Damselfly

by Chandra Prasad

  “Oh my god,” Rish said. “That wasn’t there before.”

  It took me a second to realize what he meant. A couple of yards away from Warren was a note written in huge, misshapen, almost childish writing on the sand.

  LEAVE OR DIE.

  “Are you sure it wasn’t there?” Mel said. “Maybe you didn’t notice it … maybe you didn’t see past Warren …”

  “No. Goddamn it, it wasn’t there. I swear! I would’ve seen it. Rittika would’ve seen it.”

  “So someone was here in between the time you and your sister were here, and now?” Pablo asked.

  “If that’s true, then we’re being watched,” said Mel.

  Rish shuddered, turned slowly, and stared into the dark, leafy labyrinth of the jungle.

  Mel strode over to Warren’s body. She examined him with the same directness and detachment with which she’d examined Jeremiah. I could barely watch.

  She rolled him over and went through his pockets. If she had hoped to find anything, she had to be disappointed. Nothing to see here but death and the note. I have to admit that those three words scared me just as much as the sight of Warren. LEAVE OR DIE was more than a warning. It seemed to me like a promise.

  I found myself leaning against Pablo. I wasn’t sure if I could support my own weight much longer. He put his arm around my waist, literally propping me up, while Mel and Chester treaded carefully around the note. Mel studied it judiciously.

  “The person who wrote this did it with his feet,” she said. “See the heel prints? The indentation of the whole foot here? And look at this.” Mel gestured to a series of small impressions in the sand. “I thought these were claw marks at first. But now I’m sure they’re very long toenails.”

  She gave me a meaningful look, and I knew that these tracks were the same as the ones she’d seen by Conch Lake.

  The footprints led from the jungle to the note, and back. Mel pointed out little holes, following in a straight line, next to the prints.

  “I think he made them with the tip of a stick. Maybe a cane. Maybe he’s injured?”

  “Let’s hope so,” Chester said tensely.

  As we considered this idea, a little monkey scampered onto the sand. Pablo swore it was the same one that had followed Rish, Chester, and him after the crash. It scooted next to us and screeched—a sound like a seagull’s scream. I wasn’t sure if it was friendly or hostile.

  Then, as quickly as it had appeared, it disappeared back into the jungle.

  By now, night was starting to fall. Mel suggested returning to camp, but first we had to discuss the body. That’s what Warren had already become. How quickly—how cruelly. With a shudder, I realized that I might be getting used to death. First the pilot, then Jeremiah, and now Warren. Betty was crying, but not me. There had been too many atrocities in too little time. Maybe my mind had steeled itself before it unraveled, maybe this was how soldiers became anesthetized to war.

  Betty argued for a burial. She was still upset that we’d left Jeremiah in the state we’d found him. She spoke of “the right thing to do,” but we voted against her, or rather, we sided with Mel, who said sharply, “Not to be cruel, but it’s too late for Warren. Someone’s after us. We need to think about us.”

  I agreed with her. Even so, it felt like a terrible thing to leave him there on the beach.

  We didn’t make it back before sundown. It was thanks to Mel’s uncanny sense of direction that we made it back at all. The ones who had remained at camp were sitting around the fire, waiting anxiously for our return. They gave us fruit and smoky conch meat, but I wasn’t hungry anymore. They wanted to know what had happened. They demanded answers. But we didn’t have any. Only more questions.

  That second night was much worse than the first. It was full of fearful shifts and antsy patrolling, of building up the fire and listening for intruders. We were sure if someone came for us, it wouldn’t be a rescuer, but the writer of that message—out for blood.

  It was deep in the night when I finished my rounds and finally fell into a troubled sleep. But it didn’t last long. Mel nudged me awake.

  “I don’t think he was murdered,” she whispered.

  “What?”

  “Warren. I think he was already dead, dead from the crash. Someone just wanted to scare us. Make us go away.”

  “Who—who wanted to make us go away?” I asked, not quite sure if I was dreaming.

  “Whoever wrote the note,” she replied. “Our enemy.”

