Last Family Standing

by Jennifer AlLee

  “Jess! Turn ninety degrees to the left!”

  She turns, stops, and waits.

  “Five steps forward!”

  We go on like this until she finds the first pole and retrieves the bag. I guide her back to me, she tosses the bag toward my voice, and I send her out again. It’s all going smoothly, until I see Tracy barreling straight at her.

  “Jess! Stop! Now!”

  She jerks to a stop as if her shoes have been nailed to the ground, and Tracy sails past, barely missing her. A relieved breath puffs out of me.

  “Straight ahead, Jess! Three steps!”

  It doesn’t take much longer to get her to the pole and then back to the platform. Once she tosses me the last bag, she rips off the blindfold.

  “Go!”

  Grabbing the bags, I jump down from the platform, yelp when the impact of hitting the ground jolts through my arm, then run to the puzzle tables. When I go to dump the pieces out of the bags, I realize they’re tied shut.

  “More knots,” I mutter.

  Using my right hand and my teeth, I undo the bags and get the pieces out. These aren’t your run-of-the-mill, flat puzzles. They’re three-dimensional instruments of torture, designed to turn the brain into Swiss cheese. Laying the pieces out, I look them over, trying to make sense of how they could fit together.

  Focus, Monica. You can do this.

  I tune out everything and just stare at those oddly shaped pieces. And then, somehow, they start to make sense. There are two that I know belong together. And there are another two. And this piece fits over there on top of those two. My fingers fly as I assemble the puzzle sculpture mostly with one hand.

  Then I’m done. I did it. I look at Rick for verification.

  He comes to the table. “Monica thinks she has it . . . and she does! She and Jess move on to the next part of the challenge with an incredible lead!”

  Jess is already standing in front of the pots, holding the slingshot, but she can’t start shooting until I’m there too. I run over, and as soon as my feet hit the mat, she sends the first marble flying.

  “Bob and Malcolm are working on their puzzles now.” Rick yells. “Come on, guys! You’re still in this!”

  Silently, I urge Jess to hurry. The slingshot takes some getting used to, but once she does, it’s like she’s been using one her whole life.

  “With incredible aim Jess makes quick work of all three pots.” Rick points to the obstacle course. “On to the last, and most difficult, part of this challenge.”

  We run to the obstacle course. As she fastens the leather belts around both our waists, Jess takes a moment to make sure I’m okay.

  “We can stop right here.”

  “No.” I look over my shoulder and see Bob and Tracy sprinting to the slingshot area. “We’re not giving up. Let’s go.”

  The net over the mud pit is about ten feet long. It’s so low, the only way to get to the other side is to do a kind of frogman crawl, pulling yourself forward with your arms. It was hard enough the first time. But now, with my latest injury, it’s nearly impossible.

  Jess moves ahead of me, but the rope connecting our belts stretches tight, holding her back and yanking me forward. Which gives me an idea.

  “Pull me.”

  She pulls on the rope. I dig in with my right hand, and push forward with my legs. It’s slow, but it’s working.

  By the time we get to the end, the other two teams have reached the mud and are diving under the net. It won’t take them long at all to get through.

  Jess looks at me with worried eyes. I move toward the wall. “Come on.”

  The wall is about eight feet tall. It has six knotted ropes hanging about three feet apart, and small spaces between the wooden slats that are too thin to use as handholds. How am I supposed to do this one-handed?

  “Get on my shoulders.”

  “What?” Is she crazy? I tug on the belt rope. “This isn’t long enough.”

  “It will be.” She sucks in her stomach, grabs her belt, and hikes it up until it’s right below her chest. Then she pushes mine lower so it sits on my hips. Then she squats down in front of me. “Get on.”

  I hesitate. Behind us, the other teams shout as they emerge from the mud pits nearly at the same time and run for the wall.

  “Now!” Jess yells.

  We’re close enough to the wall that I use it to steady myself as I straddle my daughter’s neck like I’m preparing to ride an ostrich. “Please don’t hurt yourself. If you get a hernia picking me up—”

  “Stop talking.”

