Lost: The Novels

by Catherine Hapka

  Jeff, Michael, Charlie, and Hurley stood nervously, each with a spear upraised. Jeff felt both ridiculous and terrified and imagined that the rest felt pretty much the same way. When Locke saw that they were all in position, he held both of his spears in his left hand and then he picked up a large rock in his right. Suddenly, so suddenly that he startled the rest of the party, Locke rushed toward the thicket wailing like a banshee. When he was just a few feet away, he threw the rock into the bushes. As soon as he did so, he began running past Hurley to the opposite side of the thicket, to the spot where Jeff was waiting.

  Before he could get there, the boar crashed through the branches with a roaring squeal and thundered directly toward Jeff.

  “Stick him!” Locke shouted.

  Jeff thought that those were the two most insane words he had ever heard. He was an artist, a scholar, and a gentle lover of women; he was certainly not the sort of Neanderthal who could kill a monstrous beast with little more than his bare hands.

  But even before the split-second thought had flitted across his mind, Jeff had already braced himself and tossed the spear directly at the boar.

  And missed.

  The boar lowered his head just as he reached Jeff and then raised it with a savage thrust, tossing Jeff into the air. His body hit the backside of the hog before he tumbled onto the ground and rolled through the tall grass. He struggled to his feet and had time to flash upon the welcome idea that he could stand up at all. He had dropped his second spear in the fall and by the time he found it and stood ready to throw it, he saw that two spears had already found their mark, one in the boar’s side and one in his flank. The latter one interfered with the motion of his back left leg and the boar stumbled momentarily. He was running again in an instant, but the delay had just been enough for Locke to unleash his second spear, and for Michael to throw his.

  Now the boar was beginning to look like a gargantuan, bloody porcupine. He staggered forward a few more feet, then crumpled down on his front knees. Locke saw Jeff’s second spear sticking up in the ground and ran for it, yelling to the others, “Finish him!”

  As much pain as he was in, and as much as he knew the killing was necessary, Jeff felt a wave of pity for the boar; he truly felt like a savage, and he didn’t like the feeling one bit. Nevertheless, he knew what had to be done. Running up to the struggling boar’s side, Jeff thrust his spear with all his strength into its right eye. He was astonished that the point actually found its mark and he immediately jammed the shaft as deeply into the skull as he could.

  The pig dropped to the ground with a heavy thud. The hooves twitched and spasmed for a few moments, but Jeff knew the beast was dead. Jeff backed up a few paces, staring at this once-living thing that he had killed, and sat down in the grass.

  Well, that’s something I never saw myself doing. Life is full of surprises.

  Hurley and Charlie still held both of their spears. Both of Michael’s had found their mark, as had both of Locke’s. Locke stood holding Jeff’s second spear. All four of them gazed at Jeff in disbelief.

  Locke smiled in admiration. “That, my friend,” he said, “was a solid kill. You never told us you were such a hunter.”

  Jeff continued to stare at the boar, a bemused smile on his face. He looked up at Locke and grinned widely. “I can’t even bring myself to bait a mousetrap.”

  Charlie patted him on the back. “That was the old Jeff,” he said. “Now you’re Island Jeff, the mighty boar hunter!”

  The others laughed in agreement and each one came by to pat Jeff on the back.

  Locke unsheathed his Bowie knife and unceremoniously slit the pig’s throat. “We have to bleed her out,” Locke said. “Otherwise the meat will spoil.” He motioned to a large tree with a sturdy limb about seven feet off the ground.

  “We need to get her hung up to finish the job. And that’s something I can’t do by myself.”

  “Her?” Jeff said, a queasy feeling in his stomach.

  Locke nodded. “She’s a sow. I couldn’t tell until we got this close.”

  Somewhere there are little piglets, squealing for their mummy, Jeff thought. He immediately tried to banish the thought from his mind. Mummy or not, he thought, she tried to gut you a few minutes ago. And she’s going to feed a lot of hungry people. Jeff didn’t know if that was just a convenient rationalization, and he finally decided he didn’t much care. It was done and there was no going back. No point in making it worse by trying to stir up some guilt within himself.

