Island

The Diversion

Thelma turned in, last night, shortly after dark. That seemed to be a good thing, since we needed her out of the picture. She’d worried me, the way she had spent so much of the day sleeping. I was afraid she might be wide awake, ready to stay up all night, and manage to wreck the ambush we had planned.

I said as much to the others, after she’d gone off.

“It’s not uncommon at all,” Billie said, “for people to sleep a lot more than usual when they’re going through tough times emotionally. It’s a way of escaping from the pain of the situation.”

Billie had been a high-school teacher before marrying Andrew. She’d taught English, but you have to learn a lot of psychology to become a teacher—at least in California. That’s probably how she picked up the stuff about escaping with sleep. Or maybe she picked it up watching Oprah.

Kimberly said, “Sleeping’s about the last thing I feel like doing.”

“You’re a lot stronger than Thelma,” Billie said.

“A lean, mean, killing machine,” said I.

Which earned a friendly smirk from Kimberly, a roll-upward of the eyeballs from Billie, and a snarl from Connie. (You can’t please all the people all the time…)

Anyway, we kept sitting around the fire and talking about this and that for another hour or so. We mostly avoided the topic of the ambush, but I bet it was the main thing on all our minds. We were talking about trivial stuff to keep ourselves from dwelling on it.

I felt awfully shaky, and even got goosebumps from time to time. Not because there was a chilly breeze, either. There was a breeze, but it was warm and felt good. It felt so good that I’d taken my shirt off, just after sundown.

I’d started wearing a shirt, now and then, especially during the hottest times of the day—to keep from getting a sunburn. It wasn’t so much a shirt as a blouse, actually. A bright pink silk blouse that belonged to Billie. It had been retrieved from the inlet, along with so many other things, by Andrew and Keith. The lower back of the blouse had gotten burnt off, but otherwise it was fine.

Billie is the one who picked it out for me to wear. That was way back on the day after the yacht blew up. (Seems like about ten years ago.) It was the best of the lot. I said she might want to keep it for herself. She told me, “If I need it, I’ll know right where to find it.”

So far, she hasn’t asked for it. She’s been happy just going around all the time in her bikini. (As I might’ve written way back at the start of all this, she is sort of a borderline exhibitionist. We’d be seeing a lot more of her, I bet, if her daughter wasn’t around.) Billie uses some pretty heavy-duty sunblock. When she runs out of that, maybe she’ll start wearing more clothes. I’m not looking forward to it. I like her attire just the way it is.

The way things are going, however, we’ll probably all be dead long before we need to worry about running out of sunblock.

Never mind. I don’t want to think about what the future might hold for us.

Back to a subject I can write about with a certain amount of pleasure—the wardrobe.

Kimberly has continued to wear Keith’s bright and flowery Hawaiian shirt most of the time. She never buttons it. The shirt is always open, often blowing behind her in the breeze, giving me a wonderful view, whenever I look, of her bare brown skin and her skimpy white bikini.

Connie wears her own skimpy bikini. Hers is orange. But she keeps her T-shirt on nearly all the time. The T-shirt is white, large and loose. Sometimes, it hangs off one shoulder or the other. It covers her all the way down to about mid-thigh, like a short dress. The material is so thin that you can see through it.

Thelma has continued to wear the same…

Thelma.

I guess I’d better stop wasting time, and get to what went wrong.

I’m not real eager to do that.

Procrastination, thy name is Rupert.

“We’d better get on with it,” as Billie said last night by the fire.

We had been doing some procrastinating, ourselves.

“Is everyone about ready?” she asked.

Kimberly didn’t say a thing, just made a single nod with her head.

“Are we really gonna go ahead with this?” Connie asked.

“Unless you have a better idea,” Billie told her.

Connie wrinkled her nose.

“He hasn’t left us any choice,” Kimberly said. “It’s him or us.”

“Are you two really gonna kill him?”

“If we can,” Billie said.

“You’ve got the knife,” Kimberly said to her.

Billie had Andrew’s Swiss Army knife on her hip. The thick plastic handle was tucked down the waistband of her bikini pants, all the blades and tools folded in.

“Do you want to be the one to use it?” Kimberly asked.

The two women stared at each other, the firelight flickering in their eyes.

“You want to, don’t you?” Billie said.

“Yes.”

They were not exactly beating around the bush.

“Okay,” Billie said. She pulled the knife out, leaned sideways and passed it to Kimberly.

Kimberly shut her hand around it, and pressed her fist against her belly.

Billie glanced from me to Connie. “Do either of you have any questions?”

“Guess not,” Connie said.

“I’m ready,” I said. “Just don’t let him kill me, okay?”

Kimberly got to her feet.

So did Billie. “Good luck, you two,” she told us. “Make it look good.”

“We will,” I promised. “You be careful out there.”

Side by side, carrying their spears, they walked away from the fire. I was facing the fire (and Connie on its other side) so I had to look over my shoulder to watch them. They went to the stream—the usual routine—drank from it and brushed their teeth (using fingers). Then they wandered over to the rocky area at the north side of our beach. As they started to climb, Connie snapped, “Quit watching. Jerk.”

“I can’t see anything,” I said.

“Not that you aren’t trying.”

I faced front—to be on the lookout in case Connie chose to throw her spear at me. “I’m not into watching ladies take a leak,” I explained. “Maybe you are, but…”

“Fuck you.”

“Give it a rest, okay? Why don’t you just sit quietly and try to work on your vocabulary?”

“What a wit.”

I looked back over my shoulder, but couldn’t spot Billie or Kimberly.

“This is such a treat for you,” Connie said.

“Really.”

“A dream come true.”

“Right.”

“Trapped on an island with a band of women.”

“And a maniac who wants to kill me. It’s a blast. Why don’t we save all this for our big fight scene, okay?”

She didn’t come back with a crack, so maybe she liked the idea.

After a while, Billie and Kimberly reappeared. They climbed down from the rocks and came across the beach. After crossing the stream, Billie waved and said to us, “Night, now.”

“See you in the morning, people,” Kimberly said.

They split up and went to their own sleeping nests—beds, as Billie calls them. Billie lay down alone. Kimberly, a few yards away, eased down into her place beside Thelma.

From where I sat, not much could be seen of them. They weren’t completely beyond the glow from the fire, but the light that reached them was pretty dim and murky. Just the way we wanted things.

“Let’s wait a little while,” I said to Connie.

“Your wish is my command.”

