Savages

by Shirley Conran

  She returned almost immediately. “You can’t get through that stuff, it’s impenetrable jungle. Let’s move on.”

  But within five minutes, they suddenly found themselves moving through knee-high coarse grass. They could see the stars again, they could make out one another’s heads against the black night sky. They could smell the sea and hear the beguiling invitation of the waves.

  Silvana whispered, “Be careful, Patty. You don’t want to fall down that cliff.”

  “I think we’ve come too far. I think we’ve passed the boat. I’ll go see. Stay here.” Cautiously Patty moved ahead.

  A few minutes later she rushed back excitedly. “I saw lights at sea! It’s the boat!”

  Small sighs of relief. At last, in this suddenly bewildering world, the women had a reference point.

  They followed Patty to the edge of the cliff. To their right, they could see the lights of the boat—one high white speck, plus a bright light in the cabin. They were only about two hundred yards away from it.

  Hopefully, the women scrambled down the scrub-strewn slope and once again found themselves on the stony beach. Surprisingly, they located the dinghy with no difficulty. Five pairs of hands tore at the sand that buried the anchor.

  “Shouldn’t we wait for the skipper?” Carey whispered.

  “Are you crazy?” Patty hissed. “They probably shot him as well.”

  They all dragged the dinghy down to the water and with the last dregs of their energy they shoved her into the sea. Standing knee-deep in the ocean, Patty held the light while Carey held the boat steady. The other three women flung themselves aboard. As she scrambled in, Carey whispered to Patty, “How do we know that there aren’t soldiers aboard? How do we know that Winston’s still alive?”

  Patty said, “It’s worth taking the risk.”

  “Shouldn’t only one of us go to the boat?”

  “There’s no noise. If there were terrorists aboard, wouldn’t we hear them?” Patty swung the outboard into place and climbed aboard. She knew how to start an outboard and, once the engine was turning over, she steered toward the Louise.

  Then Patty thought, My God, maybe Winston will shoot at us. She cut the engine and whispered urgently, “Winston … Winston …”

  A voice quavered, “Skipper?”

  “No. We’re the American women.”

  “White ladies?” The voice was clearly fearful of the dark.

  Patty started the engine again.

  As the dinghy bumped alongside the Louise, Carey fumbled with the painter, then flung it up to Winston. One by one, the women scrambled aboard. Temporarily, they were safe. Now, in their filthy, torn clothes, their bodies started to tremble and their fingertips tingled. Suzy headed straight for the refrigerator and pulled out the vodka bottle. She grabbed a paper cup and filled it. She passed the bottle to Carey, who took a swig.

  Patty said, “That stuff’ll only make you thirsty and drunk. Are there any soft drinks left, Winston?”

  “Soft?”

  “Lemonade. Coca-Cola.”

  “No, only water.”

  Thirst overcame fear for a few minutes, and they all drank the water greedily. Patty said, “If only this boat hadn’t broken down …”

  Carey said, “If it hadn’t, we’d have been at the beach with the rest of them.”

  Winston said, “Boat not buggerupem.”

  “No, the boat’s not broken,” Patty said, “but the engine is.”

  “Engine is okay. Winston fix engine.”

  “You mean the engine works?”

  In the dim cabin light, Winston grinned and nodded. He scampered onto the bridge and pressed the starter. The engine turned over.

  Carey spoke fast. “Let’s get out to sea straight away. Let’s get as far away as we can.” She swung up the ladder and stood beside Winston. “Take us out to sea! Right now, Winston.”

  Winston looked bewildered, then frightened. Maybe they were stealing the boat? Where was his master? He said, “Winston no … can … no …”

  “But you just fixed the engine!” said Suzy. “Surely you can drive the fucking boat?”

  Winston looked helpless.

  Patty said, “Winston either can’t or won’t. So let’s figure out how this thing works.”

  From the black waters of the bay, a voice rose above the engine. “Winston!”

  Winston jumped and looked terrified. Maybe water spirits stronger than Jesus Christ.

  The voice from the water urged, “Winston, for God’s sake, let the ladder down before a shark gets me.”

  Winston raced to the rail and lowered the ladder.

