New Year Island (24 page)

And if she won, Veronica’s Safe Harbor women’s shelter would get nothing. That didn’t seem fair. Right then Camilla decided: if she won, she would share the money with Veronica, donating a substantial portion of it to Safe Harbor.

For now, though, she would keep that decision to herself. Before opening her mouth again, she would wait for the perfect time and plan the right words.

Veronica had really hurt her, but Camilla had set herself up for it, too.

Mason dropped to sit on the floor next to her, and leaned back against the wall. “Relax,” he said. “It’s just a game.”

“Oh god, I must’ve sounded so…” Realizing she was probably still on camera, she composed her face. “Veronica shouldn’t have done that to me. We’re
teammates
!”

“For you, it’s always about the team, isn’t it?” Mason smiled and patted her knee. “I’m guessing Julian probably isn’t your biggest fan right now.”

“Well, right now I’m not his, either… Wait a minute—why would Julian be mad at me?”

“Today was supposed to be an individual competition, but you turned it into a cooperative event instead. You had all ten of us work together to get the water and the food.”

“Oh, that was all
my
doing?” She playfully shoved his shoulder. “Shut up. Now I know you’re just messing with me. Besides, how else could we have done it?” But then again, maybe she
had
acted as a catalyst for the others…

“And don’t mind Veronica too much,” Mason said. “All of this is harder on her than she’s letting on.”

Camilla’s gaze roamed the room to settle on Brent, who was working on Lauren’s leg. She watched him apply several butterfly bandages to the gash on Lauren’s calf with abrupt, angry motions. His face looked red.

“Brent’s been moody ever since we got back, too,” she said. Was he mad at
her
? She needed to talk to him and find out.

Mason must have seen something in her face. “Lighten up,” he said. “You’re taking things way too seriously. And don’t worry about your team so much.” He winked. “Remember, the grand prize isn’t a team award.”

A
half hour had gone by, and it was almost dark outside now. In the central room of the Victorian house, people came and went, waiting for Julian to make another on-screen appearance. A small fire crackled in the fireplace, putting out a meager warmth that Camilla barely felt. Next to her, Jordan sat against the still-damp wall, looking listlessly at one bandaged foot. Camilla wanted to talk to her, but she didn’t look up.

After several minutes, Jordan spoke, her tired voice barely loud enough to hear. “There’s a place up in Calistoga called Solage. They have a great spa.”

Camilla nodded. “I’ve been there, after biking Boggs Mountain. Got a deep-tissue massage, swam in the mineral pools… Oh god, can you imagine being there right now instead of here?”

“We should go,” Jordan said. She turned her head sideways, resting it on her knee, and smiled. “Just the two of us. After all this is over, let’s plan a girls’ weekend up there in wine country. I did some articles about the Napa wineries two years ago. They’ll remember
me
—they’ll roll out the red carpet for us.”

Camilla smiled back. “I’d love to go.” Jordan’s eyes sparkled with friendliness, but Camilla could see dark crescents beneath them. How long had it been since she had eaten?

Jordan tipped her head back against the wall. “We’ll let them valet-park the Lamborghini we’ll be driving, since one of us is going to win this thing.”

From where he sat on Camilla’s other side, Mason spoke. “Since you’ll be able to afford it, will you take me, too?”

“Sorry,
sir,
” Camilla said. “Girls only.”

“I’m hurt.” Mason stood up, then winced and bent over, hands on his knees. “Ouch! I really
am
hurt.” He rubbed his lower back.

Camilla remembered how the blinded seal had knocked him to the sand… the seal they had killed. She looked down at the damp floorboards. Here she was, just a couple of hours later, talking about going to the spa with her new friend, while the poor seal lay dead on the beach.

Brent crossed the room toward them, frowning at Mason. “Is your back injured?”

“Not really, but this must be what getting hit by a bus feels like,” Mason said. “I hope Julian doesn’t intend for us to mix it up with one of those monsters again.”

