by Mark Mosley
I wondered if I should actually fight, or just take a beating. I didn’t want to turn Danny into an enemy—he could become one of my allies against Mason, which would change if I hit him in the teeth. But I didn’t wanna be hit in the teeth…
To get my mind off the likelihood of getting punched in the face, I knelt to take a longer look at Robbie’s notes. I wasn’t worried about being interrupted since Mason already blessed me with his presence.
I found the straw with IV scratched into it. The paper I slipped out read:
Last entry. Mason knows. Dead in a day. Its what he wants. Its what they want. They see all. Product is here. All killed when done. Find Solos. X has explosives. Get off island.
Last note? Impossible. There were about fifteen more straws. I looked through them. They all had numbers scratched into their sides. I found V. No paper inside. VI. Nothing. Every remaining straw was empty. Was he interrupted from writing more? Dying can do that to you.
He’d saved his longest note for his last, but he was still annoyingly cryptic. Questions fluttered through my mind like a flock of birds. How’d he predict his death? If he knew he was to be killed, why not do something about it? And who did they refer to? And what product? I figured each X referred to Mason’s map and the location of explosives.
I didn’t like the mention of everybody getting killed.
I threw my hands up in frustration at Robbie’s vagueness in his final entry, which left me more confused than ever. Too many questions and too few answers. At that point, I was kind of pissed at Robbie. Why so cryptic? Write a letter instead of bullet points and incomplete thoughts, you douche. Instead, I had to play a guessing game. But I only had a few hours before the fight, which meant I couldn’t start any scavenger hunt.
To kill time, I grabbed one of the pieces of paper Robbie never got around to using. I wrote my own letter. To Chris.
No, I didn’t think I could fold it and slide it into a bottle, chuck it into the ocean, and have it magically appear at his feet while he’s gazing out at the horizon. But I thought it might be cathartic. I wrote about my time in prison. Then about my time in this…paradise.
When finished, I put the letter in my pocket and walked out of my jungle hut to fight a grown man I barely knew because a one-eyed psychopath wanted to make a point.
Chapter 15
I closed the door behind me as I left my cabin, wondering if it was possible that the convict I’d face would actually kill me.
Bugs buzzed in the greenery and I looked up to see the stars beginning to show as the light faded with every passing minute. Was Chris looking at them too? I cursed. The damned Suits ruined my life—as if it hadn’t been ruined with my brother’s terrible choice. But at least with that, I’d made the decision to sacrifice myself for my brother. My exile benefited nobody but taxpayers—or so I thought.
I trudged down the path towards the bonfire. All the huts were empty. I questioned how and why these convicts were selected to come to Convict Island. There had to be a justification—whether based on the severity of the crime, the years the convict was incarcerated, the importance of the victim the murderer killed…something.
But me? What was it? Was my brother involved in something bigger? Was I wrong in thinking it was just a thug trying to collect a debt my brother owed? All these questions would have to wait. Until I got off the island. Nothing mattered, really, until then. My focus had to be on survival, which meant that I’d have to fight.
Men mingled around the bonfire waiting for the food and show. Mason overlooked the crowd. As if he had a sixth sense, he jerked his head in my direction and found me. He walked towards me like a teen seeing his best friend arrive at a kegger. “Jhalon! I was beginning to worry you would not show. Glad to see you!” He grinned.
I really hated his grin. And his eyes. And his face. I had a pretty strong distaste for every aspect of him. “Wouldn’t miss it. Food first?”
“Of course, Jhalon! Eat to your heart’s delight—though I warn you, it may not stay down during your battle royale!” He laughed.
I hated his laugh.
Raising his hands, one of which held his damn Bible, Mason announced, “Now that we have our final attendee, let us pray.” He bowed his head and brought his Bible down, holding it in front of his heart. Everybody said Amen after he finished.
What a phony. I’d say that I hated his Bible, but I don’t want to be struck by lightning. I got my food, found Danny, and sat next to him. “I’m in some trouble here, man.”
