Last Family Standing

by Jennifer AlLee

My eyes sting and I blink hard to keep the water works at bay. As my emotions try to overtake me, Rick’s eyes narrow as he determines it’s time to change the subject. He slips back into his slick, TV host persona and the smirk once more plays around his lips. “Besides, you’re going to be pure ratings gold.”

  I snort out an unladylike laugh, and the feeling that I’m going to cry abates. “How do you figure?”

  “You’re a mystery, and everybody loves a mystery.” He leans forward and winks. “Including me.”

  I didn’t fall off the proverbial turnip truck yesterday. I know this thinly veiled attempt at flirting is meant only to distract me and perhaps throw me off balance. Still, there’s something about this man that makes my mouth go dry and chases most coherent thoughts clean out of my brain.

  The plane jerks forward. Rick laughs and points at my lap. “You’d better do what the man said. Buckle your seat belt, Monica.”

  After shifting and squirming, I find both ends of the belt. And the only thing that comes to my head is, Buckle your seat belt, Monica. It’s going to be a bumpy month.

  9

  Rick Wolff snores. I wonder what the gossip rags would pay to know that?

  We hadn’t been in the air twenty minutes when he put his seat back, closed his eyes, and fell asleep. That was two hours ago.

  On one hand, I’m glad, because it means I don’t have to worry about making small talk, or worse, trying to avoid conversation as we sit across from each other. But then there’s the other hand . . . the one that wants to toss a pillow at him, blame it on turbulence, and then grill him for all the information I can get.

  I’m pretty sure that grilling him would be useless, so I do everything I can to distract myself. Nothing works. Not going through the list of 556 books on my e-reader, not playing Angry Birds, not even writing in my journal. It’s a beautiful book, spiral bound so the pages are easy to manipulate, and a leather cover so soft that sometimes you want to just rub your fingertips across it. Jules gave it to me last night when I dropped off Ranger. “So you can record all the insane, wonderful, terrifying thoughts that bombard you,” she told me.

  What a fabulous, thoughtful idea. The only problem is, she didn’t realize there’d be so many insane, wonderful, terrifying thoughts filling my brain that they’d clog up in a bottleneck somewhere between my head and my hand. I open the book, sit it on my lap, and think. And think. My pen hovers over the blank page, until finally, it begins to move, releasing my innermost brilliance.

  I doodled a flower.

  Staring down at it, I try to convince myself that this isn’t just any flower. This is a pictorial representation of my state of mind, kind of like a reverse Rorschach test. Except I don’t buy it. Not for one moment do I feel like a sunny, optimistic flower.

  A few more strokes of the pen, and a tiny stick figure man emerges. Next, I give him a pair of huge scissors which he uses to cut the flower’s stem in half. Not about to sit back and allow this act of flora-cide, I send out a group of chubby garden gnomes. My pen moves faster, and I start making little pew pew noises, because apparently my gnomes are armed with lasers.

  “I think you killed him.”

  The chuckled words make me jump. I was so engrossed in my newly created world, I didn’t notice that Rick had stopped snoring. Now he’s leaning forward, craning his neck to see the journal.

  Slamming the cover shut, I glare at him. “It’s not polite to sneak up on people.”

  “Who’s sneaking? This plane is hardly big enough to stand in, let alone sneak.”

  Good point. “I was just trying to distract myself.”

  He grins. “Sorry I fell asleep. I hate to think what other entertaining things I missed.”

  “That was the most exciting thing. Promise.” I make and X over my heart with a fingertip.

  With a nod, he sits back in his seat and stretches his legs. “Are we there yet?”

  “I wish.”

  “Where’s a transporter when you need one?” He mutters as he leans over and pushes up the window shade.

  Did I just hear him correctly? “Did you say transporter? As in Star Trek?”

  “Sure.” He looks a little confused by the question. “Or a stargate. Anything to get us from point A to point B in the blink of an eye.”

  I point at him, wiggling my finger. “You’re a sci-fi nerd!”

  “Guilty as charged.”

