by Brian Keene
The time for watching was over. It was time to act.
Leaving a few sentries behind to keep track of the intruders, the tribe withdrew to the island's center. In a deep, hidden valley they used for important gatherings, the males hooted and grunted among themselves in their guttural language. Finally the elder stood and hissed for attention. The others fell silent, eyeing him with respect. His body was covered in thick, silver hair, and long, ragged scars from old battles crisscrossed his massive arms and chest. Despite his age, the chieftain was still strong and had almost all his teeth. He was a formidable opponent, and the few younger males who had dared to challenge him for leadership had been torn apart at his hands.
Growling, the elder pronounced judgment.
Meat was scarce. For generations, the tribe had supplemented their diet of fruit, bark, and plants with birds, turtles, snakes, insects, spiders, crabs, and whatever sea creatures happened to wash up onshore. There had once been wild pigs on the island, or so they'd been told, but none of those living had ever seen one, or knew what they tasted like. For reference, they only had the pictures, drawn on the cave walls by their ancestors.
The males among the hairless newcomers would
be caught, killed, and eaten. Perhaps they would taste like pig. Perhaps not. In either case, they would fill bellies. The tribe had long kept the practice of eating their own dead, when sickness, injury, or old age took them. This would not be so different. In fact, the new arrivals might taste better. They appeared well fed, for the most part. Many of them had succulent layers of fat around their abdomens.
The females would be taken to the caves as breeders. If they could not bear children, or if the fruit of their wombs was defective, then they would be eaten, too, along with the deformed infants.
The wind blew in from the sea, and the treetops rustled and swayed.
The elder raised his tiny head and sniffed the air. The breeze ruffled his hair. He knew from experience that a storm was coming—more proof that the intruders had upset the natural balance.
They would act tonight, under cover of the darkness and the weather. They would be swift and merciless. And then they would feast.
On the island, the night had teeth.
Chapter Three
The contestants made their way back to the base camp, followed by camera operators and sound technicians. They reached a point along the beach where a narrow trail cut into the jungle, and they turned toward it. The path was only wide enough for three people to walk side by side at a time, and Becka noticed that everyone continued to stick to their various cliques. One crew member took the lead, walking backward and filming the procession. Becka was surprised he didn't trip.
Sal and Richard walked slightly ahead of the others. Becka couldn't hear their conversation, but both men were snickering. She wondered what they were talking about. Stefan, Jeff, Raul, Pauline, and Roberta strolled along behind them, but Roberta was just a few steps behind the others. Becka wondered if maybe Jerry and Shonette were right. Maybe Roberta could be swayed over to their side, after all.
A few more crew members—Mark, Jesse, and Stuart—followed Stefan's group, recording their conversation. Ryan and Shonette were in front of
Jerry and Becka. Troy stumbled behind them, slapping at mosquitoes.
Becka glanced over her shoulder. Matthew trudged along silently with his spear, keeping several yards' distance between himself and the rest of the group. He stared straight ahead, as if trying to bore a hole between Troy's shoulder blades with his eyes. His face was expressionless. Another cameraman brought up the rear.
The network's construction crew had built the path. It was outlined with lime, so the contestants could see it at night. (For safety reasons, midnight strolls through the jungle were discouraged, unless, of course, it was for something that would bring in ratings.) Bamboo handrails were positioned at swampy or hilly spots. But despite the conveniences, the dense tropical undergrowth crowded the path on both sides. As they walked, Becka noticed how still the jungle was. Normally, the terrain was alive with insects and birds. The trees and sky were usually filled with parrots, albatrosses, honeyeaters, frigates, gulls, and boobies. At times, their noise was almost deafening. Now there was only silence.
Jerry paused, staring into the dense jungle. Becka and Troy stopped with him.
"What is it?" Becka asked. "Is something wrong?"
"I don't know. Hear that? It's quiet. No birds, nothing. Just silence."
"I was just thinking the same thing. Maybe the helicopter scared them all away?"
"Maybe," Jerry agreed.
Troy slapped another mosquito. "Or maybe these fucking bugs got them all. Swear to Christ,
I'm down a fucking pint of blood. I don't weigh but a buck-oh-five to begin with. By the time this is over, I'll be nothing but fucking bones."
