I relaxed into the seat to which the flight attendant had directed me, luxuriating in the legroom, and glanced out the window at the bustling Narita Airport terminals. I missed Tokyo already, and we hadn't even left the ground yet. Reaching into my carry-on, I brought out the paper crane Yuka had made. "For luck, Teacher-san," she'd said. I caressed its delicate paper wings with a finger.
"That's pretty." The English accent startled me out of my thoughts. I found that a man with long, dark hair, sporting a pair of sunglasses, had taken the aisle seat next to me. He pointed to my crane. "Never could get the hang of that origami stuff. You make it?"
"One of my students made it," I replied, staring yet trying not to do. "A going-away gift."
"Teacher, yeah? What subject?"
"English. You know, career student teaches English to Japanese kids while she tries to figure out life on the outside of the ivory towers." He laughed. "Listen," I continued, "you look familiar. Do I know you?" I already knew, but I didn't want to come off like the fan I was.
My new seatmate grinned. "You might," he said. "Depends on where you were last night." He took off his sunglasses and held out a hand. "Andy Taylor."
"Cat McDonough," I responded, shaking his hand. "And last night, I was in my tiny flat hoping I'd got everything packed, so I couldn't make it to the concert."
"So you do know who I am."
I nodded, smiling. "Sorry," I said. "I didn't want to put you off."
"'S all right," Andy said. "We reckoned on running into a few fans. It is Tokyo, after all. Folk here've been mad on us for more'n two decades."
"Is that why you decided to start the reunion tour here?"
He nodded. "Doesn't hurt to have the old ego boosted a bit before you hit the States. We're headin' to L. A. next. You?"
"Toronto," I said. "I'm finally going home."
"Ah, Canadian. Knew you didn't sound Yank. From Toronto?"
I shook my head. "Halifax."
"How long you been in Tokyo?"
"Five years."
"God, I can't imagine going that long without seeing my family," Andy said. "Must've been hard."
"It wasn't easy," I agreed.
"Now, goin' five years without seeing this lot--" Andy waved at the rest of the band, who had taken seats nearby while we talked "--is a whole different kettle of fish." He grinned.
"Fuck off, Andy," Simon called from across the aisle.
"Watch you mouth in front of the lady, Charley," Andy shot back. Roger backhanded Simon's shoulder. "Behave yourself," he said. He looked across at me and smiled apologetically. "He's been hanging out with the roadies again."
The pilot announced takeoff, and the flight attendants went through the pre-flight demonstrations. When they had finished, Andy caught the attention of one attendant and asked her to bring him a neat whisky. When it came, he gulped it down and glanced at me with a sheepish expression. "Dutch courage," he said. "I'm afraid I'm not a very good flier." He reached into an inside pocket of his leather jacket. "My good-luck charm," he explained, showing me a family photo.
"Beautiful kids," I said, handing it back.
"Ta." He looked at the picture. "It's kinda old now--our youngest was barely out of nappies. I suppose I should get a newer one, but . . ."
"It's your good-luck charm." I smiled. "Once we're up in the air, it'll be fine. They say takeoff and landing are the dangerous bits."
"Don't tell me that now," Andy groaned. I grinned, fastening my seat belt. "I'll try to keep your mind off things," I said.
Soon, I found myself telling Andy Taylor my life story. "Aha," he said as I finished. "Knew that was it."
"What?"
"Knew there was a broken heart in there somewhere. A girl doesn't just leave her home and family for five years without reason."
"Peter did not break my heart," I said. "He just--"
"Married someone else."
"Yeah. Let's change the subject. How did you guys end up on a commercial flight? I thought rock stars flew private."
Andy pulled a face. "The jet the record company chartered broke down," he explained. "This was the first flight out we could get." He glanced over his shoulder, then leant closer, lowering his voice. "The only thing that kept Nick from losing his rag completely was that they got us into first class." He grinned and straightened in his seat. "Speaking of," he added, "how did you end up here, Teacher-san?"
"The airline overbooked coach," I said. "I was the lucky one who got bumped up."
"Lucky indeed, I'd say." I looked up just as John settled into the vacant seat ahead of us with that infectious smile of his. "You two look like you're having fun."
"We were until you decided to stick your nose in," Andy teased. "This's Cat. She's an English teacher from Canada."
"ESL teacher," I corrected, shaking hands with John. "English as a Second Language. Really, though, I'm a writer. Unpublished so far, but I'm hopeful."
"Did you talk to Nick?" Andy asked.
"Yeah," John replied, sounding disappointed. "It didn't do any good. He's vowed to mention the jet thing in every interview, just to piss off the record company."
"That'll teach 'em," Andy said dryly. "Did you remind him we can't really afford to have him shoot his mouth off right now? If we lose even one corporate sponsor--"
"Yeah, yeah, he knows," John said. "He's just so pissed off, he's not worth talking to. I had to change seats. It's like sitting next to a black hole--you get sucked right into his mood." Andy cursed under his breath, digging into his pockets and coming up with a crumpled pack of cigarettes. He was about to light up when I gently reminded him that this was a non-smoking flight. "Shit," he said, stuffing the cigarette back into the pack. "Just when I need a fag the most."
"What's everyone talking about? Push over, John." John obliged, making room for Simon to join us.
"Nick," Andy answered, then stretched to look behind him. "He's not eavesdropping, is he?"
"Nah," John said. "He's got his Discman on."
"Good. The last thing I want is him jumping down my neck right now."
"You weren't able to talk him 'round?" Simon asked John.
John shook his head. "He's determined."
Andy snorted. "Yeah, determined to sabotage the American tour," he responded. "If we lose any backers over this--" He let the threat hang.
"We won't," John said. He looked uneasily over to where Nick sat. "Maybe I'll talk to Roger for a bit."
"He's sleeping," Simon told him. John shrugged. "It'd still be better than watching Nick seethe," he said, squeezing past Simon.
Simon turned to us. "Well?" he said, looking from Andy to me and back again. "Aren't you going to introduce us?"
"I thought you two knew each other," I replied, causing Andy to dissolve into a fit of giggles.
Simon gave me a look. "You think you're pretty funny."
"No," I said, "but Andy seems to."
Andy let out a whoop of laughter and slapped the armrest. "Cat, you're a caution," he said. "You remind me of my sister Lynette. Here, Charley, entertain the lady a minute, will you? I gotta use the, er, facilities."
Simon climbed into Andy's seat, grumbling, "You still haven't introduced us."
"Cat, Charley--Charley, Cat." Andy waved a hand at us. "There, you're introduced."
Simon turned to me. "So, Cat--that's an interesting name." I looked straight into those blue eyes. "Is that what you said to Yasmin?" The blue eyes crinkled as Simon smiled. "You're quite the comedian," he said, trying not to laugh. "Actually, yes, I did say that to Yas. Were you named after the family pet?"
It was my turn to laugh. "It's short for Catriona."
"Well, Catriona, glad to meet you." Simon held out a hand. I shook it. "Same here, Mr. LeBon," I said with teasing formality. Simon shook his head. "Call me Simon," he said. "Hell, call me Charley, everyone else does." He settled back. "Now, I'm supposed to entertain you . . ."
We wound up entertaining each other until the flight attendants started serving dinner, when Simon returned to his seat, promising to be back soon.
