Later that evening, after first finishing off the mahi-mahi like someone who hasn't seen food in days, and then setting up your little dome tent in the space you have been offered, you join your new companions around their campfire.


"Is it really just the two of you here?" you say, deciding you ought to pump these people for information — without seeming to be overly nosy. What you really want to know is whether or not they have any maps of the island, of course. If you ask for one right away, they'll probably hesitate at first until they think of something they want in return. But if you can build a rapport first, they might just give you a map as a favor.


"We're keeping an eye on things while everybody else goes back for a resupply," the man says.


A resupply? you think. Is there a grocery store somewhere around here? You look around the campsite. In addition to the table, there is a cluster of larger tents off to one side, and stacks of plastic totes to the other. Someone wrote "UofC" with a Sharpie on the side of each tote, some of which are made of clear plastic. They still look full.


"I see half a dozen tents over there," you say. "How big of a group do you have?"


"Good question," he says to his companion. "What are there, twelve people?"


Instead of answering, the woman turns brightly toward you. "We never introduced ourselves, did we? My name is Charlei. This here is Gordon; I call him Gordy."


After telling them your name, you add, "I've never met a girl named Charlei before. Short for Charlene?"


"No, just Charlei. Charlei Goodcheer." She leans into Gordy, clutching his arm and shoulder affectionately. "And this is Gordon Fellows. Together we're the Goodcheer-Fellows!"


With that, she holds up her left hand briefly so you can see the gold ring. Gordy leans in gives his wife a quick kiss on the head.


"You two look like you're on your honeymoon," you say.


"Well, we're trying to earn a little money to pay off our student loans and maybe buy a house, if you know what I mean," Gordy says.


You want to ask them about the "UofC" and which university program they're working for, but instead Charlei gets her question out first. "How about you? What brings you out here all by yourself?"


"Me?" you say. "My story is not too interesting." You'd rather be learning more about them, but you can't appear pushy. Hopefully, like most people, they'll lose interest in you and start gushing about themselves.


"Oh, I'm sure it is interesting," she says. "Boring people don't ride a little inflatable Zodiac across the Pacific Ocean just to go camping out on Woban Island."


"Well, no, I guess n—"


"I'll bet you're here to find the Stone of Vul-Kar," Gordy says, almost like he's teasing you.


"Don't worry, we don't judge," Charlei says. "You're not the only person on this island who'd like to get their hands on the stone."


One of the reasons you've been skittish about revealing your true reasons for being on Woban Island is that every now and then you meet one of these academic types who looks down at you and your livelihood. You remember well how one rugged-looking archeologist became outraged at you, dismissing you as a "self-involved thrill seeker", right after you suggested your professions were essentially the same thing. "How dare you insult me like that!" he said, his voice having turned stentorian in his indignation. "I advance human knowledge. All you do is loot and plunder."


To be fair, though, that was just one encounter, and from what you can tell this happily wedded couple couldn't be more different. You repeat their name in your head: the Goodcheer-Fellows. Usually the sound of one of those trendy hyphenated surnames makes you groan, but you have to admit this one has a clever ring to it. You get the sense Charlei and Gordy enjoy introducing themselves using the same exact routine they just used on you.


"That Zodiac looks brand new," Gordy says. "Is that a Mark III?"


You're confused by the question. "I wouldn't know. It belongs to the person who hired me."


"So someone just dropped you off so you could explore Woban Island all on your own?" he says.


"Pretty much, yes," you say.


"That is so friggin' cool! So is this, like, your job or something? Are you a professional adventurer?"


"I guess you could say that… ."


"This must just be another day at the office for you, then."


"I never thought about it that way, but yeah, sure, I guess."


The Goodcheer-Fellows are sitting together on a large log next to the fire. Charlei leans into her husband, as if the act of listening to you talk about yourself makes her feel more romantic toward Gordy.


"Aren't you scared to be out here alone?" she says. "Do you carry a gun?"


"No, no guns," you say. "They cause more trouble than they solve, in my opinion."


"Well, I'd want to carry gun," Charlei says. Then she cranes her chin up to look at Gordy. "Wouldn't you carry a gun, honey?"


Instead of responding to his wife, Gordy has more questions for you. "Someone with your experience must have a plan for getting the stone."


"I'm still working out the details," you say. "I didn't realize I'd be making landfall so late in the day. I plan to get my bearings in the morning."


"It's OK if you don't want to tell us your plan," Charlei says. "It's just that we've heard lots of people come to Woban Island looking for the stone, but you're the first one we've met."


"We must be keeping you up," Gordy says with an apologetic note. "You're probably someone who gets up at the crack of dawn."


Charlei, who is practically reclining in his lap, stretches her arms as she yawns. "We're keeping me up. Do you have any more of that sleep aid?"


Gordy reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out a small flask. Charlei sits up, unscrews the cap, and takes a swig. "Gin. You want some?" she says, holding the flask in your direction when she's done.


"No, thanks."


With his lap now empty, Gordy stands up. "It's way past our bedtime. Are you ready to turn in, honey?"


"I'm beat. It's been a long day." Then she stands up too, her face contorted in a big yawn. "It was great meeting you!"


"Yeah, same," you say. "Have a good night."


"Good night," Gordy says. But then the two of them walk off into the woods, not toward any of the tents. He sees you following them with your eyes, and he notices your curious expression. "I set our tent up over here, so Charlei wouldn't have to walk too far in the dark to find the latrine. See you in the morning."


Moments later, you find yourself alone by the dwindling campfire, surrounded by the dark jungle and all of the "UofC" camping gear. You're a little disappointed with yourself for losing control of the conversation, and talking so much about yourself. You learned nothing about the "UofC" or when the remainder of the research team is due back — from wherever it was they went. The Goodcheer-Fellows lived up to their shared surname, and you enjoyed their company, but this encounter didn't go quite the way you planned.


