The Last Resort

by Susi Holliday

  ‘Keep calm?’ Lucy is fizzing with rage now – Amelia’s stoic attitude has lit her fuse. How is anyone supposed to be calm when they’ve just found out that two of their party are dead? She balls her hands into fists. ‘You, Amelia. This all seems a bit too easy for you. Remind us again why we haven’t been privy to your big secret?’

  ‘Something to do with my tracker . . . you already know this.’ Her eyes flick away. ‘There’s no big conspiracy.’

  Lucy pokes her in the chest and Amelia takes a step back. ‘No big conspiracy? Why would you even say that? Are you in on this? Is this all your doing?’

  Amelia locks her arms over her chest to shield herself from another jab. ‘No. Of course not. Why are you saying that?’

  ‘She does know something,’ Tiggy sniffs, nodding towards James. ‘I heard him asking her.’

  Scott stops pacing. ‘Asking her what?’

  Now all of them are staring at Amelia.

  ‘About her friend,’ Tiggy says. ‘Something to do with her friend.’

  Amelia shakes her head, inching further away. ‘No.’ Her lower back hits the table and she stops.

  Lucy advances on her. ‘What friend, Amelia? Who is your friend? What’s your friend done to Brenda and Giles?’

  ‘No.’ Amelia tries to take a step away from the table, but Lucy shoves her back. ‘This has nothing to do with me.’

  Lucy laughs. ‘Nice try. Not buying it.’ She shoves her again. ‘Oh, you don’t like the shoving? You seem to have no trouble shoving us when it suits you.’

  Scott is beside her now, and he gives her a little shove too. ‘Care to enlighten us, Amelia? Because I’d sure as hell like to know what in God’s name is going on here. Right now, I would like to get on that plane, fly back to where we came from, then get home to my goddamn normal life.’ He shoves her again, bouncing her against the table. ‘But it seems like you’re stopping that from happening.’

  Though Lucy had been doing it herself, seeing Scott pushing Amelia snaps her awake. When did they become a pack of animals? She puts a hand on Scott’s shoulder, gently tugging him back.

  Silent tears are sliding down Amelia’s cheeks. ‘Please,’ she begs.

  ‘Leave her alone.’ James has stepped to Amelia’s side and put an arm around her. He’s pulling her away from them. ‘None of this is her fault. I promise you that. If you want someone to blame, I—’

  The familiar beep sounds, signalling that something is going to be projected. They all turn around in the direction of the sound. They’re not bothering to broadcast it through their trackers anymore. This house is clearly full of potential projection points. The image de-pixelates quickly, and a man’s grinning face fills the space. ‘Oh, but it really is Amelia’s fault,’ he says in a deep, accentless voice.

  ‘Who are you?’ Lucy demands. ‘I assume this is live now. You can see us. You can hear us.’

  The man chuckles, then the image pixelates again. When it comes back into focus, it’s a different man – the first one had dark hair and glasses, but he’s blond this time, no glasses. ‘I’ve been watching and listening to you all day, my dear. My goodness, you are tedious.’

  ‘Who the hell are you?’ Scott walks closer to the image. ‘Oh, hang on . . . I get it. There’s no mysterious “host”, is there? It’s a conglomeration. Of course no one person could be responsible for all the things you’ve claimed. Am I right?’

  The image scrambles and unscrambles again, and this time it’s a young woman. Her hair is in a neat ponytail and she’s grinning with huge, too-white teeth. She laughs. ‘Nearly, Scott. You’re not as dumb as you look.’ Higher pitched, but the same accentless voice.

  The image flickers, and then another face appears. A younger man, bald, with thick-framed glasses. ‘I’m going to stick with this one for the rest of the presentation,’ he says. ‘I don’t want to confuse you all any further.’ He grins, and his teeth glow bright – same teeth as the girl, Lucy realises. She looks closely at his eyes. Yes. Those too.

  ‘You’re just superimposing faces,’ she says, trying to sound unimpressed when actually she is.

  ‘Oh, just superimposing faces? Come on, now. Credit where credit’s due: this is some impressively deep faking.’ The teeth glow. ‘I ought to know,’ he says. ‘I pioneered the technology.’

  ‘Oh, whatever,’ Lucy says. ‘I’m getting bored now. Get to the point and then we can all go home.’