I sighed.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Okay. First off, we’re in a real mess. You know? People have died…”

“Tell me about it,” she muttered.

“I just think that, under the circumstances, it’d be nice if we didn’t have to fight among ourselves. I mean, my God, it’s pretty weird to be bickering with each other about a load of insignificant crap when there’s a guy out there killing us off. I know you’re upset and scared, but that doesn’t give you any excuse to go around making everyone miserable.”

She showed me her teeth. “Do I make you miserable?”

“You make me want to smack you silly.”

“Well, two can play that game.”

“Why the hell did you even ask me to come on this damn trip? All you’ve done the whole time is dump on me.”

“Maybe I like to dump on you,” she said.

“Sure.”

“You’re such a fucking loser.”

“Why did you ask me to come? I don’t get it. Did you just want to show your family what a loser you’ve got for a boyfriend? That doesn’t exactly make sense. Not that I ever exactly expect you to make a whole lot of sense, but…”

“Up yours.”

“Why am I here? Why did you invite me? You needed someone your own age to pick on?”

She sneered at me. “What was I supposed to do, come by myself? I figured, better you than no one.”

“Oh, thanks a heap.”

“Well, you asked. Besides, I used to think I liked you.”

That one actually sort of hurt.

“I thought I loved you,” she said.

That one stunned me so much I wondered if it was a lie.

“If you loved me,” I said, “you had a funny way of showing it.”

“What, because I wouldn’t jump into bed with you?”

“No!”

“I happen to be very particular about who I jump into bed with, buddy. It’s a very select few, as a matter of fact. I have to be one hundred per cent sure of a guy… and I had my doubts about you from the start. Thank God I didn’t give in. But maybe you’ll have more luck with my mom… or Kimberly. It’s so disgustingly obvious that you’d rather fuck one of them…”

“Knock it off,” I said. “Man! Your father got his head chopped in half this morning; how in hell can you be talking like this?”

“Maybe it’s time for a little honesty, that’s how. Why go around lying and being a phoney about everything if we’re all gonna get killed anyway? You know? Screw it. From now on, I say what I think.”

“You mean, you haven’t been? Could’ve fooled me. But you know what? I don’t see more honesty here; all I see is that you’re getting more energetic in your nastiness.”

“Fuck you.”

“That’s original.”

That was apparently the final straw.

Or she just figured it was time to start the show.

She started it by twisting her face so she looked like a maniac. Then she hissed through her teeth and she leaped at me. Didn’t bother to go around the fire—sprang over it, instead. I didn’t even have time to stand up before she crashed down on top of me and slammed me backward into the sand.

She seemed to be all knees and elbows and fists.

Next thing I knew, she was sitting on my stomach. The knees and elbows no longer jabbed into me, but her fists kept smacking me in the face.

I put up my arms to block them.

And gasped things like, “Stop it! Shit! That hurts! Hey!”

I knew better than to think she was simply trying to make our fight look good for Wesley; she was trying to inflict damage on me.

And succeeding.

I’ve got a thing about hitting girls.

The thing is, I don’t do it.

If you aren’t some kind of a pervert or shit, you’ve got a deep-down revulsion when it comes to hurting a female.

So even though Connie was pounding me pretty well, I couldn’t bring myself to slug her. I tried to defend myself by blocking her blows. Then I managed to catch hold of her arms. She lurched and twisted.

“Stop it!” I gasped.

She kept trying to jerk her arms free, so I bucked and threw her off me. We rolled, and I got on top of her. I sat across her hips and leaned forward and pinned her arms down. She wouldn’t stop squirming, though. Afraid she might throw me off, I stretched her arms up past her head and put as much weight on her as I could. We were belly to belly, chest to chest, face to face.

Pretty soon, she quit struggling. She lay under me, gasping for air.

We were so tight together that I could feel the pounding of her heart. I also felt the push of her breasts against my chest. And her breath on my lips.

“Get off,” she said.

I stayed.

She was between my legs, and our groins were pressed together. She had sort of a mound down there that pushed against me.

“Get off, damn it!”

I’d never been this close to her before, never had so much actual contact. It started having an effect on me.

“Oh, terrific,” she muttered.

She’d noticed.

“Get off me, for Godsake. We’re supposed to be fighting. Leave it to you…”

“Sorry.” I let go of her wrists and shoved against the sand and started to push myself up.

“Get it over with,” she said.

“What?”

“What do you mean, what? Slug me, knock me out.”

“Shouldn’t we get on our feet first?”

“What, so I get a chance to fall down? I’m already down. Go ahead and do it.”

“This isn’t the right way. It won’t look right.”

“Okay,” she said. And her right arm shot up. She punched the side of my face so hard that I toppled over sideways. I flopped onto my back. She stood up.

“This how you want it?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I said.

She wasn’t playing the game I expected, but at least she was on her feet, up where Wesley could get a good view of her. When I tried to stand, she rushed in and kicked me over. On my second try, I blocked her kick and staggered up.

More like it.

We started circling each other, hunched over, hands out like a couple of disarmed knife-fighters. She made a lunge as if to grab me. I leaped out of reach.

Suddenly, she pulled her T-shirt off. She tossed it to the sand. “This better?” she asked.

I couldn’t believe she’d done it. Miss Prude. Up till then, she hadn’t even taken off the shirt to go swimming. She had a tan, though. She must’ve gone without it sometime, just not in front of me.

She didn’t look bad.

“Think I’ve got his attention now?” she asked.

“Probably.”

“Yeah? Just probably?”

Her right hand darted out.

Slapped my face.

Not a hard slap. It didn’t hurt as much as her punches, but it stung my ego. It was a humiliating taunt, just as she’d meant it to be.

I pressed a hand to my face.

She slapped the back of my hand, then pranced backward.

“They’re on the move,” she said.

“Huh?”

“Your girlfriends. Remember? The plan?”

I started to turn my head.

Connie stopped me. Stopped me dead by crossing her arms and grabbing the front of her bikini top with both hands and tugging it up. Her breasts seemed to spring out from under it. And there they were, right in front of me. Loose all of a sudden, they jiggled. They lifted and nearly went away, turning into small slopes, as she raised her arms and shucked the bikini top off over her head. When she put her arms down, her breasts came back out.

They looked so naked. They weren’t tanned at all, but had a pinkish hue from the firelight. The nipples looked big and dark.

“Think he’s distracted now?” she asked.

I didn’t even try to answer.

