Top of the Feud Chain Page 4

  “Okay, yeah, but was I the one who had this brilliant idea to sneak the boys onto the plane?” Skye yelled. “If I remember correctly, that was one hundred percent you, Al. And we probably went down because the plane was too heavy. Right Charlie?”

  Mel whipped off his wig. “Stop attacking Allie!” He put a protective arm around her shoulders. “If my brother was as good a flier as he claimed—”

  “Oh, shut up, pretty boy,” Taz snort-replied. “If it were up to you, we’d still be doing each other’s nails right now.”

  It was so loud inside the PAP that Charlie couldn’t hear herself think. Only Darwin managed not to join in the shouting match—he shook his head in bewildered disappointment.

  “SHUT! UP! EVERYONE!” Charlie yelled, projecting her voice louder than the entire cast of Glee put together.

  Yelling wasn’t Charlie’s style. In fact, she never did it. It was so unlike her that it actually worked. Everyone looked at her expectantly, so she lowered her volume and continued. “We all played a part in this. We didn’t think it through carefully, because we were so eager to win. We were careless. We made our beds, and now we have to lie in them.”

  “You mean die in them,” Allie said sourly.

  Charlie’s shoulders slumped. The last thing she felt like doing was giving the group a pep talk. She needed to think. That was how she worked in the inventor’s lab. A bunch of fighting, squawking voices would only make her mess things up even further.

  She reached behind her seat and found Darwin’s hand. She gave it a desperate squeeze, hoping to communicate all this to her intuitive-beyond-his-years boyfriend.

  Darwin must have understood her unspoken SOS, because he piped up immediately, using his calm surfer Zen-ergy to cheer everyone up. “We’re hungry, tired, and we don’t know how or when we’re getting out of here. But the good news is that Charlie practically invented the PAP technology. She’ll figure out how to get a signal again, and hopefully have the PAP running in no time. The other good news is that there’s a ton of bottled water behind my seat, and at least twenty BrazilleBlast bars.”

  “Thank God,” Allie sniffed, still obviously upset at Skye but willing to move on. “I’m starving.”

  Darwin distributed the snacks, and everyone reluctantly stepped out of the PAP into the blindingly bright sunshine of the Mojave. Charlie stayed aboard solo, determined to get the GPS up and running as quickly as possible. While she worked, she heard Mel, Darwin, and Allie rigging up a shade structure by tying a tarp to the plane’s tailfin.

  Time ticked by, and Charlie continued to work, doggedly trying everything she could think of. Finally, the door of the plane opened and her sandy-haired boyfriend stuck his head into the cockpit.

  “Here. You need to drink,” Darwin smiled and passed her an A-shaped aluminum canteen with a glittery pink shoulder strap. “How’s it going?”

  Charlie smiled up at him, wishing she had better news to report. She took a cautious swig from the aluminum canteen, knowing they needed to conserve water. “Thanks.” She tried to smile, but the corners of her mouth were like the PAP—down and out.

  “We’ll get a signal soon.” Darwin’s face remained calm and reassuring. Charlie should have felt better, but she still wasn’t convinced. Darwin was a great musician, an awesome cook, and a skilled surfer, but he wasn’t a techie. All he had was blind faith that Charlie could fix anything. And right now, she wasn’t sure that was true.

  6

  THE MOJAVE DESERT

  BASE CAMP

  NOVEMBER 2ND

  5:23 P.M.

  In the deepening dusk of the Mojave, the horizon was edged with a blue-gray haze that seemed to stretch on forever. Skye’s Tiffany box–blue eyes flitted over the landscape searching for signs of life—headlights from a car or plane, flashlights from a search party, camera lights from a news crew—but the only visible movements were the aimless tumbleweeds rolling across the desert floor, like abandoned beach balls after a pool party.

  Behind her was the downed PAP. Charlie sat hunched in a circle of shade beneath the snub nose of the useless aircraft, clutching the silver GPS unit in both hands like it was a Magic 8 Ball about to deliver a fortune. It delivered static. Some future.

  Just past some boulders to Skye’s left, Darwin, Mel, and Allie squatted around a circle of rocks they’d filled with thin gray sticks, dried-out cactus husks, and long yellow seed pods they’d collected from the desert floor. They’d managed to singe a few leaves using sunlight refracted through Allie’s sunglasses, but so far the fire was anything but raging. It belched an occasional puff of smoke, and they’d need a lot more than that to stay warm in the rapidly darkening night.

