Chapter 20

brEAKFAST WAS Atense affair, with Joel, Santana, and me all waiting on tenterhooks to see if Dan followed through on his promise to say something to Conor. He said nothing as Conor doled the water out, and nothing again as we passed around chunks of tinned papaya, increasingly unripe bananas, and the everlasting pastries, now starting to taste distinctly off.

But as Conor stood and stretched, and Zana began picking up the plates and gathering banana peelings into a pile to be tipped into the sea, Dan coughed.

“Um… listen, before we all disappear, could I ask a question?”

“Yes, where is Angel?” Conor said, looking around, and then down the table where her plate stood untouched, with the beaker of water next to it. “Is she okay?”

It was a good question, and for a moment the realization distracted me from what Dan was about to say, but Dan was plainly not to be diverted.

“Actually, that wasn’t what I was going to say,” he said. “Conor, listen, we had a bit of a chat last night—”

I winced internally, wishing he hadn’t said that. That was the exact thing I’d wanted to avoid—a them and us situation arising from the suggestion that we were ganging up against Conor. But maybe it was inevitable.

“And?” Conor said, raising one eyebrow.

“And… we understand the need to protect the food from animals and from, um—” I could see he’d been about to say Bayer, and then thought better of speaking ill of the dead. “Well, all that. But, um… we’d like to have a chat about the best way to handle the rations going forward.”

“Right,” Conor said. He folded his arms and tipped his chair back.

“Well… I think…” Dan looked around the circle, seeking backup, and I saw Santana nodding vigorously. “I mean… we’d all feel more comfortable if we had our own individual rations of food and water.”

“Yeah, that’s not going to work,” Conor said dismissively. “Zana, sweetheart, could you go down and check on Angel, make sure she’s okay?”

Zana nodded and turned, and I saw Dan take a deep breath and clench his fists against the arm of his chair. I prayed he would be able to stick to the plan and hang on to his temper.

“Conor, listen, this is a democracy, and I think we’re all agreed—”

“Who said this is a democracy?” Conor said pleasantly. I heard Santana’s intake of breath, and saw a muscle twitch in Dan’s jaw.

“I’m sorry?” he said. Conor shrugged.

“You heard me. No one said this was a democracy. I certainly didn’t.”

“So are you saying you won’t give us back the water?”

“Dan, bro.” Conor put out a hand to Dan’s shoulder, but Dan flinched violently away. “Listen, it’s safest out at the water villa. It won’t get eaten by pests or pinched in the night, and we all know where the buck stops if there’s any question over fairness.”

“With you?” Dan said. I could tell his temper was at snapping point. “Is that what you’re saying? The buck stops with you?”

“Yes,” Conor said simply. “That’s what I’m saying.”

“Conor.” Santana’s voice was pitched half an octave higher than usual, and I could tell her teeth were gritted with the effort of not giving way to her anger. “This is bullshit. You have absolutely no right to do this.”

“Sure. So what do you propose to do about it?” Conor said. He sounded almost… interested.

“Lyla? Joel?” Santana turned to us. “Do you have anything to say?”

I shut my eyes. This was going down exactly as I had feared. A rift was developing that would be very hard to mend, and our food and drink were on the opposite side of that rift. But I had no choice but to speak up.

“Conor,” I said, trying to keep my voice measured. “Look, I get why you’re doing this, and I agree there’s a lot of merit to the idea of keeping all the food and drink in a secure location, but I think everyone just feels really uncomfortable about the idea that you’re in control of every single aspect of that. No shade on you—we’d feel uncomfortable if any one person had total oversight over all the food and drink. Why not keep the food out at your villa, and divide the water up so everyone has their own ration?”

“That’s not going to happen,” Conor said calmly. I felt my temper rise, and across the table I saw Dan stand up, and Santana grab his hand and force him back down.

“You don’t think that’s a good idea?” I asked instead, keeping my voice level. Conor shook his head.

“It’s too risky. What happens if someone loses their self-control and drinks all their water? Are we really going to sit around and watch them die of thirst for three weeks? No. So we’d end up feeling pressurized into sharing, and then everyone suffers. And that’s without even going into the most likely scenario—that someone steals someone else’s allowance or takes it by force.”

Like you did, I thought. The hypocrisy was overwhelming.

“I just—” I began, but Dan had lost patience. He pulled his arm out of Santana’s restraining grip and stood up.

“Conor, mate, sorry but this is BS. And we’re not going to stand for it.”

“Is that so?” Conor said.

“No,” Dan said firmly. “And look, I didn’t want to put it like this, but there’s four of us, and two of you. So… you do the maths.”

“Oh, I have,” Conor said pleasantly. He smiled, stood up, stretched for all the world like he didn’t have a care, and then clicked his neck. “Now, I’m going fishing. Anyone want to join me?”

“Did you hear what I just said?” Dan demanded belligerently. He had walked around the table and was squaring up to Conor like he was about to punch him.

“Dan,” I said. “Dan, please.”

For all Dan’s bravado, seeing the two of them practically nose to nose made it abundantly clear that there was no contest. Dan was impressively sculpted, with a torso like a boy-band member, but Conor had four inches and several dozen pounds on him, and more to the point, he looked like he knew how to fight. His muscles were of a different quality—lean and hard, like someone who hadn’t just worked out, but had actually worked. I remembered the cold efficiency with which he’d taken care of Bayer, remembered the smack, smack of fist into face, and I felt a shiver run down my spine, in spite of the heat.

“Dan,” I said, more urgently.

But Conor was smiling down at Dan and looked very far from snapping.

“I did hear what you said,” he said pleasantly. “And now I’m going fishing.”

“No,” Dan said. “No. You’re not. Joel?”

He turned to look at Joel, who looked like he wanted to melt through the floor.

“Dan,” he said, very quietly, “I don’t think this is the right way to handle this.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Dan said. I had the strong impression he was trying not to cry, though I had no idea whether it was tears of anger or betrayal that he was holding back. He turned back to Conor and stabbed his finger towards him. “And fuck you too. Watch your back, mate.”

Then he stalked off into the trees.

There was a long silence, and then, from the opposite direction, we heard the sound of a long, slow hand clap.

We all turned, and Angel was standing in the clearing in a long white dress that billowed in the sea breeze.

“Bravo, Dan,” she said, but she was looking at Conor as she said the words. “Someone has finally to stand up to the murderer.”

Conor smiled, showing all his white teeth. Santana put her head in her hands. Joel looked like he was about to burst into tears himself. Suddenly I couldn’t take it any longer. It wasn’t just the atmosphere in the cabana, it wasn’t even just the fact that Conor was now nakedly holding our water hostage and not even pretending to the contrary. It was everything. The fact that I was trapped on this island with a group of people preparing to tear each other apart. The fact that Nico was very likely dead. The fact that with every day that passed, our situation was getting more and more desperate.

“I’m going to the radio shack,” I said. Joel opened his mouth to say something, but I held up my hand, trying to signal with that one gesture that no, I didn’t want company, I didn’t want his advice, I didn’t want anyone. I just wanted ten minutes to myself, nursing the fantasy that someone out there was going to pick up our Mayday call.

Because someone, somewhere had to be looking for us. Didn’t they?