First Hunt
Disclaimer: None of the incredible, wonderful, multi-faceted characters created by William Golding BELONG TO ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WAAAHHH!!!!!!! (breaks down completely)
A/N: Thank you for all the wonderful reviews so far... and the faves, and the alerts :) I love you all... so I shall give you JACK!!!!! Even though he doesn't belong to me...
Oh yes... This chapter is dedicated to my younger sister, AWhirlingDervish, also known as Bill after a certain choirboy. The main reason for dedication is that Christmas is coming, the goose is getting fat etc., etc., and I haven't got her a present. (And if you read her profile you may discover that she is knitting something for me.) So Merry Christmas, Bill! May you continue in your irritation (of me) forever! (Raises wine glass in a toast)
After a few days the initial thrill of the coral island wore off, so that it no longer inspired amazement and awe in the children with its many wonders. To them, the faint, permanent susurration of waves breaking on the reef, the peacock-blue waters of the lagoon and the scrub-covered, pink mountain had become common-place things - part of home. For the most part, their days passed in happy peace, mainly consisting of awakening, still and cold from the night, in the pale dawn, filling their bellies with the fruit that abounded in the orchard, bathing in the pool, then finally lying down at the onset of dusk to count the stars far above, waiting for sleep to overtake them. It was a pleasant, slow existence. There were no grown-ups to hurry and chivvy them on through the days, and when they felt indolent they simply lay down in the fringed shadows of the coco-nut trees and sleep. There was no one to fuss over the state of their clothes, and so many of the littluns went naked, their small bodies burnt browner and browner by the raging sun. They, fearing the rough play of the older children, which had intensified in the absence of adult discipline, formed their own little communities in the background, carrying out their own small, separate lives by themselves. Mostly, they would squat on the beach in the mornings, constructing wildly intricate sand structures decorated with flowers, withered leaves and interesting stones and shells, around which their lives revolved. When the sun reached its zenith and ignited the smart of sunburn the littluns would retire to the shade of the orchard and guzzle all the fruit their small stomachs could take. After the sun had started on its downward path they would venture out of the shadows, slowly and painfully if afflicted by the diarrhoea that seemed to grip all the littluns, and make their way back down to the beach and continue their sand-sculpting or maybe take a tentative splash in the shallows of the bathing pool.
There had been no expeditions of exploration since the fateful day of the first fire; by now the children had their paradise pretty much well mapped out. The mountain, of course, dominated the island, a pink rocky hump thrust up suddenly through the cloaking jungle; on its summit a perpetual plume of white smoke. The rampant inferno of the first fire had been gradually tamed by the weather, though there was a burnt patch of charred vegetation that ranged a square mile down the mountainside, extending right down to the edge of the jungle where plants met sand. The choir - whom Jack had detailed to watch the fire - took shifts in which two choir members, spears in hand, would stand guard over the blaze, poking sticks into its white heart if the fire dipped. With the authority presented by Ralph and the conch in the background, the choir was forced to guard the fire even after the first interest waned. Another reason for their fealty was that Piggy's glasses, the only firemaking utensil on the island, never parted company from their wearer, and as Piggy was permanently down by the beach no one wanted to undertake the chore of dragging the fat boy up the mountain. Piggy was by now universally recognised as an outsider; his accent, glasses and ass-mar marked him out as such. Some people, such as Ralph, who relied on Piggy's intelligence in matters of judgment, and Simon, who carried within him tolerance towards all, took notice of him, but most left him strictly alone. Indeed, the more unkind boys, most notably Jack and Roger, took malicious pleasure in tormenting him when they could. Kitty put up with Piggy when there was absolutely no other option; however she felt no qualms in snapping at him when his incessant babbling annoyed her. Of all the boys Piggy was the most out of place on the island; his ass-mar and his general unfitness made it impossible to join in the rough-and-tumble of the biguns. Usually, he could be found with the littluns, even here mooning on the fringes of a group, neither wanted nor encouraged.
Coming down the mountain towards the beach, if you skirted the outline of the island, you would come upon cliffs of pink rock, massive stone structures that sheered away to a dizzying drop above the pounding ocean. Here, if you stood on the cliffs and stared out to sea, you seemed to be a tiny, insignificant creature, nothing compared to the sea, breaking and washing out, the suck and swell of the blue water like the breathing of some great animal. So far, only Jack had dared to venture out onto the cliffs.
