Misplaced 3, part 6.

    Ruth crouched on the ground, her hands protectively over her head, her knees drawn up into a tight ball.  She cried freely as her so-called friends crowded around her on all sides, telling her how horrible she was and what a complete failure she knew herself to be. 

   "You know you can't sing," said one.

   "You know we don't want you at parties," said another.

   "Why would we want to talk to you?"

   "And as for your acting..."

   "And when you make suggestions- what do you know?"

   "And you can't control your temper."

   "You can't even do a simple job a sixteen-year-old could do."

   She knew it was all true.  It was how she felt about herself.  Why should anyone like her?  How could they, when they knew what she was really like- a selfish, pathetic, useless, whinging cry-baby?  Sometimes she had come close to almost believing that this wasn't her, and then something would happen and her darker side would be brought before her again.

   She was in a hard, dark world with no escape as they crowded round her, telling her things she was all too ready to believe.  She closed her eyes.  Out of all them throng she heard the voice of someone she had thought she could trust. 

   "We don't really like you at all.  We're just too nice to say so.  How could anyone care about someone as unlovable as you?"

   Her heart screamed and she opened her eyes.  Nothing could hurt as deeply as that betrayal, as being let down like that. 

   But they had gone, the shadowy figures of her nightmare.  She was lying by the fire.  The others were asleep.  Everything
was quiet and normal.

   She tried to calm herself down, to breathe deeply and regularly.  But then she heard it.  A call, a groan, a screech, a combination of all three.  "The monkeys!" she thought, starting.  "That's what must have woken me up.  Well, I never thought I'd be glad to hear them."  The cry again.  She began to worry.  Was it the monkeys?  It was like them, but somehow different, more-

   She sat up.  Heavy footfalls were stomping towards the camp.  The others were awake now, looking at one another in fear in the firelight.  Then the dark shape appeared, silhouetted against the sky.  Someone screamed.

   "Run!"

   

   Ruth was twisting and turning in her sleep.  One by one the others had woken up, almost all complaining of nausea and headaches and strange dreams, very real and frightening dreams.  Some had woken up some distance from where they had fallen asleep.  Nick seemed to have knocked the woodpile on top of him.  Ernest was muttering something about "impaled on a cello," as he awoke, and Sophie had immediately felt the ground and asked why it wasn't wet.  Patrick had disappeared completely, but no one was surprised by that.  But Ruth still slept.  Slowly all the others lay down to sleep too.

   Ruth woke up suddenly.  She opened her eyes and sat up.  The first light of dawn was peeping over the horizon, and the fire had sunk down low.  She looked around at the others.  There were David and Becky, lying close to one another, breathing gently and regularly.  There was Nick on the other side of the fire, there were all the others, lying here and there around the fire.  There was no blood to be seen, no wounds, and no giant monster with huge white teeth.  All was calm and quiet.  It had just been a dream.

   Or had it?

   She held her hand over the fire until it was scorched, just to check that this time she was really awake.  The pain helped reassure her.  She tried to settle herself down, but she didn't feel like sleep.  Both her dreams had been so horrible, so real, playing on her deepest fear.  The fear of loosing her friends, of being alone.

   Restless, she walked down towards the beach.  As she reached the sand she almost fell over Patrick, who was curled up
against a rock.  He opened his eyes and looked up. 

  "Sorry," she said.  "Did I wake you up?"

  "No, I wasn't asleep," he said.  "I had some kind of dream, and I must have walked in my sleep because I woke up here.  I haven't been back to sleep."

   "You sleepwalked?  I didn't know you did that."

   "I haven't before.  I must have tripped over something, I can remember falling in my dream and I woke up lying here."

   "Are you ok?"  She sat down next to him, leaning against the rock.

   "Just a bit shaken."

   "I had a dream too," Ruth said.  "Well, two dreams.  The first one was- well, horrible.  The second one seemed so real- I thought I'd woken up.  It was about us- but it couldn't have been us.  We were on this island, and we were attacked, by something, an animal...I don't know what.  I suppose it was just because I was afraid- those monkeys.  But it felt so real."

   "Maybe it's something we've eaten," Patrick said.  "Mushrooms or something."

   "I suppose so.  But it's not the first dream I've had since we got here- dreams about us, that seem so real, but can't be.  Maybe it's just because of the crash, maybe it affected me more than I realised."

