Richard Laymon - Island

“Wesley might’ve brought in a load of supplies last week,” Billie pointed out.

“That’s right,” Kimberly said, nodding eagerly. “If he set things up to maroon us, he almost had to lay in supplies for himself.”

That was my idea, of course. But I was happy to let them take credit for it. Seemed as if I’d already opened my mouth once too often.

I had to open it again, though. With a look at Thelma, I said, “Whether it’s Wesley or some stranger, there probably is a bunch of supplies hidden somewhere on the island. I mean, the rope came from somewhere, right? Tomorrow, we oughta go and try to find where the stuff is being kept.”

“What we oughta do tomorrow,” Connie said, “is climb into that dinghy and haul our asses out of here before we all get killed. I mean, isn’t that the smart thing to do? Just leave? Whoever this guy is, he won’t be on the dinghy with us. We just trot ourselves over to a different island, where there isn’t some lunatic trying to wipe us out. I mean, you look out there and you can see those islands.”

“They’re farther away than they look,” Andrew pointed out.

“So?”

“We’d run out of gas before we got anywhere close to them. Then we’d be stuck on a dinghy with limited amounts of food and water…”

“But nobody trying to kill us,” Connie pointed out.

“We’re a lot better off here, believe me. We’ve got everything we need to sustain life. We could spend our entire lives here in relative comfort, if it came to that.”

“Swiss Family Collins,” I said. Couldn’t help it.

“God save us from that,” Billie said.

“Wesley’ll murder us all first,” Connie said.

“It’s not my Wesley!” Thelma cried out.

“Well, whoever!”

“Stop it,” Andrew said.

I’ll have to stop pretty soon, myself. Gotta hurry things along; it’s almost too dark to see what I’m writing.

The upshot of the pow-wow was that either Wesley or a stranger killed Keith and might be after more of us or all of us. We won’t try to get away in the dinghy tomorrow, but we might keep it in mind in case things get worse. We’ll probably spend tomorrow exploring the island. We are posting double guards tonight: first Andrew and Thelma; then Kimberly and Billie; and finally me and Connie. Obviously, nobody is supposed to go off alone.

After the pow-wow, we all ran around and gathered a whole bunch of firewood. We also picked up rocks to use as weapons. Then I had a chance to sit by myself and start writing. I’ve been at it for a long time. Almost done, though. If I don’t hurry, I’ll have to finish tonight’s entry in Braille.

While I’ve been working on the journal here, Thelma has been pouting. Connie has been sitting by herself, over near the dinghy, gazing off into space. Andrew, Billie and Kimberly have been putting together a nice little arsenal: aside from a pile of throwing rocks, we’ve now got spears, clubs, and makeshift tomahawks. We’ll be in great shape if we end up in a pitched battle with Fred, Wilma and Barney.

I shouldn’t joke about it. I like the idea of having weapons.

What’d I’d really like, though, is maybe an M-16.

Oh, well. Castaways can’t be choosers.

Here’s what happened.

Some-time during the night—we don’t know whose watch it was—he got the dinghy.

No big trick. Though we’d kept it beached above the high-tide line, it wasn’t close enough to keep an eye on. For one thing, the beach had a slight downward slope from where we camped. For another, the area where we left it was beyond the reach of the firelight.

Nobody was really paying attention to it, anyway. We were worried about each other, not the boat.

What he must’ve done was sneak in from a side, staying close to the shore, and drag the dinghy into the water. Then he probably swam away, towing it by the bow line.

Connie and I started our watch at four in the morning. We sat so we faced each other across the fire. That way, between the two of us, we had a 360-degree view and nobody could approach without one or the other of us spotting him.

It was Connie who suggested our positions. Not only were we beyond touching distance, but we couldn’t carry on a conversation without raising our voices. So we stayed silent, for the most part. Fine with me.

Even though we just sat there, looking around and not talking, neither of us noticed anything wrong. Maybe the dinghy was already gone by then.

An hour or so into our watch, I got up from the fire and went over to the rocks and took a leak. I must’ve walked within twenty feet of where the dinghy was supposed to be. I don’t recall seeing it, but I don’t recall not seeing it. More than likely, it had already been taken. But I can’t swear to that.

A little later, Connie headed toward the same area—for the same reason I’d gone there. I started to get up and go with her, but she said, “I don’t need an audience, thanks all the same. Anyway, I can take care of myself.” She was holding one of the spears, and gave it a shake. “You just stay here and mind your own business.”

So I stood with my back to the fire and watched her. After she left the firelight behind, she was just a dim shape. All I could see was her T-shirt, because it was white. It seemed to float above the beach as she walked. Then it started to rise, which meant she was climbing the rocks. When she got up into them, the T-shirt sank out of sight.

At the time, I thought how it would’ve served her right if she’d gotten nailed right then and there.

She didn’t, though.

Pretty soon, she came back.

“Real nice,” I congratulated her.

“Sorry. I’m sure you would’ve loved to watch.”

“Guess who would’ve gotten the blame if our resident Thuggee had taken the opportunity to kill your ass while you were over there? Me, that’s who. Your dad thinks I’m worthless, as it is. There’d be no living with him if I let you get killed.”

“Ha ha ha. I’m sure you wouldn’t mind, otherwise.”

“You think I want you to get killed?”

She let out a huff. “You wouldn’t exactly consider it a great loss. All you care about is my mom—and Kimberly. I don’t exactly stack up, do I?”

“Well, no.”

“See?”

“That doesn’t mean I’d like you to get killed. What I’d really like is if, by some miracle, you stopped being such a bitch all the time.”

She gave me a sneer and said, “Oh, isn’t that cute.” Then she strutted over to her side of the fire. She sat down, crossed her legs, and lay the spear across her thighs. “Don’t even look at me,” she said.

So I didn’t look at her.

Not for about half an hour, anyway.

But she drew attention to herself by raising the spear overhead. Just as I turned my eyes to her, she threw it.

At me.

It flew over the top of the fire, its whittled point coming straight for my face. I whipped an arm up just in time, and knocked the spear aside.

“Real nice!” I told her. “Shit! You could’ve hurt me with that thing!”

“That was the general idea.”

“Try it again some time, and maybe I’ll forget to be a gentleman and shove it…”

“Fuck you.”

“Just shut up before we wake everybody up,” I said. Then I muttered, mostly to myself, something about her being a “crazy fucking bitch.”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing. Shut up, okay? We’re supposed to be keeping watch.”

Oddly enough, our quarrel didn’t wake anybody up. At any rate, nobody yelled at us to knock it off.

Connie and I didn’t say anything to each other for the rest of the night. I tried not to look at her again, but couldn’t help it. I had to make sure she wasn’t about to hurl a weapon at me. Whenever our eyes met, she never failed to give me a dirty look.