Island

by Richard Laymon

‘You could touch.’

  ‘Really? You didn’t say that before. Okay, I pick that.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Taking off your top.’

  ‘Too late. You already made your choice.’

  ‘Can’t I change my mind?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘You sure give up easy.’

  ‘I just don’t want to argue.’

  ‘You just really don’t want to see me topless again. Don’t worry, pal - you won’t.’

  With that, she pulled at the waist of my trunks as if she wanted to see how far the elastic would stretch. She drew it out about half a foot, then let go. It shot in and snapped me.

  And it hurt.

  I staggered backward to get out of her reach - not knowing what to expect next.

  She stood up. ‘Fuck you,’ she snarled. ‘You’re such a pathetic fucking loser. You really thought I’d pull your trunks down? Or take off my top? No way. Not a prayer. Last thing I want is your stupid cock in my face. And the only reason I let you see my tits back at the fire was to let you take a good look at what you’re never gonna see again.’

  I doubted the truth of that. Fact is, I doubt that she ever says what’s really going on in her head - maybe doesn’t even know what’s going on in there.

  But she was looking for trouble, so I gave her some. Not a smart move, but what I said was, ‘I figured you took off your top ’cause you wanted to show off your boobies - such as they are - to Wesley.‘

  Her mouth fell open.

  A moment later, she blurted, ‘That’s the thanks I get for trying to be nice to you.’

  Whatever that meant.

  I was afraid she might go for the ax. She didn‘t, though. She stomped through the water and ran up the bank and didn’t stop till she reached the sleeping area. There, she flopped down on her usual assortment of rags.

  I was left standing in the stream, a bit confused about what had gone wrong.

  She’d been getting pretty friendly there for a while.

  Unless it had been an act.

  When it comes to Connie, it’s just mighty damn awful hard to tell what’s real from what isn’t.

  All I can be sure of is that she is never likely to react the way I’d expect a person to react. Not like Billie or Kimberly, for instance. You can make sense out of them. Unlike Connie.

  Could it have to do with the fact that she’s still a teenager? At eighteen, though, you’d think she might be past the usual adolescent crap.

  Doesn’t seem to be.

  She reminds me of a cat I used to know. One time, I was petting its head. The cat was really into it, eyes half shut, its purr rumbling away. But all of a sudden, God knows why, it went nuts and shredded my arm.

  I was thinking about that sort of stuff while I finished at the stream. What I did there was kneel in the water, wash the blood off my body as well as I could, then work at getting my trunks clean. Finally, I waded out, picked up the ax and returned to camp.

  Connie was probably not asleep. I considered going over to her and trying to make amends, but that didn’t seem like such a hot idea. I might just end up setting her off again.

  So I went to the fire and sat down, figuring I might as well keep watch - even though sentry duty didn’t seem very necessary.

  Our ambush hadn’t been a complete failure - Kimberly had delivered a couple of nasty wounds to Wesley. They were probably not fatal (barring infection), but they were pretty sure to keep him in major pain for a while.

  And out of our hair.

  Though I didn’t expect an attack, I stayed awake and kept watch. There was plenty to occupy my mind. My plan was to stay up all night, so that the gals could get plenty of sleep. A while before dawn, though, Billie woke up and came over to the fire.

  She sat down next to me. The side of her face was swollen and discolored by the blow from Thelma’s spear. ‘How’s it going?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t think there’s much chance of them bothering us tonight.’

  ‘There isn’t ... How about you? How are your wounds doing?’

  ‘Connie washed them off for me.’

  ‘Let’s see.’

  I leaned back and turned toward her. Looking at my injuries, Billie grimaced. ‘Must hurt.’

  ‘How about you?’

  ‘I’ll live.’ She put a hand on my leg. ‘Why don’t you go on to bed, now?’

  ‘I’m not that tired.’

  ‘Sure you are. Go on.’

  ‘Why don’t I stay and keep you company?’

  Thanks. But you know what? I’d rather be alone for a while. You know?‘

  I wanted awfully badly to stay with her - not to keep her company, but because I felt sort of lonely, myself. When it comes right down to it, I’d rather spend time with Billie than with anyone else I can think of.

