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Jack lay awake on a patch of leaves long after everyone else had fallen asleep. Sleep would not come for him that night. Every time he closed his eyes he saw that body, bloody and bruised, and Simon’s. Jack had never felt real guilt before. That is to say, he thought he had, but knocking over his mother’s vase and sneaking candy after eight p.m had never left him reeling like this. He had never needed to convince himself that he was innocent, because the consequences of his actions had never been so severe.
That wasn’t Simon.
His mind repeated the mantra like a broken record.
And even if it was, he’d deserve it for coming out of the creepers all batty like that.
But even so, Jack could not escape his culpability. He had killed Simon; though he could not tell the others that it really was him on account of the fact that he would lose the respect he had earned as a leader. Jack’s mind searched for a lie of some sort to tell them. He thought for what he felt was fifteen minutes before he was able to compose a believable story. They thought they were hunting the beast, so they had been. The beast was simply disguised as Simon.
Jack did not awake the next morning, for he had never fallen asleep. Instead, he sat on his makeshift throne waiting for the others to come. The first to show was Roger, ever eager to hunt. Jack explained to him that they would celebrate their victory over the beast and rest today. Roger huffed, but did not push further, opting to stomp off to hunt for himself. Jack paid him no mind. He watched silently as the members of his tribe filtered over to Jack, sitting patiently on the hard ground. The orange of the sunrise had melted into blue by the time everyone had arrived. The excited chatter of the boys died down as Jack raised his hand. He surveyed their faces, reading their emotions. Wilfred stood out to him. The boy, who was younger than him by about two years, was quivering from head to toe and staring at the ground. Surely he knew for a fact what he had seen, and would not believe Jack so easily.
Jack began his assembly, “Hunters! I understand we’re all excited from our hunt last night.” He paused, scanning the crowd and building anticipation. “The beast is dead!” He raised his fist and cheered, everyone joined in. Wilfred stood and began to protest. “That wasn’t the beast!” He said incredulously. His face was red and his fingertips were shaking. His war paint had tracks of cleanliness where his tears had washed it away. “That was Simon! You all saw!”
“Simon?”
“Haven’t seen him for a bit.”
“He’s that batty one that fainted, right?”
“I think so, yeah. The littuns thought he was the beast!”
Jack listened to them argue among themselves about where Simon was now and if it really had been Simon. Jack let this go on for a moment before he interrupted, “It was not Simon. You see, the beast disguised itself as one of us so that we wouldn't kill it! Its trickery is corrupting your mind!” Wilfred began to speak again, “Jack! That’s not true and you know it! It really was Simon and we ought to take responsibility!” Jack stared him down, putting on his most intimidating face. “I mean he deserves some sort of funeral or, or something…” Wilfred trailed off, losing his confidence under Jack's intense gaze.
Jack knew Wilfred would not let up and he needed to be silenced one way or another. He did not need long to think of the solution. “Tie him up.” Jack provided no explanation for his orders. Wilfred began to yell at Jack, “No! Jack, you’re leading everyone to-to do bad things! I shouldn’t have left Ralph’s tribe! You all shouldn’t have! You’re a bad leader!” His words struck a nerve in Jack, so he began to yell as well, “He’s lying! Tie him up now!” The boys began to grab at Wilfred as he tried to run. He kicked and screamed and Jack watched as he flailed. Jack thought he should have some mercy for the young boy as the others grabbed vines to tie him up, but his mind was taken over by anger. He fancied himself a great leader. He was the chapter chorister and he led the hunters! He had killed the pig and gotten meat for everyone! He was not a bad leader. Jack ordered the boys to leave Wilfred in the middle of their camp. Some humility will do him good, Jack thought.
The boys carried out the task, dragging a defeated Wilfred across the ground. They looked at Jack expectantly when they were finished. “Right, well, on to the next matter; we’ve got to have guards, you know, in case the beast were to somehow come back, disguised of course.” The others nodded quickly in agreement. Jack looked to see who was the most eager, knowing that they would be the most loyal to him. Robert stood at the front, bouncing on his heels, face full of excitement. “Robert. You’ll stand guard. Challenge everyone who comes in. We’ll put levers under the rocks in case anyone tries anything.”
And they had tried something. Ralph, Sam and Eric, and Piggy had come looking to take back the glasses. Jack knew it was rather cowardly to attack in the dark, and once he would have thought himself above such an act, but now he could not bring himself to care truly. He only cared that he had more than Ralph, even if it did make him a poltroon, because Ralph’s opinion of his character did not matter to him. Why would it? Ralph was a coward too after all, and Jack hated him. Even so, a part of him was envious of Ralph’s personability. The boys had followed him blindly from the moment he blew into that stupid shell. Jack could not compete with such affability; instead, he was only obeyed when he threatened someone, lied, or offered them something Ralph could not. So Jack clung to his tactic of fear-mongering.
