The Beach

'Sort of.' Mister Duck closed his eyes against the hot sun. 'I burned the good ones too.'

It must have gone midday before I checked on Zeph and Sammy. Our chat had distracted me from the job at hand, which may have been its intent. I'd sunbathed and dozed for a couple of hours, remembering melting Focke-Wulfs and plastic burns from being careless. I might have forgotten about them altogether if Mister Duck, with careful timing, hadn't reminded me.

'Sal's not going to be happy,' he said.

I sat up. 'Huh?'

'Sal's not going to be happy. In fact, she's going to be seriously pissed off. She'll do her funny little frown… You ever notice her funny little frown?'

'No. But how come she isn't going to be happy?'

'I can't believe you've never noticed her frown. I always used to think she looked so pretty when she was pissed off. Her eyes would glow and… Do you think Sal's pretty?'

'Uh…'

'I think she is.'

I looked at him for a couple of moments, then burst out laughing. 'Well, well! You had a crush on her, didn't you?'

'A crush?' He went red. 'I wouldn't call it a crush. We were very close, that's all.'

'You mean she didn't fancy you.'

'I just told you, we were very close.'

I laughed harder. 'Nothing ever happened, did it?'

Mister Duck shot me an annoyed look. Then he said, 'Nothing physical happened. But some relationships, close relationships, don't need a physical connection. A spiritual bond can be more than enough.'

'Unrequited love.' I groaned, wiping tears from my eyes. 'Now I understand why you put up with Bugs all that time.'

'Well, you'd be the expert on unrequited love.'

'Excuse me?'

'Does the name Francoise ring a bell?'

I stopped laughing.

'Ding dong!' Mister Duck chimed. 'How's that for a fucking bell?'

'Do me a favour. It's completely different. For a start, Francoise actually does fancy me. And whereas Bugs is a prick, Etienne is a great guy. Which, I should point out, is the only reason nothing happens. Neither of us wants to hurt his feelings.'

'Mmm.'

I glowered at him. 'Anyway. Do you think we could get back to the point?'

'What point?'

'You said Sal was going to be seriously pissed off about something.'

'Oh… Yeah.' Mister Duck chucked me the binoculars. 'Because of the raft.'

'…Raft?' I scrambled over to the edge of the look-out point and slammed the binoculars to my face. Quickly, I scanned along their beach. It was empty. 'I don't see anything,' I said. 'What are you talking about?'

'Where are you looking?' Mister Duck replied languidly.

'Their beach!'

'Find the split palm.'

'…Got it.'

'OK. Now go to six o'clock. Six or seven.'

I eased the binoculars downwards, leaving the sand behind, moving into the blue water.

'There yet?'

'Where yet? I still can't see anythi…' I gulped. '…Oh fuck.'

'Impressive, huh? They may have taken their time, but they sure put it to good use.' He sighed while I hyperventilated. 'Tell the truth, Rich. No bullshit. Do you think Sal ever thinks about me?'

Fine Thanks

Discovering that Zeph and Sammy were on their way left me a lot more anxious and a lot less excited than I'd expected. I found this confusing, and was still trying to make sense of my reaction by the time I arrived back at camp. Whereupon, immediately, I became even more confused.

There was nothing in the clearing to suggest we'd buried Sten that morning. The atmosphere was more like a Sunday than a wake. A few people were kicking a football beside the longhouse, Jesse and Cassie were whistling as they laid out some washing to dry, Unhygienix was playing the Gameboy with Keaty watching over his shoulder. Francoise was the biggest surprise. She was sitting with Etienne and Gregorio in the spot occupied by the Bugs faction until only yesterday. I'd expected her to be keeping an eye on Karl until sundown, as she had every day since the attack. In fact, a quick look around didn't show up any missing faces, so I guessed Karl had been left alone.

In a way, it was reassuring to learn that, whatever my own state of mind, I was sane enough to recognize this as abnormal behaviour. And to make sure that my companions' behaviour was as inappropriate as it appeared, when I passed Cassie I asked her how she was feeling. I chose her partly because she was on my route, but also because this was the question she'd nagged me with in the days following the food poisoning. 'Um,' she said, not pausing from hanging up the washing. 'I've been worse.'

'…You aren't feeling sad?'

'About Sten? Oh yes, I am, of course. But I believe the burial helped. It puts it in the past, I think. In perspective, wouldn't you say?'

'…Sure.'

'It was so difficult to find perspective while his body was lying around.' She laughed, looking puzzled. 'What an awful thing to say.'

'But it's true.'

'Yes. I think the burial was the release we needed. Just look how it relieved the tension around here… Shorts, Jesse.'

Jesse handed her a pair of shorts.

'And Sal's speech was a great help too. We needed her to bring us together. We've been talking a lot about Sal's speech. We thought it was very good, didn't we?'

Jesse's face was hidden by the heap of damp T-shirts he held in his arms, but I saw his scalp nod.

'Yes,' Cassie continued, in her vague and cheerful monologue. 'She's good at that kind of thing… Charisma and… And what about you, Richard? How are you feeling?'

'I'm feeling fine.'

'Mmm,' she said absently. 'Of course. You always are, aren't you?'

I left Cassie and Jesse a few minutes later, after some small talk that wouldn't bear mentioning if it wasn't that the small talk was another reason why everything felt so strange. The only time I got close to unsettling Cassie was when I asked after Karl and Christo. She dropped the T-shirt she was holding at the time – not the dramatic response it might seem but an inconsequential slip of the hand. Less inconsequential was her reaction. 'Fuck it!' she snapped, which was unusual in itself because Cassie rarely swore, and her face darkened with a sudden flush. Then she held the shirt up, glowering at where the dirt had stuck to the damp material, and threw it back at the ground. 'Fuck it!' she said again. A strand of spit that had been linking her lips broke with the force of the words, and the top half swung upwards and clung to her cheek. I didn't bother to repeat the question.

Cabin Fever

On my way across the clearing, I briefly debated who I should tell about the raft first – Jed or Sal. Going by the book, it should have been Sal. But we didn ' t have a book so I went with my instincts and told Jed.

I noticed the bad smell as soon as I climbed into the hospital tent. It was sweet and sour; vomit for the sour and something less distinct for the sweet.

'You get used to it,' said Jed quickly. He hadn't even turned round so he couldn't have seen me wince. Maybe he'd heard me cut my breathing. 'In a couple of minutes you won't smell a thing. Don't

go.'

I pulled up the neck of my T-shirt to cover my nose and mouth. 'I wasn't going to go.'

'Not one person has come in all day. Can you believe it? Not one person.' Now he did turn to look at me, and I frowned with concern when I saw his face. Spending almost all his time in the tent had taken a toll. Although his tan was still deep – it would have needed more than five days to wash that out – it seemed underlain by grey, as if his blood had lost its colour. 'I've been listening to them out there since two,' he muttered. 'They came back at two. Even the carpenters. They've been playing football.' 'I saw.'