Living Legends

12) Clyde's Return

Jack hummed to himself as he strolled along the fruit groves.  His arms were already laden with oranges and some other tropical fruit he had yet to identify—maybe papaya? It was time to head back to his camp.

            He wound his way around large palm trees and short undergrowth until he reached the outer skirmish of the jungle.  It was easier to walk along the outskirts than it was through the center of the mosquito-infested foliage.  He shifted his load of fruit and carefully stepped over a large pile of driftwood.

            Then he froze.  He gasped and threw his arms in the air, causing all his fruit to come tumbling onto the sand.  He didn’t bend down to pick them up, however.  He was too busy staring at the ship coming straight towards his island.

            It’s him, he thought, narrowing his eyes.

            But it wasn’t.  As the ship grew closer, Jack could tell it was much bigger than the boat Clyde and his men had used.  He hadn’t seen those goons for months.  Had Clyde come back with more of his lackeys this time?

            Jack didn’t want to stick around to find out.  Leaving his fruit lying abandoned in the sand, ready to rot, he dashed into the jungle and made a beeline for the cliffs.  Even though he had been on the island for six months, he hadn’t gotten farther than a hundred yards up the steep cliff face.  It was a natural barrier keeping him from exploring the rest of the island.

            After a long, sweaty climb, Jack perched himself on a ledge and stared above the leafy jungle.  The heat was sweltering.  He watched in silent fascination as a few smaller boats—rowboats, apparently—broke away from the larger one.  How many people are on this thing? he wondered.  And, more importantly, why are they here?

            Jack knew the only logical place to land was in the bay.  That was where he did his daily swimming in the ocean, and that was where he walked the beach.  The rest of the island was fringed by a large reef too shallow for boats to drop anchor.

            But what was this boat doing here? Jack’s privacy was being intruded, but it didn’t look like Clyde was involved.  Jack figured it was mere tourists.  He knew there were plenty of boats cruising the Caribbean, some for fishing, some for research, some for exploring, and some for travel.  He decided the large boat anchored outside the reef was a combination of the latter two.  Why else would there be a bunch of random people swarming his beach and reclining on the sand?

            He frowned.  The whole situation was odd—extremely odd.  And here he was, sitting a safe distance away from the one thing he had been waiting six months to find.

            Rescue.

            With a stab of realization, Jack closed his eyes and banged his head against the rock behind him.  “I don’t want to be rescued,” he muttered.  “Why don’t I want to be rescued?”

            He was frustrated with himself.  He knew he should go back to the bay and tell the people he had been marooned.  However, deep down, he didn’t want to be labeled as a castaway.  He had spent the last decade of his life being afraid, and the last few years after that running away from his fears.  He had finally found a place where he didn’t have to worry about being found (other than by Clyde, of course).

            And who was to say Jack couldn’t hide from Clyde as well? The next time that brute and his men set foot on the island, Jack could run to the cliffs and stay there until they left.  He could make another camp and stock it with provisions for safety measures.  After all, if he was still on the island when hurricane season hit, he would be in big trouble if he didn’t have a backup shelter.

            Jack had made up his mind: he was staying.  He brushed the dirt off his raggedy jeans and began climbing down.  The tourists off in the distance didn’t seem to be moving beyond the beach, which was fine with Jack.  This way, he could go back to his camp in the jungle, remove any evidence of himself being there (in case some loony did wander away from the beach), and hightail it back to the cliffs.

            But Jack’s plan wasn’t foolproof.  He didn’t even make it to Step One before he ran into trouble.  Halfway to his camp, he froze when he heard voices murmuring in the jungle a few yards away.

            Crap.  He crouched low and peered through the leaves of a dwarf palm.  His heart immediately began pounding in his chest.  No! This can’t be happening.  I’m too late.

            Clyde was here.  And by the looks of things, he had his Spaniard and a few other wingmen with him as well.  This was not looking good.

            Jack closed his eyes and forced himself to remain calm.  He sorted out the facts in his mind: Clyde and his men were on that boat, but the other passengers are staying on the beach.  Maybe none of the passengers are looking for me.  In that case, he only had to worry about Clyde’s group.

            And that left Jack with…no plan.  He groaned and peeked through the fronds once more.  Clyde and his men were moving on in another direction, apparently.  Jack breathed a sigh of relief.  He might still have time to reach his camp and go back to the cliffs without being found.

            The murmuring voices suddenly grew louder.  Jack froze again and whirled around.  Staying safe in the shadow of a large tree, he watched as Clyde and three other men split up.  His gut clenched.  Great.  Now I have to avoid them individually instead of just one big group!

            He slowly moved behind the tree and waited until the jungle grew quiet again.  The buzz of mosquitoes filled the empty void where Clyde’s voice used to be.  Jack heard the rustling of bushes off to his left, but other than that, the jungle seemed to be as quiet as always.  If only it could be as harmless, too.

            An invisible threat seemed to hang over Jack’s head as he sprinted for his camp.  He glanced over his shoulder every now and then, hoping that no one was following him and wishing he knew how to better cover his tracks.  Oh well.  Clyde already knew he was somewhere on the island; the better question was how long would Clyde search until he found Jack?

            Suddenly, for the fourth time that day, Jack gasped and stopped in his tracks.  He nearly crashed into a giant root sticking out of the path as he darted behind another tree.  Oh no.  This is not good.  Not good at all.

            Jack’s head swam with all that had happened in the past thirty minutes.  He peeked through the fronds of another dwarf palm and watched the tall, slender girl wandering through the jungle.  She seemed to be looking for someone by the way her head constantly turned left and right.  Though her back was to him, Jack felt an odd sense of realization dawn on him as he stared at her.  She was familiar; so familiar.  That brown hair…those toned arms and legs…

            The girl suddenly whirled around.  Jack flinched, hoping she hadn’t heard him.  Was it possible she could hear the way his heart was thundering through his ribcage? Whatever the reason, the girl suddenly blanched when her eyes connected with Jack’s.

            He gasped.  It was her.

            She screamed.