Further along the island, if you followed the same path, was the scar made by the sliding passenger tube, a great rent ripped through the jungle. The creeping vegetation had begun to cover the wound, but under the grass and moss jagged tree trunks that had been ripped in half still marred the quiet greenery. Almost intruding onto the scar was the burnt patch of jungle that had been the result of the first fire; a wasteland of charred trunks and soft, clinging ashes that flew and swirled in the wind, blanketing everything in grey. No one was quite comfortable going there now.
The jungle came to an end around the curve of the island, which was decidedly boat-shaped. From then on, the vegetation receded to make room for a long boomerang of white sand that ran across the length of the island, the curve forming a lagoon closed in by the reef out to sea. On the beach, the sand was divided into stages; nearest the ocean was almost liquid mud, which was left in intricate, swirling patterns when the waves retreated. Further up was the truly golden sand. Damp but firm, it was carpeted in seaweed abandoned from the sea, however at some places the seaweed had been cleared by the littluns to make room for their sandcastles. Smoothly, almost imperceptibly, it shifted to the grainy white sand found right at the top of the beach. Here, the sand was so fine as to be treacherous to anyone who tried to walk on it, and it was baked by the sun so that it burnt the feet of those who were foolish enough to walk on it at midday.
After the curve of the beach diminished were more pink cliffs. Here, the arrangement of rocks was more haphazard. Great blocks of stone, broken away from each other by the primal force of Nature, were piled one on top of another, creating a piling of rocks that formed gargantuan cliffs. These continued for a bit, then the island abruptly ended. However, the piling of the rocks continued, forming a bridge of jumbled blocks that culminated in a huge, weatherworn pink rock, thrust abruptly up through roiling sea.
The day after the fire, Ralph had blown the conch as soon as it was morning; his prowess with the shell had improved, producing a strident blast of sound that roused the others from where they had been lying on the platform, the scrubby grass providing poor insulation against the chill of the night. Most of them were yawning, not used to awakening thus early; some of the littluns looked disorientated, as if they had no idea where they were.
Kitty had been lying on her side, curled up against the cold. At the sound of the conch she slowly opened her eyes. Her whole body was aching from the brutal strain that had been put on her muscles the day before, and she was stiff with cold. Her back was pressed up against a coco-nut tree and a painful ache was beginning to build up in her muscles owing to the strain they had been put through the day before. Sitting up, the girl discovered that her skin and clothes were slick with dew, and a dark patch had formed on the ground where she had been lying. Ralph, strangely self-possessed, as if waking up on an island was an everyday occurrence for him, was already seated on the Chief's log, grasping the conch loosely, running a hand through his fair hair while he waited for the others to gather.
It took a while; the littluns needed reminding of where they were, and once they knew a few mutters about breakfast made themselves heard, but after a combination of coaxing and bullying from the more assertive members of the group they finally got settled. Jack and the choir took the log that ran perpendicular to Ralph's seat, chattering as they perched themselves along it. Ralph had a log to himself; already the respect for their chief was deeply ingrained and no one tried to join him. Kitty took a seat on a palm trunk that had not fallen all the way; about two feet from the ground it had wedged itself in the tangled vegetation of the platform. The rough surface of the tree was damp; dew had run into all the cracks and crannies that pitted its worn surface.
Ralph cleared his throat before hefting the conch.
"Well. We've survived one night. And today we've got work to do."
Several people shifted unenthusiastically at the mention of work.
"I don't know about you, but I didn't half feel cold last night. It's surprising that a tropical island's this cold, but you all felt it."
A few sage nods. Ralph continued.
"Well then. You agree with me. We can't go on another night like last night, without any shelter. We might catch colds, at any rate the littluns might. And if we get sick, how will we look after ourselves? So we must build shelters. That way, we'll have somewhere to sleep. Today, we'll all work hard at them, and we'll see if we can't get them built quickly."
Ralph held out the conch to the assembled crowd.
"All right? Anyone want to say something?"
Jack leaned forward and took the conch, running his hands reverentially down the delicately embossed shell.
"You know my hunters're looking after the fire, so we don't need to build the shelters. We arranged it, two of them will be up there every day. We didn't put anyone up there yesterday after - that is, because -"
His voice trailed off. Somehow, no one liked to, but everyone stole a look at Kitty, who was sitting up very straight on her log. She was staring off into middle distance, her face white. No one knew what she was thinking. Jack cleared his throat embarrassedly before going on.
"Well... What I was saying is that we need to decide who goes up to the mountain today. Two pairs, the first goes up now and stays there until evening, then the next pair goes. I'm chapter chorister; I'll decide who it's to be."
