The Altruism Trial

Chapter 9: The Hole

The story so far: Riley meets Paisley and Duschan, two young teens who are also stranded on the island. Despite Riley’s concerns that they may steal his microjet, he follows them to their side of the island. However, he quickly learns they are not willing to share food or take care of him. Frustrated, Riley tries to steal Paisley’s berries, but she immediately calls out to Duschan for help. 3:38 PM

I’m back on the other side of the island. Forget them. Who needs a couple dirtbags who can’t even help a fellow human?

Geez.

What a joke.

The only plus from that freakish experience is that I am no longer worried about what’s in the trees.

I suck back some water droplets I collected from the window panels and finish off the berries I collected on my way.

The tide is rising as the sun rays bounce off the jet.

The jet.

I march out into the water. I have to find that bridge. It’s gotta be around here. Why can’t I find that stupid bridge?

I kick the water, as if it is supposed to move out of my way. I’m not thinking straight. I know it. I don’t care. I want to punch something.

“Where is the bridge?” I scream. My nostrils flare as I suck in air and exhale again. “I just want to get off this crab-infested, useless mound of sand!”

I march back to the beach and snag my hockey stick from the pile of seaweed next to the jet. I lift it up over my head and smash it as hard as I can over the back of the plane. “I just wanna go home!”

I pick up the hockey stick again and whip it harder this time over the wing. Snap!

The stick shatters.

“I just—want to—go—home!”

I fold over onto the sand, and weep. 4:50 PM

The skies over head darken. The wind picks up, rocking the trees from side to side. Bits of sand swirl around, attacking my face. 5:37 PM

The tide is swollen, climbing up to the beach. The microjet lifts from the rocks and pulls back out to sea. I scurry over the waves and jump inside. (I’m not going anywhere without that thing.)

Colours slip away—electricity sparks through the looming clouds. Deep, murmuring rumbles send vibrations through my seat. Waves splash over the canopy, rocking me up and down like a busted up rollercoaster.

The island quickly disappears covered in a blanket of rain and misery.

Once again, for the second time in just over two months, I’m certain I am about to die. 6:29 PM

The wind pushes the plane back to the shore, wedging the machine between two rocks. I lift up the canopy and jump onto the beach, scurrying up toward the trees. The rain pounds my face like hundreds of tiny rocks.

Behind me, the ocean glows—its colossal mass appears to rise up over the island. 7:35 PM

“Help me!” I shout, darting through the trees. “Where are you?” Branches slap me from all directions. I’ve made it to the other side—up ahead, the once peaceful cove where the two kids were settled is bombarded with thousands of white crests mounted on the base of giant waves.

There is no firepit, there is no beach—just a relentless blast of water—beating—hammering the shore.

“Paisley! I’m sorry!”

The palm trees moan, some snapping in half. “Please help me!”

A hand reaches up from below and pulls on my leg. “Down here,” the voice shouts.

Another tree snaps in two, crashing down just a few feet away. I drop to the ground and slip under the mini-bamboo shelter. For a second, there is darkness—emptiness—I’m falling.

My legs and body crumple on impact as I crash to the bottom of a massive pit. A shearing pain lights up my nerves, spilling out all over my body.

“What the heck!” I scream. “Are you trying to kill me?”

I can’t see anything except a tiny beam of light filtering from the small hole above.

The thunderous roars from outside are but a quiet murmur.

“What is this? Where am I?”

A hand touches my arm. “You’re safe.”

The pain in my leg is overwhelming. “What were you thinking?” I say.

“I was trying to help you. Ca’va?” the voice replies.

I realize it’s Paisley. I can’t see a thing, but I know it’s her—her accent—it’s definitely her.

“I think you broke my leg,” I say. “You gotta be kidding me. I think you broke my leg.” I roll around on the cold sand. I can’t bear it. “You ungrateful loser!” Another hand grips my drenched shirt and pulls me up right, throwing me against a hard wall. “I told you, Paisley, this guy isn’t worth it.”

“Let him go, Duschan,” Paisley says. “S’il vous plaît!”

“Why should I?” he replies. His grip tightens around my neck. I wriggle and squirm but he’s too strong. Or, rather, I’m too weak.

“Tu dois être patient. Remember what they told us?”

There’s a ringing in my ears and a wild quiver in my legs—but I heard her—not the gibberish part, but the other I’m pretty sure I heard—which begs the question—Who are ‘they’?

November 7th, 2018 10:34 AM

Waking up I forget for a moment where I am. My body is sore all over.

A bright light beams down from above—a knotted rope dangles to the sandy floor.

Is that Heaven?

I realize I’m in a hole—a deep hole. Cylindrical walls are supported with bamboo planks, tied together with twisted vines or branches. Behind me, two long wooden structures, about kneehigh, lay out across the ground—almost like beds. They are carefully woven together.

Beside the beds are carved-out coconuts, shaped like cups. A basket of berries sits next to them.

I reach over and devour each mini-fruit, feeling energy slip back inside me.

I grab the awkward looking cups and down the coconut juice inside each one.

“Bonjour.” Paisley pokes her head down into the hole and grabs the rope.

“Yeah, hey, I guess,” I reply.

“Are you hungry?” She swiftly descends down to the bottom and presents a small parcel to me. “What is it?”

“It’s fish.” “Raw?” Paisley nods. “Yeah.” “Gross.” Why did I just say that? I’ve been eating uncooked crab, bugs, and rotting seaweed for the past two months.

“We’ll cook it for you,” she says with a smile. “Seriously?” My eyes widen.

“Sure, why not.”

Bits of debris fall from the entrance, followed by the silhouette of a figure, slipping down the rope and quickly landing on the ground in front of me.

“Give me that.” Duschan snatches the parcel from my hands and glares at Paisley. “He can have this fish, when he builds us a fire.” He turns to me. “You can eat when you learn how to cook.”

Man, do I hate this guy.

“Relax, Duschan. He doesn’t know any better,” Paisley says.

“He’s just like Warren. He’s not gonna make it.” Duschan spits on the sand in front of my feet. “He’s a loser.”

An uncomfortable strain weighs on my chest— I know I’m about to do something I might regret— I’ve had this feeling before—I know I’m about to do something that would get me suspended for at least two games—but who’s watching?

This ain’t hockey.

This is the real world.

Besides, who would know?

I clench my right fist and steady my feet.