by Paul Draker
She looked at the next rock, about fifteen feet away, disappearing and reappearing in the surf, and felt her footing slip beneath her. Taking a deep breath, she relaxed her body and leaped forward, plunging into the churning water, trailing the two ropes behind her in a V. The surge grabbed her and dragged her under, yanking her hard and bringing both lines taut.
Kelp roiled in the surrounding foam—she didn’t want to get tangled up in that. She kicked and stroked hard for the next rock. A wave broke above her, pushing her under again. Tumbling over and over beneath the green-lit water, she clawed her way to the surface.
“Left,” JT shouted. “On your left!”
Her gloved fingers fought for a hold on the wet, slippery rock. The icy surge was stronger than she had expected, terrifying. It seized her like a giant hand and dragged her body sideways again, scraping her calf across something sharp. The injury stung—sea urchin, probably. Lauren gripped the rock one-handed and pulled her shoulders and head out of the water. Groping underwater with the ungloved hand, she located a gear loop on the waistband of her harness and unclipped a cam. She jammed it into a crevice in the rock, slotted a hex alongside it, and clipped into both.
Secured now, she leaned back to hangdog a quick rest, letting her arms and hair dangle loosely in the waves. Whitewater detonated against her, and the world disappeared in a chaos of foamy white, then reappeared. The two pieces of gear held her in place.
Joy washed through her body. She could feel her muscles pumping, her calm, deep heartbeats, her breaths coming free and easy and strong. Lifting herself higher on the rock, she looked back at the shore. The others were cheering for her. Lauren grinned. She hung from one arm and waved, giving another thumbs-up.
Juan was tying the rope around his waist and shoulders, watching her.
Tilting her head to the side, she pursed her lips and crooked a finger, beckoning him.
“Come on in, cowboy,” she shouted. “The water’s fine.”
CHAPTER 46
A half hour later, Juan’s ungloved fingers slipped off a sea urchin-free section of rock. He glanced up at Lauren, braced in position five feet above him, as the current pulled at his legs, prying him away from the boulder. Kelp swirled about his chest. Dragged by the surge, his toes slid across rock, and he tried to reset his feet, scrambling for a foothold. No luck.
He reached for the rock again with his free hand, but it was too far—the surge held his body away from it. Clinging with his remaining hand, he tilted farther and farther from safety. Waves exploded against the boulder, hauling at his chest, trying to tear him loose. His gloved hand was slipping, too. He had miscalculated—maybe even killed himself. Any moment now, he would be swept away and under. Juan took a deep breath, preparing to fight for his life.
A hand clamped around his wrist.
He looked up, surprised to see Lauren leaning down toward him. She was grinning. Blood streaked the side of her calf and stained her shoe, but her grip felt as strong as a vise. He relaxed.
She shifted her body, and the muscles in her shoulder and arm bunched as she lifted him out of the water and up onto the boulder’s slope. One-handed.
He leaned back against the rock next to her, his feet trailing into the water, and caught his breath. “Thanks.”
“De nada, amigo.” She slapped his shoulder. “Come on, I’ll buy you a drink.”
Rolling over, he followed her up onto the boulder’s flat surface.
The jugs clustered around their feet. Lauren picked one up, and Juan did the same.
Unscrewing the cap, he sniffed. Then he tilted it up to his mouth. The water sluiced down his dry throat—clean, cool, delicious. He sighed involuntarily, stopping for a breath, and chugged again as Lauren did the same. She wiped a forearm across her mouth and smiled at him, her eyes dancing with delight. She seemed a completely different person out here: in her element now and happy. Juan could understand that. He stared down into the clear water, at the bright orange sea stars and green anemones beneath. Underwater, with a tank on his back and a regulator in his mouth, he was someone else, too—someone he liked better.
Shouted questions drifted across the water, the words impossible to make out. He made an “okay” sign with his thumb and forefinger and raised it high. Beside him, Lauren waved her arm in broad sweeps and gave a thumbs-up. Cheers erupted in the distance, and the small figures on shore started jumping around, giving each other high-fives. It seemed that everyone else had gathered to watch—Juan did a quick count and came up with seven—almost everyone, then.
