The Castaways Read online

  I hit him.

  No time to be stunned. The beady-eyed one sprints toward us and again, I release another smaller rock. It flies through the air. Aiming for his middle, it hits his bare knee and he stumbles to the ground with a cry of pain.

  I grab Bug’s hand. We run past, not daring a peek back at the scene. As I pull her along, we hear a wailing scream from behind us.

  We don’t stop until we literally run into Will and Jude. Jude picks up Bug like she’s nothing more than a kitten. “What was it?” Will asks.

  “A bomb, then the twins. I—”

  “Go back. I’ll be right behind.”

  Jude runs away, Bug scooped into the crook of one arm. Will goes in the opposite direction. I stand still.

  Jude looks back at me. “Come on!” he shouts.

  I don’t move.

  “Forget it. It’s on you.” He turns and runs off.

  Torn, looking from Jude’s back to where Will’s disappeared, I sigh and follow Jude and Bug.

  Once back, Bug sits in Jude’s lap as he winds her poof into tiny little braids. She gives an accurate, yet overly dramatized account of our adventure, not omitting my turquoise underwear—to which, I swear, even in the dim cave, I see Lewis’s cheeks turn bright pink.

  It’s only moments later when Will comes bounding in. “Well, I’m happy to report we won’t be bothered by the twins for a while.” He walks straight up to me and I can’t tell if I’ve done something wrong or right.

  I stand to meet him. Will takes my hand and pulls me to the side. Lewis watches us.

  Will leans close, gazing into my eyes. His stare is more serious than ever, a hint of something I can’t quite place within the sage. My forehead warms from his breath. “You’ve earned your worth. We’d be honored to have you stay,” he says just above a whisper.

  Something in my heart both warms and breaks.

  Because, isn’t this the peaceful side?

  Chapter Fifteen

  My Place

  My violent act wins my acceptance. Acceptance into this group where honesty is everything, family comes first, and violence is a last resort.

  Something doesn’t add up. Why should I be granted anything? Yes, I got Bug and me out of a potentially horrible situation, but at what cost? What of the boy I injured?

  Will says I thought quickly by leading the twins away and fashioning a weapon out of practically nothing—I choose not to get all caught up in the implications of my bra being “practically nothing.”

  Still, things feel off. How many years has this fight gone on without any prospect of a solution? Clearly, something isn’t right, and I’m going to find out what it is. Because in a group where honesty is rule number one, a lot’s being hidden.

  Will’s fingers find my chin, lifting it so we’re eye to eye. “I thought you’d be more pleased.”

  “I am. I’m just…” Overwhelmed. Freaking out. Confused. “I accept.” I force a smile.

  He cocks his head to the side. “But?”

  “But are they badly hurt? The wildlings…er…I mean…the twins?”

  “Ha!” A second time, he nearly loses composure. Everyone’s eyes shoot toward us then back at the fire. “Wildlings?” He flashes a wide smile I can tell he’s trying to make disappear but can’t. And that pang tears at my heart again. He’s too pleased. Going too easy on me by rewarding me with his almost-laughs.

  “Yeah, that’s all I could think the first time they chased us. The name just stuck in my head, I guess.” I gaze at the ground. “Are they injured?” My eyes sneak back up.

  His smile disappears as if he catches himself enjoying things too much. “Mmm, yes, well. Tommy, with the large, jagged scar on his right shoulder—the one you hit in the leg—he seemed all right and was carrying his brother, Jack, who, I’m going to be honest, didn’t look good.” Will’s eye sets on mine, searching for a reaction.

  “Is he…” The words barely come out, my throat closing.

  “I don’t know.” He puts his hands on my shoulders. “But listen to me.” His stare is intense and the look in his eye… I know whatever he’s about to say, whether truthful of not, I need to believe. So I listen. “You did what you had to do. For you. For Bug. For us. There was no other way. Do you hear me?” I blink. I do. Still, as his words soar over to me they drop one by one at my feet. “It was either a fight, or you and little Bug would have gone over the cliff.” He exhales and his breath smells like fresh mint. I notice he’s tossing a couple of leaves around in his mouth. “You had no choice. You have to believe that or it’ll consume you.”