  As she straightens up, she growls. The higher I go, the louder she growls, until she sounds like an injured Wookiee.

  “Can you hold on to the top with your good hand?”

  “I think so.” The wall shakes as everyone tries to climb it. I reach up and manage to hook my elbows over the top of the wall. “I’m hanging on!” I yell back down to Jess.

  She moves away from my legs, and the weight of my body pulls me down. Instinctively, I clutch at the wood with both hands, which was a bad idea. Biting my lip to keep from yelling, I tighten my grip with my right arm.

  Since I’m hanging with my head facing away from her, I can’t see what Jess is doing. But from the grunts and the way the belt keeps jerking down on my hips, I think she’s trying to climb up by using the knotted ropes.

  Then I hear her yell. The rope on my belt yanks down hard. I try to hold on, but the weight pulls me down, scraping the undersides of my arms along the wood. I’ve fallen enough times that I should know better than to fight it, but instinct is a pretty powerful thing. My fingers catch on the top of the wall, holding on for a split second, but it’s no use. As I make that sickening, slow motion fall, I have the presence of mind to tuck my hands in instead of reaching back to break the fall.

  As soon as my body meets the ground, all the air is pushed from my lungs. I thrash from side to side, gasping for breath, and thinking this must be what a fish out of water feels like.

  Then I look at the wall and realize no one is on it anymore.

  We lost.

  30

  I’m not sure what hurts more: my almost-certainly broken wrist, or my splinter-infested fingertips. Once more, Jess and I are under a canopy, having our wounds tended to.

  “I don’t remember ever seeing one person so many times.” The medic chuckles to himself. “Depending how much makes it on air, I might get my SAG card out of this.”

  I grimace. “Great. It thrills me to help further your acting career.”

  With a sheepish grin, he undoes the closures on my muddy wrist brace. “Tell me if anything hurts. Okay?”

  Before I can agree, he pulls the brace away and a firey-hot pain shoots through my arm.

  “That hurts!”

  He nods. “I gathered as much. You need a new brace, but first I’ve got to clean off your arm. Are you ready?”

  In other words, I’m in for more pain. Gritting my teeth, I close my eyes and brace myself. “Go for it.”

  The man may be gunning for more airtime, but he certainly is gentle. Even though it does hurt, it’s not nearly as bad as I expected. A few feet away, Jess isn’t having such good results. From the way she’s groaning and complaining, I think her medic took lessons from Nurse Ratched.

  “That bandage is really tight,” Jess says. “It’s cutting off my circulation.”

  The gal working on her sighs. “Do you feel it when I do this?”

  “Ouch! Yes, I felt that.”

  “Then the circulation to your foot is fine.”

  If Jess wasn’t so feisty, I’d be worried about her. But other than a sprained ankle, she doesn’t seem any worse for wear.

  “Of all the medical tents in all the world, she had to limp into mine.” Rick swaggers in, looking back and forth between the two of us. “How are the patients?”

  My medic speaks up first. “This one has splinters, bruises, and increased aggravation to her previously injured wrist.”

  Rick n
ods, then looks at Jess. Her medic barely acknowledges him.

  “Sprained ankle. No big deal.”

  Jess glares at her. “It might be a big deal if it were your ankle.”

  Rick laughs. “In other words, they’ll both live.”

  “Yes.” The medics answer together.

  “Good.” Rick comes closer and hunkers down by my side. “Tell me, is this a ploy to get attention?”

  “Of course not.” The medic slowly turns my arm so he can clean the underside, and I breathe in a gasp of air through my teeth. “Bet you’re really glad I signed that release, huh?”

  “No doubt.” He smiles. “I have to ask, though. Do you want to keep playing?”

  If ever there was a time to roll my eyes, this is it. “What do you think?”

  “Like I said, I had to ask.” He squeezes my shoulder before standing up. “Just try to keep out of trouble, okay?”