“Does this hurt?” Brent probed his back brusquely with strong, practiced fingers. “No? Well, you got off luckier than that seal did.”

Shame tightened Camilla’s cheeks. “I feel so terrible about what happened,” she said. “Nobody wanted for it to
die
. It was sort of an accident, wasn’t it?”

“It was no accident.” Brent’s raised voice brought conversations around the room to a halt.

Mason laughed. “So you’re saying I deserve a penalty for using the spray Julian himself gave us? He’ll take five of my points for harming the wildlife? Hey JT, maybe I
shouldn’t
have sprayed that seal. What do you think?”

“Points? Penalties?” Brent shook his head, looking disgusted. “No, I’m saying that it’s a miracle somebody wasn’t killed or severely injured out there today.” He turned to address the whole room. “And what about when one of us does get hurt?”

“If it’s a real emergency, I’m sure they’ll send someone,” Camilla said. She didn’t like the uncertainty she heard in her own voice.

“I’m a doctor,” Brent said. “Believe me when I tell you that in a life-or-death medical emergency, the outcome is determined by how quickly a patient receives appropriate care. So how long do you think it’ll take the first responders to reach us out here? An hour? Two?”

Camilla dropped her eyes, knowing that Brent was right. But she had abandoned Avery to be here—her kids were counting on her to win. What was a little danger compared to what those kids had suffered? Especially when she weighed the risk against how much she’d be able to help them if she won…

“And it’s not just the lack of basic safety.” Brent tapped the on-screen scoreboard. “It’s these stupid little competitions themselves. They’re presented so innocuously, all fun and games. But they’re ugly. Julian’s designed them to bring out the worst in us. To set us at each other’s throats, make us take crazy risks. By putting the food where it was, he deliberately set things up so a violent confrontation with that animal was inevitable.

“This whole thing is criminally irresponsible—I think you’re all just too blinded by the money to see it.”

Mason straightened up from his pained crouch. “Very melodramatic, Brent.” His voice was light and friendly. “I think you’re probably right that OSHA might not approve of some of the dangerous working conditions here. Hmm…” He rested his chin in his hand in a parody of thinking. “But you know what?” he said suddenly, grinning. “I think five million dollars is pretty decent hazard pay.”

“High stakes,” Lauren said. “Makes sense it’d be a tough game.” She looked at Brent with hostility in her eyes. “Doesn’t sound like you have the stomach for it, though. Shoulda’ stayed home.”

“Not all of us are high-paid doctors,” Veronica said. “My shelter can use the money to help a lot of women—do some real good.”

Camilla looked at Brent, wishing he would leave it alone. Instead, he stood in the center of the room, turning in a circle, looking from face to face. He scratched the side of his head. Then he pointed at Jordan.

“What about her food situation? You think that’s an accident, too? They did profiles of us, remember.”

“That’s just silly.” Camilla shook her head. “So they knew about Jordan’s allergy and they’re trying to poison her or something?”

“Nah.” JT held up his half-eaten MRE. “Military puts peanut oil in everything. Know why? It’s the cheapest shit they can buy.”

Brent ignored them both.

“Jordan, look at me.” He dropped to a crouch in front of her and took one of her hands. “You’re smarter than this. You need to listen to me. When Julian shows up on that screen, tell him you’re out. They need to come pick you up before you get sick or collapse from malnutrition.”

“No.” Jordan’s voice was quiet but firm. “Thank you for your concern, but I’m not quitting.” With eyes of green ice, she pulled her hand away.

The sound of slow, deliberate clapping rose from the archway, and Camilla turned to stare.

Travis leaned against the door frame, applauding, but his eyes were on Brent not Jordan. “Old man, I gotta hand it to you,” he said, grinning. “You had me going for a while there. Folks, this here’s a slick one, make no mistake.”

He pushed himself off the doorjamb with his elbow and stepped into the room as Brent stood up to face him.

“I may not have a medical degree,” Travis said. “Didn’t go to a fancy college like I’m sure most of y’all did. But I’ve been around some… Enough to learn how things really work.”

