Red Sand (9 page)

By mid-day, they completed the fishing. Emily spent the rest of the day gutting and scaling the fish and packing them into salt. By now, she felt she knew each fish personally.

Emily sat on a chunk of styrofoam scraping scales with a piece of black obsidian. The first few times she nearly cut the fish in half, and her hand with it, the obsidian was so sharp. Marvin showed her how to shave the scales. “Just like shaving your legs,” he said, eying her with an uncomfortable amount of relish. She hadn’t stood in front of a mirror for days, but she knew the reflection wouldn’t be attractive.

Pearly white scales dotted her arms up to the elbows. A pile of offal steadily grew in front of her. She threw the denuded carcasses into a bin of red salt to preserve them. Their eyes bulged and stared back at her. The salt, red instead of white, looked like the fish had bled out in it.

Tiny insects and thick black flies swarmed her, biting her arms. The seawater had long since dried. Salt caked on her burning skin. She felt like a scratching post.

She reached a mechanical rhythm by mid-afternoon. She almost didn’t need to look at the fish. She spent that time lost in thought, wondering what happened to Lauren, wondering what RIN DWA meant, and wondering what would happen to her.

A shadow cut across the sand. She jumped around.

“You startled me.”

A small, dark man stood behind her. He didn’t wear a shirt. The skin of his chest had grown tight and tanned from exposure, a stark contrast to his white hair. His body was nothing but function, lean, wiry, and quick. He looked like he could survive alone. “Sorry, you finished yet?”

“I have one bucket done. You can take it.” She handed him a bin with two dozen fish in it. “What will you do with it now?”

“I take the fish out and hang them on the drying racks for three weeks. You’re new, aren’t you?”

“Yes, just got in two nights ago.”

“I’m Sammy.” He didn’t offer his hand.

“I’m Emily. How long have you been here?”

Sammy didn’t answer. Instead, he said, “Have any of your party disappeared?”

Emily couldn’t hide her shock. She’d been thinking about Lauren all day. “How did you know about that?”

“Listen, Emily. It’s a dangerous island. People go missing and they don’t get found. Just take a piece of advice – don’t look for them.”

“What?”

“People who look for the disappeared soon disappear themselves. We’re not the only things on this island that want to survive.” He picked up the bin and started to walk away.

“Wait,” Emily started after him. “Wait, you can’t tell me that and walk away. What are you talking about? What kinds of ‘things’?”

“Let me put it this way, have you wondered why the Wall is made of salt? Have you wondered why we only fish and work and live on the lava flows?”

She stared at him, blank faced. “We live on the sand,” she added blankly. She wondered, but she didn’t have the answers. He started to walk away but turned to her again.

“One more thing. Did you notice how Tuk served you ribs the first night?”

“Those ribs! So good! I can’t wait till they serve it again.”

“I wouldn’t be so eager. In fact, I’d be asking myself where they come from. There are no large animals on the island. The only animals we catch are fish.”

“Big…fish?” she guessed, but he was already walking away.

Alone again on the lava slope, scraping the scales off fish with a sharp rock, her mind went in a loop. The boat, Howie, Lauren,
rin dwa
, the dead body, the fish, the ribs. She turned them all over and then started again.

She couldn’t get that body out of her mind. Abstractly, she knew people had died in the sinking, but she hadn’t actually seen any of them. She’d only seen survivors, been a survivor. Now it was beginning to hit her. Max’s wife and daughter didn’t make it. That woman in red, Bailey, she wasn’t here either. Out of everyone at her table that last night on board, she was the only one left alive.

Her mind replayed her days on the voyage like an old movie, tinted red. Everyone she’d met was dead. All of the people who had greeted her when she boarded, all smiles and leys, were dead. The comedian she’d seen the first night, and all the audience members who clapped for him were dead.

Her stone scraped black scales on her hands.

The woman who cleaned her cabin in the morning, tying the towels into cute animals, she was dead. The elderly couple who made small talk with her over breakfast, dead. The waiter who brought that breakfast, dead.

She thought of them now as ghosts, creatures that lived only in her memory. Out of kindness, she tried desperately to remember them all. The boy who’d brought her a towel at the pool would never spend her tip. The poolside woman worried prematurely that her kids would drown. The massage therapist with magic hands would never knead again.

The stone scraped faster, sliced deeper. Scrape, scrape.

The weight of that destruction pushed down on her. All the laughter she’d heard, the chatter of conversations, the people she’d brushed against in the hall, even the footsteps she heard outside when she was alone in her room, all silenced by the ocean.

She pushed harder on the stone and looked down. She’d decapitated the fish and held the head in one hand. 

She threw up. Then she threw up again.

Emily was exhausted when she returned to her hut. Dinner wouldn’t come for another half hour. The others trickled in. Carter. Mason. Amy. Still no Lauren.

“Have any of you seen Lauren?”

“No, why? Is she missing?” Mason asked kindly.

“She wasn’t in her room this morning, and I didn’t see her all day.”

Carter joined in. “Yeah, you wouldn’t have seen her. They had her working in the greenhouse. You’ll probably see her at dinner.”

Carter gave her the chills. She didn’t believe him. Lauren wasn’t supposed to be rotated back to the greenhouse again. Even if she had, she would have come back with everyone else.

She closed her eyes but only saw bodies floating in the bay. She was stuck on an island surrounded by the dead.

And she was out of hand sanitizer. She felt her sanity slipping away. How could she spend another night here?

To avoid talking to Carter, she ducked into Lauren’s hut. Maybe she could forget for a moment if she focused on the riddle. She fingered the black lettering on the wall.

Rin Dwa
.

