“Is he still breathing?”
Jill looked over at him quickly, then turned back to the group.
She nodded.
“He’s still breathing,” she said. “But he doesn’t look good. I don’t know what we can do with him.”
“Keep him comfortable and try to keep him warm,” Titus said. “That’s all we can really do under the circumstances.”
“No first aid kit on the plane?” Jill asked.
“Not yet,” Paul said. “We’ll look again tomorrow. There’s probably some stuff under the water.”
E separated the food into piles. PowerBars, sandwich, V8 juice, Double Stuf cookies, apples. She put the half bottle of Diet Coke next to the V8 juice. Liquids with liquids.
“Food is going to be a priority tomorrow,” Titus said, standing for a second to examine the supply. “We’re going to have to figure out a way to catch fish. Anyone know how to fish?”
“I can,” Jill said.
When she saw people looking at her, she continued.
“My dad is super into fly fishing. I know how to fish.”
“Okay, then you’re in charge of fishing,” Titus said.
“I can do it a little, too,” Seldon said. “I fished as a kid.”
“Then you two should work together,” Titus said. “That’s good. It’s good to have two people on a team.”
Suryadi made a low, horrible moan. At the same moment, the rain fell harder in a deep, hurried wave. The fire sizzled. Walter Eliot reached forward and put two sticks into the flames to keep them busy.
“We should eat the apples and the ham sandwich,” E said, examining the food. “They’re the most perishable.”
“And an Oreo or two,” Web said. “Get real.”
“We might need them down the road,” Paul said.
“What road?” Web said, his voice suddenly animated, his eyes going around the group. “Listen, if you think we’re going to survive for more than a week or two out here, think again. It’s not happening! If a plane doesn’t come for us, we’re goners anyway. A couple Double Stufs either way won’t make any difference. Trust me on that.”
“Quit being so negative,” E said, looking up from the food.
Then Jill stopped them all.
“He’s not breathing,” she said about Suryadi. “He’s not breathing at all.”
SURVIVAL TIP #2
* * *
In an extreme situation, you might find water by watching animals at sunrise or sunset. Animals require water, too, so they go to drink at least twice a day. Plot their direction and follow it. Insects — especially mosquitoes — live within four hundred feet of water. If insects assault you, chances are water is nearby.
Using a sharp, hand-shaped stone, E scored a line in the calendar pole, making a vertical slash to mark the twelfth day. The pole had been Web’s idea, and it wasn’t a bad one. On one of his reconnaissance walks, Paul had found the bare branch, stripped off all bark, and leaned it against the side of the pine hut when he returned. Web had grabbed it and brought it inside and had marked off the first three days, counting backward with everyone’s assistance until he came up with the correct measure. Three days. That was nine days ago, E realized as she leaned it back against the wall. It looked like a yardstick or one of those things your parents used to record your height through your childhood. Something like that. Web had spent one whole evening scraping in the legend at the bottom. DAYS UNTIL RESCUE, he had written in stunted block letters.
The truth behind the stick was that time had become hazy. Everyone felt it. Web had been correct about that. Without electronic devices, clocks, cell phones, and computers, it was hard to know what day it was, never mind what time. The days bled into one another, and before you knew it, you could not recall if such and such happened yesterday, or the day before, or maybe even five days earlier. Nothing marked the days except random events, so certain days became the day we found the bear’s footprint, or the day the plane flew over, or the day of the first fish.
Or the day Suryadi stopped breathing.
Twelve days. Twelve nights.
But today, at least, was perfect. The weather had dawned sharp and crisp and clear. During the night, it had frosted higher in the mountains, and the morning sun set everything glistening. A pale, scattered frost had touched down on the beach, too, and E had heard Titus and Paul and Mr. Eliot remarking that the insects were not so bad. Not bad at all. The frost had killed them, at least a good portion of them, and that was an enormous relief.
