The Castaways

by Jessika Fleck

  I sit up straight and bolt out of the cave-tree. “Bug?” I call, turning in a circle. “Bug!”

  “What’s wrong?” Will shoots out of the cave after me.

  “Bug’s not here.” The fear in my voice throws me into a steeper panic.

  “Bug!” Will shouts.

  “What’s all the shouting for?” a small voice whines. The voice is attached to a head of bigger than life hair peeking around at us from the backside of the cave-tree.

  I run around the tree and clutch her shoulders, resisting the urge to shake her. “Where the hell were you all night?!”

  “There.” She points to a large, flat boulder, where her mat is spread out, rag doll flopped right on top like a tattered, patchwork cherry.

  “All night?”

  “Yeah, I slept there. By myself.” A huge grin is stretched across her face.

  “Nice work, Lightning Bug!” Will says, stepping forward and giving her a fist-bump.

  “Wow.” I pull her in for a hug. “That’s amazing. I’m so proud of you.” And I am.

  Once we go in, Bug tells the story of how she couldn’t fall asleep and could only think about lying outside under the stars like she used to back home. So she decided to do it. Bug explained that she knew if she didn’t do it right then—strike out on her own, alone—she never would and she didn’t want to miss the chance. Maybe she didn’t want to go home, not yet anyway, but she still wanted the option. So she chose seclusion. An entire night’s worth. And, according to her, it was scary. She feared so many things, including the asshole sheep, and ghosts, and grotesque forest zombies like her and Charlie make up stories about, but once she got past all of that, she was all right.

  The kid won’t be sleeping on the boulder every night—on account of brain-eating forest zombies, among other things—but it’s huge progress.

  We eat on the run to check if Bug’s window has opened. None of us expected her to complete her equation so soon and without a fight. The excitement’s palpable.

  When we arrive under the cove of trees in the forest where she first stepped foot on the island, Bug walks directly toward the place she knows as her entry point: a space between two thin, papery tree trunks. We follow.

  “Whoa…” Bug whispers. Her iridescent, flowy window is waiting for her like an offering for her sacrifice. For getting through a night on her own, embracing her demons, the island has rewarded her with a doorway home.

  Lewis, Will, Jude, and I stand behind her in a protective arc as Bug moves closer to the waves. Like she’s testing the temperature in a pool, she sticks her toes in first. Then her foot. Her leg. She takes a deep breath and jumps back, away from the window.

  “Whoa,” she whispers again. “It’s hot and smells like home. Like burned mud and aloe plants. She leans in toward the window again.

  “You don’t have to—” Will starts.

  “I know,” Bug answers, her tone dripping of confidence, her sights set on the window and whatever she might see on the other side.

  Gripping an ashen tree trunk in each hand for balance, Bug sticks her head right through the heat waves. She stays in that position, head distorted by iridescence and shimmers, for several minutes until she finally pulls herself back. Although completely out of the window, she continues staring into the heat waves.

  “So?” Jude breaks the silence.

  Bug’s lip quivers but those June bug eyes are hard. “I’ve gotta go back. Soon.”

  Jude nods. We all do. Something about the strength of her words, while few in number, says so much.

  “You’re sure?” Will asks.

  Bug nods. “All of the kids are trying to break free. It’s like I started something by running.” She sticks her face back in, then out again. “It’s the same picture, over and over. The day I left. Each time I look nothing changes. Like I’m being given a chance to go back and do different.” She stares at us, eyes wide. “I’ve gotta fight with them. For them.”

  We have no idea how or why or when, but none of us argue. How can we?

  Bug goes on without prompting. “Something’s gotta change.”

  God, I’m both terrified and exhilarated for her. Because, despite knowing the deeper details, she’s got an uphill battle before her. It could turn out positive or tragic. And like that, things are thrust into perspective for me. We all have our demons, we’re all traumatized, but I’m going back to Disneyland compared to what Bug’s up against. What Tilly would have returned home to.

