LJ Idol Survivor - Challenge 3

[bittyjane]

 

I remember my mom had a wooden figure – a crude woman, just a painted pink triangle for a dress, a tan circle for a head, wire arms and legs, and knots of twine sticking out at scraggly angles along the top of the circle – with “HOUSEWORK MAKES YOU UGLY” hand stenciled at the base.  I imagine that’s what I must look like as I attempt to work my fingers through the tangles in my hair.  I sit up with a wince, then stretch my arms above me, trying to work out some of the kinks in my back.  What I wouldn’t give for my own bed right now.

I grab a rock off the floor and make a mark on the wall.  49 days.

The doorway to my makeshift hut faces the Eastern beach, and the water and sky are both the nondescript gray of early morning.  I reach for my sneakers, absentmindedly swiping the inside with my hands before putting them on.  Kara got a spider bite on her big toe the first morning.  Making sure there was nothing in my shoes but my feet became just another part of island life.  Like my morning run. 

After a few quick stretches, I start out at a brisk walk.  The morning is cool, but I know it’ll be uncomfortably hot soon enough and am grateful for the way my skin prickles.  As I start to run, I get the feeling I’m being watched.  I often have that feeling, but haven’t been able to find any cameras, not that I’ve spent a whole lot of time looking.  I do my best to ignore the feeling as I pick up the pace.

The sun is just starting to show itself over the edge of the water, the sky brightening with oranges and lighter blues, when I turn around to head back to camp.  A tendril of smoke at the edge of the beach tells me the rest of the camp is waking up.  I pray there’s still a swallow of coffee left when I get back and push myself a little harder.

Thea is holding up two cups, and as soon as I see her, I start slowing.  I’m still breathing heavy when she hands me a cup of hot black coffee.  I inhale the warm steam, holding the cup up to my face.

“Last cup,” Thea says as she clinks the edge of her hollowed coconut shell to mine.

“Like today?” I ask, taking a sip, “or like last cup last cup?”

“Last cup,” she repeats, staring out towards the water.  “Lasted, what? Forty-seven days?”

“Forty-nine.”

She nods.  “Should be an elimination tonight.”

“Should be.  But there won’t be.  There wasn’t last week, at least, and there’s been no change to the current situation that I’m aware of.”  The coffee is already starting to cool.  It’s not great hot, and even worse cold.  I remember how I grimaced at the taste of that first cup the morning of day one.  Better than nothing, Thea had told me.  How right she was.

She nods again and takes the last swallow of her coffee.  “Freddie and Miguel came lookin’ for you earlier.  I told them you was on your run but I’d tell you they was lookin’.”

“Did they say what they wanted?”

“Nah.”

I nod and finish my coffee.  I clink my empty cup against hers.  “Last cup.”

She nods.  “You watch out for those boys, sugar.  I get a feeling they up to no good.”

“Thanks, Thea.  I can take care of myself.”

“I don’t doubt it, girl.  Not one bit.”

She puts a hand on my shoulder, then wanders off towards the campfire.  Going to start cooking some rice, no doubt.

I find Freddie and Miguel trying to use the net we won week two.  They don’t typically have much luck.  Sven used to.  But . . . well . . . fish would be nice.

They’re about waist deep in the water.  Freddie curses as he loses his balance and goes under.  He comes up sputtering and I try to stifle a laugh.

“You can do better?” His freckles disappear and his face turns the same red as his hair.

Probably. “Nah.”

“One more time?” Miguel asks, holding up his ends of the net.

“Fuck no, man.  I’m done.”  Freddie chucks the handfuls of net he’s holding into the water and splashes his way to the shore.  He plops down on the beach.  Miguel drops the net next to him and holds his fist up to me.  I bump it with my own.

“What’s good, chica?” he asks me.

“Same ol’, I s’pose.  Thea said you were looking for me.”

“Freddie thinks we should raid Dilaw.”

“Raid?” I raise an eyebrow.  “What do you mean raid?”

“I didn’t say raid, dude.”

“Pillage.  Plunder.  Robamos.  Whatever.”

“We just go there at night while they’re sleeping, steal whatever we think we need.  I bet they still have some of those granola bars from a couple weeks ago.  They’re probably rationing the shit out of that kind of stuff.  Who knows what else.  Grab and go.”

