by Tom Bale
His veins seem to be coursing with all the power of the storm. Clenching fists as heavy as hammers, he throws back his head and lets out a bestial howl of emotion. This is the payoff for cheating death by a matter of centimetres. He has come up against the raw might of nature and survived, and this brings him strength, a sense of calm – and even confidence.
We’re going to get through this, he declares to himself.
We will survive.
36
The children appear to sleep quite soundly, but Jody is awake for long stretches of the night, and so is Sam. At best they manage only the sort of restless nerve-jangling slumber that she remembers from when the kids were newborns: part of her brain always alert to the tiniest movement or noise. The best thing she can say is that they are at least resting, conserving some energy for the coming day.
She’d imagined that sleeping on sand would be fairly comfortable, but it’s agony. There’s constant torment from whatever kind of bugs or lice make their home on the beach, and then there’s the emotional torture: the compulsion to revisit the many terrible experiences of the previous day. The wall, the snakes, the dreadful thirst.
The lightning strike that blew Sam off his feet.
At first she thought he was dead. That memory alone is bad enough; worse is how she reacted. To her eternal shame, she shut her eyes, unable to bear the sight of his body.
But Sam wasn’t killed, and when he came back to the shelter there was a manic gleam in his eyes. He was keyed up, vibrating with energy. After kissing Jody on the lips, he held his children close and promised them that they would all survive.
‘We just have to stay strong. Stay strong and believe in ourselves, okay?’
His fervour scared her a little, to be honest, but what choice did Jody have but to nod and smile?
Eventually the storm moved off, and the intensity of the rain gradually eased. For a time, until the clouds began to break, there was utter darkness. You could hold your hand in front of your eyes and not see it.
Now, waking suddenly, Jody is aware of a weak light filtering into the sky; enough to illuminate several layers of wrung out clouds. She can hear the lonely echoing cries of a seabird circling overhead.
Her whole body is stiff and aching, her skin itching from insect bites and sore where the sand exfoliated her as she writhed in her sleep. The stuff has worked its way into her ears, nostrils and just about everywhere else. The realisation that they are still trapped, with no proper food or drink, makes her want to sob.
She lies there for a while, fighting the apathy, the despair. The other three go on sleeping, Sam twitching and moaning, Dylan and Grace nestled together on the clothes that form their bedding. Jody is squeezed in tight against the edge of the boat, so the only way to move without disturbing them is to crawl upwards, wriggling over the rain-sodden sand.
She makes it out, collects her sandals but stays on her hands and knees until she reaches the hole. She lifts off the plastic bag and discovers that the bottle is full to the brim. It’s a wonderful sight, although realistically there still isn’t enough water to keep the four of them hydrated for more than a few hours.
After putting the lid on without taking so much as a sip – she’d feel too guilty to drink it alone – she stands up and stretches until her limbs come back to life. There’s a freshness to the air, with the day’s heat yet to build, and it’s a bit chilly to be wearing only her bra and knickers. But she can’t retrieve her dress or cardigan without disturbing the kids, so she’ll just have to put up with it.
The equipment they’d gathered is lying nearby. Jody studies it with a thoughtful gaze.
She already knows what she wants to do. The question is: can she do it?
She picks up the net that failed to catch them any fish, folds it into a manageable size and slings it over her shoulder. She also takes four of the bungee cords and one of the shorter stakes. Once she’s equipped, she glances again at her family. Restless but still asleep, as far as she can see. That’s good, because the temptation to wimp out is growing by the second.
The tree that caught a lightning strike is a mangled wreck, one side charred and twisted. It makes her shudder, realising how close Sam came to a similar fate.
She’s ultra-cautious on the path through the woods, fearing the presence of other traps that the day before they might have missed by sheer chance. Realising she needs to pee, she works out that this will be the first one since the previous morning. But the urine that dribbles out is dark and pungent, and accompanied by a dull ache from her kidneys.
All the more reason to do this.
Today there seem to be a few more signs of life. Birds are chirping in the trees and insects buzz and whine. Here and there she spots dragonflies and bright shiny beetles, and once a plump lizard races across her path–
Some of these things are probably edible.
The thought produces three reactions: first the inevitable growl from her stomach, followed by a shudder of nausea, and finally a nagging impression that an important idea hasn’t quite crystallised: some connection she ought to be making.
She pushes at it for a while but gets nowhere. She’s virtually tiptoeing, probably more from reluctance than caution. The trees are still dripping from the storm, creating a surround sound performance – plop! tap! plunk! splat! – that reminds her of those arty modern symphonies where the musicians use hose pipes and car parts and God knows what else.
But now she’s here.
Back at the pit.
She swallows. It hurts her throat. Her mouth is drier than ever, like a cave lined with salt. Peering down, she counts three reptiles and then waits, waits a long time before she spots the tip of what might be the fourth – the pale one with the horn or whatever it is.
Four. She goes on staring, searching, and doesn’t find number five. What to do?