  When I fell asleep again, I had nightmares—boars eating decaying flesh, a thousand black flies hovering, a cute little monkey morphing into a bloodthirsty monster.

  At daybreak, I was more exhausted than ever. I noticed that my skirt was loose. In only two days, I’d lost a lot of weight. I dragged myself to the edge of Conch Lake and washed my face. Nearby, I noticed Betty rubbing her teeth clean with her finger. She’d braided her hair, too. I copied what she’d done, hoping that this bit of normalcy and routine would make me feel better. It didn’t. All it felt like was a lie.

  Mel came over and told me she had something to say. Then she waded into Conch Lake and called for everyone to listen. Rittika, Avery, and Ming, who had been swimming, paddled over to her. The boys tramped out from the jungle. Betty and Anne Marie abandoned the fruit they’d been nibbling.

  “Listen up!” Mel said. “I don’t know how long we’ll be here—hours, or days, or weeks. But if this island is our home, even for a little while, we have to take precautions. I’m talking about Conch Lake specifically. Except for rain, the waterfall is our only fresh water. It’s our most valuable resource. We could find gold or diamonds, and it wouldn’t matter if we didn’t have clean water to drink.”

  “Where are you going with this?” Rittika asked, her annoyance evident.

  “We need to be careful with the outcrop water, and with Conch Lake, too. It’s bad enough we’re all swimming there. We’re contaminating it just by doing that. But if you need to go to the bathroom, stay out.”

  “God, Mel!” Rittika said. “What are we—toddlers? Are you going to hand out diapers next?”

  “I’m just being reasonable,” Mel said calmly. “It would only take one accident by one person to pollute Conch Lake—and ruin it for all of us.”

  Chuckling, Chester said, “I don’t think you need to worry.”

  “Do you think so, Chester? People have said that before. ‘Don’t worry. It’s no big deal.’ But hey, waterborne diseases kill more people than war and terrorism combined. Cholera, dysentery, typhoid, hepatitis—they’re all caused by polluted water.”

  “Yeah, but you’re talking about impoverished countries, not American teenagers.”

  “Exactly,” Mel said. “I’m talking about countries. Developing countries with their own economies, legislatures, infrastructures, and transportation systems. Countries with MBAs and scientists and doctors. They’ve said, ‘No problem, we’ve got the water covered.’ And you know what? Thousands of people still die from drinking and bathing in tainted water. So don’t get on your high horse. A bunch of spoiled private school kids shouldn’t overestimate themselves.”

  A hush fell over the group. I don’t know how it was possible, but I suddenly felt even more anxious.

  “We get it, Mel,” Rittika said cynically. “Don’t crap in Conch Lake.”

  “Good,” Mel replied. “And on that note, I’ve designated an area of the jungle for those purposes.”

  Dismissively, Rittika waved off the comment.

  “Can’t we talk about something that actually matters?” she asked. “Like Warren—and what happened to him. That’s what we should be discussing.”

  “I agree!” said Avery.

  “Me too,” added Ming.

  Mel sighed.

  “Yeah, there’s no question that someone’s after us,” Chester said. “I think we should act. We need to go on the offensive. Like Coach Coifman says, the best defense is to attack.”

  Rittika nodded emphatically. “Y
eah, absolutely.”

  “We have our swords. We could make spears.”

  Rish added excitedly, “It’s only morning—we still have hours of daylight to hunt him down.”

  “Before we do anything,” Mel interjected, “there are things to consider.”

  “Like what?” Rittika asked tersely.

  “Like the fact that this enemy stole Chester’s shoes from camp but walks around in bare feet. Why? It doesn’t make any sense—unless he’s not alone.”

  Chester shrugged. “So what if there’s two of them, or three? We still have numbers on our side. Look at all of us, dude!”

  Dutifully, I looked at my classmates, one by one. But seeing them didn’t rouse in me a sense of confidence. In fact, quite the opposite. We were just kids. Innocent kids. We were like a school of little fish darting in dark water. A predator could easily take us out.

