Convict Island

by Mark Mosley

  I ignored the question. “I’m not sure how you planned to do it without killing yourself, but I’m sure you’ve got it figured out.”

  Miguel stood tall and faced Mason, his face contorted as if he just had a realization—a false realization planted by me. “You said you want to ride the ship back today with the cargo—to make sure the load gets back. You’ve never done that before.” Miguel squinted. “Today…you wouldn’t be on the plane.”

  Jackpot. I couldn’t believe he was buying it.

  “I told you,” Mason said, his voice betraying a tinge of worry, “I am a man of my word. And my work takes priority. I want to do this right and be certain of the delivery. I will ride the plane if—”

  “—Ha!” I played it up. “Miguel, who do you think gave us the dynamite? How else would we have it? We can’t make it here! You must’ve given it to him at some point, am I right?”

  It was a total guess, but it made sense. Miguel had to be Mason’s source for supplies—paper, towels, dynamite, everything. Miguel’s look of anger and Mason’s flash of concern revealed I guessed correctly. Miguel pointed at Mason. “You told me you killed Robbie because he stole the dynamite.”

  “It went missing, Miguel. I swear. I did suspect Robbie. That is one of the reasons I eliminated him—I thought he had plans to ruin what we were building!”

  God bless Robbie. I stirred the pot. “Miguel, think about it. If Robbie took the dynamite, how come we have it here? Mason kept it to kill you.”

  “Liar!” Mason screamed.

  “Was your plan to kill the head honcho and then take his place, Mason?” I asked, talking to Mason but raising my eyebrows at Miguel. “That’s cold, man. The guy who’s giving you a chance to earn your freedom. You know what you lack, Mason? Loyalty.”

  “Shut up!” His voice rose with the recognition that he was losing control. The freedom that just hours ago was within his grasps was now slipping away right in front of his eyes like the setting sun. “Miguel, none of this is true!”

  Miguel erupted, moving forward to confront Mason. “You said you killed Robbie because he stole what I gave you. But the dynamite is here, destroying my fields. You kept it.” He rambled out some Spanish—a string of curses I didn’t understand. Then he regained control of himself. “How can anything you say be trusted? Did Robbie really take the gun I gave you?”

  Mason took a faltering step back. “He took it all. Everything except the walkie-talkie.”

  Miguel didn’t buy it. At least not totally. He pulled out his knives. I recalled the story the dying Masonite told Xavier about how ruthless Miguel was with his knives. “Extensions of his arms,” he’d said.

  Obviously, Mason knew of his deadly talent. His voices shook. “Miguel. None of what he’s sayin’ is true. He’s saving his own ass. Think about how loyal I’ve been, buyin’ my freedom. If I was gonna be stupid enough to try and kill you, I wouldn’t do it like this.”

  This was the first time I’d ever heard Mason speak with contractions rather than meticulously enunciating every word.

  Explosions still sounded in the backdrop of the field, paired now with screams. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the workers clad in their white gowns, scurrying to the boat. If the workers took off, we were screwed. Where the hell was Xavier?

  I built on Mason’s last comment. “You wouldn’t do it like this? Does that mean you’ve thought of better ways to kill him?”

  “Shut up, Jhalon!”

  Miguel pulled back his arms with his knives like others would cock their pistols.

  Mason was sweating, gripping his precious Bible tighter than ever. Then I was struck with a sudden clarity, like the final piece of a huge jigsaw falling into place.

  Miguel mentioned he’d given Mason a gun, which Mason claimed Robbie took. But if Robbie had taken the gun, he would’ve mentioned it in the notes. Instead, he’d written that Mason had one. That meant Mason had a gun and lied to Miguel about it.

  Images shot through my mind like a movie reel: memories of Mason holding the Bible in the air and throwing out phrases like “it has all the answers” and “the most important thing in the world is in here.”

  Then I knew. “Miguel. There’s something else he’s hiding from you.”

  Miguel took his eyes off Mason, though still prepared to attack with his blades, tense like a spring ready to explode.

  “Robbie never took that gun. Just like he never took the dynamite.” Hail Mary time. “The gun is in Mason’s Bible.”

