Lost Girls (11 page)

DAY 11

I keep thinking it can’t get any worse, and then it does. The nightmare is never-ending.

A terrifying night. Wild boars attacked. Camp destroyed.

We were woken by loud squeals and snuffling, and then the barrier was down and at least three smelly creatures rampaged through the camp, even trampling the fire. It was chaos—all of us screaming and running around like headless chickens. The bamboo platform was smashed and the walls of branches and canvas and bamboo roof
collapsed. We couldn’t find the spears. No one was hurt, except for Hope, who went over on her ankle. We huddled together in the darkness for the rest of the night, one flashlight on at all times, terrified that they would come back and attack us. We had thought our camp was so strong, but they just ran through it and broke it up as if it were made of matchsticks.

Then, to cap it all, it rained—hard. We sat under the banyan tree and held the canvas over us like a tent, but we still got drenched.

“What about Natalie?” I said belatedly. “She’ll be getting soaked.”

“Come on.” Jas grabbed my arm. “We’ll get her.”

We picked her up as carefully as we could and carried her up to the tree line. The fire had no chance. If we’d kept the barbecue going there would be charcoal embers we could use. I could have wrapped the glowing embers in banana leaves and carried them with me to the top of the island and made a fire. I could have carried the hot parcel in a coconut shell. We could have banana fritters, grilled fish….

I’m hungry, and so cold.

Another day in paradise. Must turn off the flashlight now to save batteries. Jas and I are on watch, though I don’t think anyone can sleep.

“Bonnie, listen!” Jas is leaning over Natalie.

“What is it?”

“Do you think her breathing’s changed?”

“She’s too hot. I’ll cool her pulse points.”

“No, Bonnie, it’s too late, I think she’s…”

I press my fingers to her throat to feel for a pulse. It’s very faint.

“I don’t think she’s in pain,” I say.

We sit and hold her hands, warm sticky hands, still as stones. She fades away quietly, without a murmur, her skin turning gray and pallid as dawn breaks. She doesn’t look like Natalie anymore. I hear Jas’s quiet crying in the gloom.

I feel nothing, no feeling at all. All we can do is wait for morning.

Dawn announces itself with a pea-soup sky and a purple heaving sea. Large black birds circle.

Mrs. Campbell became hysterical when we told her about Natalie. I really think she’s gone totally out of her mind. She wailed like a baby and took off up the beach. She’s definitely nuts, in my opinion. Jas thinks Natalie’s death is the last straw, and Mrs. Campbell has simply given up hope. She’s fallen apart.

Jody is inconsolable. Hope tries to cuddle her, but she runs away and sits on a rock, her head on her knees.

Before the day gathers heat we bury Natalie’s body as deep as we can, the remains of her cuddly blanket wrapped around her, and place rocks on top of the mound. No matter how much I wash my hands I can still smell the putrefaction.

Now we have three wandering spirits.

Jas, Hope, and I build a small shrine on a shelf at the back of Black Cave. Jas has made a sort of wreath from leaves, and I have filled a tin can with orchids.

“We have to put food out to mollify the spirits.”

“Okay. A coconut.”

Shame we haven’t any jasmine. Lan Kua once told me that jasmine symbolizes the beauty of the Buddha’s teachings and, as it perishes, the impermanence of life.

Hope has washed Sandy’s teddy bear in freshwater to get the stink and bloodstains out. Carly whispers in its ear, kisses it, and places it on the shelf with the other treasures—the peacock feather, the conch, and a little pile of cowrie shells.

“I think w-w-w-we ought to have a c-c-crucifix,” says Hope.

She takes off her own silver cross and chain and places them on the rock. Jas is trying to soothe Jody, but the poor kid is exhausted with loud grief and just sits by the grave and wails.

“I’m sick of funerals. I want to live,” I say. I feel like something is strangling my heart.

Jas goes back to Jody and tries to cuddle her, but Jody pushes her away.

After the funeral I sit and write in my journal:

Natalie is dead.

I don’t know where Mrs. Campbell is and I don’t care.

We—Jas and I, Hope, the Glossies, Jody and Carly—have removed our sleeping bags from the smashed platform back to Black Cave. Mrs. Campbell isn’t back yet.

“Do you think we should go and look for her?” asks Jas.

“I don’t care if I never see her again,” I say. And I mean it.

Mattresses of leaves and branches help keep the damp from our sleeping bags, but the discomfort is wearing me down. There is a black mold growing inside my bag and I have grit in creases I didn’t know I had. But the shallow cave feels safer, somehow, from the wild boars. Mrs. Campbell turns up eventually, and squeezes in between May and Arlene, who grumble in their sleep.

The night is long and very scary. Above the noise of the
waves my ears pick up the sounds of the jungle: crashing, screeching, howling. Hope snores through the horrors of darkness. I have given up trying to read my book after dark. We have to preserve our flashlight batteries.

This rash is driving me mad. I can’t stop scratching. As I lie here, it occurs to me that we need meat. Protein.

Perhaps we could build a trap. Dig a pit on one of the tracks the boars use regularly and cover it with branches, or make a trap with wire. But how would we bait it? Unless we dig up the body of Natalie or the boatman and use some of their rotting flesh. Boars eat carrion.

Listen to me! I can’t believe I’m considering such awful things. But it would kill two birds with one stone: rid us of a dangerous beast and provide us with much-needed protein.

Birds. That’s it. We could kill a bird. But we haven’t a gun.

How long does it take before starving survivors think seriously about cannibalism? Who would I want to eat? Ugh! No one.

I might try those little ghost crabs, except that it might be like having a large spider in my mouth. I could eat live shrimp. I would even eat raw eggs, if only we could find any.

I go over our list in my head. We have two knives, fishing line and hooks, spears, a net. We haven’t yet used the coil of net that was washed up.

The sea is high and noisy and the strong wind whines as I finally fall asleep.

Dad has his arms open to me. He is wearing ordinary clothes, not his uniform. He’s smiling and I am little again and run to him and leap into his arms, throwing my legs around his waist. But then suddenly I am alone and he is walking away from me, his arms around a woman with long auburn hair—not Mommy.

I wake sobbing.

I feel Jas stirring beside me.

“Bonnie, we’re going to get rescued and go home. I can’t wait to see my baby brother. I really miss him. Now, close your eyes and let’s pretend we’re having a sleepover at your house.”

I can almost feel the ceiling fan whirring above me. If I reached up I could touch the mosquito net over my bed.

“Do you think your mom might want to take you and Francisco away from Thailand—go back to the States?”

“No, she’d never leave Dad here on his own.”

“Why, doesn’t she trust him?”

“God, no, it’s not that. Of course she trusts him. No,
she wouldn’t want him to have no one to look after him when he’s on leave.”

I hold my tongue about who I think is looking after him while she is nursing her migraines. There’s no point in upsetting Jas, and anyway I might be totally wrong.

A few hours pass and the night gradually fades. We doze, fitfully. But we never really sleep.

“Come on, we need to get more food,” Jas says.

We find our shoes and stumble over the other girls. Mrs. Campbell has a bare arm flung over Arlene’s back. May still has curlers in her hair. Jas and I giggle at the ridiculous sight.

DAY 12, KOH TABU

They are looking for us, but in the wrong place.