I sighed, looking at what was supposed to be poached salmon with wild rice and green beans amandine. Even in first class, it was still airline food. "D'you know what I really miss about home?" I said when Andy gave me a curious look. "Bagels and cream cheese." He started to laugh, then checked himself. "You're serious," he said. I nodded. "For the last six months, I've been dreaming of bagels smothered in cream cheese. But I guess," I picked up my fork, "this will have to do."
After dinner, Simon returned, looking glum. "Bloody Nick," he explained when Andy asked. "Do you know, he's composing press releases? 'Jet-less Set: Duran Stuck in Japan,' 'Plane Bad Planning by Record Company'--that sort of thing."
Dinner, and a couple of glasses of Chardonnay, had mellowed my seatmate's mood: "At least the headlines are clever." Simon pulled a face. "Give it a day or two, and Nick won't care so much about giving 'em the figurative two fingers," Andy continued.
"By then, he'll have sent the releases to every major newspaper in North America."
Andy grinned. "Not if we keep him occupied," he said. "Remember, when we get to L. A., John's gonna want to see Gela and the kids. We'll just send Nick along."
Simon looked at me. "That's why he's the brains of the operation," he joked.
"If you've got a better idea--"
Some good-natured bantering ensued. I sat back, content to be their audience. The rest of the passengers turned a deaf ear. The compartment was less than half full. We were seated near the back, with the other passengers closer to the cockpit.
After a bit, Simon returned to his seat where, so he informed us, Roger was using his laptop to e-mail his family. Andy smiled. "I should do that," he mused. The airplane gave a little buck, and he grabbed at the armrest. "Maybe I'll just wait 'til we're on solid ground."
That little buck was followed by another and another. "What is it?" I said, a little alarmed. Andy looked uneasy. "Turbulence," he said. "Here, do up your lap belt. It probably won't get any worse, but best not to take chances."
The turbulence did get worse; I started to feel queasy. The P. A. crackled into life, and the captain informed us that we were in the midst of an unexpected storm. "We should be through it shortly, folks, there's nothing to worry about."
"Bullshit," Andy muttered. "Biggest load of bullshit I've heard outside a boardroom." I looked a mute question at him. "I've been on hundreds of flights," he said. "I've never experienced turbulence like this."
The plane shuddered, like a horse shaking off flies. A woman screamed; I hoped it wasn't me. "The engine!" Andy closed his eyes. "Oh, God."
The pilot addressed us again. This time, he didn't sound so confident. "I'm afraid a lightning strike has taken out our number-two engine."
The flight attendants, both of them stark white with fear, reminded us of the safety procedures for "landing at sea." Somehow, I managed to put on the flotation device. I could feel the airplane making its descent. Passengers were screaming, weeping, praying. I clutched the armrest. "The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want," I recited. "He maketh me to lie down in green pastures, He?"
"He leadeth me beside the still waters." Andy had joined in with me. He looked sidelong at me, trying to muster a smile, and he squeezed my hand. "He restoreth my soul, He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His Name's sake." I caught his hand in mine and held on tight. "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil . . ."
The airliner hit the water.
Someone shook me. "Cat! Cat, come on, let's go!"
I lifted my head from the crash position, dazed. Water lapped at my ankles. I heard the snick as someone undid my seat belt. Strong hands pulled me to my feet. "It's sinking, c'mon!" An arm around my waist guided me through the pitch-blackness; the electrical system must have failed. The water was up to my knees now. I could hear metallic groans as the airplane shifted and rolled, determined to take us to the bottom with it. I clung to my rescuer.
"Is she all right?" someone else asked.
"I think so."
I looked around then, seeing several concerned faces in the gloom. "Yeah," I managed. "Yes, I'm all right."
"Thank God," said John.
"This way." Simon led us to the nearest exit, a mere patch of lighter black. Andy kept his arm around me, as if he was afraid I might faint. Simon peered through the open door into a driving rain. "I don't see any life rafts." No-one said anything, just looked grim. Simon turned to me. "Can you swim?"
I put on a show of bravado. "I grew up next to the Atlantic Ocean!"
Simon gave me a brief smile that said he saw through my act. "All right, then, let's do it!"
We flung ourselves into the sea. Water closed over my head. I felt like I was going down forever. Panicking, I started to thrash. My lungs ached for air. I opened my eyes and thought I saw a hand reaching for me. I grabbed it and found myself propelled upwards until I managed to swim on my own. My head broke the surface, and I gasped, filling my lungs until they ceased to hurt. I didn't know whose hand had helped me; I couldn't see anyone. Rain pelted down in sheets. I trod water, trying to locate the others. "Guys?" I shouted. "Andy? Simon?"
"Cat!" I floundered about. John trod water beside me, his hair plastered against his skull. "Sorry. Follow me." A few strokes brought us to a piece of the fuselage, to which the others clung. "I found her," John said as we joined them.
"Obviously," replied Nick, his tone the only dry thing about him. Simon looked around. "Is everyone okay?" We all nodded. "Okay," Simon seemed at a loss.
"Look," I said. I'd just spotted an orange life raft bobbing in the storm some distance away. I started shouting and waving.
"You're wasting your breath, Cat." Simon grabbed my arm. "They don't see us."
"We can't just sit here!" I protested.
"We're not gonna just sit here. Look, we're already adrift. If we can hang on--"
"What if we can't?" I snapped. "Who do you want to risk losing, Simon?" I let go of the chunk of flotsam. John and Andy both shouted my name, but I kicked away. I looked back to see Andy struggling to reach me while Simon and Roger restrained him. "I'll be back!" I shouted, but I wasn't sure he heard me.
The airplane was sinking fast. I swam around the down-tilted nose, looking for anything that would help us. That's where I found the co-pilot floating facedown. I tried not to scream. His body was tangled in yellow nylon rope. I followed the rope to a half-inflated life raft that had probably been jettisoned through the windshield along with the co-pilot. Freeing the raft, I hooked an arm through the moorings and towed it back around the nose.
Andy was still thrashing about, trying to get loose of Simon and Roger, when I came in sight of them again. "Here," I panted, pulling alongside. Simon and Roger let go of Andy and grabbed the raft. "Get in," Simon ordered me.
"This is no time for 'women and children first' nonsense!"
"Get in and get the oars. Then use 'em to help us steady her until we're all in."
I struggled with my waterlogged clothing to clamber into the raft. John had to give me a boost. Soon, everyone was safely aboard. I looked at them. "Chivalry isn't dead," I said. "It just looks like a pack of drowned rats."
"Chivalry," replied Simon, sluicing water off his face, to no avail, "had nothing to do with it." He took the oars from me and fitted them into the rowlocks, but kept them shipped. There was nowhere to row. The rain came down harder; I couldn't see the other raft now, could barely make out the shape of the airliner disappearing into the ocean. Water sloshed around the bottom of the raft. I found a collapsible canvas bucket and started bailing.
It didn't take long; there wasn't as much water in the boat as I'd thought. The boat still wasn't floating right, though. As if reading my mind, John said, "Er, Cat, I think we've a puncture somewhere."
I looked at Simon. "Shit," we said together. I scrambled aft. "Find the leak," I said. I'll see if there's an emergency repair kit." I figured there had to be, and there was, along with a first-aid kit and a survival pack in waterproof pouches. The repair kit was similar to that used to fix bicycle tires.
"I've got it," Roger called. I crawled to where he knelt. He indicated a spot where air bubbled through the rainwater, near the bottom of the side wall. Between the two of us, we managed to patch the sizeable tear, but I didn't think it would last long.