  Locke took out a length of rope and began looping it around the sow’s hind feet and then motioned for the others to lend a hand. It took the full efforts of all five men to drag the boar over to a tree. Once there, Charlie shimmied up the tree and tossed the rope over the limb. Then Charlie, Jeff, and Michael pulled the rope while Locke and Hurley hoisted the pig. As soon as the boar’s snout was a few inches off the ground, Locke said, “That’ll do.” He looped the rope around the base of the tree several times and tied a sturdy knot. Then he took his Bowie knife and made a long, deep slit all the way down her belly. A thick stream of blood rushed out and pooled on the ground.

  Locke said, “We should leave it for an hour or so. There’s a spring over here so we can fill our bottles and wash up a little. And there’s a tree with some kind of fruit on it. It looks a little like mango, but I don’t think I’ve ever encountered it before.”

  Hurley frowned and said, “If you don’t know what it is, how do you know it isn’t poisonous?”

  Locke smiled and said, “Life is risk, my friend.”

  Jeff was grateful to be able to wash up and he was grateful that the fruit turned out to be delicious and no one got sick. After they had breakfasted, they set about building a sled to drag the boar back to camp. They hacked down two long bamboo stalks and used another length of rope to connect them to shorter limbs placed horizontally. The job was made more complicated by Locke’s unwillingness to cut the rope into shorter pieces. There was only so much rope on the island and conservation efforts were in order. Michael found some sturdy vines, which helped the process along.

  When it was ready, they dragged the sled over to the tree and positioned it under the boar. Then Locke untied the knot in the rope and all five men helped to lower the carcass carefully.

  Locke pointed west. “The beach is over there, maybe a mile. I think it would be easier travel to head that way, and then drag the boar along the beach. Fewer obstacles on the ground.”

  The other four nodded. Jeff said, “Before we go, now that there’s light, I want to check the walls of that place one more time.”

  “What for?” Michael asked.

  “I need to see if there are other designs in there like the one we saw last night,” Jeff said. “I need to try and understand what’s going on.”

  Locke nodded. “Well, make it fast. We can get back to camp while it’s still daylight if we get out of here pretty soon.”

  Jeff sprinted back up the hill and entered the chamber. He held the talisman in his hand, ready to compare it to anything he might see. But he saw nothing. His disappointment turned to shock when he realized that even the design he had seen the night before—the one they had all seen—was no longer there.

  15

  IF JEFF HAD BEEN surprised by the pomp and circumstance of his arrival in Lochheath, he was absolutely shocked by the near-adulation that greeted him in Sydney. During his three years at Robert Burns College, although he had sometimes traveled to London or Glasgow, Jeff had felt rather isolated from the art world. His work had been shown regularly in galleries and museums, but he rarely attended the openings after a while. And his income from sales had increased steadily, sometimes markedly, over the years. But he began to look at all that as slightly abstract and instead concentrated on reveling in the slower rhythms of working in his old Scottish house. He had little social contact outside the school, and that was all he required. After all, he had Savannah.

  Because he had cut himself off from the social wh
irl, he rather assumed that he had vanished from the public’s consciousness. But Sydney proved otherwise. A large contingent of museum dignitaries and fans greeted him at the gate at Sydney Airport and his first week in the city was a whirlwind of television, radio, and newspaper interviews. He was feted at gala dinners, given box seats at the theater and the opera, and generally treated like a rock star.

  Every bus stop in town was adorned with a large poster advertising Jeff’s exhibit at the Newton. The painting reproduced on the poster was Jeff’s sly parody of The Lady of Shalott. This meant that every time Jeff walked down the street he was confronted with Savannah’s smiling face, rendered in the lush and gorgeous tones of the pre-Raphaelite artists from whom Jeff had taken his inspiration for the painting.

  And every time he saw the poster he thought, What have I done?

