Castaways (8 page)

Behind him, he heard Matthew curse. Footsteps pounded along the trail as the crazed man gave chase.

"Get back here. You're only making it worse. Don't make me chase you." "Go to hell!"

Mark ran harder, his hair flapping in the breeze. Sweat stung his eyes, but he didn't blink. His lungs burned, but he dared not stop. He felt his pulse pounding in his throat. Too late, he remembered his pocketknife, folded up and resting against his right thigh inside his jeans pocket. There was no time to stop and pull it out now. Matthew charged along behind him, but Mark didn't dare turn around.

Something punched him hard in the middle of his back. It felt like he'd been kicked by a mule. Suddenly, it hurt to breathe. Behind him, he heard Matthew grunt, as if straining from some task. The pain in his midsection grew worse. Mark glanced down and saw something protruding from his chest,

just beneath the fabric of his T-shirt. He tasted blood in his mouth.

Matthew pushed the spear the rest of the way through, then yanked it back out and impaled the cameraman again. Mark gritted his teeth against the pain and tried to turn around to confront his attacker. He couldn't. He felt weak, and his legs and head didn't want to work. He opened his mouth to scream, but all that came out was a sigh. Blood dribbled down his chin. He felt pressure on his back a third time, but now there was no pain. Struggling, he managed to raise his head enough to see the sky peeking through the treetops. The deep blue had given way to foreboding gray.

Got to get back to the ship,
he thought,
before the storm comes. It's gonna be bad.

Mark reached for his camera, intent on getting a shot of the incoming storm. When he couldn't feel it nearby, he wondered where it was.

Then he knew no more.

Chapter Six

Pauline stretched, thrusting her ample breasts forward. Her nipples stuck out. The breeze ruffled her hair. She preened and pouted, alternately displaying her rump and bosom, and complaining that her back hurt and her arms were tired. Jeff and Raul doted on her, administering back rubs and offering to carry her share of the firewood. Their fellow contestants weren't as sympathetic. Jerry and Becka stuck with the threesome for a while, making small talk and feigning polite interest, but slowly they lagged behind, eventually separating from the other three.

"Oh," Becka whined when they were out of earshot, pretending to faint, "my poor little arms and legs hurt. Jerry, will you carry me back to camp?"

Chuckling, he shook his head. "Unbelievable, huh?"

"It makes me sick, how the rest of the guys buy into her act. Well, except Ryan, of course."

"And Troy. And Matthew."

Becka frowned. "Troy's smarter than he looks. Matthew really creeps me out, though."

"Yeah," Jerry agreed. "I think he's asexual or something. That's probably why Pauline can't play him."

"And what about you?"

"What do you mean? I'm not asexual."

"No," Becka laughed. "I mean, why don't Pauline's charms work on you?"

"That's easy. It's because I'm here to win. I'm not here to get famous or spin my appearance into an acting gig, or to hook up with people or make new friends. I'm on this show because I want to win a million dollars. Is she good-looking? Sure. I'm not gonna pretend she isn't. But I keep my eyes off her and on the prize instead. I'm here for the money. Aren't you?"

"I don't know. I guess so. At first, anyway. I thought it would be fun."

"Having second thoughts?"

"Maybe. I don't know. I think I'm just homesick."

"You said you brought a diary as your luxury item. Does it help?"

"Not really. I've been so tired since we got here, I haven't really kept up with it. There's only three entries so far."

"Well, you'll be around for a while yet, at least. I'm sure you'll have time to write more."

Becka smiled. "I hope so. As long as I outlast Pauline, that's all that matters to me at this point."

"You will. Just don't count on beating me."

She slapped at him playfully, and he caught her hand in his. Becka felt a tingle course through her body. Jerry's hands were firm and strong, yet his skin was smooth and soft, just like his eyes.

They stayed like that for a moment without speaking, just holding hands and staring into each other's eyes. Then Jerry broke contact and glanced away. He cleared his throat and shuffled his feet.

"It's sort of weird, not having the cameras following us around for once."

"Yeah," Jerry agreed. "It is. When we first got here, I had a hard time getting used to them. Now that they're gone, it's even stranger. I keep wanting to play to the camera, but it's not there."

"Good. I could use a break."

"Yeah, me too."

"So, what would you do with the money if you won? If you don't mind me asking? Not that I'm being nosy or anything."

"No, not at all. You'll probably think it's stupid, though. I mean, it's nothing grand or noble. I don't want to give it all to charity or help my sick mother or anything like that."

"Try me."

"Okay. Well, I work in a video store, right? Nothing glamorous and it doesn't seem to impress women, but I like it. But video stores are a thing of the past—a real dying breed. They've got to compete with movies online, Netflix and big discount stores marking DVDs down so low that it's cheaper to buy them than rent them. So I've been thinking about alternatives lately. The writing's on the wall. Sooner or later, I'll be out of a job."

"So what are you thinking about?"

"What I always wanted to do was open my own comic-book store." He paused, and wagged his finger at her. "I know what you're thinking right now

just by the expression on your face. It's the same thing everybody thinks. You mention a comic-book store and they immediately think of some small dive in a strip mall with a bunch of smelly geeks playing
Warhammer
and the fat guy from
The Simpsons
sneering behind the counter. Am I right?"

"Pretty much," Becka admitted. "My brother was into comics and gaming, and the few times I went to the store with him, those were my impressions."

"But they're not all like that. The stereotype is a misconception. What I want to do is make a chain of comic-book stores for the next generation."

"Like a boutique?"

