Page 47 of Here for a Good Time
I had initially thought I’d be too freaked out about sleeping yet another night in the jungle, but having Leila and Antonio in our group now makes me feel safer. Beside me, the crackling fire and the rhythmic sound of Zwe flipping pages combine into an unexpectedly reassuring lullaby.
Zwe. Books,I think right before I doze off.Home.
TEN
Despite my protests that the last thing I want is to be treated like an injured Bambi, the other three agree that I need the longest amount of uninterrupted rest, and so they give me the last watch shift.
After swapping with Leila, I sit in the same spot for a long time, hunched over on my knees, blinking incessantly to make myself stay awake. I consider going for a short walk, but the whole point of this is that I’m watching over the group. There’s also the small but aching fact that my ankle needs all the recuperation it can get.
A task. I need something that will keep my brain busy, but not my body.
You want a task? I’ll give you a task!my brain seems to taunt with a smirk. Various hypothetical scenes involving my parents begin to flash through my mind like one of those old View-Master toys.
Them getting a call with some random police officer telling them that their only child is dead. Them and Zwe’s parents openingthe door to our apartment and my mom breaking down before she’s even crossed the threshold. Them having to plan their own daughter’s goddamn funeral.
I take a deep breath, willing my lungs to expand and take in more air.
Recognizing that I’m spiraling and catastrophizing, I scramble to redirect my active imagination toward something else.
Plot. I can plot out a new story. Zwe said it best: nothing distracts me like a good book.
I shake out my shoulders as I open a blank document.
An excruciating four hours later, and after going over my two pages of single-spaced 12-point font enough times to make sure I haven’t missed anything, I wake everyone up at our agreed time, although I’ve been wanting to wake them for a solid hour and a half by this point.
“It doesn’t make sense,” I say as Zwe crawls into a sitting position.
“What doesn’t make sense? Mornings? Sunrises?” He yawns and wipes the sleep from his eyes. “I know they’re a relatively new concept to you, but believe it or not, they’ve been around for a while. Some might even say since the dawn of time.”
“I knew I should’ve lured a family of bears to eat just you—” I scowl. “No, this.” I plop my laptop down on his lap.
He rubs his eyes, squints, blinks, and at last gestures at the device. “I’m going to need some more context here.”
“I plotted it out, and it doesn’t make sense.”
“You plotted what out?” Antonio asks. He takes a swig of water (river water, which heswearsis drinkable although I still have my doubts), gargles, then spits into the pit.
Leila makes a gagging noise. “Ew! What is wrong with you?”
“What? We have to put it out anyway,” he says defensively. “You want to hang out with my morning breath all day long?”
“We wouldn’t have to if you kept your mouth shut—”
“Which we all know I’m not going to,” he says, beating her to it. “But what did you plot out, Ms. Poe? A new book? How many are you working on right now?”
“No, I plotted all of this.” I wave around, trying to encompass the whole island in one gesture. “I plotted what happened. What’shappening. I took everything we talked about yesterday into account, and it doesn’t make sense. There are too many holes. It’s not adding up.”
“I’m still lost,” Zwe says.
I talk as rapidly as I scroll, highlighting the key points. “Why hasn’t anyone found us? It feels like no one’s eventried. Yeah, it’s a big island, but there’s, what, eight of them? At least? You don’t need eight people to guard a group of resort staff in one spot. These people have guns and buggies. We should’ve heard something.”
“We’re pretty deep in the forest,” Leila says, looking around as though to really emphasize her point. “People who aren’t familiar with the wilderness don’t typically stray from marked paths. Even if you have guns and buggies.”
“That’s the other big thing,” I say. I throw my arms open again. “Whoare these people?Arethey familiar with this place? Why did a group of people take over a remote island resort? A villain needs a motive. What’s their motive? What do they want?”
“Didn’t we agree that it was money?” Zwe offers. “You know, like they did at the other resort.”
“That’s what I thought at first.” I refer back to my plot. “Money” was the first thing I’d plugged in, too, but that led to a dead end. “But what money? What, they’re going around and looting all thedesigner furniture in the rooms? The organic spa products? Breaking into the cash registers at the bar and restaurant? Which also doesn’t make sense because it’s a resort, and the majority of people are going to have the charges billed back to their room. Rooms are paid by card. If they want the hotel to transfer their money, they’re going to need internet. They shut down the Wi-Fi, and there’s no regular cell service here.”