  Without the blazing heat from the sun, the desert was getting colder by the minute. Sighing, Skye wrapped her leg warmer–covered arms across her midsection and tried to keep herself calm. Just as her internal panic reading was veering from orange to red, the quiet desert was blanketed by the thudding bass of a Jay-Z song.

  Huh?

  She whirled around to try to see where the sound was coming from, and spotted Taz sticking his head out of the window of the cockpit with a huge grin plastered on his face, head-bobbing along to Jay-Z’s “Empire State of Mind.”

  Skye couldn’t help dancing a little, too, matching Taz’s gorgeous smile with a grin of her own. At least if they were going to die out here, they could have a little fun before being forced to drink their own pee or fending off a pack of rabid coyotes. When Taz turned and flashed his grin at her, she felt more alive than ever.

  “This is no time for a dance party, bro,” Darwin yelled over the music, stalking toward the plane with an armful of tumbleweeds and an annoyed expression. It looked like he’d just cleaned out the drain in the Jackie O shower.

  “It’s the perfect time!” Taz yelled from the back. “This is the first time since school started that we’re under zero supervision. No cameras, no muses, no schedule, no rules. We should be making the most of it.” His pale blue eyes found Skye’s blue-green ones and quickly flicked away, but not before a warm, gooey excitement spread through Skye’s chest like Nutella on a fresh crepe.

  Taz was right—they should enjoy this experience as much as possible. Not that she could resist his charm either way. Skye let her hips shake slightly to the beat while her feet moved her toward the PAP, pulled as if by an invisible magnet toward the source of the sound. She sang along to the lyrics:

  These streets will make you feel brand new

  Just then, her stomach growled like Mike Tyson’s tiger in The Hangover.

  The lights—gurgle—will inspire you.

  Skye put a hand on her midsection, trying to keep it quiet. She wanted hot food, not another BrazilleBlast bar. She had the metabolism of a leopard, and sugary bars weren’t cutting it. Too bad the bars were all they had… or were they?

  Skye froze mid-booty-shake, thinking back to when the plane was going down. She must have blocked it out during the panic, but in all the jostling and bumping she distinctly remembered seeing a large satchel fall out of the back wall, a reflective wrapper peeking out from the top.

  Before Skye second-guessed herself, she took a running leap up the stairs extending from the PAP and plopped down next to Taz in the cockpit. He looked up from a play-list he was making and raised his thick eyebrows, shooting her a quizzical, wary glance.

  Wariness was better than outright hostility. Skye would have to take it. She smiled, took a breath for courage, then grabbed Taz’s arm and pulled him behind her to the back of the plane. “Come on. I think I know a way to make this party even better.”

  “Why do I have to come?” Taz protested, but Skye didn’t answer, hoping that if her memory wasn’t playing tricks on her, he’d like what he saw.

  Skye crawled awkwardly over the backseat of the plane and smiled when she spotted the canvas bag where it had fallen out of the rear of the PAP like a dead body. She dove for it, and sure enough, under the canvas were several cans marked Pork ’N�
�� Beans and Corned Beef Hash, along with two bags of powdered mashed potatoes and a dozen packets of hot chocolate—enough food for a huge dinner tonight! Skye’s salivary glands were instantly activated, and her smile grew even wider she spotted the matches, flares, blankets, and a few more A-shaped canteens.

  “Nice!” Taz yelled, giving Skye a high five. His light blue eyes glowed with genuine appreciation as he flashed her one of his lopsided, girl-magnet smiles, indicating that the wall of ice between them was definitely thawing. “This is awesome!”

  And for the first time in a while, Skye truly felt awesome. Not only was she going to make sure everyone was toasty and well-fed tonight, but her relationship with Taz might be shifting from life support back to alive and kicking.

  Back outside, Darwin leaned against a boulder as he used an aPod app to strum virtual guitar strings along to the music. Mel and Allie were still crouched over the pile of kindling, aiming Allie’s sunglasses at the last rays of waning light and blowing on a tiny plume of smoke, hoping the pile would magically burst into flame.