  Mason’s confused look told me I was right. It was his last card. His last defense against Miguel, who now believed Mason was stabbing him in the back. Miguel spoke steadily. “Give me the book.”

  Not moving, Mason’s single eye darted around the room.

  Miguel’s voice remained calm and demanding. “Give me the book.” Stepping closer to Mason, he put his hand out. “Give. Me. The. Book.”

  Then the wrecking ball finally entered the scene. Jumping aboard, Xavier punched Miguel in the back of the head. Mason flipped open the Bible and pulled out the weapon from hollowed-out pages. He fired but I didn’t know if he was aiming for Xavier or Miguel. The bullet missed both, lodging itself into the wall. The shot rang painfully in my ears in the confined space of the cabin.

  Xavier shifted his attention to Mason and charged, slamming him into the wall. He spun him away from it, tackling and driving him forward so that he and Mason were nearest the door. Mason dropped the gun and Miguel was on the ground, reaching for it. I stomped my foot on the weapon and his hand, pinning them down. With my other foot, I kicked Miguel in the face once, twice, three times. I hoped he’d fall back, unconscious, but he kept fighting.

  “Run!” Xavier yelled.

  Not this time. I’d bailed earlier and let him take out Adam for me. I couldn’t abandon him again, especially when he was outnumbered. Pain radiated through my hand and shot up my arm as I tried to rip the gun away from Miguel. Despite the kicks to the teeth, he still fought, still pulled. Finally, I wrenched the gun free and pointed it down at him.

  Could I really kill someone? Throwing the dynamite towards Smiley and Devin to escape had been different. They’d had the chance to get away. I didn’t have to watch them die. This would be right in front of me. I couldn’t blame the gun like I could blame the dynamite. Miguel would have no chance to escape. I’d have to watch his head explode, splattering the wall behind him. Splattering me. I’d be a killer. Self-defense be damned.

  My hesitation was a mistake I will never forget. Because in that brief moment, a shot fired. I froze, confused, thinking did I pull the trigger? But it was not from my gun.

  I turned, assuming Xavier had taken out Mason. But Mason was holding the weapon. A lid hung flipped open from the underside of the table—some kind of hidden box that must’ve held another weapon.

  Panic gripped me and I looked over to see Xavier grasping his stomach, blood seeping through his fingers.

  Chapter 30

  Firing three more quick shots, Mason finished off his biggest threat. Xavier stumbled back on the first two, then fell onto the bench after the third shot—three new gaping holes peppering his chest. His eyes looked to mine, then his head dropped as his body drained of life.

  His death hurt more than my finger being chopped off. I lowered the gun, stunned. Not Xavier. God…not him. I would’ve stayed on the island forever if it meant Xavier lived.

  The heroic thing to do would’ve been to shoot Mason. Then Miguel. Then get my remaining friends off the island. I didn’t want Xavier’s sacrifice to be for nothing. I had to move on. To ignore the pain. The sorrow. But I was paralyzed.

  Mason wasn’t. He pivoted his aim towards me. I dove out the door, firing blindly in Mason’s direction with the hope that it would be enough to prevent him from getting an easy shot at me. My elbow smacked the side of the door and my shins nailed the ladder on my dive out. But I reached the water without any bullets in me.

  I made my way behind the plane, ducking b
eneath the metal tail and waiting for Mason to pop out of the door, firing at me like a madman. But he didn’t show. Where the hell was he? But then the plane started rocking. There was scuffling inside like two people wrestling. I wasn’t Mason’s only enemy. Miguel no longer trusted him. He was dealing with that whole situation I riled up. I hoped they’d kill each other, but at the very least, maybe one would be eliminated.

  Stumbling up the wet beach, the physical pain of my finger and the emotional loss of Xavier sapped my strength. Flopping onto the beach, I watched thick smoke darken the sky. The fire was big. Miguel’s workers frantically tried to reach the boat while guards searched for Sam and the others.

  The desire to mourn Xavier began to surface, and I shoved it back down, determined to make his death meaningful. I fumbled through my pants to find the remaining stick of dynamite. I realized I had no way of lighting the wick. Was the fire too far away to light it, run back, and throw it into the plane? Did I even need to get it in the plane, or could I just blast a propeller or a part of the tail off?

