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  “But being spotted is the whole point,” argued Lyssa. “How are we going to get rescued if nobody can see us?”

  Solemnly, Luke filled in the newcomers about the murder they’d witnessed and the body that had washed up on the beach.

  “It’s a real jam,” he finished. “If rescuers don’t find us, we’ll die here. But if we make ourselves visible enough to get rescued, these guys will spot us first, and they’ll kill us.”

  “Will,” Lyssa said nervously. “They’d kill him too. And he probably doesn’t even know they’re out there.”

  J.J. spoke up. “Doesn’t anybody else think this is kind of fishy? The boat sinks; we’re stranded; murderers on the island — I mean, whose luck is this bad?”

  “It even happens to rich people,” Charla told him resentfully.

  “It’s fake,” J.J. scoffed. “I say we’re still on Charting a New Course, and all this has happened to us on purpose. The boat sank because it was supposed to sink — you know, a trick boat. The special effects guys who work on my dad’s movies, they could rig something like that in a heartbeat.”

  Everybody groaned. This had been J.J.’s theory from the beginning.

  “The whole point of the trip is to make us forget what a bunch of losers we are and force us to work as a team,” he went on. “Well, it’s happening. These so-called criminals, they could be actors hired by CNC. They’re just another test for us. And we’re falling for it — man, we’re performing like a bunch of trained seals!”

  “You’re disgusting, J.J. Lane!” Lyssa snapped at him. “My poor brother could be dying this minute — ”

  “That’s even more evidence that I’m right,” J.J. interrupted. “Will got a little too messed up so they stepped in and scooped him out of the game. He’s probably watching us on hidden camera right now, eating a steak and laughing his butt off.”

  “That was a real murder we saw,” Luke said darkly. “And it was definitely a real dead body.”

  J.J. shrugged. “When my dad was doing this horror flick, he once brought home a fake disembodied hand from the prop room. It looked so real that my stepmom — number three — she practically had a heart attack.”

  “You know, it almost doesn’t matter,” Ian said thoughtfully. “Whether it’s a setup or not, we’re still shipwrecked and we have to survive.”

  “Except CNC won’t let us die,” J.J. reminded him.

  “There are exactly two reasons why we’re not dead,” said Luke grimly. “Dumb luck and coconuts. And the luck ran out when that plane landed. It doesn’t get any scarier than this.”

  Voices.

  Will reacted immediately. He snatched up his bow and a handful of arrows.

  He could hear the swish and crackle of legs making their way through heavy underbrush.

  They were coming to get him.

  And they were close.

  He made a move to put out the campfire and froze. That fire was the only thing that kept the bugs away at night. His mosquito-bite bodysuit was finally starting to recede; the churning itch had become almost bearable. He could even open his eyes all the way now, although the silvery mist was still there, and the headaches were worse than ever. How could he willingly feed himself to squadrons of hungry insects?

  There must be some way …

  He jammed the arrows in his back pocket and slung the bow over his shoulder. Then he picked up a sturdy twig and held it to the fire.

  The voices were getting louder. From the babble, he made out a single word: Phoenix.

  They were talking about the boat!

  His new torch blazing in his hand, he stomped out the fire and kicked a mass of vines and dead leaves to cover the evidence. Then he squeezed himself into a dense stand of ferns and peered out.

  It was the little kid — the one who called himself Ian. His companion was a tall blond boy Will hadn’t seen before. The newcomer was laughing.

  “I swim to the life raft and climb inside, and then it hits me: I forgot to untie the line! The boat’s sinking, and I’m still attached to it. So I’m hanging over the side trying to chew through that rope with my teeth — which isn’t easy because it’s on fire.”

  Will frowned. More lies about the shipwreck. But why tell them to each other?

  He froze. Did they suspect he was listening? That made no sense. They’d come get him if they knew where he was. Why were they talking about a disaster that never happened?

  “Wasn’t there a knife in the survival kit?” Ian was asking.