At this, the choir had straightened up on their log; they were glancing importantly around the circle.
"All right then. Roger and Harold, you take first turn by the fire, and later... Maurice and Robert, you take over."
After this matter had been settled, Ralph held out his hands for the conch, but Jack wasn't finished.
"No. Me and the choir, we're the hunters. And you all know that we're not going to help build the shelters."
There were a few mutters around the circle at this blatant evasion of work; Jack continued hastily.
"I mean, we've got to look after the fire, right? And we're going to be hunting for you, every day! We need meat, don't we?"
There were murmurs of agreement and a few cheers. They all needed meat.
"So there you go. You lot will be helping with the shelters. And me and the choir, we'll be hunting and looking after the fire. We'll get you meat, don't you worry! We may have to wait, but we'll do it sooner or later, that's what I meant to say."
Jack set the conch down; it was immediately taken up again by Ralph.
"We'll have breakfast now, then when we've eaten we'll start on the shelters. Remember, we must work hard on them until they're all finished."
His last words were interrupted by a mass exodus from the platform to find fruit; Ralph laid down the conch and joined Kitty and Simon in an expedition to the stream that had been discovered to flow down the beach, meaning to slake their thirst before calming their hunger.
The stream that trailed along the beach was little more than a trickle; a tiny thread of water that carved out a canal for itself with its flowing rivulets, however, when the children followed the stream up the beach and into the jungle the trickle swelled to a proper stream, running through the dense undergrowth to culminate at a wide, clear pool, fed by a waterfall that tumbled in creamy cascades down an outcrop of pink rock.
Kitty felt as if it was sandpaper that lined her throat; she ran to the edge of the pool. Kneeling down, she plunged her face into the cool, clear water, shocking all the last traces of sleep out of her system. When Kitty opened her eyes underwater she could see straight down to the bottom of the pool. Waterweeds waved lazily in the current and out of the corner of her eye Kitty could see the flat, round discs that were the undersides of water lily leaves. Trying to gulp a mouthful of water, she unfortunately got some up her nose and withdrew, choking and spluttering. Beside her, Simon, lying on his stomach, had his arm outstretched across the water, trying to pull one of the white lilies that dotted the pool's surface towards him for closer examination. His body was already half-into the water, and he looked to be fast slipping into the pool. Kitty caught Ralph's eye. The older boy was drinking from the pool, using his cupped hand to draw water. There was a smile on his face at her and Simon's antics. Kitty smiled back, following Ralph's lead and using her two hands to lift water up from the pool and into her mouth.
After their thirst was slaked, the three children made their way back to the beach to find food. The others were scattered along the beach and the fringes of the jungle, plucking all the fruit they could lay hands on to satisfy their hunger after the long night. Kitty noticed that, seated in the shadows of the platform, the choir was sitting, unoccupied by finding food. Jack - his flaming hair making him stand out among the other boys - was laughing at something that had been said. He was holding a stick, about five feet long, and he was using his sheath-knife to pare the end to a sharp point. Several of the choirboys, black caps still perched on their heads, were clutching similar sharpened sticks, and as Kitty watched, Jack tested his thumb on the end of the spear he had finished and handed it to Roger beside him. Roger seemed unusually animated; he accepted the spear from Jack and ran his hands down the shaft, smiling.
Kitty trailed after Ralph and Simon, who were making their way along the beach. Somehow, the choir unsettled her, and she was sure Simon felt the same, from the expression on his face. However, all thought of this was driven out of her mind as Ralph pointed ahead, breaking into a trot.
"Look!"
He had seen a patch of banana trees, so far uninvaded by any of the other children; the fruit hung, ripe and heavy, off the branches, causing them to bow down so that they nearly touched the ground. Kitty's hunger made itself known and suddenly she found herself running after Ralph, feet pounding over the white sand, laughing as she went. Behind her, Simon was trying to catch up, but Kitty reached the trees before him. Ralph was standing, hands on hips, looking up at the abundant fruit, not quite believing in its reality. Kitty, with no such qualms, brushed past him and ripped three bananas off the full bunch, cramming one into Ralph's hands and tossing another to Simon. The three children flopped down onto the cool sand, not yet heated by the sun, peeled their bananas and ate.
Kitty could hardly believe the sweetness that made itself known in her mouth; she had only tasted a banana once before. She had been six years old. After that war and rationing made any faintly exotic fruit unknown in England. She crammed the remaining fruit into her mouth and reached up for another. Ralph looked faintly amused.