She thought that sounded Vietnamese. Or Thai maybe. The wall was fiberglass. It looked like it had been part of a hull, perhaps part of a lifeboat. If it was part of a lifeboat, then this must be the name of the ship it came from.

Lifeboats were built for sixty or seventy people. She wondered where they all were now. They were probably back home in Thailand or somewhere, happily telling their story to friends and loved ones over a barbecue like some great adventure. It made her sick.

A rising panic filled her. She had the distinct premonition that she wouldn’t make it off this island. She would never be rescued. She was going to die here. Her body would be thrown in the agriculture shed for fertilizer.

Rin Dwa
.

The answer came to her in a flash. She’d solved it. This wasn’t some Thai steamer. It was a life raft from a cruise ship like hers.

A cruise ship named
P
rin
ce E
dwa
rd
.

The door smashed open behind her. She screamed and leapt backward. “Paul!”

“You’re in here again? I didn’t mean to startle you. Tuk invited us for dinner at the Manor House. We’re leaving now.”

“Oh. Sure. I’ll be right out.” She wondered what large fish was on the menu tonight.

None, it turned out. Tuk invited the survivors back to his dinner table to discuss how they were faring. No cornucopia of vegetables and meat tonight. Only dry, gnarled fish on a common plate and a few spoonfuls of boiled squash accompanied his speech.

Tuk entered into another one of his monologues. He seemed to enjoy talking while others ate.

“These dinners are rare. I brought you all here tonight for two reasons.

“First, I want to thank you. Thank you for working so hard over the past two days. You have all been cooperative and strong. Your efforts are appreciated. The fruit of your labors lie in the feast now before you.”

He held his hands out as if inspecting them, rubbing one with the other. “Everyone, please, look at your hands. Go ahead, hold out your hands and look at them.”

Emily did so. Her hands were chapped, red, and sore. The press-on nails had long since fallen off. Her natural nails had chipped so badly she’d had to chew them down to remain even. She could barely look at her cuticles. Salt and fish blood still clung to the underside of every crescent.

“Those are the hands that brought this food to the table. Those are the hands that brought life to the vegetables, picked them, prepared them, and now eat them. Those are the hands that caught the fish, salted them, and now bring them to your mouth. Those are the hands that scraped our salterns to salt those fish, that pumped the seawater into the evaporation ponds for the water those hands bring to your lips. Have those hands ever been so connected to you? Have they ever been so instrumental in keeping you alive?”

It had been years since she’d been without manicured nails. Her hands rarely did anything but type and preen. Now, as filthy and cracked as they might be, she found herself proud of them.

“The food you are about to eat is yours. It belongs to you in a way nothing else ever has. Be proud of it. This may be the first honest meal you’ve eaten in your entire lives. And, from the weight of some of you, that’s saying something.”

Some of the more portly survivors found themselves elbowed, but they laughed just the same. Tuk’s words had a magical effect on them. They had entered the room exhausted, dissatisfied, grumpy even. Now they held a sense of accomplishment.

“As we eat this evening, remember that you did this. You are keeping yourself alive. It didn’t take an employer. It didn’t take a government. It didn’t take rules and laws and statutes and regulations. You didn’t need a permit.

“Your actions were direct and clear. Pluck the plant. Catch the fish. The results of your actions are visible, measurable. You don’t need a resume to show you what you’ve done. You don’t need to turn on a computer to see your work. You can hold success in the palm of those hands.

“On this island, two hands are all you’ll ever need to live.”

Emily started to feel good.

“Which brings me to my second point. You are alive. Many of those who came with you are not.

The mood in the room dropped like a stone.

“Yes. I know you haven’t mentioned it, but you’ve noticed there are far fewer here than when we first met.”

He met Emily’s eyes directly. She broke away from his gaze to count the survivors. There were eighteen in the boats. Howie disappeared from their boat crew, then Max, then Lauren. That left fifteen. She counted only twelve.

Tuk waited, almost reverently, as everyone did the math.

“This island is unforgiving. When Darwin first quoted Herbert Spencer’s phrase ‘Survival of the fittest’, he was not referring to the strongest physical specimens. He meant those creatures who adapted best to their local environment. Those of you who remain have begun your adaptation. I won’t lie to you – more of you will go missing. For some, accustomed to the comforts of the outside world, adaptation is not possible. With this feast, I want to impress upon you the will to live. It is possible. We’ve lived here for years.

“Failure is calamitous. My first point proves, however, that you are very much in control. Unlike animals, humans have the ability to adapt at will. Unfortunately, very few have the will to adapt.”

“You may think about that as you eat.”

Emily’s sense of accomplishment ebbed. She had managed to live for just three days. Lauren was far smarter and physically fit, yet she already disappeared.
How much chance do I have?

Mason was not satisfied. “Are you saying that six people are dead?”

“Dead? Other than poor Max, I can’t say. You and your boat crews would have a better idea than I would. We don’t keep track. Disappeared may be a better definition. But… this is a very small island. The only food available lies in our storage shed and on the table in front of you. Those absent will not live long unless they return.”

“How can you sit calmly and tell us that?”

“We’ve grown comfortable with the presence of Death, Mason.” He knew his name. He probably knew all of their names by now, though they’d never been introduced. “It’s okay, Emily. You don’t need to raise your hand to speak.”

Emily put her hand down. “How did they die?”

“I’m sorry to say there are a thousand ways to die here. If it’s any consolation, there are probably more ways to die in a modern city. Don’t worry. You already have the skills to survive. The evidence is in front of you.”

Emily didn’t find the presence of hard, salty fish reassuring. She’d take a Big Mac any day.