Convict Island

by Mark Mosley

  On the outskirts of Masonville, squatting behind some bushes, I pointed towards the bungalows. “You go to my hut there. I’ll head to Xavier’s since it’ll be easier for you to find the hole in the floor under the massive cat rug in my old place than to find the right bamboo that has the dynamite.”

  “Why do I need this little treasure box?” she whispered.

  “I wanna be sure I didn’t miss anything. If Robbie left dynamite in Xavier’s place, he may have left me something too.”

  “Why wouldn’t this Robbie guy just leave the dynamite with the notes?”

  Fair question, and it was something I’d thought about. I explained the only thing I was able to come up with. “Maybe he wanted to make sure the person that had the dynamite would be anti-Mason. By forcing the new resident of the cabin to find Xavier, it’d be a way of solidifying that hope.”

  “Fair enough.”

  As I neared Xavier’s place, I whispered at quick prayer that he’d be home. To do something against Mason without Xavier felt wrong. I knew he’d come back with me if I could just find him. When I got there, Xavier wasn’t home. I crept through some foliage to look towards the bonfire and feasting area, but I didn’t see him lounging on his log either.

  Worry sunk its talons into my flesh as my mind flashed back to the night of our getaway. I’d been so focused on fighting Mitch and then running away after Danny stabbed Mason that I didn’t think to find Xavier in the chaos. This concerned me because I could envision him knocking somebody out in order to let us escape. Mason would’ve barbequed him. Assuming Mason was still alive.

  I needed to check Mason’s hut and discover his fate. To see if he was in there, laid up and nursing his wound. After taking all the dynamite from Xavier’s hut, I snuck up the path towards Mason’s, crossing the openness quickly, scared of being seen in the one second it took me to cross—like a siren would sound while red lights flashed and whirled around the jungle, barriers locked down, and hounds were released.

  But there was, of course, nothing.

  If I was scared of crossing from cabin to cabin, I was horrified of sneaking into Mason’s. In my mind, every creak beneath my feet was like an air horn at a funeral. I peered into his cabin through the window above his bed. He and his coterie must’ve been at the X, like we’d hoped. Gray towels were cast about the floor like a hotel room after a family of five stayed for a long weekend. The towels were stained red. Three large ones were draped across his bed as if he’d lain on them. Smaller ones were mixed in with the larger ones on the ground, all clearly used to stop the bleeding. Did it work?

  The towels made the list of items that mysteriously showed up in Mason’s possession on this island. Clearly there was a Bed Bath and Beyond somewhere. On his little table was a needle and thread. I doubted it was used to replace a button…ouch.

  The map was still there with the familiar markings. No new dates. Still outside the hut, I squinted to read the dates. The southern X was just a few days away—January 11th. Then, the one above that was seven months later. The northernmost X had the first date. And there was a future date seven months away. And something scrawled next to it. It looked like a name, but I couldn’t read it. Could Mason be expecting a specific convict? I had to know. I gathered all my courage, draining it for use from inside me like a sponge wrung out, and crept inside.

  As I tiptoed to the map, I grabbed some knives off the wall. I reached the map, and looked at the first date. Sure enough, the name “Chris” was written next to it. Chris. Surely it wasn’t my brother. That had to be coincidence. Or . . . something.

  I considered the possible meanings, then someone said, “Well, howdy.”

  I jumped and turned to find Smiley standing in the doorway.

  Chapter 22

  I twisted away from Smiley, intending to find a window to leap out of. Devin slid out from under the bed, eliminating my hope. I was such an idiot.

  “Stealin’ them knives from da boss? That ain’t nice,” Devin said as he sat on the bed. He pointed to Smiley. “I tol’ you da first time I seen him—remember, Smiley?—I said his lot must be a real bad one.”

  “Yep, I ‘member,” Smiley answered. Then he addressed me. “You here for stealin’? That what got you locked up to begin with? Stole from the wrong man?”

  “Nope. Serial killer. Didn’t like the idea that nobody would know it was me, so I confessed.”

  “Bullshit,” Smiley said—but he used three syllables like bow-shee-it. “You ain’t e’er kilt a man in your life.”

