Misplaced 6, part 5.

All that afternoon she struggled to keep herself from breaking down. It was hard, looking at these people around her who looked so like her friends, so like people she had been through so much with, who she cared about. But they were not her friends. And yet- perhaps she was being unjust, but she thought she could see traits in their behaviour which were reminiscent of her friends. That determination to find someone to blame when she was stressed- that was very like the Emma she knew. That air of calm superiority, even while wearing rags in a jungle, was very like Ernest. She could see- and how she wished that she couldn't!- how her friends could become like her captors, how fear and determination to survive at all costs could turn them into people who would contemplate murder to ensure that any threats to their survival were eliminated. They were a demonstration of what happened when conscience lost out to convenience. She shuddered, and hoped that hers didn't.


It was hot, and although she had been in the shade when first tied up the sun had moved and was now beating directly onto her. She tried to move, to follow the shade, but the rope wouldn't let her. She was thirsty too, very thirsty. The rope round her wrists was chafing now, and her wrists were red and swollen, her thoughts dark and full of fear. She couldn't help it, but lay with her face in the sand, crying.

She heard someone approaching, and tried to sit up but she moved too much and the rope pulled at her wrists painfully. She winced, and looked up, trying to brush the sand and hair off her wet face.

It was Adam- well, alternate Adam. He looked down at her, seemingly rather embarrassed.

"Can I do anything to help?" he said, quietly. "I can't free you, but if there's something I could do..."

"Please can I have some water?" she whispered.

"I'll get it," he said.

She slumped down again as he headed towards the stream. Perhaps it was a trick, perhaps it was designed to get her to give in- the 'good cop, bad cop' routine. But she didn't care, she was too thirsty.

Adam came back, and gave her some water in a coconut shell. She drained it. "Thank you," she said, and then tried to cover her face as the tears came again.

He crouched down next to her, awkward. When she looked at his face she saw that he looked embarrassed and sympathetic, but still afraid.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I went along with the others, but they shouldn't be treating you like this. But they've got the gun, I can't leave. Anyway, we've got to survive..."

"Survive?" she sobbed, turning towards him. "Even if it means killing others?"

"Kath would never actually do that..." his words trailed off as he looked at her.

"Are you sure?" she asked. He said nothing. That was answer enough.



Dusk. The forest was starting to come alive with the cries of animals and the squawks of night birds. Ruth shivered as she heard a call that sounded very similar to the monkeys back on the other island- and yet somehow different. From Mick's whimperings, she knew it was the Creature.

Would her friends hear it and not dare to leave their camp? Would it attack them on their way to the crash site? The sky was darkening quickly. Looking up through the trees she could see the first stars, and the moon. The trees around the crash site had been brought down by the plane, and it was a clear night, so the moonlight should let them see what they were doing. But would her captors see or hear them? Would all their plans come crashing down like those trees?

Her captors were sitting round their fire. She had watched them eating, and realised how hungry she was. After they had finished Ernest had brought her a few scraps, for which she had been grateful, but he had still said nothing to her. She wondered what he knew, what he was thinking, what they were talking about.

After what seemed an animated discussion, Emma stood up and came towards her. She untied Ruth and led her, like a dog, towards the others. Ruth's heart was beating hard as she looked up at Kath. By the flickering firelight, Kath's expression was hard yet triumphant, as if she had just won an argument. As ever the gun was beside her, which was perhaps enough explanation. Some of the others around the fire looked uncomfortable, but all seemed too scared to do anything about it.

"I don't suppose you feel inclined to talk to us yet?" Kath asked her.

"No," Ruth replied flatly, trying not to sound as frightened as she felt.

"Isn't there any way we could persuade you?" Ernest asked. She looked up at him.

"Tell me why you did it," she said. "Why you abandoned the others."

"Are they really our responsibility?" he asked mildly.

"They were your friends," Ruth said passionately.

"We've done nothing to be ashamed of," Kath interrupted. "The injured were too weak- it would have been a waste of energy to look after them when resources are limited. The others could have joined us if they wanted, but they wouldn't leave the injured. So it's their fault if they're in trouble now. If there's competition, the strongest side will win. That's nature."

"So you abandoned your friends to starve and maybe die, because you were afraid you'd have to work a bit harder?"

"Shut up," Kath said, and hit Ruth. Ruth looked at her, hopeless and sad, but determined.

"Do what you like," she said. "I doubt I can stop myself giving in under duress, but I won't talk willingly. At least I'll be doing something to help my friends, which is more than you could be bothered to do. I'd be ashamed to beg you for mercy, because you don't have any."

Kath had the gun in her hands again. For a minute Ruth thought she would fire, but instead Kath hit her with it. And again. And again. That was the beginning. All her fear and frustration she took out on the helpless girl in front of her.

Ruth looked at Ernest, her face, despite her words, begging him to intervene and stop Kath. But he did not. He did not join in, but neither did he say a word or lift a finger to stop what was happening.

Normally Ruth was a quiet person but she couldn't stand the cocktail of emotion any longer. She screamed, all the anger and hurt and frustration and pain and fear finding voice. She wondered, miserably, if her friends would hear her cry. Would they have the sense to ignore it, to realise that unless they completed their mission neither she nor anyone else would be safe? Would they even care? She remembered Patrick's hug. It comforted her even now. He cared. The other Ruth would care. Of course they did. But there was nothing they could do to help her now. She just hoped it was worth it.
 
 
The story continues...