Convict Island

by Mark Mosley

  “Or this was a different drop than normal.” I was truly clueless. As if I had any way of knowing why they dropped off the number they did? “I know we were dropped here early, too. It seems to be a unique drop.”

  “Yes. However, I am disinclined to view that as the most likely of the two options. All people lie. Especially convicts.”

  “I can confirm there were only three of us. Am I a hillbilly moron or a liar?”

  Mason laughed. “Hillbilly, no.” Squinting at me, he said, “I suppose having the statement corroborated by you causes me to reconsider.” He stared hard at me—it was amazing how intimidating his look was for a guy with one eye. “There were only three, and he killed the other one?”

  I nodded. “Broke his neck like it was a wishbone.”

  “But he let you go?”

  I peered at Mitch, who was staring at a twig he’d picked up. “No. He didn’t let me go. Like I said, I got away. But there were three of us.” Enough of his questions. “He was about to be killed by that pig?”

  “He was. They can be nasty. The boars and big cats are two of our biggest enemies on this island.”

  Two of.

  “The back of his knee is cut,” Mason continued. “He was hiding behind a tree before we found him passed out, the hog beginning to sniff him. My men eliminated the pig and brought it back to camp.” He turned and peered down at Mitch. “What is his name? We asked, but he only told us to…fornicate ourselves.”

  I almost laughed. Fornicate ourselves. It sounded dirtier than what he replaced. “His name is Mitch.”

  “Do you suggest, Jhalon, that we kill Mitch? Is he a danger to us?”

  And just like that, Mitch’s life was in my hands. The man that had tormented me since my first day in prison could now be eliminated—at my word, Mason and his goons would kill Mitch without a second thought.

  My hyperthymesia kicked in, pulling me back to my Psych class on April 19th of my junior year. I apologize for another school flashback, but again: I want my testimony detailed and accurate. I’ll skip most of the details of that particular day, but the important piece is that I learned when someone is in a survival situation, they’ll either become survival-oriented or balanced-empathetic. In survival-oriented mode, you do whatever you need to do to survive, and screw everybody else. Balanced-empathetic, however, is where you think clearly and keep your morals and empathy for others.

  In that moment, I wondered if I, for the first time in my life, should give in to the ‘survival of the fittest’ mentality—only I matter? I sighed. “He’s been a pain in my ass since the day I met him. Let the bastard sit in that crap hole and think about what he’s done.” I plastered an evil grin on my face. “He’s trash. He killed once and he’d have murdered me. He’ll look to kill again. But I don’t want him to die quickly. Let him rot.”

  Mason raised his eyebrows. Did my answer surprise him?

  “I like you, Jhalon. Let us return and finish eating.” He walked past Smiley and Devin, who followed him.

  When they weren’t looking, I threw my piece of meat into the pit for Mitch. Balanced-empathetic…I hoped giving Mitch a second chance wasn’t a huge mistake.

  We got back to the fire and pig. The gang had been lounging about during our absence, sitting on log benches scattered throughout the field, but when we returned, they tensed. It was obvious that Mason made them nervous.

  Even though the meat was pretty well gone, Mason grabbed more and tossed it to me. “There you are, my friend.”

  I could’ve gotten the meat myself, but I figured he wanted me to know he was the one providing sustenance. I was overly thankful in order to feed his ego. We talked about nothing for several minutes. He did most of the talking. Like an overserved high schooler at his first party, I laughed at all of his stupid jokes and hung on to his every word as if he was the most interesting human I’d ever met, thinking the entire time that I had to get out of this cult.

  Eventually, everyone dispersed as if heading off to complete tasks. One group gathered wood, sweating as they created a large pile; another plastered their faces with charcoal and took spears into the jungle; a third wheeled a flatbed rigged to four uneven wooden wheels with coconut shells and crude jugs. Some guys walked around the village with spears in hand.

  “Jhalon,” Mason started, interrupting my observations. “What decision did you make to find yourself in paradise?”

  The question put me in a tough spot since I was—am—innocent. You can definitely put that on the record. But in that situation, my innocence could make me look weak in the eyes of murderers. However, I feared lying to sound tougher could backfire.

