Cyrus was a little surprised when Amy continued forward until they were also out of line of sight of the camp. He tried not to think about what would happen if one of the creatures launched an ambush right then, either on the camp, or on them.
“What?” he said, his anxiety flaring out as anger.
“I just…” Amy ran a hand through her hair. “Look, I’m sorry. The thing I said about Darius was going too far.”
Cyrus closed his eyes. It made no difference whether she apologized or not, or whether she’d meant it or not. She’d spoken the truth. He was doing the worst thing one brother could do to another, and he’d wanted to do it for a long time, certainly before coming to the island.
“Just forget it,” said Cyrus. “Is that it?”
“Why?” Amy grabbed onto the front of his shirt and shook him slightly. “We argue once and now you hate me? Have you always hated me?”
“Amy…” Cyrus bit his lower lip in frustration. “Damn it, what am I supposed to say?”
Peter. It’s all about Peter, and it always has been.
“I don’t hate you,” he continued. “But we can’t be together, regardless of how you or I feel. Do you understand?”
Amy shook her head, tears brimming in the corners of her eyes.
“No.” She leaned her head in toward his as she whispered the word, slowly, hesitantly, her lips drawing toward his. Cyrus let it happen, felt her body as he pulled her against him, soft and feminine and enticing.
“You…” Peter’s voice cut through the moment like a hammer through glass. “Both of you…?”
Cyrus backed away from Amy, but he already knew that it was too late. Peter had seen. After everything he’d done to make sure he and Amy stayed friends, Peter, his best friend and the man who’d always loved Amy from afar, had seen them sharing a forbidden kiss.
“Peter,” he said. “This isn’t… it’s not what you think.”
Peter held a hand to his chest and turned to look away from them, his entire body tensing in what looked like pain. He looked up at Cyrus and shook his head.
“Were you ever really my friend, Cyrus?” he asked. “Or was this all just a joke?”
Weston High School’s parking lot was packed to the brim with cars, most of them near to the center and front, where the streetlights provided illumination and a sense of safety. Cyrus stood near the back edge, far from the school’s entrance, mostly hidden in the shadows.
It was prom night, and more than anything, he wanted to be somewhere else. All of the students had flooded through into the school’s gymnasium almost an hour earlier, hopped up on hormones and excitement. Cyrus, scrimping for cash as always, hadn’t bothered buying a ticket or putting his heart on the line to ask someone to go with him.
A car that he recognized pulled into the school’s drive, swerving slightly and opting for one of the open parking spots on the far end of the lot. Cyrus hesitated before walking over, recognizing Peter’s Ford Focus and wondering why his friend had arrived so late.
Peter was clumsily pushing his way out of the car by the time Cyrus made it over. He looked over at Cyrus and grinned at him, shifting to conceal an odd lump in the pocket of his suit jacket.
“Cyrus!” he said. “Buddy, what’s going on? What the hell are you doing out here?”
“Peter,” said Cyrus. “Are you drunk?”
Peter laughed. He glanced over his shoulder and then looked back, still grinning like a fool.
“Yah,” he said. “Just a little though. Figured I’d have to be tonight…”
Cyrus sighed and offered his friend a hand, helping him stand up straight enough to make it a little less obvious.
“What are you doing out here, though?” asked Peter. “The party’s inside…”
Cyrus didn’t want to lie to Peter, but he didn’t want to tell him the truth, either. His friend sniffed several times, leaning in a little closer to him, and he knew the jig was up.
“You’re selling weed,” said Peter. “Seriously?”
Cyrus shrugged.
“Dale said he’d buy a quarter if I brought it to him,” he said. “It would give me enough to pay off the electric bill before they disconnect it.”
Peter leaned against his car, doing his best to look thoughtful, rather than plastered.
“How long have you been waiting out here?”
“Long enough that I know he isn’t going to show.”
Peter chuckled and nodded to his car.
“Come on, throw the drugs in the glove compartment,” he said. “You’re coming to prom with me. You can be my date.”
