Horizons (18 page)

“I hope he bit his foul tongue in half!” Zach declared, shaking off Gavin’s restraining hand and backing away from the temptation to hit Earl again.

“Is he right?” Kelly called from her blanket. “About the gun, I mean? Has he been holding us at bay with a weapon that won’t even shoot?”

“We’ll find out right now,” Zach decided. “Blair, you hold onto Sydney in case this thing does go off with a bang. I don’t want her to be frightened.” With that, Zach marched out of the clearing and headed for the beach, with Gavin and Alita close behind.

Kelly strained her ears, as did Blair, but try as they might they heard nothing that sounded like a gunshot. Silence reigned, stretching into long minutes. Finally, when they thought they couldn’t bear the suspense much longer, the others trooped back into view.

“The lousy bastard was right,” Zach grumbled. “The years and the high humidity have rusted the barrel, bound up the firing mechanism, and basically turned the ammunition into hunks of worthless powder and metal. In its present condition, the pistol probably doesn’t even have any antique value, except maybe as a war memento.”

“Well, that’s a relief!” Blair sighed. “What with bats and bunji pits and snares, at least we won’t have to worry about Sydney getting hold of a loaded gun. It’s hard enough to keep her out of mischief as it is.”

“We might have used it to signal help, though,” Gavin said. “A gunshot can be heard for miles.”

“
No use crying over spilled beer,” Alita misquoted. “The good thing is, none of us are going to get shot and Earl is now the one in handcuffs again.”

“And you don’t have to make the ultimate sacrifice to save us,” Kelly reminded her. “None of us would have wanted you to resort to that.”

“
Gracias a Dios!”
Alita cast a glare in Earl’s direction. “If that miserable excuse for a man wants to get laid, he can crawl up a bird’s butt and make like an egg!”

“Speaking of birds,” Blair put in. “I believe there are a couple of pigeons awaiting their turn on a spit.”

“Well then, what are we all standing around for?” Zach clapped his hands, as if calling them to order. “I, for one, can’t wait to sink my teeth into a plump, succulent breast.”

In chorus with Gavin’s choked guffaw, and despite Kelly’s bright blush, Alita rolled her eyes dramatically. “Aye, chihuahua! Watch out for this guy, Kelly. He is one rowdy puppy!”

Chapter 18

M
urphy’s Law was in full play. With Earl unable to sabotage their efforts, the planes now ceased to fly over the island. A week went by without sighting or hearing any sign of a rescue attempt.

“This is asinine,” Kelly said. “Why would they stop looking for us?”

“And why, even if they didn’t see any evidence of us, didn’t they at least spot the wreckage?” Blair queried despondently.

“I’ve been wondering the same thing,” Zach admitted. “I think I’ll take a hike up the mountain tomorrow and have another look around.”

Unencumbered, and fully recovered from his initial injuries, Zach made it up and down again in good time. He arrived in camp a full hour before dark. “Bad news, folks. I climbed as far as that knoll where we stoppe
d the first day, and from what I
could see, it’s doubtful that anyone flying over would recognize the charred remains
as that of a 747. The blackened debris blends in too well with the lava rock.”

“What about the part that didn’t burn?” Gavin asked. “The tail section was fairly intact.”

Zach shook his head. “Some of the trees supporting it have since given way. The tail section has slipped further into the foliage, and my guess is that some fronds and branches which were previously bent have sprung back up around it. You can barely see a trace of it through the brush. In fact, it’s so well camouflaged that if I hadn’t known exactly where to look I might not have found it.”

“And the cockpit?” Kelly inquired.

“Too mangled to distinguish it from much else. Even if a piece of metal would reflect sunlight, a pilot might assume it was simply glare off a pond or a patch of snow.”

“Snow?” Alita echoed. “Here?”

Blair nodded. “It sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? But I’ve read that there are many places in the tropics that have snow-capped peaks even in the summer. It has to do with the elevation. It can be hot on the coast, and freezing on the mountain tops.”

“So, what you are saying, Zach, is that unless they see us or our signal fire, we’re fairly well S.O.L.,” Gavin concluded.

Zach sighed. “That’s about the size of it.”

“And since they’ve stopped coming around, we can assume they’ve already searched this area and decided to look elsewhere?” Kelly proposed.

“For the time being, perhaps,” Zach agreed.

“Then it’s a darn good thing I’ve got that raft nearly finished,” Gavin declared with resolve. “Another week or so, and I should be able to set sail.”

Zach frowned. “I still think it’s an immense risk to take. That’s an awfully tiny raft, and a tremendously big ocean.”

Gavin shrugged. “So, what other choice do we have,
other than sitting here watching our toenails grow? If they can’t find us, we’ll just have to find them.”

“Or die trying?” Kelly voiced the awful thought for all of them.