  Though the day was warm, a light breeze off Conch Lake suddenly felt like an icy shawl about my shoulders. I shuddered, wondering how much danger still awaited us. I peered into the jungle, marveling at how many nooks and crannies it suddenly seemed to have. So many places among the shadows where someone could hunker down and sit tight, waiting to strike.

  Rittika, Chester, and even Rish looked twitchy and restless, like they were ready to wage war that very second. But Mel’s face was still doubtful.

  “We were threatened, Mel,” Chester told her. “We can’t just wait here like sitting ducks.”

  “I didn’t say we should. But we have to think through whatever plan we make.”

  “As long as we don’t waste time,” Rittika said.

  “That’s right.” Rish nodded. “The sooner we act, the better. Before anything else happens …”

  “Say we find this guy,” Betty said. “And somehow, someway, we manage to catch him. What then?”

  “We contain the threat,” Chester replied.

  “We make him our prisoner,” Rittika added. “Torture him till he gives us answers.”

  “This isn’t Guantanamo,” Betty said.

  “All’s fair in love and war.”

  “This isn’t war.”

  “Isn’t it?” Rittika asked.

  “Stop. Just stop!” Mel demanded. “We don’t even know who it is, and already we’re planning to torture him? That’s crazy.”

  “I wouldn’t have a problem inflicting pain if that’s what it took,” Chester said.

  Rittika added, “He’d do it to us. He said it himself: ‘Leave or die.’ ”

  “Listen,” Mel said. “I think we should start with that parachute thing Chester and Pablo found. We ought to get it down.”

  “That would be a waste of time!”

  “No, it wouldn’t. Maybe there’s something there that could help us—a weapon, a clue, anything. We need all the help we can get.”

  “Maybe she’s right,” Chester conceded.

  The eyes of my friends turned toward Rittika. I knew that whatever words came out of her mouth would dictate our course. Rish, Ming, Avery—they would do whatever she said.

  As for Mel’s words, those were less clear. I wasn’t sure if she really thought we might find something useful, or if she was simply buying time, delaying the search and keeping the angry masses at bay for a little longer, as long as she could.

  Rittika toyed with a shiny lock of hair. Unlike mine, which was oily and tangled from lack of shampooing, hers still looked great. Further evidence of her physical superiority—as if I needed any more.

  “All right, Mel,” she said finally. “Have it your way this time. But if we don’t find anything, we’re going to do what I say.”

  We walked in a line through the jungle, Rittika and Chester at the front. I was directly behind Mel, a position I was used to. The line itself reminded me of school. Drake Rosemont was a place that thrived on order and teemed with rules. Even its buildings stood in perfect alignment. Several times a year the grounds crew trimmed the ivy that grew on the outside walls. God forbid it grow too tangled and wild.

  I thought back to three years ago—when I’d started Drake Rosemont as a high school freshman. Those first weeks had been the most confusing of my life. I’d barely understood the social code of an average public school. How was I expected to master elite Drake Rosemont, with its ceremonies and songs, its societies and slang? I felt like I needed a special dictionary just to get around. The cafeteria was a “dining hall,” the grassy square at the center of campus a “quad.” The list of new words to memorize seemed to get bigger every day, as did my feeling of being overwhelmed.

  I spent too much time in my room, staring into a mirror on the wall. I didn’t recognize myself in oxford shoes instead of sneakers, an ironed blouse instead of a wrinkled T-shirt. Once, I put on a bindi and the same Indian bracelets I’d worn on my Drake Rosemont interview. But I couldn’t find myself in those, either. I flopped onto the bed, grateful that at least I didn’t have a roommate to see how pathetic I was. When I’d been home, all I’d wanted to do was escape. But now that I had, I was still trapped, somehow.

  Within weeks, I began to walk differently, shoulders slumped, head down. While I made it to my classes and did my work, everything felt like a huge labor. It was impossible to make friends. I simply couldn’t muster the courage to talk to new people. The girls all seemed worldly, confident, intimidating, and glamorous. And forget about the boys—they were clearly out of my league.