E nearly hit her head on the lip of the plane wing that Titus and Paul had found in the woods. It was now engineered into the roof, and it was a vast improvement over the pine thatch they had had before, because it shed the majority of rain and wasn’t such a risk with the fire in the center of the hut. Still, though, she came close to hitting her head every time she ducked under it. She was too tall for hut life.
Camp Lollipop, she thought as she stepped clear of the doorway. It looked pretty good.
It was called Camp Lollipop because Web had found six enormous bags of lollipops in the plane on one of his scouting missions. They had been pushed back under a bunch of maps in one of the overhead compartments, destined, they had guessed, for a school or classroom somewhere in the backcountry. The lollipops had become the thing. Everyone ate lollipops all day long. Eventually they would run out, but the consensus had been that the lollipops were essential for morale. They provided something to chew and suck, and when it came right down to it, that was important. Extremely important. So now everyone walked around with a lollipop in her or his mouth, and it was sort of funny, and sort of pitiful, but necessary, also. They worked as a currency, too. You could give someone a lollipop for a favor or the performance of a chore. Each person had a supply, and some people ate them as quickly as they came to them, and others — Jill, for one — chewed on the stick all day and refused to be hurried.
“Nice day, huh?” Mr. Eliot asked.
He sat on a stump near the signal fire. He had a lollipop in his mouth. He was on heaven watcher duty. That was the name they had given to the person selected to keep an eye on the sky in case a plane or helicopter came past. He had two mirrors beside him, both pried free from the plane’s bathroom. If a plane came during the day, the heaven watcher was supposed to flash it with a reflection. If it came at night, he or she was supposed to light the signal fire. They had all agreed on the importance of having a heaven watcher.
“It’s beautiful,” E answered, looking around at the camp. “Where is everyone?”
The heaven watcher also provided another service: He or she was the check-in point for everyone in the camp. If you were going off, you told the heaven watcher. The heaven watcher then knew where everyone was at any point in the day. At night, you simply didn’t go anywhere. Especially since the discovery of the bear tracks down by the water on day five.
“Web is in the plane, as usual. And I think Paul and Titus are off scouting or dragging in wood. They’re together down at the south end of the beach. Jill and Seldon are fishing. Buford is with them.”
“I slept late.”
“You must have needed it. What team are you on today?”
“I don’t know. Wood gathering with Web, I think. I need to take a swim at some point. I’m filthy, but I suppose I should wait until afterward.”
“Titus said people should think about doing laundry today. It’s the first truly sunny day we’ve had in a while.”
“We should air out the blankets, too. I’ll do that now.”
She ducked back in the pine hut and pulled out the small airline blankets they had taken from the plane. They were thin and nearly useless, but they were all they had for warmth at night besides their clothes. She carried them to the hanging line and threw them over, one by one, until they rested in the sun, arranged neatly down the string. Another Titus suggestion: a group clothesline for hanging laundry or anything else that needed to be off the ground. Web had found the rope for the clothes
line underneath the pilot’s seat. Little by little, the camp had become more comfortable.
“Would you mind taking the heaven watch for a few minutes?” Mr. Eliot asked when she came back. “I need to use the bushes.”
“Go ahead.”
“Be right back.”
He stood and walked off toward the men’s latrine. The women’s latrine was in the other direction. Neither latrine was much to brag about, but Titus had recommended they consolidate their waste. That way, he said, they would be less likely to contaminate the drinking water. The latrine was not her favorite place, and she visited it as infrequently as possible.
She sat on the stump Mr. Eliot had occupied and stared absently up at the sky. Nothing. Only once had they spotted a plane far to the west. It had suddenly appeared on the horizon on day six, maybe two hand-spans higher than the trees when you looked at it, and it appeared to be a commercial jet. They had flashed it, but the sun was dull that day, and the plane was far, far away. Still, it had sent an electric jolt through everyone, and that night they had decided to have a regular heaven watcher on duty at all hours. Everyone agreed it was the best chance at rescue.