  I darted towards the source of the smoke. The burning leaves sizzled softly, while the distinct aroma of marijuana wafted up, carried by the breezy air, spreading through the heart of the raging mad island. I ridiculously pictured boars and large cats and birds hanging out and chilling, eating Funyuns and Cheetos while watching SpongeBob.

  Reaching a small fire, I bent to light the wick. But the sand in front of my hand jumped up as if tiny mines were set off. My brain wasn’t firing on all cylinders. It took me a second to realize the miniscule explosions were bullets hitting the ground, throwing up the earth in front of me—warning shots to stop moving.

  “Drop the stick.”

  Zigor. Freaking Zigor.

  “Hey, Z,” I said. “Good to see you. Crazy day, huh?”

  “I’m taking you to Miguel and Mason.”

  I laughed. “That might not be your best plan.”

  “Why’s that?” He was annoyed that I was laughing at him while he was pointing a gun at my face. In his mind, I should’ve been cowering in fear.

  “They sort of had a falling-out,” I explained. “They’re working on killing each other as we speak—in fact, one of them may have already been successful.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Nope. Inside that plane back there.” I could tell he wanted to look but was afraid I’d try something. “Mason had a gun. Miguel had knives—though I’m not certain he didn’t also have a gun. There was at least one stashed away. He is Miguel ‘Overkill’ Almi-something, so who knows. The dude’s probably got a pocket knife inside his pistol inside his AK-47 inside his rocket launcher inside his tank inside his plane inside his—”

  “Shut the hell up.”

  “Ok.” I tried to sniff because blood was tickling my upper lip, but my nose was too crooked from Mason’s punch. “Mason killed Xavier.”

  I don’t know why I told him. But something like sadness flashed across his face. Everyone loved him. He stiffened. “Do you not hear me? Shut up.”

  People still ran around like it was the apocalypse. Zigor was kicking something around inside his skull, but what? The smart play would’ve been to shoot me. I still don’t know why he didn’t—though I’m not complaining. The way things had gone for me, I just needed to wait until someone came and rescued me. I may as well get a tattoo that says “damsel in distress”.

  I informed Zigor about my luck. “Ya know, there’s been at least three people that have died trying to kill me. You should just walk away.”

  This surprised him.

  “First there was Devin. He followed me because I tried blowing him and Smiley up. Well, Devin got his face smashed in by a trap. Then Adam wanted to hand me over to Mason. But Xavier stepped in, and I’m not sure what he did, but the dude came walking through the jungle like a freakin’ zombie and just fell face down, dead.” My voice cracked when I said Xavier’s name. “And inside that plane, one, maybe even two, are dead because of trying to eliminate me. Might be in your best interest to just walk away.”

  “Or I just pull the trigger and run away.”

  “That’s an option. However—”

  Then right on cue, a flash of light brown plowed into Zigor, who only had time to scream. The thing didn’t just tackle and leave. It loomed over Zigor, kissing his face.

  Nope. Nope. I was wrong. It was a big cat. And it was not licking. It was eating Zigor’s face. He let out a high-pitch, inhuman shriek, piercing the air in a way I’ve never heard a human howl.

  I worked to get to my feet but my legs were jelly. There was a freaking cat eating a person in front of me. Then five boars bounded out from the same place the cat had emerged. Hands grabbed me from under my armpits and hoisted me up. I screamed at the touch, assuming I was about to have my broken nose eaten off or lose another finger.

  It took me a second to register that they were human hands. I turned and saw Cammie, laughing. “Hey.” She said it so simply that it was ridiculous—as if Noah’s ark hadn’t shipwrecked on the prison island while we were trying to fight off a drug lord.

  Zigor still screamed, and I made the mistake of looking. The cat tore away skin, ripping cheek muscles from Zigor’s bones as his legs flailed about hopelessly.

  Staring at Cammie, wide-eyed, I said, “What the f—”

  “Sorry I’m late. Had to get my friends.”

