The Trial

by Laura Bates

  ‘What?’ he asks defensively, as the others look at him in horror. ‘I’m not saying I don’t want her to wake up… I’m just saying, there’ll be more food to go around if she doesn’t. It’s a simple fact.’

  ‘What about water,’ Hayley interrupts. ‘It’s more important than food, isn’t it?’

  They separate the pile of supplies into four sections. Food, drinks, clothing and things like cushions and towels that they can use for bedding. There are twelve unopened bottles of water left. Hayley feels her chest tightening as she does the maths. Four bottles a day if they’re rescued in the next three days. Four between seven. Less than a bottle each per day.

  ‘We should keep the water all in one place,’ Shannon says, as Jason stuffs the rest of the candy bar in his mouth. ‘Make sure it’s shared out fairly.’

  ‘Good idea, sweetie.’ Jason nod. ‘You be in charge of that, okay?’

  Shannon doesn’t reply. She begins stacking the water bottles methodically. ‘And we should stay out of the sun,’ Hayley adds, ‘then we’ll dehydrate less quickly.’

  She feels an automatic rush of relief that she’s thought of something to contribute, then realises how ridiculous the impulse is. It’s not debate club. Nobody here is being graded.

  ‘That’s all settled then,’ Hayley says. ‘Nobody eats or drinks alone. We’ll put the food and drink in the bushes to keep it cool.’

  ‘What about animals?’ May’s voice is uncharacteristically small and uncertain. ‘How do we know it won’t get eaten by wild animals?’ she repeats. ‘How do we even know it’s safe to sleep out here?’ She gestures to the beach, where the tide has crept much closer, little waves running up the sand and stopping about 30 yards away. ‘Who’s going to keep Jessa safe in the night… what if something smells her blood—’ Her voice is rising, there are tears in her throat though her eyes look fierce, and Hayley wants to hug her, to tell her it’ll all be okay. Except that she doesn’t know whether it will be, and she knows that May would hate a hug, shrugging off the pity as if it burned her skin.

  And underneath her sympathy, her urge to comfort, there’s a colder, selfish part of her that just wants May to shut up, to stop pointing out problems. She wants Elliot to stop going on about search areas, wants to stop counting bottles of water over and over again in her head. A part of her that doesn’t want to accept what has happened or to start thinking about the reality of what it means. And a part of her that really, really doesn’t want to think about wild animals.

  ‘It’s okay, May.’ Jessa has woken and is suddenly next to her, looking shaken but standing, uninjured arm round May’s waist where anyone else’s would have been scornfully rejected. The very fact that she’s standing is the shot of relief they all desperately needed. ‘We can sleep in shifts.’

  ‘Here’s what we should do.’ Jason stands up, and Brian instinctively lumbers to his feet too, leaning towards him, wheezing a little. It almost looks as if they’re going into a tactical huddle on the deserted beach.

  Jason grabs Elliot’s arm, and Hayley realises he’s the only one with an old-school wristwatch. Jessa and Jason both have Apple watches and the others just rely on their phones. It won’t be long before the batteries die.

  ‘It’s just turned seven,’ Jason says, ‘and sunset probably isn’t far off.’ Elliot looks as if he’s about to say something but doesn’t. ‘So, Brian and I will stay awake until ten, then wake Elliot. He can take the next shift until one, then wake us. We’ll keep watch until four then switch again.’ The others nod in agreement.

  ‘And what are we, chopped liver?’ Hayley asks, taking herself by surprise. The boys blink at her.

  ‘No offence, but this is a guy’s job,’ Jason laughs. ‘Are you really going to chase off a wild dog or a boar or whatever with no weapon?’

  ‘Are you?’ Hayley retorts, her confidence growing. ‘What are you going to do, flirt it to death?’

  ‘They’re offering to protect us,’ Shannon mutters. ‘There’s no need to start burning our bras, we should just be grateful.’ Jason grins, reaching a hand out to touch her hair.

  ‘We need weapons. We can sharpen some sticks from the forest,’ Brian suggests enthusiastically, as Hayley glowers. He crashes off into the undergrowth, followed by Jason, leaving Elliot with the girls.