On a day like today, E reflected, heaven watcher was the best duty going. You got to sit in the sun and simply watch. It wasn’t heavy lifting, but it could be a tad boring if everyone else went away. She let the sun warm her bones. Paul and Mr. Eliot had been correct: The insects were no longer a serious issue.
“Back,” Mr. Eliot said.
He held out a lollipop for her. She took it as payment. It was orange. She stood and let him take her place.
He fished another lollipop out of his breast pocket and unwrapped it.
“It’s getting cold, huh?” Mr. Eliot said, sitting.
“Not too bad.”
“At night, I mean.”
“Well, sure, it’s pretty cold.”
“What do you think about the plan?”
E could think of two plans floating around Camp Lollipop. One was to build stone hives in the woods. Titus and Seldon had already built a small one to try it out. Seldon had seen the hives on a trip to Ireland. They were common in prehistoric settlements, though Seldon was quick to add that it was a whole lot warmer in Ireland than it was in Alaska during the winter. Still, stone hives would protect them from animals, and they would hold heat better than the pine hut.
That was one part of the plan. To build or not to build.
The other part was whether to leave or not. Or to send off a rescue party.
“You mean the building or the rescue party?”
“The building isn’t very controversial,” Mr. Eliot said. “I think if people want to build, they should build. It wouldn’t hurt anything. I mean the rescue party idea. I’ve got to tell you, I think it’s crazy.”
E shrugged. She wasn’t sure.
“I see the point of it,” she said. “We’ve been here twelve days, and we’ve only seen one plane. And that was a commercial jet.”
“You don’t think they’re looking for us?” Mr. Eliot asked, his voice a tiny bit shrill. E knew he could become agitated if you disagreed with him about their chances of being found by a plane. He clung to that idea more than anyone else. She phrased her next words carefully.
“I didn’t say that. I don’t know. I think they were looking for us. I just don’t know if they’re still looking for us. In a serious, determined way, I mean.”
“Of course they are! I mean, an entire television show just disappeared! We’re probably national news.”
“We’re a small television show on a small channel. I don’t know, Mr. Eliot. Sometimes I think leaving makes sense. It’s going to get cold soon. Really cold.”
He bit down on his lollipop, cracked it, then pulled another out of his pocket. It was purple. He unwrapped it and stuffed the wrapper into the logs on the signal fire. She didn’t like how quickly he got annoyed when this topic came up. Still, she found his bullheadedness annoying. A little part of her wanted to puncture his balloon.
“Walking out doesn’t make much sense, if you ask me. We could be miles from anywhere,” Mr. Eliot said.
“Or not. We don’t know, that’s the thing. Paul and Titus found the outlet of the lake. We can follow the water downstream.”
“Do you have any idea what that country’s like?”
“Harsh,” she said. “Desolate. No one is saying it would be easy. Especially not Titus. But he says you have to make a decision and stick to it. We can’t stay here all winter, that’s certain. We’d never make it. And the sooner we leave, the more strength we have for the journey.”
“I’m sick of Titus. He thinks he’s always right.”
“Well, sorry you feel that way. I think he’s been pretty awesome.”
Mr. Eliot didn’t say anything. He looked tired, and his eyes looked empty. Despite what she had been feeling a moment before, she also experienced a wave of compassion for him. He hadn’t chosen to be marooned on a beach in Alaska, she reflected. He just wasn’t very good at it, that’s all. He didn’t have the temperament or the stamina. He was a worrier, but mostly he worried about the wrong things.
E took a moment to straighten her posture. Her posture was a constant battle, but she had become sloppy about it while living on the beach. She straightened her shoulders and felt better almost immediately.
“Someone is going to show up,” Mr. Eliot said, fluttering the lollipop in his mouth. “That just makes sense. When they do, we better all be here.”
“I see both sides,” E said.
“I’m staying here.”
“That’s your prerogative. Everyone has to make an independent decision.”