   "I've had that," Patrick said quietly.  Ruth didn't reply.  She realised something that until now she hadn't noticed.  Patrick hadn't been in her latest dream.  She thought about who had been and realised that only those people who had survived the dream crash and the dream accident had been there, and not all of them.  The thought worried her.  Why wasn't he there?  What had happened to him?  She had remind herself that it wasn't real.  Patrick was here, beside her.  Perhaps she had just been conscious, somehow, that he had wandered away from the camp. 

   The sun rose and the sea before them turned from an uninviting grey to sparkling blue.  Despite the beauty Ruth found that her mood didn't lift.  Another day, and still no hope of rescue.  Maybe they would still be here when Ernest and Patrick's wine was brewed after all.  

The story continues...

Misplaced 3, part 5.

   Patrick blinked. Of course they couldn't be moving. Yet when he opened his eyes again he saw the same thing. Sooty had stood up, arms outstretched and head raised as if the puppet had a hand inside him, and yet he couldn't have. It was definitely his Sooty, the patch on his arm visible, bright yellow against orange. Slowly the puppet hopped forward.

   Now Sweep was standing up too, still smiling sweetly as he lifted his huge head. He squeaked. Sue was getting up now, a cross expression as usual on her head, twisted to one side. All three puppets began to advance on Patrick. It shouldn't be possible to hop menacingly, and yet they were managing it.

   Strangely afraid, he turned to run only to find himself menaced by two almost identical toy tigers who both looked so very sad, so cute and yet somehow threatening.

   He turned again but Kermit barred his way, standing on long spindly legs that shouldn't be able to support his body weight and mouth gaping open in shock.

   All the toys closed in on him, others appearing all around to cut off any hope of escape. Kermit's arms opened wide. Suddenly he hopped and fastened his arms around Patrick's neck. The puppets had encircled his feet and ankles. He tried to step over them and fell. He tried to sit up and found that the two tigers had climbed up and were now perched on either shoulder, and Kermit still clung to his neck. Patrick tried to raise his hands to free himself but the puppets wouldn't let him, jumping on to his hands and controlling them in a kind of reverse pupeteering.

   Suddenly Patrick saw in front of him a tiny, red knitted Dalek perched on top of a small Christmas tree. It slowly revolved round to face him at eye level.

   "Exterminate!" it piped in a thin, high voice. The tiny gun fired, and Patrick flinched. There was a tiny bang, a flash and he fell over backwards.



   Nick was at the back of the container when the set fell on him. There was only one set of doors, and they were at the far end. As he struggled to free himself the doors banged shut in the wind and it was dark. There was no point shouting as there was no one else around that part of campus.

   He tried to move the wood off his leg, but the flats were too heavy. This was why the others had said you should never go to the container alone. He had thought it would be safe just to pop in and borrow a few tools. But now he was trapped, no one knew he was here. He could not free himself and his leg hurt so very badly. He feared that it might be broken. His phone was in his bag at the other end of the container, out of reach. He began to panic. He could not think of a way to get out. Suddenly in the dark he was aware of a hideous shape that seemed to give off its' own greenish light. It reared up at him from the darkness of a shelf, the sticky, sickly luminescent form of a misshapen human child, staring reproachfully at him.

   He felt something touch his side and looked down. Now his eyes had adjusted to the gloom he could see a regular shape, rectangular. It looked like a brick. It was wearing a sarong of hot pink cloth. And it was moving- it was looking at him...

 
   Sophie dipped the bucket into the stream and lifted it to carry back towards the camp. But it seemed so far, and so heavy. Surely there was a better way?

   She picked up a long stick with a fork at the top and said; "Zip-a-dee-bippety-docious!" She rested the bucket's handle in the fork of the stick. It hopped off towards the camp, and was soon returning for more. Sophie sat down to keep an eye on it, but the sun was hot and she was sleepy...

   When she awoke it was because the ground beneath her was damp. She jumped up. The path to camp had turned into a stream of mud, along which the stick was still hopping, another bucket of water sloshing around at the top of it.

   "Stop! Stop!" Sophie cried, catching up an axe and chopping wildly at the stick. It fell to the ground, the water spilling onto the muddy track.

