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Authors: Ronan Cray

BOOK: Red Sand
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“Max, you look terrible. Let me get you some water.” She stood to leave.

“I went after the children.”

She turned back to hear him.

“The children. I would get them into the chair, alone. I asked the parents to wait outside. When I had their mouths propped open, and they couldn’t talk, I told them they needed braces now,
today
. I told them, if they didn’t get braces, all their teeth would fall out. Horribly disfigured, they wouldn’t have any friends. They’d wear dentures and leave them in cups like grandmothers.

“Then I let them go. They pestered their mothers with fears. They blew it out of proportion. Kids… they have a persistence no parent can withstand. When the inevitable frantic call came, I would tell the mother, ‘Yes, I just took a look at the x-rays, and Junior’s teeth are in bad shape. If we don’t act right away, these teeth will erupt in freakish proportions.’ Vanity always appealed to my clientele. Most of the mothers already had plastic surgery themselves.

“That could have been enough, but I got greedy. I drew them in. ‘Your child needs braces right away,’ I told them ‘but I’m afraid I can’t help. I’m leaving tomorrow for vacation, and I won’t be around. But I can refer you to another dentist.’ It was a small town. The only other dentist got his degree from the Bahamas. He didn’t use Invisalign. I told the mothers what kind of results they could expect from him.

“’No!’ they begged. ‘Please, I’ll bring my child in today.’ ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said, ‘But I’m booked up today, and I already have my flight reserved in the morning.’ ‘Please, we’ll pay you double. We’ll make it worth your while. Delay the trip for one more day! Please!’

“I didn’t take a vacation for four years. I made a fortune… until…” He wheezed. It seemed to go on forever. “Some of my patients banded together to sue me. What could I do? I ran. We have a house in Paris anyway. We were going to… we…”

His voice broke. His eyes went tight, crow’s feet on the edge, lips pushed up in a grimace. He had no more moisture for tears. “I lost everything. My wife, my daughter, my life. I’m not going to make it.”

“Of course you are.” She felt awkward. She didn’t know this man, wasn’t a priest. She didn’t want to hear his story. She didn’t want to think someone who cheated the system deserved a bad end.  “You’ll be fine.” Lauren gritted her teeth and patted his hand. “We’ll get you through this. You just hold tight.”

A terrible raucous erupted outside. Paul must have been hitting every hut with an iron bar. She heard him shouting for everyone to wake up. It was time to start the day. “I have to go now. Paul will take good care of you, Max.”

He gripped her. He had a surprisingly strong grip for a sick man. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me alone. I don’t want to be alone when I die.”

She slipped free. “You won’t die, Max. I’ll come talk to you when I get back tonight. You hang tight.”

She stepped into the bright sunlight. His dry, chapped hands reminded her of her boyfriend. She felt sorry for Max. He didn’t deserve to die for what he’d done.

She had to believe that.

She resolved to see him that night, but she would see him sooner.

 

After a breakfast of hard, dried, salted fish and a cold potato, Paul separated the survivors into four groups and assigned work details. They were given small meals of fish to take with them throughout the day. Mason, Emily, Carter, and Lauren were allowed to stick together. “Today you’ll be working in our agriculture sheds,” Paul explained. “But first, we need to make the delivery. Carter, what did you do back in the real world?”

Carter didn’t like being on the spot. “Steward on the late ship Princess Anne.”

“Great! You’re used to carrying things. You’re hired. Now I need a volunteer to be your partner. Lauren, I saw you raise your hand.”

“I didn’t…”

“I need the two of you,” he pointed at Lauren and Carter, “to grab each side of that bucket and bring it with us.” He indicated the pot below the latrine.

“You’re kidding.” Carter couldn’t hide his disdain.

Paul was nonplussed. “I can’t stress to you how valuable this position is. And, you might be glad to learn that it’s also the cushiest. Others of us on the island have waited years for this duty, but Tuk insists that residents of Departure Camp take it.”