A purple bruise was forming on the side of Lauren’s forehead, and she was covered in abrasions and cuts. He was too. Blood from the cut on her calf spattered droplets onto the rock, but she didn’t seem to mind.
He lowered himself to sit at the edge of the boulder, water jug in hand, and dangled one leg. Lauren dropped to sit beside him. The sun sparkled on the waves. She put her hand on his knee.
“You realize that was insane, of course,” he said.
She laughed. “Not compared to some climbs I’ve done.”
Juan looked at the C-shaped trail of ropes that curved back to the island from boulder to boulder, anchored in seven or eight places to rocks poking above the roiling surface. Two more ropes stretched directly over the water, straight back to the island, hanging in taut arcs.
“What was the hairiest?” he asked.
Lauren’s face changed. “Trango Towers. Pakistan.” It was almost a whisper.
Juan waited.
“It didn’t end well.” Her smile was gone now, as if it had never existed. Drawing in a sharp little breath, she took her hand off his leg.
“I spent a couple days hanging upside down next to the wall—with cracked ribs, internal bleeding, a skull fracture, and a concussion. Three weeks in the hospital once I got back Stateside. And I was the lucky one…”
She stared at her hands, and her body seemed to curl in on itself. “I lived.”
An awkward silence hung in the air. Her eyes met his and widened, and the corners of her mouth turned down. She seemed to be probing his expression, looking for something there. Juan had no idea what.
Then her eyes hardened, as if shutters had suddenly slammed down behind them.
“Get up.” Lauren sprang to her feet. “We have a delivery to make.”
CHAPTER 47
“You left the water out there.”
Camilla’s voice was a dry croak. She cleared her throat and stepped toward Juan, who was the first to come ashore. Her mouth was so dry it hurt. She could hear angry voices behind her, and she knew she should be angry, too, but the tightness in her throat wasn’t anger—it was disappointment. Betrayal. Her motorcycle hero wasn’t planning to share the water.
“We’re all so thirsty.” She didn’t like the way her own voice sounded: weak and whiny. She spoke with more force. “I saw you two tying a rope through the handles on the water jugs. We all did. But then you left them there. Why, Juan?”
Juan’s expression was neutral. He raised his hands in a placating gesture, and Camilla felt a little better. Maybe this wasn’t what she thought. Then he shrugged and pointed back at Lauren, climbing up out of the surf behind him.
Lauren shook the water out of her hair. She looked at the semicircle of angry, bewildered faces, smirked, and turned to Juan.
“Looks like no one else found any water,” she said. “Isn’t that a bummer?” Her smirk didn’t change as everyone tried to shout at her at once. Juan just looked bored.
Camilla turned away to avoid saying something she would regret. She couldn’t believe that Juan was going along with this. She tried to catch Mason’s eye, but he was grinning at the water jugs in the distance. Of course he would think it was funny, but she didn’t—not at all. She looked for Jordan but couldn’t see her. Weird. Everyone else was here…
“Hold on,” Brent’s voice commanded. He held up a hand, and the angry shouts quieted. “Lauren, dehydration is a serious health risk. These people
need water. Don’t play childish games with this.”
“Relax,” Lauren said. Shouldering past him, she grabbed one of the two ropes that stretched over the water. And pulled.
Camilla’s eyes followed the rope to its other end, where a white train of water jugs was tumbling one by one off the edge of the distant rock, to hang suspended over the water. The jugs dangled from the second rope, which had been threaded through their handles. Lauren began hauling the rope in, hand over hand. The train of water jugs moved toward them, sliding along the second rope like laundry on a clothesline. JT stepped up next to Lauren to help pull.
Camilla looked around, noticing they were still one contestant short. “Where’s Jordan?” she asked Veronica.
Veronica shook her head. “Haven’t seen her all day.”
Lauren jerked her head in an impatient come-here gesture. “Mason. Camilla.”
Camilla hesitated, not liking where she saw this going.
“Come on,” Mason said. “Lauren’s got the right idea here. She knows what she’s doing.”
