Death Island
Page 4
Danny was amused in spite of himself, as Tom’s eyes fell on his stolen knapsack and nearly popped out of his head in surprise. Tom glared at Martin, fear and curiosity fighting for control. “Why’d you take it?” His voice sounded raspy, and Danny was sure Tom hadn’t spent a restful first night, either.
“To teach you a lesson in survival,” Martin replied pleasantly. “Never leave anything where someone else can get it. You never know who’s watching. The monkeys steal anything they can get at, too.”
Tom shuddered and then gave a jolt of recognition.
“I know you from the TV show, he said, flicking a look at Danny. “Don’t you recognize him, the big effing show-off? He almost got voted off last year?”
Martin’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I did?”
“Yeah, you came in second. First was that guy who—”
Danny interrupted. “Hey! To hell with all the chitchat. I want to know how we get off this island. Now.”
Martin snorted. “No way off, Man. Don’t you think I’d be out of here by now if there was a way?”
“Build a raft?” said Danny, looking around. “There’s plenty of wood.”
“You got a saw, or maybe you brought that axe over with you?” Martin asked. “You got a hammer, nails? Elmer’s glue, maybe?”
Danny bit his lip. “Maybe use small logs already on the ground? Tie them with vines. Braid the vines, make a rope.”
Martin regarded him with amusement. “Danny, I’ll take you over to the beach. Guys have tried it. Too many big, jagged rocks. Too many sharks, the ocean’s too rough. Nobody ever made it out of here. Every once in a while you find a bone in the sand. A human bone. You’re here for the duration, man.”
“Unless you get voted off,” Tom contributed. “Like from the Death Island show.”
Danny threw him an annoyed glance.
“I hate those reality shows, like Survivor and The Apprentice,” Danny retorted. “So degrading to everyone.”
“Now you’re on one,” Martin said. “We all are.”
“Are they watching right now?” Tom asked, looking around. “Where are all the little cameras and stuff?”
“There are thousands of them, everywhere,” Martin explained. “I used to go around looking for them and destroying them, but it’s no use. They’re everywhere, and they film by satellite too. Sure, they’re watching now.”
“Show me one,” Danny requested. “I can’t see any, and I looked all over before I decided to camp here.”
Martin strolled over to a large pine tree and began to examine its rough-textured trunk. “Here,” he said, pointing.
“That’s a lizard,” Tom said, bending closer. “One of those that changes colors.”
“Nope,” said Martin, “it’s a camera. Look here.” They gathered around the tree and peered intently at the lizard that wasn’t a lizard. It looked real. Its skin was scaly and its tail flicked slowly back and forth. It had beady little red eyes that seemed to glare right at them. But it didn’t scamper away, not when they came close to it, not when Martin jabbed at it with his finger.
“Camera,” he said. He went eye to eye with the lizard. “Hello, everyone!” he said. Danny laughed, in spite of himself.
Tom backed away. He threw Martin a tentative look and bent down to reclaim his knapsack. Danny stared intently at the lizard. “Show me another one,” he said to Martin.
Martin slowly circled around the clearing. He picked up a couple of small rocks, then discarded them. He peered up into the branches of a tree where a number of birds sat on a branch, alternately chirping and observing the human interlopers. “Probably at least one of those birds is a fake,” he said, “but it’s too far up for me to be sure.”
He continued his search, and finally pounced on a group of mushrooms near the base of a tree. “Here.”
“Those are mushrooms,” Tom said, exasperated.
Danny threw him a disgusted look. “The lizard wasn’t a lizard; maybe a mushroom isn’t a mushroom.” he said.
The three men bent over the cluster of fungi, as Martin pointed out the minute camera that masqueraded as one of the darker spots on the mushroom’s mottled surface.
“They’re everywhere,” Danny mused. He glanced up at the birds. A little gray one cocked its head at him and trilled a few notes. Its beady yellow eye regarded him with curiosity.
