Castaways (2 page)

"Come on," Jerry insisted. "Let me give you a lift."

Becka hesitated, still not trusting him.

Jerry's grin vanished. "Look, that million dollars isn't going to do you much good if you drown before reaching the island. You're coughing and hacking and obviously worn out. Use your head. The challenge is over, anyway. Stefan already won."

"Yeah," she said. "I guess."

He held out his arm. Becka paused, then took it. His muscles were hard as stone beneath his slippery skin. She shivered and felt a warmness in her belly. If Jerry noticed, he didn't comment on it. Instead, he propelled them forward with strong, confident strokes. They rose and fell on the crests of the waves. Seabirds circled overhead, riding the breeze and squawking incessantly.

The boat slowed, engine idling softly, as it reached Roberta and Pauline. The two women were quite a

pair. Roberta, fifty-four, was a librarian at the Ulster County Community College in Poughkeepsie, New York. Pauline, forty-one, was a dancer, model, and former NFL cheerleader from Tampa. Roberta was kind, soft-spoken, and sedate. Pauline was gregarious, manic, and possibly the biggest airhead on the planet—at least, that was what her fellow castaways believed. Still, despite their differences, the two had formed an alliance within their first day on the island. They swam next to Troy, a skinny, tattooed, foul-mouthed auto mechanic from Seattle.

Jerry didn't speak as he guided them toward the beach.

"Are you okay?" Becka asked. "Am I too heavy?"

"No, you're fine. Light as a feather."

She blushed. "That's because we've had nothing to eat at base camp except rice and fish for the last five days."

"Yeah," Jerry agreed. "Lucky for us that Raul and Ryan have been so good at catching fish."

"Lucky for them, too. Keeps them from getting exiled."

"Even so, I'd kill for a pizza right about now."

Becka started to pull away from him. "I think I'm okay now. I've got my breath back, and I don't feel like I'm going to pass out anymore."

"Well, maybe you'd better hold on to me a little longer, just to be safe. You can let go when we reach the boat. That way, they don't capture this on camera. Wouldn't want your boyfriend back home to see this when it airs and get jealous."

"I don't have a boyfriend."

"Really?"

Castaways "You sound surprised."

"I am," he admitted. "I figured you'd be fighting guys off with a stick."

Becka blushed again. Before she could respond, they neared the camera boat. One of the crew members had noticed their approach and was beginning to swing the camera back around on them. Becka felt a twinge of regret as she let go of Jerry's arm and began to swim on her own. They drew alongside Roberta, Pauline, and Troy. The rest of the castaways were already on the beach.

"Hey." Roberta waved her hand in greeting. "Looks like Stefan won again."

"We saw," Jerry said. "Which sort of screws up our whole plan. Anyone have any ideas on who to exile from the island instead?"

"We were talking about Jeff," Roberta said. "Thoughts?"

Jerry nodded. "Good choice. He's physically fit, and kicking ass in the challenges. He's definitely a threat."

"But he's so nice," Pauline said, treading water. "Can't we pick someone else? I hate voting to exile the nice guys."

The cameraman leaned over the side of the boat, focusing on their conversation.

"Nice?" Troy smirked. "You mean you think he's hot. Ain't that right?"

Pauline shrugged. "Sure. What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing," Troy said, "except that Jeff's got you and every other chick on this fucking island not voting to exile him because he's a goddamned pretty boy."

"Don't forget Ryan," Becka teased. "He thinks Jeff's pretty cute, too."

Troy poked his cheek out with his tongue and mimed fellatio.

Jerry rolled his eyes. "With your sparkling personality, Troy, I bet you never get exiled."

"Fuck you, baldy."

"Great retort, tough guy."

Scowling, Troy swam ahead of them, muttering a string of curses that grew louder when a strong wave knocked his battered Seahawks cap off his head. Arms flailing, he surged after it. The hat drifted back to Pauline, who plucked it from the water and waved it over her head. Her breasts bounced up and down as she did, and the camera zoomed in on them.