  “That’s a mighty personal question to ask someone you just met, Mason.” I tried to sound as confident as possible. “I don’t like to give information about myself to people I hardly know. No offense.”

  Mason stared at me. “You sleep in my hut—”

  “Because your men threw a sack over my head, knocked me out, and dragged me there unconscious.”

  Easy, I had to remind myself…don’t join Mitch.

  “You sleep in my hut. You eat my food. And you refuse to answer a simple question?”

  Silence. Silence. More silence. Never-ending silence. I realized I did a stupid thing.

  “Well,” he said with a dab of malice, “in that case, we have come to the time when I must offer you The Choice.”

  Uh oh.

  “We are all forced to this island. Nobody chooses to come. But what we do here is in our control.”

  Smiley and Devin stood on either side of me—like guards over a prisoner about to be executed.

  “Some meet us, like yourself. They see what we have going—our organization, brotherhood, trust. And they stay to become Masons and join our family.”

  Dysfunctional family.

  “Some people like to be loners,” Mason continued, stalking around me. “They stay in hiding and try to do things on their own. I call them The Solos. They last for a while. But eventually they lose their cool and make stupid decisions and end up dead. It breaks my heart.”

  What a sweetheart.

  I asked, “If they’re in hiding then how do you know they die?”

  He slowed his shark-like circling but ignored my smartass question. “These individuals displease me because it is not in their best interest to live a life of solidarity—it is neither sane nor safe. There is much on this island to learn, and we are willing to teach.”

  A caring sweetheart.

  He stopped pacing and stood in front of me, staring into my right eye with his only good one. “The Choice you must make right now, Jhalon, is which person you are—a Mason, or a Solo. One involves staying, the other involves running.”

  “Running?”

  “Well, yes. If someone finds their way into our community and chooses to not stay…well…I cannot simply allow them to leave. Those aware of our existence know we have food, shelter, and companionship.”

  I started sweating.

  “You see, Jhalon, life is a fire, and greed flames this fire. What my group contains is gasoline for this fire—stoking it, causing it to rage to the point where the individual is compelled to attack and take what is not their own—the fire for life consumes them and everything they desire.”

  “Cool analogy.” I was proud of myself for withholding an eye roll.

  Mason continued his speech that I assumed he’d given dozens of times. “In order to protect my people, I must do my best to eliminate possible threats. If you choose to be a Solo and to leave us, Jhalon, I will give you a one-day start.”

  “A one-day start…and then what?”

  He smiled again. “And then I will hunt you.”

  Chapter 10

  Well…take up permanent residence in Masonville, or be hunted and most likely killed? Decisions, decisions. Not great options. I figured asking to be a loner and pretending we’d never met wasn’t possible. That would probably…displease him.

  Dialing my Suck-up Machin
e to full blast, I said, “Mason, I can’t imagine a single reason why anybody wouldn’t want to be a part of what you’ve built here. I’m in.”

  He studied me like a human lie detector. “Jhalon, from the start, I knew I liked you—you are smart. That can get you a lot in this world.” He smiled, then leaned in and whispered, “But, do not think it can get you my place. Understood?”

  I already knew his biggest fear was losing power. For a leader that rules with an iron fist and fear, the shadows always hold a lurker—real or imagined—ready to take you out. “Mason, you have so much responsibility, I wouldn’t dream of trying to supplant you. It’ll be much easier for me to follow your lead,” I assured him.

  “Damn right, Jhalon! God, you are a smart guy, Jhalon! Let us find a job for you to earn your keep—you live with the group, you work with the group. I hope you find that expectation fair.”

  “Absolutely. What are my options?”

  “Well, let us consider.” He leaned back and yelled, “Xavier!” A massive black guy popped his head up from a conversation. “Xavier, get over here.”