No one moved toward the bucket.

“Someone has to do it,” Paul shrugged. “Today is your turn.”

Lauren took action first, and Carter followed. There was no lid. A shallow moat of black liquid puddled around a mountain of waste. Much of the pile dried in the sun, but enough of it remained fresh. Lauren’s body sent back a sample of what she ate for breakfast.

Paul looked in the pot. “Seems some of you didn’t follow directions. Liquids in the bucket, solids
only
in the pot. Get it right next time.”

Carter and Lauren lifted it very slowly to avoid spills.  She gripped the handle as hard as she could. Paul followed close behind them, his hand on the small bag at his waist.

They hadn’t gone ten yards from camp when Lauren stumbled. A blob of black slop broke free from the top of the pile and fell in the moat, splashing a few drops of greenish liquid up over the rim and onto the sand. Quick as lighting, Paul pulled a red dust out of the bag and sprinkled it over the wet sand. His eyes were wide, his chest heaving. “Do
not
do that again.” They didn’t.

Emily and Mason were careful to walk upwind. They followed the trail back toward the Great Wall. Paul talked the whole way. “Tuk says, ‘Departure Camp people put their heart and souls into our gardening.’ You’ll probably put in a few ounces of blood, sweat, and tears, too, but at least you get to eat the fruit of your labor.”

“He’s full of clichés today,” Carter grumbled.

“He forgot one,” Lauren giggled. Carter looked at her, waiting. “Don’t let go or you’ll be in deep shit.”

He smiled.

They reached the portal in the Wall. Just as before, two guards stood before it with spears. One of them stepped forward and lowered the spear.

"Who goes there?!"

Paul rolled his eyes. "C'mon Cliff. That got old five years ago.”

Paul turned to the group. “Everyone, this is Cliff and Chuck. They are the Great Guardians of the Gate, in their minds. I like to call them C&C Music Factory. You can, too.”

“We’ve got a job to do.”

“Cliff, right now you're either drunk on power or pruno. Probably both.”

“I don't have to let anyone in.”

“You're tilting at vines, my friend. Don't make me tell Ados you were responsible for holding up his work detail.”

Cliff put the spear up and backed off. They opened the heavy wooden doors of the gate.
 

Paul waved them forward. “This is as far as I go,” he said as they neared the gate. “You’ll walk straight ahead until you get to the greenhouses. You can’t miss them.”

“You’re not coming with us?” Mason asked.

Paul glanced at the two men guarding the portal. “No, I’m posted at Departure Camp. You’ll be working with Ados, our gardener. He’ll explain everything to you. Have fun.”  With that, he turned on his heel and left them.

Once everyone passed through the gate, Cliff and Chuck closed the doors.

Carter made a strange noise.

“What is it?”

“When we got to the Wall, they were standing on the outside. Now that we’ve passed through, they’re posted on the inside.”

“So?

“What are they guarding against? It looks as if they were meant to keep us in.”

Lauren looked back. He was right. They stood in the portal, watching the group go.

 

A series of low structures squatted on the lava plain. Wooden strips supported layers of mismatched plastic sheeting, translucent fiberglass, a wall of glass bottles, and more than a few patches open to the sky. It looked like a quilt of condom latex. Stepping out of this monstrosity was a curious man with steel rimmed glasses. He stood straight and tall, to a height of six foot seven inches. He had a book in one hand and some kind of mechanical device in the other.

“Ados,” the man said, by way of introduction. He did not shake hands. He stood inspecting them for a moment before saying a word. Like Paul, he seemed to be sizing them up. At last, he spoke, “Come. Let me show you the center of our world.”

Lauren thought she detected an accent. Portuguese? She followed him in, pushing back a canvas flap. The distinct tang of manure swept over her first. She wanted to gag.

