Savage Island

by Bryony Pearce

  Will waded into the river and used the stick to measure the depth. When he came out, he was shivering.

  “How deep is it?” Grady called.

  Will held up the wet crutch, to show the hip-high waterline, then he handed it back to Lizzie. “It’s deep, cold and fast-moving.” He sniffed.

  “We’ve forded rivers before,” Lizzie said. “In DofE last year.”

  “But we don’t want to get everything soaked again.” I plucked at my trousers. “We won’t dry off at night.”

  “So, we take off our clothes,” Lizzie said simply.

  I started to ask if she was sure, but Will was already taking off his rucksack and kneeling to unlace his boots.

  “Keep your boots on,” I said quickly. “You’ll need the traction and there might be sharp stones.”

  “I’m removing my socks and insoles.” He pulled one out to demonstrate. “To keep them dry.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “What about Lizzie’s boot?” Grady asked. “She can’t take it off.”

  “The cold water should keep the swelling down enough so we can get it back on again,” I said.

  “One of us could piggy-ba—”

  “No.” Lizzie shook her head. “That’s too dangerous. I can walk in the middle of the group.” She unhooked her rope from the side of her bag. “We’ll go in a line and hold on to this.”

  I nodded.

  “Ben should go in front with the stick,” Grady said.

  “What about my knee?” I pulled down my trousers to reveal the bruising. The pattern of purple, red and blue circled the knee and decorated my leg to the shin.

  Grady caught his breath. “Remind me to give you some arnica when we set up camp.” He looked at me for a long moment. “Even with that knee, you’re strongest.”

  “All right then.” I took off my jumper and shirt and folded everything in a precise pile. Will had done the same. Habits learned at home. I sometimes wondered if we’d ever be able to be messy.

  “Carmen and I are keeping our vests on,” Lizzie called.

  Will packed his clothes neatly into his rucksack. “So long as you have something dry to put on when we’re across.”

  “F-fine.” Lizzie’s teeth were already chattering.

  “Are you ready yet?” Grady clutched the straps of his rucksack and edged self-consciously into the deepest shadows.

  I repacked my own rucksack and settled the straps back over my shoulders.

  “Nasty blisters,” Will commented, looking at my chest and armpits.

  I nodded as I took Lizzie’s crutch and turned so that he could tie the rope to the straps of my bag. Then he linked up Grady’s pack, Lizzie’s, Carmen’s, and finished by attaching his own.

  “We’re just like paper dolls,” Carmen whispered.

  “You back with us?” I asked.

  “Pretty much,” she replied, looking at the river.

  “Let’s get this over with.” I faced upstream and strode into the river, using the stick to check my footing. Within three steps the icy water was up to my thighs.

  The rope on my back gave a tug and then loosened as the others trailed after me. Grady held up his torch so that I could see ahead.

  I moved at a slight angle downstream, but faced upstream. Leaning into the current, I shuffle-stepped sideways, keeping my feet in contact with the riverbed.

  I didn’t dare look back; the gentle pressure on the rope told me that the others were still there, still on their feet. I focused instead on our first destination, the sandbank in the middle of the river.

  The water rose until it was hip-deep, and my rucksack was getting wet again. I was glad I had my dry clothes in the top. Plants brushed against my legs, drawn past me by the current. They felt like wet fingers. I shuddered.

  “This is an adventure!” Carmen shouted. “Cheer up.”

  I shook my head, but had to smile. Carmen was right. This was what I had wanted: an exciting challenge. Three days playing a life-size game with no Mum to nag at me, Will acting like a human being and Lizzie by my side 24/7.

  Suddenly there was a cry behind me – one of us had fallen. I dropped to one knee and gripped the stick, digging it into the sand.

  “Grady, who is it?” I called.

  “C-Carmen,” Grady stammered. “Will’s got her. She’s OK.”

  I felt the rope slacken as Grady moved closer. They were walking again.

  Will hadn’t been at school very long when Mum was called in to see the head. I would have been around six or seven. With no one willing to babysit and Dad at work, she had to bring us with her. We sat outside the office, kicking the chairs with our heels, trying to listen.