Becka frowned, noticing the leering expression on the crew's faces. No doubt this footage would make it through the editing process and end up on the air.

Pauline held the hat out to Troy.

"Thanks." He reached for it.

Laughing, she jerked the hat back and swam away.

"Hey," Troy shouted. "You're playing with your fucking life, sweetheart!"

He chased after Pauline, and the camera crew followed them, forgetting about the others to remain focused on Pauline's attributes. Somehow her ass stayed above the surface as she swam, and her thong bikini, threadbare from all this time spent outdoors, left little to the imagination. It certainly kept the interest of the four men on the boat. Becka was certain that Pauline was aware of it. So far, her strategy for winning had been to use her sexuality—flirting with

the men and playing the helpless damsel in distress, or worse, sucking up to the other women when the men weren't around.

"She's certainly got no problem staying afloat," Becka said. "Wonder how much she paid for those things?"

Jerry laughed. "Remember, all of America might hear you say that."

"No, they won't. The camera crew went chasing off after her."

But even if they didn't hear me,
Becka thought,
Roberta did. She and Pauline are pretty tight. If she tells Pauline what I said, and Pauline gets offended, it could be me who gets exiled tonight. Shit! What was I thinking?

Roberta swam ahead. Frowning, Jerry watched her go. Becka noticed the worried lines on his face.

"What's wrong?"

"We may have just screwed up really bad." "Why?"

"Pauline and Roberta are part of Stefan's clique. So is Jeff. And we just told them we thought Jeff was a threat and that maybe we should vote to exile him tonight."

"Yes, but they were the ones who brought him up in the first place."

"True. But why? Why would they do that, unless maybe they were testing us? Find out our plans and then report them back to the rest of their alliance."

"Shit."

"Yeah."

A helicopter roared overhead, filming aerial footage of the race. Becka watched it swoop toward land.

Over the last two weeks, she'd come to hate the island, but despite the treacherous living conditions, she was still impressed and awed by its beauty. It loomed before them, a foreboding but picturesque mass of rocky hills, dark forest and thick jungle. Towering volcanic mountains descended into blue-green bays and white sandy beaches covered with seashells. Far above the mountain peaks were a few thin clouds, but otherwise the sky was clear. If there was a storm on the way, as Becka had been told, then it was still a long way off.

They swam for shore and caught up with Roberta. Becka continued staring at the island. Jerry and Roberta followed her gaze.

"Pretty, isn't it?" Roberta asked.

Becka nodded, watching the sunlight glint off the highest peaks.

"We don't have anything like it back in Poughkeepsie," Roberta said. "Even if I don't win, it doesn't matter to me anymore. Just seeing this place—just being here—has been worth it. Never in a million years would I have ever thought I'd get to do something like this."

"It looks like something out of
Jurassic Park,"
Becka said, eyeing the lush, green tropical foliage.

"Yeah." Jerry flicked water from his eyes. "But on this island, it's not the raptors you have to watch out for. It's our fellow castaways. They're the predators. Everybody's out to get paid. That's why we should form an alliance. What do you say? I'll watch your backs and you guys watch mine. Deal?"

Roberta shrugged. "I've already got an alliance with Pauline, so you'd have to bring her in."

Castaways "Do you trust her?"

"Sure," Roberta said. "I mean, she's sort of flighty, but I don't think she's deceitful."

"What about Stefan and Jeff and Raul? Aren't you loyal to them?"

"It's a game, right?"

"Okay," Jerry said. "I'd be up for that. How about you, Becka?"

Becka tried to catch her breath. Exhaustion was creeping back into her muscles.

"Let's focus on getting to shore first."