  ‘The tide won’t come up much higher,’ he says to May, as if the last few minutes’ conversation had never happened. ‘You see the line of debris just there?’ He walks down the beach beyond the plane, a few yards from where the waves are rushing up the sand. When you look closely, there’s a line of broken shells, little pieces of driftwood and scraps of seaweed, stretching the length of the beach. ‘That shows you where the tide was at its highest point,’ Elliot explains. It won’t reach us if we sleep up near the trees.’

  May nods with a nonchalance Hayley suspects might be fake. ‘As for animals, I don’t think it’s likely there are any large predators on this island.’ Elliot looks back into the forest. ‘I’ve been quite far into the trees and haven’t seen any sign of tracks, and the island isn’t very big. You could cover the whole thing in a few hours. Animals aren’t what we need to be worrying about.’

  ‘What do we need to be worrying about, Elliot?’ Hayley asks in a low voice.

  ‘Thirst,’ Elliot replies, simply. ‘We can survive weeks without food, but only a few days without water. And I’m really glad everyone’s so optimistic, I hope they’re right, but honestly, we have no guarantee of when we might be found. If it looks like we’re going to run out of water, we need to do something about it before that happens – plan ahead – otherwise it’ll be too late.’

  There’s a long silence. Hayley knows he is right. But the others look sceptical. None of them are used to hearing Elliot speak, let alone taking orders from him. She wants to back him up, tell them they have to listen. But that means letting in the fears at the very edges of her mind, the ones tap, tap, tapping to get in and willing her to absolutely lose her shit. Hayley Larkin doesn’t lose her shit. She doesn’t panic or lose control. So, she stands there, looking at Elliot, and says nothing.

  ‘Fine.’ Elliot spits the word out sharp, but it’s swallowed in the sand’s softness before it can reach any of the others. He turns on his heel and starts rifling through the supplies, heaving at something. It’s the plastic drawstring kitbag that holds the practice balls, except the balls are all long gone. For a moment, Hayley pictures them raining from the sky, dropping into the waves like cannonballs. But then she sees other things dropping, like Erickson’s body, and feeling sick, she turns away. Elliot disappears again into the trees.

  * * *

  Night comes suddenly, just as Elliot said it would. It’s not a slow, lingering beach sunset like the ones in the movies. The night swallows them whole. And it’s cold – colder than they could possibly have imagined. Elliot hasn’t come back when Hayley curls into herself under a coat, huddling near the fire and waiting for sleep to come. Through her eyelashes, she watches Jason marching up and down, clutching a freshly broken-off branch, his strides long but his knuckles clenched white.

  But sleep doesn’t come. And the island comes alive at night, becomes a roiling, writhing, terrible thing, outraged at their presence. The sand belches tiny flies that tap dance across Hayley’s flesh with heels like tiny needles. They want to claim her body and gnaw away at it until the beach is smooth and untouched once again. She can’t say when the noise starts exactly, only that suddenly it’s around her and inside her all at once, a rhythmic, vibrating, denseness that she can feel in the back of her jaw, in her teeth.

  She shifts uncomfortably, trying to find a position where her shoulder blades and hip bones aren’t grinding uncomfortably against the sand. Listening to the steady thud, thud, thud, of Jason’s footsteps as they recede and approach. The sea seems to be further away again, its cycles governed by a timetable she doesn’t recognise, its low, uneven whispering like a conversation just out of earshot, leaving her straining to he
ar.

  And if it feels like the island is closing ranks against her, like the sand and the sea and the invisible chorus of rasping, scuttling creatures are all united in harmony, it isn’t exactly the first time.

  Suddenly she’s back in the school gym, echoing with shoe squeaks and rank with the smell of rubber and slightly damp crash mats. Stood awkwardly in the corner, slow panic rising as she realises she’s wearing totally the wrong thing. Tugging down the edges of the purple nylon pleated skirt, wishing the tank top emblazoned with the Oak Ridge crest came below her belly button. Everyone else is in leggings, oversized T-shirts or slouchy sweaters. May in a graceful front split position, back arched forwards, arms extended. Shannon pacing out a new routine, her face lined with concentration. Jessa puts a quiet hand on Hayley’s shoulder and hands her a spare T-shirt. ‘Sweats are fine for practice. You’ll know for next time.’

