The Castaways Page 6

  I look up.

  Will isn’t fazed. At some point he took off his shirt and now stands with his hands on his hips, chest rising and falling, barely winded. His abs flex with each effortless breath. “Get it out of your system?”

  It’s when my stomach springs that I realize I’m staring at his body. I quickly glance away and completely ignore his question. “Take me there.”

  “I told you. It’s no use.”

  “Please,” I whimper. Tears race down my face.

  Tucking his T-shirt into the back of his pants, Will walks in another direction.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m taking you. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  With Will now leading the way, I watch his suntanned back, the sweat beading at his shoulders and slowly, one by one, how the beads roll down the center crease. I’m in a daze or a haze or a trance because all I see is his back, his muscles contracting and tightening with each step, and, like magic, we’re there.

  The mossy boulder stands before us and, I swear, it mocks me in all its ordinary, commonplace glory.

  Will stops, then steps back. My forehead creased, I glare at him, then at the boulder.

  “You need some time, but I won’t be far. Call if you need me or when you’re ready to go back to the cave-tree.”

  I nod.

  He sighs, gives me a look I can’t decipher as annoyance or concern, then he leaves.

  I want to call after him. So much so I can taste his name on my tongue. But I don’t. Instead, I watch as he walks away until he disappears behind the trees.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Boulder

  With one hand resting on my hip, the other holding my forehead, fingertips squeezing my temples, I stare at the boulder. Then I breathe out and gaze up toward the sky. It’s peaceful here, with the sun already setting behind the sharp, pointed mountain where bombs come from. My throat burns, and I’m still working to catch my breath from the hyperventilation and running. I’ve run more in the past two days than I have my entire life. Well, physically anyway. I’ve been running as a means of escape and avoidance for seven years.

  I shut my eyes, closing out the forest before me. I think of home, of Lucky’s eyes and Tawny’s turtle figurine collection, Mom and Dad sitting on their bed behind their laptops. Tears collect beneath my lids. My eyes shut yet overflowing, I slide down the boulder. Its mossy blanket pads my back, and my fingers leave tracks, green fuzz catching under my nails until I’m on the ground.

  I open my eyes.

  Tears spill down my cheeks, into my hair.

  I stare into the forest, resting against the moss blanket until my tears dry and my lungs settle. Inhaling a long breath of fresh island air awakens me as unexpected emotions wash over me—relief and freedom. But just below is a knot of guilt coated with fear. Because I shouldn’t feel anything but fear right now. I’m stuck on an island with a bunch of warring kids for Christ’s sake. I have no idea how I got here and no idea how to get home.

  Still…

  I can’t help feel my chains have been cut. As if poor, Olive McGaggy was left behind in that corn maze. No one here knows me. I let out a sigh that almost sounds alarmingly close to an airy laugh, and a smile tickles the corners of my mouth.

  I glance in the direction where I exited the maze tunnel into this strange place that is half dream, half nightmare, but all reality. From dried corn stalks to moist grass to the boulder behind me in all of its unmistakable landmark splendor.

  With a long sniff and a swipe of my face with my sleeve, I sit up straighter and crawl toward that place, stopping when I reach the spot where I think I entered. I poke at the air like there might be an invisible barrier, some indication there’s more there than nothingness. But that’s all it is. Just ordinary air and space. I scoot back to the boulder.

  Okay.

  I was at the carnival and now I’m on an island. The island. I’ve gone over the many negatives and it’s getting me nowhere. And I can’t ignore that tiny spark of relief still warming my chest, the faintest sense of hope blooming within it. Because this island may have a lot of horrible things going for it, but there is no Trio. And there is food. Shelter. A group of kids who seem pretty cool. I’ve never been the outdoorsy type, but with their help, I can figure this out. And maybe I can help them, too.

  Maybe, just maybe, this isn’t so awful.

  My body is utterly depleted and my mind, set on permanent fight or flight since arriving, isn’t far behind. With thoughts of escape plans, and brainstorming, and—if it comes to it—living off the island for God knows how long, I begin to succumb to the exhaustion. Before I know it, the warm breeze, the dimming daylight, and the faint whisper of ocean waves lull me to sleep, so many maybes swirling around me like a giant whirlpool in the even bigger sea that threatens to swallow me whole.