Without taking his eyes off his food, he casually said, “Yeah?”
“Mason’s making me fight tonight.”
He tsked. “Tough break.”
“What about you? He say anything to you?”
Danny scooped his bamboo stick into a hollow coconut filled with crab meat. “Like what? Tell me that you’re gonna fight?”
“No. Like tell you that you have to fight.”
He shook his head. “Nah. He ain’t gonna play me like that.”
“You don’t think so? If he calls your name, you got no choice.”
He actually laughed. “I’d fight. But then I’d slit Mason’s throat in the night.”
Damn. I realized that if he was the one I was to fight, I’d have no chance—he had a fire in him that would set everything around him ablaze.
“Listen,” I said. “I’ve been doin’ some figurin’ on this place. Nothing is as it seems.”
“No shit, dumbass.”
“Mason’s holding back a lot.”
Danny stopped eating and looked at me like I was an annoying little brother that wouldn’t leave him alone. “If you think that’s news, you’re a lot dumber than I thought. Of course Mason’s holdin’ back, man! He goes off every damn day for hours with guys blindly followin’, gets his own people killed, and basically kidnaps everybody that’s dropped off.”
“Right. I—”
He was on a roll and wouldn’t let me intervene. “He leads by fear—both striking it into his followers that if they leave, The Splinters will kill them, and that if you try to leave, he’ll kill you himself.”
“So—”
Danny stood. “Oh, and let’s not forget the fact he’s got a God complex. So yeah, genius, I’d say Mason isn’t all that great.”
I thought maybe he’d fight me without Mason having to tell him to. “Think anybody would oppose him?”
He sat back down. “The Splinters. And The Solos. You’re really stupid—you not listenin’ to me?”
“I mean oppose him from within this camp,” I clarified. “Like, have you sensed any people that would flip on Mason?”
“That’s a risky proposition.” He eyed me suspiciously.
Before we could continue, Mason interrupted to get the festivities rolling. “Gentlemen. It is time. I would like to call forth our first two contestants. These men were found to be fighting in the fields while they were supposed to be working. They have decided to work out their differences here like men.”
He brought out two white guys. One was skinny and looked like he was going to piss himself any second. I recognized him from the food patrol and looked over to Darryl, who was in charge of that patrol. He was shaking his head while looking down at the ground as if he didn’t want to see what was about to happen.
The other fighter was a beast—he kept hitting himself in the arms like a boxer in the ring. I’d seen him before but didn’t know his name yet. He was the guy with face tattoos and piercings, and he must’ve spent all his time on the island curling tree trunks, throwing boulders, and deadlifting whales.
The smaller one tried to talk. “No, I didn’t decide this! This argument never happened! I—”
“Silence, friend! You must let your fists do your talking at this point,” Mason barked.
So Mason didn’t just use these fights for his entertainment. He used them for silencing opposition. What did the skinny guy know?
I assumed the pierced guy was Mason’s enforcer. I’d seen
him with Mason. A lot. Despite the fact he could pummel Mason, he followed Mason around like a pup. I’d never talked to him because his demeanor had the effect of a massive dog wearing a spiked collar barking its head off: stay the hell away.
“He’s forcing this on me!” the skinny guy screamed. “I saw something! The Splinters! They—”
That was when the pierced beast pounced. He hit the guy in the stomach, shutting him up. As the objector bent over, the monster unleashed an uppercut with his right. A tooth flew through the air with a trail of blood. The skinny guy dropped as if he had no bones.
Darryl looked up with tight lips and a sad look.
Some other guys dragged the unconscious one away, dumping him off to the side like a soiled towel. The enforcer walked away from the circle without looking back. The whole thing lasted about five seconds. I prayed the beast wasn’t who I’d be fighting.
