I’d hoped against hope that Warren would be waiting for us at Camp Summerbliss when we got back. But there was no sign of him, or rescuers, either. Yet there were changes. Betty, Avery, Ming, and Anne Marie had improved our temporary living situation. Now there was a tidy ring of rocks around the campfire and a spit on thick stick sawhorses for roasting the conch meat. Most impressive of all, the girls had woven a large tarp out of grass and plant fibers. It was draped over the horizontal branch of a nearby tree. Anchored with stones, it formed a tent as green as the jungle.
“It’s a basic shelter, like Mel wanted. The weave’s tight, but I can’t guarantee it’s waterproof,” Betty said, walking me around it. “At least it’ll be shady during the day, though.”
“This is incredible,” I told her.
“My aunt’s a weaver. She has a loom in her house. I guess I’ve learned a thing or two.”
And there was more. Betty led me to where the boulders began their ascent to the outcrop. Betty and her team had created a makeshift kitchen on the flatter rocks. One “table” held smashed conch shells, another held a heaping pile of clean meat, and a third was designated for eating, with woven mats for plates and sticks roughly hewn into two-pronged forks.
“Betty, I had no idea you were so handy!”
She chewed on her lip as she explained, “I did it to stay busy. If I let myself think about what’s going on, I’ll fall apart.”
She looked at her injured arm for a moment, then continued, her voice dropping. “Speaking of falling apart, I’m worried about Anne Marie. She’s been crying all day … and mumbling.”
“Mumbling about what?”
“I don’t know. I couldn’t make it out. I tried to calm her down, but she …”
Before she could say more, Rish, Rittika, Pablo, and Chester came charging out of the jungle with flushed faces and fearful eyes.
“It’s bad,” Rittika said, looking at us. “Real bad.”
“What is?”
“All day, Ritt and I have been calling out Warren’s name,” Rish said. “Man, we’ve been everywhere. Ritt didn’t think we’d find him, but we did.”
The way he said it sent shivers up and down my spine.
“Show us where,” Mel said.
“No way! I’m not going back there,” Rittika replied, slipping her arm through her brother’s.
“He’s dead, isn’t he?” Mel asked.
I looked at the twins, and saw that she’d guessed right. Rish wiped his eyes, which were rapidly filling with tears.
“You have to show us,” Mel insisted.
Others started crying, too—Betty and Pablo.
“How far away is he?” Mel asked.
“I don’t know—an hour’s walk, maybe less,” Rish replied.
Nervously, Mel glanced at the patch of sky over Conch Lake. “Let’s go. We can make it back by sundown if we hurry.”
There was no more discussion, just a flurry of bodies heading back into the abyss of the jungle. Surprisingly, Rittika didn’t follow her brother as he and Mel took off. But I did. I’m not sure what drove me. I’d like to think it was concern—concern for a schoolmate—but in truth, it was probably the need to be near Mel. Chester, Pablo, and Betty followed, too. In hushed, cautious voices, we shared what we’d learned that day. Mel and I talked about the wild boar, the ibis, and the realization that we were island-bound. Chester and Pablo had also seen the surrounding water, but they’d been equally focused on another discovery.
“At the top of the mountain, there were caves,” Chester said. “Made of the same pink rock that’s everywhere around here. Most of the openings were too small to get through. But a few were bigger. We got down on our hands and knees and crawled through one. About twenty feet in, we came to an open space. We could stand up, no problem. But it was very dark. We couldn’t see, so we turned back.”
“Were there any signs of other people?” Mel asked. “Clothing, tools, anything like that?”
“Like Chester said, we couldn’t see anything,” Pablo replied. “But I guess there could have been something … or someone.”
Chester positioned himself beside Mel, matching her furious pace. “We have to tell you something else,” he said. “We saw something up in a tree, like an old parachute or something, tangled in the branches. There was a bundle hanging off it. We could make it out through the leaves.”
“It was really high up,” Pablo added. “I don’t know how we’d get it down.”
There was a sudden light, a spark of hope, in Mel’s otherwise grim expression. “Maybe it has supplies in it,” she murmured.
“We might be able to climb that tree,” Chester said. “Might. But I won’t lie—it would be tough.”
“If things don’t turn around soon, we’re not going to have any choice but to try.”