Letting out a huff of laughter, she tossed her orange top aside with one hand and slapped my face with the other. Before I could do anything about the slap, she leaped out of range.

We went back to circling each other.

She was wonderful to watch—the way she was bent over with her arms out, naked except for the waistband and meager orange front panel of her bikini pants, her skin ruddy and shimmering in the firelight, her hair golden—and how her prancing, lurching movements made her breasts bounce and bob.

For me, it was like something in a wild dream.

For Wesley, it must’ve been pretty exciting, too.

The absolute perfect diversion, just so long as the guy you’re trying to distract isn’t dead, blind or gay.

If our campfire was in view of Wesley’s hiding place, his eyes were glued to Connie. Not a shadow of a doubt about that.

Connie darted in and slapped me again.

I didn’t mind.

It was a good, sharp smack, but the view was stunning.

“Do it now,” Connie said, circling again.

“What?”

“Knock me out.”

I shook my head. “Too soon.”

“Isn’t. They’re there.”

“Are you sure?”

“Damn it, Rupert! Quit stalling.”

“I can’t hit you.”

“It’s pretend, remember? My Christ, this was your plan in the first place. Let’s do it! I’ll come in at you.”

“I don’t…”

“Now!”

“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.

The Ambush

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.”

“Yeah,” I said.

Yeah, my ass.

“You just have to stand up for yourself. Don’t take any crap from her, you know?”

“Didn’t you see me punch her lights out?” I asked.

“You what?”

“It was an accident.”

“You mean you hit her?” Billie sounded concerned, but not angry.

“Weren’t you watching?” I asked.

“I must’ve been looking away when that happened. All of a sudden, I looked back again and Connie was on her back. I thought…”

“No, it wasn’t any act. I mean, it was supposed to be, but she walked right into my fist. She’s okay, though.” I looked. Connie was still spread out on the sand. “I bet she’s conscious by now. She knows better than to get up.”

“Well…”

“I’m sorry. It really was an accident. I would never hit her on purpose.”

“I hope not.”

“Honestly.”

“Okay.”

“I’d better get going,” I said. “I’ve been here way too long. Wesley’ll know something’s up.”

“Yeah.” She squeezed the backs of my legs, then took her hands away. “Kimberly’ll be at the regular place. Go slowly and keep your eyes open.”

“Okay. See you later.”

I stepped backward away from the latrine, hitched up my trunks a bit, then took the tomahawk out from under my arm and started walking toward the jungle.

I got more and more scared. It helped, though, to tell myself that Wesley might not even be there. For all we really knew, he could be miles away. Or maybe the dinghy had gone down with all hands aboard. Maybe he’d fallen off a cliff. Maybe he’d been dropped by an aneurism or a coronary. Maybe he’d run afoul of a man-eating critter, a poisonous snake, a headhunter, or Dr Moreau.

Endless ways he could’ve met a demise.

But I figured that he was probably lurking among the trees, watching my approach and fully intending to lay me to waste.

The only thing that kept me going was Kimberly.

Wishful thinking aside, she was probably in there lurking among the trees, watching my approach and fully intending to jump the bastard when he made the try for me.

Unless she’d already been jumped by him.

My legs were shaking pretty good, but I kept going.

I was half a dozen strides from the edge of the jungle when the whole deal went to hell.

A shout came from Thelma. “HELP!” she yelled. Then, “WHAT"S GOING ON?”

I turned around fast.

She was on her knees beside Connie’s sprawled body, her arms raised and spread out wide as if to show us all the size of her confusion and fear.

“RUPERT!”

She’d spotted me.

I flapped an arm, signaling her to stay put.

But she scurried to her feet and started running straight toward me.

I muttered a curse.

She was ruining everything.

I kept waving her back, but she kept coming, chugging closer, her bosom leading the way, her head thrown back. If her bra had broken during the charge, her leaping breasts would’ve torn open her blouse, whammed her in the face and probably knocked her over backward.

When she came to a halt in front of me, I considered whamming her in the face.

I’d like to have done it with my tomahawk.

But I don’t hit women.

Anyway, she didn’t know she was ruining everything. All she knew was that she’d woken up to find herself alone—and to find Connie unconscious and topless.

Wasn’t Thelma’s fault she went nuts.

Wasn’t her fault she’d wrecked our whole scheme.

Wasn’t her fault I suddenly hated her guts.

She staggered to a halt in front of me and stood there, huffing for breath, her mouth hanging open.

“What’s… going on?” she gasped out.

“I’ve gotta take a dump,” I said.

“What?”

“You know.”

“I don’t know. You’re… way over here. Connie’s out cold. What’s the matter with her?”

“I slugged her.”

“You what?”

“We had a fight.”

“A fight? What kind of a fight? How come she’s half-naked? Did you do that to her?”

“No!”

“Where’s Kimberry? Where’s Billie?”

“I don’t know.” Not exactly a lie. I wasn’t entirely sure where they were—mainly, I wondered why Billie hadn’t hopped out of the latrine to intercept Thelma.

Suddenly, I was worried about her.

“Billie!” I called. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” Her voice came from the direction of the latrine. It didn’t sound joyful.

“You might as well come on out.”

A few moments later, Billie crawled out from between the dark, leafy walls. She stood up and walked slowly toward us, shaking her head.

Thelma said to her, “What is all this? What were you doing in there?”

“I was using the facility,” Billie explained. “Is that all right with you?”

Thelma’s mouth fell open. “It isn’t supposed to be used till tomorrow!”

“What?”

“It has to set. The sand needs time to set.” She turned to me for support.

“That’s right,” I told Billie.

“None of us were supposed to use it till tomorrow,” Thelma protested.

“Oh.”

“Now you’ve probably ruined it.”

“We forgot to tell you,” I said to Billie. Then I faced Thelma and said, “See? I knew better than to use it. That’s why I was heading for the jungle.”

“By yourself?” Thelma asked.

“Who am I supposed to take with me?”

She opened her mouth as if to give me a suggestion, but then she grabbed Billie’s shoulder and shook it. “Did you see what he did to your daughter?”

Billie nodded.

We all looked toward Connie. She was still stretched out in the sand near the fire, but not on her back. While nobody was watching, she must’ve rolled over.

“Guess she’s okay,” I said.

“Rupert attacked her,” Thelma explained.

“I did not.”

“Bull!” she snapped at me. “You tried to tear off her clothes.”

