The Betrayal

by J G Alva

  “You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself,” she said, trying to weave something in her lap with some sun-dried vines. Nick thought she was trying to make a net. It didn’t look much like a net right then however. “You waited until I was eighteen.”

  “Only just,” he said,

  “Well,” she said, and smiled. “My Aunt always says a miss is as good as a mile.”

  “God,” Nick sighed, and laughed.

  He sat down beside her, watching what she was doing. What I wouldn’t give to sit in a chair, he thought; sitting cross legged on the beach gave him back ache.

  He sensed something wrong then, and studied Rebekah’s face. It had been like this for some time now, both of them so attuned to each other they might as well have been one creature, a big tanned thing with four legs, four arms, nice big boobs, and a beard.

  “What’s the matter?” He asked.

  Her face was serious with some great weight when she turned it towards him. It was an expression he rarely saw from her.

  “I’ve been thinking,” she said, and then stopped. Her hands rested motionless in her lap.

  “What?”

  She sighed through her nose.

  “Is the raft you were working on still on the other side of the island?” She asked.

  Nick raised his eyebrows, surprised.

  “Uh...I think so. I haven’t been over to that part of the island for about two months now, but it should still be there. Why?”

  “I’ve been thinking about it, and...I think you’re right. I think we need to get off this island.”

  Nick was taken aback, his thoughts in a jumble.

  “What’s caused this sudden change of heart?”

  She shook her head.

  “Nothing, really. It’s just...We need to get back. Our time here has been great, no, that’s wrong, it’s been the best, the best ever, but I keep thinking, something’s going to go wrong.”

  “I never knew you were superstitious.”

  “Please don’t make jokes, Nick. I just feel that...our luck’s going to run out. That either you’re going to fall and break your neck, or we’re going to eat something bad and not get better. If anything happened to you...” She lowered her head, shook it, as if a fly was buzzing in her ear.

  “Nothing’s going to happen to me,” he said, smoothing hair away from an ear. A perfect ear, really.

  “You don’t know that, Nick. And as much as you try to avoid it by being careful...accidents happen. They always do. And I don’t want to be here, sitting on this island, watching you die from a fall or disease or something, knowing that it was me that made you stay here, knowing that it was me that killed you.”

  Nick thought about that. He slipped an arm around her, pulled her close, kissed her neck. He felt something in his belly, some excitement or fear, he couldn’t tell which. Toad stirred, and then was still.

  “Alright,” he said, and kissed her again. “Alright.”

  “How long do you think, before you can get it ready?”

  Nick thought again, looking up at the perfect blue sky.

  “Maybe a month? Six weeks?”

  “Okay.” She took his hand in her own, gripped it tightly. “Let’s do it.”

  ◆◆◆

  PART 2

  ESCAPE

  CHAPTER 9

  It took him less than a month, and when they were sure they were ready, she climbed on, he pushed the raft into the water, and they fought their way out from shore.

  Nick had made the raft in the cove a little north from the beach they considered as ‘their spot’ for two reasons: one, because with the long finger of rock shielding much of the bay from the current it would be easier to get it out in to open water, and two: because at the time he had been hiding his endeavours from Rebekah.

  There was still some current however, and they struggled against it. There were two paddles – well, not paddles as such, Nick thought, sticks really, with one end beaten as flat as they could make it, and then secured with vines. It wasn’t brilliant, but it was the best the island had to offer. The raft itself was no feat of engineering either, but Nick was absurdly proud of it. It measured roughly six foot by six foot, and consisted of two layers of trees he had cut from the island, eight running one way and eight running the other, secured with vines. On it he had created a kind of box in which they had stored all the food. They had coconuts, fish, and carved out coconut shells for water, their tops sealed with leaves tied to them with vines. He had brought a couple of crabs that they could eat raw if they had to, but were principally there for bait. Nick hoped they were picked up before they ran out of food, but if they weren’t, the option to fish was there. Whether he’d catch anything in open water was another matter. He hoped they wouldn’t be forced to find out.

  In the centre of the raft Nick had created a kind of awning, a simple frame crowned with a roof of leaves, to keep the sun off. The sun would bake them alive in the heat of the day; they would need the shade.

  He was pleased with the raft, and all he felt it really lacked, beside any aesthetic value, was a sail of some description. A sail would guarantee them movement without them having to work for it. But he had no material to use as a sail; the idea had come to him to somehow mesh their clothes together, but had eventually decided against it for the sake of their modesty. He would be alright, but the sight of Rebekah’s tanned, nubile flesh might cause more than consternation in a rescuing sailboat. Maybe even a riot.

  She struggled with her own paddle, her small but well defined muscles working attractively under the skin of her shoulders as she worked her side of the raft, until they were clear of the bay and he told her to stop.

  “Save your strength,” he said, and then smiled. “At least until it’s my turn for a break.”

  Rebekah sat next to him, looking back at the island. They were a good quarter of a mile from the coast. Nick looked too. Out here the island seemed smaller somehow, less inhospitable.

  “It’s stupid,” she said, “but I feel sad. About leaving.”

  She looked at him, and he nodded.