"It's not going to disappear, you know."
Kitty laughed through her mouthful of banana. "Delicious."
Simon laughed too, and bent the bunch lower to pluck another fruit.
After they had gorged all the bananas they could hold, the three children ventured along the beach, into the shadow of the multitudes of coco-nut trees that dotted the shoreline, with the vague intention of finding a drink. The coco-nuts that had fallen in the gale pitted the sand; half-buried, they looked like the shells of tortoises. Simon ran ahead of Ralph and Kitty and grabbed a coco-nut from where it lay on the sand. It was heavy for the small boy and he had to use both hands to clasp it, raising it to chest level. Turning to Ralph and Kitty, Simon held the coco-nut out, his face bright.
The coco-nut was not easy to open; they found its shell to be rock-hard under the hairs that sprouted from its surface, and it took all Ralph's effort with a sizable stone to crack it open. However, after an episode of hard banging, an ugly rent opened up in the coco-nut. White milk trickled out and Ralph caught some in his cupped palm, licking it off. His eyes widened in surprise.
"It's good!"
This was the cue for Simon and Kitty to join in; they took alternate gulps at the coco-nut milk and later dug the white meat out of the shell with their hands. Kitty raised a portion to her lips. It tasted faintly of almonds, and even with her stomach full of banana she gulped her mouthful. After they had scraped the coco-nut shell clean, Ralph wiped his mouth and stood.
"Come on. Enough relaxing. We've got to get those shelters built."
At first, everyone except the choir, who, led by Jack, were spending their days hunting, had worked on the shelters. Under Piggy's direction, the children had constructed a roughly triangular framework of branches, using the relatively stout, straight limbs they found scattered on the ground, a result of the storm that had brought the plane down. This they thatched with palm fronds. Piggy himself sat the building of the shelters out, pleading ass-mar. This, needless to say, caused several mutinous mutterings and dark glares from among the labourers, which Ralph, as chief, did his best to quell.
"That's enough. I told you, we've got to work together. Piggy can't work like we do, what with his ass-mar and all. But he can tell us what we should do."
Michael, a stocky boy about eleven years old with a thatch of pale, fair hair, was working next to Kitty. Together they lifted a gargantuan palm frond to thatch a portion of the first shelter's roof. At Ralph's remark, Michael, under cover of the blanketing palm leaves, rolled his eyes and turned to Kitty.
"Not half he can! It's all he's doing! I don't see why Ralph's so nice to him, all he does is sit and tell us what to do!"
Kitty nodded her assent, more by way of saving her breath than out of any true agreement. Actually, the mindless work they were currently engaged in set the stage for more serious pondering than was characteristic for the girl.
The truth was, Kitty thought, that Piggy would have been useless as a labourer on the shelters. His ass-mar prevented him from any manual labour; at the slightest provocation the fat boy would succumb to it, wheezing helplessly. But Piggy, for all he was useless for anything physical, had more brains than anybody. Without him, Kitty realised, they would never have come up with a plausible shelter design, and without his constant flow of comments and reminders they would have been lost long ago. Even though the fat boy was hopeless at physical work; this fact constantly earning him ridicule and mockery from among the other children, no one seemed to notice how his bespectacled face was a screen for a rational and intelligent mind. In thinking, Piggy had his niche, but no one appreciated it.
The sun burned fiercely overhead; Kitty could feel the heat on the back of her neck. They had not yet had time to be browned by the sun, but all the children sported skin red and flaky from sunburn. Kitty's was along her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose. Absentmindedly, the girl rubbed a dirty finger along her face, dragging free flakes of skin. Wincing at the pain, Kitty turned to join Michael and Leslie, who were having trouble lugging a palm branch over to the shelter.
Over the next few days, after the initial enthusiasm, the children's interest in shelter-building palled, and they drifted away from the shelters in ones and twos, to bathe or eat or play on the beach. Kitty, finding the building of the shelters monotonous after working steadily at them for days, deviated from the work.
The girl was lying on her stomach, right at the edge of the platform, watching the slow suck and swell of the waves as they washed in and out. It was approaching high tide, and every now and again a wave would smack hard against the pink rock of the platform, drenching Kitty with spray. The noon sun shone through the green waves, and the sky was reflected in the sea, tinting it turquoise. Far below Kitty, a shoal of tiny, brilliantly-coloured fish flicked and swam like shards of rainbow glass, and now and again a larger, silver fish would dart among the shoal.
