Virgo's Vice (5 page)

Chapter 6

“I’m Andy Riggs. I’m an attorney, twenty-eight years young and single.” Did he just throw a pointed look at the redhead? He drags his fingers through his curly blonde hair. Isn’t that a wedding ring? I make sure I get a close up of his dark blue eyes and ruggedly handsome face before focusing on his bag. “We all know each of us was allowed to bring one survival item. Mine is this”—he holds up a small box, and I narrow my eyes. “It’s flint. I wasn’t sure if Dockery would let me bring it, but he said it was okay as long as it wasn’t matches or a lighter. My extra two items of clothing are a T-shirt and underwear.” He blushes and holds up a pair of bright red boxers.

A couple of people laugh.

“I would have preferred to have brought extra shoes.” He sits back and stares at the woman to his left.

“Lela Sukhova,” the big blond woman says, with her strong accent. “Model and interior designer.” She has definitely been poured into her designer jeans, and that tight boob tube doesn’t leave much of her hidden. She obviously spends a lot of time in a tanning booth. The skin on her bared stomach is perfectly tanned, except for a pink rose tattoo around her navel. She throws a look at the redhead, almost like a challenge. Andy is staring at her the same way he stared at the redhead—like he’s hungry. I can’t help glancing at his left hand. There’s definitely a ring on his finger.

“I brought underwear, of course,” the model says, pulling out two pairs of tiny, almost non-existent black lace panties. A laugh bubbles up inside me, but I don’t let it out. She has one chance for a little extra comfort and she brings those.

“And my survival item is this.” She holds it up with a self-satisfied smirk on her face. “It’s a Swiss Army Knife. It has
a—how you say?—c
ompass, a whistle, a nail file, two knife blades, a bottle opener, and a pair of scissors.”

The tough woman in the khaki shorts and a brown T-shirt, with brown work boots, is next. “Sam Fillwood, trucker, thirty-one.” She’s average height, a little overweight, and her dark hair is cropped short. She opens her bag and holds up a curved hunting knife. “You never know when you’re gonna need to defend yourself.” The way she says it makes me wonder if she’s talking about the wild animals or the other players. She takes out a pair of denim shorts and a T-shirt and lets me film them, then stares at the Asian girl.

“My name is Eve Li. I’m twenty and I manage a restaurant.”

“Let me guess,” says the nerdy dude, “a Chinese restaurant.”

Everyone chuckles except Eve, who ignores him. I make certain I record her satiny black pants and a shiny yellow sleeveless blouse.

“You might think my shoes were a mistake,” she continues, “but I chose them and I will be comfortable in them.”

I pan down to her yellow sandals.

“My emergency item is this.” She holds up a flashlight. “I’m not scared of the dark, or anything. I brought as many spare batteries as they would allow. As for my clothes, underwear and a sweater.” She doesn’t hold them up, and I film what I can of them inside her bag.

“Kelli Gannon,” the redhead wearing the short black cocktail dress says. “I’m twenty-five, an educator, and I’m still mad at myself for being duped into wearing these clothes.”
She’s pretty
. “I brought this.” She holds up a roll of bright neon pink duct tape. “I would have brought W-D40 if it was allowed,” she said. “Every woman should have both. Duct tape if it moves and shouldn’t; the other if it doesn’t move and it should.”

Everyone laughs, and I think I detect an expression of envy from Billy, the cowboy. Or is it approval? Or is he thinking she’s hot?

“Good call,” he says. “The color, too. It means we can use it to attract attention from an aircraft if we ever need to.”

My stomach clenches suddenly. What does he mean? Surely the Old Man will be here in three days. He said he would. But . . . what about the sat phone? He also said there would be a sat phone. It must be in the other trunk.

Kelli’s extra clothes are underwear, a bra and panties. I bet she wishes she had brought jeans and a T-shirt or tennis shoes. I pan across the faces of the others, and get distracted. Is that a bulge in Jared’s shorts?

Everyone turns their gaze to the tall, skinny exec woman, and I remember what I’m supposed to be doing and turn my attention back to filming.

“Faith Frith is my name,” she says. “I’m thirty-seven and I’m an accountant.” Her suit still doesn’t have a wrinkle in it. She smooths back her blonde hair that’s tied up way too tidily, without a single stray strand. “I brought a pack of candles. I thought it would be dark in camp at night. I didn’t think we’d be allowed to bring a flashlight.” She glances over at Eve. Not surprisingly, to me anyhow, she has brought a T-shirt and a bag of disposable underwear. She seems to be the organized, practical type, except there’s something weird about her eyes. They are kind of browny-gray and she doesn’t seem to be able to focus properly, so I’m not really sure whether she’s eyeballing me or someone behind me. Do the others see that, or is it just me?