Finished, we sat back, and I checked the view. The airplane was no longer in sight. "Did it sink?" I wondered aloud.
"Probably," Simon replied, "but we've drifted away from it, too."
"How far?"
He shrugged. "I don't know the currents here, how fast they run. At a guess, I'd say we're moving at a half-knot an hour; the plane's maybe a nautical mile back."
We drifted through the night. The rain slackened to a drizzle at some point, and we were able to get the life raft bailed out. The six of us huddled together for warmth, our wet clothes making hypothermia a distinct possibility.
I awoke with the rising sun in my eyes. I wriggled out from between Roger and John and sat up, blinking. The sea stretched to either horizon, as flat and blue as the sky above. The only sounds were those made by the men around me, by the boat as it drifted through the water, and by a bird.
I frowned and looked up, scanning the sky. A small white smudge caught my eye. I reached over and shook Simon. "What?" he groused, sounding half-asleep.
"Look," I pointed. Simon sat up and squinted at the sky. "I don't--" He broke off, then looked at me. "Is that what I think it is?" I asked.
"A bird?" We grinned and high-fived each other. "Yes!"
"What?" John was awake now, bleary brown eyes watching us grin like idiots.
"We've just spotted a bird," Simon announced.
"Didn't know you'd taken up bird watching." Nick, too, had awoken. His sarcasm wasn't enough to dull our excitement. Simon looked at him, raising an eyebrow. "For your information, my friend, sea birds never stray far from shore."
At this, everyone sat up with a babble of questions. Simon made a shushing gesture with both hands. "All I know is that there's land somewhere within five miles of us."
"So, what now?" Roger asked.
"We drift," Simon replied with a shrug. "Drift, and hope the current brings us to the shore."
"Meantime," I said, opening the survival pack, "breakfast, anyone?"
The sun had reached its zenith when John, who was taking his turn as lookout, called, "Land ho!" He turned when some of us started to snicker. "Well, isn't that what you're supposed to say?"
"If you're a pirate," I said. Andy and Nick laughed; I think the heat had made us a bit giddy. John pulled a face, then started to laugh as well.
Simon was at the oars in a moment, enlisting Roger to help. The life raft was an ungainly think, though, better suited to aimless drifting than active direction. In an attempt to balance things, Simon sent Nick to the bow with John while ordering Andy and me to stay in the stern. Things seemed to go along all right for a while, then the raft started to deflate. "The patch isn't holding," Roger said.
"I was afraid of that," I muttered.
"Just keep rowing," Simon insisted. "We haven't that much farther to go. Cat, can you do something about it?"
I crawled to the puncture, where the patch fluttered in the breeze like a bad-luck pennant. I tried sticking it back down, but it wouldn't stay. Desperate, I pulled off a sock and jammed it into the tear. "Row faster," I said, "'cause this won't last long."
Water was coming in over the gunwales as we reached shallow water. We tumbled out and waded to shore, where we beached the raft, then flopped to the ground as a group. "Well," said Nick after several minutes' rest, "what next?"
We looked at each other. "We should find shelter," I suggested when no-one else said anything. "Or build one. And we'll need food and fresh water," I added, gaining confidence from Simon's thoughtful nod. "A fire, too."
"Right, then." Simon rose. "First things first. We need firewood."
"First things first," said Andy, reaching into his jacket, "I need a fag." He fished out his cigarettes, only to find them soaked with seawater. "Ah, fuck!" He glared at the pack for a long moment, then gave a philosophical shrug. "Ah, well, Tracey's been at me for years to quit." He made as if to toss them away, then changed his mind and jammed the cigarettes back into his pocket.
Scouring the shoreline, we gathered a sizeable pile of driftwood. Nick grumbled all the while. Andy's lighter hadn't sustained much damage, so Simon used it to set the tinder alight. "We'll keep it small for now," he said. "We'll have to wait for tomorrow for that shelter. How does our food and water look?"
"Still have some," I replied. I'd retrieved the survival pack from the raft. "Not a great deal, though." I divided what was left amongst the six of us.
When it got too dark to see, we bedded down around the fire. Andy settled himself beside me and called over Roger. "We're your bodyguards for the night," he explained as Roger made himself comfortable on my left. "In case there's anything predatory about, like Charley over there." His grin flashed in the gloom.
"Fuck off, Taylor!" Simon growled, but there was a hint of laughter in his tone.
I thanked Andy for his concern. "I think anything predatory will stay away from the fire, though," I added, settling down between them.
"Hope so," Roger muttered, and he rolled over to face the nearby woods.
The crab was staring at me with its stalked eyes when I woke. The size of a dinner-plate, it waved its claws before sidling towards the water.
I slid out from under the arm that Andy had thrown over me at some point in the night and went after it. I tossed my jacket over the crab, gathering crustacean and all into a makeshift bag. I let out an involuntary whoop of triumph, which woke Nick. He stared at me as if I'd just arrived in a spaceship. "What in God's name are you doing?"
"Hunting." I thrust the jacket/bag at him. "I've got a crab in here."
"That's lovely." Sarcasm spiked his tone. "How d'you propose to cook it? It's not as if there's a handy stew-pot about."
"Well, I--" All I could do was wave my catch around, feeling helpless. I wanted to cry. Nick had just deflated me with one sharp dig. "At least I'm doing something!" I snapped. "You've done nothing but piss and moan about everything."
The others had woken by now; I felt their eyes on us. "You managed to point out every little nit-picky thing that's wrong." I threw jacket and crab at Nick; he scrambled out of the way. "If you've got a better idea, fine!" I stormed off down the beach.
"Cat!" Andy caught up to me after a couple hundred yards. "C'mon, love, don't go off by yourself. You don't know what's out there."
"Don't care," I muttered.
"Aw, Cat." He put an arm around my shoulders. "Don't pay Nick any mind. He's like that with everyone. It's part of his persona, like."
"It's a pretty unpleasant part."
"It is that." We walked in silence for a bit. "You wanna go back now?" Andy asked.
I sighed. "I suppose. We don't want to worry them."
Andy gave me a little squeeze. "That's my girl."
John and Nick were in heated conversation when we arrived, which John broke off. "Cat, are you all right?" he asked, coming over to us. I nodded. John glanced at Nick. "We're just trying to decided what to do with your, er, catch of the day."
"Throw it back," I said. I didn't look at Nick, not wanting to see his smug expression when I admitted defeat. I picked up my jacket and gave it a shake. The crab tumbled out and scuttled for the water. When I turned, John was glaring at Nick. He stopped when he caught me looking. "We should split up," I said. "Some of us should look for food and water, and the rest should work on the shelter."
"Right," said Andy. "Cat, let's you and I do the hunting and gathering. You seem to have a knack for it. You, too, Rog." Roger rose from his seat in the sand, brushing dirt from his trousers. We trooped across the beach, heading for the jungle at the centre of the island, leaving Simon, John, and Nick to deal with the complexities of construction. We each carried our meagre rations in our pockets. "Fresh water first," I determined.
We pushed through the undergrowth, speaking little. The air grew oppressive, almost solid, the deeper in we went. Andy marked our path with broken branches, occasionally tying a vine around a tree. After we'd gone a half-mile or so, I heard burbling and aimed for the sound. Within a few paces, we found water bubbling up amongst the rocks. I dipped my hand in for a taste. "Fresh. And it's coming out of a spring, so it's clean, too."