  Jeff’s exhibit broke all museum records for attendance. He had been a denizen of the art world long enough to know that this kind of popularity was always soon followed by critical backlash. There was, he knew, a tendency—a compulsion, actually—among critics to build up an artist only to tear him down. And so as his greatness was acclaimed repeatedly in the media, he braced himself for the inevitable moment when the critics began cutting him off at the knees.

  But that moment never came. His time in Australia was nearly magical in that regard. Everything about it was perfect, except for the fact that he had tossed away his only chance at happiness.

  Jeff’s popularity brought with it the requisite art groupies. They were not as ubiquitous as those enjoyed by rock stars, but they were usually just as enthusiastic when it came to expressing their admiration. Many of them were would-be artists themselves, and after the amenities of the act of love were concluded, they tended to bring the subject around to their burgeoning careers, inquiring discreetly how Jeff might help them along on their own paths to greatness. Jeff was usually gracious and noncommittal and was always careful that, while he had their phone numbers, they did not have his.

  Jeff pursued these casual encounters with even greater fervor than in the past, trying everything he could to banish Savannah’s face from his mind. But every woman he met made him think of her. Everything they said made him think of how much brighter she was than they. Every idea they uttered made him remember her insight and wit. And even the most beautiful of them paled beside his golden memories of her perfect face.

  When numerous and nameless one-night stands did not make Jeff forget Savannah, he turned to a more serious affair. He met an attractive gallery owner named Brenda, who was both intelligent and successful. She had a quick sense of humor and was a passionate and eager lover. And Jeff, believing himself to have learned from his mistakes, made it clear to Brenda that theirs was a temporary relationship, one that would last as long as he was in Sydney but that would end the day he left. He was relieved when she readily agreed. She assured him that the future held other handsome artists she would like to get to know; Brenda was no more eager to settle into a permanent relationship than Jeff was. He was happy to hear her say it, but a little disappointed at the same time. It was the first time that a woman had told him, in essence, that he would be easy to get over. Savannah didn’t feel that way. Savannah would love him always.

  Jeff’s enormous success in Australia quickly led to offers from galleries and museums from several countries around the world. The offers felt like a godsend to Jeff. As his time in Sydney drew to an end, he began to dread returning to Scotland. Even if Savannah were no longer there, the memories would be. Jeff wondered if he would ever be able to sleep in his bed or have tea by his fireside without thinking of her.

  He contacted the university to tell them that he would not be returning for at least another semester. He spoke with Mr. Blond, who seemed disappointed—but not too disappointed—and who assured Jeff three times that he was welcome back whenever he chose to return.

  After sifting through the offers, Jeff chose what seemed to be the most agreeable one, in Los Angeles, California. He knew not a soul there and knew nothing about the city, save what he had seen in the movies and on television. That very blankness of canvas appealed to him greatly. There was nothing of Savannah in that vast megalopolis. No memories. Nothing to make him regret, day after day, week after week, his epic stupidity in letting her go.

  He booked a flight on Oceanic 815 to Los Angeles. In the final days of his stay in Australia, he found himself avoiding Brenda. Even though the thought puzzled and disturbed him, their superficial relationship was not enough for him. Savannah was on his mind nearly all the time, even entering his dreams. On several occasions he almost broke down and called her. He began to fantasize about bringing her to Los Angeles with him. The fact that there were no memories of her in the city made him want to create some. Jeff longed to see her excitement in a new setting, knowing that all the fresh sights and sounds would stimulate and delight her.

  Oh God, Jeff thought. I’ve made the biggest mistake in my life.

  16

  THE JOURNEY BACK TO the camp was far more arduous than the trip out the day before. They were, after all, now dragging what Locke estimated to be about eight hundred pounds of raw pork. Locke had been correct that the sand of the beach made dragging the sled far smoother, but getting to the beach had taken almost three hours of backbreaking labor. Now, three men pulled the sled at a time, while the other two rested by walking alongside. When he was pulling, Jeff felt absurdly like one of Father Christmas’s reindeer, bearing the timeless gift of meat.

