by Gayle, A. B.
Gideon was unloading crates and boxes, handing them across to his companions who dutifully stacked them in a pile. There wasn’t much room on the jetty and everybody seemed to be getting in each other’s way. None of them seemed too interested in checking that there were no injured people around, surprisingly not even Gil.
Should he go back and help, Miles wondered briefly. Nah. He started walking again. One more pair of hands won’t make much difference, and someone has to check the place out.
He sighed. Admit it, mate, you’re avoiding Gil. For a while he’d thought maybe he was finished grieving for Darren. Coming here had proved that wrong.
He ducked onto a narrow path leading inland. After a few gentle turns, a clearing stood before him. On one side were some native style bures like the ones in every Polynesian resort he’d ever stayed in. Most of their traditional woven-leaf exterior walls had been shredded off by the storm, leaving only the skeletons remaining, but a couple must have been protected by a couple of large above-ground water tanks, as they were more or less intact.
To his left was a long low building, modern and also apparently undamaged, its roof covered in solar panels. Miles tried to open the door, but it was locked. Peering through the narrow glass inserts in the ornately carved wood, he could see a reception desk and beyond that a few sofas and chairs. Again no sign of people.
Where was Flynn when you needed him? Although he’d never been able to prove it, Miles had a fair suspicion that his missing friend was pretty good at lock-picking. Miles could bash the glass in, but why bother? There didn’t seem to be anyone needing his help here.
He headed towards the closest of the two bures that looked habitable and pushed open the door. A green lizard scuttled up the far wall and hid behind a tall bookcase. Even though the walls were still there, the roof obviously wasn’t watertight. Discoloration of the bed coverings showed where they’d been saturated and dried out. Little puddles of water still remained in places.
The other bure was in better condition. Miles used the toilet and was somewhat surprised to find it still worked. Washing his hands, he stared at himself in the mirror. He’d been to the barber about a week before all the shit hit the fan back in Haven Falls, so he didn’t look too ratty. Just as well, because from the looks of things there wasn’t much in the way of facilities here.
Miles ran his finger over the top of the bedside table and wiped off the dust he collected. Strange. Either housekeeping was slack or these buildings had been empty long before the cyclone hit.
He slung Darren’s bag over his shoulder again as he walked back outside. A few more minutes of wandering around confirmed that the resort, for want of a better word, was deserted except for some wildlife that scurried away when he walked inside the damaged buildings.
Definitely no sign of villagers or locals, injured or otherwise. Maybe they were further down the island. The sound of engines startled him. He looked up to see the seaplane climbing back up into the sky and heading off in an easterly direction. Now he could see it in flight, the resemblance to a pelican was even more marked.
Another path led off from the clearing. Should he go back to the others first? They were probably wondering where he was. Miles hesitated for a second then set off to check it out. Seeing the bures had set his thoughts racing back into the past again. Memories of furtive gropes and stolen kisses as he and Darren tried to find places they could escape from the prying eyes of his sister, Siobahn. Running down paths like this, trying to lose her, laughing their heads off and stopping as soon as they realized they were alone.
Each year it had been the same. No matter how many letters they’d sent to each other, nothing matched that first touch, that first press of lips against lips. The playful touch turning into something more serious as they got older. Eventually when they turned eighteen, they’d stayed behind when their parents went to a traditional island feast, pleading exhaustion from swimming and fishing all day, undressing each other slowly and finally making love.
He’d thought he was ready to move on, but how could he cheapen that memory by having sex with someone when his heart wasn’t involved?
He should go back and apologize to Gil. As far as the young man was concerned, he’d been as bad as a starving dog with a piece of meat, snarling at anyone who came near. And didn’t that say a lot about how low he’d sunk, to objectify Gil like that? Thinking of him as a piece of meat not a person. Gil deserved to be treated better than that… a lot better.
Miles stared blindly at a clump of pandanus lining the edge of the sand. A dark shape was pulled up in the shade. The image swum in the tears gathered in his eyes. Was that some sort of boat?
