Survive

by Tom Bale

  Jody fashions her cardigan into a sling and wraps the coconuts up inside, to rest on her hip. They leave the other two in place, now with a lonely gap between them, like parents whose children have been taken away.

  With the sunlight growing more intense, they are all flushed and sweating by the time they’ve climbed the rocks that separate yet another pair of bays. Stopping for a breather, it should be the most natural thing in the world to reach for a bottle of water, but they have nothing.

  There’s a distant rumble overhead. Sam points to a plane, way too high to be of any help. Jody imagines some of the passengers gazing down at them, seeing only glorious beaches and maybe a few tiny specks that they’ll assume are lucky holidaymakers. Welcome to paradise.

  On and on they trudge, Jody keeping an eye out for boats. At one point she spots a large vessel on the horizon that could be a cruise ship or a ferry, but it’s clearly not heading in their direction.

  She estimates that it takes them about an hour to reach the wall, clambering over several natural promontories, stopping frequently to rest. On the beaches they walk in the lukewarm shallows, footwear in hand. There are detours, occasionally, to investigate strange objects half-buried in the sand, which invariably turn out to be nothing more than rocks draped in seaweed.

  They’ve noticed a fair amount of litter – bottles and cans, fragments of fishing nets and other equipment washed up on the shore – but nothing of practical value so far. Jody feels it’s important to keep checking, but Sam disagrees. He’s impatient to get there.

  The heat is putting a strain on their moods as well as their bodies. They pause to apply more sun cream to their faces, and Sam shares out the rest of the mints, but it’s water they need.

  Even when carried on his father’s shoulders, Dylan is constantly grumbling. Finally it becomes too much.

  ‘We’re all thirsty, Dyl. Now be quiet!’

  ‘Sam.’ Jody scolds him, and he nods, crestfallen.

  ‘Sorry, mate. I didn’t mean that.’

  ‘We’ll open one of the coconuts in a minute,’ Jody says. But there’s a change of plan, because when they reach the final bay it isn’t just a wall that’s waiting for them.

  28

  Sam feels like a lowlife for snapping at Dylan. The poor kid is scared, exhausted and badly dehydrated. No way should Sam be taking out his own frustrations on his son.

  The last ridge before the wall is quite low, and there are only a few scrubby bushes on top, making it easier to see what lies ahead. That’s the good news.

  The bad news is what lies ahead.

  One more short curving bay of unspoilt white sand, and then there’s another headland, extending far out to sea, with a cliff face that’s almost as sheer as the one Sam tried to swim around. On top, the vegetation has been cleared to make way for the wall, which is about three metres high, constructed with large limestone blocks and topped with coils of razor wire.

  His first reaction is despair. The wall is like a fortress. No way over it, and a hell of a long swim to get round the headland. Sam probably couldn’t manage it, and neither could the kids.

  Then he spots movement. In front of the wall there’s a narrow strip of rocky soil, with a thin wire fence running along the very edge of the cliff. Within that strip there are dogs.

  He counts three at first, sleek, black and dangerous-looking. Then a fourth one appears: what looked like a shadow at the base of the wall must be a tunnel, allowing the animals to move back and forth. It takes Sam a second to understand what that means. Even if you made it round the headland, chances are the guard dogs would be waiting for you on the other side…

  ‘Shitting fucking shit fuck.’ This is from Jody, and it makes him jump. It isn’t like her to swear in front of the kids, but on this occasion he can understand it.

  As they press on, the dogs line up in front of the wire fence. If they break free, could the animals survive a jump down the cliff?

  Sam doesn’t want to find out. But he goes on striding across the beach, swinging a wooden stake in each hand like a cross-country skier. Jody is just behind, staying close to Grace and Dylan. They’ve seen the dogs but so far they haven’t commented.

  He stops when he’s some twenty metres away. The dogs have clustered together and stare down at him, silent and still, like they’re waiting for him to make the next move.

  Sam looks to his right, trying to work out how far the wire fence extends, but once it enters the trees it’s impossible to tell. The same is true of the wall itself, which follows the line of the hill, rising gradually away from the coast before vanishing into the woodland.