Kitty had the idea of trying some fishing. As she basked in the sun, she drew a length of string out of her skirt pocket, tying on the end a scrap of meat from the crabs that came out onto the shore when the evening cooled down. These small creatures were as yet the only source of meat that they were able to catch; the children had devised a way of grabbing a crab that saved one's fingers from the pincers. Then there was the trek up to the mountain to cook the crab in the embers or to take fire from the mountain to cook down on the beach. Now she cast her makeshift fishing line as far as she could, only to have it washed back to bump against the platform by the waves. The water was so clear Kitty could see far down, through the waving seaweed to have her vision peter out into a wash of dark blue.
Kitty had her arm propped up by the elbow; as the minutes passed without a bite it stiffened and went to sleep. The girl shifted position until she was sitting cross-legged, the pink stone of the platform warm under her. As the sun progresses through the sky Kitty's muscles were locked into place by cramp. She could still see her line and bait floating on the water's surface, bobbing gently with the waves. Every now and again a wave would throw it up to wedge in one of the crannies that pitted the rock of the platform. Then began the long, arduous process of inching out on the stomach, gently teasing the makeshift fishing line out of its logdement and recasting. Kitty was about to give it up as a bad job when suddenly there was a flash of silver among the hair-like weeds, dragging the bait down into the murky blue. The line went taut. Kitty, whose grip on the string had slackened, found it being dragged through her clasping fingers. She recovered in time to make a grab for it and slowly began to haul it in, hand over hand. It was a miracle the fish did not relinquish the scrap of crab meat with the inexpert way Kitty was trying to play it, but after a while the string had shortened enough for Kitty to be able to make out a flash of gleaming scales as the fish thrashed among the seaweed.
A shadow, starkly defined by the sun, fell across the water. The fish, in a sudden spurt of panic, spat out the bait and vanished into the clinging weed. Kitty whipped around. Jack was standing on the platform, leaning casually on his spear. His bare chest was streaked with sweat and dirt, and the constant sun had bleached his hair to sandy. He was still wearing his choir cap, but this article of clothing was a trifle battered and torn by now. Standing there, jaunty, assured, he regarded Kitty with his old superciliousness.
"What're you doing?"
Kitty, annoyed at his sudden appearance, ripped the bit of crab off the end of her string and tossed it overarm into the water; Jack followed its path as it arced through the air to land with a plop, sparking off an immediate splash and scramble among the shoal of fish.
"Fishing."
Fiercely, she stuffed the string in her pocket and rose to leave. Jack regarded her with amusement. He knew she was shirking the shelter-building, and it rankled. Kitty roughly brushed the dark hair from out of her eyes. She had long since lost her hair-ribbon in the jungle and her hair, which reached down to below her shoulders, was constantly falling into her eyes and building up heat on the back of her neck. Jack kept in step with her as she strode along the platform.
"Pretty poor sport."
Kitty snorted.
"Well, what would you suggest?"
"Hunting."
Rolling her eyes, Kitty gazed down at the bathing pool. As well as those who had gone off from the shelters, the choir boys were also splashing and laughing in the sun. They had somehow dragged a palm trunk down to the water and were using it as a makeshift canoe; the boys on the trunk were using their hands and feet to paddle around the pool. Ripples fanned out in their wake and as Kitty watched, Robert swam alongside the log and grabbed Maurice's leg; the choir boy toppled into the water with a splash and resurfaced to push Robert under. Kitty turned back to Jack.
"They don't look too interested."
Jack absentmindedly dug a hole in the sandy soil with his spear.
"I sent them back. Ages ago. I wanted to go on by myself."
Kitty looked sideways at him; he reddened, felt the need to expound.
"It's better on my own. I mean - If you're hunting, you want quiet, you want to be alone..."
Kitty gave a cursory nod, continuing down the platform. "Why didn't you tell your hunters to help with the shelters? We could do with some help." She gestured down the beach to where the distant figures of Ralph and Simon were toiling away at the huts.
Something undefinable, a fleeting madness, flickered in Jack's eyes and passed away.
"Really? I don't see you helping." His voice carried a vicious satisfaction. Kitty flushed as she realised that she hadn't a leg to stand on. The knowledge made her annoyed.
"You needn't be so complacent. What's so good about hunting anyway? The way I see it, you've been playing in the forest all day."
That strange look was back; Kitty felt herself taking a step backwards as Jack laughed dangerously.
"Oh, so that's the way you see hunting, is it? Well, I know one way to change that."