Grinning, Becka and Jerry started forward again.
"So, do you have a girlfriend?" Becka immediately regretted asking.
"No," Jerry replied. "But I'm always on the lookout. I figure that once I win the million dollars, finding a girlfriend will be a little easier."
"That's why you wanted an alliance," she teased, "so you could win."
Jerry feigned surprise. "Well, why else would we form an alliance?"
"I don't know. It would be nice to have someone to trust."
"Yes, it would," Jerry agreed. "But an alliance doesn't mean you'd be able to trust me. What if we play the game all the way to the end and avoid getting exiled, and then it comes down to you or me? What then?"
Becka grinned. "Then I'd have to kick your butt and win the million. But don't worry, I'd give you a loan."
"Thanks."
Ahead of them, Shonette let out a frightened squeal. All the contestants stopped walking. Ryan and Shonette stared at the ground. Shonette stumbled backward, pointing.
"What the hell is that?"
Mark and Jesse jostled past the others. Mark trained his camera on the disturbance and Jesse leaned closer with his microphone.
The group gathered around them. Only Matthew
remained in the background, leaning on his spear and looking disinterested. Troy pressed up behind Becka, craning his neck to see, and accidentally shoved her forward. She recoiled in disgust.
In the center of the path was a small, wormlike creature, as thick as a pencil and about eight inches long. It was so small that Becka was amazed Shonette had noticed it at all. The creature was gray and pink in color, with ugly splotches along its length. The thing's head was not offset from its body, and Becka couldn't tell which end was which. She peered closer and saw two tiny black dots on one end—the creature's eyes. The worm wiggled back and forth. Becka thought back to the research she'd done on the region before leaving home, but didn't recognize the wriggling creature.
"What the hell is it?" Shonette asked again.
"Disgusting," Ryan said. "That's what it is."
"It's a fucking worm," Troy said. "What's the big deal? Step on it. Or better yet, eat the fucker."
"Oh, man," Raul moaned. "You'd eat a worm, dog?"
Pauline scowled, hands on hips. "That's gross." Troy shrugged. "Hey, we're all sick of eating rice, right?"
"I think I'll stick with rice," Roberta said. "It doesn't move when you eat it."
"I'd eat a worm," Richard said, in his slow Kansas-drawl. "I used to eat possums and squirrels and groundhogs. A worm ain't much different. I bet it tastes just like chicken. Maybe put a little bar-beque sauce on it."
Sal nudged him. "You'd eat shit if somebody paid you five bucks to do it."
"Yeah," Richard agreed. "You got five bucks on you?"
"It's not a worm," Stefan said. "Unlike some of you, I prepared for this contest by familiarizing myself with our locale. I did my homework."
Troy yawned. "Well, aren't you just fucking special?"
"I'll certainly outlast you, you foul-mouthed little troglodyte."
Troy turned to Richard. "What'd he just call me?"
Richard shrugged. "I'm not sure. Nothing good."
"No," Jerry whispered in agreement, "it wasn't."
Becka considered telling Stefan that she'd done her homework as well, but decided to keep quiet. There was no sense in drawing attention to herself. Otherwise, she might be the next one exiled.
"Anyway," Stefan said, "this isn't a worm. It's called a blind snake."
"A snake?" Roberta knelt for a closer look. "But it's so small."
"Well, this one is rather large, all things considered. Probably an adult. They rarely exceed twelve inches in length, if I remember correctly."
"Is it poisonous?" Jeff asked.
"Not at all. They're timid creatures. Harmless, unless you're an ant or a termite, like our friend Troy here."
"Fuck you, motherfucker." "No, thank you. You're a bit too greasy for my tastes."
"You think you're better than me, Stefan? Is that it?"
Stefan rolled his eyes. "Heavens no. I'm sure you make valuable contributions to society."
"I bend wrenches for a living. Maybe I'll take one upside your head when we get home."
"You'll get there before me. I will be the last person left on this island."
"Not if we cook you and eat you first, you yuppie fuck."