  Jess, who’s been listening to the entire conversation, barks out a laugh. “Stay out of trouble? What fun would that be?”

  Shaking his head, Rick looks over at her. “Just make sure you can walk into the elimination challenge tomorrow night.”

  He starts to leave, but I call out to stop him.

  “Rick, wait. Who are we competing against?”

  Tilting his head, he looks confused. Then he gets it. “That’s right. You didn’t see who won today.”

  “No, I was too busy falling off a wall.”

  “Bob and Tracy won.”

  My heart sinks. “Then we’re going up against Malcolm and Layla.”

  “Yes.” From his lack of a dimple-bracketed grin, it seems Rick realizes how much I don’t want to compete against them. But it is what it is.

  Before Rick can make his escape, there’s one more thing I need to bring up. “I haven’t seen Bruce since we got stuck out there in the rain.”

  Rick doesn’t say a word.

  Okay, acting casual won’t work. I’ll have to use the direct approach. “Do you know if, uh, he filmed anything . . . interesting lately?”

  “Try to get some rest before tomorrow.” Completely ignoring my question, he turns and walks away.

  The medic makes a sound I interpret to mean, “You should have known that wouldn’t work.” And yeah, I knew it was a long shot. But you can’t blame an injured woman for trying. The information he did give me wasn’t good. Even though we’ve been playing against each other this whole time, I hate the idea of a one-on-one battle against Malcolm and Layla.

  “One more challenge,” I mutter to myself.

  “Let’s hope there’s no mud involved.” My medic tightens the Velcro straps on my clean brace. “How does that feel?”

  “Good. Thanks.”

  He pats my shoulder. “Hey, I was kidding before. I’d be perfectly happy not to end up on camera again.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  He walks away and I close my eyes. My best. Not much of a promise, really. Because lately, my best has been just short of abysmal.

  ***

  The rain starts as we walk back to camp, which takes twice as long as it should due to Jess’s limp and my overall achiness.

  “I’m going to need a visit to the chiropractor when this is over.”

  Jess glances at me, using her hand to shield her eyes from the rain. “Didn’t falling off that wall pop some of your joints into place?”

  “Oh yeah, some of my joints popped all right. Just not into the right place.”

  “I’m sorry I pulled you off.” She shakes her head, whipping her waterlogged ponytail from side to side. “You were right about those ropes. They’re hard to hold on to with muddy hands.”

  Like mother like daughter. “No problem. We sure did great up until that point, though.”

  “We did. If not for the obstacle course, we would’ve won.”

  But we didn’t. And now I don’t feel like talking anymore.

  By the time we reach the shelter, we’re soaked. Thanks to the rain, there will be no fire to dry us out or keep us warm. I just hope somebody thought of cooking something before the deluge started.

  I’m surprised, but glad, to see Bob and Tracy joining us in the big shelter. Two more people taking up the small talk slack are exactly what I need right now.

  Standing in front of the shelter, Jess and I try to squeeze out or shake off as much water as possible, but it’s an exercise in the impossible. Finally, she crawls in, dripping her way across the floor. “Pardon our puddles.”

  “No worries,” Malcolm says. “Every time the wind shifts, it blows the rain inside. I don’t think any of us are going to stay dry tonight.”

  We all look out at the same time, and I know they’re hunting for the same thing I am. There he is, one lone cameraman, covered head to foot in a variety of rain gear, his camera perched like a big, plastic-wrapped blob on his shoulder.

  “Is it wrong that it makes me happy to see him sharing our pain?” Tracy asks.

  We all chorus, “No,” except for Malcolm. His lone “Yes” draws looks from all of us.

  “It’s not his fault we’re out in this miserable weather,” Malcolm says with a shrug. “We all asked to be here.”

  Bob nods. “You’re right. By the way, why did we do that?”

  “Temporary insanity?” Layla says.

  I raise a finger. “Hey, I didn’t ask to be here, I was invited.”

  Lying on her back, Jess speaks to the roof. “Bet you’re sorry you said yes, now.”