  “So am I.” Finally, something we can gab about to fill the time that won’t affect the integrity of the show.

  The rest of the flight is much better. We discuss our favorite shows. Mine is the short-lived Firefly, his is Farscape. He questions the wisdom of making episodes one, two, and three of the Star Wars series and I agree that, with the exception of giving me another opportunity to watch Ewan McGregor, it was a bad move.

  “Seriously, the first three—”

  “You mean the second three,” he interrupts.

  I roll my eyes. “You know what I mean. Episodes four, five, and six, which he made first. Those three movies were so groundbreaking, why mess with them?”

  “Like changing the older movies with new digital effects. There are some things you should leave alone.”

  The excitement of the conversation drains away, and I’m right back where I started, worrying that I’m doing the wrong thing by changing the parameters of my relationship with Jessica.

  Picking up on my obvious mood swing, Rick nudges the sole of my sandal with the toe of his tennis shoe. “Movies are totally different than real life. Most things in life require a little messing.”

  “I hope you’re right.” I sigh and try to smile. “Of course, I haven’t had any contact with my daughter for the last twenty-five years. It couldn’t get worse than that, could it?”

  With the pinging of a bell, the Fasten Seat Belts signs light up. We both buckle up and Rick points at the window beside me. “Take a look.”

  As the little jet starts its descent, it breaks through the clouds. Below is the ocean, crystal blue and amazing. “I’ve never seen it from overhead before.”

  “Spectacular, isn’t it?”

  “I’ll say.” I push closer to the window until my nose nearly touches it. Down below are several islands. “Is that where we’re landing?”

  “Yes, on the biggest one. And from there . . .” He pauses until I look over at him, then he grins and finishes with a shrug. “Well, you’ll have to wait and see what happens. The same as everybody else.”

  The land masses below, round but with uneven edges like big ink blots, are lush and green. From up here, it looks like we’re heading to paradise. Like the Garden of Eden before the Fall.

  I just hope this garden isn’t hiding any snakes.

  ***

  It’s the smallest airport I’ve ever seen. Actually, I don’t think it really classifies as an airport. There’s one runway, a rickety tower with glassless windows on all four sides, and a single-wide mobile home that I think is the terminal.

  “Gee, you guys don’t spare any expense, do you?”

  Rick undoes his seat belt and stands. “We work with the habitat as it is. I’m just happy when we find a place that has an actual runway.”

  “That would help, I’m sure.”

  I follow him through the small cabin. As soon as we step outside, I’m hit by two things: heat and humidity. The moisture in the air is so thick, it takes a concerted effort to pull it into my lungs.

  “Please tell me this is an unusually moist day,” I gasp.

  Rick laughs and shakes his head. “Sorry, but this is where you and I part ways.”

  As if on cue, two vehicles pull up. One is a black BMW that I’m sure has the air running full blast. The other is a battered Jeep with no doors and open-air windows. Naturally, he goes to the BMW.

  “Next time I see you, the game will be in full swing. Good luck.”

  He waves and ducks into the car. A moment later, I’m coughing from the debris that’s kicked up as they speed off. There’s
a thud beside me and I turn to see that the pilot has deposited my bag by my feet.

  The driver of the Jeep twists in his seat and jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “Just toss it there.”

  With a sigh, I hoist my suitcase and wrestle it into the back. I try to blow my bangs off my forehead, but they are now so damp and sticky, the hair won’t budge from my skin.

  As I climb into the passenger seat, I smile at the driver, hoping to get on his good side. “Hi. I’m Monica.”

  “I know.” He puts the car in gear and we jerk forward.

  Only digging my fingernails into the roll bar keeps me from falling out the door opening. I feel blindly along the edges of the seat, but apparently this vehicle isn’t equipped with seat belts. As we bounce along the uneven road, I make another attempt at conversation.

  “Do you live here, or are you part of the TV crew?”

  The man doesn’t take his eyes off the road. “I’m not allowed to talk to the contestants.”

  “Oh.” I haven’t been here five minutes and already I’m hitting my head against a wall of rules. “Can you at least tell me where we’re going?”