Ignoring him, Stefan turned his attention back to the blind snake. "Interestingly enough, they're an all-female species."
Ryan peered at the snake. "What does that mean?"
"It means that they lay eggs without the benefit of a male snake to fertilize them."
"Where's the fun in that?" Pauline asked.
The men laughed obligingly at Pauline's joke, and Becka gritted her teeth to keep from responding. A dozen different sarcastic replies came to mind. She glanced at Shonette, who rolled her eyes.
The group began to split up again. Stefan, Jeff, Raul, Pauline, and Roberta walked on, along with half the crew. Jerry pulled Sal and Richard aside, and watched until the others had disappeared around a turn in the path. Then he gathered Sal, Richard, Troy, Shonette, and Ryan together. Mark and Jesse remained behind as well, filming their discussion.
Becka tugged on Jerry's shoulder. He leaned close.
"What about Matthew?" she whispered.
Jerry glanced over at the loner. Matthew stood apart from the group, staring off into the jungle. Jerry sighed.
"Matthew, you want to join us for a second?"
Shrugging, he stepped forward.
"Here's the thing," Jerry said. "Stefan, Jeff, Raul, Pauline, and Roberta have a pretty strong alliance. We think we may be able to pull Roberta, but the others are sticking together. Stefan and Jeff need to go. They present a physical threat in the challenges."
Troy interrupted. "Not to mention Stefan is an asshole."
"Yes," Jerry agreed. "There's that, too. And after what just happened, I think it's a good bet that he's gunning for you tonight. Let's make sure he doesn't get the opportunity."
"How?" Richard asked.
"Me, Becka, Shonette, Ryan, and Troy were talking. There's five people in their alliance. We were thinking maybe you guys would want to join us. You, too, Matthew, if you like. We don't know for sure who they're going to vote for tonight, of course. It'll probably be whoever Stefan says. Like I said, I'm guessing Troy."
"I heard them talking earlier," Sal said. "It is Troy."
"That motherfucker!" Troy yanked his hat from his head and threw it on the ground. "So he was planning this shit even before he talked smack just now?"
Sal nodded. "Looks that way."
"Stefan's untouchable," Jerry said. "He's got the circle of protection—for now, at least. But if you guys join up with us, we could exile Jeff tonight. That would leave Stefan's alliance weaker. Then we
could start picking them off one by one. We could take out Stefan next week."
"Unless he wins another challenge," Richard said.
"If he does," Shonette replied, "then we exile Pauline or Raul."
"Exactly," Jerry said. "If we can't get to Stefan, we can at least take out his supporters. Leave him vulnerable. That's gonna fuck with his head, and then he'll start slipping up."
Sal frowned. "Okay, but what happens once we've exiled all of them? You realize we'll have to turn on each other then, right?"
"Well," Jerry said, "it is a game, right? No hard feelings at that point. Agreed?"
Sal and Richard glanced at each other, then back to Jerry.
"luck it," Sal said. "I'm in."
Richard nodded. "Yeah, let's do it."
Jerry turned to the others. "You guys still up for this?"
Troy picked up his hat, brushed off the dirt, and plopped it back on his head.
"Fuck that fucking fuck. Let's exile his ass, and all his little fucking cronies, too."
Ryan laughed. "I'm with Troy."
"Let's do it," Shonette said.
They all turned to Becka.
"Okay," she said. "Sounds like a plan, I guess."
"Matthew?" Jerry smiled. "Will you help us?"
"Sure." His voice was a sullen monotone. "For now. But this doesn't make us friends. Like you said, it's a game. Stefan and Jeff are the most
immediate threats. Taking them out will level the playing field."
"The enemy of my enemy is my friend?"
Matthew's smile was tight-lipped. "Something like that."
"Gotta admit," Jerry said, "you didn't strike me as the type of guy who reads Sun Tzu's The Art of War."
Matthew's smile vanished. "That's because you don't know anything about me. None of you do."
He raised his bamboo spear, pushed past the group, and trudged away. They watched him go, shaking their heads.
"Nice guy," Ryan whispered.
Troy began slapping mosquitoes again. "Dude's an asshole, if you ask me. Not as much as Stefan, maybe, but still..."
