Chapter Twenty-Seven
It’s Kei, not the morning bell, that I wake up to the next day. Through bleary eyes, I see him sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched over, holding his head in one hand. I shift, propping myself up on my elbow.
“You okay?” I see the silver glint of a granola bar wrapper in his hand.
“Yeah. My blood sugar’s low, probably just all the stress from yesterday.”
I sit bolt upright, suddenly completely awake. “Are you okay? Do you need something?”
“I’m good.” He turns and looks over his shoulder at me. “Honestly,” he says, his voice softening. “This happens. I just needed something to eat.” He stands up, his hand on the edge of the top bunk to steady himself. He reaches for his mic and slings it over his neck.
“Where are you going?”
“To make us some breakfast.”
“What? No, you should rest. We can make our own breakfasts.”
He shakes his head. “I’m fine.” He stretches his arms over his head, the muscles in his back rippling. He dresses, quickly and silently, while everyone around us sleeps. He goes to leave, but I grab his hand. He turns back, a questioning look on his face.
I purse my lips and tap them, hungry for some physical connection.
He leans down and pecks my mouth, his lips hard and cold.
But a kiss is a kiss, and it’s better if it’s not one that undoes me completely, like the others.
I may have, for a moment, felt like I was falling for Kei, and he may have, for a second, insinuated that he felt the same, but as long as we can keep our eyes on the prize then none of that matters.
I watch him as he walks away, studying his gait for any sign of weakness.
It occurs to me that I’ve never heard any mention of a medic on set.
Surely there must be someone, in case of an emergency, a nurse or a first responder of some kind.
We must be hours from a hospital…I make a mental note to ask about this once the crew is back.
Even without the producers, we divide into our gendered groups at breakfast. Kei has made oatmeal with apples and cinnamon. It’s sweet and warm and comforting, exactly what we need to lighten the mood.
“Here’s my theory,” says Harmony, licking her spoon. “You know how some reality shows have a twist? Like, when the contestants think they’re on one type of show, but then they find out it’s actually something different?”
Valeria nods. “Like that one where they’re told they’re going to be having all these sexy hook-ups, but then they learn they aren’t allowed to touch one another?”
“Or the one where they’re competing to get a millionaire to fall in love with them, but then they find out the guy is, like, a schoolteacher or something?” Trina pipes up.
“Exactly.” Harmony nods. “That’s what’s happening here. It’s a plot twist.”
“So, what, we’re going from a dating show to, like, some Survivor shit?” Sue-Ellen says.
“They said they’d pitched it as Love Island meets Survivor,” I say, remembering Gabby and Tyler at the audition, how they were so intense about the challenges and adversity the campers would be facing, how this was a different type of dating show.
“So what, they’re seeing how long it takes us to go Lord of the Flies on each other?”
“Maybe,” Harmony says. “Maybe it’s a social experiment, to see how we handle the stress—I honestly don’t know. But I think it’s all part of the plan.”
“So, they’re all just hanging out somewhere, watching us?” Trina says, sounding hopeful.
“I think so,” Harmony says, nodding. “I mean, doesn’t it make more sense than any other explanation? Like, what, did they get kidnapped? Abducted by aliens? They abandoned production in the middle of the season and left us all here to die? All highly unlikely.”
In the absence of a better explanation, this is something we can hang on to. And at least Trina looks reassured. “If that’s the case, then what do we do now?” she asks.
“We just keep doing what we’re doing. They’ll have to give us some kind of direction, at some point. We need to keep our eyes open, watch for signals or messages they might be trying to send us.”
I glance around at the other girls. No one looks particularly reassured, but there seems to be a consensus that it’s the best working plan. For now.
That theory makes for an interminable day.
After we finish our chores, we spend the rest of the afternoon looking over our shoulders, anticipating a jumpscare, waiting for something—anything—to happen.
It makes me feel listless and irritable, like we’re in some holding pattern with no indication of if or when we can move forward.
I swim as long and as hard as I ever have, but even that doesn’t do much to calm the buzzing in my brain.
At dinnertime, the mood is tense, and only gets worse when Giovanni approaches Kei for a second helping of rice and beans, and Kei refuses him.
“What the fuck, bro? I’m still hungry,” Giovanni says, sliding his plate across the counter toward Kei.
“I know, bro, but we’ve got to watch our portions, conserve what we have, until we get more food.”
“It’s not like they’re going to let us fuckin’ starve or anything,” Giovanni says, leaning across the counter to grab the serving spoon out of Kei’s hand. But Kei snatches it back. “Who made you king of the kitchen? Huh?”