He walked over to join Lauren’s group, and Camilla reluctantly followed.
JT pulled the first water jugs off the line. He handed one to Camilla and one to Mason, then opened his own and took a long drink. Camilla did the same. The water felt wonderful splashing down her parched mouth and throat. Knowing she should slow down, she drank gulp after gulp, unable to stop until she needed a breath. Then she lowered the jug and started toward Brent, Veronica, Natalie, and Travis who stood a small distance away.
“Hang on.” Lauren laid a hand on her shoulder, stopping her. “Not so fast.”
Camilla pushed the hand off her shoulder. She walked over to hand her jug to Veronica who smiled at her, those silver eyes momentarily kind. But Veronica immediately handed the water to Natalie. Tipping the jug up, Natalie took several huge gulps, then handed it back to Veronica with a muffled thank-you. Veronica drank and passed the jug to Brent.
The jug was more than a third gone now. Knowing she had done the right thing by sharing, Camilla tried not to monitor how much was left.
Before Brent could drink, Travis reached for the jug. “Old man, you better—”
Brent handed it to him without protest and tucked his hands into the pockets of his vest. He met Camilla’s eyes, and she could see his approval. Good. Brent, too, understood what Julian was trying to do here. And he didn’t like it, either.
“Well, Doc,” Travis said, tossing aside the empty jug. “Seems like we just ran out of water. But on the odd chance you’re thirsty, too, you might want to take it up with the lady over there.” Grinning, he pointed at Lauren.
Camilla shook her head in disgust. Travis had finished her water. Watching Mason squat behind Lauren to stack the jugs in a pyramid, she realized that team loyalties didn’t matter to anyone right now. These dynamics were much simpler: the haves and the have-nots. Lauren’s “haves” controlled all the water. Deliberately spurning her own place among the haves, Camilla had joined the have-nots in protest, and she was proud she had done so.
Juan leaned against a rock nearby. He looked like a bored lifeguard to Camilla, but his position near Lauren, JT, and Mason made it clear which group he was with. Trying to catch his eye, she willed him to put a stop to this. Say something, Juan. Take charge. I know Lauren will listen to you. But Juan seemed to be only half paying attention.
If Jordan were here to see him, Camilla thought, she would have an I-told-you-so look on her face. But where was she? A worm of worry spiraled through Camilla’s gut. Could Jordan have gotten hurt somewhere while everyone else was focused on the water? But there were cameras everywhere, supposedly. If something bad had happened, Julian and his crew would have seen it on-screen and would have come out. She looked over her shoulder toward the warehouse buildings, but they remained silent and still. No activity. Maybe Jordan had given up and gone back inside one of the two houses, then. It wouldn’t be easy for her to move around the island barefoot.
And there was that, too, wasn’t there? Would Julian and his crew really have taken Jordan’s other shoes? Camilla looked at Juan, remembering the fight he had with Jordan aboard the yacht, and her gut tightened. But taking Jordan’s shoes was such a petty, spiteful thing to do. She couldn’t imagine many guys even thinking of it. No, she was getting paranoid. She focused on Lauren.
Lauren seemed to be counting the water jugs. She frowned. Did it again. Her eyes narrowed. Then she stared at Juan. He shrugged. For a moment, it looked as if Lauren was about to say something to him. Her face twisted in indecision, and then she turned to face the “have-nots” instead, holding up a jug of water.
“Okay, people, listen up,” she said. “Half this water’s mine, and half belongs to Juan.” She raised her voice to drown out the protests. “We went out there and earned it the hard way. Risked our lives. Besides, you heard the rules this morning, same as we did—”
“I don’t care about the rules,” Camilla said, stepping forward. “You’re better than this, Lauren.”
“Don’t worry, we plan to share the water with you all. But it isn’t going to be free. Fair is fair. We’ve got twelve jugs left. Who’s thirsty?”
“I’ll pay cash.” Veronica’s voice was loud, like a bidder at an auction. She held up a fan of hundred-dollar bills. “A thousand dollars for two jugs.”