  Xavier got off a log, which snapped back up as if there had been a rhino sitting on the thing. He stomped over, and I thought that if I had a glass of water, it’d shake like the T-Rex scene in Jurassic Park. Because his arms were too large to simply hang at his side, Xavier walked with his arms bent and pushed away from his body—like a toddler wearing floaties. Xavier had a big afro and tattered shorts that revealed sores on his shins and knees. While stomping over, he dropped a yellow and white flower he’d held, and in a deep baritone voice, he asked, “Mr. Mason, what can I help you with, sir?”

  “Xavier, can you tell us what departments have openings in which Jhalon may be able to slide? He is quite eager to play a role in our commune.”

  Xavier furrowed his brow and brought up a hand to rub his clean-shaven chin. “Well, sir, Robbie…” he trailed off and looked at me.

  “It is ok, Xavier. Jhalon is a soon-to-be-friend.” Mason winked at me. “Whatever qualm you had about saying something in front of him you need not worry.”

  “Ok, sir. Robbie didn’t…he didn’t make it.” His voice quivered and he looked at his feet. His toes pointed out of shoes with the fronts ripped off—I tried not to think about what he did to acquire the sneakers, but they certainly weren’t his.

  Looking up to Xavier—who had to be close to seven feet tall—Mason put his hand on Xavier’s shoulder. “I am sorry, X. I know you two had quite the friendship. Why the hell did nobody update me? One of my men is dead and I am left in ignorance!”

  Xavier nodded. “Thank you, sir. We didn’t tell you, sir, because you got a lot of things going on—the white fella in the hole, Jhalon’s arrival, not to mention—”

  “He will be missed by all of us, X, I assure you,” Mason said.

  Not to mention…

  “Tonight, we will feast in Robbie’s honor, yes?” Mason offered.

  “Yes, sir. That’s thoughtful of you. And a sign of how you appreciate them—us—all.”

  I wondered what happened to Robbie.

  “Consider it done, Xavier. Now,” Mason said, “Let us turn our focus on how Jhalon can be of service. Our water department, I believe you mentioned, is short one individual. Jhalon, would you find such work acceptable?”

  “Sure thing. Point me where to go and let me know the duties.”

  “I shall do you one better, Jhalon,” Mason replied. “I will have Xavier escort you himself to your required destination. How about you take him now, X? I believe they have already begun, so go without delay. I have some other errands that require my attention.”

  “Yes, sir.” He turned to me. “Follow me.”

  “Right behind ya.”

  Mason walked quickly with Smiley and Devin to one of the paths shooting off to some dark place. Another guy joined them—a big guy with a bunch of tattoos and piercings.

  I followed Xavier. We headed towards Middle Finger Mountain, winding beneath some overhanging branches and loose vines. Unsure of Xavier’s emotional state after losing what was apparently a close ally, I said nothing. For all I knew, he could become so upset that he’d morph into The Hulk—he already looked like a dark brown version of him—and start ripping palm trees out of the earth, swinging them like baseball bats at anyone, or anything, in his way.

  Xavier broke the silence. “Welcome to the island, by the way, sir.”

  “Gee, thanks. Happy to be here.”

  He ignored my sarcasm. “You’re gonna collect water. It’s hard work, but important. And safe.”

  “Awesome. I like safe.” I walked behind him even though there was room to walk side-by-side. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Yes, sir. Anything you like.”

  “Do you prefer to be called Xavier or X?”

  He laughed. “Don’t matter to me, sir. I’ll respond to either. You can walk by my side, ya know.”

  “Good to know, Xavier. Is Xavier spelled with an X?”

  “Yessir.”

  “But it’s said like Zavier?”

  “Yep.”

  “Why don’t they call you Z?”

  “Nobody’s ever questioned that.” He laughed again. “When I was little I couldn’t spell my name, so I’d just put a big X. It’s followed me since.”

  We walked in silence for a while. When the quiet became unbearable, I asked, “What other task forces are employed here?”

  “Lemme think, sir.” He stepped off the path, grabbed a flower—the same kind he’d held when I first saw him—then joined me again.

  I couldn’t figure him out—on one hand, I envisioned him shaving his face with a knife like a badass, but then he carried these flowers as delicately as a mother with a newborn.

