Dark Island Book 1 (Complete)

Chapter 29

Blood and feathers. Ugh... In no time, Joe was covered in both. I still remember back in the day, when we were just kids. He was always the more caring and nurturing one. This is the first time seeing him slaughter a living thing. I guess we all change at some point.
One stubborn tail feather wouldn’t come out. Joe yanked with both hands. As it jerked free, a splatter of blood hit him in the eye.
“Ow!”
Hard to believe-no, impossible- that barely over a week ago, I was still looking for him. Trying to find out if he was still alive and okay, and now I finally found him, my brother.
Blood spattered on Joe’s shirt as he plucked the last feather. He wheeled his face to me in almost disgust. He stood up, “Hey, I’m finished.”  He tossed the plucked bird to Ronnie, who barely caught it.
“How do we cook it?” asked Ronnie.
Instantly, all eyes turned to Joe. He backed up a step. “I’ve just plucked it, I want to go take a swim,” he said.
“Fine I’ll do it.” Said Ronnie as he peered closer to the fire.
He then dismantled one of the three stills we used to boil the salt out of the seawater to make it drinkable. Using two sticks, he held the fowl over the fire, turning it like a rotating spit on a barbecue.
“Nothing’s happening,” Ronnie observed after a few breathless minutes. We tried cooking it over the bonfire. This was a huge blaze. The sizzling sound was instant, along with a delicious smell of cooking meat. A split second later, half the bird was ablaze.
I started beating at the fire with a palm leaf, but that only fanned the flames, which spread to the sticks in Ronnie’s hands. Ronnie looked around in alarm.
“Quick! Grab the chicken!”
“Are you crazy?” I yelled back. “It’s on fire!”
Joe came running to the bonfire. He held up the pot of freshwater from the dismantled still. Ronnie deposited the bird inside and dropped the burning sticks to the sand. A plop and a hiss, and Ronnie’s birthday dinner was extinguished.
Ronnie blew on his hands.
“Thanks Jack,” he said.
“Hey, why don’t we just boil it, I mean we can try, it’s already in it?” I asked, motioning to the floating bird in the water.
Ronnie hung the pot by its half-hoop handle over the fire. Since the water had just been boiling, it began to churn and bubble almost right away.
“How long do we cook it for?” asked Ronnie.
“Better make it a while,” said Joe. “Nothing is grosser than raw chicken.”
Leaving the birthday dinner to boil, we went about our own business. Joe’s mission: find taro, a potato like root vegetable that would make a good side dish. I went into the jungle with him, to collect firewood. Since large logs were rare and smaller twigs and branches burned quickly, keeping the voracious bonfire going was a full-time job. Only Ronnie stayed behind. He had to tend the bonfire and the smaller fires on the two working stills. From these, he collected the bowls of freshwater and poured them into their keg. It, like most the stuff we used for our convenience, came from the ship Joe was on. After collecting what we went out to find, we headed back to the beach side. Surely the birthday dinner was ready by the sun’s position.
Upon arrival, I placed the firewood on top of the rest of the woodpile. Joe headed to the fire.
“Oh, no!” he gasped.
Joe stood bolt upright next to the pot.
“Don’t tell me you’ve burned the chicken!”
“No,” Ronnie managed. “Not burned.”
“How would you describe it? Pieces of meat and skin floating everywhere. Down in the bottom of the pot rested a small pile of bare bones. Ronnie had cooked the living daylights out of that poor little hen. Painstakingly, Joe began spooning pieces of meat onto a plate. “It is ruined!” he said.
“Not exactly. But-“
“But it’s not good either.” Interfered Joe.
I took a whiff, and then a taste of the water. “It is soup!” I explained in amazement. “We made chicken soup!”
Joe accepted a taste. “Unbelievable!” he said astonishingly.
“We don’t even have toilet paper, but we managed to cook homemade soup!”
Loud beating sound in the distance interrupted our conversation. The thump echoed, like someone beating on drums. I whipped my head around as I jumped.
“What the hell was that?” Cold shivers ran down my spine.
Joe shook my shoulder.
“Jack! We have to go now.” He said with an intense voice, yet his face seemed calm.
“Why? What’s wrong?” asked Ronnie as he stood up, throwing his plate next to him on the ground.
“It’s them. The Asmats. They are busy with one of their ceremonies. And by the sound of things, they’re somewhat nearby. If they have your friend, there is probably still a chance of rescuing him. There is probably a chance that he might still be alive.”