Die Again (21 page)

BOTSWANA

H
OW LONG CAN A MAN STAY AWAKE, I WONDER AS I WATCH JOHNNY
nodding off in the firelight, his eyes half closed, his torso slumping forward like a tree on the verge of collapse. Yet his fingers are still wrapped around the rifle in his lap, as if the weapon is part of his body, an extension of his limbs. All evening the others have been watching him, and I know Richard’s tempted to wrestle control of that gun, but even a half-asleep Johnny is too formidable to tangle with. Since Isao’s death, Johnny has caught only snatches of sleep during the day and he’s determined to stay awake all night. If he keeps this up, in another few days he will be either catatonic or insane.

Either way, he’ll be the one with the gun.

I look at the faces around the fire. Sylvia and Vivian huddle together, their blond hair equally tangled, faces equally tight with worry. It’s strange, what the bush does to even beautiful women. It strips them of all superficial gloss, dulls their hair, scours away makeup, erodes them down to flesh and bone. That’s what I see when I look at them now: two women slowly being eroded to their bare elements.
Already it has happened to Mrs. Matsunaga, who’s been worn down to her fragile, fractured core. She is still not eating. The plate of meat I gave her sits untouched at her feet. To coax some sort of nutrition into her, I added two spoonfuls of sugar to her tea, but she immediately spat it out, and now she looks at me with distrust, as if I tried to poison her.

In fact, everyone now looks at me with distrust, because I haven’t joined their
blame-Johnny
team. They think I’ve gone to the dark side, and I’m Johnny’s spy, when all I’m trying to do is figure out the most likely way for us to stay alive. I know Richard’s no outdoorsman, even though he thinks he is. Clumsy, terrified Elliot hasn’t shaven in days, his eyes are bloodshot, and any minute now I expect him to start babbling like a madman. The blondes are falling apart even as I watch. The only person who still has it together, who actually knows what he’s doing out here, is Johnny. I vote for him.

Which is why the others no longer look at me. They look past me or through me, shooting furtive glances at one another in some silent eyelid-flickering Morse code. We’re living the real-life version of TV’s
Survivor
, and it’s clear I’ve been voted off the island.

The blondes are off to bed first, huddling together and whispering as they leave the firelight. Then Elliot and Keiko slip away to their respective tents. For a moment it’s just Richard and me sitting by the fire, too wary of each other to say a word. That I once loved this man is almost impossible to believe. These days in the bush have added a handsomely rugged edge to his good looks, but now I see the petty vanity underneath it all. The real reason he dislikes Johnny is that he can’t measure up. It’s all come down to who’s more of a man. Richard always has to be the hero of his own story.

He seems about to say something when we both realize that Johnny’s awake, his eyes gleaming in the shadows. Without a word, Richard rises to his feet. Even as I watch him stalk off and duck into our tent, I’m aware of Johnny’s gaze on me, can feel the heat of it on my face.

“Where did you meet him?” Johnny asks. He sits so still against the tree that he seems to be part of the trunk itself, his body like one long, sinuous root.

“A bookshop, of course. He came in to sign copies of his book
Kill Option
.”

“What was that one about?”

“Oh, the usual R. Renwick thriller. The hero finds himself trapped on a remote island with terrorists. Uses his wilderness skills to take them down one by one. Men eat up the books like candy, and we had a full house for the signing. Afterward, he and the bookshop staff went out to the pub for drinks. I thought for certain he had his eye on my colleague Sadie. But no, he went home with me.”

“You sound surprised.”

“You haven’t seen Sadie.”

“And how long ago was this?”

“Almost four years ago.” Long enough for Richard to get bored. Long enough for the various hurts and grievances to pile up and make a man wonder about better options.

“Then you should know each other pretty well,” says Johnny.

“We should.”

“You’re not certain?”

“Can one ever be?”

He looks at Richard’s tent. “Not about some people. The way you can’t ever be sure about some animals. It’s possible to tame a lion or an elephant, even learn to trust them. But you can’t ever trust a leopard.”

“What kind of animal do you think Richard is?” I ask, only half serious.

Johnny doesn’t crack a smile. “You tell me.”