"What's that?"
"Come along with me."
The two children descended from the platform onto a deserted beach; Ralph and Simon had deserted the shelters, presumably to bathe, though Kitty could only see Ralph in the bathing pool. Jack strode ahead, hair flashing in the sunlight. He headed to the edge of the bathing pool, where several of his hunters had stashed their spears prior to entering the water. Selecting a spear from where it had been carelessly tossed on the beach, he tossed it to Kitty.
"Here you go."
Kitty ran her hands down the rough haft of her spear. Jack hadn't done a good job of shaping it, so it was still crooked in places and the bark came off in flakes with the progress of her hand. Not much care had been lavished on the spear itself, but Kitty couldn't help noticing how the end had been painstakingly honed into a crude point.
Jack was watching her impatiently. "Well, come on!"
Kitty's hair had flopped into her eyes again; the girl brushed it away impatiently, only to have it return to its former position within seconds. Exasperated, she turned to Jack.
"Can I borrow your knife?"
Mystified, the boy withdrew it from its sheath and handed it over.
"Thanks." Kitty propped the spear up against a coco-nut tree and gathered her hair up in one hand. Awkwardly, she positioned Jack's knife under the crude ponytail and sawed. It wasn't easy, but after a few seconds the strands of dark hair parted and fell around Kitty's ears. Her new haircut just tipped her shoulders, and Kitty was left clutching a bundle of dark strands. She let them fall with a laugh.
Jack was watching her with unconcealed amazement. Kitty handed him back his knife and picked up her spear. She turned her head this way and that, feeling the way her new haircut fell around her shoulders.
"We can go now."
Visibly stunned, Jack led the way into the jungle.
It was a little after noon by the sun, so they were spared the hottest rays; but the heat still lurked, almost visible, in the jungle. The humid air swept over Kitty's skin, heavy and hot. Already, despite her new haircut, beads of sweat were beginning to condense on her forehead and the base of her neck. Jack, however, looked as if the heat was no bother, moving easily through the tangle of creepers, bent double not out of necessity but in a fluid, exaggerated motion. He seemed to be following some invisible trace of his quarry on the ground. Kitty trailed behind, mystified. In the green, cool shadows of the forest Jack had changed from the arrogant choir leader to something altogether mysterious, disappearing into the background as if he was a creature of the jungle himself. Kitty could only follow him as he moved through the vines, acutely aware how clumsy she looked as she struggled to extricate her spear from the ridiculous tangles it got into. The myriad of crickets made for a continuous hum of sound that settled into the air itself.
After a while of battling their way through the creepers, Jack motioned Kitty forward. He bludgeoned down the screen of vegetation with his spear; stepped through the passage onto a narrow, well-trodden path. Kitty followed, relieved to be out of the clinging vines. Bending down to examine the tracks that pitted the rich mud of the path, the girl turned to Jack.
"Pigs. This is a pig track."
Jack nodded, starting off at a steady lope down the path, face close to the ground. Kitty sighed and strode after him.
What track Jack was following was unclear; but he was swift and sure in his movements, the dappled green shadows of the leaves sliding over him as he ran. The aloofness that he shown Kitty earlier had vanished, replaced by an eager hunger that Kitty unsuccessfully tried to define. As she stumbled along the uneven path behind the hunter, Kitty allowed her thoughts to slip into that realm of undefined, floating fragments, not enough to be daydreams, enough to occupy her mind as she grew bored with following Jack moving through the jungle.
After they had followed the pig-run for a while Jack broke off abruptly; Kitty, caught by surprise, careened after him, clattering the foliage as she changed direction.
Jack was visibly annoyed.
"Shh."
He knelt on the ground to examine his latest find, a small pile of manure, almost hidden against the grass. Kitty stood, wondering what he could tell from them. At this moment, Jack's hunting seemed nothing short of miraculous. Kitty hadn't the faintest idea how he had been following the trail all this time, always so swift, so assured. Her admiration for the choir leader rose another notch.
Jack rose from his kneeling position and parted the branches of the bushes that were fast-to-colonising the pig-run, taking care to be silent.
"Come on - this way."
They pushed through into a clearing. The sun shone through the canopied branched and was split into shafting arrows; swirling dust motes were highlighted with the late afternoon light. In the high branches the birds cackled, flitting specks of colour. Kitty moved to the centre of the clearing.