“Settle down,” Billie told her. “Connie took off her own top.”

“No, she didn’t. Why would she do that?” Thelma glared at me. “And what did you do with Kimberly?”

“Nothing.”

“Then where is she?”

Billie and I shared a glance. She shook her head; I shrugged.

“If we don’t tell her the truth,” Billie said, “we’ll be making up stories till Hell freezes over.”

“Yeah. I know. But look, the thing is, I’ve got a little, uh, chore to take care of. Why don’t you two go on back to the fire. See how Connie’s doing, and you can tell Thelma all about our plan. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Where’s my sister?” Thelma demanded.

“I’ll see if I can find her,” I said. Without waiting for any more trouble, I turned around and headed for the jungle. When I was just about there, I looked back. Billie and Thelma were walking slowly away, side by side. They seemed to be talking, but I couldn’t make out the words.

I was so annoyed and frustrated, thanks to Thelma, that I forgot to be afraid.

A short distance into the trees, I looked back and couldn’t see much of the beach anymore—just a little flicker from our fire.

The bit I’d told Thelma about “taking a dump” had been a fib. I truly did need to pee, though. Right where I stood seemed like as good a place as any.

Nobody seemed to be nearby.

Of course, Wesley or Kimberly might’ve been standing three feet away without being seen. Awfully dark in there.

I told myself, If I can’t see them, they can’t see me.

I half believed it, too.

My trunks don’t have a fly. I got clear of them by tugging the crotch up and sideways, which gave me a window of opportunity through the left leg hole. I kept the trunks out of the way with my right hand, and kept the tomahawk in my left.

One more glance around, then I started to go.

It promised to be a long one.

Which didn’t thrill me. I wanted to get it done with and amscray back to the beach.

Also, I wasn’t thrilled by the noise I was making. A loud, papery, splattery sound. Obviously, I was hitting leaves or some other variety of foliage. It’s damn near impossible to take a silent leak in a jungle. I tried swiveling from side to side. The noise changed directions, but not volume.

It was just starting to taper off when I heard someone take a step. At first, I didn’t know it was a footstep. I didn’t know for sure until I heard the second one.

Then came the third, closer to me than the others.

By that time, I had shut down my irrigation project and stowed the equipment.

I switched the tomahawk to my right hand.

Then I stood still and held my breath.

And wished to God I had stayed on the beach where I belonged.

The footsteps stopped.

Maybe two yards away?

I strained my eyes to see who was there, but all I could make out were different shades of dark gray—and a lot of black.

It’s probably Kimberly, I told myself.

But what if it isn’t?

I knew, really, that it had to be her. She’d heard me and started to come toward me, then stopped, afraid I might be Wesley.

We were both standing there, trying to convince ourselves that the other person wasn’t Wesley.

Suddenly, I had a bad thought.

What if she decides I’m Wesley, and attacks me?

She wouldn’t do that. After all, I was supposed to come out here and act as bait. She was expecting me.

But she also expected Wesley to show up.

It was actually possible that she might goof and kill me by mistake.

Anyway, we couldn’t just stand here all night.

In a quiet voice, I said, “Kimberly? It’s me. Rupert.”

The voice came back, “Rupert? It’s me. Wesley.”

Close Shaves and Rescues

Wesley, being the asshole that he is, apparently couldn’t resist the chance to scare the hell out of me. If he’d just kept his mouth shut and snuck in closer and used his ax, I’d be a dead boy right now.

But he had to answer me back.

My reactions surprised me.

I didn’t scream and whirl around and make a mad dash for the beach. Which is what I would’ve guessed I’d do, if anyone had asked.

Maybe everyone isn’t like this, but I seem to have at least two different people inside of me: one is timid and plays by the rules; the other is a little nuts—and the nut pops up at odd, unexpected times.

I was standing there, scared half to death even before Wesley answered—my knees shaking, my heart slugging. Then he said, “Rupert? It’s me. Wesley.”

Instead of having a panic attack, I heard myself greet the guy. “Hey, Wesley, how’s it going?”

“Having a ball.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“What was this supposed to be, tonight? Some sort of trap?”

“Yep.”

“Guess who got caught in it?”

“You tell me.”

I hoped to God he wasn’t about to say, “Kimberly.”

Wesley said, “You.”

“Sure thing,” I said.

He laughed.

I threw my tomahawk at the sound. Threw it hard. It went smashing through bushes. I didn’t wait for the outcome, but made a one-eighty and ran.

Behind me, Wesley let out a yell. He sounded more angry than hurt.

Then I heard him come charging after me.

I dodged between a couple of tree trunks, rammed my way through a bush, and raced onto the beach.

I almost collided with Kimberly.

What a sight! I’ll never forget it as long as I live. She stood only a few strides in front of me, bare and dark except for the white of her bikini. (Not wearing Keith’s Hawaiian shirt, for a change.) Her feet were planted in the sand, legs apart and slightly bent, one foot forward. Her left arm was stretched out toward me, her right arm cocked back near her ear—the spear all set to throw.

“Hit the deck!” she commanded me in a quick, loud whisper.

I dived for the sand, pounded against it chest first and slid toward Kimberly’s bare legs. About to plow into them, I threw myself sideways. Did a half-roll and looked up just as she hurled her spear.

It shot straight forward.

Snapping my head around, I kept track of it.

The spear raced toward Wesley as he came charging out of the jungle.

This was the first I’d seen of him since the explosion.

He appeared to be stark naked. His skin gleamed black in the moonlight—some son of camouflage, I guess, for sneaking around at night. (He hadn’t put the stuff on his backside, I discovered pretty soon.) He held his ax in both hands, raised high over his left shoulder, ready to split me like a log.

His grin was big and white.

The grin went away when he saw Kimberly—and the spear speeding at him.

His mouth opened wide.

He yelled, “YAAAH!” and tried to dodge the spear, giving himself an awkward half-twist to the left in the moments before it struck.

The whittled point of Kimberly’s spear caught him in the chest area. He was a husky guy, and he had pretty good boobs on him. The spear hit him in the left one. He was partly turned away, though, so all it did was poke through one side of his tit and come out the other side, just behind his nipple and maybe half an inch under his skin.

He squealed. Dropping the ax behind him, he grabbed the shaft of the spear with both hands and stumbled and fell to his knees. Though he clutched the spear, he didn’t try to pull it out.

I think he was afraid to pull it out.

Afraid of the pain.

