Hunting Abigail: Fight or Flight? For Abigail, it's both!

by Jeremy Costello

  ‘I don’t know. Seems strange that a different kind of tree should grow inland like that.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Oli mumbled. ‘As interesting as the shades of leaves might be to some people, I wasn’t talking about the trees. If you cast your eyes into the centre of the clearing, something stands out as a kind of focal point, if you know what I mean.’

  Oli was right. There was something there for sure, some kind of structure.

  ‘What the hell is that?’

  Back at the northern edge, Oli gasped, ‘Never mind that…what the fuck is that?’

  Tearing his eyes away from the mysterious clearing, James stepped over to Oli, his breath catching in his throat.

  ‘James?’ the student pressed.

  Stretching out into the water like a pan-handle, a natural pier had been formed out of an arm of solid rock. It did the job of separating one bay from the next. Pressing against it in the mild tide was a dark mass, parts of it broken away and resting on the sand.

  James placed a hand on the kid's shoulder. ‘Enigma solved, Oli.’

  ‘I didn’t realise we had an enigma.’

  ‘We sure did. You just found the rest of the bodies.’

  Oli took an uneasy step back from the ledge. ‘No, that’s not possible! Look at the wreckage, how did they get way over there? The geography doesn’t work, man!’

  ‘I don’t know. Strong currents must’ve swept them beneath the surface to the eastern bay. If they hit an eddy they would’ve been whipped around and thrown back on themselves. That outcrop must’ve caught them.’

  ‘Awesome,’ Oli mouthed quietly. ‘So what now?’

  James shrugged. ‘Guess we go check it out.’

  The student sighed. ‘That’s what I thought you were going to say.’

  16

  The trek down the northern slope proved to be a walk in the park compared to the plateau climb. From the base of the hill, the walk through the trees back to shore measured only about a mile.

  They pushed their way onto the beach about two hundred yards from the outcropping, the rocky handle splitting the Indian Ocean in two, its beauty grotesquely marred by the large black mass pressing against it.

  ‘There it is,’ James said quietly.

  Oli’s gaze settled on the abomination, ebbing and flowing gently with the tide. Visibly he paled, hesitated.

  ‘Oli, it’s okay,’ James sympathized. ‘I’ve got this.’

  ‘No, I’ll…I’ll be fine.’

  James took another look. ‘There’re sights down there that will probably stay with you forever. Honestly, is it worth it?’

  ‘What, and let the jocks be right about me?’

  Hesitantly they walked towards the bodies. As they neared, Oli’s pace slowed further.

  Several of the bodies had made it onto the sand, split from the pack as though trying to escape.

  When the two of them reached the first cadaver, it was clear the small broken figure was that of a child no older than six. She was lying on her back, the scorching afternoon sun baking her.

  Oli turned his back and vomited.

  James crouched by the slightly bloated figure of the girl. He guessed she’d been out of the water for most of the day, one of the first to break from the group.

  He understood Oli's nausea. This girl wasn’t meant to die here, so young, and in such an horrific way. How could it be that she’d wound up on a beach in the middle of nowhere, small desecrated body on exhibition? It didn’t make sense.

  Oli had relinquished his bravado. He’d retreated towards the trees and planted himself down on the sand, face buried in his hands.

  The stench of death inhibiting, James was finding it difficult to move closer to the mass. He glanced back at the student. ‘What did you say?’

  Oli looked puzzled. ‘Nothing! I didn't speak.’

  He turned back to the sea. 'Come on, James,' he muttered to himself, 'get a grip.' He placed one foot forward and watched it sink into the sand. A second step; one more dry footfall.

  The notion of the third rolled away on the waves. ‘Oli, seriously, shut the hell up!’

  Oli raised his hands, palms up. ‘I told you, man, I’m not making a sound.’

  ‘I just heard a cough,’ James insisted.

  ‘You’re going insane, man!’

  ‘Oli, I’m sure of it.’

  ‘The sun’s getting to you.’

  Running from body to body, James began flipping those facedown, checking pulses. Six had made it onto the sand. Only one was breathing. Lying on his side, the large black male coughed again.