Cyrus punched him in the shoulder and then frowned.
“Seriously, though, who’d you end up asking?”
Peter sighed.
“Amy. She said no…”
Cyrus kept his reaction as contained as he could. He’d talked to Amy a couple of nights earlier. He knew how she felt, or rather, how she didn’t feel about Peter. He also knew that she didn’t have a choice about what nights she’d be working the club.
“Come on, Cyrus,” said Peter. “We’re still going to have some fucking fun tonight.”
“I don’t have a ticket,” said Cyrus.
“Wait by the fire exit. I’ll sneak you innnnn…”
Cyrus smiled. It was a terrible idea, but something about the night made him feel as though it was exactly the type of thing they needed to be doing. They had each other’s backs, even when things were shitty.
Peter went inside through the front entrance, ticket in hand. Cyrus was half expecting him to be turned away by the principal or whoever was manning the door, given how drunk he was, but a couple of minutes later, he heard a soft knock on the fire exit. Cyrus knocked back a couple of times. The door opened.
The fire alarm, as they probably should have expected, went off instantly, blaring in a warped, shrill tone. Peter began laughing as though it was the single funniest thing that had ever happened. Cyrus grabbed him by the sleeve of his suit jacket and pulled him into a run, the two taking off into the soccer fields beside the school.
“Great idea, Peter,” he said, panting.
“Wasn’t it, though?” Peter grinned at him. “At least we’re making the night interesting.”
They kept running until they’d made it off the school grounds, and kept walking all the way to one of the nearby parks, which was relatively empty. The two of them walked up to the top of one of the small hills and then sad down on top of it. The lump in Peter’s coat pocket turned out to be a bottle of Jack Daniels, and they passed it back and forth, taking shots and staring at the stars.
“It’s all going to work out, right?” asked Peter.
“Of course,” said Cyrus. “Things always do.”
“Thanks, man.”
“For what?” Cyrus smiled and passed the bottle back to him.
“…I don’t know,” said Peter. “For being you, I guess.”
Cyrus shrugged.
“Sure,” he said. “And thanks for being you, too.”
“Don’t get all fruity on me, Cyrus. I was joking about bringing you as my date before.”
Cyrus laughed and punched him in the shoulder.
“Fuck you, Peter.
“Fuck you, Cyrus.”
“Peter, please,” said Cyrus. “Think everything we’ve been through together.”
Even in the lengthening shadows of night, Cyrus could see the hate written into Peter’s expression.
“You think about it!” shouted Peter. “You can have all the memories, Cyrus. I just want to get the fuck off this island.”
Cyrus didn’t have time to say anything to that. Several panicked screams came from the beach camp, followed by a low, aggressive growl.
“Damn it!” Cyrus took off running, his bare feet fighting for traction against the loose sand. He saw several large shapes as he approached the camp, waiting just beyond the foundation of the fence.
Tamyra already had a torch in hand. Behind her, Maggie stood holdi
ng the unlit torch club Cyrus had used the day before, trembling slightly. Cyrus stepped up beside her and gently took it from her hands, dipping it into the campfire and turning to square off against the beasts in the dark.
“Don’t rush out at them,” said Cyrus. “Wait for them to come into the light, and then we’ll attack.”
Peter and Amy had followed behind him, and Peter had found himself a torch. Despite the drama of the past few minutes, he seemed ready and willing to fight for their survival.
It was hard to see through the darkness, but Cyrus was barely able to make out the shapes of at least three animals, giant panthers, as far as he could tell. They were huge, easily the size of the biggest tiger Cyrus had ever seen photos of, and moving with that familiar, feline grace. Except it didn’t seem graceful at all in this context, but deadly and terrifying, all of the big cats poised and ready to strike.
“Holy fuck!” cried Peter. “We have to get to the raft!”
“No!” Cyrus swung the torch in the face of one of the cats as it moved closer to the fire. “They will run us down and kill us if we try it.”
“We fight,” said Tamyra. “Stay back.”
