A/N: Here's your fourth chapter! It's nice and long, and there's a lot of talk, but there's a lot of plot development, too. Even though there has been a lack of reviews lately, I'll keep on writing because, unlike some people, I don't rely on feedback to keep me going! Enjoy this chapter, and soon there will be more to come!

The rainstorm was, in a way, relaxing to Ralph. The pitter-patter of the drops hitting the fronds of the palm trees above was steady and familiar, much like the sound of rain hitting a roof back home in England. There was a welcome smell to the air, that of freshness and renewal. Ralph breathed it in deeply, but flinched when his stomach growled voraciously again. "Um, Roger?"

"Yeah?"

"Any chance I could, uh, get something to eat?" Ralph asked, still trudging through the jungle, moist, decaying plant matter squishing under his bare feet.

"I'll have to ask the chief," came the short reply.

The older boy sighed, and clutched his belly miserably. "Haven't you ever considered that following just one leader is stupid?" Ralph stopped in his tracks and turned around to face Roger. "You know, don't you think that doing whatever Jack says is just dumb?"

The other boy scratched his chin in thought, but answered Ralph with only silence.

"Oh, come on, Roger!" Ralph pushed the mop of hair out of his eyes as he turned away and began to walk toward the tribe's shelters. "You know you want to do whatever the hell you want! You'd turn against Jack if you had the chance, wouldn't you? You're just dying to have that power!" As soon as he finished the sentence, Ralph realized that he never should have turned his back on the other boy. Something strong and hard that he recognized as a stick connected swiftly with his spine, and he tumbled forward into the damp earth.

"Shut up," Roger grumbled. The rain began to pour harder, and he lifted his plastered bangs from his eyes. "Get up and keep walking."

"Jolly good the huts'll do," Ralph hissed as he picked himself up, his arms and legs and chest smeared with dirt and mud. "We're all going to get pneumonia and die." He wiped his grimy hands against what was left of his tattered shorts and frowned. Ralph felt as if he was talking to a wall, but he continued anyway. Speaking to Roger was better than speaking to nobody at all, even if the other boy qualified as a nobody. "It hasn't rained since we got here. Are the shelters even that waterproof? Does the almighty chief have a backup plan?"

"I told you to shut up!"

"Are you going to hit me with a stick again? Just to secretly spite Jack and beat me up as much as you want?" Ralph stopped again, his toes sinking into the wet ground, but he didn't turn to face Roger.

"Start walking to your left."

"Why?"

"Because we're going to Castle Rock."

With an air of mock-politeness, Ralph muttered, "Care if I ask why?"

"There's a cave there that we use."

Roger was straight-to-the-point, like usual, and Ralph decided to comply. He pivoted on his bare heel, and began to slog through the soaked jungle with the other boy right on his tail. "Too bad the rain wrecked your little party on the beach, huh?" Ralph asked sarcastically.

"Shut up."

...

After a long while of stumbling through the tangles of the almost pitch-black jungle, Ralph and Roger finally reached the outcrop of pink granite that the boys had dubbed Castle Rock. The rest of the tribe had already made it to the gathering area, and had quickly lit fires in several sheltered areas. The warm, orange glow of the small flames made Ralph forget about all the horrendous things that had happened there. He unconsciously pushed the deaths of Piggy and Simon further back into his mind. At some point in the trek, Ralph had found himself walking behind the hangman, and presently, the former chief was carefully avoiding any bits of sharp rock pointing up through the soil.

The two of them came across a broad, flat rock that jutted horizontally out from the island. Beneath it was a cavity, and it looked much like some sort of cave, but Ralph didn't dare venture how far back the passage reached. The interior was lit with a fiery radiance, but before he could ask Roger about it, the dark-haired boy spoke first.

"The chief is in there. Go in." With that said, Roger shoved Ralph forward.

He landed easily on his hands and knees, ignoring the needles of pain that shot through his tired body, and crawled forward, under the overhang and into the glow of the fire. Jack was there, seated a few feet from the flames, his arms wrapped around his thin waist. He was shivering, slightly, his red hair wet and stuck to his forehead, the last of his face paint dripping away. Jack didn't look up when Ralph was seated across from him, and instead muttered haltingly, "You left... the shelter."

"I was hungry," he replied, holding his hands up to the blaze. "It's been a day since I've last ate."

"Then eat your damn food!" Jack picked up a chunk of meat that was resting beside him and flung it at the older boy. Ralph caught it, just barely, and began to devour the pork as if it was the best thing he had ever tasted. In reality, it was cold and undercooked, and there was probably more fat than meat to be found, but it didn't matter. Ralph's stomach accepted the meat quite willingly. Jack continued, "Don't sneak out like that again! You're... You're lucky that Roger was easy on you."

Ralph glanced over his shoulder, and was relieved to find that the other boy had gone. Taking another bite of the semi-raw pork, he grumbled, "Roger's not happy with you, y'know."

Jack was still convulsing with shivers, like a dying animal or an old, rickety house shuddering in a windstorm. He was naked, save for a scrap of what were once his pants still fastened at his hips. The chief was truly miserable, and extremely wet and cold, and Ralph knew that he was finally breaking, he was finally showing his weaknesses and his true self. "Did he say this?"

"No," Ralph replied, finishing off the last of the meat. "But can't you tell he wants to overthrow you?"

"Why would you be concerned with it?" Jack asked, trying desperately to cease his trembling.

