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thriller,
adventure,
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Horror,
Modern & contemporary fiction (post c 1945),
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Sheila and that other chick we exiled a few days ago."
"Why is that?" Richard asked. "Have you ever noticed that on every season of Castaways, the hot girls get exiled first? I always said that if I ever made it onto the show, I wouldn't do that, and yet I helped get rid of her. Why?"
"I don't know. But I did, too, so we're just as guilty as those previous contestants. And now all the nice-looking ones are gone. Except Pauline. But she's in tight with Stefan's group. That's why Jerry's plan better work, or our asses are next, right after they exile Troy."
"Do you really think we should join forces with Jerry?"
Sal shrugged. "I don't see why not. It makes sense for now. Maybe when it's just Pauline left out of their group, we can offer her immunity in exchange for some of that ass. I mean, she likes sticking her tits in everyone else's face. Why not stick them in mine for a while?"
"You wouldn't really do her."
"Are you crazy? Try me. I'd do her in a heartbeat."
"No," Richard insisted. "You wouldn't. Not with the cameras around all the time. You've got a wife and kids back home. There's no way you'd let them see that on television. You'd end up divorced."
"Shit. I don't get laid at home either. I might as well take advantage of it here if the opportunity presents itself."
"What about Shonette? Would you do her?"
"Yeah, in a pinch. She's not all that, but she's better than your fish. Becka, too."
"Becka's cute," Richard agreed, "but I think she likes Jerry."
"Even if she didn't like him, she wouldn't do you, man. She'd sooner fuck that worm snake we found today. You're better off sticking to the fish."
Richard laughed, then shivered as a particularly fierce gust of wind blasted across the beach. The skin on his arms prickled.
"It's getting pretty chilly," he said. "Maybe we should head back to camp."
Sal glanced up at the foreboding sky. It was growing darker by the minute. The sun had almost completely vanished behind a mass of thick, roiling clouds.
"If it's gonna rain," he muttered, "then I wish it would start already."
"I can't believe how cold it's getting."
"It's not," Sal said. "We've just gotten so used to the heat that as soon as the temperature drops a little bit, it feels like we're in Antarctica or something."
Richard gathered their equipment—netting, lines, and hooks that they'd won during a challenge, and two bamboo spears they'd fashioned in camp— while Sal continued studying the sky.
"Come on," he urged. "Let's head back."
Nodding, Sal picked up the bundle of fish. "Don't forget about your girlfriends."
"Hey, listen." Richard glanced around, making sure they were alone. The beach was deserted. "You're not going to tell anybody about the chicken, are you?"
"That depends. How much is it worth to you?"
"Oh, come on, Sal. That's not right."
"You shouldn't have said anything. You're just lucky we don't have a camera crew following us around."
"Well, even so, I'd appreciate it if you kept it between us."
"I will—for half your prize money if you win."
"Half?"
"Half."
"How about I just wait till we get back to camp, and then look in the camera and tell America all about the fat chick you banged."
"I've changed my mind," Sal said. "The chicken will be our little secret."
They walked along the beach, heading back toward the island's interior. They didn't hurry, but they didn't lag either. Neither man wanted to get caught in the jungle during the storm. As they crossed the beach, their discussion changed from women and fish to music. Both of them were metalheads, but while Sal was a fervent KISS fan, Richard was into more esoteric bands like Iced Earth and Death. He was telling Sal about his current favorite group, Co-heed and Cambria, when something in the sand caught his attention. He paused, cupping his hand over his eyes, and stared.
"What's wrong?" Sal asked.
"Look over there."
A few yards away from them were a series of footprints. They led from the jungle to the
Heather (ILT) Amy; Maione Hest