“And then they come back the next night and steal it back?  Is a raid even allowed?  Isn’t it against the rules?”

“What rules, chica?”

“You signed the contract, same as me.  I know you did,” I say, crossing my arms across my chest.  “It says no stealing.  We’ll get kicked off.”

“Wake the fuck up, Callie.”  It sounds like something he should yell, but Freddie says it almost in a whisper.  “We’re on our own.  They aren’t coming back.  We need to figure something out.”

I don’t say anything for a minute.  Just stare out at the water.  The production crew left on day thirty-nine.  They said they’d be back in a couple days.  To just keep playing the game.  Like they were still there.  They wouldn’t say why they were leaving. 

“What do you need me for?  Just do it yourselves.”

“More hands.”

“Hmmm.”  The sound of the waves is nice.  Relaxing.  Moments like this make me think I could stay here forever.  If Freddie is right, I just may.

“You in?” Freddie asks.

I shrug.  Anything but rice would be nice.  “Sure.”

“Tonight.”

***

Dilaw is on the opposite side of the island.  Following the shoreline around will take us about three hours.  Cutting across the middle will take about one.  Less, maybe.  We opt for the shorter route.  Thea retires early, like usual, and we wait until we can hear her soft snoring before taking off.  It goes unspoked among us, but I think we all feel it.  None of us told Thea our plan.  She wouldn’t approve. 

When we reach Dilaw, the moon is high.  If it were my plan, I’d have waited until a new moon.  Or at least until a cloudy night.

“We’ll be able to see, at least.” Freddie whispers.

So will they. I say nothing, just watch the camp, looking for movement.  Their fire is just embers.  They have four huts – stick with grass roofs, just like ours.  They still have six in their camp.

“Two to a hut and one for storage?” Miguel asks.

Doubt it.  It would be stupid to keep everything important in one hut.  What if a roof leaked during an afternoon downpour?  What if they got raided?

“Probably,” Freddie says.  “You ready?”

“Is there a plan?” I ask.

“Yeah.  Grab stuff and GTFO.”

Not much of a plan, but Freddie and Miguel are moving towards the camp before I can criticize.  Or offer an alternative.  I follow.

Miguel peeks into the first tent, then shakes his head.  He holds up two fingers, then puts his hands together, closing his eyes and miming sleeping.  We creep by single file.  At the next hut, he holds up only one finger.  I am not surprised.  Freddie motions for him to go in.

“Look around,” he whispers.  I wince.  He’s a loud whisperer.  Miguel shakes his head furiously.

“Pussy,” Freddie bumps Miguel with his shoulder as he goes into the hut.

Miguel watches as Freddie rummages through crudely made baskets.  I back towards the edge of the camp, keeping to the shadows.  I hear the crinkle of a wrapper.  Granola bars?  Then the stirring of someone shifting on the thin grass mat we all use for beds.  I hold my breath.

“What the?” The voice is not Freddie.  Or Miguel.  I hear the confusion.  Then an expletive.  Rage.

Miguel is moving away from the hut, but it seems like he’s moving in slow motion.  Freddie rushes out, a basket in his hands.

“Run you motherfucker!” he screams at Miguel.  “GTFO!”

I’m a few paces ahead of the boys and keep that way as we crash through trees and fumble over roots that seemed so easy to navigate on our trip to the camp.  Dilaw tribe members follow, but only a couple and not for long.  The sounds of pursuit drop off quickly.  We continue on at break-neck speed anyway. 

Until Freddie trips and hits the ground with a curse.  I hear the contents of the basket scatter.

“You okay?” Miguel whispers as he kneels next to Freddie.   The moon is still high and the light glints off the foil packets littering the ground.

“I think I skinned my knee.”

“Ay, pobrecito!” Miguel reaches a hand down to help Freddie up as I pick up one of the packets and turn it over in my hand.  Not granola.  I laugh out loud.

“You guys are assholes.” Freddie whines.

I toss Freddie the packet.  “Thea’s going to love you.”

“What?” he looks down.  “Are you fucking kidding me?  I don’t even drink coffee!”

***

We make it back late and I sleep in the next morning.  I’m awakened by the smell of coffee.  Thea is singing.  I smile and grab a rock off the floor of my hut.  I make a mark on the wall.  50 days.

((Edited for a couple of typos))