Alex Garland - The Beach

The only thing I'd tag on the end was that they seemed like decent guys, and they shouldn't have had to die that way. Especially Sten.

Eventually I got bored with waiting for the tide to reach Keaty's feet, so I scooped some water in my hands and poured it on his head.

'Hi,' I said, after he'd recovered from the shock. 'Did you sleep all right?'

He shook his head.

'Me neither.' I squatted beside him. 'I got about four hours.'

'...Are things bad in the camp?'

'They were last night. It's better now, but people are still pretty sick.'

Keaty sat up and rubbed the sand off his legs and arms. 'I should get back. Got to help.'

'Then don't go back. You'll only have to come back here. They want you to do some fishing.'

'They want me to go fishing?'

'That's what Jed said. All the fishers are ill except for the Swedes and Moshe, and Moshe's busy looking after people in the longhouse. That only leaves you.'

'It leaves you too.'

'Uh, yeah... but...' I thought for a moment.' ...I really need some sleep. I mean, when I said I got four hours, it was more like three. Or two and a half. I'm going to collapse if I don't get some rest...' Keaty still didn't look convinced so I added, 'Also, if you turn up with food instead of empty-handed, it might calm Sal down a bit. She's pretty pissed off that you haven't been around to help.'

'Yeah, I heard her calling for me last night. That's why I didn't go back to my tent.' He shrugged wearily. 'But I've got to go back some time, and... I don't know if it's such a good idea me going fishing. I mean, that's what caused all this.'

'I haven't talked to anyone who sees it that way.'

'I could help at the camp.'

I shrugged. 'The camp needs fish.'

'You really think I should do the fishing?'

'Uh-huh. I was specifically told to find you and give that message.'

Keaty frowned and twirled his fingers in his hair. He hadn'tshaved it for so long that he was getting tiny dreads.' ...All right then. If you're sure.'

'Great.' I patted his shoulder. 'So I'll catch some sleep in the trees.'

'Should I come and find you before I head back?'

I didn't answer. I was looking across the lagoon at the circle of cliffs, wondering how I'd swim over without him seeing.

Keaty repeated the question.

'Uh... No...'

If Keaty chose the main boulder to fish from, I could just manage an underwater leap-frog between the smaller boulders, hiding behind them when I needed air.

'What if you oversleep? Then Sal will get pissed off with you too.'

'I won't oversleep. I only need a few hours.'

'...OK. And how many fish should I catch?'

'Ten or so. The Swedes will be fishing too, and most people won't be eating.' I started towards the trees. 'I'll see you back at the camp.'

'Back at the camp. Sure...'

I could feel his eyes on my back, so I dropped my shoulders and dragged my feet to show how tired I was. As I reached the grasses he called after me, 'Hey Rich, I'm sorry you got kept awake. I feel like it's my...'

I waved a hand. 'No trouble,' I called back. Then I slipped into the bushes.

It was easy to hide from Keaty as I swam across the lagoon, but it was infuriatingly slow. It took over thirty-five minutes just to make it to the caves, and it shouldn't have taken half that. The slowness gave me a nasty feeling inside. It was like I wanted to take a deep breath, but however hard I sucked I could never fill the bottom of my lungs. I didn't shake the feeling until I'd climbed the chimney and worked my way around the cliff tops to the mainland.

The VC, The DMZ And Me

I paused for a few minutes at the pass, looking down at the DMZ. There was no need, I knew, for me to descend the terraced slope, but at the same time I knew I would. I might never be alone on the island again and the opportunity was too big to miss. But I also had to check on Zeph and Sammy, so I continued upwards towards our look-out point.

'Delta One-Niner,' I murmured as I located the figures. I could see two of them, one in the normal spot and the other about thirty metres to the right, standing down by the shore. The other three were obviously exploring, or busy doing whatever it was they did behind the tree-line. 'This is Alpha patrol. We confirm we have a positive ID, repeat, positive ID. Request further orders.' In the back of my head I heard the fuzz of radio static. 'Orders acknowledged. Will continue recon as advised.'

I dropped the binoculars and sighed, feeling the familiar frustration well up in me again. Their apparent inactivity no longer held any interest for me and had started to seem like a complicated insult. Part of me wanted to yell at them to get a fucking move on. If I'd thought it would work I'd have probably done it.

In that frame of mind, the time went slowly. I felt duty-bound to stick around for at least two hours, even though I was sure that nothing would happen. So every ten minutes I checked to see if they were up to anything new, and when I saw that they weren't - occasionally another would appear or two would disappear—I went back to day-dreaming about what I'd do in the DMZ.

I had only one goal, because there was no sense in getting more grass. All I wanted to do was to see one of the dope guards. Not kipping on a jungle path but active and armed and patrolling. That alone would satisfy me. It would be a proper engagement, a fair fight on equal terms. Him looking out for trespassers and me trespassing.

The more I day-dreamed, the harder it became to stay at my lookout post. Over the last half-hour of my two-hour tour of duty, I counted the minutes like a kid waiting for Christmas morning. When the minute finally came - twelve seventeen — I made one last check on Zeph and Sammy. Typically, for the first time that day, none of the figures was visible, but I only hesitated for an instant. I made a quick check of the sea to make sure they hadn't started swimming, then said 'Fuck it,' out loud and set off down the hill.

My day-dream came true not far from the field that Jed and I had visited the previous day. I'd chosen to go there because it seemed logical that the best place to find a dope guard would be a dope field, and also because it meant I was travelling on a route I'd taken before, if only once.

The contact came about three hundred metres above the terrace. I'd been just about to step around a thick copse of bamboo when I saw a flash of brown through the leaves, too golden to be anything but South-East-Asian skin. I froze, of course, holding the awkward position of three-quarters of the way through a step. Then the brown vanished, and I heard the sound of rustling footsteps heading away from me.

I debated my options swiftly. To follow the guard was a serious risk, but a glimpsed impression was not what I'd had in mind and the longer I delayed the less chance I'd have of seeing him again. Also, I knew that if I didn't follow him at once I'd probably lose my bottle and have to head back. This, I suppose, was what clinched it. I didn't even wait for the footsteps to get out of earshot before creeping around the thicket in pursuit.

The next ten minutes are vague in my memory. I was listening and looking so intently that, similar to my original descent down to the waterfall, I was incapable of storing anything past the immediate.

My memory returns when I heard his footsteps stop — making me stop too — and I spotted him less than fifteen foot away, taking a breather between two tall trees.

Gradually, I crouched down and eased my head around a branch to get a better view. The first thing I registered were his markings: a black-blue dragon tattoo crawling up a densely muscled back, with a claw on one shoulder-blade and flames on the other. Then I saw that he was the same guard I'd seen with Étienne and Françoise — the guy with the kick-boxer build. Recognizing him, I had to concentrate hard to control my breathing. At first it was from an adrenalin rush and a throw-back to the fear I'd had on the plateau, but then it became awe.