He held on to it the way he did, I think, to keep the weight of the spear from dragging open his wound. If he’d just let go, it probably would have split the front of his boob wide open from one side to the other.

Anyway, I scurried over to where the ax had fallen.

While I did that, Kimberly rushed Wesley and reached for her spear.

“No!” he cried out. “Don’t touch it!”

Kimberly touched it, all right.

She grabbed its end and tugged. On its way out, it must’ve hurt him pretty good. He screamed so hard I thought my ears might bleed.

He fell onto his side and curled up and squirmed and whimpered.

I picked up the ax.

When I looked at Wesley again, he was on his hands and knees. Trying to crawl away.

Kimberly rammed the spear into his bare ass.

It missed his anus (the likely target), but jabbed into his right buttock. He squealed again, and flopped down flat.

Kimberly pulled out her spear and planted it in the sand by her feet. Then she pulled her father’s Swiss Army knife out of her bikini pants. She flung a leg over Wesley and sat down in the middle of his back. With both hands, she worked on prying open one of the knife blades.

“Look out!” Billie yelled from a distance. “Watch it! Thelma!”

We both turned our heads and saw Thelma coming at us. Billie was chasing her. (Connie stood by the fire, watching. She’d put her T-shirt back on. She hugged her chest and rubbed her upper arms as if she had a chill.) Billie was faster than Thelma, but Thelma must’ve had a good headstart. Too good a headstart. Billie wasn’t likely to catch her in time.

“Don’t let her interfere,” Kimberly told me. “I’ve gotta finish him off.”

Thelma must’ve heard that. She cried out, “No! Don’t you dare! Leave him be! Kimberly, leave him be, damn it!”

Kimberly muttered, “Yeah, right.”

I put myself in Thelma’s way, the ax at port-arms. I had no intention of hurting her, of course. I planned to block her, that’s all, and give Kimberly the time she needed.

Coming at me, growling, stocky as a bulldog, she gave me a bad case of the creeps. This woman, normally so plain and innocuous and rather dumpy, had somehow changed into a raving lunatic.

At the last second, she veered to avoid me.

A quick sidestep put me into her path again.

“Stop!” I yelled.

The rock in her hand came as a surprise. She hurled it, point blank, at my face.

It almost missed.

Nicked my cheekbone and cut a hot path all the way back to my ear. I stayed on my feet, but staggered a little—enough to let her slip by.

Billie made a flying leap for Thelma’s feet.

She came up short and plowed a furrow through the sand.

“Shit!” Kimberly shouted.

Stumbling, I saw her still sitting on Wesley’s back. She had the knife open in her right hand. Her left hand clutched Wesley by the hair. The way he was thrashing and whimpering, though, I knew she hadn’t gotten a chance to use the knife. Her torso was twisted sideways as she watched her sister.

“Stay back!” she shouted.

Thelma snatched the spear out of the sand. With a bellow that gave me goosebumps, she swung the spear at Kimberly. It whistled as it cut the air. Kimberly flung up her right arm to block it. The spear lashed in underneath her arm and whacked against her side.

“Leave him be!” Thelma shrieked, and raised the spear overhead to strike again.

Kimberly was already tumbling off Wesley’s back.

With a leap, I put myself in front of Thehna. I blocked her spear’s downward stroke with my ax. When it crashed against the haft of the ax, it broke in half.

Half of it flew off into the darkness.

Thelma still held the other half. She rammed it in low, shoving its sharp, broken end into my belly. It didn’t go in. Not very far,anyway. But it felt red-hot and rammed my wind out. I staggered backward, tripped over Wesley’s feet, and fell.

Fast as I could, I raised my head.

Wesley was starting to crawl away.

Billie was on her knees, trying to get up. Thanks to her skid through the sand, her breasts had come out of her bikini. (Normally, I would’ve been thrilled by such a development. Not then, though. I noticed, but didn’t much care.) Thelma smacked Billie across the face with what remained of the spear. Down went Billie.

“Get up!” she yelled at Wesley, who was still crawling. “Get up and run!”

She kept shouting as she rushed over to where Kimberly was struggling to stand up. She kicked her sister in the side and knocked her over, then kicked her again—this time in the stomach. I heard Kimberly grunt.

Wesley, whimpering and sobbing, scrambled to his feet.

I still had his ax.

He didn’t come for it, though. He started to run, in a lurching jog, toward the jungle.

Thelma yelled, “Run! Run! Go!”

She followed him tike some sort of rear guard, twisting and turning to keep her eyes on us.

I used the ax handle to push against the sand and keep myself steady as I got to my feet. When I was up, I glanced at the others. Billie lay on her back, holding her face and moaning. Kimberly, curled on her side, made wheezy sounds as she tried to breathe.

Connie was now dashing toward us, a spear in one hand. She must’ve decided to join the fray when she saw Thelma slam her mother in the face.

She was still too far away to do a lot of good.

None of the three gals on my team was in any position to stop Wesley’s escape.

It’d be me or nobody.

I’m not exactly a hero-type, but I sure as hell didn’t like the idea of letting him get away. So I hefted the ax with both hands and went after him.

I would’ve caught him, too.

And hacked him to death, probably.

But Thelma, guarding his rear, turned on me and blocked my way. I should’ve gone through her. That’s just what I would’ve tried, if she’d been a guy. But instead, I cut to the right and tried to dodge past her side. She leaped and got in the way again. Head up, arms out, hunched over at the waist, she looked like some kind of butch sports-fiend determined to stop me from scoring.

“Get out of the way!” I yelled in her face.

I dodged to the left, but she sprang in front of me again. “No no no no no,” she said. “You think you’re getting him? No no no. Think again, shithead.”

Meanwhile, Wesley had almost made it to the jungle.

I’d wanted to nail him while he was still on the beach, but the chance for that was gone.

“Get out of the way or I’ll chop you down!” I shouted.

“Like fun.” Suddenly, she dropped her arms and stood up straight, her eyes wide with alarm at something going on behind me. “NO!” she yelled.

I whirled around.

Connie, in mid-stride, launched her spear. Its long, pole shaft soared through the night high above our heads.

I think they call such a throw, in football, a “hail Mary.”

It flew over us and kept on going like a Tomahawk missile homing in on the naked, pale bade of Wesley as he lurched closer and closer to the darkness.

Thelma yelled, “Wesley! Look out!” She bolted after him.

Wesley twisted sideways and looked back. He stumbled. He fell sprawling. A moment later, the spear zipped down and planted itself in the sand—probably ten feet to his right.