  I don’t say anything.

  “Olive?”

  “Okay,” I whisper, lost in the way he says my name, how it’s laced with mint, broken wildlings, and near-laughter.

  Six days pass. I know this from Tilly’s hash marks on our shared wall.

  I’m an official Lion now, and I’ve been moved from my corner in the common area to Tilly’s room or “the big girls” room as Bug refers to it. The little sneak often finds her way to my mat during the night, and if Tilly doesn’t wake up, neither of us says anything. I’ve taken to calling her Bed Bug.

  Bug’s soft touch against my cut hair wakes me up, but I don’t open my eyes. The spot is growing back in a way I can only imagine isn’t at all attractive because I can feel it skimming the top of my ear as Bug tries to tuck the tiny pieces behind. Each time she brushes the short hairs with her fingertips, it triggers my memory of the carnival, the clippers, the Trio. It feels like another lifetime ago, yet the pain is still right there, right beneath my hair as it’s growing, trying to erase the evidence. My mind back in Texas, I can’t help but think of my parents…Lucky…Tawny…even Hazel’s stinky fish breath. God, I miss them.

  Tears prick behind my closed eyes. I rub them and glance over at Bug, hopeful she doesn’t see my pain. “Snuck in again, eh Bed Bug?”

  She smiles, her teeth so white, so perfect. It’s miraculous, considering the lack of dental hygiene here.

  “Olive?”

  “Mmm hmm?”

  “What happened to your hair?”

  “Oh. Well. Someone cut it.” I can’t lie to her.

  “Who? They didn’t do too good.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “No, they didn’t.”

  She nods. “Who did it?” I’m not fooling her.

  My smile fades. “Some really mean girls.” She stares, waiting for more. “Um, they’re kind of like the twins. They just do mean things.”

  “Well, that sucks.” She raises one eyebrow.

  I laugh under my breath. I can only imagine she picked that term up from Jude much to Tilly’s chagrin. Bug smiles in her mischievous yet knowing way.

  “You’re right, it really does suck,” I say. And in the words of a seven-year-old, everything feels lighter.

  “Did you throw sharp rocks at them, too?”

  “No. I ran away.”

  “Oh.” The disappointment on her face, the way her mouth pulls to one side as she considers that version of me and the one she saw the other day, makes my stomach tighten.

  “Ow! Jesus, Tilly. Be careful!” Jude shouts from the other room.

  Widening our eyes at one another, Bug and I jump up and run to see what’s going on.

  In the common room, Jude lies on the floor, a bowl of water and another full of what I recognize as melted coconut goop next to him. Tilly leans over his face. “Sit still, we’re nearly finished!”

  I move closer and see that Tilly is holding a sharp blade to his cheek. She lathers some of the goop on, then runs the sharp edge of the knife from his chin to his cheekbone. Bug and I both cringe. Jude holds his breath.

  “One more pass and then I’ll tidy your neck,” Tilly says.

  Jude jumps up, tossing Tilly onto her backside. “No neck! I’m done!”

  “Hey! You asked me!”

  “That was before you carved me like a turkey!” Jude’s face is raw like sunburn. He glares at us, then at Will, who’s sitting i
n the corner, sharpening another blade and laughing his airy laugh to himself. “I’m going out,” Jude announces.

  Tilly stands, hands on her hips. “You’re welcome! Keep the coconut on, it will—”

  Jude turns and leaves the room.

  “—help with the burning,” Tilly finishes near-whisper. With a deep breath, she turns to Will. “Fancy a shave?”

  Will peers up from his blade, rubbing his thumb and forefinger over the ever-growing stubble on his chin. “I think I’ll let mine grow a little longer. Thanks, though.”

  “I’ll take one.” Lewis shows up out of nowhere, his voice forcibly low.

  Tilly laughs. Out loud.

  “What? I’ve got stubble.” He rubs his chin, the edge of his jaw, as if the “stubble” is really getting to him.

  “Do you now? All right, let’s have a look then.”

  Lewis walks over and lies on the ground where Jude was.

  Tilly winks at us, then leans in close to Lewis’s face. “Oh my, you do have quite the beard!”

