Lost: The Novels

by Catherine Hapka

As the last of the flock disappeared over the treetops, Faith heard footsteps approaching through the jungle. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Locke coming toward her.

  “Where’s everybody else?” she asked him.

  He nodded in the direction of the beach. “They took George back to camp,” he said. “Figured they’d have Jack give him a once-over, just to be on the safe side.”

  “Oh.” Faith turned her eyes back toward the sky, searching the endless blue expanse for one last glimpse of the birds. But they were gone, and despite her disappointment she couldn’t stop smiling.

  Locke followed her gaze. “Did you find what you were looking for?” he asked in a conversational tone.

  She hesitated. “No,” she replied at last. “Not really. That bird—um, it turned out to be nothing like I thought it was. I should have known that you can’t just turn back time like that—get something back that you know is lost forever.…I feel kind of foolish for spending so much energy trying to chase it down.”

  Locke shook his head. “That’s nothing to feel foolish about, Faith,” he said. “A place like this—well, it can make people see what they want to see.”

  She turned and glanced at him. He was smiling at her, but his eyes seemed to be staring at something much farther away.

  “Are you finished here?” he asked after a moment. “I’ll walk you back to the beach if you like.”

  “Yes.” She smiled and shot one last look at the sky. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

  1

  DEXTER OPENED HIS EYES to total darkness.

  “Daisy!” he choked out, his voice sounding strange and muffled. “Daisy, where are you?”

  Like a radio tuning in through static, the fuzziness inside his brain focused outward, belatedly picking up the noisy chaos all around him. Piercing screams and hoarse shouting; the clang of metal on metal; skidding and thumping and popping. And over and through and behind it all, an overriding throbbing, pulsing whine that echoed the pounding inside his head. The sounds filled him with terror, though he wasn’t sure why. All he knew was that he needed to get away, to find Daisy and escape.…

  He tried to lurch forward but was stopped short by something clutching at his body. The sensation was accompanied by a sudden dull pain around his midsection. That seemed to awaken feeling in the rest of his body, and he was assaulted by a dozen different pains from head to toe.

  What was happening to him? And why couldn’t he see? He blinked rapidly, but the darkness persisted even as the sounds around him grew louder. Panicked, he clawed frantically at his eyes. His fingers met a soft, yielding expanse of fabric covering his face.

  He yanked it loose, already feeling foolish, and found himself blinking down at a blanket stamped with the logo of Oceanic Airlines. He’d discovered the cause of his “blindness.” With that revelation, the world around him started to shift back into focus. He was sitting on the plane that was supposed to carry him back home to the United States. The binding arm holding him in place was his seatbelt, still securely fastened despite the fact that much of the plane surrounding it appeared to have disintegrated.…

  Daisy, he thought with a new flash of panic.

  It seemed to take more effort than it should have to turn his head and look at the seat beside him. When he finally managed it, he saw that the seat was empty.

  He was still squinting, his eyes adjusting to the light, when a young man’s anxious-looking face loomed into his view from the direction of the aisle. “Hey,” the face said to him. “You all right, buddy?”

  “I…” Dexter tried to say more, but his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He swallowed hard, trying to fight back the terrifying feeling that he was looking straight up into his own face.

  Then the stranger’s features rearranged themselves. Dexter saw that while the young man was probably his age or perhaps a little older, the stranger really didn’t look much like him at all—lighter eyes, darker hair, a different nose and chin and forehead.

  “I—” Dexter began again, then stopped uncertainly. He was having trouble focusing his gaze. The other young man’s tousled dark hair and concerned blue eyes swam before him like an old filmstrip seen through an aquarium.

  “Hold tight,” the stranger said. “We’ll get you out of here in just a second.”

  “O—O—” Dexter paused, trying to come up with the second syllable. After a long, tiring mental struggle, it came to him. “Okay,” he gasped out.

  The effort of speaking had sapped him of every ounce of energy. His eyes started to droop as blackness threatened at the edges of his vision.

  “Hang in there,” the concerned stranger said urgently. “Stay with me, okay, buddy? Talk to me—what’s your name?”

  Dexter was sure he knew the answer to that question, but it seemed to be drifting somewhere just out of range. With one last burst of mental effort, he managed to reach out and reel it in.