  “To base camp.”

  My heart quickens. “Are all the other contestants there?”

  His only response is a scowl and a quick, sideways eye flick. I’m fairly sure that he aimed for the next rut we bounce through.

  After I land with a thud and a yelp, I pinch my lips together to refrain from saying anything else. I get it. All information from here on in will be on a need-to-know basis. And right now, nobody thinks I need-to-know much of anything.

  10

  Base camp is exactly what it sounds like. It’s a large clearing swarming with people and trucks full of equipment. All around the perimeter are the most elaborate tents I’ve ever seen. The one in the middle could easily hold a family of five.

  As we drive past, the canvas door on the tent opens and Rick Wolff walks out, followed by three other men in some variation of t-shirts and shorts, all talking animatedly. Rick’s head is down, hands stuffed in the pockets of his khaki shorts. He doesn’t seem to be paying any attention to the heated discussion going on behind him.

  He glances up as my jeep drives by, and I have a weird urge to wave at him, but I resist. Surely, any kind of interaction between us now is taboo. There’s a tiny spark of recognition in his eyes when he realizes it’s me in the truck, then he immediately looks away. Just as I expected.

  At the opposite end of the camp the driver jerks to a stop in front of a tent that looks positively miniscule compared to the others. I jump out of the vehicle and walk around to the other side on shaky knees. A woman is already approaching, a broad smile cutting a bright, white swatch through her coppery skin.

  “Welcome!” She tosses her long, black braid over one shoulder and extends her hand. “I’m Kai, and I’ll be your shadow for the next twenty-four hours.”

  I laugh and shake her hand. “Monica. But then you already know that.”

  With a nod, she pulls my suitcase from the back of the jeep as if it weighs no more than a purse. “See ya later, Dan.” She tosses a wave at the driver, then leads the way into the tent.

  It’s Spartan: an air mattress in one corner, a collapsible camping chair beside it, and a little table with a battery operated lantern on top. Kai moves the lantern and replaces it with my suitcase, which she immediately rifles through.

  “This is the mandatory luggage search they warned you about.” She pulls a canvas drawstring bag from where it was tucked into her belt. She keeps up a constant chatter and every now and then she stuffs something into the bag, although I can’t see what’s going in there. I must have let some contraband slip through by accident.

  “Sorry.” While apologizing, I try to look over her shoulder. “I tried to follow the guidelines.”

  “No problem. Everybody does this.” Kai holds up a t-shirt, examines the front and back, then stuffs it in the bag.

  I frown. “I thought I got that one right.”

  “You did.” She turns, still smiling, and hands me the canvas bag “This is the stuff you get to take to the island with you.”

  She can’t be serious. “That’s it?”

  “Yep.” She points at my purse. “I need that, too.”

  Clutching it to my side, I feel a moment of panic. “But my ID is in here.”

  “I know. Which is why you want it in a safe place.”

  If I argue the point, I’ll just lose. So I let the straps slide down my arm and hand the purse over. Kai takes it with a smile and puts it inside the suitcase.

  I catch one last glimpse of my e-reader, my cell phone, my toothbrush, and about a dozen extra pair of underwear before she zips the top shut and hoists the suitcase again. Then she laughs. “It says right there in plain English: Five pairs of underwear. But everyone tries to bring more.”

  I knew about the limit. But with clean underwear on the line, it was worth taking the chance.

  “Leave your canvas bag here. Let’s hit the chow tent.”

  She doesn’t have to tell me twice. I toss the bag on the mattress and follow her out. We haven’t gone ten feet when a gal who looks about sixteen but I’m sure is much older, bounds up to Kai and takes my suitcase.

  “With the others?” The way she asks while in mid-turn indicates the question was merely a formality.

  “Thanks,” Kai calls after her. Then she looks over at me. “Don’t worry, it’s going to a very secure spot. It’s joining all the stuff the other contestants brought and weren’t allowed to keep.”