Lauren laughed. “Don’t be cheap. The island’s Seven-Eleven isn’t open, and this may be our only water for the next ten days.”
Camilla’s discomfort deepened. Only twelve gallons of water? But it was possible Lauren was right.
At Lauren’s side, JT laughed. “A thousand? This shit is worth a lot more than Cristal right now.”
Mason stood up behind them. “It’s a closed economy, so basic laws of supply and demand apply here.” He pushed his glasses up on his nose, addressing Veronica. “All of us found plenty of cash. And even though, as a banker, it pains me to say this, none of us have much use for it right now.” He winked. “But hang on to it. It might come in handy in a couple of weeks.”
“This is just idiotic,” Veronica said. She crumpled the bills in her fist and jammed them into her pocket.
“What else do you have?” Lauren asked her.
Veronica looked down at the small pile of caches she had found: toilet paper and binoculars.
“I’ll take the binoculars.” Lauren held out her hand.
Veronica’s mouth was a tight line.
Mason laughed. “And in case you’re thinking of holding us all hostage for toilet paper later, don’t bother. We can just use our cash instead.”
• • •
Camilla and Mason sat with their backs against a rock, twenty feet away from the others. She had two jugs of water between her feet; Mason had one. She watched the trading with interest, noting the caches that people had found, as they exchanged them for water.
“That was weird,” she said. “Natalie actually traded one of her water jugs back to get that stun gun.”
She watched Natalie press the trigger of the small handheld unit, sending crackling arcs of electricity dancing between the two metal prongs at the front. Looking a little surprised, Natalie jammed it into the belly pocket of her hoodie.
“What does she want with that?” Camilla asked.
“Well,” Mason said, “Natalie’s quiet, but she’s not dumb. And on the red team, she’s like a lamb among lions. They’re a rough bunch.”
“Back on the ship, when we chose our teammates…” She watched Natalie drift to the side of the group. “Should we have—”
“No.” He laughed. “Definitely not. Save your charity for when it isn’t likely to cost you five million dollars.”
“A lot of this stuff Julian hid for us is kind of odd, and not just the stun gun.” Camilla pointed to Mason’s bear spray and first-aid kit. “Scary, even.” She thought about the other items she had seen: disposable rain ponchos, rolls of duct tape, space blankets, a flashlight, a roll of thin-gauge wire, camping cook
ware and forks and spoons—ironic, considering that no one had found any food. What were they supposed to do, eat the wildlife?
She looked down at the large packet of candles in her lap. “At least some of it’s useful.”
Mason laughed. “Pretty useless, actually, without matches. Unlike that.” He pointed to the LED camp lantern that Travis was handing to Lauren.
“Juan got the matches,” Camilla said. “But you’re right: that lantern will come in handy.”
“For the red team, not us,” Mason said. “Nice of you to give Lauren that big folding knife, too.”
“I needed to get the extra jug of water, for Jordan,” Camilla said. “I’m worried about her. We should go look for her.”
“She’s fine,” he said. “If there’s one person here you don’t need to worry about, it’s our team captain.”
The trading had died down now.
“Anybody got a coin?” Lauren asked. Brent tossed her one, and Camilla remembered that Lauren and Juan planned to flip for who got the points.
Juan seemed to have perked up. He reached for the coin, but Lauren shook her head, handing it to JT instead. “Call it in the air,” she said to Juan.
Juan won the toss. He didn’t react much. As he scanned the ten-point RF tag that had been zip-tied to one of the water jugs, Lauren gritted her teeth. She looked like she wanted to hit somebody. Instead, she bent to gather her caches and her water. Others were doing the same now.
Camilla leaned back against the rock. “Excitement’s over, I guess.”
“Okay, that’s my cue, then.” Mason stood up and walked into the center of the group with his hand high, like a scalper hawking Giant’s tickets in front of AT&T Park. Camilla’s face split into a grin of surprise when she saw what dangled from his upraised hand. Without a working scanner, he had pocketed the RF tags off the caches he found. He now held five or six, waving them for all to see. Juan and Lauren both froze in place, staring at the tags.