New Year Island (33 page)

“As things were, we actually got fairly far up before the accident. We started up the southeast face—a route called Eternal Flame. Terry was the weakest climber of the three of us, so Matt and I traded off leads for the first few days. I was terrified the whole time, but I told myself that was good—it would make me careful. I think the others were telling themselves the same thing. We almost made the summit, JT.

“It all came apart for us on the fifth day.”

Lauren stopped and took several deep breaths. Oh Christ, her chest was so tight her back hurt. Pressing her spine against JT, she forced herself to go on.

“It was bound to happen. The three of us really had no business being up on Trango. Terry popped off a foothold and his arms were pumped, shaky from the altitude and four days on the rock. He came off the face. But he’d also been sloppy—hadn’t placed enough protection to hold his weight in a fall. He peeled Matt, and then me, off the wall with him. My pro held all three of us. We bounced off the face a few times, dangling from the ropes. Matt and Terry were both killed in the fall.

“I was luckier, but I’d cracked three ribs and ruptured my spleen. I’d also hit my head hard. The helmet saved my life, but I had a skull fracture and a concussion, and hanging upside down didn’t help things any.

“When a climber falls in Yosemite, a couple hundred people see it happen. Rescuers are on their way before you stop swinging. A helicopter scoops you up and whooshes you to a hospital. But we weren’t in the Valley. We were in the middle of Bum-fuck Nowhere, in a remote corner of Pakistan, and the southeast face of Trango can’t even be
seen
from any of the camps below.

“JT, I hung there upside down for two days. The nights were awful. I don’t remember most of it. But there’s worse.”

She was going to throw up. Her back was shaking now, her arms. She could manage only a whisper.

“Even after I got right side up again, I couldn’t pull myself up the rope to get back onto the rock. Matt’s and Terry’s bodies were three hundred fifty pounds of dead weight hanging on the line attached to my harness, dragging me down. It was windy, and
cold
—we swung and twirled against the face like a wind chime. I knew I was going to die. I had no choice.”

Her chest heaved. Once, twice. She was going to puke for sure. Why didn’t he say something, anything at all?

“I cut them loose. Oh Christ, I cut ‘em loose. I
had
to. Their bodies fell thousands of feet to land somewhere on the rocks and ice below—they were never recovered. I watched them go, getting smaller and smaller until I couldn’t see them anymore. Then I jumared up the rope—a hundred, hundred twenty feet. I was in a lot of pain, but after dozens of rappels off shit anchors, I managed to make it down off the face. Alone. I think I was hallucinating the whole way down.”

Lauren gritted her teeth, clamping down on a whining sound that wanted to escape from her throat. Her hands were shaking. She put them in her lap and knotted her fingers together, forcing the words out.

“I kept seeing Matt or Terry. They’d be right below me or above me on the wall, not moving, watching me go by. Sometimes they would talk to me, but mostly they just looked at me, and there was something wrong with their eyes.

“I don’t remember too much after that. There was a Polish team at the base. They got me out of the mountains, and the embassy flew me back home, where I spent three weeks in the hospital.

“And I lied to you when we first met, JT. I haven’t done any real climbing since the accident.”

She took a deep breath, and her face pinched together. But she felt relief, too, as if she had puked out something rotten—something that had been choking her, poisoning her inside. JT stayed silent, but that was all right now. He hadn’t stiffened up, hadn’t pulled away from her. Feeling his deep, slow breaths through her back, she felt a swelling of gratitude toward the big lug, knowing that he was thinking about what she’d said. Maybe together they could figure something out, because things were going to shit here, fast, and if they didn’t do something about that, people were going to end up dead.

JT spoke. He sounded tired, older, to Lauren.

“My second tour in Afghanistan ended when our chopper got shot down over the Korengal.” He didn’t say anything for a while after that, and she thought of the pink network of scars she had seen, traced across his shoulder and left arm.

“Some tribesman hit the pilot with a lucky shot from the ridgetop. Copilot was hungover, in no condition to fly, so even though we’d logged him as flight crew, he stayed back on base. Long story short, the chopper went down the next valley over, about ten klicks outside the pacified zone.”