Behind me, Connie yelled, “Fuck!”

I glanced back at her. She had quit running—must’ve thought the spear would take care of business. She looked disgusted and punched at the air with her fist.

I spotted Wesley again, just in time to see him vanish into the jungle.

Thelma was chasing him.

“Wait up!” she called out, and waved a thick arm. “Wait! Wesley! I’m coming with you!”

A couple of seconds later, she was gone, too.

Battered Angels

Nobody went in after Thelma and Wesley.

Would’ve been too dangerous, for one thing.

For another, our ambush had turned into a disaster. We were stunned, disappointed, angry, confused—and injured.

Mostly thanks to Thelma.

After the end of the mess, we stood around together on the moonlit beach where it had happened. I had the ax resting on my shoulder. Billie, hands on hips (and breasts back inside her bikini), frowned toward the jungle. Connie was bent over, hands on knees, still trying to catch her breath after racing almost to the edge of the jungle to retrieve the spear she’d thrown at Wesley. Kimberly shook her head and shut the blade of her Swiss Army knife.

We must’ve all been thinking about Thelma.

“How could she do it?” Kimberly said.

Billie made a snorty sound. “She loves the guy.”

“But he killed Dad. My God! Her own father! I can see how she might not turn on him for a little thing like killing my husband, but he murdered Dad.”

“Oh, her dear Wesley wouldn’t do that,” Connie said. “The dumb bitch.”

“She knows he did it,” Billie said. “She might not be a genius, but she’s not that stupid.”

“I think she just went nuts,” I said. “All this stuff the past few days—and then seeing her father get whacked this morning—it unhinged her.”

“You might be right,” Billie said. “This sure wasn’t the behavior of a rational person, tonight.”

“We knew she might cause trouble,” I reminded everyone. “That’s why we didn’t let her in on the plan.”

“Never thought she’d do something like this,” Kimberly muttered. “Jesus H. Christ.” She tucked the knife down inside her bikini pants. “We should’ve tied her up.”

“Thought she was asleep,” I said.

“Well. Nothing we can do about it now.”

“Let’s go on back to the fire,” Billie suggested.

So we turned our backs to the jungle. We walked side by side, me with the ax on my shoulder, all of us battered (me the only one bloody). We must’ve been a sight to see—if anyone was watching.

Charlie’s Angels and the Tin Woodsman.

All messed up and nowhere to go.

Or whatever.

I’m starting to lose it. I’ve been writing for hours, trying to get down all of last night’s events in this journal. My hand is turning into a claw—my mind into mush. Anyway, I’ve got to finish about last night.

Before something else happens.

If I let the journal fall behind, I might have real trouble catching up.

On second thoughts, I’m going to take a break.

Hello, I’m back. Took a nice swim, then sat around with the gals for a while.

Maybe it was a mistake, but I finally admitted that I’m keeping a journal. I’d been telling everyone, before, that I

was working on a series of short stories. But it was finally time to trust them with the truth. I mean, there’s only three of them, now.

I wanted them to know about it. To know I’m not just fooling around while I’m sitting by myself for hours. To know there’s a record of our ordeal being kept. (Maybe it’ll be important for them to know that, at some point. Especially if something happens to me. Yuck. Made me feel squeamish, writing that little line.) We had quite a long talk about the journal. They wanted to know what I’ve written about them (which made me sweat big-time), but I explained that I wouldn’t be able to write truthfully if I had to worry about pleasing an audience. Finally, they promised to respect my privacy and make no attempts to sneak a peek.

They’d better stick to their promises, or there will be some mighty embarrassed and angry people on this beach. (I couldn’t stand to face any of these gals, knowing they’re aware of certain things I’ve written about them.) Shit. They gave their word. If they read this stuff, they deserve what they get.

Maybe I shouldn’t have told them.

Seemed like the right thing to do at the time.

Anyway, now that I’ve rested and shot off my mouth to the ladies, I’m ready to knock out the conclusion of last night’s events.

I left off when we were on our way back to the camping area.

Okay.

We got into the firelight, and the gals suddenly noticed my wounds. They seemed pretty concerned—even Connie. In fact, she’s the one who insisted on tending to me. She told her mother and Kimberly that they should try to get some sleep. She would fix me up, then she and I would stand watch for the next few hours.

I urged them to go along with it. I mean, they both seemed worn out and hurting.

While Billie and Kimberly settled into their sleeping places, Connie grabbed a couple of rags. She went to the stream, dipped them in, and came over to where I was sitting by the fire. She made me turn so the firelight would shine on the wounded side of my face—the right. Then she knelt in front of me.

The firelight lit up the swollen left side of her jaw.

Where I’d punched her.

“I’m sorry about that,” I told her. “It wasn’t supposed to connect.”

“Wasn’t, huh?”

“I swear.”

She started dabbing at the raw trench that Thelma’s rock had torn in my face and ear. She was gentle about it, but every touch ignited pain. “I had it coming,” she said. “I got in my shots, you got in yours.”

“It was an accident.”

“Sure.”

“I never would’ve hit you on purpose.”

She smirked. “If you say so.”

“It’s the truth.”

“What’d Thelma get you with, anyway? It sure fucked up your face.”

“A rock.”

“Look at this.” She pulled back the rag and showed it to me. It was red with my blood. The other cloth was still clean. She used it to mop off the blood that had run down my face and neck and right shoulder and arm. Then she wrung out both the rags, squeezing and twisting them. Bloody water spilled onto the sand between us.

She scowled at my lower wound.

Thelma’s broken spear had gouged me just above my belly button. The hole wasn’t deep, but it had bled a lot. The front of my swimming trunks was soaked, and trickles had even made their way down my thighs.

Connie shook her head. “We’d better just go over to the stream.”

She took the rags with her. I carried the ax.

Gaining possession of the ax was the best thing to come out of our disastrous ambush. Next to a gun, you couldn’t ask for a better weapon. Now it was ours, not Wesley’s. I planned to keep it close by.

Connie led the way to the stream. We stepped down its shallow, sandy bank and waded in. The water felt great—slightly cooler than the night air.

The stream is basically so narrow that, during most of its course from the jungle to the inlet, you can jump across it without much trouble. It is also fairly shallow. Ankle-deep in many places, knee-deep in a few.

Connie and I entered one of the deeper areas. She faced me. We were out of range of the firelight. “You can put down the ax,” she said.

