by Suzanne Cass
‘So, Madison, tell me what you’re thinking about your first time at conclave.’ Tam’s head snapped up, breaking his contemplation. JJ had pounced on their one weak link, like a bloodhound following a trail. JJ knew Madison was causing waves in the camp.
‘Well, JJ, as you can see we lost big time at the knockout today. And I believe that was due to some people pulling their weight more than others.’ And there it was. Madison had driven straight to the heart of the sore point. Tam hoped others didn’t blindly react to her accusations and give away their plan tonight. He checked Alisha’s face for signs of irritation, but was surprised to find her smiling quietly. At least she wasn’t going to be baited by Madison’s childish attempts to drag them all into a war of words.
Cilla’s face was expressionless. She was doing a great job at hiding the hurt and anger she must be feeling at Madison’s criticisms. Good, both of them were sticking to the plan. If only Simon and Marg did what they’d said, then they’d all be safe for at least another three days.
He couldn’t help it, he had to sneak another glance at Cilla. She was watching JJ with a scary intensity as he asked Glen a pointed question about team moral. Her posture was overly straight, her lips pulled together in a purposeful guise of calm. Looking as if this wasn’t affecting her at all. There was a slight tinge of pink high up on her cheekbones. He watched the spots darken as Madison spoke. Then he saw her balled up fists shoved behind her back and wondered how he could’ve fallen for her ruse. Her knuckles were white with the strain of keeping her thoughts to herself and again he found a pang of desire to go up and loosen her fists, finger by finger, stroking her hand until the tension left them.
Dammit, there he went again. His fascination with her had to stop. He gritted his teeth, determined not to look at her for the rest of the evening.
~
‘Glen, it seems as if there’s a division in this team. Can you tell me about that?’ Cilla swivelled her head to stare at Glen. He looked taken aback at the fact JJ had directed the question towards him.
‘Um, I’m not really sure what you mean, JJ.’ Glen feigned ignorance, his round face going slack with false surprise. Of course he knew all about the accusations Madison had been making towards her. He’d sat and listened to her rant about it for long enough. It irritated her immensely that Glen was one of the people Cilla was relying on tonight. He and Simon had agreed in principal to Marg and Alisha’s plan. Would he keep his promise though? Promises didn’t hold much weight out here. Not in the game of Sea-Quest.
‘Are you trying to tell me you haven’t noticed that Madison is blaming certain people for losing today’s knockout? Come on man, you can’t be that oblivious to what’s going on at camp.’ JJ was really egging Glen on tonight, going for the jugular.
‘Well, yes of course I heard her saying things. But I tried to stay out of it. I think we have a great team and I’m quite happy with how we played in the knockout.’ Glen was hedging his bets, trying to keep everyone happy. The same way he always did. Sneaky and slimy. He wasn’t about to reveal how he was going to vote.
‘Even though you lost? Come on, Glen, don’t tell me everything is completely rosy back at camp. You must’ve noticed some kind of tension.’
‘We were going to end up at conclave some time or other, now weren’t we?’ Glen was a slippery one indeed, using his salesmanship skills to his advantage. He was a medical drug rep, and in Cilla’s mind they rated right up there with used car salesmen for smarmy deceit. She hadn’t trusted him from the first time she’d seen him on the boat. And now here she was, hoping he’d save her neck from the noose that was tightening around it.
She listened to Glen and JJ spar with words, back and forth, Glen giving nothing of consequence away.
‘Cilla.’ She jumped at the sound of her name. ‘What’s your take on today’s knockout? Could you have done better at the cannon bowling? Do you think it was your fault the team lost?’ JJ certainly didn’t pull any punches. She looked at him properly for the first time that night. Friend or foe? She’d asked herself the same question back on the first day when they landed on the island. He certainly liked to unearth the truth, or at the very least hoped to stir up a hornet’s nest with his direct questions.
‘No, JJ, I don’t think this was my fault. I did the best I could,’ she replied, voice cool.
‘Fair enough. What about a division in the team, what do you have to say about that?’
