There had been other smells, earlier. Better smells. Hot dogs and mustard. Toasted buns. Potato chips. But that had been earlier, when it was still bright out. So they waited. Stayed hidden. Bided their time.
They were hungry. Very hungry. The hunger consumed their thoughts. It was the only thing they cared about. All they cared about.
They had no affection for one another, no idea of how many of them were there. But they hunted as a pack. Hunted raccoon, and birds, and rabbits, and frogs.
Hunted bigger things, too.
When food was scarce, they turned on their own.
None of them remembered how they got to the island. But they knew the island was a bad place. Dangerous.
But they were dangerous too.
They watched. They waited.
Several of them drooled.
Very soon, they would attack.
Sara drew a breath, gasping at the darkness. When they’d hiked to the clearing earlier that afternoon, the woods had been dark. There were so many trees the canopy blocked out most of the sun. Now, at midnight, it was darker than a grave. The blackness enveloped them, thick as ink, and the fading Maglite barely pierced it more than a few yards.
“Be easy getting lost out here,” Laneesha said.
Sara played the light across the trees, looking for the neon orange ribbon. They’d tied dozens of ribbons around tree trunks, in a line leading from the campsite to the shore, so anyone who got lost could find their way back. But in this total darkness every tree looked the same, and she couldn’t find a single ribbon. Sara had a very real fear that if they traveled too far into the woods, they wouldn’t be able to find their way back to the rest of the group. After only a dozen steps she could no longer see the campfire behind them.
“Cindy, Meadow, can you guys hear me?” she called out.
“We hear you! You find any cannibals yet?”
Neither Sara nor Laneesha shared in the ensuing chuckles. They trekked onward, dead leaves and branches crunching underfoot, an owl hooting somewhere in the distance.
Sara had been ambivalent about camping, having only gone a few times in her life. But now she realized she hated it. Hated camping, hated the woods, and hated the dark.
But she had always hated the dark. And with damn good reason.
“Martin,” Sara called, projecting into the woods, “this isn’t funny. It’s stupid, and dangerous.”
She waited for a reply.
No reply came.
“I like Martin,” Laneesha said, “but screw ‘em. I’m a city girl. I don’t do creeping ‘round the forest at night. This is a total wack idea.”
Sara agreed. There was no hole or trench around here he could have fallen into, and if Martin hit his head he’d be lying nearby.
Still, if this was a prank, it was being taken too far. It wasn’t funny anymore. It was just plain mean.
And then Sara understood what was happening, and she felt her face flush.
Her husband was doing this because he was angry.
Is this how it’s going to be? Sara thought. Rather than act like the caring adult she fell in love with, he’s going to start behaving like a jerk? Was he actually trying to frighten her, knowing what she’d been through?
Well, Sara could be a jerk, too.
“You can stay out there!” she yelled.
Her voice echoed through the trees, fading and dying. Then…
“elll…”
The sound was faint, coming from far ahead of them.
“Was that Martin?” Laneesha asked.
Sara squinted, crinkling her nose. “I’m not sure. Could have been an animal.”
“Sounded like help. Know any animals that call for help?”
“Martin!” Sara shouted into the trees.
There was no answer. Laneesha moved closer to Sara, so close Sara could feel the girl shivering.
“We should go back.”
Sara shook her head. “What if it’s Martin? He could need help.”
“You the social worker. Y’all good at helping people. I’m a single mom. I gotta take care of myself for my baby’s sake. ‘Sides, probly just an animal.
“help…” The voice was still faint, but there was no mistaking it.
Martin. And he didn’t sound angry. He sounded scared.
Sara began to walk toward the voice. “You go back to camp,” she said to Laneesha. “Martin! I’m coming!”
The trees were so thick Sara couldn’t walk in a straight line for more than a few steps. Even worse, the Maglite was getting dimmer. How far ahead could he be? Fifty yards? A hundred? The woods seemed to be closing in, swallowing her up. There was no orange ribbon anywhere.
She stopped, trying to get her bearings. Sara couldn’t even be sure this was the right direction anymore.
A rustling noise, to her left. Sara turned.
“Martin?”
Then something bumped into Sara’s side, something strong enough to knock her onto her back. It scared Sara so bad she whimpered, feeling nine-years-old again, helpless and afraid.
Whatever unknown thing had jumped her, it was now straddling her legs, wriggling and thrashing.
And Sara had no idea what it was, couldn’t see it, because the flashlight had gone flying and winked out.
When Cindy was a little girl, she wanted to be a princess. It was partly because princesses were pretty, and had nice clothes, and lived in huge castles. No one ever called Cindy pretty, and her clothes were all her parents could afford, which wasn’t much, and she lived in an apartment which was so small you could hear the toilet flush no matter what room you were in. So being pretty, with beautiful gowns, and a house with a hundred rooms, all sounded really good to a seven-year-old.
Meeting a prince would be nice, too. But Cindy didn’t really have any interest in boys then, and in fact she was jealous that princes got to do cool stuff like fight dragons and rescue people. Cindy didn’t need someone to rescue her. She wanted to fight her own dragons, thank you very much.
The biggest reason, the real reason, Cindy wanted to be a princess was because a princess would someday become queen. Queens ruled the country. They were the most powerful women in the world, even more powerful than the President, because there had never been a woman President, but there had been many queens.
Cindy wanted to be a princess who grew up to be a queen so she could take care of herself. She wouldn’t have to worry if Daddy made enough money to buy her new clothes, because she would buy her own. She wouldn’t care that Mommy wasn’t there for her after school, because Queens could take care of themselves, and it didn’t matter if their mommies had to work nights.
Yes, Cindy would settle for no less than princess, and then queen. She would be a good queen, too, and treat everyone fairly, and make sure everyone had enough food and toys and clothes and she would make working at nighttime against the law because it made people sleepy and mean.
When she told Daddy, he said regular girls couldn’t be princesses, and they’d never be queen, because you had to be born that way. But it was okay to pretend. Sometimes, when you can’t get what you really want, the only thing left was to pretend.
“Where’s the bathroom?” Cindy stood up, sucked on her lower lip.
“Girl, you kidding, right?”
Cindy looked at Meadow and shook her head.
Tom snorted. “We’re in the middle of nowhere. The whole damn island is your toilet. Pick a tree.”
Cindy stared into the woods, shifting from one foot to the other. She really had to go. And when she had to go, there was no holding it in. The crystal meth she loved so much had damaged her kidneys, and Cindy knew that if she didn’t find a spot in the next minute or two, Meadow would make fun of her for pissing her pants. He was bad enough on the boat when she was throwing up, laughing and making gagging sounds. That guy was a real dick.