A/N: Sorry that this latest chapter took so long to be posted... Being quite bummed about the election results, I found myself to not be in the mood to right. However, politics aside (I am so tired of politics.), here you have it -- chapter number six! Not very much plot development here, but interesting to read anyway. I guarantee that good stuff will be arriving shortly. Heck, I've actually got my whole plot mapped out! Well, for the most part. Anyway, enough of my ramblings, and on to the story! Enjoy!

-mo

....

"How do you know it was him?! I mean, do you have proof? There's no basis whatsoever!" But Ralph soon found that trying to talk to Jack was like trying to strike up a conversation with a brick wall. "Dammit, Jack..."

The chief stopped in his tracks and whipped around to face the other boy. "Look," he hissed through gritted teeth, pointing a finger at Ralph's chest, "do you have a better explanation?! Did you see how beat up Eric was?! Did you see those bruises covering his body?! Who else on this island could have done that to him?!"

"There was... that thing... on the mountain..." Ralph ventured warily, not sure if the beast-like creature was real or if the shadowy figure had just been a figment of the boys' imagination, construed by their fear of the darkness and the unknown.

"That was a dead paratrooper," Jack grumbled, as if it was obvious. "Look. Ralph, you've been suspicious of Roger the whole damn time! You said so yourself! So why are you holding back now, all of a sudden?"

Not sure of how to respond to the question, Ralph kept himself silent. Presently, he and Jack were storming through the untamed jungle, oblivious to the scrapes and welts that the dangling creepers inflicted upon them. Neither boy had been certain of what to do with Eric's body and, knowing that Sam would probably want to bid his twin brother farewell, they had hid the corpse amongst a gathering of boulders that stood near the edge of the jungle.

"He's such a rotten bugger!" Jack declared. "Wait 'till I get my hands on him. I'll show him who's chief."

Up ahead, Ralph could see that the jungle would soon end. Shafts of sunlight were pouring through the thinning canopy above, and the ground was becoming more and more rocky, strewn with small chunks of lightly colored igneous rock. It was hazardous to walk on the soil; decaying leaf matter often covered the dangerous lumps of granite, and it had been more than once that Ralph had gashed his foot open on the sharp mineral. All at once, he and Jack were out of the jungle and standing near Castle Rock, the outcrops of pink contrasting acutely with the brilliant, blue sky.

"Roger! Roger, get your ass over here!" Jack was cupping his hands to his mouth and hollering as loudly as he could. His voice bounced off the large, jutting boulders, and several small boys looked up to see what the problem was. "Ralph, go to the cave and get my spear."

"You're not gonna kill him..."

"Just shut up and get my damn spear."

Ralph complied, and dashed across the uneven ground, weaving his way between littluns and pieces of granite that obstructed his path. He finally reached the overhang in which he had spent the night, stooped down to his hands and knees, and crawled inside. Near the burnt-out fire pit was a long wooden spear, its point freshly sharpened and waiting to draw more blood. Ralph wondered if it was the same spear that had been chucked at him a day before, the same spear that could have ripped open his ribcage and sparred him of all of this chaos he was experiencing now. The boy shook the thoughts out of his head, snatched the spear from the dusty soil, and ran out of the cave, his feet thudding hard on the pink granite.

When he returned to where he had left Jack behind, Ralph found that Roger had apparently joined up with the other boy. The chief was speaking strictly and caustically, his hand gripping the hangman's shoulder. "Why'd you do it, Roger?!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," came a muffled, disgruntled reply.

"You killed Eric, you git!"

"I did not!"

Ralph didn't want to listen to their argument, and instead, he decided to seek out Sam. He had to find the remaining twin before everyone except himself knew about his brother's death. The littluns provided Ralph with little help of where he might be able to find the small, blonde-haired boy, but eventually, he did find Sam; he was tossing small pebbles off the cliff and watching them disappear into the frothy ocean water below. He took little notice when Ralph came to a stop behind him.

It was a hard thing to do, telling someone – a child, nonetheless – that his brother had been killed. Ralph didn't know what to say. He sifted through his brain, trying to find the most appropriate way to explain the death of Eric, but nothing came to mind. There just wasn't a dignified fashion in which to tell a nine year-old that his best friend, his twin brother, had been beaten to death and possibly worse. And so, for a long, silent period of time, all Ralph could do was stand there and watch Sam throw stones into the angry waves that licked the rocks forty feet below.

"Did you find him?" Sam's small, innocent voice shredded the silence like an exploding bomb, taking Ralph completely off-guard. "He's dead, isn't he?"

"Um..."

"You don't have to lie." Sam scooted away from the edge of the cliff and faced the older boy. "Eric's dead, right?"

Holding back another bout of tears, Ralph nodded, sniffled, and pushed the tangled hair out of his eyes. "God, Sam..." He fell to his ground, disregarding the sharp pain that sliced through his kneecaps when they made contact with the slab of hard granite. Before Ralph knew what he was doing, he had scooped up the younger boy into a hug, shuddering slightly.

"Where is he?" Sam asked, desperately trying to hide the tears that were streaking his dirty cheeks.

Ralph glanced over his shoulder, but from where he and Sam were crouched, he couldn't see Roger or Jack. "He – he's over near the old platform. Over on the beach. We – we removed him from out in the open, though." The younger boy squeezed his eyes shut, crying freely. This, above everything else, was the worst thing that had happened on the island. Ralph had felt guilty for taking part in the angry mob that had killed Simon, but like everyone else who had participated that night, he had formulated excuses to make himself feel better. It was only an accident. We were all frightened and caught up singing that damn song. He shouldn't have come out of the forest like that, acting so batty. Ralph could hardly blame himself for the death of Piggy, but he chose not to think about it, either. If the spectacled boy were still alive, the group might have already been rescued.