  ‘Are you sure they can’t get to us?’ Jody asks.

  ‘Pretty sure.’

  ‘So we could call for help?’

  He turns to look at her. ‘Really?’

  ‘It can’t hurt to try.’

  He says nothing, disturbed by a sudden vision of armed men appearing on top of the wall and opening fire. But Jody has taken his silence as agreement.

  ‘Hello!’ she shouts. The dogs immediately go rigid, backs arching in readiness to attack.

  ‘Mu-um,’ Grace moans, pulling her mum’s arm.

  ‘It’s all right.’ Jody turns back. ‘Can someone hear us? Please! We need help!’

  The dogs are growling, snouts pushing at the wire, paws scrabbling at the dirt. Sam nudges Jody, urging her to back away. She takes the children with her, while Sam stands his ground.

  Suddenly he’s furious, and lets out a roar: ‘WE KNOW YOU’RE THERE, YOU BASTARDS! NOW COME OUT AND FACE US!’

  His outburst produces no reaction, other than to send the dogs into a frenzy, tearing up and down their narrow compound. It also upsets the children, and Jody gives Sam a sharp look as they retreat across the beach. He mumbles an apology, only for her to change her mind.

  ‘No. I don’t blame you.’

  They move briskly until they’ve cleared the next ridge and put the dogs out of sight. There’s some shadow here, at the base of the rocks, and Jody suggests they rest. Her skin is slick with sweat, especially where the makeshift sling is touching it. With a grateful sigh, she drops the cardigan to the ground.

  Sam remains on his feet, monitoring the children as they sink on to the sand. Grace finds a brave smile for her dad, and says, ‘It’s cool here. Feels nice.’

  ‘Good.’ He gives a quick grin, but there’s a look in his eyes that worries Jody. To her, he says quietly, ‘One thing that wall tells us. This is private land. Someone owns it.’

  ‘I remember the rep saying the north of the island has a nature reserve and a couple of estates.’ Jody hesitates. ‘She also said the president’s son has a place on the island.’

  ‘You think we’re on his land?’

  ‘I don’t know. But the last thing we remember is being at the Conchis, where Borko was the guest of honour. And it was obvious how wealthy and powerful he is.’

  They mull it over. Sam’s attention drifts away, his gaze unfocused as he calls up a memory of something. ‘Gabby,’ he mutters.

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘I’ve been trying to think who’d miss us, at the hotel. And there isn’t really anyone–’

  ‘Trevor and Kay?’ she suggests.

  ‘Nah. They won’t wanna hear us bragging about the party.’

  ‘We wouldn’t brag.’

  ‘They don’t know that,’ Sam points out.

  ‘True.’ With a sigh, Jody reflects on that for a moment. ‘Anyway, Gabby’s got other hotels to look after. I can’t see her noticing that we’re not there, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

  ‘It’s not.’ Sam wears a bitter half-smile. ‘I’m worried that she does know we’re gone.’

  He checks on the kids, then eases a couple of steps away from them. Jody goes with him.

  ‘Doesn’t it seem funny to you that she was so desperate for us to take up the prize? All that stuff about how offended they’d be, and it was impossible for the Smugs to go in our pla
ce.’

  Jody stares at him; her heart has begun to beat very fast. ‘But that would mean all this was planned – for us, specifically.’

  ‘Remember the welcome meeting, how relieved she looked when we turned up. And that’s when we got entered into the draw.’

  Jody cups a hand over her mouth. There’s a cramping in her abdomen that reminds her of the early stages of labour; a feeling that her whole body is about to face an almost unbearable ordeal. She recalls the party, that moment when Borko gazed into her eyes as though he knew who she was…

  ‘I might be wrong,’ Sam says, apologetically. ‘I hope I am.’

  But Jody can only nod. ‘If Gabby’s in on it, she’s not going to report us missing. And the hotel’s so big, no one will realise until we’re due to check out.’

  ‘Yep. Which means we’re well and truly screwed.’

  He hasn’t raised his voice, so it comes as a terrible shock when he snatches up one of the coconuts and hurls it at the rocks. There’s an explosion that sends the kids diving to the ground, fragments of coconut flying out like shrapnel.