  “If that’s true, then there’s no time like the present,” I said, bluffing and hoping my voice didn’t crack. “I’ve got three knives here. Just two of you. My math isn’t great, but I believe I’d be able to deposit one in each of you and still have one left to take with me.”

  Smiley tilted his head, amused. “Yer right, son. Yer math ain’t great. You need ta add the people, not the knives. Two of us. One of you. I believe that means we’d be able to kick the tar outta you.”

  I shrugged. “Well, one of ya will get a blade in the belly before it’s over. How’d that turn out for Mason? He still alive? Or is he six feet under the ground?”

  Devin huffed. “You think that lil’ sissy kilt Mason?”

  “Mason ain’t goin’ down like that,” Smiley added. “He’s doin’ what he always does—which I think you know all about now. He’s visit’n Miguel. But he asked us to stay behind, keep an eye on thangs.” He took a step towards me. “Now, firs’ thing Imma need ya to do is return dem knives.”

  I put my hands up and slowly turned to hang the weapons again.

  “Tha’s a good boy,” Smiley mocked.

  All I needed to do was buy some time until Sam heard us talking. But I wondered if she’d intervene or just leave me behind. Would she risk saving me? Was I worth it to her? Robbie’s note surfaced to my mind: make the snake eat itself.

  “Let me get this straight,” I said. “Mason goes on a big, important mission…and he leaves you two behind? I thought you were his best mates? The guys he leaned on? Trusted? Why doesn’t he want you with him?”

  They furrowed their brows.

  “Oh shoot,” I continued. “Zigor took over the number two spot. That makes sense. I mean, he can’t have two number ones, let alone three. So—”

  “Shut it,” Smiley stopped me. “I know what-cher up to. Playin’ mind games and whatnot.”

  I chuckled. “I don’t know that you have the necessary equipment for me to play mind games with you.”

  He either ignored that or didn’t get it and just said, “He trusted us to keep—”

  “An eye on things,” I interjected. “Right, I get it. He’s only got one eye, so he’s using you. Sure is weird he’d treat you like crap though, huh? How’s your face? Still looks a bit red from when he slapped you like a—”

  Devin grabbed my collar. “You shut your mouth,” he said, defending his friend.

  I put my hands up. “I just think it’s suspicious he left you here. Although, maybe he doesn’t like you around when he’s meeting with Miguel—the real boss. Have you met Miguel?”

  This struck an unintentional nerve—as if they had met him and were terrified of him, or they actually hadn’t met Miguel. I guessed the latter. “Oh, damn. You legit haven’t met him? How long have you two been Mason’s go-to-guys—I mean, his supposed go-to-guys?”

  Before they answered, Sam barreled in, screaming as she tackled Smiley. Once he was down, she pummeled him over and over again. The guy already has such a limited amount of teeth that I almost felt bad for him.

  Sam’s ferocity frightened me. She was like a fiery goddess—beautiful and terrifying. I no longer doubted she’d kill to protect her sister. She barely knew me and was willing to fight a grown man to keep me alive.

  Yanking Sam off Smiley, I yelled, “Let’s go!”

  We escaped but Devin darted out of the cabin, wielding his own knife. He leapt at Sam. Some unknown part of me urged to fight back for once.
As Devin lunged at Sam, I kicked his wrist. The knife skittered away. I ignored it and used the distraction to head towards the pit.

  “Follow me!” I yelled to Sam. “I gotta check something!”

  We reached the pit and peered in. Just as I’d feared: Xavier was in it. He was bruised and had dried blood caked to the side of his face and a cut on his shoulder. I cursed.

  “Is that Juggernaut?” Sam asked.

  An X-Men reference? God, I loved this girl. I didn’t answer her, but I told Xavier I took his dynamite and would be back soon.

  “Darryl and John will get me out,” he yelled. “Don’t come back!”

  Smiley and Devin were on us again. I hoped Xavier knew what he was doing. We sprinted away, this time towards the bonfire area—I had an idea. We reached the fire, the last embers fading. I pulled out a stick of dynamite and put the wick into the coals. The end of the string sparked to life and I jumped back, thinking the whole thing was going to blow. But the light sizzled and the spark moved its way towards the stick. How long until it blew? I’d never dealt with fireworks, let alone actual dynamite.