‘There’ll always be personality clashes whenever you get nine people together. But I don’t think it’s anything we can’t overcome with a little compassion and discussion. And anyway, it’s not all about who wins or loses at knockouts. There’s also camp life to be considered.’
‘What, do you think a couple of measly old fish and some crabs are going to redeem you in the eyes of the team?’ Madison’s snort of condemnation echoed around the platform.
‘Anything to say to that allegation, Cilla?’ JJ’s eyes were bright with anticipation.
‘Not really.’ Cilla didn’t elaborate, glaring at JJ for uncounted moments until his gaze finally shifted.
‘Anyone else care to comment on that?’ No one answered, and no one dared look in JJ’s direction. Even Madison held her tongue.
‘Right.’ JJ’s curt tone told Cilla he wasn’t terribly happy with their answers. ‘It appears although there are problems in this team, no one is willing to own up to them, except for Madison. I wonder, does that make her a purveyor of the truth, or a target?’ There was silence. No one was prepared to answer JJ on that question either.
‘It’s time to vote then. Cilla, you can go first,’ JJ said as he gestured to the narrow wooden bridge leading to a separate, smaller basket-shaped platform, which looked incredibly like the crow’s-nest lookout found at the top of a ship’s mast. Tucked into the small space was a rickety table covered in writing implements. Her legs jerked in reflex and she found herself walking towards the voting platform before her mind could react. Here goes nothing. Or maybe she should say, here goes everything. Because to win this game meant everything to her. The money meant everything. She found it took most of her concentration to negotiate the wooden slats slung between the two thick ropes. Her hands fumbled with the rope rails and her feet felt as if there were great stones tied to the ends of her legs. Finally she made it across and found the ridiculous oversized pen in her hand, a blank piece of parchment in front of her. She had to steady her hand against the edge of the table so she could write down a name. The name of the person she was hoping to vote out tonight. Madison.
What they were planning was risky, and if anyone decided to change their vote at the last second she could very well be the one walking through that damned noose tonight. Closing her eyes for the briefest of moments, she hoped Simon, Glen, Cho and Marg all voted the way they’d promised this afternoon. She knew she could trust Alisha and Tam to follow the plan.
Cilla sat back down and watched as Glen trudged over to vote, his stomach swaying in time with the movement of the bridge. Her heartbeat wouldn’t come back to normal, even now. Everyone else had their turn at walking over the slender bridge and writing down a name. No one smiled; it was a solemn business. She watched with foreboding as JJ went to retrieve all the votes. He came back carrying a small metal chest, engraved with filigree symbols. With an air of pomp and ceremony, JJ placed the chest onto a tree-stump table and lifted the lid.
‘Before I read the votes, I have to ask, does anyone have the golden doubloon, and would they like to play tonight? If so please bring it forward now.’ Cilla held her breath. Had anyone found it yet?
Then as if watching everything in a slow motion replay, Cilla saw Paloma stand up and pace quietly over to where JJ stood with the chest. Cilla hissed with surprise. She heard a few other low mutters of disbelief, but didn’t dare look at anyone else. One of the legs had just fallen off Marg’s plan. She wanted to moan with despair, but instead clasped her hands, slick with sweat, in her lap.
‘I found
it,’ Paloma said with a grin. ‘And I aint stupid enough not to play it tonight. I heard the rumors.’
‘Really,’ JJ replied as he held his hand out for the doubloon. Examining it closely he raised an eyebrow as he looked back at Paloma. ‘This is a genuine doubloon. Any votes cast for Paloma tonight don’t count,’ he intoned in a hollow voice. Cilla took a deep breath, but it did nothing to lessen the heaviness cramping her chest.
‘I’ll now read out the votes,’ said JJ. Cilla watched the compares’ hand as it snaked into the chest and came up, triumphant, holding a piece of parchment. He then unfolded it with exaggerated care.
‘The first vote goes to, Madison,’ he said, holding the parchment up for them all to view.
