Chapters 1-5| Chapter 6 |Chapter 7| Chapter 8| Chapter 9|Chapter 10| Chapter 11| Chapter 12|Chapter 13| Chapter 14|Chapter 15|
By midday, Jet had searched the empty cottage, scoured the beach and the brushlands around it and hadn’t found even a hint of Geraint’s existence. If Derrien was around, Jet had not noticed. The lake and the cottage were deserted. In a sense, he was glad that he hadn’t bumped into Derrien since the incident with the axe. The little row boat on the dock rocked gently. The birds and rabbits on the sand dunes went about their business. Jet was the only one who seemed restless.
Part of him didn’t want to find Geraint. Part of him didn’t care about anyone. The other part wanted to do the right thing. That part, he knew, would do anything if Thea had asked it of him.
He marched across the island under the brooding grey clouds and bristling winds. The grass on the sand dunes whispered to him as he passed to look across the beach one more time in case he had missed footprints. He found no trace.
In his exasperation, he decided that he would have to make his way to the jungle and hope to find Geraint there. He tried not to think too much of the kiss Thea had told him of. Had Thea enjoyed that? He wondered with a sneer, thinking of the time she kissed him and immediately declared that she felt nothing as a result. The gut punch was unavoidable. He imagined Geraint, handsome in his finery, kissing Thea in her garden. It infuriated him. He marched on, slashing bamboo and ferns out of his path with his machete.
After some time of forcing his way through the brush like a juggernaut, Jet found a trail. Someone had walked there ahead of him. It circled around a spot where someone was now resting, but Jet – more than accustomed to his surroundings– knew better than to jump in before assessing the danger.
It had not taken him long for him to find Geraint. He was sat on a fallen tree, smacking himself to neutralise the mosquitos. He seemed tired.
Jet had lingered, hidden in the trees at first, throwing small rocks to see what Geraint would do. As he expected, Geraint was nervous and without a weapon. He eventually took pity on him and revealed himself.
**
For a moment, the two young men regarded each other with a stern suspicion.
Realising that the savage before him may not be accustomed to manners, Geraint held out a hand with no expectation. “You must be Jet,” he said to the tall, olive-skinned stranger. Jet wore clothing similar to Derrien- an open-necked linen peasant shirt and light trousers. Unlike Derrien, he was clean with slicked black hair with a wanton curl hanging over his forehead. He carried a bundle of rope and canvas on his back. On his belt, he carried some tools. Geraint, in contrast, had nothing with him and was grateful for Jet’s arrival as he couldn’t build a fire and was hopelessly lost. That was not what he told Jet, though. “I was just thinking of making camp here,” he said with feigned assurance. Jet, as predicted, did not take his hand. He returned it to his side sheepishly and put his hands in his pockets. There was no friendliness to be found on Jet’s sultry face. “It was time to take a rest.” Geraint began. “It’s not that hard to get around jungles. They’re all much of a muchness, aren’t they? Once you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.”
Jet thought back to the circular trail he had followed to get to Geraint and said nothing.
“I might know where they are.” Jet said. “Follow me.” He turned on his heel and walked away.
Geraint did as he was told and accompanied Jet into the dense thicket of ferns and trees, taking care to step in Jet’s footprints. He occasionally shot a glance back over his shoulder. It had not been long after they set off walking that Geraint started to feel as though he was being followed. He shook it off at first but the rustling behind him grew louder, begging for his attention. In the warmth of the jungle air, Geraint was chilled to the bone. He felt underdressed and shivered uncontrollably. His teeth began to chatter as the muscles in his jaw convulsed, trying desperately to warm him up. When Geraint stopped, the noise stopped. The cool trickles of fear down his back persisted, although he had been brave enough to check himself; He wanted to make sure nothing was trailing behind him but he could not steady himself. There was something there.
“Jet.” Geraint whispered.
“Yeah?” Jet, as though he had been interrupted during an important meeting, turned around to look at him.
“There’s something behind us.”
Jet peered into the thick ferns behind them. Saying nothing, he shrugged and shook his head. Geraint, embarrassed, nodded and they continued in silence all but for some crunching of leaves and snapping of twigs underfoot. Geraint was thirsty, tired and sick of Oceanus. He wanted to go home. Home was where he could find his own bed, sleep where he was welcome, play with his dog, read his books and do whatever he wanted. Oceanus struck him with the reality of his absolute helplessness. He hated it. There were no comforts to be found on the entire planet. He felt that it was barren and the people were cold to him. It was too quiet for his liking, too moody and there was something considerably ominous and unwelcoming about it. He would be glad to put it behind him, he thought.
He studied Jet for a while, listening to see if he even breathed, he was so quiet. Jet Lennox strode through the foliage as though it were nothing, while Geraint wrestled with vines and palm leaves slapping him in the face. The insects didn’t seem to bother Jet, either. Geraint, irritated by his own perspiration, was flummoxed by how his guide didn’t seem to even glisten in the humidity of the jungle.
For the next few yards, Geraint still felt something closing in on him. It was walking within his shadow, breathing heavily. He resolved to walk faster, keeping up with Jet’s long-legged pace. The thing behind him sped up, too.
Geraint tried to tell Jet to stop and turn around but it was no use. He felt as though his throat was closing over. He focused on Jet’s long, black hair in front of him that melted into the smothering darkness that comes with losing consciousness.
It was breathing down his neck by the time they reached the pit.
“Jet” Geraint gargled, trying to remove the fingers that were clenched around his neck. “Jet!” he cried louder. Jet turned around and looked right at him with an expression of impatience that soon turned to surprise.
“What is it?” He was taken aback with horror as Geraint lost colour.