  Morning comes like someone clicked the spacebar and made the starry screensaver disappear. The sun burns warm and orange through my eyelids and I don’t have to open my eyes to know nothing’s changed. No magic door to Texas scooped me up and took me back. It hadn’t all been a weird dream. It’s real. As real as the sticks and leaves stuck to the side of my face. As real as it was yesterday and I can only assume just as real as tomorrow.

  I open my eyes and sit up. Something falls off my shoulders. A fur. I scan the space, but there’s no one to be seen. Nothing but me, the boulder…and a bowl of fresh cut coconut along with those same roots, all soaked in juice.

  I lift the bowl into my lap. “Thank you,” I say as if speaking to the trees.

  After I eat, it’s painfully obvious I haven’t used the bathroom in over twenty-four hours. I haven’t had much to drink, either, it all working out. But now I fear my bladder might burst. I stand, setting the fur on the ground. “Will?” I whisper like it’s some huge secret. “Will?” I call louder.

  “I’m here,” he says, but I can’t see him.

  “Where?”

  “Here!” He jumps from the bottom branch of a tree.

  “Oh!” I gasp, hopping back a step. “Were you up there all night?”

  “Best place to keep watch.”

  I look up into the tree, lost in how he could have possibly stayed up there for so long.

  “Olive? You called me.”

  I pull myself away from the tree. Will is cleaner, his hair less stiff, his face no longer striped of dirt. He’s beautiful, but also very real with a small scar that cuts one side of his jaw, the eye patch that covers who knows what, and his nose is the tiniest bit crooked like maybe it was broken once. He catches me staring again and my cheeks go all hot and itchy. But, as embarrassing as that is, I have bigger problems. “I… I need to… Well… You know…” My face grows even redder and I’m all stuttery.

  “Yes?”

  “The bathroom?” I mostly mouth the words.

  His lip tugs upward into a humored half smile, but he catches himself. “Oh! My God, I can’t believe I didn’t… I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s all right. I mean… I’ve been better, but I’m okay.”

  “You’re really okay?” He raises his eyebrows, no doubt thinking of my freak out on the beach yesterday. We’re no longer speaking of my bodily needs.

  My insides barb and twist thinking of Lucky, Mom and Dad, Tawny. But there’s that warmth again, that deep-down relief that wants so badly to burst free. It pokes at me, screaming, This is real!

  And it is, right? I glance around. It’s as real as the trees surrounding us. The sun beating down on the top of my head. The salt in the air tingling up my nose.

  “I’m getting there,” I say, partially present and partially still in denial as if I’m on the other side of a screen, watching this whole thing play out on TV.

  I look to Will. His gaze is distracting like he’s trying to pull me in. It pierces me in a way I’ve never known, but I hold it, having to take a breath to keep talking, “I want to be okay.” I break the intensity, glancing at the boulder like it�
�s going to give me my next line. It just sits there all big and hard and mossy. I inhale again, steeling myself to face the intensity. “I mean, I’m here. This is real, I get that now. And I want to help figure out how to get out of here and back home.” There’s a spiky knot lodged in my throat that I manage to choke back. I refuse to cry in front of him again.

  Will steps closer. He places his hand on my shoulder and peers into my eyes. My stomach flips at his touch and I stare back into his eyes, wondering what’s under that patch. “Don’t rush it. It took me years to come to terms with everything.”

  I inhale. Years. A knot of doubt pinches that bit of hope.

  With a small squeeze, Will pulls his hand away. “How about that bathroom?”

  “Yes, please.” I blush again despite the barbs and knots.

  He laughs in that small way under his breath and picks up the fur and bowl, but doesn’t move.

  I glance around. “I’m ready.”

  “Great, pick a tree. Or dig a hole and grab some leaves. Depending.”

  “Oh. Really?” God.

  He gives me a look that clearly disputes any grandiose ideas I had of an outhouse.

