Castaways

by Brian Keene

  Then he knew no more.

  Chapter Six

  Pauline stretched, thrusting her ample breasts forward. Her nipples stuck out. The breeze ruffled her hair. She preened and pouted, alternately displaying her rump and bosom, and complaining that her back hurt and her arms were tired. Jeff and Raul doted on her, administering back rubs and offering to carry her share of the firewood. Their fellow contestants weren't as sympathetic. Jerry and Becka stuck with the threesome for a while, making small talk and feigning polite interest, but slowly they lagged behind, eventually separating from the other three.

  "Oh," Becka whined when they were out of earshot, pretending to faint, "my poor little arms and legs hurt. Jerry, will you carry me back to camp?"

  Chuckling, he shook his head. "Unbelievable, huh?"

  "It makes me sick, how the rest of the guys buy into her act. Well, except Ryan, of course."

  "And Troy. And Matthew."

  Becka frowned. "Troy's smarter than he looks. Matthew really creeps me out, though."

  "Yeah," Jerry agreed. "I think he's asexual or something. That's probably why Pauline can't play him."

  "And what about you?"

  "What do you mean? I'm not asexual."

  "No," Becka laughed. "I mean, why don't Pauline's charms work on you?"

  "That's easy. It's because I'm here to win. I'm not here to get famous or spin my appearance into an acting gig, or to hook up with people or make new friends. I'm on this show because I want to win a million dollars. Is she good-looking? Sure. I'm not gonna pretend she isn't. But I keep my eyes off her and on the prize instead. I'm here for the money. Aren't you?"

  "I don't know. I guess so. At first, anyway. I thought it would be fun."

  "Having second thoughts?"

  "Maybe. I don't know. I think I'm just homesick."

  "You said you brought a diary as your luxury item. Does it help?"

  "Not really. I've been so tired since we got here, I haven't really kept up with it. There's only three entries so far."

  "Well, you'll be around for a while yet, at least. I'm sure you'll have time to write more."

  Becka smiled. "I hope so. As long as I outlast Pauline, that's all that matters to me at this point."

  "You will. Just don't count on beating me."

  She slapped at him playfully, and he caught her hand in his. Becka felt a tingle course through her body. Jerry's hands were firm and strong, yet his skin was smooth and soft, just like his eyes.

  They stayed like that for a moment without speaking, just holding hands and staring into each other's eyes. Then Jerry broke contact and glanced away. He cleared his throat and shuffled his feet.

  "It's sort of weird, not having the cameras following us around for once."

  "Yeah," Jerry agreed. "It is. When we first got here, I had a hard time getting used to them. Now that they're gone, it's even stranger. I keep wanting to play to the camera, but it's not there."

  "Good. I could use a break."

  "Yeah, me too."

  "So, what would you do with the money if you won? If you don't mind me asking? Not that I'm being nosy or anything."

  "No, not at all. You'll probably think it's stupid, though. I mean, it's nothing grand or noble. I don't want to give it all to charity or help my sick mother or anything like that."

  "Try me."

  "Okay. Well, I work in a video store, right? Nothing glamorous and it doesn't seem to impress women, but I like it. But video stores are a thing of the past—a real dying breed. They've got to compete with movies online, Netflix and big discount stores marking DVDs down so low that it's cheaper to buy them than rent them. So I've been thinking about alternatives lately. The writing's on the wall. Sooner or later, I'll be out of a job."

  "So what are you thinking about?"

  "What I always wanted to do was open my own comic-book store." He paused, and wagged his finger at her. "I know what you're thinking right now

  just by the expression on your face. It's the same thing everybody thinks. You mention a comic-book store and they immediately think of some small dive in a strip mall with a bunch of smelly geeks playing Warhammer and the fat guy from The Simpsons sneering behind the counter. Am I right?"

  "Pretty much," Becka admitted. "My brother was into comics and gaming, and the few times I went to the store with him, those were my impressions."

  "But they're not all like that. The stereotype is a misconception. What I want to do is make a chain of comic-book stores for the next generation."

  "Like a boutique?"

