Survival (7 page)

But he did. No, that wasn’t exactly true. The individual plants all looked alike, especially by torchlight. It was the progression that he was beginning to recognize: coconut palms on the right, broad-leaf whatchamacallits on the left, big step over the fallen log, those weird crisscrossing ferns dead ahead — he was almost home.

He felt a twinge of pride. He used to be the kind of kid who fell apart when the cable went down, or when the family ran out of microwave popcorn. An eight-minute power failure threw him into a panic. But now he was making his way through dense jungle on his own, in the near-blackness of night.

If only Lyssa could see him.

Shehad seen him, he reminded himself. Barely ten minutes ago. And she had refused to come with him. How was he ever going to rescue her?

Torescue Lyssa , he thought,first you have to rescue yourself .

But how would he accomplish that? Where should he go? What should he do?

For a moment, the silvery fog swirled around him once more. He closed his eyes and fought through it. And when he opened them again, he was at the twin palms of his camp.

He brushed a few handfuls of dried leaves onto the remains of his fire and reached down with his torch.

The kindling caught quickly, and in the glow of the sudden flare, he saw that he was not alone.

At first, the creature looked like a small haystack. Then the massive head swung around and whimpered.

Will jumped. It was the wild boar.

Run for it!

He stood poised, waiting for the attack. It didn’t come.

The animal whimpered again.

Will squinted in the firelight. Blood stained the bristly snout where the arrow still protruded.

His hand tightened on the bow over his shoulder and he pulled an arrow from his pocket. He could kill this thing. Kill it and eat it.

Yeah, right. You’retoo squeamish to dig out a splinter .

He took a step forward.

Careful.Nothing’s more dangerousthan a wounded animal .

But this one was dying. ,

Well, duhl That’s why you shot it, right?

Cautiously, Will approached the boar and squatted down beside it. The red piggy eyes seemed almost colorless now, sunken into the head/snout/body. He leaned over until he was close enough to feel the hot wind of the boar’s tortured breathing. The animal regarded him suspiciously, but made no attempt to move. He reached out a hand, and the boar shrank from him, but it lacked the strength to get up.

When he closed his hand on the shaft of the arrow, the boar squealed in pain, shaking its snout. Luckily, the arrow pulled out smoothly and easily — there was no barbed head, just a sharpened point at the end. Fresh blood trickled from the hole.

Why was he doing this? This animal was protein, and easy hunting too. Protein meant energy, and energy was what he needed to rescue Lyssa and figure a way out of this mess.

Will fitted an arrow into the bow and pulled back, straining to aim for the creature’s neck.

What neck? It’s all neck! Its butt is practically an extension of its neckl

He circled the boar, aiming behind its ears. It regarded him through distant, colorless eyes.

Will was sweating now. This Guam humidity always made him perspire, but now it was pouring off him like Niagara Falls. Why couldn’t he do this? It was so stupid. He ate bacon cheeseburgers all the time. This was no different.

Except, Will thought,when you go to McDonald’s, you can’t feel your dinner’s hot breath on your leg before you eat it .

He set down the bow. “Tell you what,” he said out loud to the boar. “I’m going to find some more wood for the fire. You’ve got till I get back to beat it.”

But when he returned with an armload of twigs, the boar hadn’t moved an inch.

“I’m going to take a little nap. If you’re not gone by the time I wake up, you’re dinner.”

Sleep would not come. He kept peeking through half-closed eyelids at the boar, which was still in its spot by the fire.

“Will you get lost?!” raged Will. “Don’t you realize yourlife is on the line?”

But somewhere, deep down, he had a sneaking suspicion that the boar was smarter than he was.

Will glared at the animal. “You don’t think I’ve got the guts to do it! Well, you’re wrong! You’ve got the rest of the night to scram. If you’re still here at sunup, I’m having boar cutlets for lunch.”

In the morning, he awoke to find his legs numb and tingling. He looked down the length of his body. The boar was fast asleep, curled up on his feet.

“Aw, come on, boar, get off!” He kicked himself free, struggled upright, and limped around, trying to restore his circulation. The boar followed him like an adoring puppy.

“You’re supposed to be gone.” Will was half disgusted and half pleased.