She can’t wait forever: her nerve will fail her. And the sun’s coming up. She imagines Sam waking and finding her gone. If this goes wrong, he might not discover her body until the hidden life of the forest has begun to consume her–
‘So don’t fail!’ For the final time she runs through the plan she formed while lying under the boat. The pit is slightly deeper than she figured, but it still ought to work.
She kneels down, then has an image of the missing snake gliding out of the undergrowth behind her. Turning, she kicks away the leaves so there’s a clear patch of earth between her and the nearest trees. Probably won’t help much, but it makes her feel slightly better.
Now for the pit itself. She lays the net down and unfolds it until it’s a couple of square metres in size. She uses two bungee cords to hook the corners together, drawing them up to construct a makeshift basket. A third bungee cord is tied around the other two: this is the handle, enabling her to lower the net into the pit.
She lies flat on her belly. The ground beneath her is cool and damp, with a rich organic smell that makes her think of food: mushrooms especially.
Oh, yes: pizza loaded with mushrooms. And pepperoni, and thick strings of gooey cheese...
Her stomach lurches with desire. Some sort of bug goes scurrying past and Jody imagines her tongue snapping out to collect this tasty treat. Once again, along with the hunger and revulsion, she’s tormented by the sense of something she’s not seeing.
She dismisses it and moves forward, placing her head and both arms over the edge of the pit. The net is a lot heavier than she expected. Lowering it with her arms outstretched, it’s all she can do not to let go of the cord. To get more control, she shuffles forward. Now her chest extends over the pit. Her toes are pressing into the earth, but they make for a poor anchor.
Topple over the edge and you’re dead, you’ll never see your kids again…
There’s a little relief when the bottom of the net sags against the ground, only a few centimetres from the bottle of water. She gauges the strength she’ll need to keep hold of the net with one hand, the hook of the bungee cord biting painfully int
o her palm. Then she twists round, reaching for the wooden stake with her right hand.
When she turns back the thin red snake, bolder than the others, is probing at the edge of the net. In a spasm of shock she almost lets go, recovering just in time. She brings the stake thudding down like a spear and the snake retreats, curling up in disgust. She can see the horned one in the far corner, apparently not interested, but the others are hidden among the leaves.
She has to forget them. This next bit is tricky enough even without the distraction. She wriggles forward again and jams the stake into the ground, using it like a crutch, the way Sam did. She’s poised at the absolute limit, and the net is resting next to the water. She has to joggle it round to get it flatter, then she lifts the stake and tries to bring it across in tiny hops. With each one there’s a gasp from the effort. From the fear.
She’s done this all wrong. She’s now reliant on the stake for her balance, but she also needs it to push and prod the bottle into the net.
‘Fucking hell!’ she growls, easing back a little; not too much, because she’ll drop the stake or pull the net too high for the bottle to go in. If I was a bit taller, she thinks. If I had longer arms…
If I was Sam.
But she’s not Sam. And she can’t expect him to take all the risks. The bottle is there, right next to the net. It’s doable. She needs to focus, use the strength in her hips and shoulders to keep her upper body rigid; then her arms can work freely.
She moves forward again, only this time the soil at the edge of the pit crumbles and collapses beneath her.
37
Sam wakes in a rush and tries to sit up, hitting his head with a clunk. Where the hell is he?
Settling back in a daze, he rubs his head and wipes his eyes. Everything hurts: his skin is gritty with sand and it feels like he’s covered in bites. That’s when he remembers – they’re prisoners on the island. And last night, a huge storm; he was hit by lightning, almost, but afterwards he felt…
How did he feel? The memory doesn’t seem reliable; more like a dream. Wasn’t he strong, confident, optimistic?
Huh. That sounds insane.
There’s a body pressed against him: Dylan. He’s asleep but his sister isn’t. She’s propped up on one elbow, frowning. Sam smiles to reassure her.
‘It’s fine. Just bumped my head.’
But Grace casts a glance over her shoulder and then looks back at him, no less anxious.
‘Where’s Mum?’
Jody is sliding forwards, helpless; already she’s thinking about how she can fight off the snakes once she’s down amongst them. Then it dimly registers that she still has the wooden stake in her hand.
It can hold her up. It can save her.
She shifts on to her side, losing hold of the net because all that matters is staying out of the pit. She tightens her grip on the stake, painfully flexing her wrist as she drives the timber into the earth and at the same time pushes herself backwards. There’s dirt and debris raining down, agitating a thick brown snake that has been hiding directly beneath her. Sneaky bastard.
Now she is safe – she thinks – but to bring the stake out she has to grip the edge of the pit with her free hand, trying to find the solid rock beneath the soil. The ground has been softened by the storm: that’s what caused it to give way. Otherwise she might have succeeded.
Once she has a firm hold she’s able to lift the stake, then retreat and get on to her knees. She stares morosely at the pit. She doesn’t want to go back empty-handed. No water – and worse still, she’s lost the net.
Desperate measures, she thinks after pondering for a minute. Taking the remaining bungee cord, she loops it twice around her ankle, then fixes it to one of the trees close to the path. There’s enough play in the cord to reach the pit, but it should prevent her from falling in. Why hadn’t she thought of that at the start?