L
ife went on, with the castaways trying to make the best of it. They also sought to keep busy, in an attempt to keep themselves from dwelling on the passing of each successive day without rescue. Zach helped Gavin with the raft. Blair set herself to the task of learning to leaf-weave hats and baskets. Alita practiced her singing, strung leis, and helped watch over Sydney. Kelly created several hanging lamps by making macrame hangers in which were suspended coconut shells filled with coconut oil. The oil, pressed from the nutmeat, burned very well as a substitute for candles or lamp oil. The makeshift pots, hung at intervals beneath the banyan tree, served to ward off the pesky bats at night— which made them all sleep a little easier, whether the men admitted it or not.

On subsequent forays of the island, they uncovered two more bunji pits, which the fellows filled in, and half a dozen snares, which they dismantled without mishap. Some new discoveries were infinitely more appreciated, among them a mango tree, a guava shrub, and a small papaya tree. Sydney was the one to find the first gull nest, and the trio of edible eggs it held. From then on, they scoured the
beach for more. They also experimented with various ways
of preparing their food, as another means of providing themselves more variety.

Sydney soon found herself with a few primitive toys. A doll, made of macrame pandanus leaves. A crude ball,
similarly fashioned. A miniature raft for floating in the pond at bath time. Kelly even devised a ball-in-the-cup game
f
or her, by employing a mango stone, half of an undersized coconut shell, and her ever-handy dental floss. Even the adults, in need of some form of recreation of their own, enjoyed an occasional game of papaya football. The trick was to use an unripe papaya, or risk getting spattered with the juicy fruit.

As beautiful as the island was, with its dazzling display of exotic birds and blossoms, its flower-fragrant breezes and pri
stine beaches, the lack of modern
amenities made it difficult to truly appreciate it as a tropical paradise. It became routine for them to list those things in the real world which they missed the most.

“I would kill for a butterscotch milkshake,” Blair said. “With Bobby I craved sauerkraut, of all things. When I was expecting Nancy, I wanted green peppers, despite the indigestion they caused me. This time, milkshakes. Go figure.”

“It must be something your body needs,” Kelly surmised. “I guess coconut milk just isn’t cutting the mustard. As for me, the first thing I want to eat when we get back is a BLT with mounds of mayonnaise.”

Zach shook his head. "Give me a nice, juicy sirloin steak, and my morning coffee, and I’d be in heaven.”

“Lasagna,” Gavin put in. “With garlic bread.”

“Chocolate,” Alita contributed wistfully. “A whole meal of nothing but brownies, chocolate mousse, mocha mint cake, and fudge—with about a gallon of hot cocoa and marshmallows.
”

Earl had his own choice. “Venison roast with carrots, taters, and gravy. And buttermilk biscuits.”

Other than daydreaming about foods they yearned for, there were the conveniences they missed. At the top of Blair’s list was her microwave.

“Air conditioning,” Kelly countered. “Just a decent electric fan would be bliss.”

“A chain saw,” Gavin proposed. “The better to cut the
poles for the raft. Or, if I’m really gonna fantasize here, a yacht would be nice, complete with crew and a couple of well-built babes.”

“Any kind of car or truck, even an old beater,” Earl said.

Zach agreed, with provisions. “My BMW. That, and a kingsize bed with big fluffy pillows, soft cotton sheets, and a comfortable mattress.”

“Clean, decent clothes,” Alita added, eyeing her soiled, mis-matched ensemble with disgust. “And somewhere to actually wear them would be great! A restaurant, a show, a party, even a tacky amusement park. I’m too desperate to be picky. I just want to be able to go anywhere other than here. Someplace without sand.”

Laundering their clothing, sans soap, was a feat in itself—primarily because they either had to put it back on wet and let it dry on their bodies, or find among their limited attire something else to wear in the interim. Sydney had no difficulty. She could dash around in her panties while her abbreviated playsuit was drying, or vice-versa. As for the adults, being far less modest than the women, the men did likewise. It didn’t seem to bother them one whit to prance around in their skivvies. In truth, they tended to preen, somewhat akin to male models.

“Bo
rn
exhibitionists!” Kelly declared. “Not a bashful bone in their bodies.”

“Well, I wish they would cover up more,” Blair complained. “I’m pregnant, not dead, and my hormones are standing on end here! No matter how big I am by the time I get home, Anton is going to be in for the surprise of his married life.”

The women elected to be more discreet, and inventive.

Blanket togas came into vogue. As did donning a man’s jacket, or Gavin’s uniform shirt or T-shirt, which he gallan
tl
y lent them. Kelly’s decora
ti
ve silk scarf often served
as a skirt, or sometimes as a bandeau top, whichever was most needed at the time.