They reached shallow water and found their footing. Then they waded toward the beach and joined the rest of the contestants, who were killing time while the crew put makeup on the show's host, Roland Thompson. Becka sprawled in the white sand next to Shonette, a twenty-five-year-old single mother of two from Detroit, Michigan, and Ryan, a strikingly handsome, twenty-one-year-old hairstylist from Los Angeles. Jerry joined them after a moment, sitting cross-legged next to Becka. She wondered if he was being friendly, or just waiting for her decision on forming an alliance.

Farther up the beach, Roberta joined Pauline in a game of keep away with Troy's hat. The feisty mechanic was frothing now, letting loose with one string of curse words after another. A few feet away, Sal, a stockbroker from Long Island, and Richard, a drummer from a small town in Kansas, were deeply involved in a hushed conversation. Becka wondered if they were scheming about tonight's choice for exile. Both men were in their thirties, and unlike the other contestants, they seemed to have formed a real

friendship during their time on the island, rather than just an acquaintance of convenience.

Beyond them were Stefan, Jeff, and Raul. Stefan was originally Welsh, but had moved to the United States several years ago and now worked as a music producer in Nashville. Jeff was an adventure tour guide from Estes Park, Colorado. Along with Jerry, the two were the most physically fit contestants, and therefore among the most formidable in the challenges. Raul, who hailed from Philadelphia, worked in a machine shop.

And finally, standing apart from the rest of the group was Matthew, a lanky, dirty twenty-eight-year-old from the small town of Red Lion, Pennsylvania. The laconic loner didn't interact much with the other castaways, and his rat-faced features seemed frozen in a perpetual scowl. In Becka's opinion, the only reason he hadn't been exiled yet was because he was so uninvolved with the other players that he was often forgotten when it came time to vote. Currently, he was drawing stick figures in the sand with a six-foot length of bamboo. He'd used the implement as a walking stick since their second day on the island, sharpening one end against the rocks to form a makeshift spear. He took it with him everywhere, even slept with it. Becka had to give him credit, though. Matthew's spear had come in handy a few times. He'd used it to catch fish in some of the island's shallower pools.

Missing was a girl named Sheila, who had forfeited her position in the game the day before due to a medical emergency. She'd fallen out of a tree while trying to pick coconuts and had broken her leg.

Unable to compete, she'd decided to quit and was now back on the ship with the other contestants who'd already been exiled. Becka grew maudlin, remembering Sheila. She'd liked her, and although they weren't friends, the two had gotten along well.

All the contestants did their best to ignore the cameras flitting among them, filming their every word and action. More crew members worked on Roland Thompson's hair and clothing, making sure the host looked his best before going back on camera again. He sat removed from the contestants, occupying a small pavilion above the high-tide line. As a longtime
Castaways
viewer, Becka was secretly disappointed with Roland. On television, he was charming and witty and handsome. Here, in reality, he was haggard, cranky, and usually sipping a gin and tonic. He stank of cologne, cigar smoke, and sweat. When he was actually on the island, he spent much of his off-camera time hitting on Pauline.

The beach was noisy. Snatches of conversation blended with the shrieks of seabirds as they circled overhead or darted across the sand looking for crabs. The waves crashed against the shore. Farther inland, the treetops rustled in the breeze.

As Becka watched, Troy succeeded in reclaiming his hat and gave a victorious, profanity-laden cheer. Pauline began stretching, bending over to touch her toes and then reaching for the sky. She brushed grains of sand from her coffee-colored skin. Becka frowned. Her own skin was blotchy and peeling from overexposure to the elements, while Pauline's stayed smooth and unblemished. As Pauline's acrobatics continued, Raul, Sal, and Richard openly

leered at her, while Jeff and Stefan cast furtive glances in her direction. Troy seemed oblivious. Ryan was checking out Jeff, rather than Pauline. And Matthew .. .

Matthew was also staring at Pauline, but his expression was one of contempt.

Despite the warm sun on her skin, Becka shivered. She glanced at Jerry to see if he was also captivated by Pauline's aerobics, then wondered why she cared, Even so, she felt relieved when he turned his attention to her and smiled.