  “Dexter—Dexter Cross,” he gasped out. Then he gave up and sank back into the inviting black hole of unconsciousness.

  He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he woke again. Once more he found himself surrounded by darkness, but this time it was tempered by cool white moonlight and the flickering orange glow of nearby campfires. For a second or two Dexter wasn’t sure where he was. Then he felt the gritty texture of sand grinding into his skin. A brisk breeze washed over him, raising goosebumps on his arms and flooding his nose with the salty, fishy, briny scent of the sea. When he lifted his arms to rub them back to warmth, his muscles screamed in protest. The motion seemed to jump-start his nervous system, as a second later his whole body erupted into a chorus of aches and pains, as if he’d been stomped on by an ill-tempered giant.

  It was only then that he remembered the plane crash. His eyes closed tightly as if trying to shut out the horrific images flitting through his mind. Screaming engines, screaming people. A lurch, then another as the plane lost altitude, each drop seeming to send his guts leaping into his throat. The last thing he remembered was the way the oxygen masks had dropped and swayed back and forth. For a second he’d been afraid he wouldn’t be able to grab hold of one.…

  Dexter opened his eyes again, trying to ignore the memories. With a groan, he pushed himself upright.

  “Ah, you’re awake.” An older man’s face peered down into his. He had small but intelligent eyes and droopy, rounded cheeks that made him look a little like an old hound dog. “Hold on, I’ll get Jack.”

  The man hurried off toward one of the fires. Dexter put a hand to his head, which felt as if it were stuffed with cotton. He wasn’t sure who Jack was, or the older man, but he figured he’d find out soon enough.

  In the meantime he looked around curiously. He was lying on a vast sweep of beach that glowed pale in the moonlight. When he turned his head, he saw a dense tropical jungle fading quickly into the darkness. The whole scene would have looked like an exotic resort destination on a postcard if not for the enormous chunks of charred debris littering the ground. Like ugly knife slashes on a beautiful painting, the pristine beach had been violated with jagged slabs of metal and upturned wheels and blackened engine parts. It was too dark to make out much detail, but Dexter could see a huge broken wing lying across the sand and a ruined section of fuselage sticking out of the sand like a grotesque cave.

  Several large campfires were burning on the sand near the wreckage. Dozens of people huddled around the fires. A few appeared to be sleeping, though most were still awake despite the late hour. Some were talking quietly in small groups or sitting together on salvaged blankets or towels. Others were sitting or standing alone, staring at the jungle or the ocean or the sand at their feet.

  How many people had been on the plane? Dexter wasn’t sure, but he knew it was a lot. He started counting the survivors he could see, but he’d only reached fifteen or sixteen when he saw a tall, handsome man with close-cropped hair and a serious expression approaching him. The man was dressed in sand-spattered dark pants and a white undershir
t, and his face sported several ugly-looking cuts and the beginnings of a five-o’clock shadow. Even so, there was a quiet confidence about the way he carried himself that commanded respect. Dexter felt a twinge of some emotion so fleeting he couldn’t quite identify it. Anxiety? Envy? Resentment?

  “Hi there,” the stranger greeted him. “It’s Dexter, right? I’m Jack. Arzt told me you were awake—good news. You were out for quite a while. How are you feeling?”

  “A little woozy,” Dexter responded truthfully.

  “Well, no wonder. Looks like you were so dehydrated you passed out. You were lucky otherwise, though. I checked you over a few hours ago and everything else looks fine.”

  “Yeah.” Dexter paused to gulp down half the bottle of water Jack handed him. “I’m prone to dehydration. Been that way since I was a kid. One time I was out on my cousin’s yacht when he forgot to pack the cooler. We were almost an hour out into the bay before we noticed. My face turned bright red and he thought I was going to die. He was so panicked that he actually offered me a thousand bucks if I stayed alive until we got back to the marina.” He smiled and shrugged. “That’s Cousin Jay for you. He figures money can solve any problem if you have enough of it. And he does.”

  Jack didn’t seem particularly interested in the story. He felt Dexter’s forehead, then put his fingers to his wrist, checking his vital signs. “Well, you should be okay now,” he said. “Just make sure to drink plenty of water and eat something if you can. There’s a guy who’s been collecting the food from the plane, name of Hurley. He can hook you up.”

