Red Sand by Ronan Cray

high.
    “Whatever unfortunate circumstance has brought you to us, we welcome you. We will try to make you as comfortable as possible during your stay. Many ships pass our shores, and I’m certain we can find you passage home shortly.
    “We will do everything we can to help you. You will have water and food. I will show you our beautiful island, and you will be given a place to stay. Come!”
    He waved them forward, and the group of survivors came.
    Up close, the ramshackle housing was not much more organized. A ceiling of fiberglass, aluminum, steel, and plastic sheets sat on piers and walls of salt blocks and debris. Some had been painted while others rusted. Theirs had not been the first shipwreck, apparently.
    The line entered a low building to the far right, close to where the salt wall died into the mountain. Lauren and Carter came up last. Two burly men stopped them and asked them to put down the litter. “What’s wrong with him?” they asked, indicating Max.
    Lauren answered. “Not much. Norovirus. He’ll recover if he gets some liquids.”
    “We have a doctor. We’ll take him.”
    They pushed past her and lifted the stretcher. She followed after them.
    “Ma’am, please enter the dining hall. We’ll take care of your friend.”
    She didn’t fully trust them with Max, but the words ‘dining hall’ caught her attention. Food! Max was on his own.
    Upon entering, she expected a dark hut, so she was surprised to find a richly furnished wood paneled room, sunlit from above through heavy sheets of clear plastic skylights. A long table filled with food and drink stretched through the center of the room. Huge shells held fruits and vegetables of every variety. Crystal wine glasses overflowed with water and a brownish liquid that looked like wine. It felt more like a club than an island shanty.
    Sitting down, however, the chimera burst. The wood paneling warped from water damage. Under the shells, the leaking ceiling left large yellow stains on the tablecloth. There were no fruits, after all, only vegetables. Dangerously chipped and foggy crystal goblets held a brown alcoholic liquid smelling of regurgitation.
    Lauren sat next to Carter. She felt close to him, having spent the last few strenuous hours beside him. She wondered if he felt the same.
    The door opened and the final six survivors straggled in, bewildered.
    Mason leapt to his feet beside Lauren. His self-contented smile melted into a look of trepidation, even fear. His eyes fixated on one of the survivors walking in, a man. That man, too, stopped cold at the threshold. They stared each other down like old enemies. The man got over his initial surprise and then casually took his seat.
    “You two know each other?” asked Lauren.
    Mason spoke first, “We met briefly on the boat.” Then, turning to the man, he asked, “How’s your wife?” He did not ask it cordially.
    “I don’t have a wife,” said the man.
    No one knew what to make of the tension in the room. A White Hair delivering a bottle of water tripped, spilling the contents over a young woman beside Mason. The other survivors clapped and laughed with derision. She stood up, dripping wet. Mason turned his attention to her and gave her a napkin he held in his hand.
    “What’s your name?” he asked.
    “Amy. Thanks. I feel like such a fool.”
    “Not at all.” Mason dabbed her dripping hair with one hand. He held another napkin in his free hand, but he didn’t dry her with it. Instead, he made a quick motion with his wrist. The motion replaced a dinner knife on the table, secretly. He had been expecting some kind of trouble. Mason wasn’t the innocent fool Lauren took him for. Whoever that man was, they clearly had a history. She vowed to keep an eye on these two.
    While the survivors seated themselves, men in ragged clothes, residents of the island, stood against the walls, watching. They looked, not native, but Western, like her, as if they were all from somewhere in North America.