AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Ann and Trudy stare at me, obviously sensing my agitation. Finally, Ann pats my arm. “No snakes, dear.”
I work on controlling my breathing. I have hardly slept in days and can feel myself starting to crash. I don’t want spiders. Or carnivorous crabs. Why can’t a tropical paradise be a damn paradise?
“So all of this.” I take another breath, gesture to the collection of cabins outside my window. “This is just for the current staff? The forward crew?”
“Exactly.”
“And MacManus? Does he stay here?”
“Oh, no.” Ann is already shaking her head.
“Definitely not,” Trudy agrees. “He has his own massive cabin—”
“More like a lodge—”
“On the other side of the camp. Still rustic, but private shower, bath, and kitchen. You’ll see it soon enough.”
“I will?”
“You get to clean it. He’s due to arrive in three days. Another one of your jobs, housekeeping and provisioning.”
“Okay.”
“Next we’ll show you the mess hall,” Ann says brightly. “That’s our domain. And the most important place in the camp. Breakfast is seven to eight a.m. Lunch around noon. Happy hour at five with dinner at six. Speaking of which, we need to get moving. Poke doesn’t make itself.”
Ann is already exiting. Trudy stares at me expectantly. I dump my messenger bag on the far bed and hastily follow. The rustic cabin is definitely more comfortable than the elements, because the second I’m outside, my T-shirt and jeans glue themselves to my body, and sweat once more beads along my brow. Rainforest indeed.
“You’ll get used to it,” Trudy tells me firmly. “Give it a week, you’ll see.”
I’m not sure how I’m going to make it a day in this kind of humidity, but I nod gamely. Adaptability is my superpower, I remind myself. Time to activate.
CHAPTER 7
TRUDY AND ANN BUSTLE ABOUT the kitchen with the same kind of crazy simpatico that they have in conversation. The dining hall turns out to be surprisingly large and has the inviting feel of a ginormous screened-in porch. A rectangular box, the front half sits beachside, with gorgeous views of bright-blue sea and a rustic wooden dock. Overhead fans faithfully disperse the fresh ocean air throughout the shaded space filled with long tables and assorted plastic chairs. My temperature drops immediately as I enter, and I think I might live just yet. There are two side doors leading into the dining area from the outside. Both have sinks next to the door and instructions to wash hands upon entering. I notice some maps pinned up above the screened windows, including an aerial shot of the atoll I hope to check out later. There’s also a bulletin board for future studying and a whiteboard that appears to be the central organizing hub: there’s a list of names, then what appears to be a location across from each one. Some read as beaches, some as buildings. I guess so everyone is accounted for?
My name hasn’t made the board yet. I notice next to Trudy’s and Ann’s names there is an asterisk bearing a note: “Divine Goddesses,” while weather for the day is listed as “Too Damn Hot,” followed by a humidity reading of “You Gotta Be Fucking Kidding Me.” That note is followed by another asterisk: “Yes, I Put a Dollar in the Swear Jar.”
This might be fun yet.
Behind the dining space is the back half of the building, which features the kitchen. No windows here, just two rear doors flung open to catch as much breeze as possible. The deep-green walls are lined with a massive stove, a long metal sink topped by shelves groaning beneath the stacked weight of plain white dishes, and a refrigerator that goes on and on. In the middle of the space is a series of stainless steel prep tables. The setup reminds me of most commercial-grade kitchens. Certainly Trudy and Ann buzz about as confidently as any master chefs I’ve ever encountered.
While I wash my hands, Trudy explains that due to the humidity, almost everything, including bread and spices, is refrigerated. The kitchen features two side-by-side units. A neighboring structure houses a full-size walk-in, not to mention an industrial-size freezer.
Where apparently my luggage is now hanging out.
“Just a precaution,” Trudy supplies, grabbing two heads of lettuce and handing them to me. “Chop.”
I obediently find a waiting cutting board and a magnetic strip holding sharp knives.
“To reduce cross contamination,” Ann is saying. “Your bag could be bearing seed pods, bacteria—”
“Cooties,” Trudy calls out.
“Exactly. We don’t want cooties on Pomaikai. Not good for the ecosystem.”
“Do you have anything with Velcro?” Trudy is asking. “That stuff holds on to everything. Definitely anything with Velcro requires deep freeze.”
“Otherwise the rest of your clothing will be dropped off in your cabin.”