Tamyra hopped over the fence almost lazily, swinging her torch as though she expected it to immediately scare the creatures off. One of them was on her in a second, a massive jet black mass of muscle, claws and teeth, knocking the torch out of her hand as it tackled her to the sand.
Cyrus let out an infuriated roar and hurled himself forward, swinging his torch down onto the giant cat’s back. Sparks scattered across its fur, singing it in places. It let out a cry and jumped away, giving Tamyra a chance to scamper back over the fence and into the light of the fire.
The other two giant panthers slowly advanced forward, clearly unconcerned by what Cyrus had done to their companion. He swung his torch in an arc, expecting Peter to make a stand at his side and even the odds.
Peter remained where he was, safe by the fire. The two cats nearest to Cyrus were joined by the third, now recovered. They moved as a single unit, spreading out to encircle him, trying to cut him off from the safety of the fence and campfire’s illumination.
“Peter, do something!” screamed Amy. Maggie was fumbling through the process of lighting another torch, trying to hurry to Cyrus’s aid.
All of the panthers seemed to move at once, pouncing toward him, one going for Cyrus’s legs while each of the other two lashed their paws out at his arms and neck. Cyrus spun in a circle, swinging the torch and knowing that his life depended on its protection.
Two of them veered off to the side at the last second. The third crashed into his chest, digging claws in that ripped deep gashes into his pectoral muscles. Cyrus screamed and tried to thrust the torch into its face, but the angle was wrong.
“Peter!” he shouted. There was no response, and his friend didn’t come to his aid.
Tamyra did, however, carrying her relit torch and slamming it against the black cat’s muzzle before it could sink razor sharp fangs into Cyrus’s neck. It stumbled backward, and Cyrus stumbled up. He could feel wet blood soaking into his ripped t-shirt, the pain dulled by adrenaline and instinct.
Cyrus rushed forward, letting out a cry of rage as he began to bludgeon the panther with his torch. Tamyra had it from the other side, holding the flames of her torch flat against its fur and setting it alight. The other two panthers had fled, their will to kill finally broken.
The unlucky cat tried to flee across the sand for a few feet before leaping into the air, letting out a pained yelp, and falling to the ground in a broken, smoldering heap. Cyrus stood over it for another minute, slamming his torch club down on its neck in furious blows, remembering Candace. He only stopped when he was too exhausted to continue, and as he made his way back into the light of the fire, the reality of what had just happened sank in.
Peter was going to let me die.
CHAPTER 21
“Why didn’t you do anything, Peter?” asked Cyrus. He knew what the answer would be, if he got one at all, but still felt as though he needed to ask.
“It all happened so fast,” said Peter, his voice unconvincing and flat. “I just didn’t have time.”
“Really?” Cyrus scowled at him. “That’s what we’ve come to? Really, Pete?”
He sat on the sand near the fire as Maggie tended to the cuts on his chest, which turned out to be shallower than they had initially seemed. Peter stood on the far end of the camp, away from the others, his expression unreadable and empty.
“Tomorrow, I’m setting out.” Peter turned to address all of the survivors directly. “There’s room for two other people on the raft with me. I’m not spending more than another night on this god forsaken island.”
“You’re out of your fucking mind,” said Cyrus. “What are you going to eat? How is any of this going to work?”
Peter gestured toward the dead panther in the sand.
“We’ll take that with us,” he said. “Along with plenty of coconuts and berries. And of course, a full water barrel. We’ll be fine.”
“I… I want to go with you,” said Aiden. “I want to go home.”
“We don’t even know which way civilization is from here,” said Cyrus.
“The current will take us where we need to go,” said Peter. “Tamyra, do you still want to come, as well?”
Tamyra nodded.
“Then it’s settled.” Peter sneered at Cyrus, his eyes filled with contempt. “This will solve things for both of us, buddy. You should be happy.”
Nobody gets to be happy after tonight, thought Cyrus.
“This is insane,” said Amy. “Aiden, you’re seriously going to go with him?”
