by Archer Swift
***
Sneaking back into camp seemed unreal. The adrenalin and euphoria of my nighttime activities came crashing into the reality of another day in camp. Another day of Ruzzell’s bunk. Another day of Judd’s disapproval. Another day wondering what was going on inside Gellica’s head.
I stole myself over to the wash pool. Although I had washed my face, I would not have risked bathing alone in the river. There were very few creatures in the river water, but I wasn’t going to take the chance. Halfway to the pool, I stopped abruptly. Was someone watching me? My eyes scurried along the high trees, from trunk to bough to branch, in which my clan members slept. None of them were in view, shrouded as always by garments of dense leafage, draped in curtains of jungle vine, and filtering out the usual Dawn Bugs’ strident chorale; I heard no human movement. Not a peep.
You’re just tired, and overly anxious.
Before long, all the members of the clan were down and washed—the vibe was as stiff and tense as a bowstring at full arc. When Ruzzell yelled, “Assemble and tremble interns and insects!” I knew the fun was going to start.
With us all gathered around the Base Stump table, Ruzzell jabbered on in half-sentences and secret phrases about their ‘leadership meeting’ the day before. His tacky half-sayings were greeted with roars of laughter from those in the know, and his covert slogans were repeated ad nauseam by his lackeys. They attempted to come across as sinister, ominous; but they just seemed childish. Infantile. Having spent the dark hours with the imposing figure of Miltredic, nothing they said could alarm me now.
Judd appeared as uncomfortable as ever and said very little—in fact; he looked exhausted, as if in one night many years had been taken from him. Jordin looked petrified as usual and said nothing. The girls were also quiet and wisely kept their heads down, starving Ruzzell and his mob of the attention they craved. Most disappointingly of all, Dixan evidently underwent a full conversion; he was acting every inch a disciple of Ruzzell—even though he wouldn’t meet my eye. Yep. Desperate people do desperate things. Fearful people very quickly become twisted people. The unspoken law of the jungle.
While most of the jibes were aimed at me, I took no notice. Apparently, I was sentenced to isolation effective immediately, but I didn’t listen to the details of my incarceration. Ruzzell said something about Dylain assigning me more dark-points for treachery and sedition, but he was spouting so many absurdities; I couldn’t separate fact from fiction. I didn’t care either. I took comfort in the knowledge that Scott and Miltredic were, at that very moment, working towards a better future for us all. Good would triumph over evil. Even on this cruel planet.
When Ruzzell realised that I was impervious to his diatribe, he changed tactics. “Plus,” he reloaded after the last insult slung my way, “we have some rather interesting news to share with you all. Because we’re so short of women in the clans, a member from each clan has to undergo a transformation of sorts … each clan must nominate the biggest pantywaist in the group, and he must become a female clan member…”
It was about as patently tawdry as it was blatantly obvious what Ruzzell was up to. I saw Judd grimace and shake his head; evidently, this was not a premeditated ploy. Ruzzell was making this up as he went along. Anything to flush me out.
“Dorky! We select Dorky!” said Ruzzell with a sadistic smirk snaking onto his mug, seemingly impressed with his own resourcefulness to find new ways to be an utter and complete idiot.
Spiked with pleasure, the pack cheered: “Dorky! Dorky!”
“What?” gasped Jordin startled, trembling like a stray dog in the middle of winter. Knowing I was the target, he didn’t see it coming—didn’t think he’d be bait used to ensnare me. “No! Please!”
“Come on, you little wussy!” said Shawz in a squeal of delight.
Unable to get a reaction out of me, Ruzzell was going to trample all over my heart strings; knowing, with my track record, I couldn’t help but defend Jordin. After all, I’d secretly vowed to.
“Come on, Milksop!” Ruzzell leered at Jordin, “Up! Up on your feet! On the table, come on now. Give us a twirl!”
“Milksop!” howled Cartyr, his lazy left eye just about spinning in its socket with delirium. “That’s classic. Dorky, the Milksop!”
Jordin sunk into his seat. “Please … Ruzzell … please!” His voice warbled like he had stones in his gullet. Pupils dilating with fear, thick red blotches broke out on his face.
“Up pansy, this is your coming out moment! Get him up,” Ruzzell barked at his cronies.
Shawz and Satoru dragged a screaming, frightened kid to his feet and shoved him onto the stump-table. I bit my tongue, hoping my apparent hesitancy to get involved might end the show before it began. I glanced at Judd, sending him a look of appeal, one we had traded often enough. He didn’t even look my way.
I hoped one of the girls might say something, but I knew what they knew. Any interference from them might tempt Ruzzell to add them to the show … until he eventually drew me out. There was only one way that this would end. Still I held out, gnawing on the inside of my lip. I wasn’t afraid of what Ruzzell might do to me, but I knew that this time, once I entered the fray, there was no coming out of it without much blood spilt. This was no longer about Ruzzell exerting his authority; this was something far more sinister.
“Dance for us, Dorky!” goaded Ruzzell. “Show us some leg, Milksop!”
Jordin teetered on shaky legs and his body quavered. Sobbing, his tears burst their banks.
I felt my jaw tighten, and my hands curl into fists. I quickly put them behind my back so Ruzzell wouldn’t see them. I fought off every incensed muscle, and seething sinew, and enraged beat of my heart to avoid taking the bait. I replayed Jordi’s own words to me: “Rist, you’ll just make it worse.”
Don’t do it, knucklehead. You’ll just aggravate the situation … for him, for everyone!
But then it happened.
Jordin wet his pants.
