Last Resort (25 page)

I am not turning back. Not now. Not with Gwen within shouting distance. I keep going until I come, quite literally, to the end of my rope. Dropping to the ground is out of the question. I am still at least forty feet off the ground. Fuck. What now? The cliff face draws away from me. I dangle in midair. The only way down (besides simply dropping to my death) is to climb down the remaining section of the cliff without the security of the rope. I reach for some of the shrubbery jutting out from the side of the cliff. It is too far. Grunting with effort, I spin aimlessly in space. My heart spasms at the thought that at any second the rope will snap. When the spinning subsides, I swing myself like a pendulum towards the face of the cliff. On several passes, I grab for whatever few shrubs and grasses grow from the cliff, but I cannot grip anything and swing back away. Finally, I grab the base of a shrub and hug the cliff face, breathing heavily.

Now I attempt to untie the rope from my waist, but as I do so, the shrub I hold onto suddenly tears free. I swing wildly from the cliff face, while the shrub and a torrent of dirt and stones, falls into the nature preserve below.

Petrified by how close I came to falling, I swing back and forth, arms flailing.

“Over here!” Someone yells. I recognize the voice as Dean’s.

I freeze above the canopy of trees and watch two torches weave through the nature preserve, coming my way. Bob and Dean stop directly below me. I look down on the tops of their heads. If they look up, they will see me.

“It came from over here,” Dean says with that baffled tone of voice he always has.

“I don’t see anything,” Bob gripes, slightly winded, and probably annoyed that Dean made him hustle to the site.

Dean waves his torch around, searching for an intruder in the undergrowth.

“I know I heard something…” Dean mumbles.

Please do not look up. Please do not look up.

Bob waves his torch in the other direction. “I don’t see anything here. Maybe you heard a bird.”

“That would have to be an awfully big bird.”

“I’m sure this island has all kinds of weird creatures,” Bob concludes, the tone of his voice making it obvious he has lost any interest in investigating the matter any further. “I’m heading back.”

Bob walks away. Dean wanders about a while longer, but finding nothing, and probably scared to be alone, he hurries after Bob. I am safe. They did not see me, but I still need to find a way down to the ground. Across from me is the top of a tree. Maybe I can climb down the tree, but first I have to reach it. I swing to the cliff face, and kick off, propelling towards the tree. It takes several tries of swinging back and forth, but I finally grab the top tree branches and hold on tight. The branches bend beneath my weight, but they hold. Hurriedly, I untie the rope and immediately race to the lower, sturdier branches of the tree. In minutes, I touch down on the ground.

The darkness covers me, allowing me to move without any risk of detection. With the stealth of a jaguar, I make my way to Gwen’s bungalow, tiptoe up the back steps and slip inside. Pausing near the entrance, I strain to hear any sound within the bungalow. It is silent. Gwen must be asleep. An image comes unbidden to my mind—that of Gwen, just down the short hall, nude, sleeping peacefully in Conner’s arms. No, I must not think that has happened. But what if it has? What if I find Conner and Gwen in bed together? Will I take the hatchet and split his skull open, or will I slowly retreat, leaving the resort never to return?

Have some faith, Phillip. Don’t succumb to the old doubts and insecurities. Not now. Gwen loves you. She believes Conner killed you. She would not leap into bed with him the very next day.

I pad towards the bed. It is empty. Neither Gwen nor Pamela is here. Where are they? I pray Conner has not killed them. No, he would not do that…at least not Gwen. So where is she?

I leave the bungalow as quietly as I entered it and make my way for Conner’s. On the way to Conner’s bungalow, keeping off the path and moving through the foliage, I pass the open restaurant area. A handful of torches glow in the restaurant. Peering under the wooden rail that encloses the area, I see a pair of slender, very shapely legs I immediately recognize as Gwen’s. She wears a one-piece dress and sits on the floor, hands behind her waist. She is bound to a pole. I cannot see her upper half. I crawl under the railing and under a long table covered by a tablecloth. I see Gwen fully now—head bowed, appearing to be asleep in that uncomfortable position. It enrages me to see her so mistreated.

Just as I am about to venture from beneath the table, I hear the sound of someone’s approach. A pair of well-muscled, hairy legs stands directly before me.

“Wake up,” Conner says, and removes something from the table above me.