  Bug leads the way back to the cave-tree. She walks taller, growing from child to young lady overnight on a boulder under the stars.

  It’s the middle of the night and I lie awake. Charlie is curled up in the corner, breathing the soft rhythms of sleep.

  Bug tosses and turns.

  There are two spaces in this tree and we’re split into me, Bug, and Charlie in one; Will, Lewis, and Jude in the other, which doubles as the common room and kitchen.

  “Olive?” Bug says. “You awake?”

  “I am.”

  “Are you afraid of going home?”

  “Yes.” The truth of the word floats up toward the ceiling and into the tree like a dark cloud hanging over me.

  “Me, too. I want to stay here so bad” —Bug leans up on her elbows— “but I can’t. Not after what I saw today. I kind of think I’ve always known I’d need to go back,” she confesses.

  “I understand. But I’ve been thinking. What if we aren’t meant to be here? I mean, we all kind of stumbled into this world. What if, like Shiloh said, it’s unnatural for us to stay after we’ve done what we needed to get home?”

  “Maybe.” She turns over onto her back. “Olive?”

  “Hmm?”

  “What if the island’s in charge of all of this? What if it can suck us back in any time? What if we aren’t supposed to leave and it sends flesh-eating monsters after us?”

  I laugh. “You’ve been spending too much time with Charlie.”

  She giggles, but I swear, even her laugh is more grown-up.

  “Olive?” Bug asks again and I fear we’ll never sleep. “You love Will, don’t you?”

  “I do. I love all of you.”

  “Yeah, but him the best. Like, you looove him.”

  “What’s your question, Bed Bug?”

  “Well, will you ever see him again once you go home?”

  I sigh. Because that’s the bonus question no one can answer. “I have no idea.”

  “Sorry,” she whispers.

  “Me, too.”

  There’s a shifting across the room. “I-AM-TRY-ING-TO-SLEEP-HERE!” Charlie states so loudly I jump. Bug gasps, and we all laugh, giggling in rounds into our cave-tree.

  I stop to take in the moment: the warmth we’ve created, dying-down giggles, deep sighs, how the inside of the tree absorbs the sounds. And I realize we’ll all be okay. Whether we decide to stay or go, whether our windows open or close back up. It’s going to be all right. We’ll find our way. I mean, isn’t that what we’ve done so far? Sure, it’s been hard, and horrible, and painful, but all of that was spaced between moments of love and light and peace.

  I stare up at the ceiling. Bug and Charlie having quieted, their breathing evening into soft, lulling rhythms, either sleeping or in those far-off thoughts right before sleep takes you. I imagine the pre-island me. The Olive of several weeks ago. Such a short time for so much to happen and change. I imagine that Olive with a genuine smile across her face. She’s so full of light and hope. So different than before. I work to blend her into the person I am now and wonder if it’s possible. Will I be able to meld that Olive with the one who’s seen and done so much? The warmth of that possibility fills my chest. It’s a lot like the contentedness and safety of home, and I long to return more than ever.

  That’s when I know.

  I need to go back.

  Soon.

  Chapter Forty

  Mementos

  Jude was right, now isn’t the time to be stubborn or play the martyr.
I should lead by example, take control of my fate and do what I feel is right.

  Sometime between waking up and eating breakfast, Jude, Bug, and I realize we’re all having the same thoughts and collectively decide we ought to get home sooner rather than later because what if there is a limit on the time the windows are open?

  Not surprising, our decision is accepted without question and met with support and agreement. They’d do the same, they assure us.

  The day flies by too quickly. The more I try to grasp every moment, every scent, every word, the faster time passes.

  We’ve spent the majority of the day together. Going through belongings, divvying out mementos, assuming if we brought things in, we’ll be able to do the same on the way out. And hopeful everyone will get the chance to go home, should they choose.

  There are three piles: trash, valuables, and randoms. We sit in a circle outside the tree and take turns separating our things. We take what we want that is ours and put the rest in the piles. The trash pile is the smallest because out here, most everything is of use.

