Wild Jack

by John Christopher

  Kelly said, “The boat. . . .”

  “What about the boat?”

  “We ought to have another shot at getting it out.”

  I heard him struggle to his feet, looked up at his dim figure, and marveled at the feat. I thought again of lifting my hand but did not try. Kelly bent down and tugged at me.

  “Come on, Clive.”

  I would have been angry if I had had strength for it. And suddenly I was tired in mind as well as body, with sleep rolling in on me like a wave—but dry and comforting, not wet and violent.

  I said, yawning, “Boat’s all right. Stop worrying.”

  He said something else, but I wasn’t interested. I had a vague impression of Kelly himself lying down before the wave blanked me out.

  • • •

  When I woke there was the light of dawn in the sky, my limbs were aching, and my mouth and throat were dry. I tried to swallow and couldn’t. Thirst seemed to have spread through every inch of my body; quenching it was all I could think about. Sunyo and Kelly were sprawled asleep beside me and the sea rumbled behind us. I did not wake them but managed to stand and take a few steps forward. It was dark still, but I saw the shapes of trees in the distance and hobbled in that direction.

  Between the top of the beach and the line of forest lay about fifty yards of small sandy dunes, thinly sprinkled with grass. The dragging sand made my feet leaden, but the thought of water kept me going. I could see the trees more clearly, their tops moving in a light dawn wind; in this light they were gray rather than green. A single bird gave a hoarse, shrieking cry. Apart from that, there was no sound but the sigh of the wind, the more distant roar of the sea, and the scuffing of my feet in the sand.

  Soon I was near enough to pick out individual trees, but I was aware of the dark unknown behind them. I heard a noise ahead—a sharp, cracking sound like someone breaking a stick. Or something. I stopped and, as I did so, heard, in a stillness as the wind dropped, something else—a low continuous gurgling, the ripple of running water. I plunged recklessly forward into the forest.

  It had sounded misleadingly near. I hunted among the trees, with bushes tearing my clothes. I thought I had lost it; then it was quite loud. The floor of the forest rose and dipped and the stream was in front of me, running between high banks, narrow but swift.

  I half scrambled, half fell toward it and put my face into the water, gulping like an animal and afterward cupping my hands to drink deeply from them. Gradually the fierce ache of thirst grew less. I drank again, but more slowly, and rubbed water into my face with my fingers. Then I got up, climbed the bank, and set off to find the others.

  Although I thought I had come out of the wood not far from where I had entered it, I could see no sign of Kelly and Sunyo. The sky was lighter and I could see the ridge plainly, but there was nothing there but sand and grass. Could I possibly have confused my direction so completely, or had they perhaps seen and followed me? I was turning back toward the wood when I heard faint voices from the opposite direction. They must be on the beach.

  I called and waved from the escarpment and they came toward me across the shingle. Sunyo looked bad in the harsh morning light, his skin very yellow and drawn tight over the bones of his face. Kelly looked strange, too, but I soon realized it was from anger rather than illness.

  He said in a hard whisper, “Do you have to shout like that? Don’t you understand these are the Outlands? Do you want a horde of savages whooping round us?”

  “The beach is deserted,” I said. “You can see for miles. There’s nothing the other way either, except empty forest. What were you doing on the beach, anyway?”

  “Looking for the boat. We didn’t find it. If you’d been willing to make an extra bit of effort last night, we could have got it up. As it is, the tide’s taken it. It’s probably halfway to France by now.”

  “What difference does it make?”

  “The difference between being stuck in this godforsaken hole and perhaps finding our way along the coast to somewhere more promising. That’s all.”

  “A boat,” I said, “—without oars, with a broken mast and no sail.”

  “We could have made oars.”

  I laughed. “Using what?”

  “Or rigged a jury mast and some kind of sail—with our shirts, maybe.”

  “You have to be crazy.”

  I was angry enough to hit him but had a horrible suspicion that if I tried to swing I might fall over.

  Sunyo said, “Forget it. The boat’s gone and there’s no point in arguing about it. We have other things to think of—food and water in the first place.”

  His calmness cooled our tempers. Kelly shrugged. I said, “The water problem’s solved, at least. I found a stream, just inside the wood.”

  Kelly’s face cleared completely. He said, “OK, Macduff. Lead on.”

  • • •

  I led the way up over the escarpment and across the dunes to the forest. I could see it more clearly now and get some idea of its density and vastness. There was high ground far off, as thickly wooded as that which confronted us.

  Viewing it without the urgency of thirst, I had a quick and terrifying understanding of where we were and what all this was. The Outlands. There was no telling what might lie among the dark tangle behind the gently waving screen of leaves. I thought of the wild beasts of the servants’ stories. A sound in the distance rose and fell: the wind in the trees or the howl of a wolf? I stopped abruptly.

  Kelly said, “What’s up? You forgotten the way?”

  Or savages calling to one another—perhaps already aware of us and moving forward in a closing circle for the attack? Sunyo was looking at me, too.

  I took a grip on myself and said, “I wasn’t sure for a moment. It’s over there.”

