Chapter 3
It turns out that we have very few supplies available, which is discouraging, but not really a surprise.
The show is called Marooned for a reason, after all.
In addition to the flint we got from Alex, there’s a machete, a pot with a lid, a bag of rice, and another “map” that supposedly shows the way to a well.
If I had to guess, I’d say the map is just as useful as the one that directed us to this beach, which is to say not at all.
Fortunately, one of the producers, an Indian woman with short gray hair and a weathered face, who introduces herself as Neema, gathers us together.
“Welcome to Marooned,” she says, her voice surprisingly deep.
“I’ve been assigned to your tribe, which means I’ll be here with you between eight and twelve hours each day.
During that time, I may pull each of you aside to film individual confessionals, schedule permitting.
Nothing you say in a confessional will be shared with your tribemates during the game, so please be as open and honest as you can.
Otherwise, I will be available to answer any production-related questions you may have.
If something comes up while I’m not on the beach, speak to one of the camera crew, and they’ll make sure your concern gets to me.
Having said that, be aware that we are not part of the game, and outside of confessionals, you should try your best to ignore us.
” She pauses for a moment, presumably to let all that sink in.
“Now then, if you will all please follow me?”
We trail behind her as she walks down a path swept of underbrush and marked every so often with pieces of purple cloth tied to palm trees.
Neema walks slowly and points out landmarks, making sure we all keep track so we can get there and back without her help.
The path ends at our well, which Neema informs us is the only remotely safe source of drinking water.
It’s a short walk, perhaps five minutes, but I imagine it’ll seem longer when we’re lugging water back to camp.
Once we’re all gathered at the well, she shows us how to uncover it and draw water from it.
She also tells us that technically we don’t need to boil the water before we drink it, since we all signed a waiver form before we came out here, but she strongly recommends that we do so if we want to avoid getting sick.
I make a mental note to myself to do as she suggested unless I’m actually dying of thirst.
Back at the beach, she points out a container cleverly disguised as a log that holds any prescribed medications that the nine of us need to take, as well as sunscreen, toothbrushes, and toothpaste, the former so we don’t sue them if we get skin cancer, and the latter to ensure that we have nice white teeth for the camera.
Also in the cache is a small two-way radio, only to be used in actual emergencies.
“And I mean real emergencies,” she says, eying us each in turn.
“Like, ‘I accidentally chopped off my finger with the machete’ kind of emergency. If you use it to tell me you can’t find your socks or something like that, rest assured that I will ignore you. ”
Besides that, she tells us that we’re on our own and reminds us that we are considered to be “on-camera” at all times while we’re on our beach unless explicitly told otherwise.
“Just do your best to pretend the cameras aren’t there,” she says.
“As I’m sure you can understand, we want this to feel as authentic as possible. ”
Easier said than done, I think to myself, as one of the camera crew hefts a camera onto her shoulder and points it at me.
Neema sees me looking and gives a faint smile. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it much faster than you might expect,” she adds. “Well, that’s all I have to say, so you’re free to go about your business.” She pauses, giving us what might be a wink. “And remember, we’re all rooting for you.”
With the formalities taken care of, the nine of us convene and collectively decide that the first thing we need to do is build a shelter.
It turns out Beck is an amateur carpenter, which I guess fits the lumberjack theme, so he takes the lead.
“Cole, you and Marina clear a space on the beach,” he directs.
“Preferably under the trees, so we can get some extra shelter from rain, but not too deep into the woods, or we won’t have any place to put a fire.
Joe, I’d like you, Ashley, and Rhonda to collect palm fronds that we can weave to make a roof.
And then Ryan, Jing, Katie, and me will gather bamboo for the actual structure.
Is that all right with everyone?” He claps his hands without waiting for an answer. “Wonderful. Let’s get started, then!”
As instructed, I go off into the woods with Beck, Jing, and Katie, looking for logs to collect.