  The man on-screen laughs. The sound of his laughter is still going when his face vanishes. Then a new visual appears in front of them.

  It’s someone leaning over a toilet, emptying things from his pockets into the bowl, yanking on the flush over and over, but the tank isn’t refilling as quickly as he needs it to. There’s a banging on the cubicle door.

  ‘Come out of there please, sir. We need to have a word.’

  Whoever it is swears under his breath. More emptying. More flushing – the water pours in this time, and whatever it is swirls away. ‘One minute . . . please. I’ve got a bad stomach. Something I ate, I think.’ His voice is ragged, frantic. He tosses in some paper, tries to flush again. Nothing.

  ‘Sir, we’re going to have to insist that you come out of there now, or we may have to use force. The club is being evacuated. There are health and safety concerns.’

  ‘One minute, please.’ The man turns from the toilet to the mirror over the sink. It’s Scott, looking a little younger but completely wasted.

  Lucy looks over at him now. His expression is stony.

  ‘It’s OK,’ she says, her voice soothing. ‘We’ve all had to face it.’

  He gives her a small smile, then turns his eyes back to the screen. She does the same, just in time to see Scott being escorted from the bathroom of what looks like a nightclub – he’s flanked by two police officers. The walls are bright pink, the strobe lights flickering. They walk into the body of the club, which is mainly deserted. The music is still playing, some thump thump dance music, while paramedics in yellow jackets help people outside.

  ‘This bit looks like it’s coming from CCTV,’ Lucy says. ‘It’s not a memory feed, like the rest of it.’

  Scott shrugs. ‘Yeah. I guess it was pretty simple to get hold of this footage. Maybe this is how they picked me for this “adventure” in the first place.’

  ‘There’s sound, though,’ Amelia says. ‘I didn’t think CCTV had sound.’

  ‘They had it on my canal CCTV too,’ James says. ‘I’m guessing this is some kind of enhancement to the normal set-up.’

  Lucy turns back to the screen. Two paramedics appear from somewhere near the stage, carrying a stretcher. A young woman is lying on it, hooked up to an IV bag. Her arms twitch spasmodically. As Scott on-screen watches, her head falls to the side and her eyes seem to bore into him. But they are deep pools of blankness. Wherever she is, she is not currently in there.

  ‘Is she going to be OK?’ Scott asks one of the paramedics.

  The woman shrugs. ‘We don’t know yet. Be helpful to know what she’s taken. This is the fourth one we’ve stretchered out. There are several others still upright but mainly incoherent. Are you OK, sir? Do you need assistance?’ Her eyes flit from Scott to the two police officers.

  ‘We’ve got him,’ the officer on the left says. A young woman, probably not much older than the one on the stretcher.

  Scott on-screen looks like a rabbit trapped in the headlights. While Scott at the dinner party is no longer watching the events unfold.

  The screen pixelates, then goes dark.

  ‘Scott . . .’ Lucy starts, but he waves a hand, dismissing her.

  The screen glows white again and the bald man reappears. His face is solemn. ‘That girl on the stretcher died, you know. As did three others. They never did find out what concoction of drugs they’d taken. Toxicology came back inconclusive. It got put down to a bad batch, misadventure. No one was ever caught for supplying them.’ He shakes his head. ‘Sickening, isn’t it? People really should take responsibility fo
r their actions.’

  The screen pixelates and disappears once more.

  Tiggy

  ‘OK, that’s enough now.’ Tiggy sits down at the dining table. She’s deflated. No fight left in her at all. Her gaze rests on the flickering candles of the centrepiece, and for a moment she feels calmer. ‘This has to be enough,’ she says quietly. ‘Let’s just have a few drinks, go to bed, and tomorrow they can fly us out of here. We’ll go to the police when we get home, and send them here to deal with everything. There’s nothing else for it. I’ll call Daddy as soon as we land. He’ll help sort this out.’ She picks up a fresh glass and holds it aloft. ‘I’d like a drink, please.’

  One of the waitresses from earlier scurries over and fills her glass with champagne. One by one, the others come and sit at the table. They’re all weary now, the spirit knocked out of them. Everyone is drinking champagne, except for James, who refuses. Scott starts picking at the nibbles again. The stuff he’d knocked onto the floor has been tidied away and replaced.

  None of them speaks. What is there to say?