Rish told us that he and Rittika had stumbled upon shoreline early on. They’d thought about going swimming off some rocks, but had seen a fin cutting through the water.
“A shark, a big one,” Rish said. “On the way back, we picked through some plane wreckage. Everything was charred. Forget your dream of a radio, Mel. But we did come across something—a bad smell, like rotten eggs. We followed it till it got stronger, and finally we figured out it was coming from a black pond. I’ve never seen—or smelled—anything like it.”
Mel looked at him thoughtfully. I could almost see the wheels in her head turning.
“I bet the smell was methane gas,” she said.
Despite our somberness, Chester chuckled. “Methane? As in …”
“Yeah, as in farts,” she conceded. “It sounds like Rish found himself a tar pit.”
“Damn,” Rish said. “This island’s got a little of everything.”
“Yeah, except rescuers,” I complained.
“They’ll come,” Betty said, patting me on the shoulder.
“My father once took me and my sisters to see tar pits—La Brea,” Mel said. “They’re in California. The tar’s been around forever, and it’s trapped all kinds of creatures, even dinosaurs. Animals come to drink the water on the top, then fall in.”
“They just sink?” asked Rish.
“Yep. And the bones are kept intact because tar happens to be an excellent preservative.”
She paused, those wheels still turning. “Later, I’d like to see this tar pit of yours.”
Chester scratched at a mosquito bite and said, “Up on the mountaintop, the island felt small. But down here, back in the jungle, it feels big again.”
“It’s a decent-size place,” Mel replied. “I don’t know why we haven’t seen signs of other people.”
I noticed she didn’t mention the strange, taloned footprint.
I became aware of the fact that Pablo and I were walking side by side, in lockstep. I was grateful for his closeness, for the faint suggestion of security.
When our group reached the shore, Rish warned us that what we were about to see was disturbing. But I had no idea just how terrible it would be.
Warren lay on the white sand, bloated and contorted. His face looked entirely different: broader, duller, doughy. His mouth hung open, slack-jawed, almost like he was sleeping. His eyes were open, too. Their color had faded to something bland and indistinct. His clothes were tattered and askew. I had a feeling he’d been picked at by animals—birds, maybe even boars.
It was surreal to see him like this. Our friend. A nice, mellow guy whom everyone liked. I don’t know how long he’d been dead, but his body was baking under the hot sun—and decomposing. The rancid stink hit me as far as ten feet away. Closer, it was intolerable. I put my hands over my nose and mouth, and willed myself not to throw up.
“Oh my god,” Rish said. “That wasn’t there before.”
It took me a second to realize what he meant. A couple of yards away from Warren was a note written in huge, misshapen, almost childish writing on the sand.
LEAVE OR DIE.
“Are you sure it wasn’t there?” Mel said. “Maybe you didn’t notice it … maybe you didn’t see past Warren …”
“No. Goddamn it, it wasn’t there. I swear! I would’ve seen it. Rittika would’ve seen it.”
“So someone was here in between the time you and your sister were here, and now?” Pablo asked.
“If that’s true, then we’re being watched,” said Mel.
Rish shuddered, turned slowly, and stared into the dark, leafy labyrinth of the jungle.
Mel strode over to Warren’s body. She examined him with the same directness and detachment with which she’d examined Jeremiah. I could barely watch.
She rolled him over and went through his pockets. If she had hoped to find anything, she had to be disappointed. Nothing to see here but death and the note. I have to admit that those three words scared me just as much as the sight of Warren. LEAVE OR DIE was more than a warning. It seemed to me like a promise.
I found myself leaning against Pablo. I wasn’t sure if I could support my own weight much longer. He put his arm around my waist, literally propping me up, while Mel and Chester treaded carefully around the note. Mel studied it judiciously.
“The person who wrote this did it with his feet,” she said. “See the heel prints? The indentation of the whole foot here? And look at this.” Mel gestured to a series of small impressions in the sand. “I thought these were claw marks at first. But now I’m sure they’re very long toenails.”
She gave me a meaningful look, and I knew that these tracks were the same as the ones she’d seen by Conch Lake.
The footprints led from the jungle to the note, and back. Mel pointed out little holes, following in a straight line, next to the prints.