  “Nope. I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”

  She turns her head, her eyes narrowed. “Seriously?”

  “Okay, I wouldn’t have minded missing out on all the injuries. But the rest of it . . . ” Just as Malcolm predicted, the wind shifts and the inside of our snug shelter is pelted with rain. But I refuse to let my attitude become as damp as the rest of me. “If I could do it over again, I’d still say yes.”

  We spend the next hour or so eating tepid mashed taro root and bananas, and trying to take our minds off how cold it is.

  Layla has her arms wrapped around her knees, pulling herself into as tight a ball as possible, and leaning against her father. “The first thing I’m going to do when I get home is take a long, hot shower.”

  Jess shakes her head. “Not me. I’m going to soak in a tub full of bubbles.”

  “I need a manicure.” Tracy holds up her hands, fingers spread wide as she inspects her ragged nails. Then she glances at her feet. “And a pedicure.”

  “Coffee.” Bob’s one word produces a chorus of approving moans.

  I toss my banana peel onto the pile that’s formed by the side of the shelter. “You know what I look forward to most?”

  It’s a rhetorical question, but Jess jumps in to answer it. “Hugging your dog?”

  My head snaps in her direction, needing to see if she’s still upset about that. But her grin puts me at ease. “Well, yes. But besides that, I can’t wait to get in my kitchen and cook something real. Something that requires multiple pots and pans and more than two ingredients.”

  Malcolm waves his hands like he’s shooing away an angry wasp. “No. Stop. If you start talking about food again I’m going to walk out of this shelter, lay on my back with my mouth open, and drown myself.”

  Laughter wraps around me, not quite enough to keep me warm, but at least enough to make me not mind the cold as much. We’ve come a long way since the first day on the island when trust was hard to come by. Now, I feel an unusually strong bond with these people. It’s probably because of the isolation and the extreme conditions we’ve been exposed to. There’s a part of me that wants to stay in touch, invite them over to my home, cook them dinner, but I know the chances of that happening are slim. Once we leave the island, and our shared experience is over, we’ll go back to our individual lives. This will be nothing more than a story we tell at parties.

  With the exception of Jessica.

  She’s sitting up, her chin resting on one knee, while her other leg is s
traight out, her wrapped ankle propped up on her canvas bag. Tracy is telling her something that requires animated hand movements and sound effects. Jess laughs, and the music of it pierces straight to the center of my heart.

  The relationship we’ve forged is fragile and tentative, but it exists, which is more than I could say a month ago. I have no idea if we’ll keep it going, I just know that we have to. Because now that she’s in my life, I can’t let her go.

  Not again.

  31

  Annie lied. The sun doesn’t always come out tomorrow. And even when it does, that doesn’t mean it will do you any good.

  The day is gloomy, filled with clouds that are an endless source of rain. It’s so bad, even the cameraman has given up and left. So we sit in the shelter, without anyone to document our misery, only leaving it long enough to run to the Porta-Potty area when we just can’t wait any more.

  It isn’t until well into the afternoon when the rain finally stops. An hour later, one of the staffers comes to tell us it’s time for the elimination challenge. As we slog our way to the play area, I remember what Kai said about dry shoes being a distant memory. If I ever see her again, I think I’ll compliment her on her talent for understatement.

  Rick greets us as soon as we walk into the play area. Bob and Tracy go to the benches, and the rest of us stay standing.

  “That was some storm last night,” Rick says. “Glad to see you all made it through.”

  I’m sure that’s a coded message for me. Maybe he means that only an act of nature could keep me in one spot long enough not to hurt myself. I look down at my fingertips, wondering just how long they’ll resemble prunes. When I look back up, a steady-cam operator has moved into my line of sight. It’s Bruce.

  Rick comes closer and stands between our two teams. “Let’s get right down to the challenge. Tonight will be a test of balance, strength, and stamina.”

  Terrific. Three things I have zero of at the moment.

  A staffer trots in and demonstrates how we will stand on a narrow piece of wood while at the same time, pulling down on a handle hanging above our heads.