He stumbled towards it, catching his foot slightly on one of the exposed roots. Something hit his head and the world went black.
12: Not What We Expected
Gideon Sterling, Carter (Gil) Gillespie, Lyle Ashley Tate
with mention of Miles Sutherland and Aiden Parker
___________________________________________________
Early morning, 25th January, Mystery Island
Gideon waved to the plane as it rose into the air again, shielding his eyes against the sun’s glare. He just about saw his co-pilot give him the thumbs up as the plane banked and turned, heading out into the flawless blue. Gideon surveyed the men who stood nearby, looking like fish out of water. He had to sympathise, Breslaw hadn’t given too much away on the phone, but he had intimated that their present situation wasn’t the fault of the disparate group he saw before him. They were victims of circumstance.
He’d sensed tension between Gillespie, Tate and Sutherland, while Parker had seemed withdrawn and even more anxious than the rest. The kid had almost had a meltdown before he picked them up in Japan and would only be placated by a phone call. He had kept well out of that. If Pierce was dealing with them, frankly it was no wonder. Parker had calmed considerably but Gideon would lay bets that he was suffering PTSD. Of the others, Gillespie and Sutherland looked to be the better prepared for this jaunt, although they were medical personnel and rumour had it one of them had served with Medecins sans Frontieres. He couldn’t remember which one. Sutherland was the doctor, wasn’t he, and Gillespie a paramedic? They were both useful people to have around.
“Okay, gentlemen, we’d better get this stuff stowed. There’s another storm-front coming over tonight and we’ll need to get the rest of these boxes under cover fast. According to the satellite data it’s not going to be a bad one, but it’s bound to be wet. We need to effect repairs asap.” Gideon noted that Sutherland had already gone walkabout. One less pair of hands to help, he thought with exasperation. “Right, guys, I’m not going to put too fine point on this, but we need all hands on deck. I expect you to at least show willing and not sit on your arses, getting a tan.” He shouldered a large pack and picked up a tool box.
“We’re not stupid. We didn’t ask to come here. We’re not fucking tourists, and we’re not bloody labourers either…” Tate seemed to be winding up for a real rant. Gideon sighed heavily.
“No, Mr.Tate, you are not fucking tourists, and you are not bloody labourers as you so eloquently put it. But what you are is part of a team. You and I are stuck here at least for the foreseeable future and as such, we need to depend on each other. Otherwise life here is going to be that much harder for all of us. Now, I am sure you are in need of a shower, food and bed. I know I am. All that and more can be yours, but first, we get this stuff shifted. Am I making myself clear?” Gideon’s voice had hardened. He really didn’t want any shit from any of them. There was a lot of equipment to move to the resort complex and nothing to move it with except their own muscles. They had Bill and Colly with them, but there was a heap of shit that wouldn’t fare well if left to the elements. After flying for 30 hours Gideon wanted a shower and to stretch out on his bunk, but knew that was a while away yet. The others had been flying longer than that, so although he couldn’t tolerate it right now, he could see why they would be a bit piss
y; that and being ripped out of their comfort zones with less than twenty-four hours notice.
“Fine by me.” Gil shouldered his backpack and grabbed his canvas bag, picking up another toolbox in his other hand. Balanced, he followed Gideon without complaint as the big man moved along the jetty. As they moved out, it seemed as though Gideon also walked with a very slight limp, and Gil resolved to ask him about it. Boy, he had a nice arse on him. Gil mentally slapped himself. It wasn’t five minutes ago that he had been fucked into the mattress by Miles. He wondered where the doctor had got to. Vaguely concerned, Gil hoped Miles hadn’t got himself into trouble somewhere. The dogs had run off as well, too busy playing to heed their masters, enjoying their freedom after such a long time cooped up on the plane. Aiden was quiet, carrying his own and what Gil presumed was Flynn’s bag too. Miles’ case was also there in the pile. Gil decided he would come back for that, unless Miles put in an appearance later.