Marking the spring well, we went out along the same path, making doubly sure of it. We wandered around the fringes of the forest, keeping to the shade, while we searched for food. Some of the plants bore fruit, but I didn't recognize them. "Could be poisonous," I warned Andy as he stripped a handful of red berries from a shrub. He dropped them like hot coals.
"Those aren't," Roger said. He'd stopped beneath a palm tree, and now he pointed into its branches.
"Bananas," I said.
"That's a long way up," Andy noted. I walked around the tree, laying my hand on the slippery, scaly bark. "Give me a boost," I said. "I might be able to climb up."
"You'll need something to cut them down," Roger said. "I saw folk in the Caribbean, and they had machetes."
"Maybe if we shake the tree hard enough," Andy mused. "They look pretty ripe."
"They'll bruise," I protested.
"Better them than you," Andy replied. He positioned Roger and me around the tree, then took his place. "On three," he said. "One, two, three!" We put our backs into it. It took several tries, but the bananas began to fall. Once we'd knocked down enough, we headed back to camp with them, where we found Simon and John working on the shelter. We loaded the bananas into the deflated remains of the life raft, now serving as storage. "Where's Nick?" Roger asked. Simon gestured with his head, his hands occupied with wrapping salvaged rope around large pieces of driftwood. "Gone for thatching," he said.
"How's it coming?" Andy wanted to know. John stepped back and gestured. "What d'you think?"
Andy and I looked at each other. "Er, honestly?" Andy said.
"It looks like Eeyore's house," I said and watched Andy try not to laugh. John put his head to one side and narrowed his eyes, giving the shelter a long, considering look. "It'll look better once it's thatched."
"You hope," Andy muttered sotto voce; I barely bit back the laughter that threatened
I grabbed his arm before he could say anything else. "C'mon, let's see what else on this island is edible," I said. "Roger, are you coming?" Roger fell into step with us.
We headed down the beach in the opposite direction this time. More banana palms lined the shore; we shook down a few more. I recognized a plant from a trip to Hawaii. "That's taro. They make poi from it."
"Yum," said Andy without enthusiasm.
"It's better than nothing," Roger said, helping me dig up some of the tubers.
Of course, we found coconuts, applying our banana-gathering technique to these as well, limes, oranges, and other citrus fruits. We brought back as much as we could carry and deposited our finds in the raft. "Nick's not back yet?" Andy asked.
"No, and I'm starting to worry," said John. "I mean, it's not a very big island; he couldn't have got lost, except in his own thoughts, maybe."
Andy heaved a sigh. "I suppose we'd better go look for him."
"I'll stay here, in case he comes back," Roger offered.
"Right," Simon agreed. "Andy, you're with me. John, you go with Cat." Each pair took a direction and struck off.
"D'you remember which way he went?" I asked my partner. John shook his head, then ran a hand through his long brown hair. "To be honest, I wasn't really paying attention. Nick moaned non-stop all morning, and when Simon sent him for thatching, I was glad. I mean, he's my best friend and all, but it wears on a fellow after a while. And," he looked at me, "I wasn't exactly pleased with how he treated you." He shook his head again. "Of course, now I wish I'd seen him leave."
We pushed into the undergrowth, on a parallel path to the one Andy, Roger, and I had made that morning. We walked slowly, testing our footing, calling Nick by name every few paces and hoping for an answer. "God," John muttered. "What if he can't hear us? What if he's--" he swallowed hard "--he's unconscious, or something?" The "something" remained unspoken. I looked into John's anxious brown eyes and tried for a reassuring smile. "I'm sure he's okay," I said. "Maybe he just got turned around in the woods."
We soon found ourselves going uphill. We kept calling. At last, there was a faint reply, ahead and to the right. "Johnny? Cat?"
"Nick!" John bolted in the direction of the voice. I followed, trying to keep up with his long strides. "John, be careful!" I called.
"John, don't! Stay back!" Nick's voice was sharp with command, but it contained an underlying note of fear. "I don't want you down here, too."
I caught up to John, who grabbed me by the arm. "Watch it," he said, pulling me back as my foot slipped over the edge. A crevasse opened in the volcanic rock at our feet, about ten feet deep and perhaps six wide. At the bottom stood Nick, looking up at us. "How'd you get down there?" I asked, possibly the stupidest question ever.
"The same way you and John almost did," Nick snapped. He sighed. "I didn't watch where I was going . . . oh, God, just get me out."
John looked as though he might dive into the fissure. "John," I said, "go back to camp and get some rope. Bring Roger, too, and Andy and Simon, if you see them. We're gonna need help." For a moment, I thought he would refuse, but John nodded once and hurried off. I listened to him crash through the undergrowth, then turned back to Nick. "Are you hurt?" I asked.
"No," Nick said. "A little bruised, maybe."
"That's fortunate."
Nick muttered agreement and started to pace. I noticed he limped. "Are you sure you're all right?"
"Of course I'm bloody well not," he responded in a waspish tone. "I'm stuck down here!"
"John'll be back soon," I assured. I sat down, dangling my feet over the edge. Nick saw me. "Cat, don't you dare!"
"Dare what?" I asked, innocent as an angel, just before I dropped in with him.
"That, you stupid cow!" Nick had gone pale, and his green eyes glittered. "Now they'll have to rescue both of us. Just bloody marvellous!" He tried to stalk away from me, but his limp made him look more comical than angry. "Nick, sit down," I said. "No-one has to rescue me."
Nick glared at me. "Are you implying that I'm helpless?"
"Of course not," I said. "Just that you're hurt, and I'm not. D'you think I came down here just to spend time with the biggest misery-guts on the island? Now, sit." Still glaring, Nick found a seat on a boulder. I went to him. "You did more than bruise yourself when you fell." I crouched beside him and examined his left ankle. He yelped when I touched it. I looked up. "You landed on it when you fell," I guessed. Nick nodded, clenching his jaw. "It's swollen," I told him, "but since you were walking on it, I'm pretty sure it's not broken."
I straightened. "That's why I came down. You're gonna need someone helping from here to get out. If I'd waited, one of the guys would've tried to stop me."
"Too bad they hadn't." Nick refused to look at me. I shook my head. "Well, you're stuck with me." I had no desire for further verbal wrangling with him. I walked back to the rocky face of the drop-off to await John's return.
I'd spent about ten minutes studying the rock wall for foot- and hand-holds I could use to climb out, when Nick cleared his throat quietly. "Cat?"
"Yes, Nick?" I kept scanning the rock-face. It had been a while since I'd last gone climbing.
"Er, I--that is, I mean to say--"
"Don't bother apologizing."
"I wasn't," he protested. "Well, I was, but--what the hell are you smiling about?"
"The genuine ridiculousness of our predicament," I said. "Do you realize how many women would give their right arms to be stranded on a desert island with Duran Duran?"
We were still laughing when John returned. "Cat?" he called. "Cat, where are you?"
"Down here!" I shouted. He peered over the edge. "Good God! What're you doing down there? Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine," I replied. "I jumped in voluntarily. Nick sprained his ankle." John turned to consult with someone out of my sight. "Who's with you?" I asked.
"Me," said Roger, joining John at the edge of the crevasse. "Simon and Andy haven't come back yet."
"We should be able to manage," I said. "You brought rope?" John brandished a coil of yellow nylon rope. "Got it off the raft."
"Hang on a moment." I went back to Nick. "How's that ankle feel?"
