Misplaced 5, part 2.

The few who were left looked at each other, unsure what to do.
“Well that wasn’t very nice,” Tom said.

“That lot don’t care about anyone but themselves,” Charlotte said. Generally she and her good friend Emily were among the quietest people on the island, but that didn’t mean they didn’t have opinions.

“They’re not that bad,” Patrick replied to her, but others took up the thread. Old grievances began to surface. Times when they people had been left out of invitations, forgotten or deliberately ignored. Times when people had been overlooked for solo roles, or when favouritism had seemed to sway decisions to the benefit of partners and close friends. Within any group that had known each other as long as these, there were bound to be sub groups and petty rivalries, and hurt feelings lurking below the surface. And yet- there was little malice involved. None of those now loudly complaining would have denied that their friends who had gone back were both talented and, generally, nice people. They just felt that perhaps they weren’t all they claimed to be, and perhaps it was someone else’s turn in the limelight.

Ruth was ashamed afterwards that she took her full part in the moaning. The only person who did not join in the argument at all was Nick. She was rather surprised that he hadn’t gone back with the others, as he was generally one of the favoured ones. But he seemed to have been greatly affected by Mick. He was sat next to him now, trying to get him to talk, to think where the others might be if they were still alive. But finding the remains of David and Becky seemed to have driven him even further from rationality than before. He sat silently, beside a tree, his face covered, making little groaning noises. Nick still looked as if he were confused at what was going on.

“This isn’t going to help the others, if they’re still alive,” Ruth said finally, trying to bring the argument to an end. “We should start looking for them.”

Patrick spoke. “If we think this island is exactly like ours, and the people we’re looking for are like us, if we can think what we would do in the same situation, we might be closer to finding out what happened.”

“Good idea,” Ruth said. “What would you do if the camp was attacked in the night and everyone scattered?”

“Hide in the trees,” Patrick said.

“We looked in the forest,” Rachel said. “And we didn’t see anything.”

“We could do with searching it properly, though,” Ruth said. “Anyone else have any ideas?”

“Well, at first I’d just run,” Tom said. “Then maybe when it got light I’d come back here, to see if there was anyone else around. Or maybe I’d head for somewhere higher up, somewhere where I could see if anything tried to attack again.”

“Up the hill, you think?”

“It’s what I’d do.”

“So we might have walked right past them and not noticed!” Rachel exclaimed.

“Maybe. Let’s start there, anyway. We’ve got to start somewhere.”

But as they turned to head back towards the hill, the peace of the island was shattered by an outbreak of noise. At first Ruth dismissed it as the monkeys. Then she remembered what Mick had said.

“It attacked!”

“What, the monkeys?”

“No, no, the noises!”

She listened closer. It was like the monkey noises, but not quite the same. There was more menace in it, something different. And it was all one voice- made by one creature. She shivered. The monster!

Mick jumped up, whimpering, and fled in blind fear into the forest.

“Come back!” Nick yelled after him, but it was no use. Mick was too terrified to listen. Nick set off after him. The others followed.

They found Mick crouching among the roots of a huge tree. The roaring had died away. The forest seemed unnaturally quiet, somehow empty- and yet there was still that feeling of malevolence that Ruth had felt when they had first set foot in it. Nick tried to persuade Mick to come out, but it was hard work. The others looked again from one to the other, trying to see differences between the two, but it was harder than most spot-the-difference puzzles. Allowing for Mick’s raggedness and general lack of care, the two of them looked the same, sounded the same. Ruth thought she could even detect familiar mannerisms in the way Mick moved.

Something caught Ruth’s eye, and she turned round quickly. Nothing. Then she saw it again, and turned back, but it was too quick for her. She took a couple of steps towards where it had been, then stood absolutely still beside a tree trunk. For a moment, nothing stirred, but then, quickly, something swung through the trees in front of her.

A monkey? Maybe that was all that had made the noise, that the monster was really just a troop of primates magnified by her dreamy fear and Mick’s terror. But how could a monkey have inflicted those injuries of David and Becky? That would take something with long teeth or claws, unless - unless they could use weapons. There was the terrible possibility that the stranded travellers had turned on each other. But that couldn’t have happened, surely not. They would never do that.

There it was again, closer this time. She took a step forward. There was a rustle of leaves behind her, and she turned quickly. The shape had dropped silently to the ground behind her, and was looking at her. A mass of long blond hair, a small, skinny frame clad in a ragged orange shirt and grey trousers, a thin, bespectacled face garnished by a brownish beard, speckled with grey. She gasped.

“Patrick?”
 
 
The story continues...