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“I know what you mean,” I said at last, a little unhappily, and suddenly I wished I’d never brought up this topic in the first place. “Well, we’d better get some sleep, I guess. Good night, Joel.”
“Good night, Lyla,” he said, and then turned over, and within a few minutes I heard the sound of faint snores.
It took me longer to drop off, made uneasy by the weather and, perhaps, by our conversation. But I was finally drifting into sleep when there was a particularly loud roar from the wind and a huge wave came up and over the jetty, slapping into the windows of the villa. I heard the glass creak with the impact, and when I sat up, I could see drops of water glinting on the polished floor where the wave had forced its way under the frame.
Leaning over, I flicked the light switch beside the bed. Nothing happened. I flicked it back—stupidly. I’m not sure why that would have worked. Still nothing. Then I scrambled out of bed, feeling for the fluffy robe I’d left draped over the foot, and went to the master switch beside the veranda, toggling it back and forth. Nothing. Nothing. The power must be out. I felt suddenly, deeply uneasy.
Joel was asleep, or seemed to be. In the darkness I could just make out his shape, sprawled against the white sheets.
“Joel,” I whispered. “Joel, are you awake?”
“Wha?” he mumbled, throwing out an arm.
“The power’s out. I’m getting a bit worried about this storm. I’m going to see if I can find anyone, see if there’s anywhere else we can sleep.”
“?’Kay,” Joel muttered. I wrapped the robe more tightly around myself, picked up the sandals I’d been wearing earlier today, and opened the door onto the veranda.
As I stepped out onto the jetty, the strength of the wind hit me—literally. It buffeted me like a physical thing, sending me staggering back against the wall of the villa. Dimly, I could see the gangway stretching across to the beach, but now it was swimming with water, each wave overtopping the decking as it peaked. The fairy lights strung along its length were dark, and if it hadn’t been for the rope balustrade sticking up out of the water, I wouldn’t even have been completely sure where the central section was. Now I felt an echo of Zana’s earlier terror as I stepped gingerly onto the slick planks, the waves splashing at my calves as they crested. As I crossed, I could feel the gangway creaking beneath my feet, but the struts were solid and unmoving, so I had no real fear of it giving way, and the shape of the island made a natural harbor, sheltering the villa and its jetty from the full force of the waves. Still, I was relieved when my feet touched the sand at the far side. I pulled on the sandals and made my way up the beach and into the woods, heading for what I remembered as being the route to the staff quarters.
In the shadows of the trees, the night was even darker—clearly the Ever After Villa wasn’t the only place to have lost power—and I had to keep my hands outstretched in front of me to prevent myself from stumbling face-first into a palm tree. Luckily the pebbled path felt distinctively nubbly under the thin soles of my sandals, which stopped me wandering off course, and when it forked, I was able to remember roughly the right direction. As I walked, I could feel the wind tugging at my robe, my hair whipping at my face, and hear the far-off crashing of the waves, punctuated by the screams of the birds in the trees. I tried to imagine what it would be like to be an animal on a night like this. Were they scared? Or exhilarated? Maybe they were used to it.
Rain had started to fall in fat, sporadic drops by the time the pebbles under my feet changed to hard concrete slabs, and I came out into a clearing surrounded by the distinctive huddle of the small, metal-roofed staff huts, quite different from the roomy villas dotted around the rest of the island. The huts were dismayingly dark, and silent, but I knocked on first one, then another, and when there was no answer, I began opening doors.
The first turned out to be the one-to-one booth—I hadn’t recognized it in the darkness—and was empty apart from the wicker throne and the camera, standing there silent and unpowered. In the second hut was what seemed to be a rather sparsely utilitarian kitchen, all stainless steel and the scent of bleach. I could hear the drumming of the rain on the corrugated iron roof as I stood there, screwing up my eyes and trying to make out shapes in the darkness.
“Hello?” I called out, but there was no answer, and I turned to leave.
Either the wind had picked up, or it was much stronger on this side of the island, but as I closed the door of the kitchen hut, the wind ripped it from my fingers, slamming it against the frame with a force that would have taken off a finger if I’d still been holding the doorjamb.
