‘Hot tubs, even?’
The two guys started laughing away again.
‘Fuck you both.’ Ali began storming up the dirt track to where she guessed the festival must be.
‘Here, wait!’ the tall guy called. ‘Walk with us. I’ll try to get someone with a wheelbarrow down here. The accom, if you’d call it that, is a fair walk away.’ He pulled out a radio and spoke into it.
‘To be honest, I’ve not much faith in the radio yokes either,’ the other guy remarked. ‘They look like Fisher-Price. This whole thing is a nightmare. I’m Liam, by the way, that’s Paul.’
Ali was distracted by clouds of smoke rising ahead of them.
‘What is this?’
‘End of days,’ Liam muttered.
‘They’re burning tents,’ Paul supplied. ‘The second they found out there was no oat milk or any other dairy-free milk substitute on the island, they lost their shit.’
Ali groaned as another cramp rippled across her belly. ‘What do you mean “burning tents”?’
‘Ah here, this could be our wheelbarrow now,’ Paul interrupted as a cloud of dust rose up ahead. ‘We’d better get you off your feet. How far along are you anyway? And why’d you come to a festival on an island when you’re up the pole?’
‘I’m thirty-six weeks. And I’m fine, just a bit achy but that’s normal. I came to the festival because it’s a wellness summit and I’m gonna be pampered for the weekend. Also, I’m making a paid appearance.’
‘Shit.’ Liam squinted at the dust cloud. ‘That’s not one of our guys.’
As the wheelbarrow drew near, they could see two wild-eyed Instahuns at the helm, pushing it through the dust and over rocks. It was filled with protein bars.
‘Stop,’ called Paul, stepping into their path.
To Ali’s shock, the huns kept coming and mowed him right down.
‘What the hell,’ Ali shouted as Paul cried in agony from the ground. Liam managed to wrestle the women away from the wheelbarrow.
‘She’s preggers. We need this to transport her, ye demented loons,’ Liam screamed. One of the huns pulled out a travel-sized Elnett and sprayed him in the face.
‘Fuck you, these are the only gluten-free snacks on the whole pissing island!’ The two women grabbed all the protein bars and stormed on towards the airstrip.
‘I think my leg is broken,’ Paul whimpered.
‘My eyes! Oh my God, my eyes!’ Liam staggered blindly and tripped over the wheelbarrow. ‘Jesus!!!!’ he screamed. ‘My arm.’
Ali glared at the two of them. ‘Right, into the wheelbarrow. We’d better get you to the first aid tent.’
‘We are the first aid tent, luv,’ Paul muttered. ‘Although there was never a tent.’
‘Please say you’re joking.’ Ali sighed.
It was dark by the time Ali staggered into camp, pushing Paul in the wheelbarrow with Liam trudging alongside, holding his arm protectively.
She was wrecked. She must’ve walked two kilometres over uneven terrain pushing this deadweight in front of her. The trek had provided plenty of time for Paul and Liam to relate just how much W Y N D festival had descended into apocalyptic chaos in a mere six hours.
‘Yer one Hazel was airlifted off the island about an hour after the first attendees began arriving. When it became clear that nothing the W Y N D promos had advertised was available on the island, people started going nuts. Lighting the relief tents on fire in protest when they discovered there were no villas and no luxury accommodation. Pretty stupid now, given no one’ll have any shelter to sleep in tonight. No phone coverage meant everyone was trapped. Some people found Hazel’s caravan and tipped it, but she’d already made off. And still, planes were landing and dropping off more and more people. And the pilots know it’s a warzone down here but they’re contracted by the festival and just wanna cash their cheque. We’ve been trying to raise the alarm with the Coast Guard but the range on the radios is about ten feet if the wind is with you.’
Ali couldn’t believe it. Hazel’s whole reputation was staked on this festival. How could she let it crash and burn like this?
‘Great that all these fires are raging to light our way,’ she huffed as they made their way to a large clearing. Just then, a feral hun rushed from the darkness and grabbed her wheelie bag from the wheelbarrow.
‘Ah sorry, I should’ve mentioned the looters,’ Paul winced.
Ali parked the wheelbarrow beside a hastily erected tent that seemed to be serving as an ad hoc catering solution. A young girl was rotating speared meat over a small fire and distributing Easy Singles on white bread with mayonnaise to the filthy, hollow-eyed hordes, their singed flower crowns and smeared glitter a sad mockery of the free-spirited Insta-mavens they had been just hours before.
‘This is insane. All right, good luck, lads.’ Ali bid them farewell and, exhausted, pushed through the crowds looking for somewhere to sit safely. I just need to find one familiar face in this hellscape. Even Kate would do right now. Ali could smell the meat and, even though she hadn’t eaten since early that morning, it didn’t appeal.
‘Where did you get that lamb?’ A shout cut through the darkness.
‘I brought it with me.’ Even from across the clearing, Ali could hear the girl’s defensive tone.
‘You did to feck,’ the man erupted. ‘I keep my sheep up in the back field and I’m short a lamb and now, here ye are, you Insta ingrates, with fresh lamb.’
Jaysus, they’re butchering livestock! Ali shook her head. They’ve barely been a day without food and they’ve gone full Lord of the Flies.
She peered through the darkness to try to make out the farmer. Hazel had said the island was uninhabited so this guy must have got here on his own speed.
As she stood to see better, a pain deep inside gripped her and wrenched her back to the ground. ‘Fuuu-uuuuck,’ escaped from her mouth.
She moaned on all fours. Shit, shit, shit.
The pain at last receded and then … nothing. So weird. She gingerly stood back up feeling more or less fine again. Uh-oh. She didn’t even want to entertain the possibility that labour was starting. Her due date was four weeks away and all the midwives had said she could basically take it that she’d six weeks to go because she’d go over. She glanced at the chaos around her. If there was a worse place to give birth, she couldn’t imagine it. To be on the safe side, she started the timer on her useless phone in case she got another bad pain – she couldn’t bring herself to call it a contraction – and ploughed into the crowd looking for the farmer. She had to get off this godforsaken rock.
Just then she heard her name.
‘Ali? Ali Jones?’ Ali whipped around to see Blake Jordan in denim short shorts and a paisley shirt rushing out of the trees to her right with his hairless Sphynx cat, Julia Roberts, trotting daintily on a diamanté leash beside him.
‘Blake.’ She raised her hand and at that moment was crippled by another monstrous pain. ‘Aaaaahhhhh.’ She doubled over just as Blake reached out and caught her arms. She hung off him half crouching, half squatting. ‘Fucking fuuuuuuck.’
‘Eh, hun? Are you in—?’