Castaways (6 page)

Both men grinned. They'd seen the raw footage of Pauline in the buff. It was a popular choice in the editing room onboard the ship.

"So when do we inform them?" Mark cocked his thumb over his shoulder at the contestants.

"Now. And make sure you film it, because their reactions should make for great footage. We'll send the rest of the crew back to the landing zone, so they can evacuate. Then we've got some other scheduled shoots while there's still daylight and before the weather gets bad. We need to do some one-on-one interviews with Matthew, Roberta, and Stefan. We need to get some stock footage of Matthew and Roberta, because what we have so far isn't that useful. Also, I'm noticing some sparks between Jerry and Becka."

"Yeah," Jesse said, "I picked up on that, too, during today's challenge. They were pretty cozy on the swim back to shore. Took their time together."

"Might be worth keeping an eye on that. And, of course, the ongoing conflict between Troy and Stefan should be focused on, as well. With an extra day before exile, that should lead to some interesting opportunities. Make sure we film it."

Mark spit out his twig and hefted the equipment. "How in the hell are we gonna capture all that with only one camera?"

"We'll have to pick and choose, of course. I've got a spare handheld stowed with my gear. We'll make due. In fact, I'll stay here while you guys conduct the interviews with Roberta, Stefan, and Matthew. Just in case something big happens."

Mark shrugged. "You're the boss."

Stuart stood. "Let's go tell them the good news."

"How do you think they're gonna take it?"

"Everything will be fine," Stuart said. "They'll be okay with it. After all, this is showbiz! They want to be famous? This is a part of it. The show must go on."

"Fuck that shit," Troy shouted. "You've got to be fucking kidding me. There ain't no fucking way I'm staying on this fucking island in the middle of a fucking hurricane. Fuck that."

"Jesus," Raul muttered. "The air's gone blue, dog."

Jeff nodded. "He curses more than the guy on
Deadwood,
doesn't he?"

"And I'll tell you something else," Troy contin-

ued, ignoring the comments. "You're postponing the next exile vote until after Ivan passes, right? I say the hell with that. I want to know right fucking now if I'm getting fucking exiled or not before I agree to fucking stay here during a goddamned storm."

Richard nodded. "Yeah, that sounds about right. I'm with him. I've lived through tornadoes in Kansas. I don't really want to do it again."

While Mark and Jesse captured their reactions, Stuart held up his hands.for silence.

"Obviously," he said, "we can't force you to remain behind. If you are that concerned, you are certainly welcome to evacuate with the rest of the crew. But understand, according to the contract you signed, if you choose to do so, you are forfeiting the game."

"What?" Troy was exasperated. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"If you leave the island for any reason—be it by personal choice, medical emergency, death at home, whatever—that counts as a forfeiture. You agreed to that when you signed up, Troy. You too, Richard."

Richard shook his head.

"It's just like what happened with Sheila," Stuart pointed out. "She broke her leg and was unable to play anymore. Legally, we could have allowed her to keep playing, but she chose not to—wisely, I might add. So she forfeited. You can do the same thing, if you want."

Troy opened his mouth to curse some more, but Stefan interrupted him.

"Go ahead and leave, you bloody gearhead. Go back to Seattle with your tail between your legs and

bend wrenches for the rest of your life. Live up to your potential as a loser and let us big dogs compete without the constant annoyance of your presence."

"Yeah," Jeff chimed in, "in fact, I'm willing to carry you down to the helicopter if you can't make it. What do you say, Troy?"

Mark zoomed in on Troy, capturing his expression.

"Fuck you, pretty boy. I'll outlast a metrosexual fuckwit like you any day of the fucking week— storm or no storm. You and your English buddy."

"I've told you before," Stefan said, "I'm not English. I'm Welsh."

"Whatever. We still kicked your ass during the Revolutionary War, bitch."

Raul, Stefan, and Jeff feigned shock, but before rhey could respond, Stuart appealed for silence again.

