The Altruism Trial

Chapter Eight: Paisley and Duschan

The Story So Far: Riley eats his first crab and confesses that he has cried every day that he’s been on the island. Determined to turn things around he finally goes into the forest, raising his score on the tablet. He sees a girl and a boy wandering through the trees. Riley is suddenly worried they might hurt him.

11 AM

The bleach-blonde girl picks at one of the bushes and places what looks like berries into her basket. She taps the skinny boy on the arm and points in my direction. “You see him, yes?”

“Yes,” the boy replies, glancing over to me. “I suppose he’s getting the courage to talk to us. He reminds me of Warren.”

The girl shrugs. “Perhaps they want us to, ah, approach him. I mean, he’s in ze forest now. Is that our cue, no?”

The girl’s face is tanned—her skin is peeling along her forehead. Her dark eyelashes surround her bright blue eyes. Her accent, is funny— sounds almost familiar.

“I guess. Go talk to him then,” the boy says, pointing at me.

“No, you talk to him.” The girl raises her basket. “I am collecting food.”

“Why do I have to do it? You know, you’re always telling me what to do.” The boy reaches into the basket and takes a berry, throwing it into his mouth.

“Ah no, we have to save these.” The girl pulls back and frowns. “So?”

“So? If we want to get off zis island, we have to be smart. Stop doing stupid things.”

The boy nods and snatches one last berry. He spits out the stem and looks over to me. A twisted smile grows on his face. “Hey, kid. Are you hungry?”

My stomach gurgles just hearing him speak of food. I place the tablet down on the ground and step out from behind the tree, gripping tightly onto my hockey stick.

The boy looks at it and nods to the girl before turning back to me. “Well? You wanna come with us?”

The butterflies inside my gut override the hunger. I can’t help but think about the microjet back on the beach and how it’s only a twoseater. What if they want my plane? What if they have the bridge?

“Um, sure,” I say, lowering my stick.

The two eye each other again and then smile at me—almost a forced smile.

“You play hockey, eh?” The boy is wearing a torn white button shirt and black pants, like he ran away from some private school. He kicks a stick along the ground and marches over to me.

“Warren played hockey too. Lemme see this thing.”

I step back, tucking the hockey stick into my chest, but the scrawny guy snatches it out of my hands anyway.

“Not bad,” he says, rubbing his fingers along the blade. “You made this yourself, eh?”

I nod, reaching my hands out. “Yes. Now give it back.”

The boy holds it awkwardly and pretends to slap a puck into a net. “He shoots, he scores!” He laughs to himself.

“Give it back,” I say again. “Relax, dude. I’m just playing with it.” He tosses it back at me and shakes his head. “Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the island.”

The girl rolls her eyes and hits the boy on the arm. “Leave the kid alone. He just met us.”

“I’m just having fun.”

The girl pushes him aside and holds out her hand to shake mine. “Allo, I, uh, am Paisley, and dis nimrod ‘ere is Duschan.” “Hey,” I reply shaking her fingers. “You been here awhile, no? You feel, you feel fine?”

I shrug. “Okay, I guess.” “Were you injured at all?” she asks.

I spin the hockey stick through my fingers. “Yeah, a little.”

“Well, if you’re okay, then, that’s cool.” We stand in silence for a moment. “We’re just on the other side of the Deadman’s Peak. You can stay with us if you like.”

Duschan nudges her and whispers something.

She nods.

“What I mean is, if you want some company, we’re...well, you can come with us.” Paisley lowers her gaze and picks at her forehead.

I glance back at the tablet leaning against the tree. A few metres back, I see the light filtering out from the beach.

My plane.

“Are you coming, or what?” Dushcan kicks the blade of my hockey stick and pushes past Paisley.

“Just come, dude. It’s in the script, anyway.”

“What script?” I say. “Nothing. Nevermind. Just come.” Duschan pulls on Paisley’s arm. “Let’s go. I wanna go swimming.”

The two march several metres before turning back to me. Paisley waves her hand, gesturing for me to follow. Somehow, her smile, whether it’s sincere or not, is magnetic. Somehow, she reminds me of Brianna.

11:53 AM

After a challenging trek over rotting palm branches and fallen coconuts we finally reach a small cove. There is a u-shaped beach with a pathetically small bamboo shelter fixed against some misshapen palm trees. Along the shoreline, a section has been cleared from the seaweed and in the centre there is a fire-pit. “You made fire?” I ask. Paisley nods.

“How?”

“We have ways,” she replies. “It took—time, but we figured it out.” Paisley points out to the water. “Regard—look.”

As far as the eye can see, there are hundreds of tiny islands, spread out in a ring. The water is a light blue—lighter than on the other side.

“Welcome to the Atolls of the South Pacific.” Dushcan stretches out his arms and slaps me on the back. He then sprints out over a long stretch of beach before collapsing into the shallow water. “A potential nuclear testing site from the 60’s, but whatever— welcome to paradise!”

Paisley laughs and rolls her eyes. “He’s a—how d’you say, freak? Seriously.”

12:28 PM

“So, how did you make a fire?” I ask, sitting next to Paisley. The two of us are camped under a tree that leans over the water.

“I can’t tell you,” she says. “Désolé.”

“You can’t? What do you mean?” She digs her feet into the sand and looks out to Duschan, still splashing about in the ocean. “I’m sorry. There are some things I can’t say.”

“You’re kidding me, right? You’re not going to help me? Are you at least going to share your food? I haven’t eaten anything but seaweed and raw crab for over a month.”

“No. I can’t help you. Besides, you, ah, know where the berries are. You can pick your own, no?”

I stand up. Knots twist and tighten inside my chest. I march over to the basket next to her and dig my hands into it, pulling out a pile of berries.

“Stop, you can’t have dose!” she shouts. Paisley reaches up and slaps my arm. “I am sorry, but you can’t.”

The berries fall onto the sand, but I don’t care. I snatch them up anyway and toss them into my mouth.

“Duschan!” Paisley shouts out. “Duschan, he ate the berries!”

I step back, feeling the grains of sand grind against my molars. Duschan shoots up out of the water—the shadows of his ribs are accented in the sunlight.

“Duschan, he took the berries!” Paisley calls out again. She waves her arms and points to me.