His answer, spoken so quietly, forces me to consider my almost four years with Richard. Four years of a shared bed and shared meals, but always with a distance between us. He was the one who’s held back, the one who scoffed at the idea of marriage, as if it was beneath
us, but I think I knew all along why he never married me; I just refused to admit it to myself. He was waiting for
the one
. And I’m not her.

“Do you trust him?” Johnny says softly.

“Why are you asking this?”

“Even after four years, do you really know who he is? What he’s capable of?”

“You don’t think
Richard’s
the one who—”

“Do you?”

“That’s what the others are saying about
you
. That we can’t trust you. That you deliberately stranded us here.”

“Is that what you think?”

“I think if you wanted to kill us, you’d have done it already.”

He stares back at me, and I’m keenly aware of the rifle at his side. As long as he controls the gun, he controls us. Now I wonder if I’ve made a fatal mistake. If I’ve confided in the wrong man.

“Tell me what else they’re saying,” he says. “What are they planning?”

“No one’s planning anything. It’s just that they’re scared. We’re
all
scared.”

“There’s no reason to be, as long as no one does anything rash. As long as you trust me. No one but me.”

Not even Richard
is what he implies, although he doesn’t say it. Does he really think that Richard’s to blame for what’s happened? Or is this part of Johnny’s game to divide and conquer, by planting the seeds of suspicion?

Already the seeds are taking root.

Later, as I lie beside Keiko in her tent, I think about all the evenings when Richard came home late. Out with his literary agent, he’d tell me. Or dinner with his publishing team. My biggest fear used to be that he was having a fling with another woman. Now I wonder if I suffered from a lack of imagination and his reasons were darker, more horrifying than mere infidelity.

Outside the tent, the nightly chorus of insects sings as predators circle our camp, held off only by the fire. And by a lone man with a gun.

Johnny wants me to trust him. Johnny promises he’ll keep us safe.

That’s what I cling to as I finally fall asleep. Johnny says we’ll live through this and I believe him.

Until daybreak, when everything changes.

T
HIS TIME, IT
’
S
E
LLIOT
who’s screaming. His panicked yelps of
Oh my God! Oh my God!
wrench me awake and toss me back into the nightmare of real life. Keiko’s gone, and I’m alone in the tent. I don’t even bother to struggle into my trousers, but roll out of my tent in T-shirt and underwear, pausing only to shove bare feet into boots.

The whole camp is awake and everyone has converged on Elliot’s tent. The blondes cling to each other, their hair greasy and disheveled, their legs bare in the chill dawn. Like me, they’d rushed out of their tents in only their underwear. Keiko’s still wearing pajamas, her feet clad in tiny Japanese sandals. Only Richard is fully dressed. He stands gripping Elliot’s shoulders, trying to calm him down, but Elliot keeps shaking his head, blubbering.

“It’s gone,” says Richard. “It’s not there anymore.”

“It could be hiding in my clothes! Or in the blankets.”

“I’ll look again, okay? But I didn’t see it.”

“What if there’s another one in there?”

“Another what?” I ask.

They all turn to look at me and I see wariness in their eyes. I’m the one no one trusts, because I threw in my lot with the enemy.

“A snake,” says Sylvia, and she hugs herself, shivering. “Somehow it got into Elliot’s tent.”

I glance down at the ground, half expecting to see a serpent slither toward my boots. In this land of spiders and biting insects, I’ve learned never to walk barefoot.

“It was hissing at me,” says Elliot. “That’s what woke me up. I
opened my eyes and it was
right there
, coiled on top of my legs. I thought for certain …” He wipes a trembling hand across his face. “Oh God. We’re not going to make it another week!”

“Elliot, stop,” Richard commands.

“How can I sleep after this? How can
any
of you sleep, when you don’t know what might be crawling into your bed?”

“It was a puff adder,” says Johnny. “That would be my guess.”

Once again, he’s managed to startle me with his silent approach. I turn and see him toss wood into the dying fire.

“You saw the snake?” I ask.

“No. But Elliot said it hissed at him.” Johnny moves toward us, carrying the ever-present rifle. “Was it yellow-brown? Speckled, with a triangular head?” he asks Elliot.

“It was a snake, that’s all I know! You think I bothered to ask its name?”