  “I know,” he said.

  “And I feel afraid.”

  “We can do this,” he said. “I know we can.”

  She nodded, set her jaw resolutely against it, and looked back to the island again.

  Nick worked his paddle. His arms weren’t aching yet, but it wouldn’t take long before they were. It was incredibly silent out in open water, the only sound the ocean licking at the raft and the sound of his paddle as he disturbed it.

  “Oh my God,” Rebekah said.

  Something in her tone made him stop and look at her. She was staring at something further along the coast, and Nick turned to see what she was looking at.

  “Nick?” She said querulously.

  He could see it. He could not quite believe it, but it was there.

  “Get your paddle,” Nick said, moving to the other side of the raft. When she didn’t move, her face frozen with shock, he said, “get your fucking paddle. Come on. Come on, come on, come on.”

  North along the coast, half hidden by part of the island, the white stern of a boat could be seen.

  ◆◆◆

  Scientists, Nick thought at first, studying the boat. A research vessel.

  But as they worked their way closer it became obvious the boat was too luxurious for scientists.

  “Must be a cruise,” Rebekah said, breathing hard.

  Nick didn’t reply.

  The boat edged towards them so imperceptibly it was like they were hardly moving at all.

  “Oh my God, Nick,” Rebekah breathed. “I can’t believe it.”

  He kept expecting the boat to resolve itself in to an odd chunk of rock sticking out of the ass end of the island, but as they got closer it remained in its implacable boat-shape. Nick was breathing hard, and his whole body was sheathed in a layer of sweat. So much for pacing himself; his arms and back were screaming at him to stop.

  “I hope we ge
t there before nightfall,” Rebekah said.

  “If you stop talking long enough to paddle, we just might,” he snapped.

  He immediately regretted it. Rebekah’s hurt look touched him.

  After a moment, he said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

  “No, you’re right,” she said. “Let’s paddle.”

  The boat came closer, closer. The water was choppy around this part of the island and the raft bobbed up and down a little too wildly for Nick. He had never suffered with sea sickness before, but his stomach felt mildly uncomfortable with the motion.

  “Another half hour, I reckon,” he wheezed.

  They had gotten close enough to make out the details of the boat, the wood trim, the scrawl of a name in gold paint, although they were too far away to be able to read what it said. Of all the times, of all the occasions they could have left the island, and this boat was here…it was like it was meant to be. Nick couldn’t see anybody on deck, and wondered if they hadn’t gone ashore for a picnic or something. If they had, that was okay, just as long as they didn’t raise anchor and steam out of the bay before Nick and Rebekah got to them. He didn’t think he could pull himself back up from that sort of crushing disappointment.

  A particularly heavy bit of chop threw the raft about, making them both stumble, and it was only at the uppermost point of the wave that Nick saw another boat, or at least a mast and part of the fly deck, on the other side of the white cruiser.

  “I think...I think there’s two ships,” Nick said.

  “What?”

  Rebekah stopped paddling and straightened up to see if she could see it.

  “Don’t stop paddling, for God’s sake,” Nick said desperately.

  “Two ships?” Rebekah said, more to herself than anything, pushing the paddle back in to the water.

  Nick smiled.

  “Two chances,” he offered.

  “They’re like buses,” Rebekah said, and Nick would have laughed if he had the breath to spare.

  ◆◆◆

  As much as they might want it to, the current had no intention of taking them alongside the boat; instead, it was pushing them around the back of it, despite their frantic paddling. The second ship slid slowly in to their line of vision. It was not as large or as handsome as the first ship: a coat of paint against the hull was scoured and patchy; a thick line of barnacles clung to the bottom at sea level.

  The boat struck a note of disquiet in Nick that he did not understand, until all of a sudden it seemed that he remembered this boat, or at least one very much like it.

  He stopped paddling.

  Rebekah stared at him in disbelief, not missing a stroke herself.

  “Nick, what are you doing, for God’s sake – "

  He came toward her and put a hand on her arm to stop her. Rebekah ceased her paddling immediately. She did not protest; she knew something was wrong.

  Nick said, “I don’t think...I don’t think we’re doing the smartest thing, paddling straight for them.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well.” He studied what he could see of both boats. “Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that these two vessels are...less than reputable. We’re pretty much alone out here. If they want to...get rid of us, there aren’t exactly a lot of witnesses, are there. And...I’ve got a bad feeling.”

  Rebekah gulped, nodded.

  “What do we do?”

  Nick had been thinking about that.

  He turned to her. He still had hold of her arm, and let it go.

  “Stay with the raft. I’m going to swim to the boats, take a look around. See if I can get on board. I want you to move the raft toward shore. Over there.” He nodded to the small pebbled beach behind the outcropping of rock. She would be hidden from view from the two boats. “You’ll be safe there.”

  “No, Nick.”

  “This is our chance to escape, Rebekah. I can’t just let it go. I’ll be alright. You have to trust me on this. I won’t do anything stupid. If it looks impossible I’ll turn round and come back. But I have to see.”