She finds a drier spot, testing the ground carefully before lying flat once more. This time it’s easier to manoeuvre because she can grip the stake in both hands, wielding it like a golf club. At full stretch she’s able to nudge and roll the bottle on to the net. A bit of finessing to make sure it’s caught in the folds, then she eases the stake under the bungee cords.
Every time she thinks she has it hooked and gently starts to lift, the stake slips free and the net drops back. She’s reminded of a fraught afternoon in an amusement arcade when Grace was four or five: burning through nearly ten quid trying to win her a toy rabbit from one of those claw-grabbing machines. Jody failed then. She cannot, must not fail now.
Sweat pours down her face as she leans over for what must be the eighth or ninth attempt. This time she stretches to the limit, the bungee cord taut and burning around her ankle. She hooks the net again, twitches and joggles until the cords are more secure on the stake, and then she lifts, she lifts, ever so carefully – gotta land this prize without it slipsliding away – and at last the net comes up, and the bottle comes up inside the net, and the snake, the snake comes up along with it…
Sam can’t believe he’s leaving them alone. His children, so precious that he’d give his life for them in an instant: literally without a second’s thought. But what choice does he have?
Jody might be in trouble. If she is, he can’t have the kids tagging along while he searches. He can’t bear the thought of them witnessing… whatever it is they might witness.
So he has to trust them. He instructs Grace not to leave the shelter of the boat. Dylan is still asleep, and Sam prays he stays that way. Depending on his mood, the boy will either obey his big sister or throw a paddy and do the opposite of whatever he’s told.
Grace, understandably, is worried about the responsibility. ‘If he wakes up and you’re both gone, he’ll scream his head off.’
‘I’ll only be a few minutes, I promise.’
‘Where’s Mum? Why did she leave us?’
Sam doesn’t want to think too much about that second question. But at least he can point to the tracks in the sand.
‘She’s gone into the woods. Maybe needs the toilet.’
‘But there are snakes!’
Sam gives Grace a hug and repeats his promise that he’ll be back soon. Everything’s all right, he assures her. But he doesn’t believe that, and he suspects Grace can see the truth.
He knows he ought to take the path slowly, but the need to find Jody is far too powerful. He’s sick with fury that she went off without telling him; even sicker at the thought of what might have happened to her.
In places the ground is sticky with mud and mushy leaves. It gets him thinking about puddles, maybe even a stream somewhere deeper in the woods. Water they could collect and boil up to drink.
By now he’s guessed where he’ll find her. Some of the anger fades, but the anxiety is still there. He feels his chest tighten, then he’s metres away from the pit and through the trees he spots Jody flat on the ground, a wooden stake in her hands, wobbling under the weight of whatever it is she’s trying to lift out of the pit.
‘Jode,’ he says quietly, not wanting to startle her.
‘Unh,’ she says, too focused to reply.
Sam edges closer and gains a clearer view of the net, wrapped up and bound together with the bungee cords. Jody’s almost brought it up to ground level. Nestling within it is the second bottle of water. What a star, he thinks.
‘Let me help.’ He crouches down to grab the water, and that’s when he sees a fat brown snake coiling through the wide holes in the net. It’s facing away from him, its head only centimetres from Jody’s hands, which are white-knuckled and trembling with the effort.
She hasn’t noticed it. By the time she does, it will be too late.
Sam’s reaction is completely spontaneous – something that, if he thought about it, he could never, ever make himself do. He grabs the snake somewhere near its tail. There’s an immediate shock that it feels so different to how he expected: cool but not cold, and not at all slimy; instead it’s dry and firm to the touch,
and unmistakeably alive. Its movement revolts him, and he knows he should be holding it near the head, but that wasn’t possible so all he can do is snap his wrist like he’s tossing a Frisbee and fling the creature as far as it’ll go.
His arm jerks outwards and his body bends at the waist, trying to put even more distance between them, but the snake’s head whips round and something – a tooth, fang, whatever – grazes the back of his hand as it reels away. The snake lands on the far side of the pit and is lost in the undergrowth.
Jody is flagging, the net still not quite on firm ground. Sam gathers it in, making sure the bottle is safe. She lets out a juddering sigh as he takes the weight. There are tears in her eyes, sweat on her face, her hair tangled and dirty. As she stands up, he sees that her underwear is grubby and stained; she’s covered in bites and sores and there are muddy smears on her stomach that look like war paint. Like some brave warrior queen from the olden days.
The breath catches in his lungs. He reaches for a posh word to describe how she looks to him, and settles on… magnificent. She is magnificent, and in that moment he has never felt as much love or desire for anyone as he does for Jody.
38
She did it. And Sam helped, appearing out of nowhere as she was about to drop the net. Now there’s an odd expression on his face. Jody’s expecting fury but it’s not like that at all.
‘What?’ she says, bewildered.
‘You. You’re… amazing.’ His voice is breathless. There’s a familiar gleam in his eye that’s ridiculous in these circumstances. She’s caked in mud and covered in bites and bruises. She must look dreadful.
‘I didn’t see the snake. Thank God you were here.’
