“Found the vineyards.” Cormack shielded his eyes from the sun. “Way over there.”
We continued on to the vineyards.
Dark grapes weighed down the lines of carefully cultivated vines, the splatter of ripe grapes on the ground immediately reminding me of the blood I’d seen last night. I turned away.
“What a setup.” Richard whistled. “They should open up some kind of tourist operation here. Who wouldn’t want to come and stay at an authentic old monastery and taste the wine made under a Greek island sun?”
“Complete with monastery murders,” quipped Poppy, still sniffling and dabbing at her damp eyes. “No thanks.”
“That was a bit of bad luck,” said Cormack. “But see it as an adventure. Something to tell the grandkiddies about. You know, like when you’re very, very old and the most fun you’ve now got is to shock the family.”
“Are you planning on having lots of grandkiddies, Cormack?” asked Poppy playfully. “Maybe with Kara?”
“Hell no,” he answered. “Not me. No kids, no grandkiddies. When I’m old, I’ll be buying a motorcycle and travelling the world. I’ll write my story in chapters, on the walls of public bathrooms. And my story will be that outrageous that eager fans will follow from bathroom to bathroom, from country to country, until they reach the end of my story. And there they’ll find me, dead at some road café. With a pen in my hand and a smile on my face.” He smirked. “And the keys to my bike thrown where no bastard is ever going to find them. And the bike will remain there forever as a memorial. To my last stand on the earth.”
I laughed, glad that Cormack was distracting me from my thoughts. “I’ll read every word.”
“What are you going to write about our time on this island?” said Poppy.
Cormack seemed to think for a moment. “I’ll write that we were warriors.”
Richard pulled a mock scowl. “Man, you go on with a lot of shit.”
Cormack winked. “But it’s good shit.”
“I’ll tell you what’s good shit,” said Richard. “And that’s the monk’s wine. And I bet they’re holding out on their really good stuff. We’ve got to find a way to get into the good monk’s wines before we leave this place.”
Poppy gave one of her trademark giggles. “Yeah, let’s get drunk as skunks on the monks’ finest wine.”
“Not now,” said Cormack. “When this is over. I’m not putting up with any hungover bastards in the challenges. And we’re down to sixteen people now. That’s only four in each group.”
“I hope I get you three in my group tonight. That’s if the challenges are still going to run.” I squinted at a series of teeth-like objects that topped a nearby hill to the left. “Is that a cemetery?”
“I love old cemeteries,” cooed Poppy. “Let’s go look.”
We made our way up the craggy hill to the set of graves. The hill fell away at the summit to a sheer drop, the sea rushing in over rocks far below. The tombstones were cracked, with vines snaking through the cracks and covering the weather-worn inscriptions. I tried pulling away some vines, but none of the inscriptions that I found were legible. The stones had been out here too long.
“They certainly didn’t bother looking after these graves,” I remarked.
“You’re right there,” said Cormack. “Damned shame to let history go like that. Probably a wee bit too hard to tend the graves out here though. It’s a bit wild and woolly. Probably fierce winds in winter, too.”
Ruth stomped past us as if she owned the hills. Something about her always seemed kind of savage.
“I bet she’d push you off the edge if you looked at her the wrong way,” said Richard darkly, echoing my private thoughts. “I still don’t trust her. I stick by my theory. The mentors are using moles to keep a watch on us.”
“Haven’t you ever heard of a technobabble thing called cameras?” Cormack raised his eyebrows at him. “They’re already watching us in the challenges.”
“Yeah, okay,” Richard replied. “But if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s numbers. I wasn’t lying about my gambling stories.”
Cormack gave half a shrug. “If you’re so good with numbers, why didn’ya figure out that gambling wasn’t making you rich?”
Richard’s expression grew strained and defensive. “I just had a run of bad luck. For a few years. It started when my boyfriend—the bastard—just up and walked out on me one night. I fell into a black hole with the black dog. Then I found out Jack had taken all the money I’d stashed away. I couldn’t pick myself up after that.”