“I think he made them with the tip of a stick. Maybe a cane. Maybe he’s injured?”
“Let’s hope so,” Chester said tensely.
As we considered this idea, a little monkey scampered onto the sand. Pablo swore it was the same one that had followed Rish, Chester, and him after the crash. It scooted next to us and screeched—a sound like a seagull’s scream. I wasn’t sure if it was friendly or hostile.
Then, as quickly as it had appeared, it disappeared back into the jungle.
By now, night was starting to fall. Mel suggested returning to camp, but first we had to discuss the body. That’s what Warren had already become. How quickly—how cruelly. With a shudder, I realized that I might be getting used to death. First the pilot, then Jeremiah, and now Warren. Betty was crying, but not me. There had been too many atrocities in too little time. Maybe my mind had steeled itself before it unraveled, maybe this was how soldiers became anesthetized to war.
Betty argued for a burial. She was still upset that we’d left Jeremiah in the state we’d found him. She spoke of “the right thing to do,” but we voted against her, or rather, we sided with Mel, who said sharply, “Not to be cruel, but it’s too late for Warren. Someone’s after us. We need to think about us.”
I agreed with her. Even so, it felt like a terrible thing to leave him there on the beach.
We didn’t make it back before sundown. It was thanks to Mel’s uncanny sense of direction that we made it back at all. The ones who had remained at camp were sitting around the fire, waiting anxiously for our return. They gave us fruit and smoky conch meat, but I wasn’t hungry anymore. They wanted to know what had happened. They demanded answers. But we didn’t have any. Only more questions.
That second night was much worse than the first. It was full of fearful shifts and antsy patrolling, of building up the fire and listening for intruders. We were sure if someone came for us, it wouldn’t be a rescuer, but the writer of that message—out for blood.
It was deep in the night when I finished my rounds and finally fell into a troubled sleep. But it didn’t last long. Mel nudged me awake.
“I don’t think he was murdered,” she whispered.
“What?”
“Warren. I think he was already dead, dead from the crash. Someone just wanted to scare us. Make us go away.”
“Who—who wanted to make us go away?” I asked, not quite sure if I was dreaming.
“Whoever wrote the note,” she replied. “Our enemy.”
When I fell asleep again, I had nightmares—boars eating decaying flesh, a thousand black flies hovering, a cute little monkey morphing into a bloodthirsty monster.
At daybreak, I was more exhausted than ever. I noticed that my skirt was loose. In only two days, I’d lost a lot of weight. I dragged myself to the edge of Conch Lake and washed my face. Nearby, I noticed Betty rubbing her teeth clean with her finger. She’d braided her hair, too. I copied what she’d done, hoping that this bit of normalcy and routine would make me feel better. It didn’t. All it felt like was a lie.
Mel came over and told me she had something to say. Then she waded into Conch Lake and called for everyone to listen. Rittika, Avery, and Ming, who had been swimming, paddled over to her. The boys tramped out from the jungle. Betty and Anne Marie abandoned the fruit they’d been nibbling.
“Listen up!” Mel said. “I don’t know how long we’ll be here—hours, or days, or weeks. But if this island is our home, even for a little while, we have to take precautions. I’m talking about Conch Lake specifically. Except for rain, the waterfall is our only fresh water. It’s our most valuable resource. We could find gold or diamonds, and it wouldn’t matter if we didn’t have clean water to drink.”
“Where are you going with this?” Rittika asked, her annoyance evident.
“We need to be careful with the outcrop water, and with Conch Lake, too. It’s bad enough we’re all swimming there. We’re contaminating it just by doing that. But if you need to go to the bathroom, stay out.”
“God, Mel!” Rittika said. “What are we—toddlers? Are you going to hand out diapers next?”
“I’m just being reasonable,” Mel said calmly. “It would only take one accident by one person to pollute Conch Lake—and ruin it for all of us.”
Chuckling, Chester said, “I don’t think you need to worry.”
“Do you think so, Chester? People have said that before. ‘Don’t worry. It’s no big deal.’ But hey, waterborne diseases kill more people than war and terrorism combined. Cholera, dysentery, typhoid, hepatitis—they’re all caused by polluted water.”
“Yeah, but you’re talking about impoverished countries, not American teenagers.”