Yes! Cilla’s heart leapt inside her ribcage. It was what she’d hoped for, but even so it was a little unnerving to see the name in black print, naked upon the creamy page for all to see. Would they really be able to get rid of her?
Madison’s eyes narrowed to mere slits and she cast a withering glance towards Cilla’s end of the bench, her lip curling in a snarl. But her shoulders remained arrogantly straight and the tilt of her head suggested she didn’t entertain, even for a second, the thought there might be more votes with her name on them.
‘The second vote goes to, Paloma. But because she has the doubloon this vote doesn’t count.’ And there it was, the partial unravelling of their well thought out plan. JJ’s hand reached into the jar again. ‘The third vote goes to … Madison. That’s now two votes to Madison.’
‘The fourth vote is for …’ JJ paused as he unfolded the parchment. ‘Cilla.’
Oh God! It was to be expected. She knew there might be a couple of votes for her from Madison and Paloma, but she hadn’t anticipated the wall of despair and doubt … and was that anger? The emotions hit her like a runaway locomotive, bands of fear constricting her torso so it became hard to breath. She wanted to see Madison’s name up there, or at the very least, Paloma’s. Not hers. The urge to hide her face in her hands was great, but she managed to defeat it – just. Gritting her teeth together, she set her jaw at a haughty angle. If Madison could do it, so could she. She wouldn’t let anyone else see her fear. Glen was sitting next to her, and he turned and lifted a sympathetic eyebrow. She hoped like hell that he didn’t take it into his head to give her a mollifying hug. She might have to punch him if he did that.
JJ’s hand snaked towards the jar again. The suspense was killing her. She wanted to jump out of her seat and scream at him to hurry up.
‘This vote is for, Cilla.’ He held the paper up for all to see, and Cilla thought she recognised Glen’s curling script. Her heart sank. They might not have fallen for Marg’s ruse after all. She moved a few inches away from Glen, not wanting that snivelling traitorous bastard anywhere near her. She watched his face for the slightest hint of unfaithfulness. But Glen was deadpan, not even a twitch of an eye or the quirk of a mouth to give him away.
Marg’s plan had been to pretend they wanted to vote Paloma out, but then actually vote Madison instead. She’d told Simon and Glen that Paloma did nothing around camp, and was getting on Marg’s nerves something atrocious. Alisha had suggested – and they all agreed – that Simon was in an alliance with Madison, and possibly Glen as well. No one admitted it outright in front of the two men. Instead, Marg played an admirable game of pretending that although Madison did indeed annoy them, she was much too valuable in knockouts to get rid of so soon. They needed the strongest team possible in the knockouts to keep winning; to keep away from the conclave. Cilla learned a lot about the art of being manipulative sitting in the water, watching Marg weave her words of deceit.
It seemed, however, Marg’s words hadn’t been enough.
‘That’s two votes for Cilla and two for Madison,’ JJ said, narrating the score, as if the numbers weren’t burned indelibly into her brain.
‘The sixth vote is for … Cilla. Another vote takes you to three, and leaves Madison at two.’ If Glen and Simon had voted for Paloma, like they’d agreed then her name should have come up by now. Three votes were too many for them to be still following the plan.
Her hands started to go cold and clammy. JJ’s long fingers reached into the chest again. This time she found she didn’t want to know what name he was going to pull out.
‘This next vote is for Cilla as well.’ Was that a flash of sympathy she saw in JJ’s eyes? ‘That’s four votes for Cilla and two for Madison,’ JJ crooned politely.
Cilla did the mental calculations in her head. One more vote and she was out. Sweat started to run down between her breasts. This was so much harder than she’d ever dreamed it would be. Her eyes flickered across the group of people arrayed to her left. There was pity or concern on some faces, and mere indifference to actual animosity on others. How had she got to this point, where someone actually hated her? The thought made her take a step backwards in her head. She knew this game wasn’t real, but some people didn’t understand that division as easily. She could see for Madison, the hatred was real.
Her gaze fell on Tam and his lips curved upwards in a reassuring smile. His eyes were the colour of burnished gold in the firelight, reminding her of a lion in all its bright and powerful glory. She stared at him, needing the encouragement apparent in his steady gaze.
