The Castaways

by Jessika Fleck

  “Go on, you two,” says Tilly. “I’ll be back to tuck you in soon.” Charlie and Bug race toward their room, everyone mumbling goodnights after them. All I see is the back of Charlie’s ratty hair disappear through the doorway.

  Tilly sits down next to Will and begins to make tea as they quietly talk; Will glances around Tilly, catching my eye every so often which unnerves me, but also makes my stomach go all springy. Doing what any self-respecting teenager would do, I pretend not to notice.

  Instead, I pull my knees up and rest my head on my legs. Bare footsteps approach. My chest tightens at the chance it might be Will, but when I peek out, I see Lewis’s knobby, scabbed knees, then his lanky form, and finally, those dark eyes behind wire-framed glasses as he crouches down to my level.

  “Hey there,” he says, sitting right next to me. “How you coping?”

  “I’m doing all right.”

  He smiles and it’s clear to see he’ll be handsome, more a man, in a few years. Then I remember. He’s likely stuck this age forever. Forever fifteen. What a nightmare.

  “It gets better,” he says. “I promise. I mean, sure, it’s not the best situation, but take Bug for instance. When she got here, she barely spoke a word of English. Now, we can’t get her to shut up.”

  I smile. “Where’s she from?”

  “No one knows. We think another island, from long ago. She knows a lot about survival—it’s like instinct for her. She was the second one here. It was only her and Will for a long while. Then I showed up, then Tilly, Jude, Charlie, Anna—” He swallows back the word.

  “It’s okay. Will told me.”

  He exhales. “Oh good. Well, her, then you.”

  I can’t help but stare at Will from across the room. Can’t help thinking of him all alone on this island, nursing his injured eye, then a seven-year-old girl showing up. How they must have been forced to learn to communicate.

  Will looks back at me.

  I glance away.

  “Anyway, we all learned to find our place. You’ll find yours.” He leans into my ear. “No one’s ever been sent away. Will’s tough, but he’s a good guy. The best, just had it rough there for a while.”

  “What do you mean, he had it rough?” I lower my voice like I shouldn’t be talking about such things, even though there’s no way Will can hear us.

  Lewis leans in. I guess he feels the same way. “He and Duke, well, they have a sort of long history. Longer than just being on this island.”

  I wait, my eyes intent on Lewis.

  “Duke used to do horrible things to Will back at school in Texas,” he whispers so I can barely make out his words. “Will was like a punching bag for Duke. The guy pounded on poor Will every chance he got. Tortured him.” Lewis glances up. “He doesn’t talk about it much.”

  “I can understand that,” I say, that place above my ear tingling with memories.

  Lewis nods. “Hey, Olive?”

  “I won’t say anything.”

  “Good, thank you.” He breathes a sigh of relief.

  I give him a grateful grin that doesn’t begin to reach my eyes.

  Lewis stands. “Well, good night.”

  “Good night.” He’s already walking away, so I touch his calf to slow him down. “Hey, thanks.”

  He stops and glances down at me. Taking a deep, shaky breath, Lewis says, “Anytime.” He swallows and I swear I can feel the heat of the blush that’s taken over his face.

  As Lewis walks away, Tilly, too, says good night and follows him back to put the kids to bed. My eyes move toward Will, who’s sitting in front of the fire, poking at it with a stick. The room is suddenly so very empty besides us.

  Once again, he glances up as if he knows I can’t keep my eyes from finding him. But there’s truth to it and, this time, I don’t look away because all I can think about is what Lewis just shared with me. How could this strong, confident guy be so much like me? Is he all mixed up on the inside, too, slowly chipping away like the old Jackson farmhouse? Maybe. I would have never guessed it, though. Perhaps he’s just learned to hide his broken pieces better.

  Will smiles crookedly. “You can come closer, you know. Must be cold over there in that corner of yours.”

  It is. I stand, walk over, and sit in front of the fire.

  Will sets a small log over the flames. “Looks like someone has quite the crush.”

  Oh God. I’m so thankful for the darkness, because my face flushes several shades of total mortification. “No, I just…” Keeping my eyes down, I draw squiggly lines with my finger in the sand. I can’t look at him. “I mean…”

  “Lewis? He’s got it pretty bad for you.”