"Truth? Worse than it did," he replied. I helped him to his feet. "Okay, John, drop the rope," I said when we reached the spot below our rescuers. "Give me plenty of slack. Tie the other end to a tree. Great, Roger." I fashioned a sling out of the rope's free end. "Just sit in it," I instructed Nick. "Ready?" He gave me a nod. "Okay, guys, pull him up."
In a few minutes, John tossed the rope to me. I tied it around my waist, using it as a safety-line as I climbed out. "That was fun," I grinned, back on solid ground.
John and Roger carried Nick back to camp, one on either side. Once there, I dug out the first-aid kit. I wrapped Nick's ankle in elastic bandages. "You should probably soak it in the ocean; the cold will take the swelling down," I suggested.
"Thank you, Doctor McDonough," Nick replied, sounding sardonic. I narrowed my eyes. "No, really--thanks," he softened his tone.
Andy and Simon returned soon afterwards; both were glad to see Nick safe, if not sound. Simon and John finished the shelter while Roger, Andy, and I gathered palm fronds for thatching. The shelter still looked Eeyore-ish, but at least it provided a fairly weatherproof refuge, just big enough for all of us. However, we slept again around the campfire.
I awoke the next morning to shouts of laughter. I sat up, shaking sand out of my clothing, and found Nick sitting nearby. He smiled. "Good morning," he said. He tilted his head in the direction of the noise. "They've gone swimming."
"Not a bad idea," I replied. "I know I could use a bath." I stood, brushing sand off my jeans. "How's your ankle?"
"Better, thanks," he said. "I found some aspirin in the first-aid kit. Are you going swimming in your clothes?"
"No," I said. "But I'm not gonna undress in front of you, either." I found a secluded spot away from the others, stripped to my underwear, and dove in. I swam until I felt clean, then dragged my clothes on over my wet skin.
Back at camp, I found the guys tucking into a breakfast of bananas and oranges; Simon was trying to split open a coconut. "Thought we might have to send out a search party," Andy greeted, tossing me a banana. I peeled it and took a bite. "Went swimming."
"So Nick said." John came over as I sat down and crouched beside me. "Look," he began softly, "don't go off alone like that, okay? I mean, what if you'd got into trouble, an undertow, whatever?"
"Pardon my modesty," I said.
"I'm serious, Cat. Safety in numbers."
I looked at Andy, whose expression was somber. "We don't want to lose you, love," he said.
I nodded. "Okay. No more going off alone, I promise." We were interrupted by a triumphant cry; Simon had managed to crack the coconut. Andy started to laugh. "Thinks he's in Castaway, he does."
After breakfast, Andy and John left to gather firewood, while Roger, Simon, and I tried to repair the life raft. "There's no way to re-inflate it," Roger said, examining it from stem to stern.
"Patching would be a waste of time," I agreed. Simon stared at the raft, as if willing it to re-inflate. "We need some way of getting off this island," he insisted.
"Be reasonable, Charley," Roger said. "Even if we could use the raft, we can't very well sail off in it. There's no telling how far we are from civilization."
"We're much better off here," I added. "You know there are search teams out there now, Simon. It's just a matter of time."
"I'd still rather be doing something," Simon growled in frustration.
"Then find a way to signal the rescue-planes when they come," I said. "Roger and I are going for water."
We trekked to the freshwater spring, carrying as many empty bottles as we could manage. We didn't talk much. Roger had always struck me as the quiet type, and he hadn't done anything to dispel that image. Ours was a companionable silence, though. As we knelt by the spring, filling the last of the bottles, I heard something in the undergrowth. "What's that?"
Roger cocked his head to listen. "Dunno," he said. "But it sounds big."
"Worse, it sounds like it's headed this way."
Without another word, we finished our task and gathered the bottles. Just as we stepped away from the spring, a large creature burst from the brush on the other side. "Oh, my God," I whispered in awe.
"Wild boar," Roger murmured.
The boar bent its massive dark head to the spring. The animal probably weighed upwards of five hundred pounds; two wicked tusks curved out of its jaw like scimitars. I stood frozen, staring in fascination as it raised its head again, snuffling the air. Roger prodded me with an elbow. "C'mon, Cat." We moved slowly at first, trying not to alert the boar, but before long, we were running. We didn't stop until we reached camp, where John and Andy were adding to the depleted woodpile. "What in God's name!" Andy exclaimed. "You two look as if all the demons in Hell and then some were after you."
In turns, we explained what we'd encountered at the spring. I watched both of them turn pale at the prospect of sharing the island with such a beast. "What do we do now?" John asked.
"Stay out of its bloody way," Andy replied.
"It probably sticks to the deep woods," I said. "The spring is a common watering hole. We'll just have to be extra careful when we're there."
The others agreed. Roger went to tell Simon about the boar, and I stashed the water bottles in the life raft. "Where's Nick?"
"Over there," Andy said with a cant of his head. "Taking your advice about his ankle." Nick sat on a rocky outcropping, some distance away, dangling his injured foot in the cold ocean. "He wasn't much use 'round here," Andy added, "so we sent him off."
Roger rejoined us. "How'd Simon take the news?" I asked. He shrugged. "Like Simon," he said, as if that explained everything. "He's still working out a way to signal aircraft. I think he's looking for enough rocks to spell 'HELP'."
I left them and headed to where Nick sat. "Hey, Nick."
He looked up. "Hello," he said. I sat beside him. "What's up?" I asked.
Nick regarded me with an amused expression. "Not a great deal," he replied. "Was there something you wanted?" I shook my head and turned my gaze to the horizon.
"There's nothing out there," Nick broke in on my thoughts some minutes later. I glanced over and found him studying the horizon, too. "Not a boat, not a plane--hell, not even a cloud."
"They'll come," I said.
Nick gave a wry chuckle.
"Really . . ." I bridled. "They just haven't widened their search yet."
"We've been here, what, three days, and no-one's come yet. Face it, Cat--we're stuck."
"They'll find us."
"They might if they look for us, but they're not looking."
I felt my temper snap. "You are the most infuriating man!"
"I'm only saying--"
"You're saying too damn much!" I clambered to my feet and walked away. "Cat!" Nick called. I refused to look back.
Andy and John sprawled in the sand, relaxing after their labours. Andy looked up at me. "Uh-oh," he said. "Something's turned our sunshine into a thundercloud." I scowled at him, and he raised a hand as if to ward me off.
John sat up. "What's wrong?" he asked, then answered his own question. "Ah, right. You've been talking to Nick."
"He's impossible to talk to!"
"You should stop trying," Andy chipped in. "Works for me."
John smiled. "It's not impossible to talk to Nick," he said. "It's just . . . very difficult at times."
"All the time," Andy and I said together. John just shook his head. "Never mind," he said, getting to his feet. "I was going to try my luck at fishing. Want to join me?" I shrugged. "I've nothing better to do." John turned to Andy. He lifted his sunglasses to return the look. "What do you think?"
"You'll end up cleaning whatever I catch."
Andy dropped his sunglasses back into place. "Fuck I will," he growled. John shrugged. "C'mon, Cat."
He'd cut a slender branch from a tree and outfitted it with thread and a bent safety pin from the first-aid kit. We found a likely spot, another finger of volcanic rock that pointed into the sea. John baited his hook with some beef jerky from the survival kit and tossed it into the water, then sat beside me to await the results.