I swung it underhand, and let go. The heavy, steel head thumped onto dry sand near the shore. The haft dropped toward me, and splashed into the stream where it would be easy to grab in case of an emergency.

Crouching in front of me, Connie rinsed the bloody rags. She stayed down. After draping one of the cloths over her knee, she reached up with the other and began to wash my wound. To hold herself steady, she clutched the waist of my trunks with her left hand, over near my hip.

I couldn’t help but feel the backs of her fingers in there.

Couldn’t help noticing how she’d tugged my trunks down a good inch—just by virtue of hanging onto them.

Not to mention, her face was straight in front.of my groin.

I tried not to let these things affect me.

They affected me quickly and obviously.

“Not again,” she said when my trunks started sticking out.

“Sorry,” I told her.

She stopped patting the wet cloth against my wound. She lowered that hand, but the other stayed. “Don’t apologize, make it go away.”

“Huh?”

“You heard me. I’m trying to help you, and here you’ve got your thing in my face.”

“I don’t have a lot of control over it. You know? It just… responds. To things like you.”

“Things like me.”

“Yeah, you. The way you look. Your hand there. The water. It all… adds up.”

“So then, it’s my fault?”

I smiled. “Pretty much.”

“I’m supposed to be flattered, or something?”

“Maybe,” I said.

She looked up at me and didn’t speak for a few seconds. Then she said, “You had one when we were fighting, too.”

“Yeah. When I was on top of you.”

She dipped the rag in the stream, then lifted it and began mopping the blood off the area between my wound and the top of my trunks. “And when I took my top off,” she said.

“You noticed that?”

“Of course.”

“Thought maybe you were too busy slapping me,” I said.

“Ha ha, very funny.”

She dipped the rag again. As it came up soaked, her left hand plucked the waist of my trunks away from my belly. She mashed the sopping cloth against my skin, and a flood washed down. It drenched my works, then spilled out through the leg holes of my trunks and streamed down my legs.

Keeping my trunks pulled out, she dunked the rag into the stream again. She swished it around. “Would you like me to take my top off again?” she asked. “I could do it, you know. Right here, right now. You want me to?”

“Sure.”

“Or would you rather have me pull your trunks down?”

All I could think of to say was, “You’re kidding.”

“Take your pick.”

“How about both?”

“One or the other.”

It wasn’t a very difficult decision. “My trunks,” I said.

“Why?”

“Sort of tight in there.”

“I’ll bet. Why else?”

I thought about that for a second, then said, “It’ll make it easier for washing the blood off me.”

“Lousy reason. Give me another.”

I shrugged. “Well, I’ve already seen… you know, seen you topless.”

“And once was enough, huh?”

Woops.

“No,” I protested. “But it’s too dark here. I wouldn’t be able to see.”

“You could touch.”

“Really? You didn’t say that before. Okay, I pick that.”

“What?”

“Taking off your top.”

“Too late. You already made your choice.”

“Can’t I change my mind?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

“You sure give up easy.”

“I just don’t want to argue.”

“You just really don’t want to see me topless again. Don’t worry, pal—you won’t.”

With that, she pulled at the waist of my trunks as if she wanted to see how far the elastic would stretch. She drew it out about half a foot, then let go. It shot in and snapped me.

And it hurt.

I staggered backward to get out of her reach—not knowing what to expect next.

She stood up. “Fuck you,” she snarled. “You’re such a pathetic fucking loser. You really thought I’d pull your trunks down? Or take off my top? No way. Not a prayer. Last thing I want is your stupid cock in my face. And the only reason I let you see my tits back at the fire was to let you take a good look at what you’re never gonna see again.”

I doubted the truth of that. Fact is, I doubt that she ever says what’s really going on in her head—maybe doesn’t even know what’s going on in there.

But she was looking for trouble, so I gave her some. Not a smart move, but what I said was, “I figured you took off your top ’cause you wanted to show off your boobies—such as they are—to Wesley.”

Her mouth fell open.

A moment later, she blurted, “That’s the thanks I get for trying to be nice to you.”

Whatever that meant.

I was afraid she might go for the ax. She didn’t, though. She stomped through the water and ran up the bank and didn’t stop till she reached the sleeping area. There, she flopped down on her usual assortment of rags.

I was left standing in the stream, a bit confused about what had gone wrong.

She’d been getting pretty friendly there for a while.

Unless it had been an act.

When it comes to Connie, it’s just mighty damn awful hard to tell what’s real from what isn’t.

All I can be sure of is that she is never likely to react the way I’d expect a person to react. Not like Billie or Kimberly, for instance. You can make sense out of them. Unlike Connie.

Could it have to do with the fact that she’s still a teenager? At eighteen, though, you’d think she might be past the usual adolescent crap.

Doesn’t seem to be.

She reminds me of a cat I used to know. One time, I was petting its head. The cat was really into it, eyes half shut, its purr rumbling away. But all of a sudden, God knows why, it went nuts and shredded my arm.

I was thinking about that sort of stuff while I finished at the stream. What I did there was kneel in the water, wash the blood off my body as well as I could, then work at getting my trunks clean. Finally, I waded out, picked up the ax and returned to camp.

Connie was probably not asleep. I considered going over to her and trying to make amends, but that didn’t seem like such a hot idea. I might just end up setting her off again.

So I went to the fire and sat down, figuring I might as well keep watch—even though sentry duty didn’t seem very necessary.

Our ambush hadn’t been a complete failure—Kimberly had delivered a couple of nasty wounds to Wesley. They were probably not fatal (barring infection), but they were pretty sure to keep him in major pain for a while.

And out of our hair.

Though I didn’t expect an attack, I stayed awake and kept watch. There was plenty to occupy my mind. My plan was to stay up all night, so that the gals could get plenty of sleep. A while before dawn, though, Billie woke up and came over to the fire.

She sat down next to me. The side of her face was swollen and discolored by the blow from Thelma’s spear. “How’s it going?” she asked.

“I don’t think there’s much chance of them bothering us tonight.”

“There isn’t… How about you? How are your wounds doing?”

“Connie washed them off for me.”

“Let’s see.”

I leaned back and turned toward her. Looking at my injuries, Billie grimaced. “Must hurt.”

“How about you?”

“I’ll live.” She put a hand on my leg. “Why don’t you go on to bed, now?”

“I’m not that tired.”

“Sure you are. Go on.”

“Why don’t I stay and keep you company?”