  “All little boys lash out,” Mum snapped suddenly, loudly. “It’s normal! It’s called rough-housing!”

  “Well, I hate to compare children, Mrs Harper, but we never had this trouble with Ben.” Mr Hutchinson sounded annoyed.

  “They’re different. Will’s very bright.”

  I glanced at Will.

  “Two of the other boys have been taken to the nurse this week alone.”

  “Well then, you aren’t keeping Will occupied, you aren’t pushing him. He’s says he’s bored.” Her voice was shrill. “This is your fault.”

  I heard Mr Hutchinson sigh. “We’re just asking you to work with the teachers, to support our disciplinary actions with further intervention at home.”

  “I don’t punish my boys.” She caught my eye from inside the office.

  I patted Will’s tense little shoulder and knocked on the office door. “Mr Hutchinson?”

  Mr Hutchinson looked surprised. “Hi, Ben. We’ll just be another few minutes. Why don’t you take Will and go and look at the fish in the tank?”

  “I thought…” I swallowed. “Maybe I could take my work to Will’s classroom for a bit. He’s usually calmer when I’m around.”

  Mum’s face lit up.

  Mr Hutchinson leaned back in his chair. “I’m sorry, Ben, it’s a really kind offer, but that’s not how it works in school.”

  “You could talk to his teacher,” Mum said. “She can make sure Ben has work to do.”

  Mr Hutchinson looked shocked. “Mrs Harper.” He frowned. “Ben’s education will suffer if he misses his own class time. The focus in reception is on socialization and learning through play.”

  “There you go.” Mum sat back with an expression of triumph. “That’s why my Will is bored.”

  Mr Hutchinson looked hard at his paperwork. “Will is one of the older reception children. Miss Scott tells me that he is reading at the level of a seven- or eight-year-old and is already doing column addition.”

  “And long division,” Mum said smugly.

  “But it’s not just about maths and literacy, Mrs Harper.” Mr Hutchinson twitched as if he wanted to destroy the paper in front of him. “His social skills are terrible.” He rubbed his eyes. “All right. For two weeks, we will allow Will to go up to Ben’s class for literacy and maths only. For the rest of the day, he will be with children in his own year group. We’ll meet again in a fortnight, unless there is cause to meet sooner.”

  “There won’t be,” Mum said confidently.

  “If there is an improvement in his behaviour, we’ll talk about next steps.”

  “You mean moving him up permanently?” Mum leaned forwards.

  “We’ll see.” Mr Hutchinson folded his hands. “Ben, how do you feel about having Will join you in your class for literacy and maths?”

  I felt Mum’s eyes on me, but I didn’t look at her. If I said it was fine, I’d be a joke: the boy whose little brother was better than him at school. But then I thought of the other kids in my class. Will was even cleverer than Abigail Chaney, who knew all her times tables quick as a click. They’d soon stop laughing.

  “It’s OK, he can sit by me,” I said.

  On the other side of the bank, I dumped the water out of my boots, put the insoles back in and got dressed, using my shirt as a makeshift towel. I was
shivering uncontrollably.

  I heard Lizzie’s teeth chattering and when I turned round, she was still struggling to get her trousers on. “Need a hand?”

  Wordlessly she handed me her clothes. She hadn’t bothered trying to dry herself, so I opened out her checked shirt and began to rub her arms. Her body was rigid with cold. Finally, she began to breathe more easily. She turned her back, pulled off her wet vest and put on the shirt. Then she stood up on one foot. I dried her legs and carefully pulled her trousers up.

  She fastened them with trembling hands, then sat back down to put on her boots. She ground her teeth as she pulled her right boot over her ankle. I held my breath, but the boot went on. She tied the laces loosely.

  As soon as everyone was ready, Will pointed up the hillside. “That’s the way to the checkpoint.”

  “Are you sure?” Grady frowned at him. “You don’t think we should look at the map again?”