  "Close." Jerry winked. "I'm thinking more along the lines of a cafe. Put them near college campuses and places like that. Rather than focusing on single-issue comics and boxes of back issues, I'd stock graphic novels, coffee, and pastries. Play good music in the background and offer free Wi-Fi. People can sit around my comic shop just like they would a Starbucks or Borders. It would be clean, well lit, comfortable, and free of all those stereotypes that keep people like you out of the store."

  Becka pursed her lips. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but that's not bad. That's not a bad idea at all."

  "I know. Thanks. And that's what I intend to do with the money when I win."

  "You mean if you win."

  "Listen to you, all cocky now."

  "So is that what you're into? Comics and stuff?"

  "Well, I'm not rabid about them, but yeah, I dig reading them sometimes."

  Becka wondered if he was downplaying his

  enjoyment of comics just to make some sort of impression on her. Not that she would have cared anyway, but it seemed to her that if Jerry was interested in opening a comic book shop, he'd have more than just a passing interest in them. She kept this to herself, however, so as not to embarrass him.

  "Do you have any other hobbies?" Jerry hesitated. "Promise you won't make fun of me?"

  Becka nodded.

  "I'm an amateur cryptozoologist." "A what?"

  "Cryptozoology. It's the study of unknown animals and creatures. Every year, they find new birds and fish and animals we didn't know about before— or thought were extinct. Like the coelacanth. It's a fish that was supposed to have died out with the dinosaurs, but they found them living off the coast of Africa. And a few years ago, some French scientists discovered a species of shrimp that was supposed to have been extinct for like sixty million years. They found it in this part of the world, believe it or not."

  "A prehistoric shrimp?"

  "I know. Sounds stupid."

  "No, it doesn't," Becka said. "It's kind of cool. Did you go to college for this?"

  "No." Jerry glanced at the ground. "But I wanted to be Loren Coleman when I grew up. Hell, I still do."

  "Who's Loren Coleman?"

  "He's like the godfather of this type of research— a very great man. Him and Ivan T. Sanderson and Charles Fort. Heroes of mine."

  "So why didn't you go to college for it?"

  "It's not really an accepted science. But I've read a lot of books and do a lot of research online."

  "Have you ever found anything?"

  "Not yet. Tramped around in the woods of Oregon for two weeks, looking for hominids, but all I caught was a cold."

  "Hominids?" Becka giggled. "You mean Bigfoot? Or is it Bigfeet, if we're talking plural?"

  Jerry's ears turned red. "Laugh if you want, but it's perfectly reasonable to think that there might be an as-yet-unidentified species of ape wandering the remote regions of North America. It's not like they're aliens or something."

  Becka touched his arm. "I'm sorry. I'm not making fun of you. Honest."

  "You must think I'm a real geek. Comic books and Sasquatch hunting. Jesus ..."

  "Not at all. I think it's cool. Certainly different from the guys back home. All they care about is NASCAR and football and deer hunting. You're unique. And you know what you want to do with your life. You're not studying to be a doctor or a lawyer or something just because that's what your parents wanted you to do. I like that."r />
  Jerry met her eyes. "Yeah?"

  "Yeah."

  Grinning, he bent over and picked up a length of deadwood. Then he stuck out his arms.

  "Come on, give me a hand. I'll carry. You load me up."

  Becka began gathering dry branches and limbs and stacked them in Jerry's outstretched arms. Above them, the leaves rustled in the wind.

  "The wind's getting stronger," Jerry observed. "Look at those trees bend."

  "The bugs aren't as bad either. Have you noticed? I haven't swatted at a mosquito in ten or fifteen minutes. That's what happens back home, right before a thunderstorm."

  They heard a distant drone of the helicopter. It grew louder as it approached their location, and then they glimpsed it soaring overhead, flying the last of the crew back to the freighter to wait out the storm.

  "Well," Jerry said. "That's it. We're stuck here now."

  "Do you really think it's going to be bad?"

  "I don't know. I mean, legally, I guess there's a precedent for leaving us here. Like Stuart said, we signed a contract. And I guarantee you, the drama will be good for ratings. But if it were really bad, I think the network would be more responsible and evacuate us along with everybody else. Plus, Stuart and those other guys didn't seem too worried. They were going about the interviews and stuff like it was just another day."