  “C’mon, Sam!” I kept my eye on the wick and started running.

  When the spark neared the stick, I glanced back to see our chasers. I tossed the dynamite and continued running. A second later, it exploded. The blast threw me and Sam forward and she somersaulted and rolled to her feet and continued running as if nothing happened. Badass.

  I not-so-gracefully soared through the air with the sensation of being rear-ended by an eighteen-wheeler, and then I face-planted into the ground. Dumbass.

  Struggling to even sit, I sprawled my legs in front of me like a ‘V’. Smoke billowed from a small crater. Smiley and Devin were hidden somewhere in the smoke, or scattered into pieces.

  “We need to go, yeah?” Sam pulled me up. “That explosion’s gonna draw lots of attention we don’t want. Can you walk?” She helped me to my feet before I answered.

  My head spun. “Let’s roll. We need to find out what’s going on at the middle ‘X’ with Mason and Miguel.”

  “Let’s just focus on getting back to camp alive,” Sam said.

  We were silent for the first twenty minutes of our hike back. Then Sam asked, “What’s up with that huge Xavier guy?”

  I told her about everything—from the first time I met him, to his fascination with frangipani flowers, to calling him out in the duel when he punched me to the moon. “He’s a loyal guy, a good friend, and I won’t leave the island without him,” I concluded.

  “Sounds like me and Cammie. I was lost after I got dropped here. Literally. I was terrified.”

  “Well, at least you aren’t in high school, like some people.” I pointed to myself. I couldn’t believe I’d told her. I had no intention of it.

  “So…what…you’re eighteen?”

  “Seventeen.” I explained why I was sent to actual prison instead of juvie.

  “Damn! You got chucked in with the big boys?”

  I nodded. “And Mitch sure as hell took advantage of that. He kicked my ass all the time. Took my food.” I shook my head.

  “Kudos to you for moving on. Don’t know I’d be able to take abuse and forgive ‘em.”

  An hour later, we were back at our camp. Sam told the others what happened and I stashed away the remaining dynamite. “Sorry, everyone,” I said. “But I gotta go to bed. Two hikes, a fight, and an explosion can really wear you out.”

  “Sissy.” Mitch smiled.

  Before falling asleep, I wondered if I killed Smiley or Devin. Or both. Either I—a teenager convicted of a crime I didn’t commit—had now committed murder, or the two Masonites were alive and angry and likely to give chase once again.

  And I couldn’t get over the name Chris on the map. The odds of it being my brother were slim. I mean, there has to literally be hundreds of thousands of guys named Chris. Not to mention girls that might go by Chris. But something felt wrong.

  I slept in fits and ultimately woke up on January 5th in a sweat. After eating, I went with Sam, Cammie, and Austin to the field Xavier and I had visited. There were empty rows of loose soil.

  “They’re fallow,” Austin said. We all gave him a confused look. “It’s what farmers do after harvest. They let the soil regain nutrients before they plant again.”

  “This is why the dates are seven months apart,” Sam said.

  Austin confirmed her guess.

  “But they keep all the harvest days for each plot within a week of each other,” Cammie noted.

  “Enough time to harvest, deliver to the mainland, then return,” Austin said.

  “Should we take a hike to check out the field with today’s date?” Sam asked. “See exactly what happens on these days?”

  Everybody agreed, so we went for a hike. It took about an hour and a half, and when we got there, we snuck to an area that overlooked a different field, giving us a view of the acres of marijuana plants.

  Dozens of men and women harvested the weed, wearing robes and masks like surgeons. Some pulled plants while others trimmed, filling larger bins with clippings. Other workers grabbed the filled bins, replaced them with empties, and took the filled bins to large wooden crates on dollies. Men wheeled the dollies away. We couldn’t see that far out, but I assumed around the bend were boats waiting for the cargo. Guards walked among the rows of plants, which were as tall as the men.

  “Holy crap,” I whispered. “I didn’t know marijuana plants got that big.”

