John Locke stormed along, half-watching for signs of wild boar but too incensed to really pay attention.
Damn idiots! Don't tell me what I can't do!
He shoved a curtain of hanging lianas out of the way and ducked under them, moving from patchy sunlight to deep shadow that smelled of leaf-mould. He swept his angry gaze around the darkness in a challenge to anything foolish enough to try and attack, then marched on towards the light and swaying trees ahead.
Ever since he'd arrived on the island life had been different for Locke. Better, despite the obvious problem of being a plane crash victim. He still felt indescribable joy that his legs worked, whatever the reason behind the miracle happened to be. It meant he could help - with hunting, with shelter-building, with exploration, with protecting the group if it came to that.
And still, people kept looking at him and saying, 'you can't do that.' They don't know. They don't have the faintest idea!
The buzz in his mind reached a crescendo and his feet stopped almost without his mind telling them to. He felt the hammer of his scandalised heartbeat and recognised the danger he was putting himself in. It's stupid to be this angry. It's dangerous. He put his hands over his face and tried to think. Come on, John. You're physically capable again. Lord knows why, but you are. He tried to remember whether he'd actually announced to his fellow survivors that he'd prove himself by catching the wild boar that kept showing itself locally, or whether he'd only promised himself he'd do it, in the privacy of his own head.
He couldn't remember.
Exactly. You can't remember. So come on, John. Clear your mind. Then get to work.
Something thrashed in the bushes to his left. He tensed and followed, expecting danger.
xXx
Riley shinned her way back down the tree, the soles of her ancient boots as foot-sure as ever, her fingers trained to hold on with the instinctive determination of a monkey. The trunk was covered in matted, planty hair that she could grip if she wanted to but never trusted. For her, the security of the bark below was much better.
She looked down to see how far away the ground was - it was close enough for her springy limbs - and leaped backwards to fall the final three feet. She landed and then stood, brushing fragments of palm tree bark off her hands as she looked up at the crown with satisfaction.
Coconuts were hard work to gather and didn't keep this castaway satisfied for long, but just sometimes she craved something sweet, and crab didn't always hit the spot. I wonder if I'd bother going for honey if there were bees here? she thought to herself as she stooped to pick up three of the four she'd cut loose from the crown. Only thing that buzzes around here's the smoke monster and I'm pretty sure that thing doesn't make any honey.
She looked around in confusion. The fourth 'nut must have bounced off somewhere. Hopefully not onto any sharp rocks.
Then she spotted a smooth curve of green on the jungle floor, just hidden by foliage. She took one step towards it, already thinking about the direction she'd take to get back to her shelter.
Then she faltered as somebody parted the leaves and stepped confidently through. Danielle! Came Riley's first instinctive - and vindictive - thought.
But it wasn't. It was somebody else. Not one of the Others, he was far too well-dressed for that in newish boots (Riley felt a flash of envy), beige combats, a khaki jacket and a mustard yellow tshirt.
Oh, she thought, relaxing a bit. You're one of those survivors from the crash. She hadn't thought any of those would survive long, so she'd kept away.
But the stranger didn't relax. He was... not quite old, but well into middle-age, with creases on his face and bright, suspicious eyes.
You're wasting your time being suspicious of me. Save your eyes and ears for real danger. Riley feigned disinterest and carried her coconuts a short distance away ready to tie them up for travel. Although, she was careful not to turn her back on the man.
Nothing was said.
She started to feel uncomfortable as the silence stretched on. He didn't seem to feel in any hurry to speak, despite the tension in his pose.
And Riley? She said nothing either. It'd been so long since she'd met anyone she wasn't on hostile terms with. She was just starting to wonder whether this encounter would turn into another antagonistic relationship when-
"Who are you?" he asked at last.
She looked up at him from her crouched position. His eyes were still as narrow and untrusting as before. She held her silence, although if she was honest with herself it had more to do with not knowing how to respond than confidence.
After a while it'd gone on so long she simply decided not to say anything at all. Instead she gave him a tired, excuse-me-I'm-busy smile and set off, her coconuts tied up in a sliver of old nylon fabric.
"Hey!" he barked at her back.
She carried on walking.
The leaves - the living ones still attached to plants and the dead, moist ones underfoot - thrashed as he walked after her. "Hey! I said, who are you?"
Riley's anger reared and she whirled around to answer him. "Riley," she snapped. "What more do you want to know?" She asked as if to challenge him to ask her anything else. After all, she was a castaway of many years - what was there to ask? 'How do you do?' Hungry and dirty, thank you. 'What do you do for a living?' Hunt and gather. And watch my back. 'What do you do at the weekends?' When are the weekends?