  ‘Jesus, Oli, this guy’s alive!’

  Oli sprinted over. ‘Holy shit, you sure?’

  The man had colour, and it had nothing to do with his origins. Easily in his fifties, he had closely cropped hair and a big round belly.

  ‘Oli…look at that,’ James whispered.

  Oli examined the man’s clothes. ‘Is this who I think it is?’

  ‘Who do you think it is?’

  ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d say we’ve found the captain.’

  *

  ‘He doesn’t look too hot, man!’ Oli announced.

  Despite the pilot’s functioning internals, his externals had taken a hit. Grazes and scratches aside, James couldn’t tear his eyes away from the open wound above the man’s knee, stretching halfway up his thigh. The gash was wide open, angry red flaps of skin peeling away from the oozing mess. If it wasn’t infected already, it soon would be.

  ‘We need to get him back to the camp,’ said James. ‘Maybe one of the others will know what to do with him.’

  ‘I don’t know if you noticed but this dude ain’t no prom queen. No way the two of us can carry him that far.’

  Running a hand through his hair, James agreed. ‘Abbey’s setting up camp about a half mile in that direction. Run back there and fetch help.’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘I’ll stay with him. This is important, Oli. If any one of the survivors has any kind of medical background, have them prepare as best they can.’

  The student began to back away.

  ‘And Oli,’ James added. ‘Be quick. I don’t know how big our window is.’

  The student began jogging along the beach, a spray of white sand at his heel.

  Shrugging off his shirt, James tore it into strips and began bandaging the gaping wound. Wadding the rest together, he lifted the pilot’s head and placed it underneath. There wasn’t much else he could do.

  Spread out before him like a giant blue blanket, the ocean sparkled beneath the afternoon sun. The presence of death was not lost on him, bathed in the unnatural calm to which the island had succumbed. All these people, all but the meager handful of survivors, dead.

  Gone.

  Growing up with Christian parents, he’d been led to believe that God, if He existed, was kind, that no matter what your sin or bad deed, He would understand, He would forgive you and pat you on the head. If that was true, what the fuck was this about?

  He lay down next to the still form of the pilot and scanned the sky. There were no birds anywhere. Wasn't that odd?

  Were there other forces at work that determined the way this sort of thing worked, he pondered, or was it all down to chance? Could it be that the survivors shared some sort of illogical connection, each person a cog in the machine that would eventually spell their way off the island?

  Time was their only friend now. Time. And almost three hundred corpses cooking in the afternoon sun.

  Next to the pilot, James lay still and quiet, wondering where all the birds were.

  *

  Almost half an hour after his departure, Oli had returned with Sebastian and Anthony carrying a flat section of metal salvaged from the wreckage. Still in the tattered grey suit, Sebastian’s South African accent became a blur of excitable and colourful language.

  Anthony was the opposite. Clearly a man of few words, he said nothing as he swept his eyes across the dismal collage. He mov
ed closer to it as though in a trance. It was only when Oli called out to him did the others realise he was crying. What was going on under that birthmark? James wondered.

  ‘Has he come around yet?’ Oli asked.

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘What’re we going to do about these bodies, chief?’ Sebastian asked. ‘We can’t leave them here, that’s for sure.’

  James climbed to his feet. ‘The bodies aren't going anywhere. We need to get this man some medical attention.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Sebastian agreed. ‘But after that, we need to –’

  ‘Shut up, Sebastian!’ Anthony's deep voice intruded.

  ‘What’s stoked your boiler, chief?’

  Anthony didn’t acknowledge the question.

  ‘Look,’ James interrupted, ‘you girls can argue amongst yourselves at your leisure. This man’s in a bad way.’

  Anthony turned his back on them and began once again examining the bodies.

  ‘Brought this as a stretcher,’ Oli said pointing out the sheet of flat steel. He looked to James hoping for a nod of approval.

  Without Anthony’s help, they hoisted the pilot carefully onto the makeshift stretcher. The big guy was about as heavy as he looked.