It looked to Gil like Gideon’s ploy of turning away from Lyle had worked; he filed the ploy for later use if needs be. Lyle bent and grabbed some bags from the jetty and came after them. Lyle Tate was too intelligent to bother wasting breath arguing with a man’s back. Aiden came after, trailing slightly, looking despondent. He was obviously missing Flynn but for the life of him, Gil couldn’t imagine what the teacher saw in the obnoxious little shit.
The trail to the complex was a bit overgrown but Gideon had ordered it be kept that way. The less visible they were from the shore the better. Everyone followed him through the trees and up toward the reception building, which from the air had looked the least badly damaged of the buildings. He produced a key and opened the door and guided them past the built-in reception desk, through another set of double doors and left down a short corridor. Thankfully his assessment from the air had been right, this building seemed pretty intact and water tight.
“We can get some shut eye once we get all our stuff inside.” He opened a door on what looked like a hospital ward. “Stow your stuff in here then come help me shift the rest, okay? Your sheets and pillowcases are on the jetty right now.” Gideon ducked out and left them to it.
@—}–—}——
The room was outfitted with six bed frames–thankfully with mattresses–but little else. One door in the corner lead to a toilet, they quickly discovered. There was a scramble to use the facilities.
Lyle looked at the place with dismay. That it was basic wasn’t a worry, but that it was communal was. How the hell was he going to get around this one? Gil was the only one aware of his transman status, as far as he knew, and he wasn’t ready or willing to come out to everyone right now. He drew a few deep breaths, pushing down the emotions that were roiling around in him, trying to work out a way past the issues. He was so damn tired though!
He had no idea what Sterling knew about them all. He had already worked out that Gideon Sterling was their new guardian angel, though. Or demon? Either way, he would have to speak to him, alone, and as soon as possible.
13: A Warm Welcome
Miles Sutherland and some Rapatokan natives
(friendly and otherwise)
with mention of Aiden Parker and Carter (Gil) Gillespie
___________________________________________________
Morning 25th January, halfway between Rapatoka and Mystery Islands
Miles moaned and opened his eyes. What the? Two large feet filled his vision. Wet gritty sand rubbed against the side of his face as he moved slightly. Pain ricocheted through this body and the image morphed into a pink and brown blur. He shut his eyes. Ah, that was better; now he could identify the culprits. Left temple, back of the head, both shoulders… Shit, everything hurt. Added to that, he was trussed up like a bloody turkey: hands and feet tied together into a neat bundle, ready for roasting. He tried to roll over and sit up. The world rocked alarmingly and loud incomprehensible yells stung his ears. He stopped moving. The canoe, for that’s what he worked out he was in, lurched forward again, travelling even faster than before.
Damn. Even if he did manage to overturn the flimsy craft, what would that achieve? From the air, the dark blue in the centre of the lagoon suggested the water was bloody deep. He didn’t want to test how deep or whether his Houdini impressions were as good as Roofie’s. With the amount of weight he’d packed on, he wouldn’t need cement shoes to do the job properly.
“Ah-hee noo-oh.”
“Low-ah-hee noo-oh”
The unfamiliar phrases shot back and forth over his head repeatedly in time with the rhythmic splash of paddles.
Two men.
Memory returned. It had been a boat pulled up in the shade, an outrigger of sorts. Good one, Miles, seeing the locals are far from friendly, let’s hope for once the missionaries did come a’calling on their door-knocking tour of the Pacific all those years ago. He didn’t fancy being “long pig” on the communal barbie.
What now?
He fumbled with the cord at his wrists. By the looks of things his captors had woven some fibres together into a makeshift rope. Shouldn’t be too hard to get it off. He flexed his wrists in and out, trying to loosen his bindings. Normally when Darren had tied him up for a little BDSM, getting free was the last thing he wanted to do. Unfortunately these guys didn’t look as if a little spanking was on their minds. Pity, because from the looks of the muscular calves and the size of the feet, the guy sitting on the bench above him was a strong enough bastard to deliver a good whack.