‘This vote goes to …’ Cilla’s attention snapped back to JJ and she held her breath. ‘… Madison.’ The breath whooshed out of her in a torrent. Reprieve. If only for a few seconds.
‘Cilla, you still have four votes, Madison you now have three.’ JJ waggled the paper in front of them and then placed it on the growing pile next to him. Paloma let out a tiny giggle of glee. Cilla was glad at least one of them could see the funny side of things.
‘And the last vote goes to …’ This time JJ paused so long that Cilla wanted to go and snatch the paper out of his hands and read it aloud herself. ‘… Madison.’ There was a small sound from the vicinity of where Madison sat in the middle of the group. It could’ve been a muffled scream of defiance, but Cilla dared not look.
Thank God.
‘That means you both have four votes each and we now have a tie.’
CHAPTER SIX
‘We have a tie.’ Tam’s stomach clenched. JJ sounded so rational, as if it didn’t really matter that one of their team was about to have their dreams crushed. ‘In the case of a tie, the rules state that you’ll both compete in another knockout. The loser of this knockout will be the person going to Deception Cove tonight.’
Shit, Tam swore under his breath. This was going from bad to worse. A second knockout? It could be anything. And goddammit, Madison was pretty good at most things regarding survival – when she wasn’t mouthing off. Tam’s mind raced with plans and wild ideas, but none of them would help Cilla now. From the side of the stage he noticed movement in the shadows as two crew members started pushing out a pair of enormous steel bowls in the shape of a ship’s hull, with a rope strung across the top of each.
JJ pointed at the metal ships with his index finger, putting a stop to the wave of whispers hissing through the team. ‘Fire was every pirate’s secret fear. If a ship caught fire it was usually the end of everyone on board. But in this knockout fire is your friend. You’ll need to build a fire that’ll blaze long enough and high enough to burn through this rigging rope at the top,’ he said, walking to a spot equidistant between the two cauldrons and placing a hand on the ropes suspended two feet above each fire pit.
‘The first person to burn through the rigging and raise their Jolly Roger flag is the winner.’
Tam didn’t trust himself to look at Cilla. He knew her well enough now to realise if she were to go tonight, she’d hold her head high, pretend it didn’t matter and walk down those stairs with her back straight and chin up. She wouldn’t let any tears fall. Not in front of everyone at least.
But it would matter. Terribly. Now he was starting to see little pieces of her true self revealed in those moments when she let down that tough exterior, he
knew it’d shatter her heart.
And there was something else, something she wasn’t letting on. This money meant a lot more to her than she was making out. She tried to hide the desperation, but he’d caught glimpses of something in her eyes the day she’d refused to eat the chicken. This was more than just a game for Cilla, it was almost as if her life depended on winning this prize.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Cilla’s slender form move towards one of the steel bowls. There was silence in the group. The dark seemed to press in around them. This was intense. He’d not dreamed the conclave would ever matter this much to him.
It’s only a game.
The words pounded in his head.
He was surprised at just how quickly his team-members had come to mean something to him. The authenticity of the experience, of the game, was sucking him in. As a psychologist he could understand why the enforced intimacy of the group, along with the passion bred from the large reward at the end would impact on his sense of reality. But he’d been sure he’d be able to withhold at least a part of his true self, keep aloof from the personalities and politics and neediness of the other players. This was all becoming much, much trickier than he’d expected.
And hardest of all was admitting to himself that the one person he really didn’t want to lose from this game was Cilla. He was starting to care for her, against all reason and against his express promises to himself.
‘You’ve been given everything you’ll need to complete this knockout,’ JJ said. ‘There’s a flint, coconut husks and plenty of kindling, as well as larger pieces of wood.’ Tam watched Cilla pick up the flint and striker and turn them over in her hands.
‘On my count of three, you’ll begin your battle. One. Two. Three.’ JJ stepped away from the two women hunched over their piles of wood, a predatory gleam in his eye.