He turned to Martin, who had reclaimed his seat on the fallen log. “What do you want with me, anyway, or with us, as the case may be?
“Well, breakfast, for starters,” said Martin.
“Breakfast”? They both stared at him in surprise.
“Look,” he said reasonably, “I’m pretty sick of snake and mushrooms and berries. You guys come with a full month of dried food. In exchange for a hearty starter, I’ll fill you in on the Island—who’s here, how to survive, and how to get yourself killed, if you’re not careful.”
“It’s a deal!” Danny said, and reached under the log for his backpack. He unzipped it and pushed it toward Martin. “Take what you want.” Tom bit his lip and looked thoughtfully at his knapsack, but then followed Danny’s example and motioned for Martin to help himself.
That was the moment when Danny decided he had to trust Martin Sicilia. Martin took several health bars from each knapsack, a package of dried meat from Danny’s and some rolls of dried fruit from Tom’s. He could have had it all, Danny considered. He already had Tom’s, and he could have killed me in my sleep and taken mine. But he didn’t. He might be the one trustworthy guy on this island, and we should heed whatever he can tell us.
“By the way,” Martin said. “You should save this stuff as long as you can and try to eat from the land.” He waved one hand around. “There’s a lot of stuff you can get. Berries, bananas—if the monkeys let you have them—nuts, mushrooms, plants, birds’ eggs. Snake. You won’t starve, but one of these bars will taste like heaven in six months.”
“How about actual monkey?” Tom asked.
“Tough as hell,” Martin replied.
Danny munched on an apricot-nut bar and longed for a mug of steaming hot coffee. For a second he caught a memory of Katie’s pretty face framed in her mop of curly dark auburn hair smiling at him over the rim of her mug. Then she was gone, and he was sitting on a log in the middle of a strange woodland, eating dried foods with a couple of convicted felons. He wondered briefly if he had fallen through a hole in time and ended up in an alternate universe.
Martin was speaking. Danny flashed back to the present.
“There are two groups, basically,” he said, “and a few lone wolves, like me. And one really dangerous dude, a guy who used to play pro-football. He’s huge, dangerous as a mama bear on speed, and absolutely nuts.”
“Javonne Gray?” asked Tom. “I’ve seen him on the TV show. They actually showed him—”
“Yeah—“ Martin interrupted, making a face of disgust. “Don’t remind me. Just stay out of his way. His brain, and there wasn’t a lot of it to begin with, is totally fried. He’ll rip your head off with his bare hands and probably end up eating you for dinner. He’s more animal than man—a real, throwback savage.”
Danny felt the blood drain from his face. “And they photograph him doing that, show it on national television?”
“Look, man,” Martin said. “Ever read Lord of the Flies when you were in high school? Well, this is it for real. Survival of the Fittest, so you’d better learn the rules of the game.”
“Why are you bothering with us?” Tom asked. “Safety in numbers?”
Danny noticed the faint upturn of Martin’s mouth as he curbed a grin. Looking at Tom’s fat, flabby body, he could understand that Tom wouldn’t be much help in a fight. Still he might possess other assets they could use.
“You two look like regular dudes,” said Martin. “I’ve watched you since you dropped, and I thought to myself, why are these two here? I decided to find out. I watched you, followed you, observed. It gets lonely here, and a lot of the trash tha
t’s dropped here I wouldn’t want to hang with anyway. Most of them don’t make it long. Javonne gets to them, or—” he broke off, as if unsure whether to continue.
“Or what?” asked Danny, not at all sure he wanted to know.
Martin ripped open another health bar. “There are two main factions here,” he began. Tom listened, looking paler and more terrified with each word. Danny absorbed his information with a keen ear. He stared at the mushroom camera, wondering bleakly if even now they were being observed and listened to.
Martin went on describing the two groups. “One bunch is a gang of loose in-fighters, no rules. When they manage to ferment enough rotten fruit to get a big drunk on, they get all gussied up, like, and pretend they’re a tribe of Indians, war paint and all, or a band of Vikings. They go a drunken rampage, looting, plundering and pillaging, and if there’s anything to rape, they will.”
