Read Online Lord of the Flies by William Golding - Free Book Online

once more drew in the warm air; and this time his breath came short, there was even a passing pallor in his face, and then the surge of blood again. He passed like a shadow under the darkness of the tree and crouched, looking down at the trodden ground at his feet.
                The droppings were warm. They lay piled among turned earth. They were olive green, smooth, and they steamed a little. Jack lifted his head and stared at the inscrutable masses of creeper that lay across the trail. Then he raised his spear and sneaked forward. Beyond the creeper, the trail joined a pig-run that was wide enough and trodden enough to be a path. The ground was hardened by an accustomed tread and as Jack rose to his full height he heard something moving on it. He swung back his right arm and hurled the spear with all his strength. From the pig-run came the quick, hard patter of hoofs, a castanet sound, seductive, maddening--the promise of meat. He rushed out of the undergrowth and snatched up his spear. The pattering of pig's trotters died away in the distance.
                Jack stood there, streaming with sweat, streaked with brown earth, stained by all the vicissitudes of a day's hunting. Swearing, he turned off the trail and pushed his way through until the forest opened a little and instead of bald trunks supporting a dark roof there were light grey trunks and crowns of feathery palm. Beyond these was the glitter of the sea and he could hear voices. Ralph was standing by a contraption of palm trunks and leaves, a rude shelter that faced the lagoon and seemed very near to falling down. He did not notice when Jack spoke.
                "Got any water?"
                Ralph looked up, frowning, from the complication of leaves. He did not notice Jack even when he saw him.
                "I said have you got any water? I'm thirsty." Ralph withdrew his attention from the shelter and realized Jack with a start.
                "Oh, hullo. Water? There by the tree. Ought to be some left."
                Jack took up a coconut shell that brimmed with fresh water from among a group that was arranged in the shade, and drank. The water splashed over his chin and neck and chest. He breathed noisily when he had finished.
                "Needed that."
                Simon spoke from inside the shelter.
                "Up a bit."
                Ralph turned to the shelter and lifted a branch with a whole tiling of leaves.
                The leaves came apart and fluttered down. Simon's contrite face appeared in the hole.
                "Sorry."
                Ralph surveyed the wreck with distaste.
                "Never get it done."
                He flung himself down at Jack's feet. Simon remained, looking out of the hole in the shelter. Once down, Ralph explained.
                "Been working for days now. And look!"
                Two shelters were in position, but shaky. This one was a ruin.
                "And they keep running off. You remember the meeting? How everyone was going to work hard until the shelters were finished?"
                "Except me and my hunters--"   
                "Except the hunters. Well, the littluns are--"
                He gesticulated, sought for a word.
                "They're hopeless. The older ones aren't much better. D'you see? All day I've been working with Simon. No one else. They're off bathing, or eating, or playing."
                Simon poked his head out carefully.
                "You're chief. You tell 'em off."
                Ralph lay flat and looked up at the palm trees and the sky.
                "Meetings. Don't we love meetings? Every day. Twice a day. We talk." He got on one elbow. "I bet if I blew the conch this minute, they'd come running. Then we'd