The boar rubbed against Will’s legs, knocking him over with its sheer size and weight.

“Hey, cut it out, boar! Boar?” Down he went, landing flat on his behind. “I guess I’d better give you a name,” he laughed. “I can’t just call you boar.”

But what did you call a hairy, squinty-eyed slob with no neck and a bad attitude?

“I know.” He grinned. “Pig-face.”

A frown. Pig-face fit to a T, but another name came to mind — Ratface.

That made no sense. The face was piggy, not ratty.

Why did the name sound so right? And so familiar?

“Ratface,” he said out loud.

The boar spit out a mouthful of chewed leaves and delivered a resounding belch.

And Ratface it remained.

Day 5, 8:05 a.m.

In addition to much-needed shelter and supplies, the inflatable lifeboat provided an unexpected bonus with its sun canopy: darkness. For the first time since they had landed on the island, the tropical sun didn’t wake up Luke at dawn.

He would have slept hours longer — they all might have — if it hadn’t been for the noise. It was distant at first, but it grew louder and louder. The castaways listened intently. It was the buzz of an airplane engine. Could that mean — ?

“Are they leaving?” Ian asked excitedly.

“Please, God,” breathed Charla.

They scrambled out of the raft and looked up for the twin-engine seaplane. But the dense canopy of branches and palm fronds blocked out the sky except for tiny glimpses of bright blue here and there.

“The beach!” exclaimed J.J., breaking into a run.

Luke grabbed his wrist and held on. “It’s too dangerous! They might see you.”

They waited for the slow fade in the engine sounds that would indicate the aircraft was far away. Instead, the buzz remained at full volume, almost as if it were coming from directly overhead. And then, all at once, the noise died out.

Luke frowned. “That’s weird.”

“You think they’re still here?” asked Lyssa.

Charla was confused. “But why would they use their plane if they weren’t leaving?”

Ian shrugged. “Maybe they’re gone. Sound over water can do some funny things.”

“We’ve got to go over there and find out,” Luke decided.

“That lagoon is on the other side of the island,” Charla reminded him. “It takes half the day to get there.”

“Maybe not,” Ian put in. “We’ve got a compass now. We can estimate the direction and take a shortcut through the jungle. That should save a lot of time.”

They retrieved the compass, and Ian lined up the needle with north. “I’d say just about due east,” he guessed. “Maybe a few degrees to the south.” He rummaged through the survival pack, coming up with the knife.

J.J. was highly amused. “They’ve got guns, kid. What are you going to do with that? Floss?”

Ian took the blade and made a small cut in the bark of a coconut palm. “I saw a documentary on Lewis and Clark on the History Channel.” he explained. “Always mark your trail so you can find your way back.”

It was much easier going through the jungle, although they were constantly sidestepping dense thickets, some of them thirty or forty feet wide. In less than an hour, they had reached a low bluff overlooking the shore. There they made a left turn and headed south.

“Hey!”

All at once, Lyssa pitched forward, landing flat on her face in the underbrush.

“Must have been those big island joker ants,” snickered J.J., helping her up. “Watch out, they also give wedgies.”

“Very fun — ” She fell silent in midword, staring at the ground. “I know this sounds crazy, but was there ever asidewalk here, do you think?”

“Oh, sure,” J.J. said sarcastically. “They laid it down back when they built the mini-mall — “

“Look!” she interrupted.

Half buried in the damp earth was a familiar gray shape. It was broken and crumbling, with weeds and brush coming up through the cracks. But the edge that stuck out of the ground was perfectly straight.

There was no question about it. This was a slab of poured concrete.

“Here’s another,” called Charla, kicking at the mud a few feet ahead of them.

They spread out, digging with their hands and feet. They found slabs extending all the way from the bluff, hundreds of yards into the deepest jungle.

“Maybe it’s the Walk of Fame,” suggested J.J., “where all the celebrity lizards make impressions of their tails in the cement.”

“It proves one thing,” said Luke. “The island wasn’t always deserted. People lived here.”

“And later than the invention of paved roads,” Ian pointed out.

Charla nodded. “But who builds a road in the middle of the jungle?”

They all turned to Ian, but for once he had no answer.