  But she probably wanted time to sit by herself and think about Andrew. I said, ‘Sure. See you later.’

  Then I went over to my sleeping place.

  Before you know it, I was out like a light.

  Odds And Ends

  So much for last night. This is still day four, and I’ve spent the better part of it working on my journal here.

  I’m just back from another break.

  It’s late afternoon, now. This has been a fairly uneventful day. Thank God.

  I already went into how I took the earlier break from my writing and told the gals about the journal.

  There are a few other matters worth mentioning.

  For instance, we’ve started using the latrine as a toilet. Laid some branches across the hole, to stand on.

  Also, Billie and Kimberly, with some help from me, constructed a couple of shelters. We made them like the walls of the latrine, by lashing bushes and fronds to frameworks of sticks. Instead of being walls, though, these are roofs. We set them up on poles, near our sleeping area. The purpose is to have places where we can escape from the sun. I’m using one, now. Though the sun hasn’t been terrible (the heat is fairly moderate, and there’s usually a pleasant breeze), I really enjoy being able to sit in the shade while I write.

  Billie and Kimberly also made new weapons to replace the ones that were lost or broken last night.

  Connie has spent most of the day by herself. She’s hardly spoken to me since our squabble at the stream. The few times she’s been near me, she has thrown narrow-eyed glares my way.

  The good part is, she spent hours fishing. This morning, she borrowed the knife from Kimberly and used it to whittle a special point on the end of her spear. The point is very long and thin, with three barbs carved into its side. They look like small, sharp limbs, and sweep back at an angle away from the tip. The one nearest the tip is the smallest. They get bigger as they go. The obvious purpose for the barbs is to stop fish from falling, off, once they’ve been speared.

  It’s a wicked-looking piece of work, though. Sure hope she doesn’t get into a tiff and decide to use it on me.

  Anyway, she stood in the inlet for hours, way out where it’s waist-deep. Must’ve taken a long time to get the hang of using the spear. Every once in a while, I heard her yell ‘Fuck!’ Finally, she yelled, ‘Yes! Gotcha, you bastard!’ I looked up and saw her hoisting a big, silvery fish toward the sky on the tip of her spear. Everyone cheered, including me. She brought the fish ashore. Kimberly went running to her with our biggest pot, scooped it full of salt water, and Connie tossed in the fish.

  She ended up with four of them.

  We’ll be having a real feast, tonight.

  That’s about it for today’s events. So far, so good.

  We’ve done pretty well when you take all the circumstances into account. Yesterday, we’d had to deal with the killings of Keith and Andrew. Today, on top of that, there was the failure of our ambush to think about and the defection of Thelma - plus all the injuries from last night.

  In the injury department, I’m the worst off, if you don’t count Wesley.

  Kimberly is probably
the most beat up, after me. Her skin didn’t get broken, but she has a horrible bruise on her ribcage, just below her right armpit. She also has bruises on her stomach and right hip from Thelma kicking her.

  Billie and Connie have bruises on their faces. The swelling went away, leaving behind dark smudges that almost look like dirt. Billie’s is on the left cheek, Connie’s on the left side of the jaw. Billie got dealt a much meaner blow from Thelma’s spear than Connie got from my fist.

  I’m going to knock off now, and help prepare the fish for supper.

  The fish was great. Billie fried it up on the skillet with bourbon - her special method. We also passed the bottle around, and had a few nips to help our finny friends go down smooth.

  One thing really struck me during the meal.

  The size of our group.

  Or the lack thereof.

  Four of us.

  Jesus.

  There used to be eight of us. Eight is a fair number of people, a pretty good crowd.

  Four is measly.

  And I’ve got to say, four looked a lot like three, from where I sat. I’m sort of like a movie camera, you know? I don’t see myself, most of the time. I see Billie, Kimberly and Connie. One, two, three. That’s all.

  We’ve been whittled down considerably.

  We didn’t talk much while we ate. About the time we finished, though, Billie said, ‘We’d better do something, tomorrow.’