   Sophie hurried up to camp. Everything was soaked; the shelters, their bedding, the food stocks, the woodpile. The fire was a heap of soggy ashes. She wondered and feared what the others would say. Then her eye was caught by a movement and she ran back along the path. Each of the pieces of broken stick had arisen, found buckets from somewhere and were advancing on the camp to soak it anew. Sophie ran towards the army of sticks, calling out to them to stop, but they tripped her up and she fell...

 
   Ernest looked down into the orchestra pit. "Poor girl," he said. "Still, it will teach the rest of you to watch the musical director. Carry on with the rehearsal."

   "We can't just leave her there," someone protested.

   "We can do without the tuba for now," Ernest responded. "The show must go on!"

   The rehearsal continued until the point where the pirate king threatened the policemen with a gun. Or course, it was only a prop, not a real gun.

   "Oh what a shame," Ernest said, as the body was removed. "Still, at least it was just one of the male chorus, although they're scarce enough. A principal would have been much harder to replace at this stage. We had a lucky escape there."

   No sooner had he left the stage when suddenly a giant bird thumped down onto the boards. Another fell right onto the pirate king's head, crushing him to the ground. Other great bustards began to fall like a feathery, deadly, messy hail. The cast ran for it, but some didn't make it and were crushed by the giant birds. Two more found themselves trapped in the pit of boiling oil that was at the front of the stage.

   "Come back!" Ernest shouted. "The show must go on!" But as he hurried up the steps to the stage he heard a whistling noise above him and looked up to see a Portuguese escritoire swinging directly towards him on a rope. He was crushed before he could move to avoid it. A manuscript fell from the desk's open lid and landed on his still, cold hand. It was entitled; 'The memoirs of Dorian du Richard, decorative aesthete.'


The story continues...

Misplaced 3, part 4.

  Ruth laughed for the first time in days when she got back to camp and saw what Ernest and Patrick had been doing.  They had collected lots of berries that had been crushed during the storm or were a bit battered, and had crushed the berries with a rock in a container.  Ruth looked in at the mess of juice and skins.   "You're not trying to make wine, are you?" she asked, amused. 
 

   "Well, yes," Ernest said.   

   "But doesn't that take weeks- months?" she asked. 
 

   "No harm in trying," Ernest replied. 
 

   "How's the tea going?" she asked Patrick. He picked up a cup and offered it to her.  Warily she tasted it.  It wasn't quite like tea, but it was pleasant.  After days drinking only water, it was a welcome relief. 

   "That's not bad," she said.  "Well done!"

   That evening, as they sat round the fire at dusk, people seemed to be more cheerful than they had since arriving on the island.  Over the fire the fruit of Alex's trapping was roasting, and a collection of the best edible roots were cooking in the embers.  A pot of Patrick's tea was brewing.  

   The storm had torn down some of the trees between the campsite and the beach, so now they could see right through to where the sun was going down into the sea, turning the water golden.  Well, more orange, Ruth thought.  About the same colour as Patrick's shirt.  

   He was still there, sitting quietly and not joining in much with the general chat, but looking reasonably happy, Ruth thought, if still tired and not exactly well.  

   She was more worried about him and Charlotte, the other vegetarian, than the rest of them.  As long as there were animals and fruit-bearing plants on the island, and fish and crabs in the ocean, they shouldn't have too much of a problem finding food.  But the vegetarians would have to survive on fruit and roots alone, and they didn't contain all the nutrients like protein or fat they would need if they were here a long time.  There was no way of getting dairy products.  Ruth wondered if there were any trees on the island that produced nuts- or was it the wrong time of year?  Did coconuts count?  But then Patrick didn't like them.  So he could have had no protein since the crash.  She was sure she had seen Charlotte eating and drinking from coconuts, no wonder she seemed in better shape.

   She tried to put her worries aside.  She couldn't force him to do anything.  And there was no point letting it stop her enjoying the evening.

   On the other side of the fire Amy and Sophie were constructing something with sticks tied together with vine-like plants.  Rachel asked them what they were making.

   "It's raft," Sophie said.  She went down to the bank of the stream and placed it carefully in the water.  

   "It floats!" she squealed.

   "What's it for?" Rachel asked.

   "It's a model," Sophie explained.  "Now we know how to make one, we can make a bigger one that we can go on."  Ruth saw the look on Amy's face which suggested that she thought this might not be as easy as Sophie obviously thought.  

