Last Resort (8 page)

“A double shot of rum,” I say to the waiter.

Pamela guffaws and slaps my knee. “That’s the spirit. When life hands you an impossible situation, getting plastered is an excellent option.”

She only refers to the lack of electricity, but her advice is especially apt for me considering the shambles of my personal life. Bill and Pamela discuss the power outage; I am not paying attention. Gwen stands at the bar, making small talk with other guests, not looking my way. I am sorely tempted to head back to my room pleading some excuse—a headache, upset stomach, anything just to be alone again. Coming to this resort was a mistake. My marriage is over. It is obvious now. These past few months I deluded myself into thinking it could have any other outcome.

Emotions churn within me like a cyclone. Anger, sadness, doubt. I am even angry with myself. Gwen offers herself to me, willing to endure whatever she can to bring us back together, and I am the one unwilling or unable to get over what happened. No! I shake my head as though to cast out this unwanted thought. I was not the one who cheated. I should not feel guilty just because I am unable to forgive her infidelity. Besides, Gwen is not the woman I believed her to be, therefore our marriage was a fraud. Gwen might be comfortable continuing to live a lie; I am not.

And yet, if that is true, why don’t I just get up and leave? Why do I keep glancing at Gwen hoping to catch her eye—hoping she will leave the people gathered at the bar and come sit with me?

Amidst my turmoil, one thing is clear: It is going to be a long couple of days until I am home again. The thought of feigning happiness to the other couples for several days and then returning to my loveless bungalow with Gwen is unbearable to me.

The waiter returns with our drinks. Pamela clinks her martini glass to mine and jests, “No electricity. No running water. Tiki torches to ward off the darkness. However, I have an ice-cold martini that embodies the perfect balance of gin to vermouth. At least I’m roughing it in style.”

Across the room, I spot Jonas Dunlap conferring with Owen, the man who picked us up from the airport. At this distance, it is impossible to hear what they are saying to each other, but from Jonas’s grim expression and sharp hand gestures coupled with Owen’s bewildered expression, it is safe to assume the news is not good.

At a nearby table, a woman remarks that her cell phone is dead.

“But I just charged it,” she complains.

“Hey, mine is dead, too,” responds another.

A murmur ripples through the crowd as other guests check their phones. I stand up. Something is seriously wrong.

“Bill, check your watch,” I say.

“Why, this can’t be right,” he says. “It’s at least an hour off. It seems to have stopped. Is your watch working?”

“Mine is working, but it’s a wind-up,” I reply.

The guests mill about in confused, anxious groups, like children who lost their parents in the mall. I cross to the edge of the restaurant where the wooden deck ends and the beach begins. I lean against the rope that acts as a guardrail, squint and peer across the bay.

Bill is at my side. “What is it?”

“Look,” I point into the darkness.

“What am I looking for?”

“That’s just it. There should be a red flashing light on that island across the bay. That light has its own generator; it does not rely on a power supply from the mainland. The light isn’t flashing. It is gone.”

“So it is,” Bill exclaims. “What does this mean?”

I am about to venture a guess, but a commotion near the bar stops me.

“What is going on, Jonas?” A frustrated guest demands. Everyone moves to the bar to listen. “You said the back-up generator would be on by now. What did the authorities in town say?”

Jonas pauses. “Actually, our phone lines are also down. We have been unable to call them.”

“And you are just informing us of this now?” asks an incredulous older woman. Her face is as taut as the leather on a wallet from what seems to be multiple face-lifts. Botox injections have rendered her brow as smooth as a field blanketed with snow. The total placidity of her expression is completely at odds with her alarmed tone of voice.

“I did not see the need to trouble any of you regarding the phone lines, especially in light of the fact that our generator would be on shortly,” he responds.

“Then why isn’t it on?” the botoxed woman shoots back.

Jonas looks at rows of angry, worried faces. For the first time I sense he is losing control of the situation. “Please, I must ask for everyone’s patience. Unfortunately, the back-up generator is also malfunctioning. We will continue working on it to return power to the resort as soon as possible.”

“I’m afraid it won’t do any good,” I advise. They all turn to me; Gwen locks eyes with mine. “If what I suspect is true the back-up generator will not work. Nothing that relies on electricity will work. I believe we just experienced an E.M.P. blast.”