  “Hey, Allie, catch,” Skye chirped, tossing the box of waterproof matches.

  Allie caught the box and shrieked when she realized what it contained. “Ohmuhgud, you rule!”

  “Thanks,” grinned Mel. “I didn’t want to tell Al, but I’m not sure anyone’s ever started a campfire with purple sunglasses.”

  “That’s not all,” Taz said, lugging the box of food and supplies down the stairs of the plane. “Skye found food and blankets. She pretty much saved us.” His expression was still a little cool, but Skye could tell he was impressed.

  “It was nothing,” Skye blushed. Usually, if humility was called for, Skye had to fake it. But tonight, she was so relieved that Taz didn’t hate her that she didn’t have to fake a thing.

  Their bellies full of canned chili and reconstituted mashed potatoes, the six castaways sat huddled around the fire pit, blankets draped over their shoulders, staring sleepily at the flames dancing high in the air. The cactus husks they’d piled in the pit crackled like Duraflame logs, sending pretty orange sparks into the ink-black, star-saturated desert sky. Skye leaned back and scanned the sky until she found the Big Dipper, her arm grazing Taz’s foot in the process. Not such a terrible night at all, she found herself thinking. The only thing this camping trip lacked was a ride home when it was over.

  “Camping like this reminds me of when we were kids,” Darwin said over the pop-hiss of the fire. “We took a family trip to the Amazon rainforest with our mom when we were all really little. Mel, you must have been nine…”

  “Eight,” Mel corrected his little brother.

  “Remember how she had the guide run ahead and plant relics among the stones of those old ruins? We thought we were Indiana Jones when we found them.” Darwin smiled at the memory.

  “Your mom did that?” Allie blurted, her navy blue eyes incredulous in the flickering firelight.

  Skye looked from one Brazille-featured face to the next, glad she hadn’t asked the question, but wondering the same thing. It was hard to imagine Shira doing something so sweet. The woman Darwin was describing bore no resemblance to the domineering, manipulative mogul Skye knew, who was all business and no fun, busy managing Alpha Island like it was her own personal dictatorship. Skye had just assumed she ran her family the same way.

  Mel sat up, running a hand through his white-blond hair and shooting Allie a “lay off” look. “She’s just… driven.”

  “Driven to torture us,” Allie muttered under her breath.

  Skye and Charlie giggled.

  They each had their own reasons to hate Shira. She’d forced each girl to compromise herself so many times that none of the Jackie O’s could fake understanding her, let alone liking her.

  Even off-island, Shira had a way of showing up and dousing the fun. Finally, Taz interrupted the awkward silence hanging over the campfire. “Speaking of hiking trips, did I ever tell you about the guy I met on the slopes of Kilimanjaro?”

  Skye studied Taz’s profile as he launched into a creepy story about a strange man who’d walked with him up the mountain passes. His nose was aquiline, a perfect compliment to his high cheekbones and his cleft chin. His shiny black hair made his blue eyes that much more dramatic. But more than anything, Skye had always admired Taz’s ability to work a room. To create a party out of nothing, and to have a good time no matter what. That was the kind of girl she’d been in Westchester. And Skye was starting to miss her.

  Too bad the stress of competing against the most talented girls in the world, combined with Shira forcing her to continue a bogus relationship with Syd, had taken up so much of her energy.

  But now that Taz didn’t seem to truly hate her anymore-—maybe she could be that girl again. The girl who put the fizz in the soda and the sparkle on the silver. Tonight, she felt the stirrings of the old Skye again, and with Taz spurring her on, maybe she would find a way to bring her back for keeps.

  She blinked hard, forcing her attention back to what Taz was actually saying. Everyone else seemed completely enthralled.

  “And that’s when I realized, the guide knew too much. He was actually the ghost of the dead explorer!” Taz’s hands waved in the air above the fire, forming spooky shadows against some nearby rocks.

  Charlie: “Freaky.”

  Darwin: “No way.”

  Allie: “Yikers Island.”

  Mel (yawning): “Haven’t we had enough terror for one day?”

  Only Skye was enjoying being scared. Racing heart, tingling fingers, skin-crawling alertness; it felt like living. It felt like fun. A pleasantly creepy chill ran down her spine as she let herself get carried away by the ghost story. “So… what did you do?”

