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

by Jeremy Costello

  ‘But it wasn’t the turbulence that brought us down, was it?’ Abbey questioned. ‘My seat was near the wing. I saw the lightning hit.’

  ‘Lightning hitting an aircraft is not unusual, gal. But in most scenarios it’s harmless. Unless it hits one of the engines or the fuel tank it’ll normally just pass right through the plane’s shell. There’ll be a lot of static, everybody’s hair will stand on end, but then the charge will exit the plane through the tailfin or another extremity. In our case we were already having trouble with the starboard engine. It was no big deal, the portside would’ve easily picked up the slack. But that brings us back to your million-to-one theory.’

  Abbey exhaled. 'Should’ve put the lottery on.’

  ‘No point, gal. You’re not around to collect.’

  Pushing herself back up, she said, ‘All this is academic, though, isn't it? Because in your next sentence you’re going to tell me that you know exactly where we are, and search parties will know precisely where to look.’

  The pilot’s ashen face remained stony.

  ‘Gibson…’

  ‘We were having some technical problems with the navigation equipment,’ he revealed hollowly. ‘North Shore was directing us in…but we lost contact with them forty minutes before we went down. There was no way to tell if we were still on course.’

  The words left the pilot’s mouth with an undertone of apology, as though he was embarrassed. He struggled to meet her eyes.

  ‘Terrific,’ she murmured. ‘We’re on an island in the middle of the Indian Ocean and we might as well be on Mars.’

  ‘In a nutshell, yes.’ Gibson confirmed. ‘We could be anywhere within a three hundred mile radius.’

  34

  The further into the jungle they trekked, the denser the bush became. James had little energy for conversation so he was pleased his companions consisted of the silent girl, and Oli, who was unusually quiet.

  Protected largely from the sun, there was still no relief from the sweltering heat. With no breeze reaching them, their backs were sodden, the trek turning out to be worse than the hill. It took almost another hour of searching before they stumbled upon the clearing. Grimy, sweaty, and in need of water, they sat for a moment and passed around a tepid bottle of Evian.

  The clearing was exactly that, a clearing. A couple of hundred feet around, it quickly became apparent why the leaves appeared lighter from above.

  ‘What is this place?’ Oli muttered. ‘I’ve never seen trees like this before.’

  ‘Because they’re not trees,’ James clarified. ‘They’re plants. This is a banana grove.’

  Unexpectedly, the girl split from the pack and wandered further into the clearing, that peculiar trance-like expression hugging her face. She looked almost happy. It was the first time James had seen her smile.

  ‘So what’s the script with you and Abbey, anyway?’ Oli asked.

  ‘The script?’

  ‘Yeah, you know…you like her, right?’

  Glancing over his shoulder, James locked eyes with the student. ‘You do know she’s married, Oli? There is no script.’

  ‘Ah, bet you wish there was, though, huh? I’ve seen the way you look at her.’

  ‘Oh yeah, how’s that?’

  ‘With that like glazed look, like you’re totally blown away by her. I’ve seen it, man, you got it bad.’

  James smirked. Refusing to play the student’s game, he followed the girl into the clearing. At the far end he could see the odd structure they’d spied from the tor.

  ‘She is hot, man, I’ll give you that.’

  ‘Oli, be quiet.’

  Catching up with the girl, James held her back, the fixated expression lingering with her. She was barely breathing.

  ‘And those green eyes. I mean, wow!’

  ‘Oli, if you don’t shut up, I’m going to tie you to a tree and leave you for the birds.’

  From where he was standing he couldn’t make out what the structure was, but amazingly it looked manmade.

  ‘Think this place has got the girl spooked,' Oli observed.

  James knelt before her. ‘Sweetheart, are you okay?’

  He expected no response and wasn’t disappointed. It wasn’t until he laid a hand gently on her arm that her head whipped around as though startled from a bad dream.

  James backed away a tad. ‘What is it, sweetie? What’s got you so frightened?’

  ‘It’s this grove, man,' said Oli. 'I’m telling you. We should get her back to the camp.’

  The girl didn’t seem to want to move. Her blankness was beginning to disturb him.

  ‘Oli, keep an eye on her for a couple of minutes, will you?’

  James climbed to his feet and headed cautiously towards the structure, tentatively stepping along the patch of infertile ground. His suspicions were confirmed as he neared – the structure was manmade, some kind of hut propped up on stilts. The whole of one side had collapsed but it was still accessible, if uninhabitable. If somebody had once lived here, they were long gone now.

  ‘Hey, James,’ Oli called. ‘Want me to grab some bananas?’

  James didn’t reply. Instead he began up the three small steps and went inside. Part of the roof was still intact, but the majority had caved in. He shifted some of the fallen roofing, an escaping bird startling him. Beneath it was the remnants of habitation: a silver-plated whiskey flask, some curious-looking rags which had probably been clothes once, and right at the bottom was a black and white photograph preserved in cellophane.

  He held it up to the light. The image was of a beach somewhere. It looked like England. The men in the picture were wearing shirts and braces, the legs of their pants rolled up for paddling. Some of them wore handkerchiefs on their heads, knotted at the corners. Most of the women idled in deck chairs wearing full bathing suits and identical hairstyles, tightly curled from hours in rollers.

  The focal point for the cameraman was an open-shirted gentleman and a woman standing next to their chairs, saying cheese. Around the man’s neck, a golden medallion rested against his hairy chest. At odds with the women in her proximity, the female was a stunner.