  Connie looked offended. ‘Hey, I did something today. You just ate it.’

  ‘We should’ve gone hunting,’ Kimberly said, ‘not fishing. Hunting for Thelma and Wesley.’ She met Billie’s eyes. Pressing her lips together in a tight line, she shook her head. Then she said, ‘I just didn’t want to deal with it today.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Billie said. ‘I know. Neither did I.’

  ‘Not after last night,’ I added.

  Connie gave me a quick, sour glare.

  ‘But we’d better go looking for them tomorrow,’ Billie said. ‘We can’t give Wesley time to recover. He’s gotta be in bad shape after last night. If we find him while he’s still laid up, he’ll be a lot easier to finish off.’

  ‘What’ll we do about Thelma?’ I asked.

  ‘Save her,’ Billie said.

  Connie let out a snort.

  Ignoring it, Kimberly said, ‘Yeah. He’ll probably kill her, sooner or later.’

  ‘Maybe not right away,’ Billie said. ‘He’ll want her around to take care of him, at least till he gets better.’

  ‘You’re both nuts,’ Connie said. ‘He isn’t gonna kill Thelma.’

  I decided to stay out of it.

  ‘Why not?’ Kimberly asked her.

  ‘For one thing, she saved his bacon last night.’

  ‘You think he’ll spare her out of gratitude?’ Kimberly asked.

  ‘He’s got no reason to kill her. She’s on his side, you know?’

  ‘He might not see it that way,’ Billie said. ‘Maybe he just sees her as an obstacle.’

  ‘In the way of what?’

  ‘Why is he doing any of this?’ Billie asked. ‘That’s the real question. In my opinion, he set up this whole operation in order to make himself rich. Most of the family wealth is in Andrew’s name. And mine. With both of us dead, you two girls and Thelma inherit everything. With the three of you dead, your spouses would get it. Connie hasn’t got a spouse ...’

  ‘ And he killed mine,’ Kimberly muttered.

  ‘Right. So that leaves Wesley. He stands to make a pile if he’s the only survivor.’

  ‘I’d bet he’s also got a life insurance policy on Thelma,’ Kimberly said. ‘So you can add that to his take.’

  Connie had a sick look on her face. ‘I think you’ve all been watching too much Murder, She Wrote.’

  ‘Why do you think he’s doing all this?’ Billie asked her.

  She wrinkled her nose and shrugged. ‘Because he’s nuts?’

  ‘He’s nuts, all right,’ Kimberly said. ‘Nuts if he thinks he’s gonna survive. First thing in the morning, I’m going after him.’

  ‘We’ll all go after him,’ Billie said.

  Day Five

  War Dance

  I didn’t have to stand watch last night. The women took turns, and let me sleep.

  I woke up on my own. The sun had risen over the tops of the jungle trees, and threw warm gold across our beach. It sure felt good. I wanted to just keep lying there, enjoying it.

  Billie and Connie were asleep nearby, but I couldn’t see Kimberly. After a while, I raised my head to look for her.

  She was about midway between the campfire and the shoreline, swinging the ax. Exercising with it. Or practicing. She was as graceful as a dancer, twirling and smiting the air, springing forward to cut down an invisible enemy, taking swings to one side, then the other. She was a little spooky to watch. So smooth and graceful, yet wielding such a vicious weapon. The head of the ax glinted like silver in the sunlight. Her thick dark hair flowed and shook like the mane of a stallion.

  She wore her dead husband’s Hawaiian shirt. Unbuttoned, as usual, its gaudy fabric flew out behind her like a cape when she lunged or twirled. Her white bikini flashed. Her bronze skin gleamed with sweat.

  She was spooky, elegant, primitive, beautiful. It made me ache, watching her. I couldn’t force my eyes away.

  Being stuck on this island is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. By that logic, of course, I ought to be thanking Wesley, not trying to kill him. Except that I hate him for bringing grief to Kimberly and Billie. And I hate him for what he might do to them, if he gets the chance. (I’m not tickled by the fact that he wants to kill me, either.)

  Anyway, Kimberly was spectacular to watch.