He walks over to her holding a pitcher of water. With exaggerated motion, he pours it into a glass. She does not stir. He splashes the water in her face, startling her awake. My hand tenses around the hilt of the hatchet. Gwen blinks and coughs.

“You gotta be thirsty,” Conner pours another glass, takes a deep gulp, and emits a satisfied sigh. “It doesn’t have to be like this, Gwen. I can be good for you, if you’d let me.”

“Get away from me,” she rasps, her eyes smoldering with hatred.

He shrugs. “A little gratitude would go a long way—”

“Gratitude?” She laughs bitterly. “You killed my husband.”

“He was a lead weight tied to your ankle…dragging you down. Now with me—look what you get: food…protection. I don’t ask for much in return. Just for you to be a bit nicer towards me.”

Her lips twist into a contemptuous smile, an expression unlike anything I ever saw on her before. “And until I am, you’re going to starve me into submission. You really know how to sweep a girl off her feet,” she sneers.

He kneels down so that they are face to face and cups her chin with his hand. “I have all the time in the world. Something tells me you’ll be seeing things my way before long.”

He stands up and places the pitcher back on the table above me.

“See you in the morning,” he breezily says as he leaves.

When I am sure they are gone, I lift the table cover and poke my head out. “Gwen.”

She looks at me in a daze. “Phillip?”

I hurry to her. “Yes, baby, it’s me.”

“Phillip! You’re here! I thought…they said…”

“Shhh,” I press a finger to her smiling lips and quickly kiss her. “I am not dead. We’ve got to hurry before they come back.”

I untie her and help her to her feet. She immediately embraces me, squeezing me as tight as an anaconda, and despite our danger, I find myself laughing.

“Oh, Phillip,” she repeats over and over, weeping now.

I kiss her again, longer this time, and lead her to the water pitcher. She swallows half the pitcher in the blink of an eye. Holding her hand, we sneak towards the cocktail lounge where there are fewer torches and we can blend into the shadows. I need a moment to figure out my next move. We take refuge in the gift shop. Conner removed whatever edible items the gift shop held, but stacks of towels, t-shirts, and assorted trinkets remain. At the back of the shop, we kneel behind a shelf of conch shells.

Breathlessly, we touch each other, almost afraid to accept that this is real—that we are together once more. In a rush of words, I tell her of my escape from Goat Island, of battling the dog pack and sabotaging Action’s sneak attack. She tells me how Conner separated her from Pamela by locking Pamela in my empty bungalow, and then how he shackled Gwen in the restaurant, forbidding anyone to feed or even speak to her—all in an effort to break her will.

It seems we cannot get the words out fast enough, and as we speak our hands caress one another, lovingly lingering over every piece of exposed skin. Our words falter, trail off, because nothing is as important as the way we feel right now. She touches my thigh and my body responds. Our lips collide, hungrily devouring each other, hands clawing off what little clothing we have. Deep inside me, a tiny voice cries that we should not be doing this, we are in too great a danger, and we must flee. The roar of my passion obliterates any restraint. No thoughts of danger or death. Not now.

She draws me on top of her, needing me as much as I need her. In one push, I am deep inside her, and she grips my back, pulling me close, arching her back with animal lust.

Pulsing within her, I cradle her face in my hands. I need her to look at me. I need her to look into my eyes when I speak.

“I love you,” my words are thick with emotion. “I love you, I love…oh, Gwen, I love you.”

Light blossoms in the depth of her beautiful eyes as if a firecracker bursts into sparks, and I know, in that instant, she reaches ecstasy. I am not far behind her. She touches the stubble on my jaw and coos, “My Phillip. My love,” and with that I explode inside her.

Chapter Twenty-Two

We lay side by side, gasping for breath, hands entwined. Gwen bolts upright and grabs her dress. “Phillip, we’ve got to go. If they catch us…”

I hurriedly put my shorts back on and peek through the glass entrance door. “It’s daybreak. I don’t see anyone, but they’ll all be awake soon. We cannot climb the cliff wall, so we’ll have to make a dash for the lagoon.”

“But they’ll hear us,” she shimmies into her dress.

“By the time they realize what we’re doing we’ll be long gone.”

“Conner will follow me.”

I furrow my brows. She is right. Conner will never let Gwen get away.

