The Trial Page 9

  It’s ironic, really, that the rain clouds don’t begin to gather until they arrive back at camp with the fresh coconuts. Elliot is already working on the shelters, adding extra layers of leaves and even tucking in pieces of plastic and metal from the plane here and there in an effort to make them waterproof.

  The sky is swollen. Greys quickly deepen to heavy, hanging purples and angry browns, reminding Hayley unpleasantly of the wound in Jessa’s arm.

  But the rain doesn’t come. They busy themselves, finding extra clothes for warmth, moving their supply of fresh fruit and remaining equipment into the shell of the plane to keep it dry. They move quickly, not talking much. There’s something in the air, a kind of electric tension, that makes Hayley feel on edge, like she’s holding her breath, waiting for something awful to happen.

  Brian and Shannon disappear into the treeline, hurrying to find as much wood as they can, planning to stash some in the shell of the plane. Jason returns a few minutes later with more palm leaves for the shelters, his eyes darting round immediately, calculating, counting.

  ‘Where’s Shannon?’ he barks, and when Hayley tells him she’s gone to fetch wood with Brian, Jason disappears after them at a loping run. They re-emerge shortly afterwards, Brian’s arms piled with wood, Jason’s hand vice-like around Shannon’s.

  ‘Doesn’t want her to be alone even for a moment in this place,’ Jessa whispers to Hayley, with an admiring sigh, as if this only confirms Jason’s perfect boyfriend credentials. But Hayley, studying the white tips of Shannon’s fingers, is not so sure.

  When there’s nothing left to do, Hayley sits in the sand at the mouth of her sleeping shelter, scooping up handfuls then letting the grains trickle through her fingers. The methodical, repetitive movement helps her to feel anchored, slowing her racing heartbeat and brain. May is humming under her breath the same few notes over and over, a little ditty that makes the hairs on Hayley’s arms stand on end. Not because there’s anything about the tune, particularly, but because she’s heard it before. An innocent trill of notes that might sound absent minded, coming from someone else, but that means something completely different when it’s May.

  * * *

  It was about half an hour after that last triumphant game had ended, and the guest-team changing rooms were cloudy with steam as some of the girls finished up their showers. Shannon was dressed already and standing at the mirror, drawing on cherry-red lipliner with a perfectly steady hand. Behind her, May’s wet hair swept almost to the floor as she towelled it, head hanging down between her legs. Hayley was tying her shoelace when Shannon blotted her lips and said: ‘I asked Coach Robinson to film us through the last quarter so we can do a quick play-by-play – pick up our mistakes and look at where we can tighten up that finale routine. I’ll see you all in my hotel room in thirty minutes.’

  May snorted, still rubbing vigorously with her towel. ‘Good one, Shannon,’ her voice came, slightly muffled. ‘Like you’re going to drill us on the last night of the tour.’

  Shannon’s gaze was icy in the mirror. ‘We need to look at it now while it’s fresh in our minds. This is about putting us in the strongest possible position going into next semester’s competitions.’

  ‘Hmm,’ May mused, a sarcastic edge to her voice. ‘What’s going to put a team in the strongest position to win… a chance to let their hair down and relax with a well-earned night off, or an insanely intense captain who never gives anyone the chance to recharge?’ She snapped upright, tousled damp hair falling around her flushed cheeks.

  ‘Don’t worry, May, you’ll still make it to your precious party on time.’

  ‘Well, I’d like time to get ready as well. And you’ll need…’ May glanced at the clock, pretending to do a calculation in her head. ‘I’d say a good two hours at least to remove the stick from your ass.’

  ‘C’mon, May.’ Jessa’s voice was soothing, ever the peacemaker, as she appeared between them. ‘We’ve got plenty of time to do both, it won’t take more than half an hour to go through the tape, right, Shannon?’

  ‘I guess we can do it quickly,’ Shannon assented, smiling gratefully at Jessa. And Hayley watched irritation flash across May’s face as she bit her lip and said nothing, wondering if it was really the half hour that bothered her or the fact that Jessa took Shannon’s side against hers. May started yanking a comb through the tangles in her wet hair, humming a trio of notes over and over again.