He slowly circled the room as he spoke, never taking his eyes off Brent’s.

“Seen lots of high-and-mighty folks—doctors, judges, lawyers—telling people how they ought to live. Makes you feel all warm and fuzzy, don’t it? Knowing they care so much. Like Dr. Brent here, watching out for the rest of us.”

Meeting Travis’s gaze steadily, Brent tucked his hands into his vest pockets.

“But look a little closer, and you know what you find? Every single time?” Travis stopped near the monitor. “They got their own reasons.”

The muscle in Brent’s jawline twitched. The air crackled with hostility, like dry static.

Travis grinned. “And those reasons usually have something to do with money.” He reached behind him and tapped the scoreboard on the screen.

Camilla’s eyes widened.

Travis sounded amused. “Let’s say Jordan was to listen to doctor’s orders—pack it in and go home. Who’d be closest to winning the five mil then?”

F
ull dark outside. The fireplace beneath the blank monitor screen was down to embers, softly pulsing their red-orange glow. Camilla had her space blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Leaning against her, Jordan had drifted off to sleep at her side. Camilla did the math: her friend hadn’t eaten for two days now. Opening the crinkling reflective blanket, Camilla wrapped it around Jordan’s shoulders, too. The room was growing cold.

The other contestants were scattered about the edges of the room, also sitting or lying down, except for Brent. He had walked out after Travis’s accusation, shaking his head in disgust, but Camilla couldn’t help wondering. Five million was a lot of money for anyone, even a doctor.

Nobody was talking. Everyone looked as exhausted as Camilla felt. Pulling out her iPhone, she slid the power switch and waited. The glow from the screen splashed her face, but there was still no signal. She had about a quarter of her battery left, so she switched the phone off again to conserve power.

The glow from a larger screen lit the room. Camilla looked up at the monitor screen.

“Good evening, my friends. What a day we had today!” Julian wore an immaculately tailored suit as usual, this one sharkskin gray. He stood against a backdrop of machinery: valves, vents and pipes, glass-fronted gauges. Everything looked old—rusty, decrepit, and out of date. Behind him, a six-foot metal wheel valve jutted into the camera’s field of view.

Camilla felt Jordan shift beside her, suddenly alert. She sat up straight, eyes locked on the screen.

“Physical survival,” Julian said.

Camilla looked at Jordan. They needed to get some food for her. Clearing her throat, Camilla scooted forward. She opened her mouth to interrupt Julian’s speech, and felt a hard shove—almost a blow—to her ribs. Shocked, she turned to stare at the person she wanted to help.

Green eyes burning, Jordan shook her head at Camilla. “No,” she whispered.

“But…”

“I said
no
.” Jordan pulled away from her and looked at the monitor.

Camilla’s face flushed in anger, and she turned back toward the screen. If Jordan wanted to be stupid, it was her choice.

“The famous psychologist Abraham Maslow characterized human survival needs as a pyramid,” Julian said. “Physical survival is the bottom level. We took care of those basic necessities yesterday and today: shelter, food, water, warmth. For tomorrow’s competition, we move on to the higher and more interesting levels of the pyramid. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves so let’s worry about that in the morning. You’ve all earned your rest tonight.

“So instead, we’ll do something fun right now: a little getting-to-know-you activity. A social icebreaker that will help us bond with our fellow contestants as we participate in this game together.”

Julian’s smile took on an unpleasant edge.

“Tonight we’ll start with one of our key players, someone who had a lot to say today. He’s full of advice for all of us, so let’s find out a bit more about who he is, shall we?”

Their host faded from the screen, replaced by a still picture. A smiling boy of about 6 years old held a toy stethoscope against the chest of a friend who lay on his back, arms at his side, also smiling. The picture looked old: the boys were outside, in a fenced backyard, wearing T-shirts and corduroy pants. The cuffs of their pants were wide, almost bell-bottoms.