Richard Laymon - Island

“Okay, okay.”

She charged straight toward me, arms out as if she wanted to give me a bear hug.

I threw a roundhouse in the general direction of her chin.

She ran right into it.

Honest. I never intended my fist to connect with her. It was an accident. Really and truly.

But what a punch! The blow snapped her head sideways. Her cheeks flopped, her lips almost jumped off her face, and a glittering banner of spit flew toward the fire. Her legs kept coming, but the rest of her body stopped fast and started on its way down. Her back struck the sand, whup! Her breasts flattened as if mashed against her chest by invisible hands. An instant later, they were springing up. Then her legs landed.

She lay sprawled on the beach, motionless.

Scared, I hurried over to her and dropped to my knees. Her eyes were shut. Her mouth drooped open. My punch had taken her out, no question about that. She was breathing, though. I could see the rise and fall of her chest, so I hadn’t killed her.

I looked around.

Thelma appeared to be asleep. Kimberly and Billie were nowhere to be seen, but they might be watching me. Wesley was probably watching, too. So I didn’t allow myself to spend much time enjoying the view of Connie. Also, I kept my hands to myself.

On my feet, I went over to my place by the fire and picked up my “tomahawk.” The weapon, made by Kimberly, consisted of a sturdy, Y-shaped limb with a rock at the forked end. The rock was wedged in and strapped secure with strips of denim cut from some jeans that had been salvaged after the explosion.

I looked back at Connie. She was still sprawled on her back. I grimaced. I’d really nailed her. Which made me feel guilty, but secretly pleased. Also, I felt sort of pleased about my self-control; I’d wanted to feel her up so badly it hurt, but hadn’t done it. What restraint! I deserved a medal.

Actually, restraint didn’t have much to do with it. I was just afraid her mom might see me. I sure wouldn’t want Billie to know what a horny degenerate I really am.

Anyway, I gave Connie one last, long look. Then I turned away and headed for the darkness beyond the firelight.

Thelma lay on her bed of rags where she belonged. Curled on her side, she slept with an arm under her head for a pillow.

Kimberly and Billie had left human-shaped mounds of sand covered with scraps of cloth at the places where they usually slept. A pretty lame trick, really. The sort of thing a kid might do before he sneaks out his window at night.

In fact, our entire ambush plan seemed to be made of lame, childish tricks.

Tricks that didn’t stand much chance of fooling a reasonably intelligent adult.

(In spite of the opinions of Andrew and some others in our group, Wesley isn’t stupid.)

As I walked away from the firelight, I got a terrible feeling that we hadn’t even come close to outsmarting him. He hadn’t been distracted by Connie. He’d watched Billie and Kimberly sneak to the fake latrine. Maybe he’d already silently killed them both.

About halfway between the fire and the latrine, I stopped walking. The area ahead looked so damn dark. I needed time for my eyes to adjust.

That’s what I told myself, anyway.

Actually, I stopped because I was suddenly scared to keep going. I wanted to be back at the fire, safe in its light, with Connie. (Even out cold, she’d be better company than nobody.)

I couldn’t turn back, though. I’d look like a chicken.

So I forced myself to start moving again. It seemed to take forever, but finally I reached the latrine.

From the side, I saw the dim shape of someone low down in the darkness between its walls. There seemed to be only one person. I couldn’t tell who it was. Or whether it was a woman.

I stood there, staring.

The person hiding in the latrine didn’t make a sound.

I told myself: This has to be Billie or Kimberly.

Unless it’s Wesley.

The way the body kept so still, I thought it might be one of the gals, but dead.

I started to feel like running away.

Which, of course, would’ve blown everything.

Finally, I choked out, “Who is it?”

“Rupert?” A hoarse whisper. But it seemed to be Billie’s voice.

“Yeah.”

“Thought it must be, but…”

“Where’s Kimberly?” I whispered.

“Get in here,” Billie said, rising up slightly higher in the darkness.

We hadn’t exactly rehearsed this part. I stepped in between the bushy walls. They were about as high as my waist. Billie seemed to be standing below me in the hole, her face level with my knees.

“What am I supposed to do?” I asked.

“Pretend you’re taking a whizz.”

Great, I thought.

But I saw the point. After all, the whole charade was for Wesley’s benefit. If I was going to visit the latrine, I should appear to be using it.

So I clamped the tomahawk under my arm, then started going through the motions—as if I’d just stepped up to a urinal.

Of course, I didn’t haul anything out.

“What happened to Kimberly?” I whispered.

“She went off. Thought we ought to split up.”

I looked around, but couldn’t spot Kimberly. The beach between me and the jungle looked gray and desolate. Beyond the line of trees, the jungle was black. Turning my head the other way, I checked on our campsite. The sleeping area looked like a field of dark lumps. Connie was still sprawled on her back near the fire.

“Do you know where she went?” I asked.

“The jungle.”

“She out of her mind?”

“She wants you to go there. If Wesley doesn’t attack you here.”

“Oh.”

“If the attack happens here, she’s gonna come in and take him from behind.”

“I don’t think it’ll happen here,” I said.

“Let’s give it some time.”

“It doesn’t take all that long to… you know, take a leak.”

“Stop looking around.”

“Okay. Sorry.”

“Wesley hasn’t got a stopwatch on you. I’m sure he isn’t keeping track of the time.”

“I don’t know. I’d be done by now.”

Her arms came up, barely visible in the darkness, and I felt her hands curl softly against my calves. “Just stay for a while,” she whispered. “Give him a chance.”

“Okay.”

Her hands glided up and down a little, caressing me. “How are you holding up?”

“So far, so good.”

“I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I hope you don’t get a chance to find out.”

She patted one of my legs. “Wise guy.”

“How are you doing?” I asked.

“Getting along. I’ll fall apart later. After we’ve dealt with Wesley.”

“Must be awfully hard on you.”

She was silent, and her hands went motionless on my legs. Then she said, “I’ve still got Connie.”

“Yeah.”

“I saw some of what happened with her over there.”

“You did?” Apparently, the low wall of bushes at the front of the latrine wasn’t as thick as I’d thought. I felt my face go hot. “What did you see?” I asked.

“Oh, her little strip show.”

“Ah.”

“She’s a beautiful girl, isn’t she?”

“Takes after you,” I said, which was more flattering to Connie than to Billie, and untrue.

“Bet she surprised you with that.”

“I’ll say.”

“She’s got spunk.”

“Yeah.”

“She sure knew how to get Wesley’s attention.”

And mine, I thought.

“She shouldn’t have slapped you, though.”

Billie had seen that, too. My face flamed up again. “Like you say, she’s got spunk.”

“She can be a real bitch, sometimes. But she’s a good kid. Under it all. You probably know that already.”