The castaways continued south. It wasn’t long before they spotted the sheltered lagoon where they had witnessed the murder just two days before. To Luke it seemed as if a hundred years had passed since then.

“Get down,” he ordered.

The five dropped to a crouch, peering out through the trees.

Lyssa hovered over Luke’s shoulder. “Can you see anything? Are they gone?”

There, beached side by side, weretwo seaplanes.

Day 5, 9:50 A.M.

Charla was bewildered. “Anotherplane?”

Luke stared in disbelief, but the truth was undeniable. The sound they’d heard hadn’t been the departure of the first aircraft, but the arrival of a second.

“They’ve got company,” he commented.

JJ. frowned. “Yeah, but why meethere1 ? This island is less than boring. There’s nothing but bugs and bananas.”

“Privacy,” Luke told him. “These guys are criminals. They’re probably up to something illegal.”

Ian pointed out a place where the jungle advanced down a coral ramp. There was excellent cover in the dense underbrush, plus it was in spying range of the shore, and a good twenty feet above sea level. It would be nearly impossible for the men to spot them there.

It took another few minutes to creep down the steep slope. Luke was in the lead, with the others in line behind him, keeping their heads low. They crouched in the vines, peering out over the lagoon.

The second plane was a single-engine job, smaller than the first one, but with a large cargo hold on its underside.

“Look!” hissed Charla.

It was the red-haired man. Instinctively, Luke’s eyes traveled to the thin man’s waist, where his gun was jammed into his belt.

“That’s the killer,” he whispered to Lyssa and J.J. “The guy he’s talking to must be from the second plane.”

Four others came into view — Red Hair’s partners and two newcomers. They were carrying the crates that had been unloaded from the first aircraft. Red Hair pried open the first box and rummaged inside.

“Blankets?” mused Charla in perplexity.

There was something wrapped in them. It was long and gleaming white — taller than the men themselves. It took two of them to hold it up, and the one clutching the foot-thick base was struggling. The thing tapered in a slight curve down to a soft point at the other end.

“Let me guess,” put in J.J. “It’s the world’s largest golf tee.” lan’s mouth formed an O of sudden understanding. “Ivory!”

Lyssa stared at him. “It’s soap?”

The younger boy shook his head. “The other kind of ivory. I think that’s an elephant tusk. I saw a show about it once. That’s why people hunt elephants. For their ivory.”

“But that’s wrong,” protested Charla.

“It’s also against the law, isn’t it?” asked Luke.

“So’s murder,” J.J. reminded him darkly.

They watched as the men unwrapped three more tusks — one the same size as the first, and a shorter pair about four feet long. They then turned their attention to a second case. It was smaller, but more high-tech, with sealing latches and various knobs and indicator dials. As they opened it, a cloud of vapor rose and dissipated into the tropical humidity.

“I was afraid of that,” Ian said seriously.

Inside they could make out dozens of transparent jars.

“What is it?” asked Luke.

“I think those are animal parts,” Ian told them, “probably from an endangered species — tiger, most likely.”

“Parts?” Lyssa asked weakly.

“Fur, claws,” Ian replied, “meat, vital organs, bones — “

“Yuck,” was JJ.‘s opinion.

Charla looked as if she were about to throw up. “But why? Who wants that stuff?”

“In a lot of Asian cities, tiger parts are a delicacy for the super-rich, or even a miracle cure. It was all in the documentary I saw. A full-grown tiger can be worth close to a quarter of a million dollars on the streets of Taipei or Hong Kong.”

“So what you’re saying,” Luke began, “is that these guys are smugglers?”

Ian nodded. “Dealers in ivory and illegal animal parts. The men from the first plane — they must buy from poachers around Africa and Asia. Then they sell to the second group.”

“But why here?” asked Lyssa.

“Isn’t it obvious?” replied Luke. “We’re totally isolated. In a million years, the police would never catch them making the exchange.”

“It’s probably a halfway point too,” Ian guessed. “They could be coming from Japan, Korea, the Philippines, Hong Kong, anywhere — even Hawaii.”

“That could be why they killed that guy,” added Charla solemnly. “Maybe he was ripping them off or something.”

They watched grimly as the smugglers went over the rest of the shipment. In addition to three more refrigerated containers, there was an entire crate of what appeared to be rhinoceros horns.