  Dripping wet, the skipper climbed aboard.

  “Glad to see you all made it,” he grunted.

  Wordlessly, Suzy held out the vodka bottle but, gasping for breath, he shook his head. “Any beer left? What the hell did you do to the engine, Winston? She sounds fine.”

  “I check ’im slow time, boss. From fuel tank to injectors in engine. Pressa titty, boss, no problem.”

  “Good work, m’lad,” the skipper said. According to the fuel gauge, there was still plenty of fuel, so maybe the filter in the tank was slightly blocked and the fuel pump wasn’t strong enough to suck fuel past it. That would explain why the engine had stopped, and it would explain why it could start again a couple of hours later, because enough diesel would have seeped past the blockage to fill the injection system. Now, she’d probably go fine, until the filter blocked again.

  Can of beer in hand, the skipper looked at his passengers. Suzy had pulled on a white fishing shirt; her scratched legs were streaked with blood. The shoulder of Silvana’s black jumpsuit had been torn away. Annie looked as if she’d slept for months in her sleeveless green shirt and baggy pants. Patty’s white shorts and navy shirt were in tatters. Carey’s pale blue shirt and pants were the only clothes that weren’t badly torn, but her long tawny hair had been mercilessly snagged by branches, and she looked like a crazed hillbilly. Their hair was tangled, their faces dirty and bleeding.

  He said, “I counted over eighty of them bastards on the beach.”

  “What happened to you?” Patty asked.

  “Crawled halfway round the back of the beach—wanted to surprise one of ’em from the rear and get his gun. I was going for one of the machine guns but there didn’t seem much point after the shooting. They killed my wife along with the others. So I crawled back, found you’d scarpered and followed you back to the boat. Wasn’t easy without a flashlight.”

  Silvana said, “Thank God you got here. Now take us out to sea. Radio for help. Call the police in Queenstown.”

  The skipper man shook his head. “Three assault craft are beached in front of the hotel. That means at least one fair-sized ship offshore, probably armed. If I radio, they’ll know where we are. As it is, they’re going to come looking for us, because they know we’re out here somewhere. Seems a pity to tell ’em exactly where. Probably catch us within twenty minutes.”

  “Well, for God’s sake, let’s just go!” Silvana urged.

  “Where to? We’ll be in danger soon as we poke our nose beyond the point. Even if we head south, they’ll probably hear us. Noise travels far over calm water.”

  “But we can’t just stay here!” Silvana said. “We must get to Queenstown, to the police!”

  “We don’t know what the hell is happening in Queenstown. They might be fighting those bastards at this minute, or maybe the bastards have taken over the town.” He drained his beer. “On my way back, I was thinking what to do. Reckon the safest thing we can do for the moment is to stay here.”

  “But you said they’ll come looking for us.” Silvana was frantic.

  “Won’t bother to look if they think we’re already dead. Reckon I’ll put you ashore with enough gear to keep us alive. Winston and I’ll take the boat out to sea, scatter your swim-suits around, then blow the poor old girl to pieces.”

  “But what will happen to you and Winston?” Carey asked.

  “Ju
st before the Louise goes up, we’ll head for shore in the dinghy. With any luck they won’t spot us. If they do, they’ll likely think we’re the only survivors. I reckon nobody saw us back on the beach. They were concentrating on other things.”

  For a long moment, they remembered seeing their menfolk brutally killed. All energy drained from the women and all eyes filled with tears, including those of the skipper. They felt without hope, they experienced a physical heaviness that made movement impossible. As they sobbed with sorrow, each woman’s misery was also tinged with regret and fear.

  Annie thought wildly, How can I manage without Duke? Our boys are all at the age when they need a man to guide them.

  Silvana thought, Now Arthur never will be a grandfather. Thank God Lorenza is married. At least we won’t be a family of women, we’ll have Andrew to look after us.

  Patty knew that she would never be able to cope with Stephen without her husband’s loving support. After all these years of solicitous care, Stephen would have to be institutionalized. And how could she manage without Charley?

  Carey felt deeply sorry that after being so near to it, Ed would never be president of Nexus. He had wanted that prize so much, and had striven so hard for it.