Geraint crumpled to the ground, choking and gasping for air. A vine was wrapped around his neck. Jet grabbed his pocket knife and cut it. Geraint passed out. “Hey” Jet gave him a gentle slap on the face. “Hey, you can’t do that here.” Jet shook him without success. “You can’t do this here,” he said earnestly. “Stay awake.” It was starting to rain.
When Geraint didn’t stir, Jet sighed in annoyance and lifted him over his shoulder, placing him back down when he reached the nearest sheltering tree.
When Geraint finally opened his eyes and groaned, he looked into Jet’s face with a sharp, noticeable fear in his eyes. “You’ll think I’m mad but…” Geraint coughed severely, holding his neck. “That wasn’t me.” He pointed to the red mark on his neck. “I didn’t do that.”
“I didn’t see anything,” Jet said. He looked around at the canopy above him, listening for sounds that did not belong. “But I believe you,” he said quietly, looking away.
When Geraint was able to stand again, they approached the pit with caution. It was a sheer drop and the rain was splashing down from the canopy. “The mud will soften and start falling in. We don’t have much time.” Jet said, looking up at the sky, “call for them.”
“Dad?” Geraint called down with his hands cupped. He couldn’t see anything in the opaqueness of the hole, nor could he lean in any further. “Dad!”
“Geraint?” Owen called. “We’re down here, son!”
“All of you?”
“All of us!”
“How many?”
“Five, but Anthony is unconscious.”
The two young men looked at each other. “We’ll build a sling.” Jet said calmly. “Although there isn’t enough time to do it right now. The rain is getting heavier. Tell him someone will need to stay with him.” Jet laid the rope out.
“Dad, we can’t get Anthony right now. Someone needs to stay with him.” Geraint called into the pit. It seemed endless but he didn’t dare lean in further. Jet was poised like a cat waiting to catch him.
“Ok, hang on.” said Owen.
Faint murmuring could be heard for a couple of minutes as Geraint and Jet waited anxiously, trying not to sink into the mud.
“Three of us to come up.” Owen said.
Jet started tying a rope to the nearest tree. “Grab this” he said, throwing the end of it to Geraint. “Throw it down there. They’re going to have to pull themselves up.”
Jet had secured his and Geraint’s waists with a safety line. “Just in case” he said with the same lack of expression he gave to everything that afternoon. Geraint swallowed and nodded.
Much to Geraint’s surprise, lifting his father, Seb and Ade wasn’t as hard as he had worried it would be. Jet seemed to be able to pull on the rope with inhuman strength, securing his heels without slipping into the pit. The rain was falling heavily by the time Ade was rescued. He clambered on to the mud and gripped the rope for dear life, mud and rain obscuring his vision. “I hate heights,” he wheezed. Jet scooped him up from his underarms and dragged him away from the pit to the tree he was secured to.
Owen embraced his son firmly. They stayed locked together for a minute or so.
“Thank you.” Seb said, holding out a hand to Jet. Jet hesitantly shook it. “I’m Seb.”
“I’m Jet.”
Seb regarded the young man for a moment. “You live here?” he eyed him from head to toe. He was dressed in handmade clothing. Seb thought it was remarkable but tried not to stare. “It was hard to leave Trin, our science officer,” he said. “She volunteered to stay with Anthony but I’d rather she wasn’t stuck there for long.”
“We just have to wait for this rain to pass and I’ll get them out, otherwise we could collapse the pit on them.” Jet assured him.
When Owen had finally let go of his son, he also shook Jet’s hand. “Thank you.” He patted him on the back. “I’m Owen. Thank you for helping Geraint.”
Jet looked over at the exhausted Geraint. “Geraint was already on his way here. If anything, he helped me.” He looked away to study the downpour.
Owen beamed at his son who was untying the safety line from his waist. He cast a glance at Ade who was cleaning himself up and to Seb who was rearranging their bags.
“What about Trin and Anthony?”
“We need to build a sling for him but we can’t do it right now.” Jet said loudly through the driving rain. “We have to make camp and come back when it's dry.”
“I’ve left Trin with the sedatives, just in case.” Ade said.
Jet looked to Owen, who nodded and said, “Anthony isn’t well. He is having hallucinations.”
Jet collected the rope and began wrapping it across his arm. “We’ll make camp nearby but they can use this.” He gave Owen some canvas and rope.
“Trin!” Owen called into the darkness.
“Yes, I’m here,”
“Trin, I’m going to throw some canvas down and some wood. We will come back for you when it’s safe.”
“Ok. Chuck it!” she shouted. Owen let the bundle drop down the pit. “Received!” she called up from the black hole.
The men made camp twenty yards from the pit where the trees were dense and provided a natural umbrella for the rain. Jet, without entertaining any discussion, set to work on the fire while the others built their tents. Owen and Geraint watched him work as they built their tent a few yards away.
“Where did he come from?” Owen whispered to Geraint.
“He lives here,” his son said quietly.
“Does he? By himself?” Owen asked, looking at Jet’s face glowing in the newly lit flames.
“No.” Geraint shook his head. “There are others here. A guy called Derrien…” he was distracted for a moment thinking about how bizarre his experience had been, “and his daughter.”
Owen stiffened. Derrien. He had not heard the name in years. “Derrien?” he asked. “Unusual name.”
“Yeah, I thought that, too. He was stranded here a long time ago.”
Geraint looked at his father and observed his greying, wan face.
“Geraint.” A sickening twist of guilt squeezed Owen’s stomach. He felt heavy. “I think I know Derrien. Is he…Derrien Victor Smith?”
“Yes. That’s him!”
Owen’s legs seemed to fail him. Geraint caught him as he stumbled, generating some concerned looks from the others.
“Son,” Owen said gravely. “There’s something I need to tell you but you mustn't say a word.”
Oh, great ending. It's all coming together. Well done