“My son is staying, too.”
E nodded. She knew Paul had already talked about leaving with Titus, but she didn’t want to raise that with Mr. Eliot for the time being. The day was too nice to spoil with bickering.
“Tell you what, I’m going to take a swim and clean off. Then I’ll start dragging in wood.”
“Where are you swimming?”
E pointed toward the north end of the beach. Away from Paul and Titus and away from the fishing team.
Mr. Eliot nodded.
“Okay,” he said and cracked down on his lollipop. He shoved the empty stick in the pile of signal-fire logs and waved to her as she walked off.
Jill teased the caterpillar forward, feeling the slow tick of the gravel on the fishhook. The caterpillar, skewered on the hook, entered the perfect strike zone. She and Seldon had already caught two fish, both of them fourteen inches or better. She wanted another.
Seldon watched beside her. Buford watched beside him.
“Right there,” Seldon whispered.
“We may have fished it out for now.”
“No, there should be more.”
The strike zone consisted of a seam of fast water that gave way to a backward eddy. The water came in from a stream and curled around a large rock situated in the middle of the outflow. Trout hid around the rock, dodging out to pick off insects and whatever else the stream brought them. Most days, Seldon and Jill used caterpillars or grasshoppers they found back in the woods. The trout didn’t seem to have a preference for one over the other. Some days grasshoppers, some days caterpillars. It all depended on what they could find.
She felt a quick tug on the line, then nothing.
“Easy,” Seldon whispered.
Jill nodded. She was the best angler, she knew. Seldon was okay, but she was better. She had a feel for it.
A trout hit the line again, and this time she jerked up quickly to set the hook. The water around the rock exploded with the fish dancing on its tail. She didn’t try to play it. She simply walked backward quickly, letting the fish slide in through the shallow water and then onto the bank. Seldon bonked its head with a rock. The trout quivered twice, and Seldon hit it again. The trout lay quietly while a trickle of blood dribbled out of its mouth.
“A good one,” Seldon said, bending over it to remove the hoo
k.
“Once this water freezes, they won’t be in here.”
“I know. But one day at a time.”
Jill wound up the slack on a piece of wood once Seldon tossed the hook to her. The fishing line stayed on the original bobbin that they had found in the plane. They had thought about dividing the line into two or even three parts, but they did not want to risk so many hooks at once. They had already lost four hooks; they had six more, and then they were in all kinds of trouble, Jill knew.
“What do you say, buddy?” Seldon asked Buford. “You want some fish heads?”
“It’s so gross,” Jill said.
“No one else wants to eat the heads.”
“It’s still gross.”
Seldon put the last fish beside the others on a long, flat stone they had dragged there for this particular purpose. He didn’t have a knife but used a sharpened rock instead. He had chipped it and sharpened it as best he could and had wrapped tape around it for a handle, but it was still grisly to watch him saw through the throat of the trout. He chopped off all three heads, then put them on a second rock that had become Buford’s dish.
“There you go, buddy,” he said.
Buford came forward and nosed them. Then, almost reluctantly, he began to lick harder.
“We should cook them at least. Roast them over a fire,” Jill said. “The poor pooch.”
Seldon shook his head.
“Better nutrition to eat it raw.”
“But way gross.”
“Buford needs to eat, just like anyone else.”
Seldon reached out and ran his hand down Buford’s back. The dog paused, apparently wondering if his food was being threatened, and Jill saw the tiniest glimmer of teeth under the dog’s flappy jowls. Seldon laughed. He took his hand away, and Buford began eating again.
“What a tiger,” Seldon said about Buford. “Everyone’s channeling an inner tiger around here.”
Paul and Titus came up as Seldon finished gutting the three trout. He gave the guts to Buford, too.
The boys were armed with the crossbow and a sharpened spear. Titus carried the crossbow. Jill knew they had been hunting. They hunted often but had not brought anything down yet.
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