"So all of you are staying, correct?"

The contestants nodded and shrugged.

"Okay. Then on behalf of the producers, the network, and Roland, I'm glad to hear it. And keep in mind, they don't even know for sure if the storm will hit us directly. Ivan may turn out to be much ado about nothing. It might just be some winds and rain. Mark, Jesse, and I will be here with you. I've also got a satellite phone. We'll be in constant contact with the ship, should an emergency arise."

"Do all three of you have one?" Richard asked.

"No," Stuart said, "just me."

"Well, I know who I'm sticking close to then."

Sal elbowed him in the ribs. "You can stick close to me tonight."

"You guys are something else," Ryan said, shaking his head. "I mean, seriously, you make
me
look straight, and I fit every gay stereotype there is."

"You can stay close, too."

Ryan grinned. "You're not my type, Sal."

"Okay," Stuart said, "if there are no further questions, we need to do a few more one-on-ones. Matthew, you're up first. Please follow Mark and Jesse. And let me remind the rest of you—the interviews are totally confidential and off-limits, so please, no eavesdropping or being sneaky. Find something else to occupy yourselves until we're done. Stefan, we'll need you when they're finished with Matthew. It should be about forty-five minutes or so. No more than an hour, I'm sure."

"Fine," Stefan agreed. "I'll stick close to camp."

"And then we'll get to you, Roberta," Stuart said. "But it will be a while, so feel free to do something else until then."

She nodded.

Matthew stepped forward, spear in hand, and followed Mark and Jesse into the undergrowth. The rest of the group dissolved again into their various cliques and alliances. Sal and Richard gathered their crude fishing implements—netting, a few sharpened sticks they used as both spears and poles, and some hooks they'd won during a challenge—and headed for the beach. Stefan's group settled in around the campfire, stirring the coals and building it up again. As Sal and Richard departed the camp, Stefan called out to them.

"Where are you gents going?"

"Fishing," Sal told him.

"Bollocks. Do you really think that's wise, what with the possibility of inclement weather and all?"

Sal shrugged. "Storm or no storm, we've still got to eat. I don't know about you all, but I'm frigging sick of rice. We'll be back before the rain starts."

"Be careful of the tide," Jeff warned. "It might be rising already. Don't want you guys getting washed away."

"We'll be fine," Richard assured him.

After they were gone, Jerry pulled Becka, Shonette, Troy, and Ryan aside. Sensing something good, Stuart followed them, backup camera in hand.

"Okay," Jerry said. "This storm bought us some unexpected time, but we need to take advantage of it. Who wants to work on Roberta? How about you, Becka?"

Becka hesitated. "I don't know, guys. I'm not very good at all this duplicity and sneakiness."

"You can do it," Jerry said. "It's just like playing chess."

"I suck at chess. My brother used to beat me all the time."

"Do we even need Roberta?" Ryan asked. "I mean, we've got seven of us in our alliance. We control the vote, so what's the point of swaying her?"

"Insurance," Jerry said. "Let's be honest—if Stefan's group approaches one of us, can we really be sure someone from our alliance won't switch sides?"

"I fucking won't," Troy spat. "Fuck that limey cocksucker."

"No," Jerry agreed, "I don't think you would, Troy, but we can't say that for certain about everyone

else. Richard and Sal, for example. So adding Roberta would just give us extra insurance. Plus, it might be good to have a spy in Stefan's group. So who wants to talk to her?"

"I can give it a try," Shonette volunteered. "It's my turn to get fruit, anyway. How about me and Ryan ask her to go with us and help us out? And then we'll talk to her about Stefan while we're away from camp."

"That might work," Jerry agreed. "But the others might wonder why me or Becka or Troy didn't go help you instead. Or, they might want to tag along with you. We'll have to distract them."

Ryan frowned. "How?"

"I'm not sure yet," Jerry admitted. "We'll just play it by ear. If we get the chance, we can—"

He stopped, glancing at Troy, who was twitching and playing with his hat.