  “Yeah, but who’s got time to look for it?” the older boy exclaimed. “I’m chewing for my life here! Then, the Phoenix starts down, and I’m thinking, ‘That’s it. I’m dead,’ ” and, poof, the rope burns through, and I’m free! These CNC guys — when they scare you, they don’t mess around.”

  “It seems pretty far-fetched that they could be behind all this,” said Ian.

  “You’ll see. We’re wasting our time. Will’s not on the island anymore. He’s probably in some hotel room, living large.”

  Hotel room? What was he talking about?

  As Will watched the blond boy, in a flash he knew with absolute certainty something he couldn’t possibly have known. It was a message engraved on one of the earpieces of the kid’s sunglasses: THE TOAST OF LONDON.

  The toast of London?

  He was taken aback. Where would he get a crazy idea like that? This was a total stranger! And yet the feeling was so vivid Will could almost see the words imprinted in the fancy metal.

  Impossible. And yet it wouldn’t be the weirdest thing that had happened to him in the last few days.

  Was he losing his mind?

  And then he heard a word that had been very much in his thoughts lately: Lyssa.

  “Yeah, she was already in the water when I found her,” the blonde was saying. “I’m not sure how she got there. We’ll ask her.”

  Ask her! Will stiffened like a pointer. They knew where she was!

  He struggled to force his sluggish mind to reason it out. He couldn’t let them get away. He had to attack! There were two of them, but he had his bow and arrow. He would squeeze his sister’s whereabouts out of them if it was the last thing he did. If they wouldn’t talk, he’d …

  What? Shoot them? He’d never have the guts.

  He thrummed the bowstring with his free hand. Yes, I would. This is life and death. I shot that boar and I’ll shoot them.

  The two boys were no more than twenty feet away. Will prepared himself to spring. They would never get any closer than this ….

  The moment passed. Will squinted at their receding backs. He took no action.

  There was a better way.

  Luke shone the beam of the flashlight at the survival pack.

  Just that simple act seemed like a miracle. Only yesterday, the setting of the sun had signified the end of all activity on the island. Darkness was final, total. Now they had artificial light, courtesy of the inflatable raft.

  While J.J. and Ian had searched for Will, Luke and the girls had moved the covered lifeboat from the small cove where it was beached to a spot just inside the trees at the castaways’ camp. It wasn’t easy to maneuver such a bulky object through heavy jungle — it had to be rolled, carried, squeezed, and sometimes tossed. But it was all worth it when Luke took the cover off the survival pack.

  “We’re rich,” he breathed.

  No, this was much better than money.

  Conveniences.

  Small aluminum pots, pans, plates. Plastic cups and cutlery. Compass. Knife. Lighter and waterproof matches. First aid kit. Fishing line and hooks …

  There it was. Macaroni and cheese. A hole opened up in his stomach. Fruit could keep them from starving, but this was real food. Big too. The label read: SERVES TEN.

  He had an insane desire to bite into the package — straight through the shrink-wrap. Ha! The others would kill him, and they’d be right. He set it back in the survival kit. This was their last meal, their safety net. They had to preserve it fo
r when they were really desperate.

  He hefted the raft’s water keg. It was almost empty, but it would still come in handy. In the coconut shells, the rainwater was always mostly evaporated by the time they got around to drinking it. Now they had a reservoir they could close. That was a big help.

  To keep us alive so we can die here, he thought suddenly. Or be murdered.

  That was an ongoing battle — Luke’s brain versus his morale. He got through the days by setting realistic goals for himself: Find food. Find water. Keep looking for Will.

  Two shipmates you’d written off as dead showed up today, he reminded himself. If that won’t keep your spirits up, nothing will.

  He sighed. These days, survival included winning these arguments with himself.

  With the keg under his arm, he ducked out of the raft’s sun canopy that loosely covered the lifeboat like a tent. The other four sat around the fire. The dancing light of the flames played across their faces. It felt unreal, like a movie scene. Luke guessed that he had interrupted a conversation.

  He picked up a coconut shell, careful not to spill a drop. “From now on, let’s use this keg to store our water.”

