‘I don’t know if you noticed but this dude ain’t no prom queen. No way the two of us can carry him that far.’
Running a hand through his hair, James agreed. ‘Abbey’s setting up camp about a half mile in that direction. Run back there and fetch help.’
‘What about him?’
‘I’ll stay with him. This is important, Oli. If any one of the survivors has any kind of medical background, have them prepare as best they can.’
The student began to back away.
‘And Oli,’ James added. ‘Be quick. I don’t know how big our window is.’
The student began jogging along the beach, a spray of white sand at his heel.
Shrugging off his shirt, James tore it into strips and began bandaging the gaping wound. Wadding the rest together, he lifted the pilot’s head and placed it underneath. There wasn’t much else he could do.
Spread out before him like a giant blue blanket, the ocean sparkled beneath the afternoon sun. The presence of death was not lost on him, bathed in the unnatural calm to which the island had succumbed. All these people, all but the meager handful of survivors, dead.
Gone.
Growing up with Christian parents, he’d been led to believe that God, if He existed, was kind, that no matter what your sin or bad deed, He would understand, He would forgive you and pat you on the head. If that was true, what the fuck was this about?
He lay down next to the still form of the pilot and scanned the sky. There were no birds anywhere. Wasn't that odd?
Were there other forces at work that determined the way this sort of thing worked, he pondered, or was it all down to chance? Could it be that the survivors shared some sort of illogical connection, each person a cog in the machine that would eventually spell their way off the island?
Time was their only friend now. Time. And almost three hundred corpses cooking in the afternoon sun.
Next to the pilot, James lay still and quiet, wondering where all the birds were.
*
Almost half an hour after his departure, Oli had returned with Sebastian and Anthony carrying a flat section of metal salvaged from the wreckage. Still in the tattered grey suit, Sebastian’s South African accent became a blur of excitable and colourful language.
Anthony was the opposite. Clearly a man of few words, he said nothing as he swept his eyes across the dismal collage. He moved closer to it as though in a trance. It was only when Oli called out to him did the others realise he was crying. What was going on under that birthmark? James wondered.
‘Has he come around yet?’ Oli asked.
‘Not yet.’
‘What’re we going to do about these bodies, chief?’ Sebastian asked. ‘We can’t leave them here, that’s for sure.’
James climbed to his feet. ‘The bodies aren't going anywhere. We need to get this man some medical attention.’
‘Yes, yes,’ Sebastian agreed. ‘But after that, we need to –’
‘Shut up, Sebastian!’ Anthony's deep voice intruded.
‘What’s stoked your boiler, chief?’
Anthony didn’t acknowledge the question.
‘Look,’ James interrupted, ‘you girls can argue amongst yourselves at your leisure. This man’s in a bad way.’
Anthony turned his back on them and began once again examining the bodies.
‘Brought this as a stretcher,’ Oli said pointing out the sheet of flat steel. He looked to James hoping for a nod of approval.
Without Anthony’s help, they hoisted the pilot carefully onto the makeshift stretcher. The big guy was about as heavy as he looked.
‘Hey, Anthony, little help here!’
Anthony whipped around, fresh tears snaking down his cheeks.
‘You okay, man?’ Oli asked skeptically.
Anthony wiped his face and began up the beach towards them.
‘Obra del Diabo,’ Sebastian murmured.
The others looked up.
‘The devil has been here,’ uttered Sebastian. ‘I can feel his presence.’
‘The devil?’ Anthony said at last. ‘The devil has been here?’
Only the waves responded.
‘There is no God,’ Anthony declared. ‘There is no devil. There is only you, me, and every other blood-sucking parasite calling themselves human.’
‘Wow, never heard you say so much,’ Oli threw in.
‘You think this man is your saviour?’ Anthony pointed to James. ‘Nobody can save us from this.’
‘Whoa, whoa,’ James interrupted. ‘Who said I was the saviour of anything?’
Anthony turned to face James. ‘Exactly.’
James stood quietly, perplexed.
Nobody moved.
‘This is not about you, Anthony,’ James whispered. ‘And it’s definitely not about me. It’s about getting these people to safety. It’s about getting this man some medical attention. I don’t want to be here any more than you.’
Anthony bent down and grabbed the corner of the metal sheet. He waited silently, almost as if James had never spoken.
Eying the birth-marked man cautiously, the other three paused.
James hesitated. Something about that situation had been far from normal, something about Anthony likewise.
Gripping the adjacent corner, James caught the man’s eye, hoping to see some hidden emotion, something to explain his motivation, but there was nothing.
17
Since Oli had returned and absconded with Sebastian and Anthony, Abbey had felt better. James was okay, and so too was Oli.
There was definitely something about James that she felt drawn to. Whether he knew it or not, he carried with him an aura of confidence. Who was she kidding, of course he knew. Whatever the case, she felt safer when he was around.
At present only she and the girl were at the camp. Still wearing the frumpish beige dress, Abbey watched as she propped sturdy branches in the sand, fitting together the framework for the tents like Abbey had shown her.
She still hadn't spoken, and Abbey had begun to wonder if it really was shock. Perhaps she was a mute. Whatever the reason, it hadn’t stopped her working. The kid was a grafter.
Way over in