  “Oh, yeah. Well, he’s a nice kid.” I exhale, trying to keep it from sounding like a huge sigh of relief.

  “He is that.” Will smirks as he pokes at the stones at the bottom of the fire with the stick.

  “So, Lewis mentioned it was just you and Bug for a while?”

  “Two years. We taught each other a lot. I helped her learn English and she showed me how to do things more efficiently around here. Fish, build fire. I swear she’s a little genius.”

  “And a comedian.”

  He laughs and it’s a notch above his airy, sad version. “Definitely a comedian. If it wasn’t for that crazy little kid, we’d all lose it—if we haven’t already.”

  “You all seem to have things pretty together” —I raise my eyebrows— “considering.”

  “Ha!” he laughs. It catches me off guard and I jump. “Yes, ‘considering,’ I suppose we’re all right.” He nods, lips pressed together, thinking on something. “Most of us,” he adds and I know who he’s referring to.

  “Charlie?” I whisper.

  “Mmm, poor kid. We don’t know what to do for him.”

  “Will!” Tilly calls.

  Will jumps up and runs to the other room. I follow, unsure whether I should or not.

  “Ugh! Momma! Ugh! Momma! Momma!!!” Charlie’s asleep, but screaming, thrashing and kicking on the floor. It’s the first I’ve heard his voice. It’s high-pitched and boyish, reminding me too much of Lucky. I’m pulled toward him, wanting to comfort him like I would my little brother, but Will and Tilly are right there with him and Bug catches my eye. She’s balled up in the corner, hands over her ears, eyes squinted shut. I walk toward her.

  I place my hand on her head. Her curly mane is both soft like baby hair and stiff from dirt and sand and coconut soap. She stares up, eyes wide, afraid.

  I bend down next to her.

  She jumps into my lap.

  “Oh!”

  “Make him stop, make him stop,” she chants into my chest.

  “Shh. It’s all right,” I repeat, smoothing her hair, rocking her back and forth. I keep at it, like it’s routine, until Charlie calms back to sleep and Tilly comes over.

  “Back to bed, little Bug.”

  “No. I’m sleeping here!” she calls into my shoulder.

  “Well, I don’t believe that arrangement would suit Olive now, do you?”

  Bug nods her head.

  “Come now.” Tilly’s tone is stern.

  Bug releases her grip and gets up.

  I stand. “’Night, Bug.”

  She gives me a defeated smile.

  As I head toward the door, I pass Will. He stares but doesn’t speak a word. I leave.

  Settled back in my corner of the common area, I curl up, knees pulled into my chest. Images of Lucky’s soft earlobes, the scent of fresh linen that clings to my comforter, the cold, roughness of Hazel’s wet nose…all color the dark space behind my eyes. Then I think of the souls who share this strange cave with me. What lights their darkest of shadows?

  I vow to do what I can to make this better.

  “No! I won’t! You! Can’t! Make! Me!” jolts me awake. Bug runs through the cave-tree completely naked and screaming between diabolical giggles.

  I sit up.

  Tilly runs past, Bug’s clothes a bundle at her chest. “Child, yo
u have got to bathe! You smell like a fish!” she shouts, a couple strides behind the small sprinting flash of a girl.

  They make a good three rounds until finally Bug spots me. She runs full force—all arms and legs—and hops behind me. With the burst of energy, I swear I pick up the faint scent of seaweed. Tilly crouches in front of me—the wall between them.

  “This is ridiculous. You know it’s bathing day.”

  “I. Don’t. Agree!”

  They shout back and forth to no avail until Bug relents with conditions. “I’ll bathe. If! Olive takes me.” The little beetle bends her upper body around so she can see me. Both she and Tilly stare, the same hope filling their eyes.

  “Um, okay,” I hear myself say.

  “You’re sure?” Tilly asks, already passing me Bug’s clothes.

  “Yeah, I don’t mind. How hard can it be?”

  To that, Tilly gives me a regretful and apologetic look.

  What have I gotten myself into?

  “I’m sure she’ll behave for you,” Tilly says, speaking to me but staring at Bug.