"What's wrong?" Jerry asked.

"I told you before. I need some fucking nicotine, man. Just ignore me. I'll be okay."

"Have you tried chewing on twigs or something?" Becka asked.

"Twigs? Ain't no nicotine in twigs, Becka."

"Maybe you should eat something," Shonette suggested. "That's what I did when I quit. I gained like fifteen pounds."

"I would, but all we've got is that fucking rice and fruit and shit. I'm sick of that stuff. Maybe I'll take a nap."

"Go ahead," Jerry said. "If you do, maybe Stefan will leave at least one of his group here to keep an

eye on you. That would help with keeping them away from Shonette and Ryan while they try to get Roberta to switch sides."

Troy grinned. "Shit, if sleeping will do that, then I'm your man, dude. Fuck it."

"Okay," Jerry whispered. "Let's do it."

Becka, Shonette, Ryan, and Jerry returned to the campflre while Troy made a big production of getting some sleep. Stuart followed along, hovering at the edge of the group, filming everything. When Troy was sure that Stefan and the others had noticed him, he crawled into the lean-to and lay down on a bed of leaves.

"What's up, guys?" Raul waved his hand, offering them a seat.

"Not much," Jerry said. "We were just talking about the storm. Pretty freaky, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Pauline said. "We were just saying the same thing. Something like this has never happened on
Castaways
before. I mean, people have been bitten by snakes and stuff, and Sheila broke her leg. And that one season, the camp flooded and that guy got pneumonia, but there's never been anything like this."

Raul glanced up at the sky. "It doesn't look like rain. You ask me, they're exaggerating it so that they can get a reaction out of us."

"Maybe," Ryan agreed, "but the wind has definitely picked up. You can feel it. And look at the tree-tops."

They did, and saw the trees swaying back and forth in the breeze. The sky was noticeably free of birds.

"We should have more firewood on hand," Jerry suggested. "Just in case, you know? Maybe we can put it in the shelter so it doesn't get wet."

"That's an excellent idea," Stefan agreed. "You gents should get started while there's still daylight."

"You want to help?" Jerry asked.

Stefan smiled. "I would, but you heard Stuart. I'm afraid that I've got an interview scheduled for later."

Jerry turned to the others. "Jeff, Raul, Pauline? Care to give us a hand?"

Jeff and Raul stood up and brushed themselves off. Pauline hesitated, but then reconsidered and stood as well.

She smiled coyly. "Guess I wouldn't want to lie around camp when there's an exile coming up."

"No," Shonette agreed. "Probably shouldn't."

Stefan, Jeff, Raul, and Pauline glanced knowingly at Troy's prone form inside the open shelter.

"Roberta," Ryan said, "Shonette and I were going to go get fruit before the weather gets bad? You want to come along?"

"Sure."

Stefan frowned, but said nothing. Jerry held his breath. If Stefan voiced his suspicions or directed Roberta to stay with him—or with Pauline and the others—their newly formed alliance was screwed.

Instead, Stef's frown slowly transformed into a broad smile.

"I'll stay here and—what's the euphemism you Yanks use? Hold down the fort?" Jerry shrugged. "Suit yourself, man." "Cheers."

They split up, leaving Stefan alone by the fire. Soft snoring drifted from the shelter, and Troy's fellow conspirators wondered if he was faking or really asleep. Shonette, Ryan, and Roberta started down the trail while Becka, Jerry, Jeff, Raul, and Pauline headed into the jungle around the camp's perimeter.

Stuart watched them leave, breaking his silence just long enough to remind them all to avoid the interview area. Then he began filming again. He debated internally which group to follow, and decided to stick with his instincts and stay in camp. The possibility of a confrontation between Troy and Stefan was too strong to ignore, and with the two of them alone together, things could quickly come to a head. Stefan would probably avoid taunting Troy without the others present. He needed an audience. But Troy ...