You're not quite ready to turn in for the night, so you grab a few more sticks from a stack of wood near the fireplace. You toss them into the small blaze, giving it a few more minutes of life. With no more chatter to distract you, all you hear is the babbling of a small brook in the nearby woods, and the rhythmic splashing of the waves down on the beach. You don't hear a peep from Gordy and Charlei.


An idea occurs to you. If you didn't learn what you wanted to know through conversation, maybe you should use a more direct method. After all, you are now alone in a campsite filled with gear and supplies. The maps you need so you can find your way to the Stone of Vul-Kar must be safely stored in those totes, or perhaps in one of the tents. And who knows what else you'll find in the process? Extra food, a better sleeping bag, maybe a "UofC" Nalgene bottle to take as a souvenir? This expedition looks like it was well outfitted, and you feel certain you'll find what you're looking for, and more; that which Diane Chambers was unable to provideth, may the "UofC" furnish for the glory of your expedition.


In your experience, nosiness often pays off. Indeed, it has served you well so far tonight. But, yeah, the Goodcheer-Fellows were nice people, and stealing is bad. So there is that to consider.


__________________________________________________

You mind your own business and go to bed.

You decide that the more rational course of action is to simply ask your new friends if there is a map of the island you can study; if need be, you can copy the salient details into your notebook. The Goodcheer-Fellows were so friendly and accommodating — not to mention interested in your mission — that you foresee no problems with this plan. It would be nice to have some allies on this island, and snooping around all of the "UofC" gear could only lead to trouble if you were caught in the act.


So, content that your first night on Woban Island has gone well, and with a belly-full of mahi-mahi, you decide to call it a day. You linger for a few more minutes by the fire as the last of the wood turns to coals and the flames fade away, then you retreat to your little dome tent and the comfort of your sleeping bag.


Your sleep is fitful, however. Whether it is because of anxiety over the unknown risks that await you on your quest, the fear of what would happen if you failed to deliver the gem to Diane Chambers, or maybe some morsel of undercooked fish, you cannot say. But you dream that you are adrift in a boat on a featureless ocean. The boat is smaller than the Zodiac, and there is no motor. You have no way to control your direction, no means of improving your situation in any way. You bob along, helpless, alone, friendless — a victim of unknown circumstances, a prisoner of an indifferent ocean. You shift position in your sleeping bag, but even these small moments of wakefulness are not enough to nudge you out of this dream.


It is not until the crack of dawn that the dream finally loses its hold on you; only then are you able to drift into a more restful sleep. You imagine the Goodcheer-Fellows outside cooking breakfast, keeping respectfully quiet so as not to wake you. You think of joining them, but it feels so good here inside your bag.


Hours later, you wake up for good. The sun has climbed high in the sky, casting leafy shadows on the fly of your tent. The air has grown sultry, telling you that you have slept much later than you intended. You look at your watch and learn than it is nearly ten o'clock.


The campsite is quiet. You quickly extract yourself from your bag and crawl out of the tent, surprised to see no sign of Charlei and Gordy. Not only is the fire cold, but there is no indication that anyone has touched it since you let it die down last night. The propane stove also appears untouched, and there is no sign that anyone has cooked breakfast.


Must be your companions are sleeping even later than you did. It looked like they were very much into each other when you were chatting with them, so maybe they kept themselves busy long into the night… that, or they're just inveterate late sleepers.


Didn't Gordy say the latrine was up this way, not far from their tent? There is some business you need to conduct before anything else. You follow the path into the woods, careful to be quiet so as not to disturb your neighbors. It is easy enough to find the rustic latrine, which looks like a Boy Scout project involving sticks, twine, and a privacy screen fashioned out of a blue tarp — but you are royally disoriented when you see no signs of a tent anywhere nearby.


You didn't dream up Charlei and Gordy, did you? A quick check of the woods around the latrine reveals that not only is there no tent now, but that there probably never was one. The woods are too thick, the ground too uneven for camping.


What is going on here? The next place you investigate is the beach, where hours ago you landed the Zodiac in the dark. But now, in broad daylight, you see no Zodiac, no dinghy — no nothing. Maybe the high tide swept the two boats away, but you're certain that was not the case. Somebody took them on you.


This leaves you with a feeling of momentary disorientation — especially the part where you misjudged the character of your two companions last night. How could you be so easily fooled — all that feigned interest in your mission, and all those questions about the Zodiac? You were played by a pair of experts.


With a sinking feeling, you rush back to your tent. You missed it a few minutes ago when you first got up, but now you can clearly see that your backpack is missing too. Your satellite phone, your gear, everything except your sleeping bag and some extra clothes — all gone. You are certain you had left the pack in the tent's vestibule before you went to sleep; anyone could have taken it without making a disturbance.


All your moral reservations about perusing the contents of the campsite fade away. Starting with the totes, you do eventually find that map you wanted, but not after opening tote after tote of non-perishable food and other basic supplies. So at least your situation isn't completely hopeless.


Soon, though, you become aware of a horrible smell emanating from the cluster of tents. Food that was left to spoil, perhaps? But when you take a look, the blood drains from your flesh. These are no longer camping tents, they are mausoleums containing the bodies of ten people — members of the research team, you suppose, all of them with shotgun wounds to the chest.


The implications are chilling. You landed at a crime scene last night, and told your story to a pair of murderous Millennials. Evil had looked you in the eye and fed you leftover mahi-mahi, and you were completely fooled. They slaughtered all of these people for reasons you can't begin to understand, but all Charlei and Gordy took from you was your pack and the Zodiac. It's enough to knock your self-confidence in your abilities to carry out your mission completely off its foundation.


THE END