  Becka didn't respond. Frowning, she picked up more firewood and added it to Jerry's bundle.

  "You okay?" he asked.

  "Sure. Why?"

  "Because you're biting your lip."

  "I'm sorry. I've done that since I was a little girl. Every time I get scared."

  "You don't have to be scared. Seriously. I'll take care of you."

  "I just..." Sighing, Becka sat down on a rock. "I don't know what I'm doing here. I mean, why did I think I could do this? I can't. I'm lonely and scared and so frigging tired. God, listen to me. Now I sound like Pauline."

  Jerry dropped the firewood and sat down next to her. He placed a tentative arm around her shoulder. Becka stiffened, but then relaxed. When she didn't protest, he squeezed gently.

  "You want the truth?"

  Wiping her eyes, Becka nodded.

  "I'm tired, too. I've done okay in the challenges so far, but it's tough, keeping up with Stefan, Jeff, Raul, and Ryan. Those guys are pretty fit. Between the bugs and the jungle sounds and the heat, I sleep like shit in that shelter. Not to mention Troy's snoring."

  He tilted his head back and imitated the foul-mouthed mechanic's nocturnal noises—a cross between a snuffling pig and a lawn mower. Becka giggled, then laughed. Jerry dropped his arm, but she didn't move away.

  "That's exactly how he sounds," she said. "I tried rolling up leaves and sticking them in my ears so I wouldn't hear him, but they kept falling out."

  "He wakes me up at least four or five times a night," Jerry agreed. "By the time the sun comes up, I'm beat. And our lack of food is contributing to it, as well. That's why I did so bad in the challenge this

  morning. But I'll be damned if I'm going to quit. I meant what I said earlier."

  "I wish I had your strength," Becka said. "Your resolve."

  "You do. I can see it inside you."

  "I don't feel very strong."

  "But you are. I think that before this thing is over, you'll find out just how much." "I hope so."

  Jerry nudged her. "I know so. And I'll help you out. We're in this together now, remember?" "You promise?" "I promise."

  "And what about when it's over, and we're off the island and back home again. What then?"

  Jerry stood up and began gathering the firewood again. "Let's just concentrate on winning first. We'll worry about what happens later . . . later."

  "I guess you're right. A lot could happen between now and then."

  Jerry nodded, grunting as he lifted a particularly large branch.

  She watched him work and marveled at how much her attitude toward him had changed—and how quickly. Earlier today, she'd been cautious of him, not trusting any of her fellow contestants. Now he was the closest thing she had to a friend here on the island.

  Becka got to her feet and winced. Her tailbone hurt. She rubbed it.

  "You okay?"

  "Sure," Becka said. "My rump hurts. That's all." Jerry laughed.

  "What's so funny?"

  "Rump. Not a word you hear very often. You struck me as more of a 'butt' kind of girl." "And you struck me as an ass." "Hey!"

  Giggling, she walked over to help him. Becka noticed an olive-colored tree snake slithering past them. She eyed the serpent's slender body, relatively large head and eyes, and conspicuous dorsal stripe. She was fairly certain it wasn't poisonous, but waited until it had disappeared into the undergrowth before picking up the dead branches.

  "Come on," Jerry urged. "We'd better catch up with the others. We don't want to piss them off."

  Becka shivered.

  "The temperature's dropping," she said.

  "Yeah." Jerry glanced up at the sky again. "Won't be long now. Tropical Cyclone Ivan is on his way."

  His words seemed to hang in the air like heavy storm clouds.

  Chapter Seven

  "Hey." With a big grin, Richard held up a thrashing fish. Its lips puckered and its gills flexed as it gasped in the suffocating air. "This one's got a real nice mouth on it. Reminds me of this one girl back home."

  "Why don't you stick your dick in it?" Sal's voice carried over the crashing waves. "Maybe I will." "I dare you."

  "How much will you give me if I do?"

  "I don't have to pay you to do it. You're so horny, you'd fuck the crack of dawn."

  "Who's Dawn? Is she pretty?"