  “Good idea,” said Lyssa. “Hey, Luke, what do you think happened to Radford?”

  Luke clenched the shell harder. Out of six crew members who hadn’t been too fond of the Phoenix’s mate, Luke had the strongest feelings. “Personally, I don’t think about him at all,” he replied sourly. “But now that you mention it, I hope the biggest shark in the ocean swam up and bit his ugly head off.”

  Radford had proved to be much more than just a seagoing bully. With the boat crippled and slowly sinking, he had slipped off during the night in the schooner’s twelve-foot dinghy, taking most of their food with him. In effect, he had left them to die. It had been that predicament — and their efforts to restart the engine — that had led to the explosion and fire that had scuttled the ship.

  “But do you think he could have made it back to Guam?” asked Charla.

  “Rat-face is an experienced sailor,” Luke mused, emptying another shell, “but he was in the open Pacific in a tiny boat. One good wave could have flipped him.”

  “He’s fine,” scoffed J.J. “It’s all part of the game.”

  “In your fantasy world,” Charla added unkindly.

  “Well, he never could have survived for real on that pile of Popsicle sticks.” The actor’s son shrugged. “His own B.O. would have killed him.”

  “Big joke,” snorted Luke. “That guy’s as bad as the men from the plane. Worse, because he was getting paid to look after us.” His wrist shook, and he brought his lips to the coconut shell to suck up the spilled water. “Just hearing his name again makes me nuts.”

  The five had decided to bed down in the inflatable lifeboat. The sand of the beach was soft and comfortable, but four nights of ant bites had convinced them it was time for a new home. As the others retired to divvy up sleeping space, Lyssa remained outside to trim down their fire — a sensible precaution to avoid being noticed by the men on the other side of the island.

  It was an eerie feeling: killers out there, somewhere in the blackness. Almost too much to accept. After everything else that had happened — murderers on the very same tiny cay where both groups of castaways had washed ashore.

  She saw a flicker of light coming from the woods. Her first reaction was panic. It was them!

  She squinted into the gloom. Nothing. Were her eyes playing tricks on her?

  Suddenly, a hand reached out from behind and clamped down hard over her mouth. Her scream was smothered by the powerful grip. She struggled, but her attacker had too firm a hold.

  And then — a whisper in her ear:

  “Cut it out, Lyss! It’s me!”

  Will? If he hadn’t been clutching her so tightly, she would have dropped like a stone from relief.

  You’re alive! What happened to you? Don’t you remember the shipwreck? The thoughts darted around in her head. There was so much to say. But when she opened her mouth she couldn’t speak. Mute, she wheeled and embraced her brother. He resisted for an instant and then wrapped his arms around her. They held each other with an intensity that momentarily canceled out the danger, the horror, the fear. A small part of Lyssa, standing strangely distant from herself, noted that this was the first time she could ever remember hugging Will.

  She found her voice at last. “I can’t believe it’s you.”

  “Shhh!” He stiffened, pulled back. “They’ll hear us. We’ve got to get out of here right now!”

  “Will, they’re our friends.”

  “Don’t listen to them, Lyss,” Will warned. “Everything they say is a lie. They told me you were dead.”

  “They thought I was,” Lyssa reasoned. “I thought the same thing about them after the boat sank. About you too.”

  Clutching his torch, Will backed up a step, wide-eyed with shock. “They’ve got you brainwashed!”

  “No — ”

  She stopped herself from arguing, because, for the first time, she had gotten a really good look at her brother. He had lost weight — they all had, but it was much more noticeable on the sturdy Will. His hair was matted, his eyes wild, and he had more bug bites than skin. A crude bow was slung over one bony shoulder. He smelled terrible. He was like a savage, she thought in agony. She had no hope of reasoning with him. In fact, she could think of only one way to save him.

  “Luke!” she cried. “Everybody! Come quick!”

  Shocked by the betrayal, Will turned to run. She lunged at him, wrapping her arms around his thin frame. He shook her off roughly. Her foot hooked on a low vine, and she fell heavily to the ground.