"I'm not, really." Ralph pulled his legs out from under himself and crossed them instead. Licking the last of the grease from the meat off his fingers, he added, "Just thought you might like to know."

The chief looked up from the dancing flames to the low, rocky roof overhead. The light from the fire was glinting off the pink crystals of granite, spreading the glow further through the cave-like tunnel. "If he gets out of hand, I will have him taken care of," Jack grumbled sullenly.

The intensity of the storm outside was picking up. Like angry beasts, the waves smashed into the rocks below, pounding them repeatedly even though they would never give in. Ralph grimaced and was thankful he was under some sort of primitive shelter, no matter how stark and rocky it was. The mad howling of the wind reminded him that if he was still longing for food in one of the tribe's feeble lean-tos, he would be much more miserable than he was at the moment.

Silence stretched between the two boys until Ralph finally asked, "Where's Eric?"

His eyes focused back on the small fire, Jack shrugged his tanned, bony shoulders. "How am I supposed to know?"

"Sam hasn't seen him for at least a day."

This small but important fact made Jack listen, and he finally snapped his head up so that he and Ralph established eye contact for the first time that night. Dark, doe-like brown abraded with icy gray-blue, and there was another moment of awkward silence. Rain continued to strike the rocks outside the overhang, but neither boy heard it; the intensity of one another's haunted stares filled the air with enough electricity to drown out the din of the storm.

Jack gave in first, when he finally blinked. "At least a day?" Ralph thought that he could almost sense a twinge of worry in the other boy's normally collected voice.

"At least. Sam's really worried."

"Roger?"

Ralph shrugged, and picked absently at the scabbing wound on his chest. "I asked him and he told me to shut up about it. He sort of sounded like he knew about it, but he wouldn't say anything else."

"Sounds like he has something to do with Eric," Jack grumbled, experimentally waving his hand over the top of the fire. "It's too nasty outside to do anything about it right now, but we can go look for him tomorrow."

"Who, Eric?"

"Yeah."

Ralph sighed, and an image of the missing twin appeared in his head. Eric was cold and miserable, shivering in the rain, his blonde hair soaked and plastered to his forehead. He was lost and wandering in the dark, with nothing to guide him through a jungle of wild animals, bad memories, and evil. Or, worse yet, he was being held captive by that savage Roger, being beaten for the older boy's pleasure. Ralph could imagine the red rivulets of blood traveling down Eric's bare back, and he shuddered at the gruesome thought. "I hope he'll be alright."

Jack bit his lower lip. "You think your dad is still gonna find us?"

Swallowing his anger and hate for Jack, and hiding his sadness for the obvious death of his father, Ralph shook his head. "Naw. No one's gonna find us."

"Ever?"

"Why am I even talking to you?" It was an abrupt question, the kind that could always kill a conversation with one stab. Ralph wasn't expecting a reply, and he didn't wait for one, either. Instead, he stretched his arms over his head, and winced when the sudden movement caused the injured flesh on his chest to bleed again.

"You're staying here for the night," Jack said, carefully following every one of Ralph's movements.

"I figured that."

"I'm being too nice to you, Ralph." Jack scooted away from the fire and brought his bare feet closer to the flames, in an attempt to warm them. "Tomorrow, if all goes well, things won't be as good for you."

"And who's to decide that?" Ralph asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

The chief scowled, but refrained from retaliating. Instead, he just grumbled, "You'll see soon enough."

These threats meant nothing to Ralph, and he sighed. He was dreadfully tired, still, thanks to two days of running from the savages. His legs were bruised and cut from numerous tumbles in the jungle and run-ins with the spiny creepers, and they were tired, as well. His whole body was tired, Ralph realized. His lungs were worn out, his muscles were sore, and his spine felt like it had been crumpled much like an accordion. "Sucks to that," Ralph whispered, and he curled up against the wall, his bleeding, bare back facing the small circle of warmth.

"I promise we'll look for Eric tomorrow morning."

Ralph didn't hear Jack's assurance. He was too busy brooding over the events of the past, what was it, three days? Time had both flown and crawled by, and Ralph could no longer distinguish between one day and another. It had all melded together like the wax on a burning candle, dripping away and mixing into one big pool. How many days had it been since Piggy's death? Two? Three? And what about Simon? No more than five days could have passed by since that.

But Ralph wasn't sure and because of this, he was disturbed. Disturbed because he was part of the mob that brutally ended Simon's life. Disturbed because he couldn't remember when it happened. Most of all, he was disturbed because he knew that somewhere out in that violent storm, Simon's body was floating among the white-capped waves, being tossed about like a discarded doll. The boy would never get a proper burial, nor would his corpse ever return to his family, that is, if they were still alive.

As the waves continued to crash into the rocky shore, all Ralph could see in his mind was the rotting body of the small, dark-haired boy, the blood leaching into the seawater. If, by chance, anyone were to come across it, they would be horrified to see blunt wounds and deep puncture wounds and scratches and bruises... Ralph shuddered, so terribly ashamed that he had taken part in ending the life of the one boy on the island that knew what was going on.

The fire behind Ralph crackled and popped, and soon, it ran out of fuel so that all was left was a pile of gray, glowing embers. Darkness flooded the little cave like death, and with the darkness came heavy, deep sleep marred by guilt, loathing, and anger.

A/N: And so ends chapter four... Feedback is appreciated, but I don't live off of it! Still, be a nice person! I was gonna be Ralph for Halloween, but seeing as he doesn't wear a shirt and I'm a girl, well... That wouldn't work, would it? Cheers!

-mo