Kei exhales. “I’m not the king of anything, I’m just managing the food supply, that’s all. It’s for you as much as it’s for me.”
“Yeah, well, I should be able to eat what I want, when I want.”
“Leave it alone, G,” Damian says, a hint of warning in his voice as Giovanni stretches across the counter on his tiptoes in a pathetic attempt to get up in Kei’s face.
“You can finish mine, babe,” Valeria says, trying to keep the peace.
“Naw, fuck this.” Giovanni flips his plate and stalks off. We watch as his plate clatters against the stainless-steel counter, rattling in a hypnotic spiral, until Kei clamps a hand down to silence it.
“I’m sorry,” Kei says to the group. “Maybe I’m out of line. I should have talked to you guys about the food situation. I just kind of took control, but I should have asked you.”
A chorus of disagreement rings out. “I’m more than happy for you to be king of the kitchen,” Sue-Ellen says. “I sure as sugar wouldn’t want to do it.”
“Me neither,” Isa agrees.
“We need to meet as a group,” Sid says, “to figure out who’s going to do what.”
Kei nods. “Good idea. Let’s get a fire going, then we can talk about it there.”
A few people leave to get the campfire ready, while the rest of us stay to clean up. We silently orbit around one another; the only sounds are of dishes clattering in the sink. When every dish is cleaned and dried and put away, and every surface is gleaming, Kei knocks his fist against the counter.
The sun has slipped behind the horizon and there’s a chill in the air as we gather around the campfire.
Harmony and Damian are wrapped in the duvet from their bunk, and when I sit down on the other side of her, she lifts her arm, inviting me to slide in and share the warmth.
The other campers sit huddled in their couples, waiting for someone to take charge.
Kei clears his throat. “Does anyone want to kick this off?” Giovanni scuffs his heel into the gravel, avoiding meeting Kei’s eye.
“Alright, well, in the interest of keeping things simple, I think we should all take on one chore that we do until the producers are back and we’re on some sort of roster again.
Are we all good with that?” The group nods in agreement.
“As I said, I’d like to do food prep. Is there anyone who wants to help me? ”
“What the fuck?” is what I want to say. But what I say instead is “We should work within our couples. I mean, that’s probably what they want us to do, right? Like, to see how all of this affects our relationships?”
Kei gives me a blank stare, but after a moment, he nods. “Okay. Me and Cleo will do food prep. Who’s up for groundskeeping?”
Kei seems relieved as the other chores are quickly covered. “Is there anything else anyone wants to talk about?” He scans the group. “Trina?”
Trina’s eyes are wide and watery. “You said last night you would go check the crew cabins today if I was still worried.” Kei nods. “Well, I’m still worried.”
“Okay,” Kei says. He’s smiling that kind smile, the one that makes you feel seen and understood and validated. “That’s understandable. We can go check now. Damian, you want to come with me?”
“Say less,” Damian says, springing to his feet. “I bet we’ll find those motherfuckers in there laughing about how doom and gloom we all are.” This was met with a few forced chuckles.
“Be careful,” Trina warbles.
“Look for our phones,” Valeria says.
“Bring back wine!” Sue-Ellen calls.
As we watch Kei and Damian disappear down the beach path, a collective heaviness settles over the camp. No one speaks. We all sit watching the flames recede, until it’s nothing more than a pile of red-hot coals.
“Anyone got a ghost story?” Giovanni asks.
“No,” Trina says fervently.
“How about we play a game? Never Have I Ever?”
A resounding chorus of ‘Nos.’
“Anyone got any special talents?”
“Forget about it, G,” Isa says. “It’s not the time.”
Giovanni’s face reddens, and he looks like he’s about to go off, but he’s interrupted by the sound of feet crunching on gravel.
I turn to see Kei and Damian coming down the path.
I wait for them to call out that it’s fine, all good, nothing to worry about, but they say nothing at all.
It’s hard to see their expressions in the dim light, but as they get closer, I see their furrowed brows, their set jaws, their rigid postures.
“What?” I hear myself breathe. “What is it?”
Damian and Kei look at one another, a silent negotiation. Who’s going to say it?
Kei swallows. “The crew cabins,” he says, his voice cracking. I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I look at Harmony. Her mouth is slack and she’s blinking rapidly.
“They’re empty,” Damian says in a flat voice. “Totally empty.”
I look at Kei, waiting for him to smile and say it’s all going to be okay. He holds my gaze for a long moment before turning to address the whole group.
“Everyone’s gone.”