  Dexter’s stomach lurched at the thought of food, especially cold airplane food. “Thanks,” he said. “I’m not sure eating’s such a good idea right now, though.”

  “All right. Maybe by morning you’ll have an appetite.” Jack stood and brushed off his hands. “You may as well try to get some sleep before the rescuers arrive.”

  “Rescuers.” Dexter’s still-fuzzy mind latched onto the word. “Hey, why aren’t they here yet? They must know we went down, right? Where are we, anyway?”

  Jack shrugged. “I’m sure the rescue party is on the way. Now just try to sleep.”

  Dexter wanted to protest—he had more questions, important ones, if only he could remember them.…But it was so much easier just to lie back on the sand and relax. He stared up at the stars winking at him from between the clouds, his hand automatically creeping up to rub at the jagged, purplish scar on his chin.

  “How’d you do that?” Jack asked, nodding at the scar.

  Dexter blinked up at him, suddenly almost too sleepy to answer. “Fell off a horse,” he answered. “I was trying to learn how to play polo, but I wasn’t too good at it.” He chuckled wearily. “Damn horse tossed me right into the goalpost.”

  Jack nodded and said, “Good night.” But Dexter hardly heard him. He was already drifting off to sleep, still absentmindedly rubbing his scar.

  2

  “STOP PICKING AT THAT thing, boy.”

  Dexter yanked his hand away from his scar as his aunt Paula slapped at it irritably, the motion making the fat on her bare, sunburned upper arms jiggle. Out of the corner of his eye, Dexter saw a fellow shopper shooting them a disapproving glance.

  “Sorry,” Dexter mumbled. He planted both hands on the sticky plastic-coated handle of the shopping cart and kept his eyes carefully focused there, too. MONOMART MEANS AMERICAN VALUE! the garish red letters emblazoned on the cart’s child safety seat screamed at him cheerfully.

  “Come on this way, Dexy. I wanna see if they maybe put chips on sale for a change.”

  Dexter dutifully followed, pushing the cart after his aunt’s lumbering form. He hated these weekly shopping trips. He hated the discount store’s labyrinth of aisles with their ceiling-high shelves packed with merchandise. Just looking around at all the canned food, tacky knickknacks, and made-in-China children’s wear made him dizzy, and the arctic air conditioning couldn’t quite disguise the smells of cheap plastic and desperation that permeated the place. It was depressing, and if he never had to set foot in MonoMart again it would be too soon.

  But his opinion didn’t matter. Paula had no kids of her own, and his mother insisted that he help out. All he could do was do as they said and dream of the day he turned eighteen and could escape their clutches.

  As Dexter slowed the cart to avoid running down a free-range toddler wearing nothing but a saggy diaper, Aunt Paula pulled ahead, surprisingly nimble for her bulk, and disappeared around the corner. A moment later he heard her squeal with joy from somewhere in the next aisle.

  “Here we go!” she trilled triumphantly, her shrill voice carrying through the store and making several people look up in surprise. “Fifteen cents off. We better stock up—Lord only knows when this’ll happen again. Where’d you get to, boy? Get over here!”

  Dexter wondered dully why she was in such a good mood. As far as he knew she still hated her job at the drugstore, and according to his mother’s latest rants she hadn’t made any headway in squeezing more money out of her no-good ex-husband. Normally she just wandered around the store complaining about the prices, but today she seemed almost cheerful.

  Following the sound of her voice, he shoved the cart past a pyramid display of canned goods that was blocking most of the aisle, nearly setting off an avalanche of creamed corn. When he looked down the next aisle, he saw that his aunt’s arms were already full of bags of greasy snacks.

  He pushed the cart toward her. “Let’s keep up the pace here, Dexy,” she scolded as she dumped the bags in on top of the toilet paper, laundry detergent, and dish towels she’d already picked out. Her voice still sounded oddly jovial, though, with none of its normal bitterness. “We have a lot to do today.” She gave him a quick pat on the arm before reaching for more snacks.

  “Yo, check it out, guys. Look who’s here!”