   "It looks a bit wobbly," Rachel said.  The little raft had got stuck by a rock.  Sophie carefully freed it and it travelled perhaps a metre further before one corner got snagged again and it sank.  

   "Oh," Sophie mourned, looking very downcast.  

   "Perhaps it needs a bit more work," Ruth said.

   "It's not a bad idea though, making a raft," Nick said.  "It might be useful for fishing."

   "Couldn't we use it to get away from here?" Sophie said.

   "That's probably not a good idea," he replied.  "For a start we don't know where we are, or how far it is till we reach land, or even another island.  And if people are looking for us we're better off staying where we are in case we miss them.  Anyway, we'd need a huge raft to get us all on, as well as all the food and water we'd need for the journey."

   "We could have lots of little ones," Sophie protested.  

   "Then we might get separated," Nick said.  "And what if there was a storm while we were at sea?  We wouldn't stand a chance."

   "Having one to use just near the shore might be quite handy, though," Jack said.  "And it shouldn't be too hard to build really..." The techies started one of their technical conversations.  Soon they were drawing on a flat rock with a charred stick from the fire.  Ruth sighed and smiled.  Well, it kept them happy.  The discussion continued until Emma and Becky called from the fire to say that the food was ready.

   The meat wasn't the nicest she'd ever eaten, certainly not as good as the crabs, but it was quite edible.  Alex had made a kind of sauce out of some leaves he said were herbs to go with it, which improved the taste considerably.  Ruth had a feeling there might be some kind of fungi in it too.

   Everyone was very cheerful that evening.  There was a lot of singing, something which hadn't happened since the crash.  Tom even attempted to construct a guitar from a piece of hollow log and some string.  It wasn't exactly tuneful, but it was amusing.  The atmosphere did a lot to cheer Ruth up.  This was more like the G&S society she knew.  They were singers, and when they were singing they were the people she knew- music really did improve people's mood.

   She yawned, feeling suddenly sleepy.  Several of the others had already fallen asleep, sprawled out on the ground or curled up by the fire.  Emma and Ernest had fallen asleep in each other's arms.  Ruth thought blurrily that she had never seen a cuter sight, as she made herself comfortable with her head on a rock.

The story continues...

Misplaced 3, part 3.

   Waiting a couple of moments, Ruth followed him.  "Are you alright?" she asked as she caught him up. 

   "Fine," he said, but she didn't believe him.  Feeling awkward, but unwilling to leave him she walked beside him in silence down to the beach.  They wandered along beside the shore for a while in silence as the evening  faded away into night.

   The unearthly howling began from the depths of the forest.

   "Did you know we found out what that was today?" Ruth said to break the silence.  "It's monkeys.  We found them when we were out setting traps."

   "Traps?"

   "To catch animals for food."  She remembered his vegetarianism.  "Sorry."

   He shook his head.  "Your choice," he said. 

   "Are you alright for food?" she asked.  "I didn't see you eating much today."  Thinking about it, she hadn't seen him eat at all.  He was always skinny, and perhaps it was just the twilight, but she didn't think he looked too well.

   "I'm ok," he said. 

   "You don't really look it," she said, refusing to be put off.  Then, quieter, "Don't listen too much to Emma.  She's just stressed and a bit scared.  Although if you were around a bit more it would be appreciated."

   "I did try to contribute, bringing back fruit and stuff," he replied.

   "I know, I know.  And if you can make tea I'll be very grateful, and so will lots of the others."  Another howl came from close beside them, and made Ruth jump.  "Emma's not the only one who's rather scared," she said.

   "No, she's not," Patrick replied in a low voice.  They had stopped and sat down on a large rock, and she quickly put her arm around his shoulders for a moment. 

   It was a cloudy night, and the forest behind them seemed dark and gloomy.  "We should probably be heading back," Ruth said.  Patrick shook his head. 

   "I've not been sleeping," he said.  "I won't sleep if I go back now.  I'll be back later." 

   Ruth looked at him, tired but reluctant to leave him when he seemed so down.  Then she looked up at the sky as the moon broke through the clouds. 

   "It's still beautiful," she said, "Wherever you look at it from, it's beautiful."

   "Yes," he replied.  "This island's a beautiful place."