  We pushed through the undergrowth into the wood and found the stream, and they drank their fill. I drank again myself, even though I wasn’t thirsty.

  When we stood up at last, Kelly said, “That’s a lot better. All we need now is food. Any sign of coconuts or breadfruit trees?”

  The trees surrounding us seemed to bear nothing but leaves, though those in abundance. I did not recognize any of them; they were certainly not the planes and ornamental cherries and evergreens that grew decorously in rows in London parks. There was nothing in the least decorous about these trees. They grew in a wild confusion and competition, some strong and broad-trunked, others thin and sickly and overshadowed. It all looked mixed up and pointless and depressing.

  Sunyo said, “There’s nothing here. We’d better go on.”

  Kelly nodded. “Follow the stream.”

  “I don’t agree,” I said. “I think we ought to get back in the open and go along the coast.”

  “What’s the point?” Kelly asked. “We know what there is there—nothing but sand and shingle and seawater.”

  “We might catch fish.”

  “With what? And how do we cook them?”

  “At least we’d be able to see where we were going. You can’t see more than a couple of feet ahead of you in this jungle.”

  That was what I found unnerving: not being able to see, coupled with the feeling that something might at any moment emerge from the next bush.

  Kelly said, “Well, I’m for following the stream. It must lead us somewhere—maybe to a river.”

  I said stubbornly, “It’s more likely to lead back to the sea; in which case we’ve wasted time and effort and are no better off. I vote for the beach.”

  Kelly looked from me to Sunyo, who said, “I think Kelly’s right. And it means staying close to fresh water. That might be important later on.”

  Kelly said, “OK, Clive?”

  I thought of arguing but was too tired and hungry and fed up. I remembered again that but for him I would probably now be at home, perhaps watching early-morning TV, with Bobby bringin
g me my breakfast tray. I shrugged.

  “Just as you like.”

  • • •

  So we followed the course of the stream, though from time to time we had to leave it and detour around patches of dense undergrowth. At the beginning I expected that we would fairly soon come out to the sea—the stream could not have been more than a hundred yards from the beach at the point where I had found it—and that I would have the satisfaction of seeing my point proved. But we remained in the forest, progressing, as the growing light in the sky in front of us showed, steadily toward the east.

  No one said much. As we went on, I began to think more clearly and logically about our position. The coast onto which we had drifted ran more or less east-west. Unless it was some freak of geography, that made it overwhelmingly probable that we were on the south coast of England. There were three cities situated on that coast: Plymouth, Southampton, and Dover. The likelihood was that Southampton was the nearest and also that we were heading roughly in that direction.

  My spirits improved when I had worked this out. In a few hours—at any moment, even—the trees might thin to give a view of cleared land and the city’s wall in the distance. Then all I had to do was go to the gate and call the guard. Mr. Sherrin would pick me up, and I could visiphone my father; he must surely be back in London by now. I wondered if there would be a chance of seeing Miranda before I caught the airship back.

  As for Kelly and Sunyo, presumably they would have to return to the island. But I was sure my father would be able to do something to help them, even if he could not get them released right away. And being sent back to the island was better than wandering, lost and starving, through the Outlands.

  We had seen nothing so far but trees and plants, but I was not much reassured by that. And the plants themselves were so alien. I thought of those in the city parks, bearing big colorful blooms, each with its name-tag. Flowers grew here, beside the brook, but the blossoms were small and unobtrusive. They were dull. The Outlands were dull altogether—dull and unfriendly and unsettling.

  Kelly stopped by a bush hung with blue berries. He said, “They look like huckleberries.”

  “Huckleberries?”

  “I saw them in a park in Boston, when I stayed with my aunt. They’re OK to eat. Do you know if huckleberries grow in England?”

  I shook my head. “Not in London, anyway. I wouldn’t try them if I were you.”

  Kelly did not answer but plucked a berry and put it in his mouth. He made a wry face and spat it out again.

  “No, thanks. I’m not that hungry.” He stared at the stream, here rushing fiercely over tumbled stones. “You think there could be fish in there?”

  “I’ve not seen any. I should think it’s too shallow. Even if there were and we could catch them, as you said, we’ve no way of cooking them.”

  “I could eat mine raw.” He grinned at Sunyo. “Don’t you eat raw fish in Japan?”

  “Specially prepared and with sauces. But I agree with you. I could do without the sauces.”

  The patch of light marking the presence of the sun was still ahead and fairly high now. The cloud cover seemed to be thinning; occasionally we had a glimpse of a bright disk. It was gradually growing warmer, too; our wet shirts dried on our backs. We were very tired, and hunger nagged more sharply with the passing hours. Had I not read some story of the Dark Ages, in which people had nibbled bark from the trees? It was no longer incredible.

  There had been occasional clearings, mostly where rocky outcrops kept down the vegetation, and I assumed the new one we reached was of the same kind. But there were differences. For one thing it was bigger in extent, perhaps fifty yards across, and it also had a regular, almost squared-off look. But I was more immediately concerned with the sight of the animals which rushed from it through the bushes only a yard or two from where we stood. They were as big as dogs but fatter, with gray hairy skins and stubby legs, on which they moved with a surprising turn of speed. They made grunting noises as they went, and I recognized them from pictures. They were pigs.