It is obvious from their blank expressions they do not understand what this means.

Conner grips the towel around his neck like a lamb tossed over his shoulders and asks, “What the hell is that?”

“An electro magnetic pulse,” I speak slowly and deliberately. “It’s a surge of energy that fries electrical equipment. Cables, wires, batteries—any device that uses them will be rendered inoperable by the blast.”

“What blast?” snaps a surly British man close to my age. “There was no blast. Nobody saw an explosion. You’re talking out of your arse.”

Some guests become increasingly dismayed, while others look at me as though I were a babbling idiot.

“It’s not a blast you would see,” my voice rises above the noise of the crowd. “If this is what occurred—I am not saying for certain that it has—it occurred in the uppermost levels of the atmosphere. We wouldn’t see anything or feel anything.”

“Please, everyone, I am sure there is a simple explanation for this,” Jonas waves his hands to settle everyone, and then he casts an irritated look my way. “There is no need to begin speculating wildly. I understand this is a major inconvenience. We will do everything in our power to make this as tolerable for you as possible. I’ve sent Owen into town to ascertain what has happened.”

No sooner do the words pass Jonas’s lips then Owen enters the restaurant.

“The van won’t start,” Owen hands Jonas a set of keys.

There is no response from anyone—just mute bafflement.

Finally, Jonas speaks, “Try the other vans.”

“I tried them all. Nothing. I think the batteries are dead.”

“This confirms my theory. We’ve had an E.M.P. blast,” I speak up. “Engines will not start—not so long as they need an electrical spark to kick on. It’s likely every vehicle on the island is useless. In the blink of an eye, we’ve gone back to the Stone Age. Help must come from outside the island. Doesn’t a commercial flight land every day on Isla Fin de la Tierra? We can tell the pilot what happened and an emergency generator can be flown in.”

“That could take days,” Amy gasps.

Someone in the crowd asks, “What are we going to do for electricity in the meantime?”

Jonas turns to Owen and orders him to scour every tiki torch and candle he can find. “Since it seems none of our automobiles are functioning I will send someone on foot into town to find more information. Perhaps someone from the town is already on their way over here to inform us what occurred. In the meantime, my staff and I will endeavor to make this situation as tolerable as possible.”

“But the toilets aren’t working,” Don insists. “Where are we supposed to go to the bathroom?”

Jonas—previously so sophisticated and courteous—wavers with distress by the fact that he must discuss provisions for the waste elimination of his guests. “I realize this is incredibly challenging for all of you. We will provide buckets for those purposes.”

A plump British man at the back of the crowd bellows, “Buckets! What kind of nonsense is this? We are not living in the Dark Ages.”

“We will close the restaurant shortly,” Jonas announces, a total reversal from his earlier advice for us to remain drinking at the bar. “Your safety is my first concern, followed, of course, by your comfort. So that you are not wandering in the dark trying to find your rooms, the staff will escort you. We will provide candles…and any other items you may require. Hopefully this issue will be resolved by morning.”

Several in the crowd continue to grumble and gather in small groups to vent their displeasure, but the staff begins closing the restaurant, dispersing the irate crowds before they turn into a rowdy mob. A waiter holding a tiki torch guides a batch of us down the winding path to our rooms. It is so dark and the bungalows so identical that several times we try to enter the wrong one. Gwen and I reach our bungalow. The waiter hands us a small citronella candle and a bucket. Alone with Gwen, the room is as cheerful as a tomb. The gloom swallows the candle light. Without air conditioning, the air in the room is heavy and warm. Fumbling with my hands, I open the sliding glass door at the back of the room and throw the heavy curtains back to let fresh air into the room.

I find a comfortable chair and sit on it. In the darkness, the creaking of the mattress is the only indication that Gwen rests on the bed.

“Now I understand why the cavemen were so terrified of the night,” I muse. “With the setting of the sun it must have seemed to them that the world was coming to an end. No wonder they believed in so many myths and superstitions to explain things.”

No response.

“I expect we’ll have power tomorrow after an emergency generator is brought in from outside the island,” I continue. “Though I doubt we’ll have full power for some time.”