“I’m sorry, Amy,” said Aiden. “I’m scared of this place.”
“This discussion’s over,” said Peter. “If you need me, I’ll be making the finishing touches on the raft.”
He walked over to the dead panther and hefted it over his shoulder, heading off in the direction of the raft. Tamyra and Aiden looked at each other for a moment, and then hurried after him.
“What just happened?” whispered Maggie.
“They’ll be okay,” said Kyoko. “Who knows? It might be the only hope we have to get rescued. We might as well let them try.”
“It’s a suicide mission,” said Cyrus. “And none of them can even see-”
A noise came from the edge of the jungle, and they all went silent. Cyrus picked his torch club back up and dipped it into the fire. He took a slow step in the direction of the disturbance, ready to fight for his life.
A tiny mewling noise came from just within the tall grass. Cyrus frowned and pushed away vegetation, revealing a tiny panther cub, no larger than a house cat, walking through the grass with a youthful aimlessness. It looked up at him and let out a harmless meow, its green eyes tracking the movement of the torch in his hand. The cat’s ribs were showing through the glossy fur of its abdomen, and it looked exhausted.
“Huh,” said Cyrus. He reached down and picked it up with his free hand. “Do we still have that fish from before?”
Maggie looked at him in disbelief as he carried the tiny panther kitten over to the camp and set it down in the sand. It walked in a small circle, nuzzling up against Cyrus’s leg, and then laid down and let out a yawn.
“You aren’t serious, are you?” she asked him. Cyrus shrugged.
“I’m guessing the one that we fought was its mother,” he said. “I can’t imagine why else it would still be here on its own.” He held it over his head and examined its underside. “It’s a boy.”
“You’re insane.” Kyoko was smiling slightly as she spoke, and Cyrus smiled back at her.
“Maybe,” he said. “But if Peter and the others really do set out tomorrow, we could use the extra company.”
“Let’s call him Shadow,” said Amy.
Cyrus scratched the tiny panther’s ear, and heard it let out another tiny meow. Kyoko brought over the fish, cutting a slice off its tail with a sharpen
ed rock to set in front of the little guy.
“It’s generic, but fitting,” said Cyrus. “Shadow it is.”
The panther kitten went to sleep, and so did the rest of them, except for Cyrus. He sat on the edge of the camp, determined to keep guard as he had the night before. Tonight, he wasn’t sure if it was just the jungle cats that he was looking out for.
A noise came from within the camp, and Cyrus turned to see Amy walking over toward where he sat on one of the logs that made up the fence. She didn’t say anything at first, instead just sitting down next to him and planting a kiss on his cheek.
“It’s not your fault,” she whispered, after another moment.
“I know,” he said. “Peter… he would have eventually snapped over something else. He isn’t happy here.”
Amy met his gaze, a strange expression on her face.
“Are you happy here?” she asked.
“What?”
She shrugged.
“It’s not a ridiculous question, Cyrus,” she said. “I mean, I got to escape from the hell that I was trapped in back in Weston. From the blackmail… from stripping. This beats what’s waiting for me back home.”
Cyrus leaned his head back, looking up at the night sky. He’d been too busy thinking about survival to give the question any thought on his own.
Was I happier back home, selling weed and struggling to keep a roof over my head?
“Will you let me try?” whispered Amy. “…To make you happy?”
“Amy…”
Before he could continue, she’d kissed him again, her lips hot and enticing against his. She let her kiss travel, first down across his neck, skipping over the scratches on his chest and picking back up at his stomach and then crotch.
She started to undo the zipper of his cargo shorts, and Cyrus stood up enough for her to pull them and his boxers down. The fire had died down to the point of leaving them both in shadow, and Kyoko and Maggie both seemed to still be asleep.
Cyrus was hard before she’d even started touching him. Despite everything that had happened that night, the arguing, his potentially destroyed friendship with Peter, he still wanted her. He wanted to give her what she wanted, the chance to make him happy.
Survival Island: Last Man Standing Page 11