"Close." Jerry winked. "I'm thinking more along the lines of a cafe. Put them near college campuses and places like that. Rather than focusing on single-issue comics and boxes of back issues, I'd stock graphic novels, coffee, and pastries. Play good music in the background and offer free Wi-Fi. People can sit around my comic shop just like they would a Starbucks or Borders. It would be clean, well lit, comfortable, and free of all those stereotypes that keep people like you out of the store."

Becka pursed her lips. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but that's not bad. That's not a bad idea at all."

"I know. Thanks. And that's what I intend to do with the money when I win."

"You mean
if you
win."

"Listen to you, all cocky now."

"So is that what you're into? Comics and stuff?"

"Well, I'm not rabid about them, but yeah, I dig reading them sometimes."

Becka wondered if he was downplaying his

enjoyment of comics just to make some sort of impression on her. Not that she would have cared anyway, but it seemed to her that if Jerry was interested in opening a comic book shop, he'd have more than just a passing interest in them. She kept this to herself, however, so as not to embarrass him.

"Do you have any other hobbies?" Jerry hesitated. "Promise you won't make fun of me?"

Becka nodded.

"I'm an amateur cryptozoologist." "A what?"

"Cryptozoology. It's the study of unknown animals and creatures. Every year, they find new birds and fish and animals we didn't know about before— or thought were extinct. Like the coelacanth. It's a fish that was supposed to have died out with the dinosaurs, but they found them living off the coast of Africa. And a few years ago, some French scientists discovered a species of shrimp that was supposed to have been extinct for like sixty million years. They found it in this part of the world, believe it or not."

"A prehistoric shrimp?"

"I know. Sounds stupid."

"No, it doesn't," Becka said. "It's kind of cool. Did you go to college for this?"

"No." Jerry glanced at the ground. "But I wanted to be Loren Coleman when I grew up. Hell, I still do."

"Who's Loren Coleman?"

"He's like the godfather of this type of research— a very great man. Him and Ivan T. Sanderson and Charles Fort. Heroes of mine."

"So why didn't you go to college for it?"

"It's not really an accepted science. But I've read a lot of books and do a lot of research online."

"Have you ever found anything?"

"Not yet. Tramped around in the woods of Oregon for two weeks, looking for hominids, but all I caught was a cold."

"Hominids?" Becka giggled. "You mean Bigfoot? Or is it Bigfeet, if we're talking plural?"

Jerry's ears turned red. "Laugh if you want, but it's perfectly reasonable to think that there might be an as-yet-unidentified species of ape wandering the remote regions of North America. It's not like they're aliens or something."

Becka touched his arm. "I'm sorry. I'm not making fun of you. Honest."

"You must think I'm a real geek. Comic books and Sasquatch hunting. Jesus ..."

"Not at all. I think it's cool. Certainly different from the guys back home. All they care about is NASCAR and football and deer hunting. You're unique. And you know what you want to do with your life. You're not studying to be a doctor or a lawyer or something just because that's what your parents wanted you to do. I like that."

Jerry met her eyes. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Grinning, he bent over and picked up a length of deadwood. Then he stuck out his arms.

"Come on, give me a hand. I'll carry. You load me up."

Becka began gathering dry branches and limbs and stacked them in Jerry's outstretched arms. Above them, the leaves rustled in the wind.

"The wind's getting stronger," Jerry observed. "Look at those trees bend."

"The bugs aren't as bad either. Have you noticed? I haven't swatted at a mosquito in ten or fifteen minutes. That's what happens back home, right before a thunderstorm."

They heard a distant drone of the helicopter. It grew louder as it approached their location, and then they glimpsed it soaring overhead, flying the last of the crew back to the freighter to wait out the storm.

"Well," Jerry said. "That's it. We're stuck here now."

"Do you really think it's going to be bad?"

"I don't know. I mean, legally, I guess there's a precedent for leaving us here. Like Stuart said, we signed a contract. And I guarantee you, the drama will be good for ratings. But if it were really bad, I think the network would be more responsible and evacuate us along with everybody else. Plus, Stuart and those other guys didn't seem too worried. They were going about the interviews and stuff like it was just another day."

Becka didn't respond. Frowning, she picked up more firewood and added it to Jerry's bundle.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Sure. Why?"

"Because you're biting your lip."

"I'm sorry. I've done that since I was a little girl. Every time I get scared."

"You don't have to be scared. Seriously. I'll take care of you."

"I just..." Sighing, Becka sat down on a rock. "I don't know what I'm doing here. I mean, why did I think I could do this? I can't. I'm lonely and scared and so frigging tired. God, listen to me. Now I sound like Pauline."

Jerry dropped the firewood and sat down next to her. He placed a tentative arm around her shoulder. Becka stiffened, but then relaxed. When she didn't protest, he squeezed gently.

"You want the truth?"

Wiping her eyes, Becka nodded.

"I'm tired, too. I've done okay in the challenges so far, but it's tough, keeping up with Stefan, Jeff, Raul, and Ryan. Those guys are pretty fit. Between the bugs and the jungle sounds and the heat, I sleep like shit in that shelter. Not to mention Troy's snoring."

He tilted his head back and imitated the foul-mouthed mechanic's nocturnal noises—a cross between a snuffling pig and a lawn mower. Becka giggled, then laughed. Jerry dropped his arm, but she didn't move away.

"That's exactly how he sounds," she said. "I tried rolling up leaves and sticking them in my ears so I wouldn't hear him, but they kept falling out."

"He wakes me up at least four or five times a night," Jerry agreed. "By the time the sun comes up, I'm beat. And our lack of food is contributing to it, as well. That's why I did so bad in the challenge this

morning. But I'll be damned if I'm going to quit. I meant what I said earlier."

"I wish I had your strength," Becka said. "Your resolve."