  * * *

  They’re still waiting for the storm when they hear the engine. At first, Hayley thinks it’s the thunder arriving, a distant, stuttering purr that comes and goes. Or the sea; the sound of the waves crashing more wildly as the wind starts to whip them higher. But it gets louder, until it’s unmistakeable. A plane, or a helicopter, perhaps very close, perhaps quite far away – it’s impossible to tell between the rising wind and the thick, grey clouds.

  ‘It’s a plane! It’s a fucking plane!’ Jason laughs maniacally, screaming ‘I fucking told you! I fucking told you so!’ at no one in particular.

  Jessa’s face is flooded with relief, tears pooling quietly in the corners of her eyes. But Elliot looks worried.

  ‘I think it’s coming from the north-west,’ he says, in a low voice, his eyes on Jessa.

  ‘What does that mean?’ Hayley asks him, quietly.

  ‘They might not see the SOS. And the fire’s almost out.’

  Hayley looks at the fire. Nobody has fed it for hours. It’s only white powder and scattered ashes, not a single wisp of smoke rising up into the pregnant air.

  ‘Can we stoke it up?’

  ‘Not fast enough.’

  Jason has overheard; the elation on his face quickly turns to consternation, then to anger.

  ‘Build it. Build the fire up NOW. Get it smoking,’ he yells, assuming the same commanding tone he uses to bark out plays on the court, a tone nobody argues with.

  But Elliot spreads his hands.

  ‘I can’t. There isn’t time.’

  ‘You idiot. You fucking idiot.’ Jason is face-to-face with Elliot, his chest puffed out, his whole body bristling with rage. ‘You think you’re such a smart little boy scout with your clever water-bottle tricks and your little fishing lines? But when we actually need a fire, where the fuck are you?’

  The engine is getting louder, throbbing like a physical presence in the air around them.

  ‘What good are you?’ Jason’s eyes are aflame, spittle flying into Elliot’s stricken face. ‘You think you’re such a big man, taking over, seizing control, eh? But you can’t even keep your stupid campfire burning, you asshole.’

  ‘We have to do something,’ Jessa gasps, desperately.

  They stand there, frozen, staring up at the sky. Hayley is caught by a frenzied desire to start throwing things in the air, as if she could possibly throw anything high enough to catch the attention of a pilot, even in a low-flying plane.

  Elliot is patting his pockets, frantically searching for something. He pulls out the mirror he extricated from the phone yesterday.

  ‘We can signal them!’ he yells, setting off at a run, crashing into the trees. ‘If we can get to high enough ground, we can signal them.’

  And after a split second, the others throw themselves after him.

  Elliot runs without looking back. He turns sharply to the right, pushing through the trees, and for the first time Hayley approaches the steep incline where the ground rises up into a kind of hill, the trees becoming slightly sparser. They are halfway up when the rain starts, fat drops that penetrate Hayley’s clothes and soak her hair, somehow wetter than any rain she has felt before. The noise is louder at the top of the hill, a motorised roar that sounds as if it must be directly above them, but all Hayley can see are rolling black clouds, the raindrops whizzing down faster now, stinging her eyes when she tries to spot the plane.

  Elliot has the mirror in his palm, tilting it this way and that, but Hayley can see that it’s useless, there’s no sun left to reflect, no glinting beam to for
ce whoever is flying above to take notice of them. The clouds are so thick, hanging so close as if weighed down by the weight of water, she would be surprised if the pilot even realised there was an island below at all. What might have been left of the sunset has been swallowed up completely, dark strangling the island faster and more completely than it ever has before.

  Still Elliot strains his arms out, holding the useless mirror above his head like a shield. And even though the others can see it’s useless too, they crowd around him, the ground in front of their feet falling away in a sharp twenty-foot drop. They screech and wave their arms shamelessly, voices grating hoarse in desperation, hands stretched up to what little moonlight penetrates the clouds. They are drowning, screaming their fear at the dark, bruised sky.

  * * *

  Nobody could say, later, exactly how it happened, or even at what moment, except that one minute they were hanging there, suspended in the clammy, hot and cold air with the rain slicing sheets around them, their own harsh voices filling each other’s ears. And the next moment, Elliot was falling, his body U-shaped as his arms and legs floated up towards them, plummeting in slow motion into the welcoming jaws of the bushes and rocks below.