Jack shoved past her impatiently; he had noticed what she hadn't, a line of pig tracks bruising the turf, thrown-up earth scattered around the deep prints. They looked fresh. Jack knelt, face close to the ground, to examine this new piece of evidence. Kitty, meanwhile, stood next to him, feeling out of sorts and annoyed. She was beginning to find the whole hunt wearing.
Something, some dim sixth sense, warned Kitty of impending danger. The bushes on the far side of the clearing exploded in a shower of leaves and twigs and all at once a pig was charging across the glade straight towards them. It had become so petrified at the constant pursuit that it had lost all its bearings and was risking everything by attacking first. Jack, taken by surprise, scrambled up from where he had been kneeling, trying to get his spear point up in time, but there was no chance of it. The pig had already covered half the distance across the clearing towards them. Jack yelled.
"Stab it, Kitty! -"
Kitty was paralysed. Time seemed to slow as she watched the whole scene as a detached observer. Distantly, she regarded the spear that she held, not quite sure what to do with it. The scene with the first pig intruded on her memory and she shuddered, envisioning the crude, blackened spear point sinking into the pig's black hide, through flesh, cracking bone - Then the pig was upon her. Kitty flailed ineffectually with the butt of her spear to change its course but she was overbalanced by the pig cannoning into her. She fell heavily.
Jack fumbled for his knife as the pig bore down on him; realising that he did not have the time to spare he stabbed forwards with his spear. It tore the pig down the flank and it let out a maddened squeal, charging with renewed intent and bowling Jack over into the mud. Then, blood trailing from the shallow cut, it sped off into the jungle.
Kitty had fallen awkwardly on her arm and twisted it; wincing, she gingerly levered herself up into a sitting position. Exhaling, she opened her mouth to make some comment.
A spear buried itself in the soft earth, too close for comfort. Kitty, startled, looked up to see Jack standing over her. His fists were clenched and his jaw muscles were strained tight; he was trembling. The madness had totally overlaid his eyes and they were blocked and opaque. The spear quivered where it had been driven. Reaching forward in a sudden fall of movement, Jack wrenched it out of the loam, showering Kitty with fragments of earth. She scrambled upright. It was now that they were face to face that she realised just how tall Jack was; he stood almost a head taller than her and the rage in his eyes was coupled with that mysterious insanity that defied description.
Jack forced the words out from between tightly clenched teeth.
"You let it get away."
His hand flew to the knife at his belt. Kitty, scared and bemused, backed away from him.
"It was just bad luck, Jack, it came out of the bushes too fast, I couldn't stab it..."
Jack was clutching the handle of his knife so tightly his knuckles were white.
"You made me miss that pig! We could have brought it down, we would have gotten meat for everyone!"
"I'm sorry, Jack! There's always next time..."
Jack gave a bitter laugh, impregnated with something akin to disgust.
"Just like a girl! Always making excuses. Well, it's your fault that we didn't get this pig. We could have hunted properly - killed something -"
He turned abruptly on his heel and strode to the edge of the clearing.
"It just goes to show - girls are no use for anything. That day on the mountain, that was a man's job, and so is this! Useless!"
Jack walked away fast into the jungle; in a short time the creepers and leaves had swallowed up his departing form.
Kitty was left standing in the centre of the clearing, stupefied. Jack's irrational rage had disquieted her. The soft earth of the clearing was ploughed and torn by the pig's hooves and Jack's spear, where he had stabbed and missed, had ripped a long, deep furrow. Crimson specks flecked the soil, and a heavy, salty scent lingered in the air.
Kitty regarded the scene of destruction. Her gorge rose and nausea flooded her system, and she turned blindly and stumbled from the clearing.
The moisture in the air was almost palpable with the onset of evening, even though the temperature was dipping with the sun; and the chill settled softly into the bones of the island. Kitty only realised that the sweat was dripping off her when it ran into her eyes and stung them with salt. She flung back her thick, dark fringe and realised that she was still gripping the pitted shaft of her spear and that the muscles in her hand were cramped and aching.
The jungle was darkening and the buzz of the crickets was one continuous hum. The air was very close. Kitty, momentarily tightening her grip on the spear, flung it with all her strength. It crashed into a bank of bushes and they exploded into noise; a bright bird fluttered upwards, fluting. The noises of the jungle were disrupted into dissonance; then they were still.
A small voice broke the heated silence.
"Kitty, what's wrong?"
The shock was dull and sudden; the girl stumbled into a clumsy turn, feet slipping on the earth. Peering through the mist in front of her eyes she made out the slight figure standing shyly by, the shafts of sun playing through his fair hair.