Miles snorted softly under his breath. As soon as he made it back to civilisation he was checking himself in to see a shrink. One minute he was getting all touchy feely, thinking he might have hurt Gil’s feelings by fucking him, now he was conjuring up all sorts of deviant ideas about anonymous sex with guys who were probably more interested in eating him and not in a good way.
He yanked at the cord, rejoicing in the sudden snap. A startled yell greeted him, followed shortly after by a searing pain in his temple, the right one this time, and the world went dark… again.
@—}–—}——
Miles stared up at the ceiling above him. Patches of black mould stained the areas where paint no longer clung to the surface. The soft, dry mattress beneath him told him he was no longer in the canoe.
His head felt as if he’d just gone ten rounds with Anthony Mundine, or two rounds with Mike Tyson. He wasn’t sure which would have been worse. Both temples felt tender, one where the butt end of a paddle had crashed down on him seconds after he’d managed to free himself and the other where he’d hit his head on the root of a tree after being felled from behind.
A triple whammy. His eyes drifted shut.
“Are you alright?”
The female voice was slightly accented, possibly New Zealand but not quite. At least she spoke English. Miles opened his eyes and carefully turned his head to one side. The woman in the other bed grimaced as she propped herself up on one elbow.
“Lucas.”
Miles was about to correct her, when he realized she wasn’t talking to him but calling out to someone else. A young man came towards the bed and stood there shyly watching him as she fired a string of incomprehensible words. He was young, fourteen or fifteen maybe? Big dark eyes; long, curly black hair; smooth, mocha-coloured skin; handsome—perfect jail-bait, in fact. When she finished, the teenager smiled, nodded and left without speaking. Moments later he returned with a basin of cold water and wet washcloth which he used to dab ineffectually at the swellings on Miles’ head.
Miles grabbed the basin and cloth from his hand and swung his legs off the bed, making the room do a passable impression of the cha cha. Bile rose in his throat for a second as his brain threatened to explode. He lent forward and upended the bowl over his head. As the water trickled through his hair and down his beard, he folded the cloth lengthwise so it could cover both temples and buried his head in the damp material.
By the time the coolness had disappeared he found his world had settled enough to face the music again. Sometimes surviving hard kn
ocks as a rugby prop forward came in handy. His coach had always said his head was as hard as a rock, or had he said he had rocks in his head? Same thing.
The lady on the opposite bed was lying prone again. The edges of her mouth twisted up as if in pain. Shit. He might have felt like death warmed up, she looked like death warmed up. Probably in her early forties, not that much older than he was, but care or life had worn her down. Miles took a deep breath and winced as a familiar smell entered his nostrils.
No, her problem was more serious. A torrent of words reminded him that the young boy she had summoned was still there. Miles didn’t have a clue what he’d said, but a few gestures told the story. The boy pointed to his leg and mimed something snapping in two. The way his gaze darted between the prone figure on the bed and Miles showed he was worried about her.
With good reason. From the smell of things, gangrene had set in.
Miles gingerly looked around and breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the bag with its big red cross sitting on the end of his bed. Hopefully nothing inside was broken. Given the way he’d been manhandled, the chances weren’t good.
Should he do anything? These were the people who had kidnapped him. Not too long ago he’d even thought he was in danger of being eaten. The acrid smell from the woman’s bed was starting to turn his stomach, but the worried look on the boy’s face and the way she’d summoned help for him stopped his dithering. One touch on the women’s forehead showed she had a temperature. Not raging, but significant. He threw the cloth and basin at the startled boy and pointed at the woman. Maybe he wasn’t as bad at charades as he thought. The boy ran out of the room and soon after, he heard the sound of running water.
Miles grabbed Darren’s emergency medical kit and rummaged inside. Thank God the morphine ampoules had survived. He quickly prepared the injection site and slid the needle into her arm. As he did, she lifted one eyelid and struggled for a second, pointing to her leg, trying to tell him something. She’d stopped speaking English, though, reverting back to her native language. He shrugged and nodded. Heck, most people would have been screaming by now. This woman was one tough customer.