The man stood with his arms folded and his face creased and stern. Then - Riley could have sworn he didn't move a muscle, but - something in him changed. His squint seemed to convey humour instead of foreboding, and his tightly-folded arms suddenly seemed more a mockery of her defensiveness. "John Locke," he said at last.
Riley wasn't sure what to say next but what came out of her mouth was, "...John Locke." It sounded like a judgement. She didn't like the feeling that caused her, so she shook her head to clear her thoughts and make way for something a little more reasonable. It's been so long since I talked to anybody friendly. What am I even supposed to say next? The answer took too long in coming so instead she decided to tend to her coconuts. She simply turned and walked away from John. He was big and independent enough to deal with that himself.
His choice, apparently, was to carry on walking, just like he had been before. His footsteps rustled through the undergrowth and in unhurried, easy strides, he overtook her. She glanced in his direction and saw him draw a machete distractedly out of his belt. Knife! The core of her body froze, although her limbs remained loose, light and ready to spring away in case of danger.
But John's handling of the machete didn't seem to be accompanied by aggression toward her. Instead he seemed to be looking everywhere, searching for something.
But was he posturing to Riley? She couldn't be sure. Not to be outdone she pulled her own beaten-up machete out and let it glint in the light so that he could see it.
So that he knew she could be dangerous too.
John glanced in its direction, looked at her face, and then smiled his good-natured, kindly-mocking smile again. Riley was just wondering whether they'd be stuck in another stalemate when he asked, "What you going to do with that, Riley?" The way he held his own machete suggested he had something in mind for it that had absolutely nothing to do with her, even now.
Riley suddenly felt ashamed for wielding a knife the way she had, and looked around for an excuse. "I... was just going to take a drink. D'you like coconut juice?"
He regarded her with his strange, friendly-yet-gritty gaze. "Yeah," he answered after a pause that felt full of meanings, most of which Riley couldn't identify.
So, to keep up appearances, Riley cut open the top of a coconut for each of them. John sat down on a low mound of rock and accepted his, and the pair soon found themselves silently keeping company and sipping sweet, sticky coconut juice.
Riley could hardly have been more surprised - or, to be truthful, irked, worried and perhaps vaguely amused as well - to hear another set of footsteps. This time she listened properly to the rhythm. Doing that, she realised well before the person arrived that it wasn't Danielle.
John's eyes again were everywhere - in the general direction of the footsteps, glancing at Riley for her reaction and back again. His hand went towards his machete but didn't grab it quite yet. Riley felt her muscles bunch, ready to flee if necessary, while her mind started to work out the possibilities of standing her ground and protecting her coconuts. They both sat, still and tense, as they waited for whoever it was to turn up.
A figure swished his way through the leaves. Another man. He glanced across the clearing and saw Riley and John at the exact same time as they saw him.
Hooded eyes. Brown, floppy hair. A short beard. Older than Riley but younger than John. A shirt that didn't look well-suited to the jungle environment, and that Riley might have thought looked foolish... except that its little buttons, square pattern and looseness about the chest suited him perfectly.
Riley thought the sum of his parts didn't look foolish at all.
"Well, what the hell's goin' on here?" he asked, his tone sarcastic, his accent instantly distinctive. His eyes had lit up (No. Not lit up, Riley thought. But come alive in some way.) when he'd seen the pair sitting together with their coconuts, and now Riley found herself faced with a look of amusement.
That darkened into a narrow-eyed suspicion as the eyes fell on John.
"Havin' a cocktail party, Locke?" he asked. The stranger's posture was high and confident like a dominant animal's, but something dark backed up hiss words. Sinister, thought Riley. What's a cocktail party?
Before Locke had time to answer, the man turned to her. He walked closer. "And who's this pretty little lady?"
Again, Riley noticed something menacing behind his words. As if he was trying to come across as friendly but couldn't quite do it. Unsure of how to react to that - or his unexpected compliment - she tried a quip. "Why don't you have a cocktail with us?" she asked, rolling one of the unopened coconuts in his direction with one booted toe and hoping she'd been right to think that the words 'cocktail' and 'party' could be used independently.
Like the words 'search' and 'party', maybe.
That made John laugh a wheezy, robust laugh. The newcomer didn't look amused. "You going to tell the lady your name?" Locke asked the stranger.
At the same time, Riley noticed a rucksack hanging off the newcomer's shoulder, heavy and full of angular stuff. She craned her neck for a better view. "What you got in there?"
The darkness in his glare went all the darker. "None o' your business." He hoisted the bag in an indignant move as he turned away to walk out of the clearing. Its contents clacked. There was something hard in there.
And that made Riley even more curious.
"I'll find out what's in there if you don't tell me," she called after him.
He stopped. Even John looked alert suddenly, in his own, inscrutable way.
TO BE CONTINUED...