But Simon and Piggy were both dead, the only two boys on the island who knew what to do, who knew what was going on. The last shred of innocence had been lost when the tribe had beaten Simon to death, and the last source of true knowledge had been crushed by a rock and fallen to his death, all because of Roger.

Roger. Eric!

"Who did it?"

Sam's voice shook Ralph from his thoughts, and for a moment, all he could do was stare dumbly at the younger boy. "I... Jack thinks Roger did it, but... Oh, God, Sam, I don't know!"

A spark of hate flickered in the twin's eyes, and he frowned. "Why did it have to be Eric? I mean... I mean... Eric." It was obvious that Sam was suffering from a sort of shock; he began to babble meaningless words and phrases, unfinished sentences; it was as if he was still waiting for his dead brother to join him. "Please take me to him," Sam said at last, finally piecing together a phrase that made sense.

I don't know, Ralph wanted to tell the younger the boy. He was beaten and maybe worse... How would you ever be able to handle it? But the original chief knew that Sam had seen plenty of death and destruction since arriving on the island. He had seen and participated in the killing of Simon; he had watched Piggy fall to his death; he had been absorbed into the tribe and forced to keep watch. Sam was just as scarred as Ralph was, and so seeing his dead brother wouldn't be anything too new, he decided. "Alright," the older boy responded at last. "Alright. We're gonna leave without Jack and Roger; we don't want them getting there before us." Sam sniffled as he and Ralph stood, and together, they began to trek toward the jungle.

Ralph disregarded Jack's request for a spear and instead took the weapon with him. He knew very well that there were no beasts on the island, that is, no beasts besides the boys themselves. However, in the back of his mind, Ralph heard a voice that cautioned him, Be on your guard. Watch out. Ralph wasn't the type to second-guess himself and, as he and the dejected twin tromped through the undergrowth of the jungle, he clutched the sharpened stick tightly in his right hand.

...

"Rest in peace," Sam murmured, patting the damp mound of dark, clay-laden soil. Working as fast as their worn muscles could, he and Ralph had dug a shallow grave for the dead boy near the edge of the forest. Neither had wanted to venture too far into the untamed jungle, but they didn't want a high tide to roll in and wash anything away. "You're... the first one... to receive a proper burial." It was true; both Simon and Piggy had been swallowed by the ocean, never to be seen again. For the first time, a victim -- presumably of Roger -- had been given the respect he deserved.

Kneeling next to Sam, Ralph put a comforting arm around the younger boy. "Are you going to be alright?"

He sniffled a little, and nodded. "I... think so."

"If you ever need help..." Ralph was surprised to hear himself say this. He had never been good with emotions or helping other people out; some kids back home considered him to be cold and unhelpful when they were in dire need of support. Nor was Ralph the type of child to cry, and yet, in the past couple days, he had sobbed more than he had previously in his twelve years of life. He patted Sam's back softly. "Look. I'll be here for you when you need it."

Nodding, the younger, blonde-haired boy sniffled once more, then, much to Ralph's surprise, a brilliant smile spread across his lips. "Thank you."

At that moment, Jack's shouting ripped through the silence. "Just what the hell do you think you're doing, Ralph?!" He, Roger, and Maurice were approaching from the beach, scowls masking all of their faces much like the paint they used to wear. "You buried him?!"

Ralph nodded, slowly, moving in front of Sam. Maurice and Roger were both armed with sharpened sticks, but they held back and let Jack approach the former chief. "I... We couldn't leave him there forever, Jack! I mean, Sam had to say goodbye without Roger hanging around, and..."

"Shut up," Jack grumbled, and moved closer to Ralph, his voice a mere whisper. "The body could have been proof, Ralph! If Roger'd seen it, he might have started to break down, you know, confess." The chief frowned, knowing of the curious glances his minions were giving him. "Look, I've got to do this for them. Because to them, you're still my slave."

"You mean I'm not anymore?"

Jack shook his head slightly then murmured, his voice virtually inaudible, "Sorry, Ralph." With that said, the boy lashed out a hand at Ralph's face. The fair-haired boy stumbled backward, holding his mouth; luckily, he wasn't bleeding. Ralph looked up just in time to see Jack mouth the word sorry. But Ralph wasn't disheartened or hurt, emotionally. He knew exactly what Jack's intentions were; it was all a show for the boys he commanded. As far as they knew, Ralph was still Jack's slave, and if they saw the older boy being treated too nicely, they would undoubtedly begin to question their chief's motives, become suspicious.

"Are you okay?"

Ralph turned around to face a frightened Sam. "I'm fine," he grumbled. "Don't worry about it."

"We're headed back to Castle Rock," Jack barked. It was a command, and with Roger and Maurice close at hand, Ralph knew he had to follow it. Never question a chief's motives in front of his own men. And so, as morning turned to afternoon, the five boys trudged back to where they had come from, leaving behind only footprints and a freshly-made pile of dark soil.

...

A/N: Short, rather pointless chapter. But I hope you all enjoyed it a little. Next chapter will be posted in less than a week, I promise. Remember that golden rule -- feedback is greatly appreciated! Keep it real and enjoy your weekend, folks!

-mo