  “All right.” I take a deep breath, nodding my head and straightening my shoulders. “I’ve been camping. Once. I can do this.”

  “I’ll wait here.” I swear he’s about to laugh—a real laugh, not the airy one I’ve come to expect.

  I skulk off in search of a tree and quickly find a big one that offers ample cover.

  As I head back, feeling proud of myself, high-pitched laughter shoots down from above. I assume it’s a group of monkeys or bats or some mystery animal that only lives here.

  My eyes dart upward.

  Two boys climb and jump from tree to tree, cackling like crows, hopping from branch to branch like squirrels, and chanting down at me. “New blood! New blood!”

  “Olive?” Will shouts.

  “Will?” I yell.

  “Olive, Olive, Olive!” One of the boys screeches. He has long, matted hair and scraps for clothes, but that’s all I see because he’s moving so fast it’s unreal.

  “Olive.” Will’s found me. He jerks his neck back, peering up at the trees. “You know the deal! Get back on your side of the island!”

  “Who’s gonna make us?” One of the boys sing-songs, hurling a coconut to the ground, barely hitting Will in the head. In response, Will pulls out a slingshot and a sharply carved wooden stake. My heart starts racing and my face goes pale.

  This is no reality show.

  These kids are part wild animals, part boys. Wildlings.

  Will nudges me out of the way, loads the stake, and aims. He pulls the sling back so it’s stretched next to his ear, but stops. “Damn it. They’re moving too much.” Another coconut comes down, this time grazing my shoulder.

  It’s then I see the intensity in Will’s face, the urgency that we need to move. Fast. He grabs my hand and jerks me along, and the heckling follows us. As we run, Will keeps turning his good eye back and up, searching out the Wildlings.

  Running, dragging, and tripping, he takes me back toward the beach. Get to the water. Like running from bees?

  We hit the beach and collapse behind a large rock, out of breath. Our chests rise and fall as we search the trees. Will has his slingshot out again and is aiming at the forest, his eye squinted, brow sweaty, dark hair stuck against it.

  “Who are—”

  “Shh!”

  I give him a dirty look he doesn’t see. He peeks at me from the corner of his eye. “The twins. They’re animals.” Breathing deeply and lowering his weapon, Will turns his head toward me and leans in. “I didn’t tell you everything.”

  My stomach catches on a barb. “Like what? Now? We’ve gotta get out of here!”

  “Shh. Calm down. It’s all right. We have boundaries. And, while they don’t always keep to theirs, they aren’t stupid. Especially the twins.”

  I only stare at him, my chest rising and falling.

  “We’ll wait here a bit longer then head back.” He makes sure to connect with my eyes. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” He clears a couple of tears away from my cheeks I wasn’t aware of, and his touch leaves tiny sparks that help wake me up to the present.

  “You were saying?”

  He pulls his hand back quickly as if he just realized it was still at my cheek. “Right.” He sighs deeply, checking the tree line again before continuing. “You’re the second number thirteen we’ve had here. The first, Annabel, was captured by the Panthers. She refused to tell them where our camp was and they pushed her off the cliff.” He swallows hard, Adam’s apple dipping up then down. “Jude found her. They were…close…” His words fade. “Well, more than close.”

  Oh. Imagining Jude being close to anything other than a block of ice is hard. But. Okay. I can handle this, I can handle this, I can handle this. Despite repeating the words, I’m thrust into the present because I feel like I’m going to faint.

  “The truth is ugly. I’ll do you no favors sugar coating it. But the more you know, the better your chance of survival.”

  I swallow. Now is as good a time as any. “And your eye?” I wince.

  Will doesn’t take his sight off the line of trees. The spiky mountain looms in the distance—the cliffs where innocent girls get tossed over like rag-dolls.