In all this, Jack thought he had lost his humanity somewhere, until the sound of a boulder rolling down the earth and the thud of said rock hitting Piggy. He watched as Piggy was flung down the side of Castle Rocks, landing on a rock. He couldn’t pull his eyes away from the growing red beneath Piggy’s head, dark and thick, just like Simon’s had been. The ocean pulled Piggy away from the sight of the boys who had scorned him, leaving nothing but the fading stain of his blood. Jack chanced a look at Ralph. He could not hold his gaze, for Ralph’s eyes held too much sorrow. He watched as Ralph tried to form words, something, anything. Jack wished he would yell at him, but he never did. Instead, Jack took to what he did best, ignoring his guilt and placing blame on someone else.
“See? See? That’s what you’ll get! I meant that! There isn’t a tribe for you anymore! The conch is gone–”
He rushed forward, pride taking over his actions.
“I”m chief!”
He launched his spear at Ralph, intending it to meet its mark. Ralph flinched as the spear grazed his ribcage. The tribe of savages was in pursuit of him now, Jack leading the charge. They chased him up until he fell through the foliage, and he was no longer in sight. Jack stopped, turning to halt his hunters. “Back! Back to the fort!” He ordered. Jack trailed at the back of the group. Roger joined them there, his expression a sort of sadistic satisfaction. “Why aren’t you on watch?” Jack asked him. Roger’s face hardened into a look of challenge, one Jack did not feel like taking up. Which is why when Roger began to explain, he did not try to argue. Instead, he moved his attention to the twins, now prisoners.
“You got to join the tribe.” He demanded. The two began to protest. This annoyed Jack greatly, so he grabbed a spear that had been left behind and prodded repeatedly at Sam, interrogating him. He grew tired of the poking, giving the job over to Roger with silent instruction.
Samneric sat glumly in the crowd of savage boys as Jack explained his plan for the next day. Jack had decided they would go hunting as planned, but instead of hunting pigs, they would hunt Ralph. He had crossed Jack one too many times now, and this time Jack lacked the empathy to solve the issue with anything but violence. The boys roared as Jack riled them up with plans to flush Ralph from hiding. They feasted and danced until the moon took the place of the sun, and the boys began to trickle off. Jack knew Ralph would come looking for Sam and Eric by now, but he did not care much if he did. Roger had surely scared the rebellion out of them. So he slept soundly, as the world around him stilled for one last starry night, though the stars seemed less bright now.
The morning was clear; not at all fitting for the events to come. Jack’s tribe prepared spears, Roger sharpening his already double-sided spear. Jack thought back to when they had mounted the sow’s head for the beast, how they had sharpened a stick at both ends then too. Jack thought nothing of it now. They had developed a system of sounds to alert each other if they found anything. Jack had thought it up, remembering how the sound of the conch had been used to call assemblies. The hunt began shortly after sunrise. The tribe split up, covering the land more quickly. Jack took notice of how nervous Sam and Eric seemed to be. They knew where Ralph would be then. He called them over to his throne.
“Ralph came last night, didn’t he?”
Sam and Eric looked at each other nervously.
“Um, no he- he didn’t!”
“We’d have called if he had!”
Jack beckoned Roger over. “Roger, I believe these two are lying to their chief and harboring a fugitive. Could you… convince them to tell the truth?” Roger laughed menacingly, approaching the twins. Roger’s fist met Sam’s stomach, leaving him doubled over.
“Stop it!” Eric cried out. Roger turned to him, kicking him swiftly in the shin, smiling at the sound of Eric’s short cry. Jack allowed Roger to continue until the boys finally gave in, saying something about a thicket. He ordered the two to split up, Eric with Roger and himself, and Sam with Maurice’s group.
Eric led Jack and Roger to Ralph’s supposed hiding spot, wringing his hands nervously. He pointed to a dense area covering the forest floor.
“Are you certain?” Jack asked, voice hushed so as not to scare away Ralph if he did happen to be there. They nodded quickly, attempting to look as sincere as possible.
“If you’re fooling us–” Roger shoved Eric, and he tripped on a branch, letting out a squeal as he fell. He picked himself up, dusting the dirt off his back and favoring his left foot.
“You’re sure he meant in there?” Jack asked. Roger grabbed Eric, twisting his arm behind his back.
“He meant he’d hide in there?” Roger pressed.
“Yes—yes—oh—!”