  At the mention of the other contestants, I scan the area. If it were possible for my head to rotate 360 degrees on my neck, it would. As it is, I hear a couple vertebrae crack as my head snaps back and forth.

  Kai shakes her head. “Sorry. You’re the only one here.” She jerks her thumb over her shoulder. “The others are all on the game island already.”

  “They’re already playing?”

  “In a manner of speaking. They’ve met each other. But the challenges won’t start until you get there.”

  “Lucky me.”

  With a snort, Kai ushers me into another, bigger tent. “The good news is, you’re getting one more night alone to mentally prepare yourself.”

  “And the bad news?”

  “They’re starting to make bonds. By the time you get there, you’ll be the odd man out.”

  Nothing new there. But then a thought occurs to me. “What about Jessica? Does she think I’m not coming?”

  For the first time since I’ve been with her, Kai’s smile slips. “I have no idea what she thinks. But what would you think if you were the only person without a partner?”

  The same thing I thought when Freddie Boswell accepted my invitation to the eighth-grade Sadie Hawkins dance and then didn’t show. That I’d been stood up. But this is much worse than not having a date for a dance. My daughter thinks I’ve abandoned her. Again.

  Fingers wrap around my upper arm and Kai pulls me forward. “Come on, Momma. The best thing you can do for your kid now is to eat up and get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow, you’ll be the strongest person on the island.”

  I wish I had just a fraction of her conviction. But right now, with my legs shaking and my stomach doing flip-flops, it’s hard to believe I’ll be good for anything tomorrow other than collapsing into a jelly-spined lump.

  In the meantime, I’ll spend tonight grilling my shadow. Not that I expect her to spill anything more than she intended to tell me, but I can try.

  ***

  You’d think a woman screaming at the top of her lungs would bring everyone running. It doesn’t. Eventually, it brings Kai shuffling in. Through half-closed eyes, she watches me jumping from one foot to the other as I carry on and smack the mattress with a palm frond.

  “Bug?” she asks calmly.

  Bug is an understatement. That thing was big enough to put a saddle on and ride back to the airstrip. And that’s not the worst of it. “It was on my face.
”

  She cocks her head to one side. “Did it bite you?”

  “I don’t think so.” I run my hands over my cheeks. “No.”

  Pivoting back around, she dismisses my panic with a wave of her hand. “When one bites you, then you have permission to scream. Until then, go to sleep.”

  “Kai, wait.” I run up behind her. “What if it comes back?”

  She laughs and shakes her head. “Honey, you’re spending a month in a jungle. You’ll get to know bugs and critters you never knew existed. Better get used to it.”

  I stand near the opening of the tent long after Kai leaves. Get used to it? How can I get used to having heaven knows what kind of multi-legged, grotesque, possibly poisonous things ready to attack me at any moment? There’s no way I’m laying back down so close to whatever is crawling around on the ground. But I can’t stand here all night, either.

  Grabbing the lantern off the table, I leave the tent. The camp is quiet. You’d never know from looking at it that I was shrieking like a banshee just ten minutes earlier. Two men sit near a fire burning in a big metal drum. They must be on guard duty, although what they’re guarding the camp from, I couldn’t say. It’s not like any hoodlums will stumble across our group. One of the men looks up and sits a little straighter when he notices me.

  I wave and point in the other direction. “Heading to the bathroom,” I call out, then walk toward the Porta-Potties.

  A thump off to one side brings to mind the scene in Castaway when Tom Hanks’s character is spooked by falling coconuts. Stopping short, I close my eyes and listen. What seemed like vast silence is actually filled with sounds. Warm breezes blow through the palms, creating a rustling harmony to the melody of the ocean’s rush and retreat. The cry of a bird, high-pitched and anxious, cuts through the night. I look up and see that the sky is filled with them, flying low, their wingspans enormous.

  “Wow.” I’ll never forget this moment.

  “Amazing, isn’t it?”

  I gasp and jump, dropping my lantern at the same time. It stays on, casting an eerie glow up on the grinning face of Rick Wolff. How did he sneak up on me?