  ‘Looking good, new girl.’ Jason wolf-whistles. ‘Didn’t know it was dress-up Friday!’ Hayley glances instinctively at Shannon, but her back is turned, hunched over some complicated diagrams. Brian and some of the other boys snigger appreciatively, circling Hayley like hyenas.

  ‘Knock it off, pigs,’ Jessa shouts, rolling her eyes.

  ‘She might like it, Jessa.’ Brian leers, his eyes creeping up Hayley’s thighs. ‘Not every cheerleader’s as uptight as the Virgin Mary.’ He gestures to the crucifix hanging on a fine silver chain around Jessa’s neck and she stiffens, flipping it under her top.

  ‘The Virgin Mary got knocked up outside marriage, you tool.’ Jason takes careful aim and bounces a basketball off the back of Brian’s head before catching it and dribbling up the court to shoot. Brian stumbles, cursing behind him.

  ‘Uh, it was an immaculate conception,’ Hayley mutters, unable to stop herself.

  ‘Impractical come what now?’ Brian mimics her, his voice high and reedy.

  ‘Never mind,’ Hayley mumbles, grateful for the interruption as Coach Erickson arrives, gesturing the boys over to the benches, and Coach Robinson walks in behind him to start cheer practice.

  ‘Thanks,’ Hayley murmurs, as Jessa stands next to her in the huddle.

  ‘Let us know if you’re going to need a babysitter every practice,’ Shannon whispers. ‘We’ll need to know in advance if we’ve got to bring an extra squad member on tour to hold your hand.’ Hayley’s stomach curls up at the edges, shrinking in humiliation.

  Trying to block out the memory, Hayley squeezes her eyes tighter closed. She can hear a soft, repetitive whisper, almost like a chant. May and Jessa are a couple of yards away, flickering in and out of view as the flames from the campfire rise and fall. They’re curled together in a kind of tight nest fashioned from spare pieces of clothing. Behind them, she can just see the curve of Shannon’s back, unmoving. May is fast asleep, her face smooth and peaceful, her breathing slow and steady. Hayley watches the smooth, light fawn skin rise and fall beneath her collarbones. But Jessa is staring into the fire, her necklace grasped between her fingers, murmuring the same prayer over and over again.

  DAY 2

  There’s gentle warmth, a soft swishing noise and the rich, savoury smell of woodsmoke. Just for a moment, Hayley is lying in her own bed with her eyes closed, the warm weekend sun streaming through her window, her stomach awakened by the smell of Dad barbecuing bacon outside. In a minute, she’ll stretch and open her eyes, pull on a fluffy robe and slouch downstairs to perch on a high stool by the breakfast bar, sipping orange juice while she watches Mom flip perfect, plump pancakes. She’ll slide them onto a serving plate in a great warm pile and they’ll head outside. Dad’ll take the plate and make the same joke he always does: ‘Thanks, but what are you two going to eat?’

  But she can’t stay there, her body won’t let her linger. The illusion disperses like smoke as the physical pull of pain drags her back to the here and now. Something hard is sticking into her back. Her ankle throbs and her hands are sore. She itches all over. There are aches in places she didn’t even know could ache, and for someone who went from a total non-athlete to a member of a cheer squad (okay the weakest member, but still) in less than two months, that is really saying something.

  Screaming.

  Hayley’s eyes fly open. Scrabbling to sit up, she scrapes her wrist against a stone, and painfully jolts her ribcage against the floor.

  The shrieks come again, shredding the air. They suddenly multiply, echoing terrifyingly above her. There’s a flash of green. Hayley’s racing heartbeat judders and begins to slow. The feathery tips of the palm trees are heavy with birds, acid green and scarlet plumage swirling in the sunshine, sharp cries louder than any birdsong she’s ever heard.

  Brian is sprawled in the sand, fast asleep. In the centre of the group, a few charred sticks are still gently smoking in a circle of grey ash. The fire has been out for some time. May and Jessa are stirring sleepily, cardigans and jumpers tangled between them. Elliot, Jason and Shannon are nowhere to be seen. With a nasty little surge of panic, Hayley wonders if Elliot ever came back last night.

  The sun is already skimming over the sea’s mirrored surface, the sky cloudless. It’s hot, but not uncomfortable yet, just humid enough to stick the hairs to the back of her neck. The sand is still again, the waves running smoothly up and down the beach.