After a while, I stretched out on my back, clasping my hands beneath my head. We were in shade here, a ledge of basalt projecting over us like a parasol. "So why'd you ask me along?" I queried; John hadn't said a word since he had sat down.
He shushed me. "You'll scare off the fish."
"Nonsense," I scoffed. He gave me a sweet, boyish grin. "You need to relax, Cat."
"And here I thought you were gonna reveal the mysteries of life, the universe, and Nick Rhodes."
John laughed. "The answer is forty-two." I snorted, most unladylike, and reached over to swat his arm.
"I'll let you in on a little secret," John said, after a silence. "Nick enjoys teasing people. He likes to push their buttons, get a reaction. He's been known to deliberately start a row, just to see what'll happen."
"He likes to play devil's advocate," I said. John nodded. "Just so."
"But why's he picking on me?" I could hear the whine in my voice; I sounded like a ten-year-old.
John sighed, taking his time about answering. "I think he's trying to pull you down to his level," he said. "He probably thinks he's doing you a favour, not letting you get your hopes up." He paused for a long moment. "Of course, I could be completely wrong. His attitude might be about something else altogether."
John refused to elaborate, even though I pestered him, and turned his attention to the fish. He did quite well, catching enough for a decent supper, though it took all afternoon. The others were surprised by the aroma of cooking fish when they arrived back at camp. I'd skewered the fish on wet sticks and put them over the fire. Once they were done, I laid them on banana-leaves that we used as plates. "What is it?" Simon asked. "I mean, what sort of fish."
"Haven't a clue," I said.
"Hope it's edible," Nick muttered. I frowned, but John smiled at me and shook his head. He took a bite. "Whatever it is, it's delicious."
The next day was much like the ones before: we fetched water and food and tried to keep the situation bearable. We took turns watching for rescue. Simon wanted to build a signal fire on one of the volcanic outcroppings, but Roger convinced him to wait. "Give it another day," he told the singer. "If nothing's happened, then we'll do it."
Our fifth day on the island started out like the other four. I woke to find Andy already up. He sat nearby, staring out to sea. "'Morning," I yawned.
"Yeah," he murmured.
I didn't like what I heard in his voice. I sat up, wide-awake. "What's the matter?"
Andy lowered his head and gave a bitter laugh. "What's the matter," he echoed. He sighed. "Every-bloody-thing."
I went to him. "What d'you mean?" I asked, sitting beside him. Andy didn't answer me right away. "I woke up this morning," he began at last, "and it hit me." He looked at me. "They think we're dead."
"They just haven't covered this sector yet," I insisted. "They'll find us." Andy shook his head. "They think we're dead," he repeated. That's when I noticed the photo in his hand. "Andy--" I put my hand on his arm.
"That's what they've told our families," he went on. "God, Cat, Tracey and the kids think I'm dead!" I wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "No way," I said. "If Tracey's even half the woman I think she is, she won't believe them without solid proof." I smiled, hoping to encourage him. "And she's got to be twice any mortal woman, to put up with you, so there you are." I saw Andy smile in spite of himself, and he nodded. "Yeah, she is--she's the best," he said. "I hope you're right."
"Of course I am," I replied, trying to sound indignant. He chuckled, putting his arm around me. "You are some piece of work, Cat McDonough," he said. "Your Peter was a right fool."
We sat together a while longer, watching the sun creep over the horizon. I fetched oranges from the raft. "You okay now?" I asked, handing him one. He thanked me and started to peel it. "Yeah, fine now, love."
I'd just bitten into a section of my orange when I sensed someone approaching. Andy looked up, and his expression hardened. "Hullo," he said, his tone flat. I glanced up as Nick sat down next to me. "Hullo," he responded. "I heard you talking earlier."
"Not one word," I snapped. "I don't want to hear one so-called 'realistic' word come out of your mouth right now." Nick put up his hands as if in surrender. "I was just going to say I hope you're right," he said. "I don't fancy the idea of someone telling Tati her dad's dead."
I couldn't say anything to that. The three of us sat there until the sun cleared the horizon, then I got up, brushing the beach off my jeans. "Come on," I said. "There's plenty to do around here."
"I'm building that signal fire," Simon announced over breakfast. "We've waited long enough." John offered to help build it. Roger, Andy, and I decided to gather wood for it, right after we did the usual food and water runs. Nick looked apologetic. "I'm afraid I'm not much use with this ankle," he said. "I suppose I could try fishing."
John laughed. "Nick, have you ever fished before?"
"How hard could it be?" Nick countered. "You did it."
"I'm not bloody cleaning 'em," Andy muttered. "C'mon." Roger and I followed him out of camp. We picked the usual bananas, oranges, and taro plants, then started gathering wood for the signal fire; John and Simon had collected enough to start it, but not enough to feed it. We used the life raft to carry the wood, after stowing our food and water in the shelter.
"That's it," said Roger. The sun was drifting towards the western horizon. He surveyed the enormous pile of wood we'd dumped on the basalt ledge beneath which John and I had gone fishing. Simon had opted to build his signal fire here, since it was the most visible point on the island. "There's nothing left to burn, once you go through this," Roger continued.
"With any luck, we won't get through all this," Simon replied. "That is the whole point, after all." He tossed a couple of sticks into his fire. "If worse comes to worst, we can move the campsite here."
"Now he talks about worst-case scenarios," Andy said. "Right, let's go see if Nick managed to catch anything."
Nick's catch was considerably smaller than John's but no less welcome. We ate well again that night.
As the sky darkened, I stretched out on the sand near the fire. There was a chill in the air that hadn't been there earlier, and I shivered. "You okay, Cat?" Roger asked, sitting beside me.
"Yeah," I said. "Just kinda cold." Roger looked up, scanning the sky, while from the other side of the fire, John said, "There's cloud rolling in from the west. Might be another storm."
"God, let's hope not," Andy responded. "I'm not sure that so-called shelter could stand up to it."
Simon jogged back into camp, having been to tend the signal fire. "Guys," he said, "there's a storm coming."
"I believe we were just discussing that," Nick said.
"It's moving fast," Simon went on, ignoring Nick's comment, "and it's probably gonna blow in hard. We have to shore up that shelter and get our supplies under cover, and do it now."
We scrambled to our feet. Roger and I dealt with the supplies, taking several trips to carry everything farther up the beach, beyond the high-water mark, where we dug a shallow hole. We dumped the gear and food in, covered it with the life raft, and threw sand on top to weight it down.
Returning to camp, we found the others doing their best to strengthen the shelter: piling sand around its base, making certain of the bindings, and adding more thatch to keep out the rain. Simon then drafted John and Roger to help him move the firewood underneath the ledge, where it would remain relatively dry.
"What about the fire?" I wondered aloud to Nick and Andy. The wind had picked up, blowing from the southwest and bringing with it the strong smells of rain and ozone. Andy shrugged. "Nothing we can do."
"We should probably get under cover ourselves," Nick advised. Andy and I agreed, and we crawled into the shelter, which had been built over a hollow in the sand. There was room enough to sit upright, Andy and I on one side and Nick on the other. I listened to the wind howl around our rough shelter and shuddered. "It's okay, Cat," Andy murmured, putting an arm around my shoulders. "We'll be all right."
"Shouldn't they be back by now?" Nick asked a few minutes later. I glanced at Andy, who peered into the blackness at the shelter's entrance. "Yeah," he replied in a quiet voice.