“Then let him follow,” I grimly reply, and extend my hand to her. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

We start to run for the burnt out lagoon bridge, but Gwen stops me. “We can’t leave without Pamela.”

Her face is anguished. As sorely as I want to get away from the resort, I know that Pamela would be in a terrible position if we leave her behind. Bereft of Gwen, her only ally and friend, Pamela would be at Conner’s mercy.

“Okay,” I agree. “We’ll make it quick.”

We take twenty steps in Pamela’s direction, round the corner of a bungalow and run right into Robby. He is outside his bungalow, smoking a cigarette, and is as shocked to see me as I am to see him. The cigarette falls from his mouth. Before he can yell for help, I pounce on him, knocking him backwards. I try to cover his mouth, but he uses the advantage of his bulk to flip me over, pressing his forearm down on my throat. My face turns red and my eyes bulge.

Rob heaves his weight onto his forearm, bringing his ruddy, leering face close to mine. Whap! Something wet sprays on my brow. Robby’s mouth hangs open, as though he was about to say something important but then completely forgot what it was. He rolls off me with my hatchet sticking out of the back of his skull.

“I… I had to. He was killing you,” Gwen stands back in shock over what she just did.

I wipe the blood from my brow and rest my hands on her shoulders. “It’s okay, baby. You had no choice.”

Someone makes a little gasp. We turn to see Robby’s girlfriend. She wears a rumpled nightie and her hair is flat on one side. She sees Robby lying face down on the ground and screams.

We run. No time for Pamela. Robby’s girlfriend continues to scream. People shout from their bungalows. Doors swing open as people stomp outside. Torches flare to life. If we can make it to the lagoon bridge, we can run to the point where it ends and swim the short distance that remains to the other side. Bob and Dean get there ahead of us. We skid to a halt. Dean looks at me as though seeing a ghost. Bob wields a crow bar and viciously swings it at me, driving me back from the bridge. We dash the other way, but by now numerous people stream in our direction, their torches bobbing in the darkness.

I grab Gwen’s hand and stop her. “It’s no use. We can’t get away.”

Frantic, she pulls on my arm. “Yes we can! C’mon!”

“No, Gwen,” I refuse to budge. “It’s got to end now—tonight.”

Her shoulders sag and her lips trembles. I lead her up the stairs to the restaurant, pause at the top of the steps, look into her eyes and say, “Whatever happens, know that I love you…that I have always loved you, even when I thought I didn’t.”

She bites her lower lip and seems on the verge of tears.

“Over here!” I shout, summoning everyone to us.

One by one, the remaining inhabitants of the resort file into the restaurant and stare at me in wonder.

“Action and his gang are all dead. I killed them,” I announce. “You don’t have to live under Conner’s rule anymore.”

“It’s true,” Gwen vigorously nods. “The fire we saw tonight—Action and his gang were on that boat. It went down and took his whole gang with it. Phillip’s the only one who made it back to shore.”

The people around us murmur amongst themselves. Seizing the momentum, I press on. “The time has come to work with the islanders—to grow crops and catch fish. If we all work together there should be enough food for everyone.”

My words sink in, and several people seem inclined to hear me out. More encouraging, no one makes a move to apprehend me. Conner bounds up the stairs with murder in his eyes and his axe clenched in both fists.

To my surprise, Jonas Dunlap protectively steps in front of me and faces Conner.

“It is over, Conner. We are taking back control of our resort,” Jonas holds out his hand. “Give me the keys.”

Conner snorts incredulously. “Have you all lost your minds? Look at him,” he jabs a finger in my direction. “This runt tells you he killed all the thugs and you fall all over yourselves, believing every word of it.”

Jonas exhales slowly. “We all saw the boat burn tonight, and wondered what happened. Now we know,” he points out the chain around Conner’s neck and beckons with his open palm. “The keys,” he repeats.

Conner yanks the chain from his neck, reaches to hand them to Jonas, but then drops them on the wooden floor. “You want them…come take them,” his mouth freezes into the semblance of a smile.

Jonas moves to retrieve the keys. “Not you,” Conner levels the axe at Jonas, and then points to me, “Him. Let him come and get them.”

I step forth from the crowd. Gwen clings to my arm. I raise her hand to my lips, kiss it softly, and then say to Conner, “Drop the axe.”