  Will turned, his face expressionless. “The moon is full. That means it’s 180 degrees away from the sun, and twelve hours behind it. The moon rose over there an hour ago, so that’s east.” He gestured. “According to the map, it’s a straight line across the river and up the hill to the coordinates.”

  “There’s a shape up there.” Carmen squinted towards the top of the hill.

  I looked through my binoculars. “It’s a cairn or something, halfway up.”

  “That’ll be it.” Lizzie smiled tiredly. “You can’t see any other teams?”

  I shook my head. “Looks like we’ve got a clear run.”

  Grady opened the map, then closed it again. His stomach rumbled. “Then let’s get up there so we can eat!” He started to walk, his torch throwing a jerky light across the ground.

  I took Lizzie’s elbow and she smiled gratefully as she lurched forwards, using the crutch to bear her weight once more. “I’m slowing everyone down,” she grumbled.

  “Nah.” I squeezed her arm. “If it weren’t for you, we’d have let Grady set up camp an hour ago.”

  “I’m not sure I can climb this hill.” She raised her torch and sent a beam of light racing over the rocky slope. The gradient was steeper than it had first seemed.

  Will, Carmen and Grady had forged ahead and were already quite a long way above us. My bruised knee throbbed.

  “One step at a time,” I said.

  Our breath came faster and harder as we climbed, and Lizzie’s crutch thudded with every other step.

  “Are you still looking forward to next year?” I asked. “Making new friends and that?”

  Lizzie kept her head down. “It’s weird. Knowing you were going to be going through the same thing made me less worried. Now…”

  “You’re more nervous about going to Swansea because I’m not going to Cardiff?”

  “It’s stupid.”

  “I’ll come and see you every weekend if you like.”

  “But…”

  “What?” I frowned.

  “We won’t be doing the same stuff… What if we—”

  “‘What if we what?” I said hoarsely.

  “What if we don’t have anything to talk about any more?” she said in one long breath. “You’ll be working, I’ll be studying.” She looked at me. “Told you it was stupid.”

  I swallowed. “I’m not worried about that. Worst case, you can talk for both of us, like usual.”

  “Hey.” She glared.

  I cleared my throat. “What I’m scared of is … what if your new friends think I’m a loser for working in a garage?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I wouldn’t be friends with anyone who thought that. Anyway, what if they do? You think that would change what I think of you? You think I look down on Car because she works in Cutz?” She pulled her arm from mine and wobbled. “I’d never!”

  I caught her before she fell. “I’m sorry, Lizzie. I know you’re not like that. I just meant – I’m worried, too.” I shuffled forwards. “We have to make sure we don’t drift apart. I’ll be there for you as long as you want me to be.”

  “Ben, that’s—”

  There was a whoop from above us. Carmen and Will had reached the cairn.

  Lizzie nodded at me. “To be continued.” She looked up. “Is the box there?”

  “Yes,” Carmen shouted. “But we can’t open it without you – we need your thumb.”

  “Don’t rush,” I warned her as she tried to pick up the pace.

  I could hear Grady ahead of us, panting with the effort of the climb.

  “You all right, Grady?” I asked as we drew level.

  “Yeah, I’m … fine.”

  “Nearly there,” Lizzie said cheerfully. “Then you can take that bag off and eat something while we work on the box.”

  Grady brightened and nodded.

  Will and Carmen were sharing a huge bag of mixed nuts when we reached the checkpoint. Grady unclipped his rucksack and lay panting as Carmen offered the packet round.

  “Mmm, protein.” I took a handful of nuts and tossed them back while I used my binoculars to look for other teams. I couldn’t see any movement, but to our right I spotted the glow of a campfire. So at least one of the teams had stopped on the moor and others were likely camped on the other side of the hill, out of the wind. Were we the only ones still going?

  Lizzie touched my shoulder. “You can see the sea from up here.”

  I adjusted my gaze. In the distance, the lights of a cargo ship floated above the black water and the town on the bigger island lightened the sky. Behind us the hill sloped back towards the estuary. I dropped the glasses and returned my gaze to the pile of stones that formed the cairn. My torch lit up a chain linked to a metal box about the size of a lunchbox, with a small black screen on the top.