  “Food patrol,” he said.

  “Hunters?” I clarified. “Like getting that boar?”

  “They don’t just hunt, sir. They get plants and berries we can eat, too. Builders—they make spears, huts, wagons, whatever we need. And guards. They keep an eye out for…trouble. You’ve got a nice gig, sir. Water Retrieval is heavy lifting, but the view’s cool.”

  An eye out for…

  “The view?” I asked.

  Then the path opened to a scene of beauty. Middle Finger Mountain was in clear view to our right, and a waterfall spewed from one of its cliffs. The cascading water tumbled from fifty feet above, splashing into a plunge pool of dark blue water half the size of a baseball field. Green foliage jutted out from the cliff, and a second, smaller waterfall splattered onto a large flat slab of rock, drops and mist flying into the air. The pool filtered to the right, falling away and speeding downhill through the dark jungle. Xavier wasn’t joking—it was serene.

  My island guide saw my look of wonder. “Am I right, sir? Nice, huh?”

  “Beautiful,” I confirmed.

  “If you walk that way,” he pointed away from the waterfalls, “there’s a high ledge where you can see a beach below and nothing but ocean water forever.”

  Convicts below the large waterfall caught water in hollowed-out coconut shells and passed their bowls in a line until the last man carried it to the flatbed, dumping it into a huge basket with a tarp laid inside to keep the water contained. Again, another instance where, had I been thinking clearly, I would’ve wondered where items were gotten—tarps, wheels…I’m an idiot.

  “Lemme introduce you to Adam.” Xavier walked up to a guy standing at the flatbed. “Adam!”

  A slim guy in his mid-twenties with long, sandy, greasy, blond hair took a couple steps towards us, moving like a sloth. He looked at Xavier, then turned his attention to me when he finally registered my presence. His unfocused, bloodshot eyes bugged out from his thin face, and he smelled of weed so much that I thought I’d get high just being in his presence. “Welcome to paradise, my man,” Adam said.

  Every word was drawn out, as if he needed the extra time to figure out what his next word would be. I figured him to be a California surfer boy and expect
ed him to give me the surf’s up hand gesture. He stuck out his hand for me to shake, letting his locks fall back down to his shoulders. I took his hand and was forcefully pulled in for a hug.

  “Thanks. Happy to be here,” I mumbled into his shoulder.

  Either Adam didn’t understand sarcasm, or he was too high for it to register. “Far out man.” He put on a goofy grin. Then he actually gave me the surf’s up sign.

  Called it.

  Xavier tried to bail me out of the embrace. “You missed roasted pig, Adam. It was good.”

  “That’s a bummer, man. I heard. But ya know what? Today was a…a…an unwind kinda day. Know what I mean?”

  Xavier and I nodded. Adam continued. “The sun, man. The sun just called out to me. It rose and was all like YO! ADAM! RECOGNIZE MY AWESOMENESS! So I totally did, man.”

  The poetry of a pothead. Beautiful.

  Xavier rolled his eyes and gently slapped Adam on the shoulder. “Right on, Adam. Listen.”

  Adam looked up at the sun.

  “Adam. Adam, listen! This is Jhalon. He’s gonna hang out and work for ya.”

  “Nobody works for me, man. These people, they all work for each other. It’s how we survive, man. We must rely on each other in life. You know this.”

  “Right, sir. But he’s…he’s gonna work with you to help, okay?”

  “Totally, bro. I’ll take sweet care of little…” He trailed off, like he exited our world completely.

  “Jhalon,” Xavier finished.

  “Jhalon. Right.” Adam stuck his hand out again. Rather than explain that we’d already performed this societal expectation, I threw my hand out. He—again—pulled me in for a hug.

  Potheads…

  Xavier left me, heading back to camp. He twirled the flower he’d grabbed in his fingers, bringing it up to his nose every now and then.

  Adam pulled out a coconut shell and stripped the innards. He sliced out pieces of white and put them in his mouth as if every bite was a trip into utopia. About five bites in, and with his mouth full of coconut, he said, “So…Carl, welcome to the island, friend.”