  I longed for my sister and at times, to my horror, even my parents.

  Just a month in, I was already toying with the idea of dropping out. Probably because I was always looking down, one day I noticed someone sprawled out on the grass of the quad. A girl. She was on her belly, her Drake Rosemont skirt bunched up around her butt and thighs. Underneath, she was wearing boxer shorts. The girl’s head was propped in her hands. She watched the ground intently.

  Her tomboy look gave me courage. I ventured a hello. It came out as a whisper.

  When she didn’t respond, I figured she hadn’t heard me. Or that she was pretending not to hear.

  “Hi yourself,” she said, just as my resolve disintegrated completely.

  I recognized her voice. She was in my biology class. We had something in common, something I could glom on to.

  “You have Branston, right? I think I’m in your Tuesday morning seminar. What do you think of him?” I asked.

  Still, the girl didn’t turn to me. “He’s all right. Nothing special.”

  I tended to agree. With mutton chop sideburns and a stuffed aardvark in the corner of his classroom, Branston was eccentric enough to impress us. He gave off an air of weirdness and intrigue. Unfortunately, it was clear after only a few classes that he was unremarkable. His teaching stirred nothing in our hearts.

  “What did you think of class today?” I persisted.

  She looked up for the first time. I liked her sturdy gaze and pink cheeks. A pimple studded her chin. Unlike most of my female classmates, she wasn’t wearing makeup.

  She shrugged noncommittally, then patted the grass beside her. “Come on. Have a look.”

  Kneeling beside her, careful to keep my skirt in place, I wondered if I was making a mistake. I was depressed, but I wasn’t desperate. Not yet.

  “I’m Sam, by the way,” I told her.

  “Mel,” she replied.

  What she showed me were ants. Lots of them. Black ants in a procession. Black ants running scattershot. Some carried bits of something jellied and white. There were also red ants. These, fewer in number, appeared to be losing a battle with the black ants.

  “Why are they fighting?” I asked.

  “It could be over territory. Or food. Or pheromones.”

  “Pheromones?”

  “They’re like smells. Each ant colony uses different pheromones to recognize each other.”

  “They’re killing each other over how they smell?”

  “People have killed each other over less.”

  Mel gave me a little magnifying glass and pointed
to one of the black ants. “See the tiny prongs at the front end of her body? Those are jaws. They’re called mandibles. She’s gonna use them to bite that red ant.”

  Peering through the glass, I asked, “How do you know it’s a girl?”

  “The females do all the fighting.”

  “What do the males do?”

  “Not much. Mating mostly.”

  Though it was autumn and too cold to be lying on the ground, Mel and I stayed put for a long time. The more I stared at the ants, the more fascinated I became. I felt as if I were watching an epic story in miniature.

  “Who knew ants could be so interesting,” I told her, still peering through the magnifying glass.

  Mel motioned with one hand to our classmates, who scurried along the flagstone walkways. A few of them glanced at us curiously. “A war is happening and none of them know it. They never step off the path. They never see.”

  Then and there, I decided I liked Mel. She was an original, a person utterly and remarkably herself. I doubted she’d ever wasted a whole hour trying to find herself in a mirror.

  “When we’re done, do you wanna grab lunch?” I asked.

  “I’m meeting my sisters in the dining hall at one. What time’s it now?”

  I glanced at my cell phone. “Twelve thirty.”

  “Why don’t we stay conscientious objectors for a little longer, then meet them together?”

  “No, it’s okay. I don’t want to mess up your plans.” I was beginning to feel nervous again.

  “You won’t mess anything up.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. I spend too much time with my sisters anyway.”

  Suddenly, a pair of heels stopped inches from my head. Some of the teachers wore heels, but not like these: pink, strappy, expensive-looking. Immediately, I knew whom they belonged to. There was only one student at Drake Rosemont who could get away with wearing shoes like that.

  Rittika Singh.

  I looked up, awestruck.

  “What are you doing?” she asked condescendingly.