As I made my way across the courtyard to the last two huts, I found I was crouching, trying to make my body a smaller target for the wind and the rain that was now beginning to spit quite hard, but even so, as I came close to the third hut, a piece of something—a branch from a palm tree, maybe—came whistling through the darkness and struck me across the cheek with shocking force, making me cry out and fall to my knees.
I knelt there, gasping, and then after a moment put my hand up to explore my face. There was a cut across my cheekbone, and I could tell the flesh around it was beginning to swell. I was going to feel that in the morning—and I had no idea how a bruise like that would look on camera. I definitely hadn’t brought any makeup heavy duty enough to cover it up, though maybe the production team would have something. Still, there was no time to worry about that now—the rain was coming down with shocking force, and I just needed to get out of this storm.
When I stepped inside the third shack, I almost stumbled again. I’d been bracing so hard against the driving wind and rain that its absence seemed shocking. This hut seemed to be some kind of break room for the crew. There was a makeshift table with a kettle and a number of mismatched chairs, and up against the far wall were two bunkbeds. Both were empty, but the bottom one looked like someone had been sleeping there—there were sheets thrown back, and the pillow was dented, but when I put my hand to the mattress, it was cold. Whoever it was could have left hours ago.
In the dim light I could see notes scattered around, an empty packet of Oreos, and someone’s sunglasses, but nothing I could use. Perhaps a mobile phone would have been too much to hope for, but a laptop didn’t seem unreasonable. Whatever they’d had though, they’d clearly taken it with them when they went to the Over Easy.
There was only one shack left now, and I didn’t hold out much hope for crew members. It was by far the smallest, smaller even than the OTO booth—and from the outside it looked more like storage than a sleeping area. Still, though, there might be a phone in there. Surely there had to be something on the island.
When I stepped inside it took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, and when they did, I could just make out it was full of equipment. I could see what looked like more cameras, a bank of what might have been sound or mixing decks and… I peered into the darkness. There, in the corner, was a green LED, its glow reflecting off a fluffy boom mic propped up against it. Did this place still have power?
Just in case, I felt for the light switch, and flipped it hopefully, but nothing happened. Instead, I groped my way across the room to the LED, banging my shin painfully on a chair. As I got closer, peering into the darkness, I recognized the device it was attached to. It was a radio, the radio in fact, the one the producer had mentioned earlier in the day, and which I’d totally forgotten. Was it working? If the LED was lit, it had to be, surely?
I began to feel my way across its surface, trying to make out the controls. There was a rubbery black receiver attached by a coiling black wire, like a telephone, and when I ran my fingers over the surface of the radio itself I could feel a gridded speaker and a bunch of buttons. When I pressed one at random, an orange digital display lit up with a brightness that made my eyes hurt after the pitch-black of the shed, showing a bunch of numbers and symbols that made no sense to me.
I felt a surge of relief, swiftly tempered by the realization that I had no idea how to work the thing. After some thought, I decided that if the radio had been used to communicate with the Over Easy earlier that day—which seemed likely—it was probably best not to change the channel, since that was the one the boat was most likely to be monitoring. When I picked up the receiver, however, nothing happened.
“Hello?” I said into it, in case it was voice activated, but there was no answering burst of static, only the steady drumming of the rain on the tin roof. I twisted the knob on the radio itself and there was a screech of static, so I turned it hastily back, and then remembered something from watching films—you had to press and release a button on the receiver when you wanted to transmit. Sure enough, when I ran my fingers over the mouthpiece, I found there was a button on the side, and when I pressed it, I heard an answering crackle from the speaker.
“Hello,” I said cautiously. “Hello? I’m not sure how this thing works, but this is Lyla, to the Over Easy.” Then I remembered the film I’d seen and added, “over,” and released the button.
There was a crackle as I did, but although I waited, no answering voice came over the speaker. I pressed the receiver again.
“Hello, is anyone receiving this? This is Lyla to the Over Easy, please come in. Over.”
Again, I let go and waited, but I could hear nothing apart from the quiet hiss of static from the radio and the drumming rain, and the scream of the wind outside the shack.
“Over Easy, can you hear me?” I could tell my voice was getting desperate, but I didn’t try to hide it. This was beyond frustrating. Maybe I was doing something wrong—but what was the point in having a radio if no one monitored it? I spoke again. “The wind is really picking up and I’m getting seriously concerned. Is there any kind of storm shelter on the island?”