  I keep the slingshot Jude carved for me, the bag Tilly made from my jacket, and my emerald green Lewis worry stone, then pass out the rest of my chewing gum to several sour faces who couldn’t believe I’d been holding out on them. I blame Will for that one. He tries to play innocent but winks and smiles at me. The rest of the items—my gourd water bottle, Lewis’s maps, my empty purse, and the small spear—I leave in the valuables pile.

  “If anyone stays or anyone new comes along, these will be useful,” I say, setting them on the ground with care, but I hesitate. I bend back down and pick up one of Lewis’s maps, the one he drew pictures of landmarks on that were specific for Charlie’s and my journey. I fold it and put it in my back pocket. Lewis watches me, a small smile spreading across his face.

  Late afternoon, we return what’s staying to the cave-tree and Jude, Bug, and I pack up what little we’re bringing home.

  It all feels too final to be real.

  At dusk, we share an early dinner of fish, roots, and fruit. There’s a sadness, a gratitude, and an anticipation as thick as fog hanging over us. We go around and tell stories of our favorite moments. Mine is, by far, when Charlie started talking.

  After I recount it, I realize I’ve been holding the doubloon bracelet Will made for Charlie in my pocket since he got sick. I pull it out, walk to Charlie, and hand it over. He smiles, probably thinking he’d lost it.

  “You keep this close and always remember how strong you are… And to never EVER eat coconut again.” Everyone laughs under their breaths.

  He jumps at me armed with a tight hug.

  “Thanks,” he says, sliding the bracelet onto his wrist, staring at it lovingly.

  “I’m going to find you back home because you and Lucky will be great friends.”

  Charlie smiles, his blue eyes lighting up.

  The stories continue.

  Will tells of the day he found Bug and how his life changed with that smile of hers.

  Lewis tells about the day he and Jude went to check the pig trap and found me passed out on the ground—how they argued about whether to leave me the whole way back as they carried me. Charlie and Bug giggle, and Jude smacks Lewis on the back of his head.

  Charlie shares about playing with Bug and how she’s been his best friend here. They hug the longest, sweetest hug ever.

  Bug is stoic but teary-eyed as she approaches each of us, holds our hands, and looks in our eyes, speaking her feelings aloud.

  “Lewis, the day I taught you how to fish. I never thought you’d do it, but you did. You caught a fish the size of a beetle. Thank you for being a part of my family.” She kisses his cheek and moves on. “Jude, you’re my big brother. Thank you for keeping me safe. I love you.” Tears stream down her cheeks. Jude kneels down to her level and they hug. He kisses her on the top of the head. “Will. You gave me my name and taught me how to speak your language. I love you.” She kisses Will on the cheek. He picks her up in a bear hug. “Charlie, you’re my best friend. I’ll never forget you.” She starts to cry harder. I cry. We’re all crying at this point. “Olive. You joined our family late, but you are my sister. Thank you for loving me.” She touches the side of my head where my hair was shaved and smiles, all teeth. “I’ll never forget your fancy turquoise underwear!” She snickers, raising her shoulders to her ears. I kiss her on the forehead and squeeze her into a hug, scuffing her coconutty hair, trying to memorize the scent.

  With sniffles as background music, it’s Jude’s turn. Starting then stopping several times, he peers off toward the trees and tells of a memory involving Tilly—how whenever she was up in the middle of the night with Charlie and his nightmares, Jude would come out to tend the fire, only to find her alone, mending something before the flames. He’d sit down next to her and they would talk late into the night, then he’d play with her hair until she fell asleep. He reminds us of how lovely and special Tilly was. How she took care of all of us, cared for each one of us the way we needed. Jude doesn’t cry, but breathes in, nodding at the forest like he’s been holding the words in for years.

  Things are quiet then.

  It’s a beautiful silence blaring with hope and memories and a love so full I fear I’ll never know it again.

  We had agreed to leave once the moon was up. And, I swear, that damn moon moves quicker than it ever has, like it mocks me with its new stealthy ways.