"Simon?"
Simon's fair hair had been bleached by the raging sun into a pale whiteness tantamount to the sand at the top of the beach; he had been tanned also, so that the thatch of pale hair came as a sharp contrast to his brown features.
"Where did you spring from?"
Simon sat down on the grass. Kitty followed his lead. The choirboy did not answer the question, instead preferring to repeat his first.
"What's wrong?"
The sense of something inexplicably not right assailed Kitty; she could not find the words to express herself.
"Today... we went hunting. Jack and me, I mean. And there was a pig... and we could have killed it, but I just couldn't, I mean, I had the chance but I didn't. And I don't know why, and Jack was so angry, just because of that pig... he scared me."
Simon regarded her gravely for a moment; then he scrambled upright and started to walk off into the jungle. After he had walked a little way, he turned back and beckoned.
"Come on."
He led Kitty through tortuous tangles of creeper and branch. The forest became thicker the further they went, so that Simon had to kneel down to wriggle through some difficult bits. Kitty, not as skinny as the younger boy, found it very hard going.
The light had almost gone when Simon stopped.
"In here."
They had reached a thick, tangled mass of creepers, woven together so as to form a mat that stretched among the other trees. Slightly beyond the mat was a small clearing. The air was bright with the setting sun, and hot, and multi-coloured butterflies danced and dipped around the jungle flowers. The ground was dappled with green shadows and the clearing was very still, except for the wings of the butterflies.
Not waiting for Kitty, Simon dropped to all fours and pushed his way in through the wall of creepers. The girl followed. Inside the skein of vines all was still, and the light was green and gold. An errant patch of light crawled up Simon's bare back, swaying uncertainly, then climbed up onto his hair, where it vanished. The smell of the earth was hot and wet.
Simon pushed aside the last screens of creepers.
"Here we are."
There was a small open space in the centre of the mat; a small depression where the grass had been worn away. The dying sunlight shafted in between the creepers and touched the scene with gold. Simon wormed his way in to the clear patch, twisting aside some of the hanging vines to make a space for Kitty. She sat down beside him.
"Well?"
Simon seemed to be choosing his words. He absentmindedly brushed the dark soil off his knees, then turned to Kitty with new purpose in his eyes.
"About Jack..."
His voice petered out as he tried to explain. Finally he cast around for inspiration.
Almost in the centre of the mat, a foot or two away from where they were sitting, a tree trunk pierced the tangled creepers. It had been there beforehand and the vines had grown up around it, choking the life from the branches on the lower part of the trunk; they hung dry and dead in the moist air. Simon wriggled along to the base of the tree and cautiously parted the roof of creepers overhead; even in pursuit of something as he now was he still seemed unwilling to break any of the vines; pushing them aside almost tenderly. Kitty watched as he managed to stand fully upright, the upper half of his body disappearing from view.
When Simon ducked back under cover of the mat he was clutching a round, red fruit, caught by the sunlight. In a sudden flash of recognition, Kitty remembered the day of the first fire. Squatting back down, he balanced it on the centre of his palm.
"All right. Look. Jack is like this."
Kitty laughed and prodded the fruit, soft under her finger.
"You're batty."
She missed the bewildered hurt in Simon's eyes.
The younger boy stuck his chin out obstinately.
"I can't explain it, but it's true. The thing about this fruit..."
Kitty felt herself foundering in this sea of half-formed ideas.
"What about it?"
"Well... It looks good on the outside, but it's not for eating. I mean -" he drove home his point. "It's poisonous."
The light went suddenly and the shadows multiplied; the snake-creepers seemed to close in. There was a slight rustle as Simon flung the fruit away, then the soft crashing of the creepers as it came to earth.
The jungle seemed to close in around them and the silence dragged on. Finally, Kitty stood, ignoring the creaking of the smaller creepers as they were torn up. The mat in the dark was somehow claustrophobic and Kitty stretched with abandon. As she bent back down and began to crawl for the edges of the mat, the pale blur that was Simon did not move, watching her confusion.
OK, by the time I'd finished this chapter Christmas was over, so I can say that I was wrong about what Bill was making me. AND I LOVE HER FOR IT!!!!!!!! She took a file and totally COVERED it with LOTF pictures and then covered them with plastic wrap. So I now have a really COOL Lord of the Flies file to use at school next year!!! Congratulate me, people! And I promise that the next chapter won't take this long for me to post, though now I'm coping with EVIL tests and squash nationals.
To HAROLD: Whoo!! I updated!