   "I'd enjoy it more if we weren't stuck here," Ruth said.  "But I know what you mean.  Someone- I think it was Kath- was saying she hated the island, but I don't hate the place- just our circumstances." 

   The beach was almost totally dark now.  It was an effort to make out others' faces.  Ruth stared out at the sea, where white crests of foam were visible on the top of the waves heading for shore. 

   "Suppose they never find us?  What if we never get home?"

   She had said it, the unspoken thought that had been at the back of the mind of each of them ever since the crash, but which no one had dared to say out loud. 

   "They'll find us eventually," Patrick said.  "We'll get home." 

   He was a specialist in sounding optimistic.  But Ruth knew that even the seemingly (often annoyingly!) laid-back Patrick was afraid.  And if he hadn't been sleeping, that helped explain why he'd been going off alone.  It was easier then coping with other people when you were tired and afraid.  She didn't blame him. 

   But she was afraid now, and she wanted some real comfort- not the sort of everything's-going-to-be-all-right-in-the-end statements she had made to the others to try to keep their hopes up.  But there seemed to be none.

   She looked up at the moon once more, shining bright in the dark sky.  It seemed a metaphor for hope.  But then the clouds closed in again, shutting off the light.  Ruth pulled her knees up and put her arms around them, bowing her head and hiding her face from view as the tears came.  She cried almost silently, but Patrick noticed and put an arm around her. 

   "Sorry," she said.  He shook his head.  "You don't need to be."

   They sat there for a while, watching the moon drift in and out of the clouds.  Eventually Ruth stood up.  "I'm going back to the camp," she said.  "Are you coming?"

   They walked back along the edge of the forest until the could see the glow from the camp fire.  Something flitted across the sky in front of them.

   "Bats!" said Patrick.  He wandered off after them.

   "Good night," Ruth said.  "Good night," came his reply as he became just another shadow in the dark.  Ruth sighed inwardly and went to find somewhere to curl up and sleep.

   The following day things seemed to have taken a turn for the better.  The weather was sunny and dry.  The repairs to the shelters were almost completed.  The day proceeded like the others before it, as everyone went out to collect food and firewood.  Ruth was relieved to see Ernest and Patrick, still looking tired, going off together into the forest.  Hopefully Emma wouldn't object to whatever they were doing if Ernest was there too.

   Ruth had gone to see if the crabs had returned when she saw Sophie running towards her.  Immediately she was afraid there had been another accident.

   "What is it?" she called.

   "Someone's rubbed our message off the beach!" Sophie said indignantly.  

   Ruth looked puzzled.  "Are you sure it wasn't the storm?" she asked.

   "No, we rewrote it yesterday.  It was there last night, but now it's gone!"

   "Why would anyone do that?" Ruth wondered.  She looked around at the beach again.  The water now was much higher than it had been last night, but the tide was on the way out...the tide!

   "No one's rubbed your message out," she said to Sophie.  "It's just the tide washed it away.  You'll have to keep rewriting it every tide, or write it higher up."

   "Oh," Sophie said.  "We didn't think of that."

   Alex emerged from the forest nearby carrying a bag.  "The traps worked," he said, opening the bag to show them that it contained some sort of dead mammal.  "That's tonight's meal sorted."

   "We can have a feast!" Sophie exclaimed.

The story continues...

Misplaced 3, part 2.

   As they approached the camp Ruth looked up at the cliff above their shelters and saw a large piece of brightly coloured fabric, once someone's costume, flapping in the wind.  She wondered if it had blown away, but it appeared to be attached to a bush at the top of the cliff.  Had it been hung out to dry, perhaps?
 

   Sophie was just climbing down the cliff and came over to them.  "Does it show up well?" she asked eagerly.  "I thought that since the fire was out I'd hang that up like a flag, in case anyone might see it."
 

    "Well, it shows up well from here," Ruth said. 
   

   "We should be able to get the fire going soon," Alex said. 
   

    In the usual heat the island had completely dried out, and Jack was already rebuilding the fire.  Food had been gathered, but there seemed to be less of it than on previous days.  The techies had begun trying to rebuild the shelter that had collapsed in the storm, but little seemed to have been achieved so far.  There was a general air of depression and tiredness around. 
 