  “Give me five minutes and we can go.”

  They both nod.

  I set Bug’s clothes bundle down, then I stand and stretch. On my way to the door I grab a toothstick, a wedge of coconut, and my boots. Once outside, I go to the small stream that runs parallel the cave-tree. Kneeling before it, I squint to make out my reflection. My hair is a mess of tangles, my face dirty, clothes stretched out and stained. Stick in hand, first I rub it in the coconut, then scrub my teeth with it. It’s not minty or foamy and doesn’t leave my teeth feeling smooth, but it does the trick. I wind my hair into a braid, and it’s so dirty, it stays on its own without a tie, the shaved part growing a little softer and less pokey.

  I “do my business”—as Bug refers to it—behind a tree, then make my way back to the cave. Bug’s waiting for me when I arrive. Still naked. Still ornery.

  “Ready?”

  She nods, shoving her clothes and a pouch of what feels like sand at me.

  “It can’t be that bad,” I say, following her.

  “It’s worse,” she replies, her skinny brown figure, all lean and muscle, taking short steps.

  When we reach the stream, we’re at a wider area than where I was earlier. The spot is all boulders and sand, and the sun shines down just so, making the water sparkle like a pool of diamonds. Bug stops. Then she stands still peering over at me. “Well?” she asks.

  “Well, what?”

  “You have to get in with me, or else how will you scrub me?” She holds up the pouch.

  “Oh. No. I’m sure you can do that yourself.”

  She crosses her arms and points her nose up.

  I look down at myself. My fingernails are black, my jeans and shirt caked in places with mud and God knows what else. I bring my braid to my nose and flinch. Ew. Maybe it was me I smelled earlier and not Bug.

  “Fine. I guess I could use a bath, too.”

  She smiles in triumph, then, without warning, hops in, splashing me.

  “Hey!” I shout, half laughing.

  Bug giggles.

  I strip down to my bra and underwear and make my way in. The water is warm and more wonderful than I’d imagined. I have no idea why Tilly made such a big deal out of this.

  A thick wave of water douses me. Any place on my body that was remotely dry is now saturated.

  Bug kicks and splashes and giggles, dunking herself under as if in getaway.

  Instead of getting mad, I decide to play along, the scene taking me back to a few summers ago and my daily excursions with Lucky to our neighborhood pool.

  I plunge underwater and swim to Bug, popping up behind her and spraying water at the back of her head.

  She squeals. “You’re more fun than Tilly!”

  “Well, I don’t know about that, but we should bathe and wash our clothes. Let’s get that over with and then we can play.”

  She nods.

  Bug scrubs herself, a luxury Tilly doesn’t allow her—apparently, I’m winning all sorts of points—while I scrub our clothes, then lay them on a rock in the sun to dry. I walk back to the water, entering, welcoming its warmth, when Bug stops mid-scrub, eyes wide. “Your underclothes, the colors, they’re beautiful!”

  I glance down. Somehow, by sheer luck, I’m wearing a matching turquoise set that more resembles a bathing suit than underwear. “Thanks, Bug. Bug… Where did you get that name?” I swim to her and take over scrubbing her hair. She doesn’t complain.

  “When I got here, I didn’t know much English, only my people’s language. My name was Lee-teeg-buk. Will couldn’t really say that, so he started calling me Lightning Bug since it sounded kind of the same. Also, he says my hair reminds him of lightning and I bounce around like a bug.” She turns her head and glances over her shoulder at me, her eyes like huge Texas June bugs.

  “Well, I love it. It suits you. A name is a big deal, you know?”

  “How’d you get yours, Olive?” My insides twinge at the sound of it.

  “I’m named after someone in my family, but I’ve never really liked it.”

  “Why not? Family is special. On my island, I was an orphan. I ended up here running from the mean man who was supposed to take care of us, but beat us if we didn’t work hard enough.”

  “Us?”

  “There were a lot of orphans. More came in than went out. We were always trying to run away, but I’m the only one who ever made it out—only because I ended up here.” She gazes out into the forest, probably imagining another scene. “One night, I’d finally had enough, so I decided to run away, but the master chased me. I jumped over a rock, then poof! I was on the beach.” Head down, she swirls squiggles on the surface of the water with her finger. “You guys wanna get home, but this is my home.”