  Dexter froze in place, his heart contracting with horror. Two guys and a girl his own age had just rounded the corner at the far end of the aisle. Zach Carson, Daryl Sharp, Jenna O’Malley…all of them part of the popular crowd at his high school, all of them from the “right” part of town. He had no idea what they were doing slumming at the MonoMart, and he didn’t really care. He only wished he could sink through the floor and disappear.

  The trio came strolling toward him just as Aunt Paula finished loading up the cart with junk food and headed down the aisle in their direction. Dexter winced as his three classmates pretended to squeeze against the shelves to avoid being crushed by her passing bulk. Aunt Paula didn’t seem to notice, but Dexter’s face burned on her behalf—and his own. Not for the first time, he wished he’d been born into an entirely different family.

  His classmates were almost upon him. Dexter quickly arranged his face into a bland expression, hoping to avoid a scene.

  “You here picking up some more of those stylin’ T-shirts, Dex?” Daryl inquired, his eyes glittering meanly in his broad, ruddy face. He reached out with one meaty paw and Dexter flinched, expecting a blow. But Daryl only fingered Dexter’s sleeve, wrinkling his nose with distaste.

  Zach snorted with laughter. “Naw, man,” he put in. “Dex is probably shopping for a car. We all know he can’t afford a real one, but I hear those plastic Barbie-doll cars go real cheap.”

  “Yeah, well you’d know, wouldn’t you, Zach?” Jenna looked bored. “C’mon, are you guys finished teasing the nerd yet?” Her haughty greenish-gray eyes flicked briefly up and down Dexter’s body. “Let’s get some sodas and get out of here already. This place reeks.”

  Daryl grabbed her in an impulsive bear hug and planted a big, noisy kiss on her cheek. “Relax, babe. We’re just talking to Dexter here, okay?”

  “Ew.” She pushed him away, swiping at her cheek. “Grow up, would you?”

  “Hey! There you are. You guys trying to ditch me or something?”

  Dexter glanced past the others and saw another girl approaching. She was beautiful—slim and blond, with an angelic smile and laughing blue
eyes.

  “Sorry, Kris,” Jenna called. “I thought you were right behind us.”

  “’S okay.” The newcomer noticed Dexter staring at her and shot him a sweet smile. “Hey, Dexter. How you doing?”

  “Fine,” he mumbled hoarsely, suddenly all too aware of his own shabby clothes and the cart full of cheap crap in front of him. He’d had a crush on this girl for years, though he’d never done anything about it. Girls like Kristin Vandevere just didn’t go for guys like him—guys with no money, no car, no friends, no prospects.

  If only he wasn’t that guy…Dexter slipped momentarily into a familiar fantasy, one he’d spent hours concocting in Biology class while staring at the back of Kristin’s blond head. In it, he became a whole different person, a sort of SuperDexter—smooth, confident, irresistible to women. Wealthy beyond his wildest dreams, always quick with a joke or a witty story, able to leave his old, pathetic life far, far behind…

  “So whatcha doing here, little Dexy?” Daryl’s voice broke through the fantasy. “Helping your fat aunt buy extra-strength maxi pads or something?”

  Dexter’s whole body went rigid and his fists clenched at his sides. He could tolerate the other guys’ bullying most of the time. He was used to it. But being humiliated in front of Kristin made him want to smash Daryl’s self-satisfied face into a bloody pulp.

  But he didn’t. He couldn’t. For one thing, he was the one who’d end up a bloody pulp, not big, beefy Daryl. Besides, he just wasn’t like that. Confrontation wasn’t his style; it was easier to let things slide off him.

  “Whatever.” Jenna tugged at Daryl’s T-shirt. “Come on! I’m dying of boredom here.”

  “All right, all right. Stop your whining, woman!” But Daryl allowed her to drag him off down the aisle. The other two drifted after them. Only Kristin paused long enough to give Dexter a little wave. “See you in Bio class.”

  “Yeah,” he croaked out, going for a jaunty, casual tone and failing miserably. “See you then.”

  He watched until she was out of sight around the corner. Then he sighed and closed his eyes, his whole body going limp. He leaned against the handle of the shopping cart. Why did he even bother trying? A girl like that was never going to see him as anything more than the quiet, nerdy, poor kid who sat behind her in Bio. Never, ever, ever. He might as well face it and set his sights a little lower, or…