“We came down hard. My arm was busted in two places—open fractures, bones sticking through the skin. Scapula was shattered; they had to screw it back together—final screws just came out last year. My face was all bashed up, lots of other little shit, but I was in good shape compared to the others. Three other guys survived the crash. It was pretty clear DiMarco wasn’t going to make it. He was messed up real bad—just about cut in half. Collins’s back was all fucked up, and one of his legs. Sanchez—he was this nice kid—both his legs were busted bad. All three were conscious, but they couldn’t walk. I didn’t know whether to go try to get help or stay there with my squad mates, but I had to decide fast. In that valley, the smoke from the crash was going to draw the wrong kind of attention
real
quick.”

She felt him shifting behind her, and turned her head again to see him staring across the water. A muscle twitched in his jaw.

“Toughest decision I ever made, leaving my guys. But they knew it and I knew it—we were all going to die if I stayed. This way, there was a chance.”

The muscle in his jaw twitched, smoothed out, twitched again.

“Three days in that heat, my arm got infected—swelled up like a sausage. Talib were looking for me… knew I was out there. Once they even found me, but I got the dude with a rock—pancaked his head before he could yell for his buddies. Eventually, I stumbled across the One-sixtieth, running a patrol. Spooked ‘em—after making it through all that, I almost got shot by our own guys.

“Maybe being in a situation like that changes you somehow, I don’t know. Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe it just lets you find out who you were all along, what you’re capable of doing to survive.”

Lauren nodded to herself, staring into her lap. There was nothing more to say. Without looking up, she reached out to the side and found JT’s hand on the ground beside them. He laced his fingers thru hers. Neither of them said anything. They just sat there, back to back, watching the sun’s rays fade and the shadows lengthen around them.

“B
elongingness,” Julian said. “Being part of a community, tribe, or family. These group-focused survival needs form the third level of Maslow’s hierarchy.”

Camilla watched their host on the monitor. She kept her gaze away from the doorway, where Jordan and Juan now stood like uninvited guests.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Veronica had said when they showed up a few minutes earlier. Then she had turned her back on them, and the rest of the blue team had pretty much ignored them, also. Camilla was still angry with both of them, even though she now realized that Juan had tried to warn her yesterday.

Still, they needed to hear Julian out, she reminded herself. Listen to what he had to say first. Then, as they had discussed last night, they all would decide together what to do.

“For today’s challenge,” he said, “it’s time to slow things down. Today’s competition will be a quiet one. There will be no physical contest. Today is all about emotional intelligence instead.”

Camilla exchanged a glance with Brent and relaxed. They had discussed this last night with Veronica and Mason, and the four of them had agreed: if any of them felt that what Julian proposed was too dangerous or risky, they all would refuse to play. She had watched her teammates’ reactions carefully and felt that Brent was with her all the way. She wasn’t too sure about Veronica, who hadn’t had much to say—Julian’s insensitive profile of her hung over them all like a cloud, making any conversation awkward. Mason had just grinned as usual. But he had nodded—while rubbing his injured knees, which only made her feel guilty all over again.

What Julian was talking about here sounded pretty tame, though. Even better, it sounded like a competition geared toward Camilla’s own strengths. She listened closely.

“As I said, the theme of today’s activity is belongingness. Gift-giving traditions have evolved in every culture, to celebrate belonging, and our little island community will be no different.”

Julian’s voice took on a conciliatory tone. “Yesterday things got quite intense—maybe a little out of hand, even. So relax, everyone. Merry Christmas. No teams today, no running around the island, no high-energy stuff. We’ll keep it low key—just a small group of friends exchanging presents. But I warn you, you will have to think today.

“Fifty small gifts are distributed along the edge of the seal barricade. There’s no time element here. For this game, it really doesn’t matter which gifts you take. Just grab the first five you see, and head back—no more than five per person. Then we’ll all gather for the gift exchange.”