Jack thought for a moment. They would not be able to clear a path easily and no one could worm their way through the brush. He scoured his surroundings before his eyes landed on the rocks at the tower rock. They could clear the brush much quicker if they rolled the rocks over it. He gathered his group of hunters, leading them back to where they had started. The air was thick on the path, though it had not been on the way down. Jack thought perhaps it had just gotten humid, but the back of his mind screamed it was because of his plan. Ralph had been his friend once, now his enemy, but did he really deserve to be hunted like an animal, fearful and desperate? Jack dismissed the thought.
The hunters gathered the only two rocks left to the edge above the thicket, jamming their sticks under them. When they were all in the correct position Jack began to yell, “Heave! Heave! Heave!” The first rock tumbled down the cliff, shaking the earth as if a giant had stepped down from a beanstalk. Jack flinched at the sound, wondering if Ralph had been beneath it. When the rock rolled away, Jack ordered for the next rock to be released. “Heave! Heave! Heave!” This rock was heavier than the last, taking twice as many boys to push it off. “Heave! Heave! Heave!” They all cheered as the Rock began to plummet into the green. The ground below them rumbled, almost as if the ground itself was groaning under the force. With two paths cleared, the savages began to search.
Nearby, a hunter yelped in pain. A different voice spoke“See? I told you–he’s dangerous.” As Jack listened to the exchange, he began to smell something burnt. He glanced over to see Roger with Piggy’s glasses, pointing them at some dried leaves. Eric, who was still following them around, yelled, “No!” Jack did not try to stop Roger, even though he knew burning down the island just to catch Ralph would leave them without food. Roger and the others began giggling wildly. The smoke slinked up into the sky as fire licked at the greenery making quick work of the forest. “Smoke!” one of the hunters cried.
The hunters ran ahead of the flames, making calls at every shadow. The trees cast shapes across the bushes, flickering with the movement of the blaze. Jack heard pigs squeal, accompanied by the ululation of a hunter. A chain of cries followed. Ralph had been found. Jack ran towards the sound. Ralph was fighting someone. He was rather formidable, but weakening quickly. He staggered on his feat and his breath came rapidly. They kicked Ralph in the chest, sending him sprawling. Ralph positioned himself on his side, unable to get his breath in. Roger inched forward, his spear raised, and Jack’s knife (that he hadn’t noticed as missing) in his other hand. Jack watched as Roger’s spear started downward at Ralph’s chest. When Jack looked at Ralph now, he did not see the ragged, defeated creature, forced into violence by doomed circumstances that everyone else saw. Instead, he saw the friend he once had, whom he had brought exploring and shared ideas with. He missed the easy childishness of when they had first landed.
Jack wasn’t thinking, or rather for the first time in a while, he was. He pushed Roger’s hand to the side, the spear implanting in the dirt. “Stop it!” Desperation seeped into Jack’s voice that he tried to dampen as he continued, “He’s already down. The smoke is in his lungs now. He won’t last long. Let’s just… find a place away from the fire and wait it out.” Roger let out a scream of frustration.
“You see this? The beast has gotten Jack! We’ve got to kill him or he’ll doom us!” Roger charged him, knocking him to the ground. Roger’s fists flew, hitting Jack anywhere they could reach. Jack fought back against the weight on top of him, kicking as hard as he could. He screamed out of instinct. It came out sort of gurgled and strained, almost monstrous. The other boys took this as a sign that the beast really had disguised himself as Jack, and began to kick and stab at him with their spears. Jack felt his flesh tear and warm liquid run down his torso. He cried, tears stinging the myriad of cuts on his face. Rocks dug into his back when he tried to curl into a sort of ball to protect himself. Nothing worked to ease his pain. It felt like forever when the hits and stabs stopped abruptly. He heard the sound of a foghorn and fast footsteps running toward the beach. Jack lay in silence under the canopy of the jungle.
“It’s hot.” Jack was surprised to hear Ralph rasp out the words, dropping the ‘t’ from exhaustion. “It’s because of the fire.” Jack choked out.
“Oh… Perh’ps, perhaps we–’ Ralph fell into a fit of coughing, cutting off his speech. “Perhaps we deserve this.” Ralph’s words struck like the spears of their former friends.
“M’ybe… Simon’s dead. I j’st didunt wantta face it.” Jack paused for a long while. “And Piggy. Don’t ev’n know his real name.” Jack glanced at Ralph, seeing a tear run down his cheek. “Did you?” He asked Ralph. It came out hoarse and quiet, but Jack could still hear Ralph’s “No.”
The two boys heard the foghorn from earlier, but much closer. Then there was the sound of yelling, the kind that comes from an adult trying to corral a group of kids.
“I s’pose they’ll be rescued.”
“They’ll be alright.”
They could no longer hold themselves conscious, slipping into the comforting darkness of oblivion. No waves could reach them in the jungle, so they would not receive the requiem of the ocean that Simon and Piggy had. Their bodies would be taken over by the creepers, and the island would consume them in death, just as it had in life.