  “Like I said, Duke and I were the first ones on the island. He chased after me through the maze and followed me here.” Will shakes his head, flexing his jaw, as if reliving the memory. “I used to wear glasses—thick, goddamn, dark-rimmed glasses. Magnified my eyes like Coke bottles. Anyway, Duke and I rolled down the hill from the boulder, punching, kicking, falling until we hit flat ground. When we stopped, he landed on top of me. Pinned down, he took his bat and slammed it into my left eye, breaking my glasses and, well, you can fill in the rest. That’s when something snapped in me. I pushed him off, pried his bat away, and hit him on the side of his head.” His eye flickers to mine, then back at the trees. “Duke’s deaf in his right ear, I’m blind in my left eye. It seemed we were even. We each ran in different directions, living on separate sides of the island until more kids started showing up. Sides were formed. Then Annabel… The bombs… We’re at war, Olive.”

  He turns his head and really stares at me, gazing into my eyes like he did yesterday in that way that made me feel naked.

  “Why was he chasing you to begin with?”

  Will clenches his teeth. “It’s complicated. Duke and I have never gotten along.”

  I can tell by the way he does a full stop, that’s all I’ll get out of him on that subject. Pulling my eyes from his, I glance up toward the trees. “And the patch?” I ask.

  “I had it with me when I arrived. I’d bought it at the Carnival.” He does his airy laugh, this time out his nose. “Kind of funny…the irony of it.” I glance back at him and his small smile fades, face becoming serious, jaw again flexing. “Olive?”

  My stomach drops when he speaks my name. “Yeah?”

  “What were you running from?” A different intensity now masks his face.

  “Nothing. I told you, I was just going through the maze.” Technically true.

  He stands. “If you have any hope of making it here, you’re going to have to be honest—not only with us but with yourself, too. Yesterday you said something about your name being the reason you ended up here.”

  “I… That was just…” I shake my head, not ready. I refuse to be Olive McGaggy here.

  With an exaggerated exhale, Will surveys our surroundings, breathing out his nose, nostrils flared. “Should be safe now.” He stands and walks away, saying, “If you plan to join our group, you have five days to prove your worth. You fail, you’re out. Nothing personal, just a rule.”

  “Anything else you haven’t told me?” I say to his back.

  “You have no idea.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Five Days

  Two of my five allotted days pass in a blur of trying to
“prove my worth” because it’s no secret I need them more than they need me.

  I go with Lewis to collect firewood, help Tilly with the cooking and constant mending of clothes, and I even try to make amends with Jude—because clearly my being here angers him. Still, he and Will stay distant and by day three I’m sure I haven’t begun to prove I’m worth anything but an extra mouth to feed.

  Currently, we sit around the fire, a nightly ritual. Will tells stories and Jude sings, playing the out-of-tune guitar he carried with him the night he drunkenly arrived here.

  Nineteen seventy-nine. He’d played a gig at a bar in some mountain town in Colorado, drinking between sets with a couple of magicians going on after him. When he left, a few guys jumped him and tried to steal his guitar. Jude ran into the woods, tripped over a branch, and literally fell onto the island.

  The cave is dark. Orange firelight licks at Jude’s face, bringing the tattooed dragon on his neck to life. He sings and plays a sad, folksy song about a girl he wished he’d known, white-capped waves, hot sunny days, and sharp pain—the sharp, sharp, pain of falling. His voice breaks with emotion. I can only imagine it’s his personal homage to poor Annabel, the original number thirteen. When finished, Jude simply sets his guitar to the side. The instrument groans with a twang and Jude leaves.

  Tilly’s eyes trail after him, Bug’s head resting in her lap. The lion cub’s small arm reaches up and twirls the red curls hanging past Tilly’s shoulders.

  I sit in my usual place—not quite a part of the family, set back far enough so I’m not included, but close enough to observe.

  “Tell us a story, Will?” Bug asks within a long yawn, eyes shut, her brown hair a soft shadow around her head.

  “Nice try, little lion. Time for bed.”

  “Aah-aww,” she whines.

  “Unless you’d rather take a bath,” Tilly adds.

  “Bed!” Bug shouts, sitting straight up, ball of rags clutched to her chest, eyes wide and shifty—ever the comedian.

  Everyone laughs in the reserved way they all do here. Even Charlie cracks a smile, or does he? It’s gone before I can make the call.