"Well," Jerry said, "as long as he keeps his word with us and helps take down their alliance, I don't care what he does. We can exile him after we finish with the others."
Tired, hungry, thirsty, and pestered by mosquitoes, they plodded along the trail, making their way back to the base camp.
As she walked, Becka got that weird feeling of being watched again. She tried to ignore it. Although she'd never admit it to the other contestants, the island was pretty spooky at night, and even during the day, if she happened to be off by herself. As a result, she tried to stay close to the others—or at least near the base camp. Maybe it was just her imagination, or perhaps it was the island's local lore. Upon their arrival, Roland had filled them in
on its history. Tradition held that the island was haunted. The region had been populated for over seven thousand years, but in all that time, the island had remained uninhabited because the natives from the surrounding islands avoided it at all costs. Legends were passed on from each generation to the next that many of the caves scattered across the island were actually mouths leading into the underworld. A tribe of small, inhuman creatures were said to emerge from these caves to rape or devour anything in their path. Unlike the Indonesian folktales of the little people of Flores—cave-dwelling South Seas leprechauns who accepted gourds full of food that the Floresians set out for them as offerings—the diminutive creatures on this island were said to be savage and demonic.
Over the years, various traders, explorers, and adventurers from as far away as Europe and America had vanished in the region. There was also the legend of the Martinique, a merchant vessel that had anchored on the island in the early 1900s. The crew had supposedly stayed one night on the beach and then fled, swearing never to return. And a Japanese squadron had disappeared in the vicinity during World War II. According to several television documentaries, they crashed on or near the island and were never heard from again. Supposedly their spirits still haunted the jungle.
Becka knew that Roland had told them this as part of the show—a bit of local color to enthrall the viewers—but that didn't make her feel any better late at night when she was l
ying in the darkness, listening to the jungle.
And it didn't make her feel better now.
Jerry tapped her shoulder. "Earth to Becka. Penny for your thoughts?"
"Sorry. I was just thinking about our first day here—all the stuff Roland told us."
"I liked that part," Jerry said. "The celebration they threw for us onboard the freighter? That was cool."
Becka nodded, remembering. Before they'd been transported to the island, the network had treated them to a welcoming party on the ship. Natives from neighboring islands were brought in to share their culture and traditions. There was a great feast and live music, and the contestants were treated to displays of dancing, tattooing, wood carving, and other regional pastimes. She'd especially been enamored of the women's colorful tribal garb.
"Yeah," she said, not telling Jerry that hadn't been what she was thinking about, "it was pretty cool, wasn't it?"
"It was," Jerry agreed. "Even if I don't win, I'll never forget that. I mean, how often do you get to experience something like that? We're very lucky to have been picked. Good thing we fit the stereotypes."
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, come on. Think about it. You've seen past seasons, haven't you? Each of us is here because we fit a certain profile the producers were looking for. We've got a black guy, a black girl, an older woman, a hick, a handsome stud, the bad boy, a yuppie, a gay guy, a hot chick, and you—the pretty, nice girl next door."
Becka blushed. "And you're the handsome stud?"
"Me?" Now it was Jerry's turn to blush. "No, I'm just the regular dude."
"Goddamn," Troy muttered behind them. "I really need a fucking smoke. You two are so fucking sweet, you're gonna send me into a diabetic coma."
They turned to glare at him, but then realized that Troy was laughing. He winked conspiratorially and after a moment, they laughed, too. The noise disturbed a roosting parrot, who voiced its displeasure.
They walked on.
Once more, Becka felt eyes on her, but when she glanced around, it was just the camera, filming everything they did.
Chapter Four
The base camp offered few luxuries. Rustic and simple, it consisted of a large structure built of bamboo, rocks, and leaves—basically a roof held up by poles, with walls manufactured from branches and palm fronds. It had two open-air doors. There was a similar construction that served as a latrine, a hole in the ground to catch rainwater, and a fire pit made of stones. The contestants had built it all themselves during their first few days on the island. When not competing in contests, exploring their surroundings, or lying on the beach, they spent their time at the camp, as did the camera crew.