For some weird reason, I shudder.

“Trip Varnes, forty-three, entrepreneur and amateur explorer.”

I snort, and then catch myself. He’s closer to fifty. It sounds like he wants everyone to think he’s rich and he just travels around for fun. It could backfire on him though. I figure the others are thinking why do people like that enter shows like this? He probably doesn’t need the million dollar prize. He digs into his bag and comes out with a cooking pot. “Without safe water, you can’t survive in the boondocks. Dysentery is no joke, trust me, and it can take all the strength out of you in a matter of a few hours if it’s severe enough. My other items of clothing are underwear and hat. Since it’s not part of my daily uniform.” He puts a bush hat on his head and glares at the cowboy, Billy.

If he had anything to hide in his bag, he probably snuck it out while we were all watching one of the others. I notice Mark staring at me. He’s trying to see what sort of reaction I have. I keep my face still, but he probably heard me snort. I couldn’t help myself.

“Billy Murphy.” He stands up and ignores the obvious statement Trip is trying to make. “Cowboy. I work on a cattle ranch.” He grins, takes his hat off, and scrapes his brown hair back with his fingers.

I find myself studying him from behind the camera lens and thinking how very cute he is. He has even features and high cheekbones, with those light-green eyes and dark lashes. He always grins like he’s got some trick up his sleeve or he knows something we don’t. I move the camera down to his bag. “I brung a fishing kit—line and hooks,” he says. “And an extra shirt and socks.” He holds them up. “I also have this.” He slips his red bandanna off from around his neck. “It has a lot of uses.” He glances at me. “It can be used to keep the sun off my neck, across my face to keep the dust out of my mouth, I can use it to strain water, as a tourniquet, and the reason it’s bright is to attract attention if I get lost and an aircraft is searching for me. If we lose the duct tape, that is. Oh, I’m twenty-four.” He sits down. “Wow,” Kelli says, “that’s impressive. I would never have imagined that.”

The nurse stands up. “Maria Lopez, Los Angeles. I’m forty-seven and you all know by now I’m a nurse.” She is wearing a bright cotton dress and leather pumps that are probably comfortable although I don’t think they’ll take much of a beating. “My survival item is a space blanket. It will keep me warm if it gets cold out, and also if anyone gets hurt, it’ll help with the shock. Not that I’m hoping for anything bad to happen to anyone, but I can’t help thinking like a nurse. As for extra clothing, I brought a jacket and underwear.” She’s short and dumpy, and probably too old to compete against some of the others, but we’ve already needed someone with medical knowledge, and I am real glad she’s here.”

I guess I’m next,” the very tall black dude says. “Name’s Henry Grant, but you can call me Stretch, ex-NBA player with the Knicks. I brought a compass. I don’t plan on getting lost any time soon. I also packed spare shorts and T-shirt. Oh, I’m fifty-one.” He checks around the faces in the circle. “Must be the oldest here. I’m pretty tough, though, and once my head is fixed up, I’ll be more useful to y’all.” He touches his head again, and sits back down on the log.

“My name’s Jared Harner,” the nerdy guy says. “I’m studying—community college—computer science, and I’m nineteen. Well, almost twenty. My birthday’s next week.” His birthday must be close to mine. He’s also a Virgo like me. He blushes and blinks rapidly, and I focus on his face. He has red cheeks, short brown hair and brown eyes, and kind of a round baby face. The black rimmed glasses make him appear nerdy, but I can see he works out. His muscles are firm and well formed on his arms. He’s wearing flip flops now. His long shorts and T-shirt must be comfortable. “I brought this as my survival item,” he says shyly and holds up a five-item pack of dental floss. “You might not think of it as a smart thing to choose, but actually it has a lot of uses. I mean, it could be used for fishing, making snares, and tying poles together for a shelter.”

“That’s pretty inventive,” Trip says.

“Yeah. Thanks. I’m lucky I wear glasses and I can use them as a magnifying glass to make fire if I have to. I also brought some sneakers and jeans.” He pulls the sneakers on while we watch him. “Also, we were told to leave our cell phones ‘cause there are no towers here, but I brought mine,” he says, sliding it out of his pocket. “If I get lost, I can be tracked by GPS. There are satellites everywhere.”