  Bug giggles.

  Lewis searches all our faces. “Forget it.” He starts to get up.

  Tilly pushes him back down. “Wait, you little gnat. I do see a bit that could be trimmed off.”

  “See?”

  “Mmm,” she says, getting to work. On what, I’m not sure. Not looking up, Tilly adds, “Breakfast is next to the fire.”

  Bug pulls me by the hand, and she and I grab two of the three bowls left atop the rocks around the fire pit. “Where’s Charlie?” Bug asks, staring at Will who’s sticking his blade in the fire every few minutes, then sliding a large rock across one edge.

  “Still sleeping. He had a long night, but I guess you already know that?”

  Bug nods, looking up at me whose bed she ran to when she couldn’t take Charlie’s sleep terrors any longer.

  Will nods, going back to his blade.

  Bug and I sit.

  “Sleep well?” Will asks, not looking up.

  “Yeah,” I answer, Bug’s mouth full of fish and banana. “So, where did you ever find knives out here?”

  Will glances up for a second. “Not found, brought. One with me—every red-blooded teenage guy in the sixties owned a switch blade. The other”—he motions to Tilly and Lewis— “came with Jude.”

  I take a few bites. The combination of fish and bananas tastes like feet, but as hungry as I am, I eat it. I figure after a while I won’t even notice and will make all sorts of yummy noises like Bug does. As I chew, the stringiness of the fish and the smoosh of the ripe banana swishing around my mouth, something occurs to me. “Hey, Will?”

  “Hmm?”

  “You don’t talk like you’re from the sixties.” He stops mid-stroke, cocking his head at me. “I mean, not how I imagined people spoke back then.”

  “You mean like on Leave it to Beaver? I Love Lucy?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow upward, still searching my face in a way that sends that spring in my stomach haywire. Stupid stomach.

  My neck goes warm and itchy because that’s exactly what I’m thinking, all “Gee whiz, Mister” and “Aw, shucks” and pearls and perfection and poodle skirts. “Well, kind of, I guess.”

  He laughs, still under his breath, this time, more like, silly girl. “Those are cheesy television shows. I mean, sure, some of the slang is right, but mostly, people spoke normally.”

  “Makes sense.”

  I take another bite of fish-banana-mush, but a noise interrupts me mid-chew. It’s the sound of a horn or pipe or one of those shells they used to announce the start of the luau we went to on our vacation to Hawaii when I was eleven. It’s a long, flowing, pha-ooh.

  Tilly freezes, knife raised.

  Lewis sits up on his elbows.

  Will peers up at the ceiling as if he can see through it. The rest of us follow his eyes. The noise is loud, but far away. Like from a sharp mountain top…

  Charlie rushes in, half his hair stuck to his flushed-from-sleep face.

  Another pha-ooh sounds as if a cry for help, the eerie call wailing from a cliff high above.

  Jude also runs in, arms full of firewood and coconuts, face still raw, but less red. He drops the load on the floor.

  Another pha-ooh cries out.

  Charlie shuffles across the room, skidding on his knees to Tilly. She puts her arm around him.

  “What is it?” Bug shouts, hands over her ears.

  Will’s eyes are still frozen toward the ceiling. “It’s the call of the King of the island.”

  We all look at one another like Will’s lost his mind, hoping someone will confirm it isn’t so.

  “Huh? What the heck does that mean?” Bug says in a way only she can get away with around here.

  Will glances at her, smiles, puts his blade in his pocket, and stands. He paces the room several times.

  “I’ve never shared this because it didn’t seem necessary.” He shakes his head. “I apologize for that. I should have told you.” Will pauses, his eyes on mine. My stomach tilts. He takes a deep breath. “When Duke and I arrived on the island, as you know, we split. I’m not sure how much time passed before Bug and then the twins arrived, but at some point—when it was only the two of us—I heard that same sound. Curious and desperate for human contact—even in the form of Duke and a possible fight—I went after the noise. I climbed up the mountain and into its sharp crests until I found him sitting at the mouth of a cave. He was blowing an old brass horn. I asked him where the hell he’d gotten it, but all he said was that he’d found it on the beach. Then we stared at each other for a while. Longer than a while. Forever. Finally, Duke stood and I could see in his eyes, he was torn. Just as lonely and miserable as I was, he couldn’t decide whether to hug me or push me off the cliff. He didn’t do either. Instead, he widened his eyes like a madman, dug his fingers into the soot of his fire and marked two lines under each of his eyes.