  ‘Hey, Anthony, little help here!’

  Anthony whipped around, fresh tears snaking down his cheeks.

  ‘You okay, man?’ Oli asked skeptically.

  Anthony wiped his face and began up the beach towards them.

  ‘Obra del Diabo,’ Sebastian murmured.

  The others looked up.

  ‘The devil has been here,’ uttered Sebastian. ‘I can feel his presence.’

  ‘The devil?’ Anthony said at last. ‘The devil has been here?’

  Only the waves responded.

  ‘There is no God,’ Anthony declared. ‘There is no devil. There is only you, me, and every other blood-sucking parasite calling themselves human.’

  ‘Wow, never heard you say so much,’ Oli threw in.

  ‘You think this man is your saviour?’ Anthony pointed to James. ‘Nobody can save us from this.’

  ‘Whoa, whoa,’ James interrupted. ‘Who said I was the saviour of anything?’

  Anthony turned to face James. ‘Exactly.’

  James stood quietly, perplexed.

  Nobody moved.

  ‘This is not about you, Anthony,’ James whispered. ‘And it’s definitely not about me. It’s about getting these people to safety. It’s about getting this man some medical attention. I don’t want to be here any more than you.’

  Anthony bent down and grabbed the corner of the metal sheet. He waited silently, almost as if James had never spoken.

  Eying the birth-marked man cautiously, the other three paused.

  James hesitated. Something about that situation had been far from normal, something about Anthony likewise.

  Gripping the adjacent corner, James caught the man’s eye, hoping to see some hidden emotion, something to explain his motivation, but there was nothing.

  17

  Since Oli had returned and absconded with Sebastian and Anthony, Abbey had felt better. James was okay, and so too was Oli.

  There was definitely something about James that she felt drawn to. Whether he knew it or not, he carried with him an aura of confidence. Who was she kidding, of course he knew. Whatever the case, she felt safer when he was around.

  At present only she and the girl were at the camp. Still wearing the frumpish beige dress, Abbey watched as she propped sturdy branches in the sand, fitting together the framework for the tents like Abbey had shown her.

  She still hadn't spoken, and Abbey had begun to wonder if it really was shock. Perhaps she was a mute. Whatever the reason, it hadn’t stopped her working. The kid was a grafter.

  Way over in the west, the sun was beginning to fail, the blue of the ocean slowly melting into a golden shimmer.

  Earlier she’d sent Elaine off with her son to salvage the wreckage. In a haze of cigarette smoke, Teri had volunteered to go with them. It wasn't pretty in there, but somebody had to do it. Everybody was doing their part. All except Sol Delaney, the evasive Australian; nobody had seen him since he was flipping suitcases. Nobody missed him either.

  Elaine and the others had been gone for about three hours. In the meantime, Abbey and the girl had built six temporary quarters along the sand. They'd lashed some branches together in bizarre frameworks, and thrown blankets over them for protection from the sun. So long as it didn’t storm again any time soon, the tents would hold up just fine.

  Collapsing onto the sand, she coaxed the girl to sit with her and watch the setting sun. With no apprehension, she sank down onto the sand and rested her head on Abbey's shoulder as they watched the dazzling spectrum of colour washing over the horizon.

  Chancing a peek at the girl, Abbey spotted the damp in her eyes. She hugged her closer, both of them shivering in the evening heat.

  18

  ‘You really want to go back in there?’ Teri asked.

  ‘No, not really,’ Elaine replied. ‘But Abbey’s sent us for supplies. No better place to look.’

  Teri stepped back. ‘Fuck that!’

  Elaine glanced at Eric who was idly examining the underside of the battered carriage. ‘Please don’t use that language in front of my son.’

  ‘What, fuck?’

  ‘Or in front of me.’

  Teri flicked a cigarette butt on to the sand. ‘I don’t see what the problem is. Eric hasn’t even noticed. You’re the only one bitching?’

  ‘Listen, you little brat,’ Elaine uttered vehemently. ‘I don’t care what you do in your own time, and I don’t care who you do it with. But while you’re in the company of me or my son, you will refrain from using foul language.’