  Rebekah nodded dumbly. She didn’t like it but she knew it made sense. Nick loved her in that moment, and almost said it, but instead covered it with a cough. He brought a hand up to her face, turned it up to his. He had to look at her, to get his fill of her face. After all, this might be the last time he saw it.

  He bent and kissed her quickly.

  Her eyes darted fearfully to the ships and then to his face. She put a hand on his chest and pushed him gently.

  “Go,” she said.

  ◆◆◆

  He swam to the boats, feeling very much like a cork in a washing machine; the sea was cruel to him, throwing him this way and that with no regard, and he felt weak and shaky when he was finally able to put his hand on the anchor chain and rest.

  He had a clear view of the stern of the second ship, but it still remained mysteriously empty. Where was everyone? He waited, listening for voices or footsteps, but the day was quiet. Nick’s next big problem was getting on deck; the side of the ship looked like a skyscraper from his position in the water, but on the swim over he had noticed that the ship had steps on a long platform, and that the platform had been lowered, and a small boat had been tied to it, bobbing merrily in the water on its line. It was too exposed for Nick’s liking, but he supposed he didn’t have much of a choice. Nick swam to the steps and very quietly pulled himself up them. He kept his eye on the railing as he climbed, his muscles tensed to throw himself back into the water if something should go wrong, but he managed to reach the top without seeing anyone.

  It was a big boat, ostentatious, and there looked to be multiple decks; on this one, a handful of sunbeds at an angle rang along the starboard side. To his left and right the deck was deserted, but directly opposite him a door stood half open, and hearing or seeing nothing he stepped lightly towards it and went inside.

  He found himself in a long passageway. He debated on which way to go, then decided to turn right. At the end, stairs went down a level, and leaning over the railing to see if there was anybody below – there wasn’t – he started down them.

  He found himself in a large lounge, with walnut panelling, a leather sofa and a couple of armchairs, and windows running down both walls. Everything was a shade of brown, including the bar at the far end, a dazzling array of different bottles in the rack on the wall above it. The carpet was a delight on his feet, soft and...unnatural, he supposed, but it was a comforting sensation, one he knew well. He didn’t know what to do, which way to go. It was as he was puzzling it out that he heard voices. There were doors at either end of the room but it was the one nearest to him, on his right, that the sound came from, muffled voices, their tones urgent, the words unintelligible. He went through the door, down another hall, into another smaller room, a study in deeper darker browns. There was only one other door here, to his left, and he went through it, and found another, smaller flight of stairs. He went down them, and then the voices were suddenly clearer, and startling close. A girl, and a man. The man spoke in broken English and the girl replied in a clearer, more fluent English.

  Another hall, with three doors at various points along its length, one to his left at the end, one facing him and a little to his right, and one at the far end to his right. The nearest was open, and seemed to be a small bedroom, empty. The voices were coming from the end of the hall, to his right, and Nick moved towards them, slowly, carefully. The door was open. He ducked, and then leaned in.

  It was a large room, dominated by a large double bed, a white duvet on the floor at the foot of it. There were two figures on the bed, a naked black man on his knees looming over what looked like a young dark skinned girl, but it was hard for Nick to see, the man pretty much obscured her. The figures were struggling, and Nick thought it was nothing more than boisterous love play until the man pulled his hand back and hit the girl. In that moment, Nick saw her face, saw it was too young for this game, too young for any game. Her leg
s kicked frantically, but the man was too big for her. White bikini bottoms were halfway down her legs, tangled at her knees. The young dark skinned girl began screaming, but the man hit her again, snapping the scream off like a branch. She struggled to sit up, blood over her chin and teeth where her lip had split. Her face was a mask of terror.

  A red mist seemed to descend over Nick’s vision. He felt outside of himself in that moment, as if he was watching this all on TV. He didn’t really seem to have any control over himself as he started moving. His body got up from its crouch and entered the room. There was no longer any tiredness, any fatigue. His head looked to a chair in the corner, on which were scattered the man’s clothes, a pair of dirty khaki trousers and a stained white t-shirt, and on top of that a belt strung with several knives. But no guns. Nick’s arm bent to one of the knives, and his hand closed around it.

  The next thing he knew, his left hand was around the man’s head, pulling it to one side, and the other was plunging the knife into his neck, just below his ear. The man went “fuh!” and then was silent. Nick came back to himself in that moment. What had he done? An insatiable terror enveloped him. He released the man in shock and fear and the man toppled slowly forward on to the bed, but not before the girl scrabbled out from under him and fell to the floor.

  She stared at Nick wide-eyed as she put the rest of her bikini on. Nick looked at the back of the dead man’s head and could not believe what had happened. Blood began pooling on the white sheets, thick as oil. Had he killed him? It wasn’t possible. He wasn’t a killer. He had known that he wouldn’t be able to kill anyone, not if it came to it, and yet...that was exactly what he had done.

  Another internal voice spoke up then. The voice sounded a little like his father. There was no time for this, it said, and Nick knew the voice was right. He crawled off the bed. The girl backed into a corner of the room. Nick held a finger to his lips, and in a moment the girl nodded. She understood.

  “Do you speak English?”

  She looked Italian, or Greek, but she nodded.