  DAY 6

  It’s not actually as easy to carry a body as you might expect.

  Just disentangling Elliot from the greedy claws of the bushes that ensnared him and yanking him back up the rocks takes what feels like hours. Hayley shudders at the unwelcome thought that the island seems glad to have claimed him, that it doesn’t want to give him up without a fight. Like it demands a blood sacrifice for their trespass there, a price to pay for the vines they’ve trampled and trees they’ve torn, the unwanted footprints they’ve left in the sand.

  The battered face of Elliot’s wristwatch, now hanging limp above his splayed fingers, shows that it’s after midnight before they begin the dejected journey back to the camp.

  First, they try carrying him slung between them like a sack of potatoes, four of them taking a limb each, bumping him roughly along the ground when their grip slips. But it’s awkward and impractical to move that way. The thick undergrowth and narrow spaces between bushes and trees make it hard to travel two abreast, let alone with an extra person hanging immobile in between. So Brian and Jason start taking it in turns to heave Elliot over their shoulders, clutching tightly to the backs of his thighs, his head hanging limply down behind. The group spreads listlessly out in a scattered, dejected procession: Shannon silent and taut; Jason spitting out swearwords like he’s releasing pressure from a gasket; May singing again, a perky, flippant pop song about embracing your booty, starting again from the beginning every time she runs out of notes as if she’s scared to stop; Brian has gone very quiet, his head hanging low, his breath coming in short, jagged gasps. Nobody speaks about the plane. Hayley moves close to Jessa and realises she is repeating a prayer over and over under her breath, saying the words so fast Hayley can’t even make them out.

  ‘Shut up, Jessa. That’s not going to make any difference,’ May snaps at her, irritably, and Hayley sees Jessa flinch and recoil, hurt painted across her face.

  ‘Well, Meghan Trainor’s not about to swoop in and save us either,’ she replies, with uncharacteristic anger. ‘But I don’t see you keeping your mouth shut.’

  ‘It can’t be good for him,’ Hayley frets, watching Elliot’s cheek bashing unceremoniously against Jason’s back. Following closely behind, she can hear Jason’s heavy, rasping breathing. Elliot’s face looks serene and somehow innocent, mouth slightly open so she can see the glistening shell pink of his inside lip.

  ‘He’s lucky to be alive,’ Jason replies curtly, pushing his sodden hair out of his face. ‘I don’t think he’s going to be too worried about the odd bruise here or there when he wakes up.’

  ‘If he wakes up,’ says Shannon, sounding terrified. She’s worrying at the edges of her nails with her teeth, more openly panicked than Hayley has ever seen her.

  There’s a stark, eerie flash and the trees around them are suddenly illuminated in bright white, the cracks and whorls of their bark standing out in sharp relief, before the cold, gunmetal-grey night sweeps in again. It’s darker than before, making it harder than ever to see where they’re going. It tastes of metal too, a bloody tang that coats the sides of Hayley’s tongue, setting her even more on edge. A few moments pass between the lightning and the angry drumroll of thunder that follows. The thick blanket of leaves above holds off the worst of the rain, but now and then they step into the path of a mini deluge, where the water pours furiously down through a gap in the canopy like a waterfall. The air smells like peat and electricity. Hayley watches Elliot flopping around like a doll.

  ‘I’m tired,’ May complains, petulantly, flopping down to the floor and crossing her arms as if they’re not in the middle of a midnight thunderstorm.

  Jason stops and unceremoniously deposits Elliot in a heap. ‘Oh, you’re tired? I’m so sorry, you poor thing. Can I interest you in taking a turn with this hundred-and-fifty-pound weight so you can see what actual tiredness feels like?’

  May scowls.

  ‘Maybe we should just leave him here,’ Jason mutters, angrily.

  ‘Are we sure we should all be going back to camp?’ Brian’s voice is flat, subdued. ‘Shouldn’t somebody stay up there, in case the plane comes back?’

  ‘It’s not coming back,’ May whines. ‘It doesn’t know we’re here.’

