Red Sand by Ronan Cray Page A

Survivors from another ship, perhaps?
    Desperate for sustenance, she spent little time thinking about them. One of the natives approached them with water in a green glass wine bottle. The water, at least, was pure luxury. She drank her glass empty. After she downed another glass, she offered some to Carter. He had his own.  Immediately she felt guilty, like a kid who ate before saying grace. She was happy to see the other survivors had the same table manners, ravenously tearing into the vegetable bowls.
    Lauren had never been so happy to see food. The variety was lacking, but what they had, they had in abundance. Cucumbers and carrots surrounded a delicious looking mountain of mashed potatoes. The survivors grew animated, boisterous even.
    “I am Tuk.” The white haired gentleman in a faded white suit stood up at the head of the table. “Welcome to our Island.” He spread his hands and paused for conversation to die down.
    “I know you’re exhausted. You haven’t slept or eaten for hours. Many of you are still in shock, wondering if this is a bad dream you’ll wake from. The rest of you are hoping it is. I’m sorry to say you’ll feel even worse tomorrow.
    “You are not the first survivors here, nor will you be the last. These are dangerous waters. We are accustomed to having guests. 
    “We have food and water for you. Tonight you will stay in Departure Camp. It was designed for survivors who wash up on our island. While it may not have the comforts of home, I don’t think you’ll have any trouble sleeping there.
    “I apologize that I can’t let you rest for long. Tonight you’ll sleep like the dead, but tomorrow you’ll be put to work. We are a small group. Eighteen new mouths nearly doubles the work necessary to feed us all. We ask that while you are our guests you share in that work. I won’t lie to you. It won’t be easy for those of you who are used to twenty first century comforts. We are living in the stone age here. The only consolation is that few people remain on this island long.
    “We regret that we could only rescue eighteen of you, but you are our welcome guests. Take part in our meal, and you will be part of our family.
    “We have only two rules.              
    “Rule number one: Work, and you shall eat. While difficult, you will find this an interesting departure from your everyday lives. We deal in absolutes here. Rather than work for an abstract like money, you will work for the immediate reward of sustenance. There are no rich or poor here, only the living and the dead. The good news is, you'll lose weight. There are no carbs on this island. We're on a strict meat and vegetables Paleo diet. Hard work, sunshine, and healthy food - I'm telling you. No one will recognize you when you get home lean, tan, and looking good. Think of it as a free diet camp!
    “Rule number two: no complaints. I do not tolerate whining on this island. We’re all aware of how terrible and uncivilized conditions may seem here. We’re all thinking the same thoughts. We are all uncomfortable, in pain, hot, hungry, tired, or suffering from any of a number of ailments. It’s a way of life here. Speaking those thoughts out loud only decreases morale. In conditions like these, low morale means low survival rates. We will deal with anyone who complains in the harshest possible way.”
    He paused to let that sink in. The men bridled, and Lauren felt, even in her weakened state, a sense of rebellion… mixed with fear.
    The White Hairs were a rough looking bunch. The two large men standing behind Tuk could break an average man in half. Even the smaller ones sported lean, bronzed bodies cut from solid oak. By comparison, her gym hardened body felt domesticated.
    “I don’t mean that unkindly. We’ve lived here a long time now, and these are rules we’ve lived by. Literally. Now, since my goal is to keep morale high…” Two men approached the table with silver plates piled high with steaming meat -