  Hayley runs her hands through her short, rich brown pixie cut, her fingertips discovering a smattering of little bumps on her scalp. Her whole body is dotted with raised bites, screaming to be rubbed and scratched until they bleed.

  ‘Don’t scratch it,’ her mom would tut, ‘You’ll only make it worse.’

  She staggers to her feet, her muscles protesting sluggishly. Tentatively, she tests her ankle, putting a little weight on it and then a little more, pressing the ball of her foot into the sand. It groans a little, gives a grumpy burst of pain but then subsides into grudging acceptance as she walks a few paces, deeply relieved to be mobile again.

  Out in the distance, a solitary figure is standing in the shimmering water, her silhouette outlined against the amber flood of morning light. Hayley, squinting against the glare, thinks that there’s something different about Shannon here, on the island. She’s more still, somehow. Watchful. Another silhouette approaches, Jason’s solid frame dwarfing Shannon’s, her thin shadow almost rippling at the edges. Shannon seems to flinch, turning her head to the side as Jason approaches. Are his hands flailing in the air, or is it just a reflection? The silhouettes seem to writhe, gesticulating as if they’re arguing, but Hayley can’t see properly. She can’t hear anything but the endless white noise of the waves on the shore and the sun drills into her retinas until she has to blink and look away.

  May stirs and stretches like a cat, unfurling her slim frame and baring her neat, small teeth in a yawn. She sees the sleeping guard and grins, jumping lightly across the sand and landing almost on top of him with a loud bellow: ‘GOOD MORNING!’

  Brian startles to attention, his body snapping rigid in alarm.

  ‘God’s sake, May,’ he slurs, cradling the back of his head in both hands. ‘What are you, a goddamn ninja?’

  ‘Oh nice.’ May narrows her eyes and juts out her strawberry-shaped chin. ‘Because I’m Japanese American I must be a ninja, right?’

  ‘Jesus, that’s not what I meant, and you know it.’ Brian looks uncomfortably at Jessa, who offers him no help. ‘My head is pounding, I just—’

  May bursts out laughing. ‘Chill, man, I’m kidding.’ She runs down the beach, past the wreckage of the plane and splashes straight into the sea with an exhilarated whoop. ‘Can you believe the others are missing this?’ She shrieks and throws herself backwards into the waves. ‘Flying back early lost them the chance of the best vacation they’ll ever have!’

  They all watch her silently as she begins to sing ‘Come Alive’ at the top of her voice, splashing around. You can almost believe she’s having the time of her life, except it feels forced, like she’s performing for some inane sunscreen advert. ‘Let’s go wild…’
she sings, launching herself into the air and plunging under the water.

  None of the others move to join her.

  ‘Oh, come on!’ She runs back up the beach, panting, her sodden white cotton skirt and pale pink blouse clinging. ‘Everybody’s okay, Erickson’s probably already been rescued, we’ll be picked up in a couple days and in the meantime we’re on an all-expenses-paid desert island getaway. This is paradise! We should stay forever! No adults, no rules—’

  ‘No food, no medicine, no way to communicate or let anyone know where we are,’ Hayley breaks in.

  ‘Don’t be such a buzzkill.’ May waves her hand dismissively at their paltry stockpile of food. Her excitement is too deliberate, her voice a little too high, like she’s trying to persuade herself as much as the others. It would be a bit more convincing if the deep scratches from the plane crash weren’t standing out like a dark red barcode stamped across her cheek.

  As her now-transparent blouse rides up, revealing a flash of muscular, tan stomach, Brian puts his fingers in his mouth and whistles. She immediately responds with a middle finger of her own, so he forms his fingers into a ‘V’ shape and lasciviously begins to lick his tongue between them.

  Hayley sees May’s face crumple just a little before she wheels around. And she knows she should say something, knows she should call Brian out on his misogyny and homophobia, but she hesitates. There’s a fear in her that is so familiar it slips around her shoulders like a well-worn shawl. The fear of confrontation. Of ridicule. Of escalation. Of his anger. And she says nothing.

  May stalks away down the beach, but the look she throws Brian over her shoulder is one of mingled distrust and real, cold hate.

  Then, as if nothing had happened, she picks up a towel from the pile of improvised bedding, spreads it ostentatiously on the beach and stretches out in the sun, fanning her wet hair out on the sand to dry.