“Puff adders are common out here in the bush. We’ll probably see more of them.”

“How poisonous are they?” Richard asks.

“Left untreated, the venom can be fatal. But if it makes you feel any better, their bites are often dry and carry no venom at all. It probably just crawled into Elliot’s bed to get warm. That’s what reptiles do.” He looks around at us. “That’s why I warned you all to keep your tents zipped up.”

“It
was
zipped up,” Elliot says.

“Then how did it get into your tent?”

“You know how freaked out I am about malaria. I
always
zip up to keep the mosquitoes out. I didn’t think a fucking
snake
could get inside!”

“It could have gotten in during the day,” I suggest. “While you weren’t in the tent.”

“I’m telling you, I
never
leave it unzipped. Even during the day.”

Without a word, Johnny circles to the other side of Elliot’s tent. Is he searching for the snake? Does he think it’s still lurking somewhere
under the canvas, waiting for another chance to invade? Suddenly Johnny drops down where we can’t see him. The silence is unbearable.

Sylvia calls out in an unsteady voice: “Is the snake still there?”

Johnny doesn’t answer. He rises to his feet and when I see his expression, my hands turn to ice.

“What is it?” Sylvia asks.
“What is it?”

“Come see this for yourselves,” he says quietly.

Almost hidden by scrubby grass, the slit runs along the lower edge of the tent. Not a mere rip, this is a clean, straight cut in the canvas, and the significance is instantly clear to us all.

Elliot looks around at us in disbelief. “Who did this? Who the hell cut open my tent?”

“You all have knives,” points out Johnny. “Anyone could have done it.”

“Not anyone,” says Richard. “
We
were asleep.
You
were the one out here all night,
keeping watch
as you call it.”

“I left at first light to get firewood.” Johnny looks Richard up and down. “And how long have
you
been up and dressed?”

“You see what he’s doing, don’t you?” Richard turns to look at us. “Don’t forget who has control of the gun. Who’s been in charge here, while everything’s gone straight to hell.”

“Why
my
tent?” Elliot’s voice has gone shrill, infecting us all with his panic. “Why
me
?”

“The men,” says Vivian softly. “He’s taking out the men first. He killed Clarence. Then Isao. And now it’s Elliot …”

Richard takes a step toward Johnny and the rifle instantly snaps up, its barrel pointed straight at Richard’s chest. “Back away,” Johnny orders.

“So this is how it’s going to be,” says Richard. “He’ll shoot me first. Then he’ll kill Elliot. And what about the women, Johnny? You may have Millie on your side, but you can’t take the rest of us down. Not if we all fight back.”

“It’s you,” says Johnny. “You’re the one doing this.”

Richard takes another step toward him. “I’m the one who’ll stop you.”

“Richard,” I plead. “Don’t do this.”

“It’s time to choose sides, Millie.”

“There are no sides! We have to talk about this. We have to be rational.”

Richard takes another step toward Johnny. It’s a dare, a contest of nerves. The bush has stripped him of reason, and he’s acting on raw fury now, at Johnny his rival. At me, the traitor. Time slows down and I register every detail with painful clarity. The sweat on Johnny’s brow. The snap of the twig under Richard’s boot as he rocks forward. Johnny’s hand, his muscles twitching taut, preparing to fire.

And I see Keiko—small, frail Keiko—as she slips silently behind Johnny. I see her raise her arms. I see the rock slam into the back of Johnny’s head.

H
E IS STILL ALIVE
.

Minutes after the blow, his eyes flicker open. The rock sliced open his scalp, and he’s shed an alarming amount of blood, but the look he gives us is clear-eyed and fully aware.

“You’re making a mistake, all of you,” he says. “You have to listen to me.”

“No one’s listening to you,” says Richard. His shadow moves across Johnny, and he stands staring down at him. He’s the one with the rifle now, the one in control.

Groaning, Johnny tries to rise, but it’s a struggle for him just to sit up. “Without me, you’re not going to make it.”

Richard looks at the others, who stand in a circle around Johnny. “Shall we take a vote?”

Vivian shakes her head. “I don’t trust him.”

“Then what are we going to do with him?” says Elliot.

“Tie him up. That’s what.” Richard nods to the blondes. “Go find some rope.”