“Thanks. But you know what? I’d rather be alone for a while. You know?”

I wanted awfully badly to stay with her—not to keep her company, but because I felt sort of lonely, myself. When it comes right down to it, I’d rather spend time with Billie than with anyone else I can think of.

But she probably wanted time to sit by herself and think about Andrew. I said, “Sure. See you later.”

Then I went over to my sleeping place.

Before you know it, I was out like a light.

Odds and Ends

So much for last night. This is still day four, and I’ve spent the better part of it working on my journal here.

I’m just back from another break.

It’s late afternoon, now. This has been a fairly uneventful day. Thank God.

I already went into how I took the earlier break from my writing and told the gals about the journal.

There are a few other matters worth mentioning.

For instance, we’ve started using the latrine as a toilet. Laid some branches across the hole, to stand on.

Also, Billie and Kimberly, with some help from me, constructed a couple of shelters. We made them like the walls of the latrine, by lashing bushes and fronds to frameworks of sticks. Instead of being walls, though, these are roofs. We set them up on poles, near our sleeping area. The purpose is to have places where we can escape from the sun. I’m using one, now. Though the sun hasn’t been terrible (the heat is fairly moderate, and there’s usually a pleasant breeze), I really enjoy being able to sit in the shade while I write.

Billie and Kimberly also made new weapons to replace the ones that were lost or broken last night.

Connie has spent most of the day by herself. She’s hardly spoken to me since our squabble at the stream. The few times she’s been near me, she has thrown narrow-eyed glares my way.

The good part is, she spent hours fishing. This morning, she borrowed the knife from Kimberly and used it to whittle a special point on the end of her spear. The point is very long and thin, with three barbs carved into its side. They look like small, sharp limbs, and sweep back at an angle away from the tip. The one nearest the tip is the smallest. They get bigger as they go. The obvious purpose for the barbs is to stop fish from falling, off, once they’ve been speared.

It’s a wicked-looking piece of work, though. Sure hope she doesn’t get into a tiff and decide to use it on me.

Anyway, she stood in the inlet for hours, way out where it’s waist-deep. Must’ve taken a long time to get the hang of using the spear. Every once in a while, I heard her yell “Fuck!” Finally, she yelled, “Yes! Gotcha, you bastard!” I looked up and saw her hoisting a big, silvery fish toward the sky on the tip of her spear. Everyone cheered, including me. She brought the fish ashore. Kimberly went running to her with our biggest pot, scooped it full of salt water, and Connie tossed in the fish.

She ended up with four of them.

We’ll be having a real feast, tonight.

That’s about it for today’s events. So far, so good.

We’ve done pretty well when you take all the circumstances into account. Yesterday, we’d had to deal with the killings of Keith and Andrew. Today, on top of that, there was the failure of our ambush to think about and the defection of Thelma—plus all the injuries from last night.

In the injury department, I’m the worst off, if you don’t count Wesley.

Kimberly is probably the most beat up, after me. Her skin didn’t get broken, but she has a horrible bruise on her ribcage, just below her right armpit. She also has bruises on her stomach and right hip from Thelma kicking her.

Billie and Connie have bruises on their faces. The swelling went away, leaving behind dark smudges that almost look like dirt. Billie’s is on the left cheek, Connie’s on the left side of the jaw. Billie got dealt a much meaner blow from Thelma’s spear than Connie got from my fist.

I’m going to knock off now, and help prepare the fish for supper.

The fish was great. Billie fried it up on the skillet with bourbon—her special method. We also passed the bottle around, and had a few nips to help our finny friends go down smooth.

One thing really struck me during the meal.

The size of our group.

Or the lack thereof.

Four of us.

Jesus.

There used to be eight of us. Eight is a fair number of people, a pretty good crowd.

Four is measly.

And I’ve got to say, four looked a lot like three, from where I sat. I’m sort of like a movie camera, you know? I don’t see myself, most of the time. I see Billie, Kimberly and Connie. One, two, three. That’s all.

We’ve been whittled down considerably.

We didn’t talk much while we ate. About the time we finished, though, Billie said, “We’d better do something, tomorrow.”

Connie looked offended. “Hey, I did something today. You just ate it.”

“We should’ve gone hunting,” Kimberly said, “not fishing. Hunting for Thelma and Wesley.” She met Billie’s eyes. Pressing her lips together in a tight line, she shook her head. Then she said, “I just didn’t want to deal with it today.”

“Yeah,” Billie said. “I know. Neither did I.”

“Not after last night,” I added.

Connie gave me a quick, sour glare.

“But we’d better go looking for them tomorrow,” Billie said. “We can’t give Wesley time to recover. He’s gotta be in bad shape after last night. If we find him while he’s still laid up, he’ll be a lot easier to finish off.”

“What’ll we do about Thelma?” I asked.

“Save her,” Billie said.

Connie let out a snort.

Ignoring it, Kimberly said, “Yeah. He’ll probably kill her, sooner or later.”

“Maybe not right away,” Billie said. “He’ll want her around to take care of him, at least till he gets better.”

“You’re both nuts,” Connie said. “He isn’t gonna kill Thelma.”

I decided to stay out of it.

“Why not?” Kimberly asked her.

“For one thing, she saved his bacon last night.”

“You think he’ll spare her out of gratitude?” Kimberly asked.

“He’s got no reason to kill her. She’s on his side, you know?”

“He might not see it that way,” Billie said. “Maybe he just sees her as an obstacle.”

“In the way of what?”

“Why is he doing any of this?” Billie asked. “That’s the real question. In my opinion, he set up this whole operation in order to make himself rich. Most of the family wealth is in Andrew’s name. And mine. With both of us dead, you two girls and Thelma inherit everything. With the three of you dead, your spouses would get it. Connie hasn’t got a spouse…”

” And he killed mine,” Kimberly muttered.

“Right. So that leaves Wesley. He stands to make a pile if he’s the only survivor.”

“I’d bet he’s also got a life insurance policy on Thelma,” Kimberly said. “So you can add that to his take.”

Connie had a sick look on her face. “I think you’ve all been watching too much Murder, She Wrote.”

“Why do you think he’s doing all this?” Billie asked her.

She wrinkled her nose and shrugged. “Because he’s nuts?”

“He’s nuts, all right,” Kimberly said. “Nuts if he thinks he’s gonna survive. First thing in the morning, I’m going after him.”

“We’ll all go after him,” Billie said.