“Oh my God!” gurgled Tom. His hands went to his butt, protectively.
“Sometimes they make a raid on the Villagers—”
The Villagers?” Danny was incredulous.
“Yep,” Martin went on. “The other bunch has built an actual town, rough houses and all, and most of them are paired up like couples. “They’re the ones who miss the ordinary, civilized life the most. You might want to join them, if you can make the adjustment.” He laughed.
Tom made a strangled noise in his throat.
Martin looked at him. “They’re always looking for fresh meat,” he said, grinning.
Tom turned about as pale as Danny thought he could turn without becoming a ghost. The man was positively white with fear.
Martin unwrapped another peanut-butter bar and let them absorb what he had told them. Danny saw Tom shudder with revulsion, as they both recalled what one of the guards had said to Tom on the plane.
“I don’t want to end up somebody’s—uh, bitch,” choked Tom. He could hardly say the word.
Martin shrugged. “Easy enough. Stay out of their way.”
“Are they coming after us?” asked Tom suddenly.
“Naw,” said Martin. “They saw you drop, yeah, but they’re way out on the end of the Island—the Tribe in the cliffs on the west end, the Villagers on a mesa on the east. They’re a good fifty miles away. By the time they got here, they know you’d have found a safe place.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Tom said.
“But there are the lone rangers, I call ’em,” said Martin. “The solitary guys who go it alone or band in groups of two or three. They can be anywhere, and they will attack for the food and the clothes.”
Danny grunted. “Have to watch out for them then.”
“And the snakes,” Martin continued. “And there are jungle animals—apes, some kind of big cat—a cheetah or jaguar, I guess.” He shrugged. “And other stuff. All you can say is, it beats the hell out of the gas chamber.”
Danny felt a sudden flood of misery overtake him, and with it a sense of panic. But after it came a rising tide of determination, as tangible as the hot sun branding bronze patches on his arms.
He looked around in anguish. In his mind, one thought surfaced and blocked out everything else. He sent a fervent prayer upward to the Deity he had never acknowledged existed, and who certainly had not had much to do with Danny Manning’s life up to this point. “Oh God, my God, if you’re really there, if You’re listening to me right now, if You can hear me at all, I beg You, help me to somehow get out of here!”
Chapter Five
The phone rang just as Charlie started out the door. She sighed good-naturedly—the phone never seemed to stop ringing around here—and jogged back to answer it.
“Paul! How’s the weather down there?” She envisioned him on the other end of the wire, some of the tight little lines around his eyes and mouth relaxed now that he was away from the never-ending work of the parish.
“It’s beautiful. The convention center is right on the beach. I went for a walk at sunrise.” There was a lilt in his voice, something she hadn’t heard in a while. “Florida’s great. Maybe we should look for a church down here.”
“Are you serious?” She thought he was perfectly content in the pretty New England town west of Hartford.
“Well, we could think about it,” he said. “Hey, listen, Charlie, are you on the way out or anything?”
“To the gym for a while, I hope. Do you need me to do something?”
He laughed. “Said like an experienced clergyman’s wife, or should I say a clergyman’s experienced wife? Yes, I need you to do me a favor, if you would.”
“Sure,” she said. This was part of the job of being married to a minister—message-taker, errand runner, receptionist, not to mention constant ego-massager. Most of the time she was happy to oblige and loved being able to share in Paul’s ministry. Today, however, she really wanted to go to the gym. She’d packed on five pounds this month, and with so many attractive women in the congregation, she needed to watch her weight. Not that she had to worry about Paul, but clergymen were particularly attractive to certain women. What man had the inner fortitude to resist a pretty face, an inviting body and all that ego flattery practically thrust upon him?
“What is it?” she asked.