  He turned to face her. “I’ll be back, Lyss — I promise! I won’t let them do this to you!”

  By the time Luke and the others burst out of the lifeboat, he had fled into the jungle, the flicker of his torch disappearing in the density of the trees.

  The jungle was becoming familiar to Will. Who would have dreamed that he would ever know one clump of ferns from another?

  But he did. No, that wasn’t exactly true. The individual plants all looked alike, especially by torchlight. It was the progression that he was beginning to recognize: coconut palms on the right, broad-leaf whatchamacallits on the left, big step over the fallen log, those weird crisscrossing ferns dead ahead — he was almost home.

  He felt a twinge of pride. He used to be the kind of kid who fell apart when the cable went down, or when the family ran out of microwave popcorn. An eight-minute power failure threw him into a panic. But now he was making his way through dense jungle on his own, in the near-blackness of night.

  If only Lyssa could see him.

  She had seen him, he reminded himself. Barely ten minutes ago. And she had refused to come with him. How was he ever going to rescue her?

  To rescue Lyssa, he thought, first you have to rescue yourself.

  But how would he accomplish that? Where should he go? What should he do?

  For a moment, the silvery fog swirled around him once more. He closed his eyes and fought through it. And when he opened them again, he was at the twin palms of his camp.

  He brushed a few handfuls of dried leaves onto the remains of his fire and reached down with his torch.

  The kindling caught quickly, and in the glow of the sudden flare, he saw that he was not alone.

  At first, the creature looked like a small haystack. Then the massive head swung around and whimpered.

  Will jumped. It was the wild boar.

  Run for it!

  He stood poised, waiting for the attack. It didn’t come.

  The animal whimpered again.

  Will squinted in the firelight. Blood stained the bristly snout where the arrow still protruded.

  His hand tightened on the bow over his shoulder and he pulled an arrow from his pocket. He could kill this thing. Kill it and eat it.

  Yeah, right. You’re too squeamish to dig out a splinter.

  He took
a step forward.

  Careful. Nothing’s more dangerous than a wounded animal.

  But this one was dying.

  Well, duh! That’s why you shot it, right?

  Cautiously, Will approached the boar and squatted down beside it. The red piggy eyes seemed almost colorless now, sunken into the head/snout/body. He leaned over until he was close enough to feel the hot wind of the boar’s tortured breathing. The animal regarded him suspiciously, but made no attempt to move. He reached out a hand, and the boar shrank from him, but it lacked the strength to get up.

  When he closed his hand on the shaft of the arrow, the boar squealed in pain, shaking its snout. Luckily, the arrow pulled out smoothly and easily — there was no barbed head, just a sharpened point at the end. Fresh blood trickled from the hole.

  Why was he doing this? This animal was protein, and easy hunting too. Protein meant energy, and energy was what he needed to rescue Lyssa and figure a way out of this mess.

  Will fitted an arrow into the bow and pulled back, straining to aim for the creature’s neck.

  What neck? It’s all neck! Its butt is practically an extension of its neck!

  He circled the boar, aiming behind its ears. It regarded him through distant, colorless eyes.

  Will was sweating now. This Guam humidity always made him perspire, but now it was pouring off him like Niagara Falls. Why couldn’t he do this? It was so stupid. He ate bacon cheeseburgers all the time. This was no different.

  Except, Will thought, when you go to McDonald’s, you can’t feel your dinner’s hot breath on your leg before you eat it.

  He set down the bow. “Tell you what,” he said out loud to the boar. “I’m going to find some more wood for the fire. You’ve got till I get back to beat it.”

  But when he returned with an armload of twigs, the boar hadn’t moved an inch.

  “I’m going to take a little nap. If you’re not gone by the time I wake up, you’re dinner.”

  Sleep would not come. He kept peeking through half-closed eyelids at the boar, which was still in its spot by the fire.

  “Will you get lost?!” raged Will. “Don’t you realize your life is on the line?”