  “You mean high?” Sam said, laughing quietly.

  “Wow. A dad joke in the middle of a stakeout,” I teased. “What do you think they need guards for?”

  Sam shrugged. “Maybe Mason told Miguel about the stabbing and they’re on the lookout.” She squinted. “Those guards’ clothes are too clean to be islanders.”

  Mitch elbowed my side and pointed. It was Mason. He looked pale—like he’d lost a lot of blood. He sat at an empty table with a guy I assumed to be Miguel.

  We observed in silence. The systematic way everyone worked indicated it was a well-run operation. Finally, Miguel stood and gestured for Mason to follow. We lost sight of them. A few minutes later, a white seaplane scurried into view along the ocean waves, gaining speed.

  “It’s a freakin’ amphibious flying…boat plane thing,” Mitch mumbled.

  “And Mason’s on it,” I said. “The son-of-a-bitch is leaving the island.”

  Chapter 23

  Not long after Mason flew off with Miguel, the workers toted away all the crates and disappeared around where Mason had walked. I assumed there was a boat around the bend that had collected the harvest. Zigor and other Masonites headed in the direction of Masonville.

  We trudged back to camp in silence. The sun was well beyond the jungle and mountains to the west, leaving our side of the island murky. On the beach were the usual fires with some wild animals roasting. We sat on the log benches and called over those who’d stayed behind from the stakeout. After catching everyone up to speed, Danny said, “I wonder if he was here before the place was designated as the prison island.”

  “Impossible to say,” Sam said. “Doesn’t matter though. It’s a nice operation for Miguel, yeah? No concerns of getting disturbed by law enforcement.”

  I wondered about the operation Mason ran. Was my water collection duty used for more than our sustenance? Perhaps it was transported to keep the plants alive. Was I the only moron that didn’t know this? Did Adam know?

  “Mason is Miguel’s source here,” Mitch said. “For whatever reason.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “How’d that go down? Did he happen to be on that side of the island one day when Miguel came for a pickup? Or was Mason a part of The Splinters before he ever got here and they somehow coordinated this?”

  “Mason’s never struck me as the type to be in with that kind of gang,” Cammie noted.

  “Since the plantations are on the opposite side of the island from convict drop-offs,” Danny added, “and Mason has an idea o
f when drop-offs happen, it’d be easy for Miguel to time it right and avoid the law.”

  “Which is why Mason marked where the drop-offs occurred,” I added. “And it explains why Mason was so thrown off by my drop. It must’ve worried him since all the others had been relatively routine, and if they were going to change the schedule, it’d throw out of whack all he and Miguel had worked on.”

  “Something still don’t sit right with me,” Mitch chimed in. “Why would Mason stay here? If Miguel is a partner, why wouldn’t Mason just leave and come back to harvest? Miguel’s got that plane, so it wouldn’t be hard.”

  “Good point,” Austin agreed. “Obviously, Miguel comes and goes of his own free will. Why leave behind a partner?”

  This bothered me too. Why wouldn’t Mason just leave? He did on that day, but was it for good? I remembered days where he’d been absent from camp in the past—December12th, 18th, and 25th. Maybe he was rewarded by Miguel with a break from the island—like when military guys go on furlough. Or was he buying time for something? Was he forced to stay here?

  “Who else knows about this?” Cammie asked. “Mason can’t be the only one aware of what’s going on. Jhalon, Danny, what was the camp like? Who went with Mason for extended periods? Was everybody else as blind as you?”

  I explained how at one point within the last week, Mason and some of his workers were gone for days and came back re-energized.

  “Maybe they left the island before, yeah?” Sam asked, reading my mind. “Maybe that’s how Miguel keeps these island guys satisfied—he gives them little vacations.”

  Mitch shook his head. “Forget that. I’d take the first boat outta here. Hide in a damn bin of weed if I had to.” He forced a laugh. “I’d tell Miguel to go screw himself if he made me his island bitch.”

  “And I don’t see Mason cowering down to anybody,” I added. “He’d die in a bloody fight before giving up—especially for his pride. Miguel must’ve cut him a deal.”