  Wild pigs, that would be, and they looked frightening, showing the gleam of ferocious white tusks. I halted right away, but Kelly went forward.

  He said, “Boy, look at this! Breakfast at last.”

  For a moment I thought he was talking about the pigs and that he had gone crazy. I had absolutely no intention of tackling that lot—there had been more than half a dozen, one quite enormous—and in any case they had disappeared into the wood. But he was looking into the clearing, and I saw another way in which it was different.

  The clearing had been planted out in lines. I saw rows of cabbages, where it looked as though the pigs had been rooting, furrows topped with tangled green plants bearing tiny white and purple flowers, and other lines of plants supported by sticks. There were long green beans hanging from some and ripe tomatoes from others.

  It was a vegetable patch. Savages must have planted it, though it was a bit of a shock to realize that savages could be intelligent enough to make gardens. Then where were they? There was no sign of life, but they must live somewhere in the neighborhood. I was going to say something about that, but Kelly was already on his way toward the tomato plants. He plucked a tomato and dug his teeth into it.

  “Great! Really great.”

  Sunyo said, “We ought to be cautious.”

  I agreed, but the sight of Kelly eating was too much for me, and I followed him and picked one myself. The juice was sweet and good. I wolfed the tomato and started on another. Sunyo had joined in by now, and all three of us had our attentions fixed no more than inches in front of us—on the next tomato. But perhaps Sunyo was less gluttonous than Kelly and I or more wary by nature. He said in a quiet voice, “We’re being watched.”

  His head flicked slightly toward a point on our right. Something moved in the bushes. I saw a man’s figure, then another. Kelly had seen them, too. I drew my hand back from the tomato I was reaching for, and Kelly said, “Savages. Run for it—in the opposite direction. When I say go.”

  He gave the word, and we took to our heels. Figures burst from the bushes a long way behind us. I tried to run faster. Then more figures appeared, coming from the bushes directly in front. There were half a dozen of them, wearing nothing but short breeches made out of coarse cloth and sandals on their feet. But they were carrying nasty-­looking clubs and looked more than ready to use them. We stopped, and before we had time to think again, the rest were up with us.

  One of them spoke. I could not make out what he said except that it was threatening. Kelly moved slightly, and several clubs were raised by strongly muscled arms.

  Sunyo said, “Don’t resist. I don’t think they are going to kill us.”

  I wondered what made him think that and hoped he was right; they looked murderous to me. But resistance, in any case, would obviously be futile. Sunyo put his hand up in a gesture of surrender, and Kelly and I copied him.

  The savage spoke again. His tone didn’t sound any more pleasant than before, but the clubs were dropped.

  • • •

  The village, which was not far away, consisted of primitive wooden huts. We saw women and children there as well as men but did not have much chance to study them. We were pushed into one of the huts, and I fell sprawling on a floor of beaten earth.

  On the way the savages had been talking to one another, and I had begun to pick out words here and there. It was a dialect English, such as the servants used among themselves, but coarser and more difficult to understand. I managed, though, to get the drift of their talk. It seemed the wild pigs were in the habit of raiding the vegetable patch and that the savages in turn used it as bait for providing themselves with supplies of fresh pork. The man who had been on duty guarding the patch had seen the arrival of the pigs and gone back to the village to round up a hunting party. But we had surprised the pigs first, and the savages had arrived to find
us eating their crops instead. It was difficult to tell whether they were more angry over that or over losing a promising haul of meat. What was certain was that they were not at all pleased.

  If anything was said of their intentions concerning us, I missed it, and so did Kelly and Sunyo. We sat in the hut and discussed our prospects and possibilities in low voices. There was little point, we agreed, in trying to get away during daylight. Not only was there the sound of fairly constant activity in the village generally, but we had a savage standing on guard outside the hut. He had keen hearing, too. When Kelly pulled at a section of the wall to see if there was a chance of making a hole in it, he was inside right away, threatening us with his club.

  The only hope lay in waiting until dark. There was really no reason to think our chances would be a great deal better then, particularly since we were going to have to escape into the forest at night, but they must be a bit better.

  It was a long and miserable day. We were brought neither food nor water. The few tomatoes we had succeeded in eating had not gone far toward satisfying hunger, and we were soon thirsty again as well. But we were also exhausted and dozed off from time to time.

  I was awakened from one such doze by someone coming into the hut. A savage said something unintelligible and gestured that we should go outside. I followed Kelly and Sunyo, dazed and apprehensive. More savages were there, some with ropes which they used to tie our hands behind our backs, not very gently. It was early evening, the sky red in the west but dark blue overhead. So much, I thought, for our project of a night escape.

  Once our hands were tied, we were marched out of the village along a track that led the opposite way to the vegetable patch. It was very narrow and overgrown in places. A couple of savages went in front of us and half a dozen behind. Even with free hands it would have been hopeless to try to get away. I thought of my fantasy of getting to Southampton, my daydream about Mr. Sherrin and my father and Miranda. Right now I was ready to settle for getting the ropes off my hands and something to eat.