“You’re from New York?”
“No, I’m from Bodega Bay, California. But I grew up in New York. Brackard’s Point, armpit of the fucking world. Left my first wife there and drove to Florida. Left my second wife there and drove to Seattle. Left another bitch there and drove to Bodega Bay. Been there ever since. My hat stayed with me the whole time.”
“Hey,” Heather called. “Here comes Roland!”
Roland Thompson stepped out of the helicopter, dressed in a safari outfit, and strolled across the sand toward them.
“Prissy fucker,” Troy muttered, and began to twitch again.
“Hello everyone,” he greeted them in a deep baritone. “Welcome to your new home, where you will compete with your fellow castaways. The last one to leave this island will go home with one million dollars.” Everyone clapped, except for Troy, staring sullenly at the sand.
“I want to congratulate each of you. For this, our seventh Castaway competition, we received over ten thousand entries. You eight were chosen to be our contestants. You’ve met each other already, onboard ship, but for the audience, I’d like to have each of you introduce yourself again. Tell us where you’re from and what you do for a living.”
The camera swooped in on Becka.
“My name is Becka,” she smiled. “And I’m a student at York College of Pennsylvania, where I’m studying to be a graphic designer.”
“I’m Jerry, and I’m a clerk at a video store in Los Angeles, California.”
“I thought you said you owned a video store?” Antoine questioned.
“Well,” Jerry’s ears turned red. “It’s my Uncle’s store. He’s never there so I pretty much run it.”
“So you lied.”
Jerry said nothing. Antoine stared into the camera.
“My name is Antoine. I’m from North Carolina. I own a private security firm.”
“I’m Heather, and I’m a housewife from Lansing, Michigan.”
“I’m Marcy, and I’m here from New York City, where I work as a securities analyst for a development company.”
“I don’t even know what the fuck that means,” Troy said as the camera swung toward him. “But my name’s Troy. I bend wrenches for a living. I live in California, and I need a fucking smoke.”
“I can see already that we’re going to have to bleep you a lot,” Roland commented. The group laughed.
“I’m from Atlanta, Georgia. My name’s Shonette, and I’m a telemarketer.”
They groaned.
“So you’re the person that calls every time my family sits down for dinner,” Heather teased.
“It beats bending wrenches, I can tell you that,” Troy said.
“My name is Larry. I live in Washington D.C.,” he swaggered directly toward the camera. “I’m a lobbyist for the biggest insurance firm in the nation, and I will be the last person left on this island.”
“A lobbyist?” Troy snorted. “Hell, that’s worse than being a fucking telemarketer.”
“And you,” Larry blustered, “will be the first one off the island, wrench-boy.”
“Not if we cook you and eat you, ya yuppie fuck.”
“Well,” Roland broke in, “I can see we’re off to a good start! You’re all familiar with the show, but I want to run over some of the rules again. Initiating direct contact with the camera crew results in immediate disqualification. You can talk to each other and myself, but you may not address the crew, unless they specifically address you first. Even when you’re sleeping, at least one of them will be awake, filming. When their shift is over, the helicopter will ferry them back to the ship. As each of you are voted off the island, you will also return to the ship.
“Every other day, you’ll be given a challenge. It may be physical or mental, and each day the parameters will differ. The winner of that day’s challenge will vote for the person they feel should leave the island. You can compete against each other individually, or form teams of three. In the case of the latter, the winning team will vote on an individual. Once you have three votes, you will be asked to leave immediately.
“When not competing in a challenge, you can stay together, split into groups, or go it alone. I suggest working together at the beginning. Our scouting party only spent a day here, but in that short time they determined that food and water are in abundance. It is up to you, however, to find it.” He paused.
“As a brief historical note, you’ll be the first human beings to spend the night on this island in over one hundred years.”
“Why is that?” Larry asked.
“Caribbean tradition holds that it’s haunted. The natives avoided this island, because their legends taught that the caves here were the mouths of the underworld. They believed it to be infested with demons. And then there’s the legend of the Japanese squadron who disappeared here during World War Two. It’s been the focus of several television documentaries. There’s also the account of the Marcelle, which anchored here in 1905. Legend has it the crew stayed one night and left, swearing never to return.”
“That’s because they weren’t after a million dollars,” Marcy said.
Roland filled them in on a few more rules, then departed back to the ship, leaving behind six camera and sound technicians.
Becka noticed Antoine staring into the jungle.
“What is it? Is something wrong?”
“It’s quiet. No birds, nothing.”
“Maybe the helicopter scared them away?”
“Maybe,” he nodded, “or maybe it really is haunted.”
He grinned.
“It’s kind of weird, isn’t it,” Shonette whispered. “Having them follow us around everywhere?”
Heather glanced back at the two men, one wielding the camera and the other a microphone.
“Yeah, but I guess we’ll get used to it.”
They threaded their way through a tangle of vines, pressing slowly through the foliage in search of fresh water.
“This sucks.” Shonette slapped an insect from her ebony thigh.
“Yeah, but it beats having to lug back firewood. We’ll let the men do that.”
“Girlfriend, I’d let Antoine do a lot more than that!”
The man with the microphone crept closer.
“Jerry isn’t bad either,” Heather mused. “I think he’s got a crush on Becka.”
“That Troy guy is cute, too.”
“Yeah, but in a psycho kind of way. What about that creep Larry?”
“The way that man was staring at Marcy’s chest,” Shonette exclaimed, “you’d think he was gonna attack her right there on the sand!”
“First chance we get, we knock him off the island.”
“So we’re a team then?”
“I’m willing if you are,” Heather offered, sticking out her hand. Shonette took it.
“Just so we remember there can be only one winner,” she reminded Heather.
“Agreed.”
They pressed forward.
“You sure you remember the way back to camp?” Shonette asked. “We’ve gone a few miles.”
Heather didn’t respond. She’d stopped in her tracks, peering into the greenery.
The open mouth of a cave stared back at them.
“So do you have a girlfriend?” Becka asked Jerry, regretting it immediately.
“No,” he replied, and she breathed an inward sigh of relief. “But I’m always on the lookout. Want to hook up?” He winked at her.
“I don’t know you well enough,” she replied coyly, checking to make sure Marcy was out of earshot, “but I would consider an alliance while we’re on this island. It would be nice to have someone to trust.”
“Yes, it would,” Jerry agreed. “But an alliance doesn’t mean you’d be able to trust me. What if we play the game all the way to the end, and it comes down to you or me? What then?”
“Then I’d have to kick your ass and win the million. But don’t worry, I’d give you a loan.”