  Although Suzy was crying tears of rage, she was the only woman who wasn’t grieving for her man. In her heart she felt a certainty that Brett was still alive. She hadn’t seen him on the beach. And in her magazine stories, the heroine was never really left stranded, the man was never really killed, there was always some good reason that he was absent, and he always turned up in the last chapter to save the girl.

  “Can’t have this,” the skipper snuffled through his own sobs. “Time for grief when we get out of here. I’ll get the dinghy ready.”

  “But you said the dinghy’s outboard was unreliable!” Patty said.

  The skipper shrugged. “If she conks out on us, we’ll just have to row.”

  Patty said tartly, “You don’t seem to have much luck with your engines.”

  “Don’t seem to have much luck with anything at the moment.” First he’d lost his wife, now he was going to lose his boat, and on top of that he had this load of useless Sheilas on his hands.

  Carey said, “But what then? How are we going to get off the island?”

  “We’ll hide out in the jungle for a few days, then I’ll send Winston to scout around. When things are quiet enough, three of us can escape at night in the dinghy. She won’t take more than three, not with provisions.”

  Carey nodded. The dinghy had been low in the water when the five women returned to the Louise.

  The skipper said, “I go in the dinghy, Winston stays to look after you. Carey stays because she can fish; Suzy stays because she can’t swim. The others can toss for two seats in the dinghy.”

  Reluctantly Silvana said, “It’s my responsibility to stay, that’s what Arthur would want.”

  The skipper said, “It’s only about seventy miles by sea from the southern tip of Paui to Irian Jaya.”

  “Where’s that?” Suzy asked.

  “The mainland. Once it was called Dutch New Guinea. Now it’s called Irian Jaya and ruled by Indonesia.”

  Patty said, “If it’s only seventy miles to safety, isn’t it worth the risk to make a dash for it in this boat tonight?”

  “Don’t think I ain’t considered that,” the skipper said. “But we don’t know what’s going on, or where those murdering bastards came from, or how many ships there are out there. Them three big landing craft set out from a sizable vessel, and she’s probably got radar and guns that could blow us out of the water as soon as we put to sea…. By the way, did you hear what they called the bloke who was giving the orders on the beach?”

  Her voice choking, Suzy said, “Ed called him Rocky.”

  Carey started to cry.

  “Not Rocky. My guess is it’s Raki,” the skipper said. “He used to be head of the army, under the Nationalists, but when they got kicked out, about eighteen months ago, Raki went into exile. So, if he’s landing with troops, this might be a Nationalist countercoup. If I’m right, they’re probably slugging it out in Queenstown at this very moment, and they’ll certainly have the landing points covered from the sea. You can bet your life there are other ships out there in the dark.”

  Patty and Silvana started to cry.

  The skipper said, “I know how you feel. Christ, I just lost my wife. But we can’t afford to think about it now. We’ve got to get enough stuff off the boat to keep us alive. We’re going to need every plastic container on this boat for the trip to the mainland.”

  Annie asked tentatively, “If you went alone, wouldn’t there be more space for your water?”

  “I’ll need a lookout for when I sleep,” the skipper said. “And I’m going to need at least one of you ladies for proof of what I’m claiming. Otherwise, how can your State Department insist on a search? Another thing, if anything happens to me, the lives of the rest of you will depend on whoever else is in that dinghy.”

  Suzy snapped, “Oh, for God’s sake, let’s stop talking and do something.”

  “Best figure things out first,” the skipper said. “Winston’ll help you get the stuff off the boat. I’ll unscrew the bridge ladder. When we get it ashore, we’ll throw the awning over it, tie the supplies on top and carry it, like a stretcher, till we find somewhere to hide.”

  Patty said, “Where will we go?”

  “As far south as we can get before dawn. Tide’s still going out, so we’ll go round the coast at sea level. The dinghy will go with us, filled with supplies. We’ll head into the jungle at dawn. Winston can find a hideout for us.”