“Well, that was certainly a dud!” Mason exclaimed, feigning surprise. He found me. “Now, it is time for one of our newest members to earn his stripes, so to speak. Jhalon, please step into the circle.”
Everyone cheered, excited to see what the new guy—me—was made of. Men parted to the side and I walked past them. They closed in to reform the circle. I was dripping in sweat.
“Jhalon…welcome!” Mason said.
Who would it be? Danny? Smiley? Nameless Devin?
“For your first fight,” Mason continued, “I would like to extend you the opportunity to choose your opponent.”
Oh crap. I never anticipated having to choose—just worried about the choice that would be made. Faces and biceps and shoulder muscles appeared and disappeared quickly in my head. Who would I have a chance against? Who could I…
And then it occurred to me: this was a test.
If I managed to choose an easy opponent and beat them, I’d prove myself a coward. As if me—the only teenager here—fighting any of these grown men was fair! But reputations were important.
There may not have been guards surrounding us, but we were still in a prison—only with sand and sun instead of bars and manacles. The unspoken rules of prison still existed, and these rules had one encompassing nucleus: be a man.
That was when I knew I had to make a statement that spoke to my toughness. Only one option made sense. I wouldn’t win the fight. But it’d make a hell of a statement.
Before I could second-guess myself and wimp out, I blurted, “Xavier.”
Chapter 16
It got so quiet you could hear a crab fart.
I closed my eyes, terrified of the trouble my mouth just got me into—angry that my curiosity and questioning pissed Mason off. But maybe he would’ve thrown me in anyway. I opened my eyes and saw Xavier, outside the circle, sitting on a log and facing away from the fight. He never watched them. He lifted his head slowly and looked to the sky.
“Wow,” Mason mumbled. He got off his little throne, and walked around the circle in which I stood. Then he chuckled quietly. “Damn, Jhalon! You must have a death wish. I never expected that—that is why I like you! You always manage to surprise me.”
Mason made his way towards Xavier and put his hand on Xavier’s shoulder. Xavier still hadn’t turned around, but had his head down dejectedly. Mason said, “X here used to be a regular in these matches. Alas, he has not gotten into the circle in quite some time.”
Everybody remained silent. Not a good sign. Xavier had his elbows on his knees and studied the flowers in his hand. He couldn’t be scared of me, so I wondered why he was acting like that.
“In his last bout,” Mason continued, “Xavier won. It was a total knockout.” He urged Xavier up, who rose to his feet. Mason guided him towards the fighting ring. “In fact, X knocked him out…out of this world!”
I stopped breathing. Who knew it was possible to sweat so much when standing still?
“That is right. He killed the last man he faced.” Mason laughed.
Crap…
Xavier reached the circle. The other inmates moved aside. He dropped his flowers just outside of the opening in the ring. Everybody still stood silently.
Xavier looked to Mason. Staring at Mason’s feet rather than his eyes, he said, “Sir, I’d like to request an exemption from this fight.”
Mason laughed. “X! You know that is never an option. If you are selected—by me or someone calling you out—you fight. No exceptions.”
“Sir,” Xavier pleaded. “This is not a fair fight.”
Were there tears in his eyes?
“Ah, I understand,” Mason said. “However, I did not choose. Jhalon—with balls the size of coconuts—called you out, X.” Mason slapped Xavier on both of his shoulders like a boxer’s corner man. “I would like to remind everyone that contestants must give their all—restraining strength and punches will result in negative consequences both for the fighter withholding his best efforts and the benefactor of such benevolence.”
Paraphrased: Xavier, if you don’t knock out this puny runt, we will beat him far worse than what you would have done, and we will also do the same to you.
Xavier faced me. His shoulders were slumped and he appeared on the verge of tears. What had I done to him? I knew when I made the decision he wouldn’t like it, but now I saw how scarred he was from his last bout—the gentle giant clearly never wanted to kill the man.
Mason yelled for us to begin.