“You may pour the contents of your honey pot here. The sun will evaporate the liquids, similar to our salt ponds, and the solids will later go in this pile. This is our compost room. These bins store everything from human excrement to fish remains to whatever organic waste washes up on the beach. We stir them for up to a year, while the juices are drained out. If the smell makes you vomit, please do so in the bin. It would be a shame to waste anything. Yes?”

Emily had her hand up. “My kids had to do some composting in the back yard for a school project. They said you’re not supposed to compost meat.”

Ados stared as if a small animal had inexplicably learned the art of speech. “All matter decays, given enough time. I believe you are referring to the fear that meat will attract predators to household compost bins. We have no large predators on this island. You may pour your bucket now.”

Lauren and Carter dumped the slop, set the pot down, and stood with their hands out as if looking for a place to wash them. Ados offered nothing but moved to the next room.

“This is our mycofarming room.” Tiny white button mushrooms pushed out of dark earth. “The mushrooms are native to the island. We found them when we first arrived. I had to determine if they were edible by eating one myself. They are.”

He waved them to the next room. Green leaves filled the air with a pungent, living odor. It smelled wonderful. Tomatoes, cucumbers, squash, and peppers grew in various containers up and down the walls. “This is the bulk of our food supply, when we are not eating salted fish. There are potatoes, too. These provide the minimum of nutrients we need to survive. The peppers provide Vitamin C to prevent scurvy. We get Vitamin A from carrots. Vitamin B from fish…” his voice droned on with very little intonation. “You get the idea.”

“The water, of course, is evaporated off the salt pans as you saw yesterday. It is then brought in buckets and sprayed onto the roots.

Lauren interrupted him, “Where did you get all these vegetables. They’re not native, are they?”

He stared at her for a moment. “No. We collected them from the debris of various ships. You may notice that these are the vegetables that float. Their seeds were carefully extracted and cultivated. It took years to assemble this variety.”

“Why don’t you just grow them on the island? Why grow them in greenhouses?”

“The island is not hospitable to agriculture.” He spoke simply, but this simplicity lent something sinister.

Their day
was
like a day on the farm. They shoveled out compost and spread it along the beds. They plucked ripe vegetables and prepared them for dinner. They opened and closed roof panels to keep the plants from overheating. It felt like a collective. Unfortunately, this uncomplicated work gave them all day to think, to replay the days before, to wonder about the days ahead, to fear the ominous specter of death which hovered nearby. At first they made small-talk with each other, but by mid-morning that petered out into silent introspection.

Carter approached Lauren in the afternoon under the pretense of watering the vegetables beside hers. Carter whispered to her, “I’ve been watching you. You always have a smile and something nice to say to everyone.”

She smiled at him. She was glad for the company.

“I’m not like that at all,” he said.

Lauren blushed. “I’m not as innocent as you think. I have my own secrets.”

“Really?” His eyes held hers as he looked for the way in. “Were you with someone on the cruise?”

“No. I came alone.”

“Is there a Mr. Lauren waiting back home for you?”

“I had a boyfriend, but…” She could feel him close to her. “That feels like a long time ago.” She grinned. He didn’t smile back, but the back of his hand brushed hers before he moved on his way.

Their lunch was small - bits of rock-hard, salty fish atop raw vegetables. After lunch, someone came to speak with Ados. He disappeared for over an hour. Work continued on without him. They had nowhere else to be.

Stooping and bending to pluck and clean made Lauren’s back sore. The greenhouse was incredibly hot, even with the windows open. As the afternoon wore on, Lauren found herself hungry again. She drank water, which was plentiful in the greenhouse, but it didn’t ease the hunger. By late afternoon, food was all she thought about.

Ados returned. Half an hour later, the door opened, and someone carried in a basket of dark meat, already starting to dry and rot. He dumped it on the compost heap and walked out.

Lauren marveled at all the wasted food. Her stomach rumbled.  “What’s all that meat?”

Ados did not interrupt his work to look at her as he responded, “Your friend, Max.”

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