  I grabbed my stick of dynamite. Pigs ran around causing confusion, and I tried steadying my breathing as we moved away from the cat enjoying its meal. I wanted to yell heel! so the cat would pounce alongside me as my weapon and sidekick, but I took Cammie and moved through the field, a third of which still blazed, the fire spreading through the crop.

  We passed a few craters, and bodies were scattered in the area—guards, workers in white, even some Solos that I never knew. Like waves hitting the beach relentlessly, pangs of guilt rushed over me, saturated my conscience, left, and then returned every time we crossed another soulless body—I had a hand in their death. And Xavier was dead because of me.

  I squatted at the edge of the field where the shrubbery ended and the beach began. “Your friends?” I asked Cammie. The words tumbled from my mouth. “That’s what you left us for?”

  “Yeah. I’ve accumulated these guys the last couple of days. Thought they’d come in handy for this.” She spoke like someone else would describe how they’d amassed their stamp collection.

  I had so many questions for Dr. Doolittle—did you walk the animals here like dogs on leashes; how long had you had them; where had you been keeping them; what did you feed them; why didn’t they attack you?

  But I didn’t manage to force anything out, too shocked to put a single question to words. Instead, I told her about Xavier. She cursed and pointed out that he’d want us to escape. I nodded.

  More and more of Miguel’s people reached the boat, the engines roaring, readying for departure. “Our ride’s leaving,” Cammie said.

  Sam cursed from somewhere in the field, yelling at everyone to get to the boat. But it wasn’t like they’d just let us hop on and join their ride. She stumbled out of the field onto the beach and looked helplessly at the ocean.

  “Plan B!” I yelled.

  Sam spun and found us. “Plan B?”

  Danny, Mitch, and Eric ran in from the other direction, and miraculously we were all together again. Sam was breathing heavily. “There was no Plan B.”

  “There’s always a Plan B,” I insisted. “It’s the one that the cool guy in the movies make up after the first plan is blown to hell.”

  “More like plan F,” Mitch said.

  “Plan F?” Danny asked.

  “Yeah. ‘Cuz everything from the first plan is effed up.”

  “Cute,” Eric said.

  “What’s plan B?” Sam asked, hoping to get us back on track.

  I smiled and stopped, pointing to the seaplane. “Anybody know how to fly a plane?”

  Chapter 31

  “That truly is Plan F,
” Mitch said. “It’s effed up you think we can fly that thing home.”

  Everybody must’ve agreed because they looked at me like I was crazy.

  “What if we don’t fly it? Can we just ride it? It’s a boat and a plane, right? We could go super slow.” I gestured to the boat, which had begun to leave. Even all the little row boats had disappeared or been set on fire. “The boat’s no longer an option. We take the bird or we stay here.”

  That sunk in and the headshakes turned to nods.

  “I’ve been on there. There’s enough room for all of us. We can do it,” I encouraged.

  “It’ll be a bumpy ride,” Cammie warned. “Ocean waves may tear that thing apart.”

  “There’s no other choices,” Eric chimed in.

  Cammie huffed. “Okay. All we have to do is get two egomaniacal psychos with weapons off of a seaplane, board the plane, then…drive it out of here?”

  I smiled. “Piece of cake? Hopefully one of ‘em is dead.”

  We crept towards the plane. If someone inside saw us, they could easily mow us down in the open. Everyone huddled beneath the tail. Danny snuck up to the window to see the outcome. He slid back down. “Miguel’s dead,” he whispered. “Looks like someone took a can of red spray paint to the place. Xavier’s lying with his arms out to his side, dead. Miguel is face down on the ground.”

  “Damn,” I said. “Hard to believe Mason killed Miguel. That dude was a badass.”

  “Did you see Mason?” Sam asked.

  Eric nodded.

  Going in to get him out would be suicide. Like Devin suckered in by the bottleneck, we’d meet similarly deadly results. We had to make him come out on his own. I said as much to everyone else.

  “Suggestions?” Sam asked the group. Nobody answered for a while.

  Then I had an idea. “Do we have any more dynamite?”

  “You figure we blow the plane up and then put it back together?” Danny asked.

  “No. Just make Mason think so. Would the wick die if it got wet?”