I heard a noise behind us. "Is that them?" I hoped. Andy shook his head, then we exchanged looks. "Oh, shit," we muttered. Nick frowned at us. "What is it?"
"That noise outside," Andy said. "It's not the guys."
"So?"
"There's only one other thing on this island it could be."
Nick appeared to consider this. "Oh, shit. It's that wild boar, isn't it?" Andy and I nodded. "I thought you said it wouldn't come out of the forest," Nick said. I shrugged. "Maybe the storm's driven it out," I said.
"And the guys are out there with it," Andy put in.
"D'you suppose they've seen it already, and that's why they haven't come in?" I asked. Andy shrugged. "Could be," he said.
I crawled to the entrance and looked out. The fire had burned low and now cast only a faint circle of reddish light on the sand. A sudden bolt of lightning shot across the sky, lending daylight for a moment. Simon, Roger, and John trooped across the sand, fighting the wind every step. My shout to them was swallowed by a clap of thunder.
"They can't hear me," I reported to Nick and Andy. "Andy, can you hear the boar now?" Andy leant out the other end of the shelter. "Can't hear anything but the bloody wind," he replied. "I--shit! There it is!"
"You sure?" I asked; Andy nodded. "Where is it?"
He looked at me. "Rooting 'round where you an' Rog buried the food."
"Damn it," I growled. "Well, fine. If he stays over there, maybe I can run and get the guys before it sees them."
Andy crawled to the entrance, pushing past me. "I'll do it," he said. "You stay here. Keep an eye on that boar, and yell if it starts to come for us."
"Andy!" I started after him, only to find Nick had hold of me. "For once, do as you're told," he said. He put his arm around my waist and pulled me back from the entrance with a strength that surprised me. He made me sit at the rear opening, blocking any escape out the front. I glared at him. "God, you're infuriating!"
"I believe you've mentioned that."
I let out a growl of frustration and turned to the opening, looking for the boar. Nick said nothing more, but I was acutely aware of his presence, still sensing the unexpected pressure of his arm. I leant outside, pushing those thoughts to the back of my mind, and searched the dark for the animal that lurked there.
After a few minutes, I found it. The boar still poked around our food supplies, evidently trying to figure out how to get at them. As I watched, he snorted at the raft, stepped one way and the other, then began to dig.
Abruptly, he stopped and lifted his head. Seeming to test the wind, he swung his head in a slow arc. It was then that I realized the wind had shifted. "Oh, God, he can smell them."
"What?" Nick said. The boar turned for the beach. I pushed Nick towards the entrance. "Go," I said. "Yell at them, tell them the boar is headed their way." Before he could say or do anything, I flung myself out the back.
I saw the boar trotting towards the shoreline, picking up speed. Running after him, I started to shout. The boar halted, then swung in my direction. By now, I could see the others, clustered together. Andy broke from the group, shouting at me. I ignored him. Yelling, I waved my arms, desperate to draw the boar away from the guys.
The boar turned back to where Andy now shouted to pull his attention from me. I swore under my breath. "Andy, don't do this." I raised my voice. "Andy, go back! Go back! Get inside!"
The boar shifted his attention to me.
"Cat, it's too dangerous! Get back in the shelter!" Andy yelled.
The boar swung his head towards Andy.
I stood my ground. "Sorry, Andy!" I gave a piercing whistle, and the boar wheeled. "C'mon, piggy, piggy," I muttered, trotting backwards. I saw Andy gesture in frustration as the boar followed me, first at a walk, then a trot. Just as it broke into a gallop, I turned and ran for all I was worth towards the trees.
I hadn't gone fifty yards before I stumbled. I fell hard, knocking the air out of my lungs. I couldn't get up, couldn't even breathe for the moment. Somehow, I managed to roll onto my back. The boar came at me like a freight train.
Light glimmered to my left. A figure came out of the shadows, brandishing a torch. The boar halted, snorting, wary of the flame. The torchbearer made a couple of feints towards the boar, stabbing at it with the burning end. The animal backed up a step or two, then tried to dodge past him. This time, the torch found its mark, hitting the boar in the face. The stench of burnt flesh and singed hair hit my nostrils, and I almost gagged. The animal's squeals filled the air. The beast retreated to the trees.
"Cat! My God! Cat, are you all right?" My saviour knelt beside me, dropping his torch, taken from the dying campfire. He put his arms around me. "Cat, say something--dear God, please!"
I lifted my head. "Yes, Nick, I'm all right."
"Thank Christ." Nick held me close for a long moment. "Andy'd never have forgiven me . . . can you stand?" I nodded and did so with his help. Nick took up his torch again, and we limped back to the shelter just as the clouds opened up.
Andy grabbed me in a bear hug. "Don't you ever do anything like that again!" he ordered, his voice breaking. I shook my head. "And you," he continued, looking at Nick. "You are the maddest son-of-a-bitch I've ever known, except me."
"Okay, enough happy reunion," I said through chattering teeth. "Let's get inside." Lightning split the sky, adding an exclamation point.
We spent an uncomfortable night crammed into the shelter. The best thing was that our combined body heat slowly dried our clothing. Once the storm passed, we were able to sleep. I awoke the next morning with my head in Nick's lap. Andy slept at my feet, stretched across the back opening.
"He's been there all night," Nick said. I looked up, startled. He smiled. "I'm not sure if he's trying to keep us in, or that boar out."
"Both," Andy mumbled. He yawned, sat up, and stretched. Peering outside, he added, "Looks like we made it through another night." He crawled out.
"I think there's a son in there somewhere," Simon joked as he went out the front. John and Roger looked at us, then exchanged glances and followed him.
Outside, we surveyed the storm damage. Simon puffed up like a rooster, pointing out how our shelter had withstood the battering rain and wind. Andy countered by reminding him that if they hadn't shored up the walls, the whole thing would have collapsed on us, and that the thatch leaked. Simon stalked off, muttering about checking the signal fire.
After breakfast, Roger and John tidied the campsite and fetched firewood; Andy and Simon went for food; and I headed for the spring, taking Nick along at his insistence. "Have I said thank you for what you did last night?" I asked him as we filled the last of the water bottles. Nick glanced at me, ironical expression intact. "I don't believe so."
"Consider it said, then." I looked sidelong at him, watching his mouth twitch with what I could only assume was amusement. "Why'd you do it, anyway?"
Nick didn't answer me right away. "I told you, Andy wouldn't have forgiven me if I'd let anything happen to you."
I stood, gathering my bottles. "You risked your neck so Andy wouldn't get upset?" Nick shrugged. I shook my head. "Then you really are a crazy bastard."
When we got back to camp, we found John and Roger staring out to sea. "What is it?" I asked. John shook his head a little. "We don't quite know," he said. "Maybe my eyes are playing tricks on me--"
"If yours are, then so are mine," Roger interrupted. "Cat, what do you see?" He pointed. I looked hard. "Nothing," I said. "Wait a sec'--something's moving out there."
"I think it's a boat," Nick added.
"Ship," Simon corrected as he and Andy returned with armloads of fruit. "Where?" In response, Roger and I pointed. Simon squinted in the glare. "There's something there," he agreed, "but I don't know what."
"Let's shoot off a flare, let 'em know we're here," Andy said. Simon shook his head. "Not yet."
Andy snarled an oath. He ducked into the shelter, where we'd stored the first-aid and survival kits after digging them up, and emerged with the flare-gun, loading it as he approached. He fired into the air, despite Simon's protests; the flare burst into a bright shower of sparks. "Now let's see what happens," he said.