   Everyone dozed through the hottest middle part of the day.  Looking around, Ruth realised that Patrick had once again disappeared.  She had heard one or two of the others remarking on his repeated absence and was beginning to worry that  one of the others would take it upon themselves to reprimand him.  Emma had often got cross with him for not doing what she thought he should, and Ruth was worried that in the fearful and downhearted atmosphere at present it would damage their chances of working together.  She tried not to think about it, but, tired as she was, she couldn't sleep and her worries would not give her any peace. 
 

   In the cool of the evening people tried to rouse themselves.  Jack managed to get the fire going and they ate a sparse meal of roots and berries.  After the meal most of the others had gone off down to the beach when Patrick appeared, once more with an armful of fruit.  Ruth had to admit that he had certainly contributed as much if not more than anyone else had.  Patrick built up the fire, collected some water from the stream and put it on to boil.  Then he took from his various pockets small bundles of dried leaves and laid them out on a flat rock.
 

   "What are you up to?" she asked.
 

   "Trying to make tea," he said.  "I found several plants that looked promising, so I picked bunches of leaves and dried them in the sun.  I'll experiment and see what they taste like."
 

   "How do you know if they're edible?" Rachel asked. 
 

   "I'm not certain, but they look like camellias, the family tea plants come from.  I'm sure I read somewhere you can make tea from other types of plant leaves.  I'm sure it'll be ok."
 

   "You're mad," Charlotte said.
 

   "No, I think he may be right," Ruth said.  "It's worth trying, anyway.  I could really do with a cup of tea."
 

   The water boiled, and Patrick put his dried leaves in small containers and added the water.  After a few minutes' brewing, he tasted them.  Some he pulled faces at and spat out at once.  Others, he said, didn't really taste of anything.  Some, though, he said were more promising.  Ruth tasted one or two.  None were exactly like tea, but did remind her of it, and they weren't unpleasant. 
 

   "The question is, though, can you remember which bushes the good leaves came from?" she asked.
 

   "I think so," he said, with a smile that implied that he wasn't sure.  "Tomorrow I'll get some more and try blending the best together."
 

   "Tea making from first principals," Tom said.   
 

   "Well, it seems to be working," Rachel said.
 

   Ruth heard the others coming back, and her worries of the afternoon returned.  She didn't think Emma was going to be impressed by Patrick's tea experiments. 
 

   She was right.  As soon as she saw Patrick Emma strode over, demanding to know what he had been doing. 
 

   "We've been worrying and working and trying to sort things out, and you just disappear.  We spend all the time- Ruth thought this rather an exaggeration- working out how to get food, and making shelters, and collecting firewood, while you just swan off and wander around!  It's not fair!"
 

   Patrick just stood there.  He didn't seem able to articulate anything in his own defence. 
 

   "He brought back loads of fruit," Rachel interjected.  "And he's trying to make tea."
 

   "Faffing around with dry leaves!  Oh great, that's going to keep us alive when we've run out of food!  We need to work together, not go running off and doing whatever we fancy.  We'd be in trouble if everyone did that.  It's not fair on the rest of us that do all the work if you just wander off and enjoy yourself, then turn up and reap the benefits of what we've done.  You've got to help us, work with us."
 

   Ruth kept quiet and didn't interfere.  While in many ways she agreed with Emma, she feared that this sort of argument would only destroy the very unity she was advocating.  And it wasn't as if he hadn't contributed.  Emma was painting him blacker than he really was.  Despite having similar reservations about his behaviour, Ruth's instincts were to jump in to defend Patrick.  But it wouldn't help matters. 
 

   And he wouldn't, or perhaps couldn't, defend himself.  He just stood there, accepting Emma's anger in silence.  And, Ruth thought, he would feel all the worse because it was coming from Emma.  She never tried to understand why people behaved the way they did, just getting frustrated and taking it out on them.   

   "So are you going to help us tomorrow?" Emma demanded.
 

   "I...I'll try," he stammered.
 

   "I'm not sure that's good enough.  For once in your life give a straight answer!"
 

   "I will," he said shakily.  Ernest came forward, and putting an arm round Emma he steered her away.   Patrick turned and walked away towards the sea.

The story continues...

Misplaced 3, part 1.

String the lyre, fill the cup, least on sorrow we should sup.