  Jeff, Locke, and Michael were harnessed to the sled in the early afternoon. Jeff said to Locke, “Tell me about the caves.”

  Locke shrugged. “Nothing to tell,” he said.

  Jeff scowled.

  Seeing his expression, Locke said, “Don’t worry; we can fill you in on all this stuff later. Although I must say, you’re probably better off not knowing.”

  Jeff said, “Well, wherever it is, I need to go there.”

  Locke shook his head. “Absolutely not,” he said.

  Jeff was astonished. “Absolutely not? And why the bloody hell absolutely not?”

  Michael said, “I know it sounds weird, but I wouldn’t go against Locke in a thing like this. He’s been inside. He knows how dangerous it is.”

  “But my art was in there,” Jeff said. “That’s what Hurley said. Something incredibly strange is going on and I have to find out what it is.”

  Locke said, “Believe me, we can talk about strange things from now until doomsday and we won’t cover half of the strange things on this island. Those caves are dangerous. Nobody needs to go there.”

  Jeff glanced over at Locke. They continued to pull the heavy boar carcass across the sandy beach. “I’ll go there. I don’t need your permission.”

  Locke stopped walking and put down the rope. He and Jeff stepped out and Locke motioned for Hurley and Charlie to take their place as reindeer. Once the boar was being dragged forward again, Locke said, “You don’t need my permission, but I’ll stop you if you try to go. And believe me, Jeff. If I don’t get you, the caves will.”

  Jeff moved down closer to the beach. He slipped his shoes off and walked through the shallow surf, enjoying the feel of the refreshing, cool water on his tired feet.

  Still pulling at the rope, Michael wondered if Jeff was going insane. He knew how much damage stress could do. He had seen it in himself and had watched it consume others. Maybe, Michael thought, Jeff already knew where the caves weres. Perhaps Jeff had been going there all along, painting and drawing on the walls of it. He might not be crazy. Maybe Jeff was just suffering through some kind of temporary delusional psychosis.

  A dozen yards away, walking thoughtfully through the surf, Jeff wondered precisely the same thing.

  The arrival of the boar turned the island’s mood into that of a feast day. Sawyer and Jin constructed a spit onto which the boar was mounted to begin its slow roast over a fire. The five explorers were hailed as local heroes. Many were concerned about Hurley
’s cuts and bruises, and while Jack cleaned the abrasions on his face with some alcohol, Hurley invented a story about tripping and rolling down a hill. He figured he could always tell the true story later. For the moment, why spoil the party?

  Fruit was gathered, sweet potatoes were prepared for roasting in the coals, and some of the more industrious began to decorate the dining area with flowers and palm fronds. As the sun began to sink over the ocean, someone handed Charlie his guitar and he began to sing raucous tunes from the Driveshaft repertoire at first, then softer, sweeter tunes appropriate to the idyllic setting.

  Jeff bathed and changed clothes, then wandered back to the group. It looked like any clambake on any beach in the world—except for the charred wreckage of Flight 815’s fuselage that loomed in the background. The island, as he had seen for himself, could be the scene of tension, danger, even horror. But at the moment, the scene was soothing and pleasant, filled with happy people.

  Jeff was jolted out of his reverie by an unfamiliar voice. “You guys did a great job out there. Thanks.”

  He looked up to find a beautiful young woman standing over him. He had seen her at a distance often, usually in the company of Dr. Jack. She was petite but gave off an aura of strength. Her face wore a wide, generous smile, but there was something in her eyes—it might be sadness, or it might simply be regret. At first sight, Jeff wished he had the tools with which to paint her portrait. But, as beautiful as she was, he was a little surprised to find that he did not want her.

  She’s absolutely gorgeous, he thought. But she’s not Savannah.

  “My name’s Kate,” she said, extending her hand. Jeff started to stand up but she sat down in the sand beside him before he could.