  I don’t know what to say to that, so I smooth her hair, filling the coconut bowl with water and rinsing the dirt and debris from her tangles. Poor Bug. Seven years old, but goes back and forth between acting her age and speaking like she’s much older—I assume the result of living with only Will and those older than her for so long. I clear my throat. “All clean. We should dry off and head back.”

  “Okay.”

  We get out and settle on large boulders in the sun. It beats down on us like a tiny piece of heaven in all of this chaos and confusion, orphan stories, and names. Bug puts on her sun-cooked clothes while I switch out my soaked undergarments for my dry shirt and jeans, laying them out on the rock to bake. Bug admires the turquoise again, grazing it with gentle fingertips like its gold.

  After a while, I shove my damp bra and undies into my back pocket, lace up my boots, and hear…whistling…

  Whistling down toward us like a dying bird.

  “Bug!” I shout. She runs at me, eyes wide like saucers as she searches the sky.

  Shouts and coconuts rain down on us. The twins. We run, dodging coconuts and “New blood! New blood! Olive-Olive-Olive!” It occurs to me we can’t return to the cave-tree.

  I stop, switching directions, when an explosion erupts in a cracking, ka-boom.

  In the distance, the whistling bird hits the ground, a small tuft of smoke resulting.

  “Olive, where are you go—”

  “This way!” I try to convey with my eyes that we can’t go back, can’t lead the wildlings to our home.

  She follows. So do the twins.

  Head for the water, like running from bees.

  I don’t know if it makes sense, or is why Will went that way during our last wild-tree-jumping-twin encounter, but I’m low on options.

  The ocean is far-off but within sight along the horizon. I run toward it, pulling Bug by her small hand. But it isn’t too long before she slows.

  The twins are no longer in the trees, they’re now on foot and not far behind, their whoops and hollers growing louder.

  I glance back and don’t see them, so I cut left, hoping to lose them. But no more than three steps out, Bug and I skid to a stop. A cliff.<
br />
  “Shits,” I swear, out of breath, panting, my legs on fire. Shits is right. Oh, Tawny. What would she do?

  She’d face them. Fight.

  Searching in all directions, I bend down and grab the first thing I find—jagged rocks. Heavy. Sharp. They’ll have to do. I push Bug behind me and we silently move away from the cliff’s edge.

  “New blood! Come out, come out, wherever you are!” The wild-twins sing in rounds.

  I yank my bra from my pocket and quickly fasten it into a circle as tight as it will get, trying to duplicate Will’s slingshot. I plop the biggest rock I have in it and pull the thing past my shoulder. I’m ready. Terrified, but ready. I think.

  “Olive-Olive-Olive!” one sings.

  “We saw you! Na-ked!” the other taunts.

  Their words fill me with a blood-curdling rage. I’m angry. Violated. Protective over Bug. And I’ll do what I must to get us home in one piece.

  “Come on!” I shout. “Let’s go!”

  Plants rustle and I can’t help wonder what the hell I’m doing.

  I peek around the corner where we veered left. I spot two identical boys, around the age of fourteen. They wear what was probably once shorts, but now are nothing but dirty shreds. Their tangled hair falls well past their shoulders and they’re silent, bent at the waist, and searching for us like animals on the prowl.

  I breathe in. Then out. Confident they don’t see us yet, I set my eyes on the one who’s slightly closer.

  I aim.

  Bug holds her breath.

  I release the rock.

  It flies about halfway and falls to the ground with a sad thump.

  They jump back, then take slow, calculated steps toward us.

  I load another smaller, sharper rock.

  Please work.

  I stretch the bra back until I fear it’ll snap. Aiming for one of their bare chests, I release.

  A high-pitched yelp pierces the air.

  I load another and steal a peek around the corner. One boy is on the ground, the other standing over him.

  The one on the ground makes a pained, gurgling noise that quakes the air between us. The one who isn’t on the ground holds a sharp bloody rock up over his head. He turns to face us. Beady eyes wide with fury, he sets them right on mine. His brother whimpers on the ground, a wound bleeding from his head.