“I’m leaving on the first plane out of here.”

Her words echo off the walls like a gunshot.

“There probably won’t be normal flights to and from the island for a few days,” I reply.

Pause. “Then whenever the first plane leaves—tomorrow, the next day—I’ll be on it.”

“You could always stay the rest of the week. We’ve paid for the time.”

“There’s nothing to stay for. This marriage is over. You do not love me; I don’t blame you. What we had is dead and I killed it. It will always be the biggest regret of my life. Staying here any longer would just drag it out.”

“But we’ve paid so much to come here.”

“Then at least one of us should enjoy it. The money doesn’t matter to me. You should stay.”

“If you leave I am leaving, too.”

“No. Stay. It was more your idea to come here than mine, anyway. Also, I want to fly back alone.”

So this is how a marriage dissolves. No screaming. No throwing things. Just this quiet discussion involving travel arrangements. I suppose I should feel a deep sadness, but I am numb. In a day or two, I’ll have this island to myself. Maybe I will do a lot of snorkeling. Sleep late in bed. Take meals in my room to avoid the curious glances of the other guests wondering why I am alone.

I wait for Gwen to say something more, but there is nothing more to say. I fall asleep in my chair.

Chapter Six

The air hangs on me like a warm, wet sheet. I open my eyes. A shaft of morning light falls into the room. I check my wristwatch. It is almost 9 a.m. The sheets on the bed are rumpled and it is empty.

“Gwen?”

No answer. I check the bathroom. She is gone. The absence of air conditioning confirms that we are still without power, but I test the lights anyway. The lulling rhythmic sound of the waves and the humid, stillness of the air brings about a strange pensiveness in me. I feel that it would be wrong to make a sound or disturb this quietude in any way. I touch the bed where Gwen slept. Her satin robe lies crumpled in a ball. Pressing it to my lips, I inhale the trace of her perfume that lingers on the fabric.

I use the bucket to relieve myself. If Gwen suddenly returns at that moment and catches me squatting over a bucket, I will likely die of embarrassment. Now what to do with the contents of the bucket? Will someone from the staff collect it? God, no—that would be too humiliating. I cannot—with any dignity—hand someone a bucket of my piss and shit. I have to dispose of it myself. Outside, I scamper to the side of my bungalow, looking around to make sure no one is watching, and I dig a hole in the sand into which I dump my waste and bury it. I tromp down to the sea and wash the bucket out with seawater. On the way back, I spot one of the refined grand dames doing the same thing with obvious revulsion. This is going to make for some crazy stories when I get back home.

Left to my own devices I would stay alone in the bungalow all day, but hunger forces me out. I throw clean clothes on. My face is oily, my hair unkempt. If only I could take a hot shower. Maybe I will go for a swim in the pool later to wash some of the sweat away.

Along the way to the restaurant, I pass other guests all looking ragged at the edges. The elegant ladies have lost their perfect composure. Their hair is frizzy and their faces have a pinched, sour expression. Two elderly white men are heading in my direction. One of them wears a blindingly garish Hawaiian shirt and has a sizable potbelly. His face is ruddy from the heat. He walks with the aid of his companion who wears a straw hat and seems to take the power outage in stride. From the tender way they lean on one another it is obvious they are a couple.

“Isn’t this something?” the thinner and spryer of the pair remarks to me as I pass by. “Our trip to paradise has turned into such an ordeal.”

“This is awful. Simply awful,” his red-faced companion adds. “Hey, we heard you in the restaurant last night. You seem to know what you’re talking about. Better than that manager anyway—”

“Jonas is doing the best he can,” his friend amends.

The plump man is not convinced and gives a dismissive shrug. “You said something last night about an explosion—about the power never coming back on…”

“Yes, an E.M.P. blast. It’s a likely explanation for how we lost power on our watches, cell phones, and flashlights. No other explanation makes sense.”

“I’m Nelson, by the way,” the slender man says. “And this is Curtis.”

I introduce myself.

“So, Phillip, let’s say for the sake of argument that you are correct—that we’ve had this electric, magnetic blast thing,” Curtis ponders. “How long should we expect to endure living like cave men?”