Within half an hour by Simon's watch, I heard the faint drone of aircraft engines. An airplane with search-and-rescue markings passed overhead. We shouted and waved; Andy fired a second flare. The plane banked, made another pass over us, then flew off.
"Didn't they see us?" I cried in disbelief, watching the plane disappear. Simon put a hand on my shoulder. "Of course they did. Look." The ship we had spotted earlier had altered its course.
Two hours later, she lay at anchor while two of her crew ushered us into a Zodiac and motored back out to her. We were welcomed aboard by a United States Navy captain, who told us he would deliver us to the base in Guam. "We'll get you on a military flight going out tomorrow," he added.
Night had fallen by the time we reached Guam. We were met by an admiral, examined by a doctor, then whisked off to accommodations. I tumbled into bed and fell promptly asleep.
The military flight took us to Los Angeles, with a brief stop in Hawaii. The media had been alerted, of course; John had phoned from the naval base, and the record company insisted that the guys make a statement. We faced the glare of cameras and the reporters that yelped questions at us. Simon gave the statement, as brief as he could make it, to the effect that we were reasonably well, considering our ordeal, and that the tour would resume as soon as possible. At the end, he put an arm around me and added, "If it weren't for Cat here, we'd never have made it. She's the heroine of this story."
"Thanks, Simon," I said wryly as we made for the waiting limousines. "Just what I always wanted, to be the chum in a media feeding frenzy." Simon grinned. "Welcome to our world," he responded.
At the hotel, the guys were reunited with their families. I watched Andy try to gather Tracey and all four kids in one embrace and smiled. John, Simon, and Roger had been surrounded by wives and children; Nick had pulled his daughter close the moment he'd seen her amongst the others.
I'd started to make my way to the room the record company had reserved for me when Andy shouted my name. "Cat McDonough, where the hell d'you think you're going?" Before I could come up with a good retort, I found myself swamped. Tracey Taylor threw her arms around me. "Thank you," she said. "Andy told me what you did for him and the guys."
"Honestly, I didn't do much," I protested. "Andy saved me--he got me out of the plane." Tracey shook her head. "Andy's right--you're too modest."
Giavanna, Yasmin, and Gela had similar words for me, as did the kids. Eventually, I extricated myself, pleading exhaustion and the need to get in touch with my own family. "Just make sure you do," Andy said, giving me a quick peck on the cheek. I promised him it was the first item on my agenda. When I reached my room, I went straight for the phone. "Hi, Mom," I said. "You'll never guess what happened to me . . ."
Around 11:30 the next morning, the phone rang. I'd just got out of the bath, where I'd been soaking for the last hour. "Hello?"
"Hullo, Cat," said Nick. "Are you busy?"
"It depends what you mean by 'busy'," I replied; what I meant was, what do you want, Nick Rhodes?
"I thought I might take you to lunch, if that's all right."
"Oh." I looked down at the hotel bathrobe I wore. "Uh, sure. When? I mean, give me a few minutes to--to change."
In a quarter of an hour, he knocked at my door. He looked me up and down. "You clean up nicely," he smirked.
"Yasmin and Giavanna took me shopping," I replied, although "shopping" was a mild term for what we'd done the previous evening. "Their way of saying thank you, since I lost everything in the crash. Luckily, Gela happened along before they turned me into a Barbie doll."
"No luck involved," Nick said, ushering me to the elevators. "John overheard the girls plotting, and asked Gela to help you." He smiled. "Yas and Gia are great, but let the two of them loose on Rodeo Drive . . ." He shook his head.
"I hope I dressed right," I said. I wore a navy blazer over a white T-shirt and blue jeans--a gift from Gela. "It's just lunch, right? Nothing fancy?"
"Nothing fancy," Nick assured as we crossed the lobby. I'd assumed we'd be eating in the hotel restaurant, but he steered me towards the main entrance and down the sidewalk. "There's a little place a couple blocks away," he explained.
"A deli?" I said when we reached the restaurant.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I just never pictured you as a frequenter of delis."
Nick smiled. "I'm sure there are plenty of things I do that you've never imagined." He held the door for me.
We claimed a booth near the back. Nick had a brief, murmured exchange with the waitress. I eyed him, suspicious. "What was that about?"
"You'll see." He gave me an enigmatic smile.
Shortly, the waitress returned. I stared at the poppy-seed bagel smothered in cream cheese that she set in front of me, along with a tall glass of iced tea, then I looked across at Nick. "You," I said, pointing a finger at him, "have been talking to Andy."
"Guilty as charged," he grinned. He sobered. "Is it okay?"
"It's perfect," I assured, biting into the bagel. I'd never tasted anything so heavenly; I closed my eyes in rapture. When I opened them, I caught Nick watching me, still smiling. "What?" I grabbed a napkin. "Oh, God, I've got cream cheese on my nose, haven't I?"
Nick laughed. "No, no," he assured. "Sorry. I was just thinking how beautiful you are."
I blinked. Beautiful? This man had dated models, and he called me beautiful? "I thought John was the one who needed glasses."
"Don't, Cat." Now Nick looked serious. He turned to the window, toying with his salad fork. "You know, the moment I saw you on that plane, I knew you were someone I had to know."
"Really."
"You seemed so . . . I don't know, open. Warm. Real." He shrugged. "I watched you, listened to you talk to Andy during takeoff so he wouldn't get so worked up over flying."
I shrugged. "He needed something to take his mind off it. Otherwise, I'd've just bored him."
"Then there was the way you rallied us all after the crash. You found the life raft, you kept us going when we reached the island, bloody well kept us sane."
"We all had to survive, Nick."
"Some of us would have given up, Cat."
I shook my head. "Why in God's name did you spend so much time putting me down? Andy was ready to kick your ass halfway around the island."
Nick shrugged, looking away. "It's what I do," he said. "I push people, push their buttons--"
"Push them away so you don't get hurt," I finished for him. Nick kept his eyes averted. "Maybe." He glanced at me. "Some people don't go when they're pushed, though."
I shrugged and concentrated on my bagel, trying to ignore the heat creeping into my cheeks. "Cat." Nick touched my hand, and I looked at him. His green eyes were soft. "You are the strongest, most beautiful woman I've ever met. I'd like to see more of you, if I could."
I let out a shuddery breath. "I don't know," I said, trying to joke my way out of this. "I don't think I'm your type."
He frowned. "How so?"
"Well, I'm a short brunette. When was the last time you dated anything but a leggy blonde?"
"Nineteen seventy-nine, I believe," Nick responded.
I smiled. "I'm no socialite."
"I know."
"I'm not an heiress."
"I know that, too."
I raised an eyebrow. "Can a leopard change his spots?"
Nick matched my expression. "Given enough dye, he can." I started to giggle; in moments, we were both laughing outright.
We left the deli soon afterwards. "So," Nick said, resting a hand lightly on the small of my back, "how do we handle this?"
I put my sunglasses on against the California glare. "We could take it slow," I suggested. "I'm not so sure I want a temperamental, image-conscious rock star for a boyfriend."
"And I'm not so sure I want a hot-tempered, sharp-tongued writer for a girlfriend," he replied; he was smiling.
I slid my sunglasses down my nose and peered over the rims. "Oh, but think of the Scrabble games we'll have," I grinned. He laughed and kissed me.