Martin stood up, spreading out his hands. “Over the last five decades, more than a hundred people have vanished on this part of Lake Huron. Including those four men and women. What happened to them was truly horrible.”
The crickets picked that eerie moment to stop chirping.
Cindy eventually broke the silence. “What happened to them?”
“It’s said that these prisoners became more animal than human, feeding on each other and on those men unlucky enough to visit the island. Unfortunately for this group of eight partyers, they were all doomed the minute they set foot onto Plincer’s Island. When their partying died down, and everyone was drunk and stoned and passing out, the killers built a gridiron.”
The word gridiron hung in the air like a crooked painting, blending into the forest sounds.
Tyrone whispered, “They built a football field?”
Martin shakes his head. “The term gridiron is used for football these days, but it’s a much older word. It was a form of execution in ancient Rome. A layer of coals are spread on the ground, stoked until they’re red-hot. Then the victim is put in a special iron cage, sort of like a grill, and placed on top of the coals, roasting him or her alive. Unlike being burned at the stake, which is over in a few minutes, it takes hours to die on the gridiron. They say the liquid in your eyes gets so hot, it boils.”
“That’s enough, Martin.” Sara stood up and folded her arms across her chest. “You’ve succeeded in freaking everyone out. Now who wants to roast some marshmallows?”
“I want to hear what happened to those people,” Tom said.
“And I want to be able to sleep tonight,” Sara replied.
Sara’s eyes met Martin’s. She saw intensity there, but also resignation. Eventually his lips curled into a smile.
“But we haven’t gotten to the part where I pretend to be dragged off into the woods, kicking and screaming. That’s the best part.”
Sara placed her hands on her hips. “I’m sure we would have all been terrified.”
Martin sat back down. “You’re the boss. And if the boss wants to do marshmallows, who am I to argue?”
“I thought you’re the one who created the Center,” Laneesha asked.
Martin glanced at Sara. There was kindness in his eyes, and maybe some resignation, too.
“Sara and I created it together. We wanted to make a difference. The system takes kids who are basically good but made a few mistakes, sticks them into juvie, and they come out full-blown crooks. The Center is aimed at taking these kids and helping them change.” Martin smiled sadly. “Well, that was its purpose.”
“It’s bullshit the man cut your funding, Martin.” Meadow tossed a stick onto the fire.
“It sucks,” Cindy added.
There were nods of agreement. Martin shrugged. “Things like this happen all the time. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more for you kids. Sara and I don’t have any children of our own, but you guys are like our—”
Martin screamed in mid-sentence, then fell backward off the log, rolling into the bushes and the darkness.
Sara, like everyone else, jolted at the sound and violent action. Then laughter broke out, followed by a few of the teens clapping.
“That was awesome, Martin!” Tom yelled into the woods. “It think I wet my freakin’ pants.”
The applause and giggles died down. Sara waited for Martin to lumber out of the woods and take a bow.
But Martin stayed hidden.
“Martin, you can come out now.”
Sara listened. The woods, the whole island, was deathly quiet.
“Martin? You okay?”
No answer.
“Come on, Martin. Joke’s over.”
After a moment the crickets began their song again. But there was no response from Martin.
“Fine,” she called out. “We’re not saving you any marshmallows.”
The forest was silent. Sara picked up the bag of marshmallows and began passing them out, the kids busying themselves with attaching the treats to the sticks they’d picked out earlier. If her husband wanted to screw around in the woods, he was welcome to do so.
“Now what?” Tyrone asked, raising his like a sword.
“You put it in the fire,” Tom said. “Duh.”
“Ain’t never roasted marshmallows before, white boy.”
“It’s like this, Tyrone.” Sara held her stick six inches above the flame. “Like we did with the hot dogs. And keep turning it, so it browns evenly on all sides.”
Everyone followed her lead. Sara allowed herself a small, private smile. These were the moments they came out here for. Everyone getting along. No fighting. Criminal pasts momentarily forgotten. Just six kids acting like kids.
“Mine fell off,” Cindy said.
“Wouldn’t eat it no how. Oughta change yo name to Annie Rekzic.”
“Respect,” Sara reminded Meadow.
“Sorry. My bad.”
There was a comfortable silence. Sara forced herself to stay in the moment, not look over her shoulder for Martin. He’d come back when he was ready.
“I’m on fire.” Georgia held her stick and mouth level and blew hard on the burning marshmallow. Then she bit into it carefully. “Mmm. Gooey.”
“Like an eyeball on the gridiron.” Tom plucked his off the stick and pretended it was oozing out of his eye socket.
“Awful way to die,” Cindy said. “Guy I knew, had an ice lab in his basement. He died like that. When he was cooking a batch it blew up in his face. Burned him down to the bone.”
“You see it?” Tyrone asked.
“Cops told me about it.”
Tyrone frowned, his face looking ten years older. “Saw a brother die, once. Drive-by. Right next door to me. I was eight years old.”
“I saw someone die, too,” Tom said.
Tyrone sneered. “Man, yo gramma doesn’t count.”
“Does too. I was there. Does it count, Sara?”
“It counts. And let’s try to talk about something other than death for a while.”
“Damn.” Meadows stuck out his tongue. “My shit is burned. Tastes nasty.”
“I like the burned ones.” Georgia held out her hand. Meadows passed it over. “Thanks.”
Sara bit into hers. The perfect combination of sweet and toasty. She loaded up another one, then felt her neck prickle, like she was being watched. Sara turned around, peering into the trees. She saw only blackness.
“When is Martin coming back?” Cindy was poking her stick into the fire. She still hadn’t replaced her lost marshmallow.
“He’s probably just beyond the trees,” Sara said. “Waiting to jump out and scare us again.”
“What if someone grabbed him?”
“Cindy, no one grabbed him. We’re the only ones on this island.”
“You sure?”
Sara made an exaggerated motion out of crossing her heart. “And hope to die.”
“What if he had an accident?” Cindy persisted. “Maybe hit his head on a rock or something?”
Sara pursed her lips. There was a slight chance, but it could have happened.
“Tyrone, can you go check?”
Tyrone sneered. “You want me to go in those woods so he can jump out ’n scare the soul outta brother? No way.”
Sara sighed, and just for the sake of argument she let her imagination run unchecked. What if Martin’s little stunt really had gone wrong and he’d hurt himself? What if he’d fallen into a hole? What if a bear got him? There wasn’t supposed to be any bear on this island—according to Google, there wasn’t supposed to be any animal here larger than a raccoon. But what if Google was wrong?
She sighed. Her imagination had won. Even if this was a stupid trick on Martin’s part, Sara still had to go check.
“Fine. I’ll do it.” She got up, handed her stick to Cindy, and dusted off her jeans, staring into the darkness of the woods surrounding them.