  “Duke told me, ‘I am King of the island. And this’ —he held up the horn— ‘is my call.’ Then he spit into the fire and declared we were at war, that he, ‘the king,’ declared this island his and his alone. ‘When you hear my call,’ he said, ‘beware. The king and his army are comin’ for you.’” Will shakes his head faster now. “I left, not looking back. That was the last I saw of him and the last I heard that horn. Eight? Nine years ago?”

  I notice Tilly open her mouth to give him a correct number, but she decides against it.

  Will walks toward the fire. “I never thought… He was unstable. Is unstable. Even after the bombs started, I never believed he’d ever come down from that mountain to face me—us. And he probably won’t. But…”

  “Do you think the kid died?” Jude cuts in with his deep not-a-care-in-the-word tone.

  “Yes,” Will answers.

  I gasp.

  All eyes zip toward me.

  Bug hops into my lap. “Are they coming for Olive? Is the King of the island coming for her?” I watch her round peach lips, the words as they leave, floating along her sweet little voice.

  I killed the wildling.

  My head goes light as wildling calls, horns, and dying birds whistling, ring through it.

  But the whistling isn’t only in my head.

  Everyone runs for cover. Will jumps at Bug and me, hurling us to the ground.

  My eyes meet Bug’s, then Jude’s across the room, then toward the ceiling, waiting, wondering…is this one going to hit?

  The whistling stops.

  Pure silence, the bird is dead.

  Then the now familiar ka-boom of a coconut bomb blasts the world around us like lightning striking the very ground we huddle against.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Bombs

  The first blast is the loudest and closest, but it doesn’t hit. We breathe a collective sigh of relief.

  Two more bombs rain down, farther away, with less of an aftershock.

  Silence coats our surroundings in a thick blanket. All of the usual sounds cease. Not even the birds chirp, and it seems the
waves have stopped rolling in.

  One by one, we get up, brushing off the dirt and sand, assessing the damage.

  “Everyone all right?” Will asks.

  We all nod, except Charlie, who runs to his room. The unmistakable sound of his body hitting the floor and sobs flowing follows.

  “I’m on it.” Jude strides after him. A few minutes pass, and we soon hear Charlie’s sobs replaced by the gentle lull of singing. Perhaps Jude isn’t all hard edges and scorn. Aside from the secretive smile stretched across Tilly’s face, no one seems to stop and take notice. Daily life around here, I remind myself.

  Other than a few pots having fallen off the makeshift shelf, the smoke filter above the fire askew, and things generally shaken and shifted—us included—the cave-tree, its inhabitants, we’re all okay.

  Tilly enlists Bug and Lewis in the clean-up effort, leaving Will and me in an awkward silence.

  Will does that thing where he breathes out his nose. “I’m gonna head out to check the damage, make sure nothing’s on fire. The last thing we need is for the entire island to go up in flames. Tell the others?”

  “I’m going with you,” I say, tossing my hair around, trying to get more sand out.

  I brace myself for an argument, but miracle of miracles, he agrees.

  “Let’s go.” He motions toward the next room where our shoes are. “Tilly?” he shouts.

  “Yes?” she calls back.

  “Olive and I will be back—just going to check things out.”

  “Very well; be careful!”

  Once outside, we’re hit by the woodsy burning of leaves and trees. Just under that is a sweet yet charred odor like someone’s roasted their marshmallow way too long.

  Will and I walk along the forest, side-by-side though he somehow leads the way. Not far along, smoke bellows toward us, the burned mixture in the air growing stronger.

  Then we see it: a black crater in the ground the size of a Mini Cooper, trees split in half, bowing outward in splintered, cindered pieces. The fire is dying down, but plants still crackle and pop in cinders.

  “Holy mother of…” Will trails off.