  "You'd fuck a garden hose if there was enough pressure behind it."

  Richard appeared doubtful. "I don't know if I could fit inside a garden hose. I'm pretty big."

  "I bet that fish would be the best-looking piece of ass you've ever had."

  "Maybe. It's definitely prettier than my prom date."

  Laughing, Richard tossed the wriggling fish into

  a crude basket that the castaways had woven together from reeds and branches. Then he wiped his hands on his lime-green shorts. The fish flopped on top of the rest of their catch—four other fish of varying sizes. Seabirds circled ravenously overhead, daring to dart lower each time any of the men walked away from the basket, and then squawking angrily when Sal or Richard returned.

  "I never fucked a fish before. I wonder how it would feel."

  Sal strolled across the wet sand toward him. The surf lapped at his bare feet. Since their arrival on the beach, the tide had crept steadily closer, rising as the sky grew darker and the winds increased.

  "You say that like you've fucked other animals."

  Richard shrugged.

  "Oh my God." Sal snickered. "You have, you sick fuck! What was it?"

  "When I was about fourteen, I fucked a chicken. All my friends did. One after another. It was sort of a dare."

  "You fucked a chicken?"

  "Sure."

  "Why?"

  "We were bored."

  "You couldn't find anything better to do than to have sex with a chicken?"

  Richard shrugged again. "It was Kansas, after all."

  "You are one sick puppy, my friend."

  "Oh, like you never fucked something disgusting?"

  "Well," Sal admitted, "I fucked a fat chick once. I was shit-faced at the time. It was back in the eighties, after the KISS Asylum tour. Does that count?"

  "I don't know. How big was she?" "Well over three hundred pounds. I had to roll her around in flour just to find the wet spot." "I'd say that qualifies."

  "Maybe so," Sal said, "but at least I've never fucked a chicken."

  "I may have admitted to fucking a chicken, but I'd never admit to seeing KISS on their Asylum tour."

  "What, you don't like KISS?"

  "They're okay, but that era was terrible. Give me the band in full makeup any day."

  "You don'
t know what you're talking about. When they got rid of the theatrics, they were able to just focus on the music. That was a great era."

  "I don't know about that."

  "Just because you play drums, that doesn't make you an expert, Richard."

  "I'm enough of an expert not to fuck a fat girl after the show."

  They fell silent for a moment, each lost in his own thoughts.

  "I wonder how a fish would feel," Richard asked again. "Probably cold and slimy."

  "Go ahead and try it," Sal said. "Seriously, I won't tell anybody. You're stuck on this island without any pussy—who could blame you?"

  "That's not exactly true. We've got pussy here."

  "Not any that you're getting."

  "I think Pauline's pretty hot."

  "She is," Sal agreed, "and she's way out of our fucking league, dude. So was Sheila and that other chick we exiled a few days ago."

  "Why is that?" Richard asked. "Have you ever noticed that on every season of Castaways, the hot girls get exiled first? I always said that if I ever made it onto the show, I wouldn't do that, and yet I helped get rid of her. Why?"

  "I don't know. But I did, too, so we're just as guilty as those previous contestants. And now all the nice-looking ones are gone. Except Pauline. But she's in tight with Stefan's group. That's why Jerry's plan better work, or our asses are next, right after they exile Troy."

  "Do you really think we should join forces with Jerry?"

  Sal shrugged. "I don't see why not. It makes sense for now. Maybe when it's just Pauline left out of their group, we can offer her immunity in exchange for some of that ass. I mean, she likes sticking her tits in everyone else's face. Why not stick them in mine for a while?"

  "You wouldn't really do her."

  "Are you crazy? Try me. I'd do her in a heartbeat."

  "No," Richard insisted. "You wouldn't. Not with the cameras around all the time. You've got a wife and kids back home. There's no way you'd let them see that on television. You'd end up divorced."

  "Shit. I don't get laid at home either. I might as well take advantage of it here if the opportunity presents itself."

  "What about Shonette? Would you do her?"

  "Yeah, in a pinch. She's not all that, but she's better than your fish. Becka, too."

  "Becka's cute," Richard agreed, "but I think she likes Jerry."