  ‘Which probably means they’ll cross this area off the map and never come back,’ Jason adds, darkly.

  ‘Is he definitely breathing?’ Hayley bends over Elliot, relieved to feel his warm breath flutter against her cheek.

  May gives an exaggerated sigh and Brian turns on her. ‘I don’t know what you’re complaining about. If you lot hadn’t left the camp this afternoon the fire would still have been burning and they would have seen the smoke.’

  ‘Oh, come on,’ cries May. ‘If it had occurred to you that the girls might actually be good at something physical, or maybe even – shock horror – better than you guys, then we could have finished collecting the coconuts hours ago and got back in time to get the fire going again.’

  ‘It’s my fault,’ Jessa says, her voice tight. ‘I was resting in the shade, my arm…’ She sighs heavily. ‘I should have kept the fire going. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘There’s no point fighting about it now,’ Hayley says, feeling a cold jolt as a stream of water unexpectedly finds its way down the back of her neck. With Elliot out of action and the plane gone, she feels utterly defeated. Thoughts about being stuck here forever, about starving here, about never seeing her parents again: all the thoughts she’s been trying so hard to block out since the day they arrived are crowding back into her head. Thoughts so heavy she feels like Jason isn’t the only one lugging around a deadweight.

  ‘It’s my mom’s birthday tomorrow,’ Jessa whispers and begins to cry.

  ‘Maybe they did see the island,’ Hayley says, with an effort, though she doesn’t really believe her own words. ‘Maybe they saw us and they’ve gone to fetch help, and they’re going to come back when the storm has passed.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ mutters May.

  Shannon is sitting quietly, her legs crossed, staring fixedly into the dark forest.

  ‘We’re never getting off this island, are we?’ Jessa’s voice is beginning to rise, half sobbing. ‘If they were going to find us they’d have done it by now… they’re going to decide that we’re dead, and then they’ll stop looking… and they’ll hold our funerals and bury empty caskets… and everyone will forget about us…’ She is talking faster and faster, her voice increasingly shrill as the words start running into one another.

  ‘Jessa, we’re not going to die of old age here,’ Brian says, and she looks up hopefully, sniffing. ‘We’ll die way sooner of starvation or thirst or, like, an in-growing tick bite. Or something stupid like a cut that gets infected and we don’t have the basic antibiotics to treat it.’

 
Jessa looks up in horror and Hayley’s isn’t the only voice that rises in a scream of ‘SHUT UP, BRIAN.’

  ‘Jeez, touchy much?’ Brian takes his turn, hoisting Elliot up around his neck like a bizarre muffler, head and arms hanging down over one shoulder, legs over the other. ‘C’mon,’ he grunts, starting to head back towards the camp, and the others have little choice but to heave themselves to their feet and trail after him. May and Shannon wordlessly lace their arms behind Jessa’s back while Hayley follows, alone.

  On the beach, the wind is much wilder, whipping their hair across their faces and flinging the gritty sand into their eyes. The rain is torrential, drumming hard on their scalps without pause and streaming down their faces. It is too dark to see the sea, but they can hear it, like some hideous monster tethered nearby, guttering and snarling in its throat, threatening to break its shackles, to leap up and devour them. And with each lightning strike the crests of the waves surge forward, foaming and boiling towards the sky. Jessa has already taken refuge in her sleeping shelter, and the others scramble to do the same, Jason first shovelling Elliot unceremoniously into his own, his head propped sideways on a folded jumper, with Shannon promising to check on him regularly.

  It’s at least a bit drier inside her makeshift tent, Hayley thinks, realising with a tightening feeling in her chest that she might not get the chance to tell Elliot how well his shelters worked in the storm. But it’s harder to control her imagination in here, lying on her own in the dark. Just the wet-dog smell of the rain on the sand, the crashing of the waves and the incessant drumbeat falling on the plastic meal tray that Elliot had wedged into the branches above her to keep her dry.

  She closes her eyes and tries to control her breathing, a trick her mom taught her years ago to calm her nerves before exams.

  She can hear her mom’s voice, soothing and cool.

  ‘Breathe in for one. Hold for one. Breathe out for one.’