  ‘Sam!’ Jody is furious, tears blurring her vision as she grabs some of the larger pieces. ‘Kids, pick up what you can. We can still eat this.’

  They ignore her; too startled to respond. Jody can see wet patches in the sand, valuable fluid lost, and she rounds on Sam. ‘This could keep us alive, for God’s sake. We need every last drop of it!’

  As Grace and Dylan rush into her embrace, Sam glares at her with real violence in his eyes, violence and fury and fear. Then he stomps away.

  29

  Sam hates himself, oh Christ does he hate himself for that. So much rage boiling inside him, but he knows how quickly it will fade and leave him nothing but shame; shame like acid, burning away at the idea of who he wants to be; leaving him to face who he really is.

  But he’s never been in a situation like this, has he? Where he’s pushed to the absolute limit but still has to go on acting as if it’s normal.

  Jody’s right, though. Without water they’ll all die within a couple of days. For whatever sick reason, whoever’s put them here is committing murder by neglect: a slow and agonising death. It brings to mind the news reports about parents not looking after their kids – cases that have always cut Sam deeply, because he knows he could have suffered a similar fate. His older sisters reckon they often fed him and changed his nappies when his mum was too hungover to bother.

  He turns to look at Jody. The mother of his own children is a goddess, compared to that. And what kind of a fuckwit is he to lose it with her?

  He heads back, desperate to be forgiven. Jody is kneeling on the sand, showing Grace and Dylan how to scrape coconut from its shell. She senses his approach, looks up and offers him a piece of coconut. ‘Here.’

  He meekly accepts it. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘The meat takes a lot of chewing. But at least it’s food.’

  ‘Meat?’ Grace queries.

  ‘That’s what it’s called, the white stuff. It’s very nutritious.’

  The effort she’s making to keep their spirits up shames him all over again. Sam kneels down, gives Grace’s back a rub and musses Dylan’s hair. Then he rests his hand on Jody’s arm. ‘I was totally out of order. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t worry. Better luck with this one, eh?’

  Jody takes the other coconut and fixes it in the sand with its three tiny holes facing upwards, then wedges it between her knees. She picks up a wooden stake, gripping it in both hands with the nail pointed downwards, and jabs it into one of the holes.

  ‘Genius,’ Sam mutters. And he means it.

  She repeats the procedure with the second hole. So the air can get in, she explains. ‘I remember watching my dad do this, years ago.’

  With the holes punctured, she lifts the coconut and carefully pours a few drops into her mouth. Shudders slightly. ‘It’s okay.’

  ‘Grace next,’ Sam says.

  ‘I don’t want to,’ Grace mutters, and Dylan echoes her protest.

  ‘We’re all very thirsty,’ Jody tells them, ‘so we have to drink it. And we need to be careful not to spill any.’

  Like stupid Dad, Sam thinks. Grace has a mouthful, pulls a face but swallows it. Dylan, to their surprise, declares that he likes it. Sam is reluctant to take any but Jody insists. He has a small sip – to him it’s sweet and sickly – and then Jody finishes it.

  ‘We’ll open this when the first one’s eaten,’ she says. ‘And I think we should go back and get the other two.’

  They pick up their stuff. Sam offers to carry Dylan on his shoulders but the boy says he’s okay to walk. He sticks his chin out a little, trying to show he can’t be bossed around. His jaw’s still working overtime on the coconut, white crumbs spraying from his mouth when he speaks.

  Taking Sam aside, Jody says, ‘I wonder if that’s where we should stay – the beach with the coconut family.’

  He snorts at the description, though inside it makes him shiver. Thoughts of voodoo dolls, and then an image from a fairy tale: the Pied Piper.

  ‘Perhaps they were put there as a sign,’ Jody says. ‘It’s not out of the question that someone’ll come to collect us.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  After that they walk mostly in silence, gnawing at lumps of coconut. They don’t hurry, because that will only make them hotter, thirstier. The sun is well above the horizon, and Sam guesses it’s at least nine in the morning, maybe ten. If there’s no way off the beach, what are they going to do all day?