  Tiggy nibbles absentmindedly on a cheese stick and wipes away an angry tear. Just wait until she gets home. People will be so distraught about Giles. His profile will go through the roof, as will hers. People are always more interesting when there’s a tragedy attached to them.

  After a time, James speaks up. ‘Where’s Harvey?’

  ‘Forget him. He’s not going to help us.’ Tiggy picks up another cheese stick. They’re pretty good, and now that she’s started it’s going to be hard to stop. This is why she tries not to eat much. Eating only makes you eat more. You only have to look at a fat person to see that. She’s been watching what she eats since she was a child, when Mummy explained how important it was. ‘No one wants a fat wife,’ she always told her. ‘See how pretty and slim Mummy always stays for Daddy? You have to be careful, darling. There are plenty of eager replacements waiting in the wings, and your husband should never have to be forced into looking elsewhere due to your slovenly ways. Always remember that.’ Mummy wasn’t right about everything, but she was right about that. Besides, hunger isn’t something to be scared of. OK, sometimes it’s made her feel a little lightheaded – led to her making some wrong decisions, especially after a couple of glasses of fizz. But overall, it’s healthy to feel in control. Isn’t it? She picks up her glass and is surprised to find it empty . . . and another cheese stick gone.

  ‘I don’t know what’s in these,’ she says, ‘but they are very moreish.’ She picks up the tub and shakes it at the others. ‘Go on, have some. Before I eat them all.’

  Scott takes one, and then Lucy. Scott shoves half of it in his mouth at once, makes a mmm-mmm noise, and takes another. Lucy starts nibbling, but soon she’s nearly done with hers too. ‘You’re not wrong, Tigs. These are insanely good.’ Lucy takes the tub and holds it towards Amelia and James, who both shake their heads.

  ‘I don’t eat cheese,’ Amelia says. ‘Makes me feel queasy.’

  Lucy sighs. ‘Don’t give me any of your lactose intolerance nonsense.’

  ‘It’s not that.’

  Lucy shakes the tub at James. ‘And, of course, you barely eat at all.’

  He frowns. ‘I do eat. Of course I eat. I just . . . I’m just not really comfortable eating this food.’

  ‘What? You reckon they’re going to poison us now?’ Lucy puts the tub back on the table. She touches another, but then seemingly changes her mind. Reaches for a handful of nuts instead. Tiggy pulls the tub closer and takes another cheese stick – she’s past caring about the consequences. Meanwhile, the waitress has been over and silently filled up all their glasses.

  ‘Could I have a bottle of Coke?’ James says. A few moments later, a waiter returns with a bottle and an opener. He opens it in front of James, then disappears without a word.

  ‘I suppose it’s your feed next, Amelia?’ Tiggy says. ‘They must have something on you, mustn’t they?’ Her head is a little fuzzy again; she’s lost count of how many top-ups she’s had.

  ‘I suppose so. I—’

  Whatever she was going to say is cut off when Lucy starts coughing. It starts with a small, throat-clearing cough, before getting harsher. Louder. She thumps herself on the chest. Her face is bright red and she’s almost barking now, trying to dislodge something from her throat. Tiggy tries to stand up to help but falls back to her seat, too dizzy to manage it.

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ James says, jumping out of his seat and rushing around to Lucy. He pulls her up and bends her over, then knocks her hard on the back.

  Nothing happens.

  She keeps coughing, even harder. A high-pitched whine is coming from her lungs. Her eyes are wide with fear. Tiggy wants to help, but as she makes to stand up again she falls back once more. And then she starts to cough. Just a little at first. She grabs her glass, but it’s empty.

  ‘Here, take this.’ Amelia grabs James’s bottle of Coke and slides it down the table to her.

  Tiggy seizes it and tries to drink, but as soon as it hits the back of her throat she gags, chokes – sprays the drink all over herself.

  Lucy is still coughing hard, her face red, her eyes bulging. James looks around with terrified eyes. ‘Amelia? I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what’s happening!’

  ‘Tiggy.’ Amelia turns to her and sees that she is struggling too. ‘Oh God, I—’

  Tiggy is still coughing, but it’s not as bad as Lucy – more like a coughing fit when you have a cold, whereas Lucy seems to be actually choking. ‘Help us,’ she manages, although it comes out as a squeak.