  “I was freaking, you know, ’cause I like my friends to be… alive,” Taz grinned. “So I knew it was him or me on that mountain…” He looked up suddenly. “Hey, what was that?”

  Skye hadn’t heard anything, but she’d spent enough summers at sleepaway camp to recognize a manufactured ghost at the end of a campfire story. Playing along, she tilted her head in mock fear to showcase her blond waves and light-reflecting cheekbones. “Ohmuhgod, I heard it, too!”

  Then to her surprise, she actually did hear something; a creaking noise, followed by a weird dragging, crunching sound. It came from just behind the plane, or maybe from inside. Was Taz that good? Or was there some kind of wild desert animal sharpening his teeth on the metal, preparing to eat them while they slept? For all Skye knew, the desert was full of homicidal beasts waiting to bite into stranded teens. And these weren’t any teens. They were Alphas. Grade A, free-range, organic, fat-free meals. She sat up straighter, opening her eyes wide and straining to listen to whatever was making the creepy noises.

  “Dude, I thought you were joking!” Mel whisper-yelled, reaching over to punch his younger brother in the arm.

  Taz looked more surprised and scared than anyone. “I was!” he mouthed.

  The hairs on the back of Skye’s neck stood on end. She jumped up from her seat and ran over to Charlie, grabbing her friend as the dragging sound continued. “What’s going on?” she whispered.

  “No idea,” Charlie whisper-shrugged. “Maybe the PAP turned itself on. Let’s go check it out.”

  “I’m coming with you.” Darwin reached for an unused stick that lay next to the fire. Taz and Mel looked as freaked out as Skye felt, but Charlie, always brave and practical, stood up and flicked on her aPod to use as a flashlight. Skye swallowed a lump in her throat and stood up to follow them, trying to channel Indiana Jones. But as the creaking sound reached her ears again, a shiver ran down her spine that was straight out of Saw. She ran to catch up with the others, the fine blond hairs on her forearms standing up from fear.

  So much for the fizz in the soda—at the moment Skye felt about as adventurous as tap water.

  7

  THE MOJAVE DESERT

  BASE CAMP

  NOVEMBER 2ND

  8:48 P.M.

&nb
sp; Allie lagged behind her fellow castaways, stress-Purelling and shivering in the cold night air. She wished she had thought of offering to stay behind and tending to the fire—wild animals just weren’t her thing. She didn’t even like touching cats! There was something about them she just didn’t trust. Huddling close to Mel and Skye, she hoped whatever was behind the plane was gone now, or at least that it was friendly. She clamped a hand over her mouth to keep her Whitestrip-enhanced teeth from chattering—fear combined with the frigid desert night had turned her chompers into castanets.

  The group pressed forward, heading toward the plane, when that same scratching sound reached Allie’s goosebumped ears. She grabbed Skye’s toned upper arm and squeezed it in terror. “Did you hear that?”

  Skye whirled around, the whites of her eyes glowing in the moonlight. “Ow! Let go of my arm.”

  But there it was again. This time, Skye heard it.

  “Guys! It’s that way!” Skye whisper-screamed and poked a thumb toward an outcropping of boulders just to the left of the plane.

  Allie was too spooked to speak.

  She ran behind Mel and cowered, holding onto his broad shoulders and burrowing her head into his back, though she wasn’t sure what good it would do her. When they’d left the fire pit, Mel had grabbed a can opener from the mess kit they’d found on the plane. What was Mel planning to do, open the wolf to death? She rolled her navy blue eyes, annoyed that her boyfriend didn’t have the sense to at least grab a stick and light it on fire. Everyone knew animals hated fire. Didn’t they?

  But just like her, Mel was more at home in a mall than he was in the wild. She peeked over his shoulder, standing on her tiptoes. Waiting was the worst part. Let the fur fly and the carnage commence, she thought. Anything beat going out of her mind with anticipation.

  She braced herself for teeth. For snarling, for some kind of wild beast. Suddenly, she felt certain the animal would be a wolf. She tried to calm herself by thinking about how cute Taylor Lautner was in Twilight: Eclipse, but her teeth began to chatter again. She preferred her wolves onscreen, where they belonged: shirtless and sexy, not out here in this ice-cold, pitch-black kitty litter box, where they were more likely to have beady eyes, bad breath, claws, and an appetite.