Fifteen minutes later, Camilla stood in the main room of the Victorian house, looking down at the small collection of objects she held: a plush toy—a stuffed blue cartoon Porsche with big eyes—a small pocketknife made of silver, a refrigerator magnet shaped like a Coke bottle, an elaborate platinum friendship bracelet, and a snow globe with a miniature Golden Gate Bridge inside—which was especially dumb since it never snowed in San Francisco. The gifts definitely hadn’t been out there yesterday. Julian’s hidden crew had been busy in the night again.

All ten contestants were gathered in the great room now. Tension buzzed in the air, but Camilla was glad to see that everyone seemed subdued and quiet today—yesterday’s descent into violence must have sobered everyone. Looking around the room at the items the others held, she tried to anticipate what the game would be. Each gift was monogrammed—silk-screened or printed or engraved—with a player’s name.

Each gift also had a miniature two-sided LED flashlight attached to it. Camilla flicked the switch on one, and green light splashed over her hands. She flicked it the other way, and the light glowed red. Shutting it off, she met Brent’s gaze. He raised his eyebrows, looking more curious than concerned—apparently he didn’t see much to worry about here, either. But she would reserve judgment until she heard the rules of the game.

She glanced at the others, reading the dynamics. Juan and Jordan were isolated from everyone else. They were unquestionably a couple now. It still hurt to see them, so she moved on.

Travis kept his distance from everyone also, focusing his gaze on the floor—like he had withdrawn into a shell. Getting electrocuted and tied up yesterday probably had something to do with it. Hopefully, he had learned his lesson. Camilla and Mason were on the opposite side of the room from Travis, but she was sticking close to Mason anyway. She never knew when he was going to say the wrong thing and get someone angry, and she felt oddly protective of him—maybe because she had injured him herself yesterday.

There was something new about Lauren and JT, too. They stood close together, shoulders brushing. Were the two of them an item now? But no, Lauren’s body language looked wrong: shrunken somehow, very unlike her usual gunfighter stance. It seemed almost like she was hiding behind JT. Her face was pale, making the light freckles across her nose and cheeks stand out. Lauren’s eyes moved restlessly from person to person, widening when they met Camilla’s.

She was afraid, Camilla realized. No, actually, she was
terrified.

From across the room, Lauren stared at her in a mute appeal. For help? What could have scared this tough, confident woman so badly? Camilla needed to talk to her right after the game, to get to the bottom of this. She tapped her wrist, then subtly indicated first Lauren and then herself—
let’s talk later.
Lauren nodded and seemed to sag with relief.

The monitor above the fireplace lit up, and Julian smiled out at them once again.

“During our time here, we’ve all gotten to know each other a little, and formed impressions and opinions of one other. Today, we see how effective each of you has been at earning the acceptance and regard of your peers.”

Camilla looked down at the friendship bracelet she held, and her jaw tightened: it was engraved with Jordan’s name.

“But first, check the names on the gifts you hold. If any of them have your own name, you will lose an opportunity to affect another contestant’s score, so now is your chance to get rid of those gifts. You have exactly three minutes to trade gifts, and then the contest begins.” Julian faded from the screen.

The plush toy car that Camilla had was labeled with her own name. She turned to Mason. “I have to trade this. Do you have—” She stopped in mid sentence. “Wait a minute…”

“Shhhh.” Mason grinned and handed her a pewter souvenir of London Bridge, engraved with her name on it, then pointed at the pocketknife she held, labeled with his.

She handed it to him, hiding a smile. The others might catch on, and they had only a couple of minutes to act, so she walked quickly over to Brent and Veronica. “I’ll trade you Juan’s gifts for Mason’s gifts.”

Veronica frowned at her but handed over a gold money clip inscribed “Mason,” in exchange for the snow globe labeled “Juan.”

All around Camilla, people were trading away the gifts with their names. She traded Natalie the Coke-bottle refrigerator magnet with Juan’s name for another Mason gift: an executive bar set with delicate silver tongs, corkscrew, and ice pick. The three minutes were almost up now, so she quickly rejoined Mason, handing him the money clip and bar set in exchange for two gifts that bore her name. It was a gamble, but she was fairly sure she had seen through Julian’s deviousness, and Mason figured it the same way she did. She took a deep breath.