Beck tells us to search for ones that are about ten feet long and not too dry, so they’ll still be pliant.
I’m not sure if he knows what he’s talking about or is just pretending, but either way, I’m okay with following his lead for the moment.
Stepping up and leading this early on can rub people the wrong way, and I’m happy to let him be the one to put a target on his back.
At first, the work isn’t too strenuous, and the four of us have enough energy to talk while we work.
I learn that Jing was born in China and moved to the US when she was three years old, that Katie transitioned in her freshman year of college at Stanford, and that Beck has dreams of expanding his vineyard and making a name for his wine.
Eventually, though, the combined effect of the hot sun, the lack of water, and the fact that the bamboo logs are heavier than they look take their toll, and the conversation trails off.
I wish I could find out more, maybe begin to build a little trust with them, but every little step counts.
It takes an hour or so to collect enough bamboo to satisfy Beck. By the time we’ve deposited the last log on the beach, the others are finishing up their tasks too. After a quick rest, Beck directs all of us to begin the process of actually building the shelter.
Ashley raises her hand. “Should all nine of us be working on the same thing?” she asks. “Maybe some of us should get started on something, you know, less exhausting.”
Beck shakes his head. “It’s better to get the structure done first. That way we’ll at least have a base to work from. Plus, it’s really important to get this done as quickly as we can. I don’t know about you, but I’d like to increase my chances of getting a good night’s sleep tonight.”
He looks to Ashley as though he’s inviting her to argue with him, but she just glares back at him. No one else objects, so we all begin working together to build a lean-to out of the bamboo logs we collected.
The shelter comes together faster than I expected. Fortunately, we all work together as a group. Or, at least, nobody starts an argument or goes off in a huff and refuses to work. A few times I see Ashley glaring at Beck as though she’d like to quit.
But in the end, she does her part, and after what feels like a good three hours, we’ve got an adequate-looking lean-to that wouldn’t meet a single building code anywhere in the world, but also won’t fall over the minute the wind starts blowing more than five miles per hour. At least, I hope it won’t.
The nine of us stand there looking at it for a few moments, in various stages of being out of breath and/or dehydrated.
“Right,” Beck finally says, breathing heavily. “I guess we should probably move on to other things, huh?”
Once again, nobody disagrees. Technically, we’ve reached the end of the part where he has more expertise than the rest of us, but it seems like no one else wants to step up. I can’t speak for the others, but I certainly don’t want to take charge, not this early.
Whatever the others are thinking, Beck apparently takes our silence as acquiescence.
“Joe and Jing, you two see if you can get a fire started. Ashley and I will go to the well and fill up our canteens. Hopefully, we’ll have a fire started by the time we get back.
Everyone else, maybe start weaving palm fronds for the roof of the shelter. ”
With that settled, the five of us who were assigned to weaving palm fronds—namely, me, Rhonda, Katie, Cole, and Marina—take a seat on the beach and get to work.
To my great relief, weaving fronds together is exactly as strenuous as it sounds, which is to be quite a bit less than collecting logs or constructing a shelter.
More importantly, we’re able to talk as we work, which means I can begin to build the relationships I’m going to need if I want to have a chance at winning this game.
The women, especially, are easy to talk to, each in their own way.
Katie and I immediately discover that we’re both nerds, so I already like her.
We spend a good few minutes discussing our favorite Marvel movies—she prefers Thor: Ragnarok, but I think Captain America: The Winter Soldier is better.
Meanwhile, Marina is bubbly and loves to talk about her three kids, her pets—a cat and a golden retriever named Leo, who sounds incredibly cute and who I want to meet as soon as possible—and her extended family that lives with her in Miami.
Rhonda is quieter than the others, but she exudes a calmness that’s welcome in this anxiety-inducing situation.
When she does talk, her voice is light, but has a touch of gravitas to it, as though she’s a Southern gentlewoman holding court with her friends and not sitting on a beach weaving palm fronds together.