t scrape it off. Unaware how long she had been scrubbing, she finally noticed tiny droplets of real blood oozing from long troughs in her skin.
Now she worried about sharks. She had to get out of the water.
She stumbled up the beach toward Carter. The wind chilled her wet skin. Miles of sand and sea spread out forever. She had never felt so tiny, alone, and vulnerable. Before she even left the surf, she collapsed to her knees, crying.
I’m stronger than this, she thought, but uncontrollable sadness gripped her. She knew she would never leave this island alive.
She heard Carter’s footsteps on the wet sand as he approached. He did not attempt to console her. “I’m so sorry,” she said, trying to regain her composure. “I’m so sorry. I’m stronger than this. I am.”
“I know,” he said.
Her clothes landed in front of her. They reeked. She wished she didn’t have to put them back on. She fumbled for Carter’s hand, forced a smile, tried to distract herself. She played with a button on his shirt. “I don’t need to be the only one naked.”
A wave rushed up the beach. The chilly foam puffed her clothes and carried them away.
He bent down to her. She put her arms around his neck. His hands sought her face, his lips inches from hers. He pushed her gently back on the sand. His fingertips caressed her lips. Then they slid across her neck. She closed her eyes to enjoy the sensation.