  Find water, food, shelter. Survive.

  Easy peasy…

  ‘Ha!’ he mutters, and when Jody frowns he shakes his head. ‘Nothing.’

  But he shifts both the stakes so they’re horizontal under one arm, then uses his other hand to work on the nail heads. If he can get them free, they could be quite useful.

  It’s a small relief to see the tall figures still in place; he’d half expected them to have moved. He also checks the beach for other tracks but finds only their footsteps from earlier. All that’s different is the waterline: the tide has come in a little way, the water slip-slapping on the sand.

  Jody helps him remove the other coconuts and extract the stakes. These are hefty pieces of timber – valuable tools, given that their lives may depend on what they can build, or hunt. Jody has mentioned using one of the nails as a fishing hook.

  ‘Mum.’ Grace goes down to a whisper: ‘I need the toilet.’

  Jody nods. ‘It should be okay in the trees–’

  ‘No, Mum.’ Grace is blushing bright red. ‘Not a pee, okay.’

  Jody leads her daughter into the woods, taking a couple of tissues Sam had in his pocket. It isn’t lost on her that, unless they’re rescued soon, all of them will have to deal with the problem of bodily functions.

  But because she’s the first to face it, Grace is mortified. Jody offers to give her daughter privacy, once they’ve found a suitable clearing, but Grace is too upset to be left alone. Jody tries to make it easier by claiming she needs to pee, though hardly anything comes out. She crouches next to Grace, using one hand to help her daughter balance. While she’s glancing round, she notices what seems to be a dirt path through the trees.

  Finally it’s done. After Grace has cleaned up, Jody digs a hole for the tissues.

  ‘We’ll wash our hands in the sea,’ she says, and tries for an encouraging smile. ‘Actually, we could have a swim.’

  ‘I don’t have my stuff.’

  ‘No, but underwear’s okay.’

  The look on her daughter’s face says otherwise. Her hands tremble as they rise to wipe away tears. ‘W-w-we’re stranded here, aren’t we?’

  ‘No, darling...’ Jody begins, but it’s half-hearted.

  ‘We are. They gave us something to put us to sleep, at that horrible party, and left us here on our own. There’s no way back, and they-they don’t c-care if w-we… if we d-die here…’

  By the time Jody has comforted her enoug
h to move on, she can barely recall what foolish promises she’s made. She understands now why Sam was concerned about lying to them: every false reassurance is simply stacking up problems for the future.

  Back at the beach, Dylan has wandered away to investigate a half-buried rock, while Sam is hard at work. He’s standing with two stones pressed between his feet and the fat end of the stake facing down, the nail enclosed within the stones. The idea is to wedge the nail so tightly that it can’t move, then rotate the stake while also pulling upwards. In theory it’s a workable method, but the pressure needed to stop the nail from slipping free is almost impossible to achieve.

  ‘Any luck?’ Jody asks.

  ‘Shifting, slowly.’ His gaze darts towards Grace. ‘You?’

  ‘Yes, thanks,’ Jody says.

  Even that causes Grace to moan. ‘Don’t talk about it.’

  They wash their hands in the sea, then Jody tries to help Sam, adjusting the position of the stones to grip the nail more firmly. There’s a tiny squeak as another millimetre of steel emerges from the timber.

  Sam’s face has gone bright red from the effort. When he stops to rest, she tells him about the path. ‘We probably ought to see where it goes.’

  He grunts. ‘Dunno.’

  ‘Imagine how silly we’d feel if we walk through the trees and find there’s a road, or a café or something.’

  ‘Oh, bound to be a café.’ He glances at a non-existent watch. ‘Wonder if they’ve stopped serving the Full English.’

  They eye each other for a second, and could easily fall out, but choose to smile instead.

  ‘Okay,’ Sam says.

  First they debate whether to open another coconut. They’re all desperately thirsty, but Jody feels it’s too soon. Sam calls to Dylan, who has already ignored them twice. He’s still hunched over, scrabbling in the sand around his rock.

  ‘Dylan! Now!’ Sam sets off towards him, and only now does the boy turn, eyes wide and saintly.