  Suzy said, “What if—”

  “Look, I can’t tell you exactly what we’re going to do,” the skipper said. “We’ll have to wait and see what happens. But I’ve worked out a timetable for our next move. It’s nine thirty now. By ten o’clock we’ll have unloaded. Winston and me’ll be ready to go. Ought to be back by eleven. We’ll trek till dawn, around six o’clock. That’s seven and a half hours of hard walking, so get something in your stomachs, while I tell Winston what to take ashore.”

  Carey shared out the leftovers from the despised picnic. The women were all very hungry; they attacked the curling chicken sandwiches and they gobbled up every crumb.

  While they ate, the skipper threw their bathing suits up to the bridge. He started to unscrew the eight-foot-long aluminum ladder that led from the deck to the bridge. Unsuccessfully, he tried to wrench off the binnacle that housed the ship’s compass. He grabbed the sextant and the chronometer and handed them down to Winston, who had already unlaced the canvas awning over the bridge and folded it. Winston then scurried around the boat, fetching the supplies to be taken ashore.

  Suzy watched the heap of equipment pile up on deck. “What the hell do we need all that for? What are we going to do with it when we get ashore?”

  The skipper called, “Shut up, Suzy. I’ve no idea how fast we can get off this island, but it ain’t going to be tomorrow. I’d rather we took too much than too little. And once the Louise is gone, it’ll be too late to get more.”

  Patty took the dinghy to the beach on its first trip; it carried Silvana and Suzy, the canvas awning, the fishing tackle, the toolbox, three mosquito nets and the two wicker picnic baskets, which had been stuffed with sneakers, fishing shirts and four pairs of leather fishing gloves.

  When Patty returned, Carey whispered from the rail, “He says you mustn’t use the outboard, it’s too noisy. You’ll have to row.”

  Patty rowed back to shore. This time she took the fishing rods, the tackle box, the gaff and two fishing nets. In the plastic garbage pail were some waterproof matches, two metal cans used for bait, one battered metal bucket and two plastic ones, eight gutting knives, Winston’s machete, the ladder, four rocket flares, a bundle of mini-flares and six life jackets.

  Patty whispered to the shadowy figures who met her on the beach, “He says you have to put the life jackets on
straight away, so that we don’t have to carry them.”

  On the dinghy’s third trip, it was laden with two spear guns, six spears, two pairs of black swim fins and underwater masks, an empty five-gallon jerry can and the ax. Patty carefully hugged the ICOM portable marine radio as she waited for Carey to climb aboard.

  Carey whispered over the side, “Hey, catch this. I nearly forgot it.” She threw down the first-aid kit.

  In the dark, the heavy box hit Patty on the head and nearly knocked her overboard. Wildly she waved her arms to regain her balance and dropped the ICOM. It gave a little plop as it hit the water and sank into the black depths.

  Patty whispered up, “I’m sorry, but I just dropped the radio overboard. Tell him.”

  “Shit!” Carey knew this meant that once the Louise put to sea, there was no way for the skipper to let the little party on shore know what was happening to him.

  Carey whispered down, “Well, don’t drop this, it’s the rifle.” Then she and Annie slipped down into the dinghy. Patty cast off. As the gray rubber craft headed for shore, there was no sound except for the soft lapping of water against the hull and the creaking of the oars.

  In the cabin the skipper reached for six empty Perrier bottles from the bar and unlocked the paint stores locker. He took out four half-gallon cans of white paint, a gallon of white spirit in a plastic container and a can of paraffin, which was used for the lights. He dragged two five-gallon jerry cans on deck, one containing gasoline, the other oil. The two-stroke outboard on the dinghy ran on a mixture of gasoline and oil. The Louise ran on diesel fuel, which doesn’t burn if you heat it. She wasn’t supposed to carry gasoline, because it was a fire hazard, but some paying customers liked to waterski all day and the dinghy had to be refueled.

  It is not difficult to make a gasoline bomb; every Belfast urchin knows how to do it. The skipper carefully poured gasoline into the Perrier bottles, which he didn’t completely fill; he added a handful of sugar from the jar in the galley, then lightly screwed back the tops of the bottles. He prized open the can of white paint with difficulty, using a metal spoon because by that time the toolbox had already been taken ashore. He checked his mini-flares and slipped the pack into the pocket of his shorts.