“You know, you could save yourselves a lot of trouble if you’d just whip up a couple of grass skirts,” Zach told them with a naughty grin. “Go native.”

“In a brisk breeze,” Gavin added enthusiastically.

“Go away.”

“Dream on.”

“Amuse yourselves elsewhere,” Blair suggested.

“I think that’s their problem,” Kelly commented with wry wit. “They’ve been playing with themselves too much. I’ve heard that causes a number of medical and physical repercussions.”

“Hey, girl! That’s hitting below the belt!” This from a disgruntled red-faced Gavin, his exclamation eliciting chuckles all around.

“Strictly rumor,” Zach rebutted smoothly. “And not applicable in my case, thanks in large part to Kelly.”

Now it was Kelly’s turn to blush. “Between you, Sydney, and that blabber-mouthed parrot, I have no secrets anymore!”

S
ydney was, indeed, a gabberbox. Whatever entered her ears, exited her mouth. Daily, her vocabulary and pronunciation were improving. Unfortunately, she was also picking up a number of nasty words in the process. As was her feathered friend, Fricassee, so named because that’s how Kelly envisioned the pesky bird on his worst days—in a stewpot!

“For two cents, I’d wring his scrawny neck,” she claimed.

“First you have to catch him,” Blair reminded her.

“I think he’s cute,” Alita said.

Kelly shot her an annoyed look. “If it were you he was repeating all the time, you wouldn’t.”

Alita laughed. “Ooh, Baby! Oh, Zach! Go, baby, go!” she mimicked tauntingly.

From above, Fricassee sprang into action. “Ooh, baby! Move that thing! Yeah!”

“Now, that was Zach, not me,” Kelly refuted peevishly.

“Likely story.”

“No, I believe her,” Blair stated. “I’ve heard that bird repeat other words I know didn’t come from Kelly’s lips. B-O-O-B-S for instance.” She spelled the word, aware that Sydney was seated nearby, her little ears perked.

“Gee, thanks,” Kelly grumbled. “Now, if you really want to help, give me a good recipe for white sauce, one that will enhance Fricassee’s flavor.”

G
avin considered his life one
long series of missed
opportunities. He’d missed entering kindergarten with his best friends and had spent his school years a grade behind them, simply because his birthday was six measly days beyond the deadline. In high school, his girlfriend had gone to the junior prom with another guy, because Gavin came down with, of all things, the chicken pox two days before the big event. Once, he’d even lost a mega-buck betting pool on a super bowl game by a single point. His father ’s life insurance policy, which would have gone a long way toward easing the family’s financial distress, expired for lack of payment a month before he had died. Gavin had even been passed up for a football scholarship, only to
have the college change its mind three weeks after he’d already enlisted in the army.

It was the story of his life.
He always seemed to be a day l
ate or a dollar short in
the good-luck department. Like
his R&R to Australia, for
instance, which had ended with
the plane crash and almost killed hi
m. Now he was AWOL,
or maybe just missing-out-of-action, if there was such a
thing. Whichever, knowing the army and the screwed-up way they handled matters, they would probably make him serve extra time, to make up for what he’d lost, before giving him his discharge.

To beat all, he was stranded here in the prime of his sexual life, with three attractive women, and was living the life of a monk—except he doubted a monk would be half as frustrated. Once again, life had dealt him a lousy hand, when it could have been a winner. Blair was pregnant, and married, not that that would have deterred Gavin if she’d indicated an interest in him. But she hadn’t given any sign of wanting him as anything but a friend, and Gavin wasn’t the type to use force. He hadn’t survived growing up in Chicago—avoiding gangs, drugs, and a rap sheet—-just to screw up now. As for Kelly, Zach had made it clear that she was exclusively his, and Gavin couldn’t blame him. With those emerald eyes and long braid, she was a walking, talking Barbie doll!

Which left Alita, Super-Star and Queen Bitch. Yet, even knowing he didn’t stand a snowball’s chance with her— or maybe because she was so unattainable—Gavin had developed a kingsize crush on her. God, that woman was beautiful! And built—with a set of maracas sure to set any guy between the ages of six and ninety-six to drooling. When she’d come on to Earl the way she had, though it had all been an act, Gavin had been so jealous he could scarcely see straight.

Now, for some reason, probably just to drive Earl nuts, Alita had suddenly started flirting with Gavin. She had him hornier than a three-peckered billy goat. Worse, she knew it. He could see the amusement lurking in her big, dark eyes every time she batted those long lashes at him. Laughing eyes. Teasing eyes. As that old song had phrased it, Spanish eyes, that had
him thoroughly entranced. More
over, Gavin was sure she was just playing with him, luring
him on with no intention of putting out, the way she’d done with Earl, which truly ticked him off. This game of hers, whatever it was, was fast driving him up the proverbial wall.