   When morning eventually dawned the first light revealed an island suffering from the effects of storm damage in fallen trees and the forlorn remains of their first shelter.  It shone also on the stiff figures emerging from the remaining shelter to stretch themselves.  The rain had ceased, at last, and the wind had died down to a stiff breeze.

   Everyone was tired and prone to snap.  Ruth found herself longing unbearably for a cup of tea, but there was no tea left.  Anyway, the fire had gone out during the storm and despite Alex's earlier warning, they had not kept any wood dry.  They only had a limited supply of matches and after one had been wasted trying to light damp kindling Nick decided there was no point trying again until things had dried out a bit.

   For a while everyone stood around looking dejected.  Ruth wandered off towards the ocean.  The waves were still bigger than normal in the aftermath of the storm, and she kept well away from the water's edge.   She found the place where she and Rachel had fished for crabs.   The rock pools were still there, but the crabs had gone.  She guessed that they had sensed the storm coming and made for somewhere safer, probably deeper under the sea, until it was over.  Presumably they would come back.  But until then there would be no more crab meat.

   She headed back towards the camp with this news.  By now the sun had risen and with a steady breeze still blowing the island was beginning to dry out.  She got back to camp to find Tom and Rachel laying out small bits of wood to dry in the sun.  "Once the fire's well alight, it won't matter if the bigger bits are still damp," Alex said, bringing another armful.

   "It'll make the fire smoke more," Ruth said.  "But that's good, it'll make it more visible."

   Nick and some of the others were trying to repair the shelter which which had collapsed.  With several trees in the forest having been brought down by the storm, finding building materials was not hard.  But this time the building would need to be more solid.  There was no guarantee that last night's storm was a one-off.   

   Ruth told Alex about the crabs.  "I think we're going to have to try and set traps for animals," he said.  "The sea's too dangerous to try and fish at the moment, and a lot of the fruits and berries were blown down and squashed last night.  And they wouldn't last forever, anyway- we need to vary our food sources as much as possible."

   Rachel looked worried.  "What about the vegetarians?"

  "They've coped so far," Ruth said.  "It'll be all right."  But she sounded more sure than she felt.

   She and Rachel helped Alex dig pits in the forest, not very wide in diameter but deep, which they then covered with sticks and leaves so that hopefully small animals would fall into them.  He also set some snares using rope.

   "We'll have to leave them overnight and see if we catch anything," he said. 

   Ruth wasn't too sure how she felt about this.  She was usually quite happy to eat meat, and wasn't squeamish about thinking where it came from, but she had never had to hunt and kill it before.  Given their situation, it seemed the sensible thing to do.  And yet- she wasn't entirely sure that she would be able to kill anything.  Probably she would- but she was not certain. 

   "Well," she thought, "I'll find out soon, I suppose."

   The forest looked different to the day before.  Ruth wondered if it was just that the storm had stirred things up and brought down a few trees, or if she hadn't been to this part of the island before.  She felt a bit disorientated, and tried to work out where she was on the mental map in her head.  She wasn't very successful.

   They collected some coconuts from a fallen tree.  Rachel pulled a face.  "I don't really like coconut," she said.  "I know some of the others don't either."

   "I do," replied Ruth.  "I'll eat them for you!  I haven't had coconut in years, except in sweets."

   "You might have to get to like them," Alex said.  "If there's nothing else."

   They carried on.  Suddenly they heard the terrible screeching noise that had haunted them all at nights since they arrived on the island.  It seemed to be coming from directly ahead of them.  They stopped short, and looked around, startled and slightly afraid.  Then another screech came from off to their right, and another answered from almost behind them.

   "We're surrounded!" Rachel whispered.

   "But what by?" Alex said.  He took a few steps forward.  The girls followed.

   Directly ahead of them a tree suddenly shook and a large dark shape dropped from a branch to the branch of another tree.  They followed it with their eyes as it bounded from tree to tree.

   "It's a monkey!" Rachel exclaimed as it disappeared among the leaves. 

   "There's another," Ruth said, as another browny-black shape detached itself from the tree where it had been sleeping and swung away into the forest."

   "They must be a sort that sleep during the day and come out at night.  We must have disturbed them," Rachel said.  "Aren't they amazing?"

   "So that's what's been making the noise," Ruth said.  "Well, I'm glad we've found out."

The story continues...