  Before I’ve had a chance to breathe, my time here is over—assuming things go well tonight.

  No more tears to shed, all words spoken, embraces given, Bug, Jude, and I say our good-byes and good lucks, each of us with cautious optimism and a bit of fear as we head into the unknown.

  It was decided that the others will try their doors, as well. That way, we’re all going our separate ways, even if some eventually return to the cave-tree.

  Will, Charlie, and I watch as Lewis, Bug, and Jude walk away together holding hands. Lewis and Jude will see Bug off then go to their own entry points.

  “Let’s go,” says Will, his voice hoarse. He clears his throat and takes my hand. I take Charlie’s hand and we head for the boulder.

  I glance over my shoulder, enjoying one last look at the cave-tree, remembering our original home and how grand it was considering the circumstances.

  Charlie picks mint leaves, passes them around for us to chew on, and babbles here and there along the way, but Will doesn’t utter more than the occasional “uh-huh” and “sure, buddy.” What I wouldn’t do to know what he’s thinking. My own thoughts, along with so many questions, turnover and spin like a Ferris wheel on hyper-drive. Is this it? Is this the last time I’ll see him? My stomach clenches and I don’t realize I’m squeezing his hand until he looks over at me, that place between his eyebrows pulled together with worry.

  “Sorry,” I mumble, loosening my grip.

  “You all right?” he asks.

  No. I am not all right.

  But I nod. Because what am I going to say? Short of me staying behind, there’s no way to make this work. For a minute, I consider staying… Will and I living off the island. Forever sixteen. Forever in love.

  But would that be the reality or am I creating a fairytale because the last thing I want to do is leave him?

  I turn to Will and open my mouth when my eye catches Charlie. He gives an impish, closed grin that mimics Lucky’s same smile like nothing else.

  As much as the fantasy taunts me, I can’t stay here. I close my mouth. There is nothing left to say. Nothing but good-bye, because I know Will’s not going anywhere. Not even if his window opens up. He’s too loyal, too devoted and protective of this island he believes saved him. I can’t argue with that.

  My shoulders tense and my eyes harden. I grasp at a deep place of strength in my gut. It’s new, that place. I’ll take it back with me. Keep it safe and use it often.

  Once we reach the boulder, the sun is set and the full moon is visible, shining rays down on us and coating th
e forest in blue and silver shadows.

  The heat waves are still there, bright and shimmery as ever.

  We stand in a row across from the window, Charlie between us. Will reaches behind Charlie’s back and slides his fingers down my arm to my hand.

  I lace my fingers between his, memorizing the warmth of his skin—how it’s soft in some places, reminding me of his kind heart and honest soul, and rough in others, hardened from a tough upbringing and years of living off an island.

  He gazes down at our hands then up at me, his eye glistening with tears, smiling in that sad way I’ve come to know so well. In a way that tells me this is it. No amount of begging or pleading, crying and bargaining will change what is out of our hands.

  I give him my own version of the sad smile, desperate to keep a tight grip on that strong place in my gut. But my throat tightens and my fingers slip a little. Some things are still stronger than I am.

  My nose pinches and my eyes water over.

  Will’s eyebrows draw together and I catch a glistening down his cheek. He parts his lips to speak.

  “Wow!” Charlie shouts. “Super sparkly!” His arm has disappeared behind the double window. The shimmers are extra bright at night. Like a hundred layers of bubbles smashed together and catching the moonlight just right.

  I wish I could share in Charlie’s excitement, his carefree joy. But I can’t.

  This is going to hurt a thousand times worse than being held down and having my head shaved.

  Pain.

  True pain.

  The kind that doesn’t leave visible scars, just an empty pit in your soul.

  “Well, go on, buddy,” Will urges Charlie to walk through the misty window.

  Charlie looks at me.

  “I’ll be right behind you and I’ll find you. I promise.”

  Charlie turns around and tackles Will in a hug. Will gives him a brotherly back pat. “I love you, big guy,” he says.