  There’s a beep and the screen appears. Blank. Just laughing.

  ‘Scott?’ James whirls round, leaving Lucy bent over the chair, trying to grip on to the sides. ‘Oh no . . . oh no . . .’

  Tiggy manages to stand, holding on to the chair. She sees Scott, his head slumped onto the table. His body is convulsing, and a pool of lumpy white vomit is growing out from his mouth like a mushroom cloud.

  Lucy stops coughing at last. Tiggy’s cough is still ongoing, but it’s merely irritating now, like hiccups. Lucy is still bent over the chair. Tiggy puts a hand on her back, rubbing it gently. ‘It’s OK,’ she says. ‘You’re OK.’

  But she knows that’s not true.

  It’s clear that Lucy is dead, as is Scott. They’d both eaten several things from the table. Amelia and James have had none.

  Tiggy has eaten plenty. It’s only a matter of time before her body gives in and she chokes to death too.

  Across the table, close to Scott’s outstretched hand, is the stem of the champagne flute he smashed earlier. It doesn’t take her long to decide. Mummy’s voice is inside her head: ‘Take control, darling. Never forget that.’

  She turns to Amelia and James. ‘You two need to get the hell out of here.’ She picks up the broken stem.

  ‘No!’ James shouts, launching himself at her. She’s looking him in the eye, defiant as she thrusts the weapon into her own neck.

  She barely feels it. Her head swims further away, and in the background there’s a beep, followed by laughter.

  Amelia

  ‘No!’ Amelia lunges at Tiggy an instant behind James, but they’re too late.

  Tiggy’s head falls back, blood spurting from the sides of the wound. Her eyes bulge with shock for a moment, and there’s a horrible gurgling sound as her blood pumps out profusely.

  ‘We need to do something,’ James says. He reaches for the stem. ‘We can stop the blood.’

  Amelia grabs his wrist. ‘No . . . don’t pull it out. You’ll only make it worse.’ She falls to her knees. Takes hold of Tiggy’s limp hand, squeezes it, feels Tiggy’s fingers gently squeezing back. There’s another choking gurgle, and she looks up at Tiggy’s face as it falls slack. The light in her eyes dulls, and her grip falls away.

  ‘Oh no. Oh no.’ Amelia drops her head into her hands. She feels a palm on her shoulder and looks up to see James. He takes her elbow and helps support her as she stands,
then he leads her away from the table. She glances back, watching the staff who have already come over to tend to the wounded.

  Wounded? That’s a joke.

  She turns away, lets James lead her into the other room, with the sofas and the clashing furnishings. ‘They’re all dead, aren’t they?’ she says quietly. She starts to shake. Despite the horror of it all, she feels distant – as if it’s happening to someone else. Her mind taking her away from it, trying to protect her.

  Just like her mind tried to protect her all those years ago: that summer.

  Because she remembers it now. All of it.

  James nods. He leads her over to one of the chaises longues and sits her down, then sits beside her. He takes her hand.

  ‘OK,’ he says. ‘So I get that we are both in shock right now. In fact, it hasn’t fully kicked in yet. What just happened through there is the most horrific thing I’ve ever witnessed, and as I told you earlier, I’ve been through a lot. That video of me on the canal was only one incident.’

  Amelia sighs, drops her gaze. ‘I know. I get it . . . Me too.’ Still determined to distance herself from the reality of what’s happening right now, she reflects on the other nightmares she’s had to deal with in her past. ‘Not things I’ve caused, so not exactly the same, but I’ve seen people die in agony from Ebola – me, fully protected from head-to-toe in a hazmat suit, unable to do a thing for them as they writhe in pain. I’ve seen horrific things in the jungle. I’ve seen—’

  James squeezes her hand and she looks up.

  The projection has started silently this time.

  The virtual screen is above the fireplace now. A larger image than usual, showing a lush, green island.

  This is it then, she thinks. My turn.

  The view pans over a headland, showing a rocky outcrop, huge waves lashing against the secluded shoreline. The camera starts a 360, panning to another island across a stretch of water – a lighthouse on top; a small, sandy bay. The camera slides across and a cluster of ruins appears, then a wide stretch of marshland, and finally a house – but in a bad state of repair. The camera darts away, as if it has been shot via drone and speeded up, back to the first island, where two small figures are crawling out of a hollow tree. The projection pauses.