  Carmen clapped her hands. “Let’s open this thing.”

  I helped Lizzie to take off her rucksack and sit by the box. She pressed her thumb on the top to activate the monitor and immediately a screen lit up with the words WELCOME, ELIZABETH BELLAMY.

  “It worked.” She breathed a sigh of relief.

  Then a keyboard appeared on screen.

  “Loving the tech!” Grady grinned. “Gold must have had the boxes designed especially.” He leaned closer. “Type in earthquake.”

  Carefully Lizzie typed in each letter. When she had finished, she pressed the return key and waited.

  Chapter Seven

  “Shouldn’t something be happening?” Carmen leaned over Lizzie’s shoulder.

  I groaned. “It must be the wrong answer.”

  Carmen frowned. “It has to be earthquake. It fits.”

  “Well, it’s not.” Will pulled the paper out of his pocket and unfolded it. “What can be felt, but not seen. And destroy, but cannot be destroyed?”

  “Earthquake – see?” Carmen sniffed.

  “Other things fit, too.” Will pushed his fringe out of his eyes.

  “Like what?”

  “Time!” Lizzie cried. “We can feel the passing of time, right? But not see it. And ultimately it destroys everything.”

  “Or something like a virus or a germ,” Grady offered. “You can feel its effects, but not see it.”

  I shivered again and ducked into the shelter of the cairn as a gust of wind whipped past.

  “Time’s good,” Will said. “Try that.”

  Lizzie typed in the four letters. There was a slight whir from the screen and then it lit up with just two words: Strike two.

  “That’s bad.” I sat back on my heels. “Three strikes and we’re out?”

  “Only one more guess, then.” Lizzie took off her glasses and rubbed them on her shirt. “I’ve got nothing.”

  “Hey! It could be nothing.” I looked at Will. “Or nothingness?”

  Will shook his head, frowning. “Can you feel nothingness?”

  I folded my arms.

  “So … germ, then?” Grady reached for the box, but Lizzie’s hand snapped out and caught his wrist.

  “That doesn’t feel right.”

  �
��It’s all we’ve got, chica,” Carmen pointed out.

  “If it’s wrong, we’re out of the game. We have to be absolutely sure,” Lizzie said.

  “Vote?” Grady turned to Will.

  Will shook his head. “Keep thinking. See if we can come up with something better.”

  “At least we’ve got these rocks to keep us out of the wind.” Carmen pressed closer to me, rubbing her arms.

  Will and I looked at each other. I began to laugh.

  “Wha—” Lizzie started to ask. “Oh, right.”

  She reached for the keypad and started to type. W-I-N-D.

  I held my breath. There was a long moment when nothing happened. And then the screen cleared and an image of a door appeared.

  “I know this game!” Grady leaned forwards again. “You’ve got to solve the puzzle to open the door.” He gently nudged Lizzie out of the way. “Let the master work.”

  After ten minutes, Grady threw the box down and stamped towards us.

  “No luck, Grady?” Carmen was leaning against her rucksack, eating a sandwich.

  “It’s ridiculous,” Grady hissed. “I’m brilliant at these – all you have to do is swipe things around in the right order and find the key.”

  “Maybe it’s because you’re hungry,” I said. “Eat something while you think.”

  “And in the meantime, Will can have a turn,” Lizzie added.

  Jerky with frustration, Grady opened his rucksack and pulled out a gas stove and his mess tin. He opened a tin of stew and began to heat it up. Lizzie got out a mini stove of her own and boiled water for tea. The bluish light looked cool but warmed the side of my face.

  I had planned to do all my cooking on a campfire, so I was making do with a cold, half-crushed Cornish pasty. I looked at Grady enviously as the scent of beef filled the air.

  “You want me to cook another tin?” Grady asked.

  “Thanks, but that wouldn’t be fair – it’s yours.” I bit into my pasty again.

  Will and I were lucky Mum had seen sense and let us bring the pasties. I’d also talked her into couscous and instant noodles for the other two days, insisting that on a hike, the Atkins diet was not going to be our friend.