Xavier slowly approached. I liked him a lot. I wanted to apologize before doing so, and it pained me to do it, but knowing my rep was on the line, and we’d be punished for not fighting, I jumped at him.
My attack surprised Xavier. I hit him in his side (which hurt my wrist), then the stomach (which hurt my other wrist), and then the jaw (which hurt my knuckles). I’m a regular Mike Tyson.
I felt bad for swinging at him. Not that my hits hindered or hurt him in any way—it was probably how a windshield feels when a bug interferes with its progress on the highway. Xavier was kind enough to let me get those few licks in, though he barely moved as a result of my connections.
Then Xavier pulled his tree trunk arm back and punched me in the eye. I almost fell, but miraculously didn’t. Plus ten rep points for me!
But I could already feel the swelling. And it hurt like hell. His fist didn’t go through my skull, so it must’ve only been about fifty percent of his power.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered just so I could hear it.
Then—evidently remembering Mason’s warning about holding back—he went a hundred percent and connected with the side of my face. It was like a giant squid hit me with a volcano. I fell to the ground, and for the second time on the island, my world went black.
Chapter 17
I woke up in my hammock on January 2nd. Sun rays snuck through the slats of my hut wall and pummeled my eye, begging me to wake up.
Xavier sat on the floor with his legs crossed and his hands in front of him holding flowers. His shoulders sagged as if weighted down by regret and memories. I worried that I—in my attempt to avoid looking like a coward—had broken him. Obviously not a breakage of his body, but of his psyche.
I swung my feet out of the hammock slowly and put them on the floor. I didn’t see stars, but colorful lights danced in front of me. While I’d never had a hangover, I imagined this to be what it felt like—like my head was a catcher’s mitt and there was a flamethrower on the mound.
I did the usual movie cliché thing and asked how long I’ve been out.
“It’s the day after our battle,” Xavier answered.
“Battle,” I huffed. “It’s nice of you to call it a battle. More like me giving you a massage and you knocking me the hell out.” He said nothing. “I’m sorry I put you in a tight spot there. I felt like—”
Xavier put his hand up. “I know why you did it. I’m sorry I knocked you out. If Mason thought I was going easy on you, it would’ve been much worse. For both of us.”
“Believe me, I expected to get knocked out.”
We sat in silence for a bit. The
n he confessed, “I killed a man. But that’s not why I’m on the island,” he corrected. “I wasn’t a killer ‘til I got here—the island made me into a killer. Mason made me into a killer.”
I wondered if I should say something or let him get whatever he wanted off his chest. I didn’t think he was telling me with the hope I’d have sage advice or make him feel better. He didn’t want answers or consolation. He wanted to talk and be heard. So I became an ear.
Xavier took a deep breath. “I’m on the island because of a drug ring. Most of my family’s poor. But my cousin always had money. I wanted to help my family. My cousin offered me a gig as his muscle. I never really had to do much—threats were usually enough.”
A pleasant breeze slipped through the bamboo walls of my hut. Xavier sat on the cat rug, right above the treasure. Should I tell him about Robbie’s notes?
He went on. “One of my cousin’s workers got busted dealin’. To save his own ass, he ratted. But instead of pinning my cuz, he pointed the cops to me. Said I was the kingpin. My backstabbin’ cousin stashed a bunch of crap in my house—cops found money and drugs under floor boards, in walls, in vents. All over.”
“Damn. Sorry, man.”
Xavier shook his head. “Then I got sent here, and Mason saw me the same way: a hammer. I fought his battles against guys for random reasons—to show strength, to shut ‘em up—whatever.”
“I knew it! The guy that got his ass kicked before our fight…Mason had that big dude shut him up, right?”
He nodded. “Zigor’s taken my role since I quit.”
A laugh escaped me. “Sorry,” I said, feeling genuinely bad for ruining any heart-to-heart moment we were having. “Zigor just caught me off guard. I didn’t expect that badass’ name to sound like a character in a Disney film.”