  Teri smirked. ‘Or what?’

  ‘Or for the love of God, I will put you on your lily-white arse, and believe me, you won’t get back up.’

  ‘Whoa,’ Teri uttered. ‘Momma bear got some stones.’

  Elaine held her stare.

  Shying away, Teri sparked up another cigarette.

  ‘Mom, are we going back inside?’ Eric called out. He was eying the darkness from beneath the emergency exit.

  Earlier that morning, they’d exited through this very door. Nobody wanted to go back inside, not a soul. But somebody had to. They needed water and blankets. Cushions. Food provisions. Anything that would aid the preservation of those left alive. And if this was her duty, her contribution, she wouldn’t argue.

  ‘I’m not going in there,’ Teri declared. ‘I’ll stand watch.’

  ‘Stand watching for what?’

  Taking a drag, Teri said, ‘I don’t know, cannibals. Or something.’

  ‘Cannibals?’

  ‘Look, I don’t know. Whatever involves me not going in there, man.’

  ‘We’re all going in, Teri, no exceptions. Eric, you okay with that?’

  The big man whipped his head around. ‘Okay with what?’

  ‘Of course he’s okay with it,’ Teri grumbled. ‘He retarded. I’m not okay with it, entiendes? Me, I’m not.’

  ‘I don’t care what you’re okay with, Teri! It’s very simple. The sun will be gone in the next hour and I’m fairly sure you don’t want to go in there in the dark. I’m not standing here bickering about this anymore. Get your tattooed backside onto that plane and help us search for supplies.’

  ‘Christ...’ Teri mumbled. ‘Gimme cannibals any day!’

  Elaine smirked. ‘The amount of ink in your skin, you'd be like chewing on a pen.’

  One after the other, Eric boosted the women into the darkness then hauled himself up. In the gloom, Eric and Teri waited for Elaine to give them instructions. When she was through, the three of them peered hesitantly into the dim cabin.

  ‘Can I get my magazine, mom?’ Eric asked.

  ‘Another time, pumpkin. Right now we just need the essentials.’

  ‘But I hadn’t finished reading it,’ he muttered glumly and moved away i
nto the darkness. ‘It has to be here somewhere.’

  The magazine was long gone, thought Elaine. She had just avoided broaching the topic with her son.

  The first layer of dust had now begun settling over the bodies, the smell of decay denser than before. Nothing else had changed and so they passed quickly through. Between the cockpit and business-class, Elaine remembered seeing supply cupboards. It was as good a place as any to start.

  Eric still didn’t seem too perturbed by the devastation. He moved nonchalantly along the aisle as though the death and carnage all around was merely a performance. Until now, the only death he’d know was their pet cat, Whiskey, but that didn’t stop her wondering just how he’d cope when she suddenly wasn’t there one day.

  No longer visible in the gloom, she assumed Teri had gone in the opposite direction. Or back outside.

  Thankfully the area behind the cockpit was body-free, the small recess lined with steel lockers. Inside they found small tins of Pepsi, bottled water, bags of peanuts, sandwiches.

  The cockpit door slightly ajar, a narrow bar of light sliced into the gloom. Gingerly she reached out and pushed the door inwards, the evening sun filling the recess with quiet light.

  A crackle startled her, and she registered it for what it was: a hiss of radio static.

  ‘My God,’ she gasped, pushing her way into the tiny control room.

  Before her, two uniformed males were sprawled, pushed up onto the instruments with the brute force of the impact. With the pips had come the responsibility of several hundred people, on top of the burden of having your skull pulverised in the event of an emergency landing. Once the plane was down, all pips became null and void, and both pilots had shared the same fate.

  The third seat off to the right was vacant – the navigation officer seemed to be absent.

  ‘Mom,’ Eric asked. ‘What’s that noise?’

  ‘Just stay there, pumpkin. Mom needs to check something.’

  Probing the cockpit, she scanned the equipment for the radio receiver. She prayed for it to speak again. Then it did, the quietly distorted voice filling the cockpit – directly beneath the co-pilot.