“I don’t think that GPS tracking thing works without batteries,” Trip says. “Unless you have some sort of solar charger, your battery will die after a couple of days.”

Jared doesn’t answer and even smirks a little, as though he knows something we don’t about cell phones. Everyone is silent for a few seconds, probably hoping he’ll have an answer, but he just sits there and says nothing, and glances at the Mexican with the injured ankle.

“Rafael Rodriguez. You can call me Rodriguez if you want. I’m used to it. I’m forty-two, and I’m a construction worker. I’ve done roofing, framin’, drywall, any type of construction work I can get. My item ees thees.” He has that strong Mexican accent. He holds up a black trash bag. A murmur goes around the circle. He has short dark hair and a brown skin. He’s wearing a brown suit and a long sleeve dress shirt and work boots. “I know you’re wondering about it, but in a rainstorm, it’s my rain gear. If it gets cold at night, I can use it as a blanket or if there’s a cold wind, as a jacket.

“It’s also protection for my only suit,” he says with a grin, and I like him. “Now all I need is for my ankle to be taped.” He smiles and gazes around at the others. Most of them seem to approve. “I also brought another couple of T-shirts, but I wish I would have brought shorts.”

“I, too, have a secret weapon,” Lela, the tall blond with the accent, says unexpectedly. “Like the cowboy.” She holds out her hand so everyone can see what’s inside it. “Yes, that’s a condom,” she says. “It can hold a gallon of water without breaking. I have a lot of them.”

That’s just weird. I can’t be the only one wondering if she brought them because she planned to have sex with the other contestants. Why else would you bring condoms? She brought a lot, she says. Is she some sort of sex addict?

“Which brings us to the other business,” Trip says. “Our supplies are still in that box. What do you say we unpack them and find a place for them?”

Amid murmurs of approval Trip lifts the lid of the Samsonite trunk and lifts out the first thing he sees. “A cooking pot,” he says. “Good. Now we have two. Two folding shovels, an axe, a machete, actually two machetes. Here’s the first-aid kit.” He opens it. “Antibiotic ointments, Band-Aids, bandages, scissors, needles, thread”—he glances at the NBA dude with the cut on his head—“also syringes, morphine, antibiotic vials, snake-bite kits, Ibuprofen.” He hands the box to Maria and digs into the trunk again. “Here’s a pack of toilet paper. Anyone know what these are?” He holds up two rectangular canvas bags with openings at the top like a bottle and corks to seal them.

No one answers.

“These, my friends,” Trip continues, “are water bags. They’re quite ingenious and keep the water cool by evaporation.”

“Great, there are six of them.” Andy takes them from Trip and sets them to one side.

“Here’s some food. Rice,” Trip holds up the sack. “We’ll have to ration it until we find something else to eat out there.” He waves his hand.

He lifts a familiar box from the trunk. “These are the only drinks in here.”

Everyone talks at once and we all rush to grab a beer can. The Old Man has removed some of the cans, and left just fourteen of them in the box that originally held twenty-four. I pop mine open and glug half of it down. It’s like the Old Man to let us celebrate with beer. Champagne would have been too over the top. At least he put a beer in for me and Mark.

“There’s a note here, under where the beer cans were,” Andy says, holding up a piece of paper. He reads aloud.

“Cheers. Enjoy celebrating the start of your adventure. Instructions will come soon. Meantime, make yourselves comfortable. It’s signed Allan Dockery.”

“He must have pre-planned to have his dog come with us,” Trip says as he pulls out the bag of dog food and two plastic bowls, one for water and the other for food. “And here are some mugs and plates—metal with a coating. Yep, fourteen of them. I reckon we should each scratch our initials in them.” He passes the cardboard box to someone and he digs into the box again. His hand comes out empty. “That’s it,” he says. “There’s nothing else in there. No forks or spoons.”

Mark stands over the trunks and stares into each one with a wrinkled brow. I throw him a questioning glance. He leans down and whispers, “No sat phone.”

“Are you sure? There’s nothing else in either trunk?”

“I’m sure.”

“So when did the Old Man say he would be back?” I know the answer but I’m hoping it’ll be different this time.

“Three days,” Mark says, still talking quietly. “Meantime, if anyone gets injured we’re screwed.”

My stomach tightens again. What kind of game is the Old Man playing? What else has he promised that he won’t deliver?

“I guess,” Andy says, “we should decide what needs to be done today.” He checks his watch. “It’s already twenty after two and we have no shelter, no fire, and no water.”