“Exactly,” Mel said. “I’m talking about countries. Developing countries with their own economies, legislatures, infrastructures, and transportation systems. Countries with MBAs and scientists and doctors. They’ve said, ‘No problem, we’ve got the water covered.’ And you know what? Thousands of people still die from drinking and bathing in tainted water. So don’t get on your high horse. A bunch of spoiled private school kids shouldn’t overestimate themselves.”
A hush fell over the group. I don’t know how it was possible, but I suddenly felt even more anxious.
“We get it, Mel,” Rittika said cynically. “Don’t crap in Conch Lake.”
“Good,” Mel replied. “And on that note, I’ve designated an area of the jungle for those purposes.”
Dismissively, Rittika waved off the comment.
“Can’t we talk about something that actually matters?” she asked. “Like Warren—and what happened to him. That’s what we should be discussing.”
“I agree!” said Avery.
“Me too,” added Ming.
Mel sighed.
“Yeah, there’s no question that someone’s after us,” Chester said. “I think we should act. We need to go on the offensive. Like Coach Coifman says, the best defense is to attack.”
Rittika nodded emphatically. “Yeah, absolutely.”
“We have our swords. We could make spears.”
Rish added excitedly, “It’s only morning—we still have hours of daylight to hunt him down.”
“Before we do anything,” Mel interjected, “there are things to consider.”
“Like what?” Rittika asked tersely.
“Like the fact that this enemy stole Chester’s shoes from camp but walks around in bare feet. Why? It doesn’t make any sense—unless he’s not alone.”
Chester shrugged. “So what if there’s two of them, or three? We still have numbers on our side. Look at all of us, dude!”
Dutifully, I looked at my classmates, one by one. But seeing them didn’t rouse in me a sense of confidence. In fact, quite the opposite. We were just kids. Innocent kids. We were like a school of little fish darting in dark water. A predator could easily take us out.
Though the day was warm, a light breeze off Conch Lake suddenly felt like an icy shawl about my shoulders. I shuddered, wondering how much danger still awaited us. I peered into the jungle, marveling at how many nooks and crannies it suddenly seemed to have. So many places among the shadows where someone could hunker down and sit tight, waiting to strike.
Rittika, Chester, and even Rish looked twitchy and restless, like they were ready to wage war that very second. But Mel’s face was still doubtful.
“We were threatened, Mel,” Chester told her. “We can’t just wait here like sitting ducks.”
“I didn’t say we should. But we have to think through whatever plan we make.”
“As long as we don’t waste time,” Rittika said.
“That’s right.” Rish nodded. “The sooner we act, the better. Before anything else happens …”
“Say we find this guy,” Betty said. “And somehow, someway, we manage to catch him. What then?”
“We contain the threat,” Chester replied.
“We make him our prisoner,” Rittika added. “Torture him till he gives us answers.”
“This isn’t Guantanamo,” Betty said.
“All’s fair in love and war.”
“This isn’t war.”
“Isn’t it?” Rittika asked.
“Stop. Just stop!” Mel demanded. “We don’t even know who it is, and already we’re planning to torture him? That’s crazy.”
“I wouldn’t have a problem inflicting pain if that’s what it took,” Chester said.
Rittika added, “He’d do it to us. He said it himself: ‘Leave or die.’ ”
“Listen,” Mel said. “I think we should start with that parachute thing Chester and Pablo found. We ought to get it down.”
“That would be a waste of time!”
“No, it wouldn’t. Maybe there’s something there that could help us—a weapon, a clue, anything. We need all the help we can get.”
“Maybe she’s right,” Chester conceded.
The eyes of my friends turned toward Rittika. I knew that whatever words came out of her mouth would dictate our course. Rish, Ming, Avery—they would do whatever she said.
As for Mel’s words, those were less clear. I wasn’t sure if she really thought we might find something useful, or if she was simply buying time, delaying the search and keeping the angry masses at bay for a little longer, as long as she could.
Rittika toyed with a shiny lock of hair. Unlike mine, which was oily and tangled from lack of shampooing, hers still looked great. Further evidence of her physical superiority—as if I needed any more.
“All right, Mel,” she said finally. “Have it your way this time. But if we don’t find anything, we’re going to do what I say.”