  Until she noticed me watching. I felt like a peeping Tom who’d been caught in the act, but I smiled and waved. She waved back. I sat up, gave myself a couple of minutes to calm down, then got to my feet and wandered over to join her.

  ‘Preparing for the big battle?’ I asked.

  She rested the ax on her shoulder, and smiled. She has a spectacular smile. ‘Just fooling around,’ she said. ‘Getting a little workout.’

  ‘You must be part Viking,’ I said.

  ‘That’s me, Nordic through and through.’

  She was making sport of me, but I liked it. ‘I wasn’t referring to your complexion,’ I explained. ‘It’s the way you swing that ax. Like you’ve got battle-axes in your blood.’

  ‘Ah. That might be my Indian blood.’

  ‘You’re Indian?’

  ‘Injun. Part Sioux ... Lakota.’

  ‘You kidding me?’

  ‘I swear.’ With her free hand, she drew a quick X in the middle of her chest. ‘On my mother’s side. Her grandfather fought at Little Big Horn.’

  ‘You’re kidding.’

  ‘I have it on good authority that he personally scalped Custer.’

  ‘Really?’

  She grinned. ‘That was kidding.’

  ‘Glad to hear it, because I don’t think Custer got scalped.’

  ‘I don’t really know if my ancestor scalped anyone at all. He was there, though. That’s a fact.’

  ‘My God.’

  ‘So I guess maybe things like tomahawks, spears and knives might run in my blood. I’m also part Sicilian.’

  ‘Sioux and Sicilian. Man! Red blood and hot blood. That’s a dangerous combination. Remind me not to make you mad at me!’

  ‘Yep. Watch it. I’m hell on wheels.’ Her smile died and her eyes went dark. For a while there, she must’ve forgotten about the murders of her husband and her father. But she had just remembered. I could see the pain in her face. And the anger.

  Wesley had made a very big mistake, killing people Kimberly loved.

  He’s already paid for the mistake, but I’ve got a feeling that his torments have hardly even started.

  Wanting to take her mind off her grief, I said, ‘Boy, I didn’t think we’d be stuck on this island more than a day or two, did you?’

>   ‘An hour or two,’ she said. ‘I thought for sure somebody must’ve seen the explosion. And even if nobody did... My God, it’s like a century too late to be getting marooned on an island.’

  ‘Just goes to show, anything can happen.’

  ‘Especially when there’s a devious bastard scheming to make it happen.’

  ‘He must’ve filed a false itinerary,’ I said. ‘Or, what do they call it, a float plan?’ It was something I’d thought about and mentioned before, but now I felt certain of it. ‘That’s about the only way I can figure why we haven’t gotten rescued yet. Nobody’s looking for us. Either that, or they’ve been tricked into searching in the wrong places.’

  ‘At this point,’ Kimberly said, ‘I don’t even want to be rescued.’

  Her words stunned me.

  They echoed my own feelings on the subject.

  This was the start of our fifth day on the island. In some ways, it seems like we’d been here for years. Mostly, though, it seems like much too short a time. Thanks to all our troubles with Wesley, we haven’t even explored the island, yet. There’s no telling what we might find, or what adventures we might have over the coming days - or weeks. Or even months.

  Rescue would put an abrupt end to all the fabulous possibilities.

  I figured that Kimberly must feel the same way, but then she said, ‘I’m not leaving this island till I’ve taken care of Wesley.’

  ‘You already got him pretty good.’

  ‘I’m going to kill him.’

  The way she said it, and the way she looked when she said it, gave me a shiver up my back.

  Preparations

  I did some quick catch-up on the journal while the gals got ready for our jungle excursion.

  Our hunt.

  Our mission to rescue Thelma and finish off Wesley.

  Before leaving, we had a small meal and discussed what to do about the fire. So far, we’d followed Andrew’s advice about never letting it go out. But we figured we might be gone all day. If we wanted to keep it burning, we would almost have to leave someone behind to tend it.

  We were not about to leave anyone alone.

  But if we let two stay behind to guard each other and watch the fire, that would leave only two for the hunt.