There’s a folder in the top left hand drawer of my desk. Could you run it over to Norma Harris’ house? It’s a breakdown of expenses the Budget Review Committee needs—”
She cut him off. “I don’t need to know why she needs it,” she said. “I know way too much about what goes on in this church, anyway. I’ll get it to her.”
“Yeah, you do,” Paul said. “If you ever decided to write a gossip column for the Northington News I’d be in real trouble. Thanks, Charlie.”
“Anything else?” she asked. She glanced at her watch. She really wanted to get to the Health Center to exercise. She said so, then added, “and I’m meeting your girlfriend for lunch.”
He chuckled. “Heather? Well, she’s your girlfriend, too! Give her my love.”
“I’ll give her your like,” Charlie said. That’s all she can have.”
She thought about Paul as she walked into his study. He was a good guy, no, a great guy, and mostly she loved their life. He was attractive in a not-too-macho way, with brown hair going just a little gray, and deep blue eyes that still twinkled on occasion. She loved his laugh—sudden and hearty, breaking out without warning. And if there had been a little friction between them lately—about his late hours, how little time he had to spend with their daughter, Courtney, how she was always asleep when he came home—well, it wasn’t anything they couldn’t handle, was it?
This vacation would rejuvenate him. Generally, life was good.
Charlie found the folder without any problem. It was on top of a pile of colored folders, all carefully labeled in Paul’s precise printing. She recalled with some amusement Heather’s huge crush on Paul. She thought that was half the reason Heather came to the weekly Death Island get-togethers with her and Mindy and Sarah, just so she could catch a glimpse of Paul if he came home early enough.
She shrugged. Women always developed crushes on their ministers, and some women were very unscrupulous. It was one of the pitfalls she had been warned about. But, she had never had to worry about that with Paul, had she? He had never shown the slightest interest, other than pastoral, in anyone else. But, knowing what she knew about Heather’s feelings for Paul was beginning to grate on their friendship, just a little bit.
On her way out the door for the second time, she heard the phone trill again. This time a feeling of irritation bubbled up in her. She used to get paid to do things like this, when she worked in Admissions at the Seminary and took classes part-time. Sometimes she felt like an unpaid secretary and wondered where her own life had gone. But Paul was worth it, and Courtney, the baby who had come just a little too soon, was definitely worth it. She pushed the feelings away. Paul deserved these few sunny days in West Palm Beach in the sun with fellow clergymen. At least he wasn’t there with Heather.
“What can I do for you, Mrs. Henderson?” she asked.
“If you could just drop off a copy of that sermon, Dear, I’d be ever so grateful. Are you going out sometime today? I know the reverend’s at some convention thing in Florida.”
“I’ll drop it off, Mrs. Henderson,” promised Charlie. She hung up the phone, removed the receiver, and laid it on the desk. She supposed it wasn’t a great idea in case someone suddenly dropped dead and Paul had to know about it immediately, but she deserved a life, too, and right now all she wanted to do was go to the gym.
She opened the top drawer of Paul’s gray metallic file cabinet. Nope, the folders in there only went up to L. She should have remembered that. She pulled out the bottom drawer. There they were, under capital S for Sermons, all labeled with the date, several copies of each one, just in case a shut-in or someone like Mazie Henderson wanted a copy.
She took out the sermon, closed the drawer and replaced the receiver back on the phone. She was about to make a dash for the door when something clicked in her mind, something just a little off, something her eyes had seen and her mind had registered vaguely but not truly processed.
Deliberately she pulled open the top drawer again. Toward the rear of the file, near the folders that began with L, she noticed again the glint of metal. What was that? She thrust her fingers under the file, fishing for it, and pulled out an earring. It wasn’t hers. It was silver and turquoise, the kind of jewelry you buy at Native American craft shows or along the roadside stands out West.
Perplexed, Charlie turned it over and over in her hand. She would never wear anything like this. She was the strictly preppy little gold stud or pearl earring type. She didn’t go for ethnic jewelry or anything this showy. But she knew someone who did.