  He flipped the picture to find an inscription that had refused to fade. In eloquent looping scripture, it read:

  Me and My Beautiful Betty.

  Blackpool Beach, 1922.

  Standing quietly in ambivalence, James placed the picture carefully into the pocket of his shorts. He didn’t know how he should be feeling. Like them, somebody had been stranded here almost ninety years ago, long enough to build a shelter substantial enough that it should endure. Several questions nibbled at him. Only one seemed pertinent. If somebody had been around to build the hut, where was the body?

  Back outside, Oli was plucking bananas from the untapped source and stuffing them unceremoniously into his rucksack. The girl hadn’t budged.

  ‘What’d you find, man?’ Oli asked through a mouthful of banana.

  ‘Nothing,’ James lied.

  ‘What do you mean nothing? Somebody built that thing.’

  ‘It’s empty now.’

  ‘Then whoever built it was rescued, right?’ Oil said hopefully.

  James knelt in front of the girl. ‘Okay, sweetheart, are you ready to head back to the beach? We can come back another day, okay?’

  Never in his life had James witnessed such unwavering fascination, if that’s what it was.

  ‘We ready to go?’ said Oli, bag bulging with bananas.

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  Bending forwards, Oli looked into the girl’s eyes, her pupils suddenly dilating, catapulting her back to the present. Startling them the girl locked eyes with Oli and screamed the scream of the damned.

  James winced, Oli reeled, birds erupted from the treetops. The unfamiliar cry of an animal returned the girl’s call with a chilling shriek of its own. Whatever it was didn’t stop until the girl did.

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ Oli cried covering his ears. ‘I know I’m no looker but come on!’
>
  Gently taking the girl’s head in his hands, James looked into her eyes. They blinked and peered back at him, confused. She appeared to be back. More importantly, she was breathing again.

  ‘I’ve got goosebumps,’ Oli declared. ‘They must’ve heard that at the beach.’

  James wrapped his arms around the girl’s slender shoulders as tears trickled down her expressionless face. In his grasp he could feel her frail body shivering.

  ‘I think we may be ready to leave, Oli,’ he uttered. ‘Get your stuff together.’

  This time as he urged the girl from her spot, she didn’t protest.

  35

  ‘I don’t think I like this,’ Abbey grumbled.

  James looked sideways at her. ‘It was your idea.’

  ‘Don’t remind me. Does it feel to anyone else like we’re in violation of one of God’s laws, or something?’

  Anthony snorted.

  ‘Something to add, Anthony?’

  ‘God’s laws…’ the scarred man mumbled. ‘You people have a warped sense of morality.’

  From further along the line, Sebastian took a brave step forwards. ‘You think there’s something morally righteous with what we’re about to do here?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Anthony flatly.

  ‘Then you’ve got some serious issues, chief.’

  Anthony made no effort to respond.

  ‘I notice the Aussie isn’t helping again,’ Sebastian observed. ‘What’s his deal?’

  ‘He graced us with his presence for a few hours this morning,’ said Abbey. ‘Thankfully he was sleeping. When he woke up, he vanished back into the jungle.’

  ‘Anyone know where he’s spending his time?’

  Nobody did.

  ‘So come on,’ James piped up, ‘who’s going first?’

  Sebastian grinned. ‘Well, you know what they say…ladies first.’

  Abbey hesitated. She supposed she was as good a person as any to make a start. Even James seemed tentative.

  Spread out before the four of them was the mass of bodies swimming against the rocky outcropping, the rancid stink of the bloated corpses polluting the air. It didn’t take an undertaker to work out what needed to be done. The bodies couldn’t be buried – no lye; the putrid odour would penetrate the surface of the sand. They couldn’t be dragged out to sea – the tide would just whip them back to shore. Only one conceivable method remained – the bodies would have to be stacked into some kind of grizzly bonfire and reduced to ash.

  Abbey waded out into the murky water, the first of the bodies billowing towards her. What she was feeling was odd, an almost indifferent emotion. Standing amongst so many unmarked graves peculiarly felt no different to standing amongst the marked ones of a graveyard.

  Gripping the corpse of a medium-sized woman beneath the arms, she dragged her from the water, the woman’s heels leaving twin tracks in the sand. Following suit, James headed out and picked a corpse of his own, pursued Abbey to the centre of the beach and laid it down.

  Soon the four of them were back and forth, gag reflex down to a minimum. They transferred four bodies in one journey, some missing limbs, others twisted in horrific and gnarled ways. Between trips they introduced wood and other flammables to the pile.

  Anthony was working hard, Sebastian too. Since starting work the birth-marked man hadn’t uttered a syllable. In turn, Sebastian hadn’t shut up, his suit jacket now off, the sleeves of his tattered shirt rolled up.

  Teri passed them by as she walked, eyes blackened from Elaine’s assault. She didn’t offer to help, didn’t speak to anyone, merely eyed each of them with contempt as she passed.

  She was ignored.

  The sun went down in quiet splendour as they worked, reminding them how long they’d been at it. As the last body went on, the daylight vanished altogether.

  Dropping onto the sand, Sebastian wiped beads of sweat from his forehead and observed their work. ‘Is it wrong that I’m happy with the results?’ he wheezed.

  Picking up a few straggling items from the sand, Anthony tossed them onto the pile.

  Around seven or eight feet high and twenty feet long, the gruesome bonfire held their solemn attention. Abbey wanted to say something of meaning, but appropriate words failed her. Instead she said, ‘How’re we going to light it?’

  ‘With one of these, presumably.’ Sebastian was holding up a lighter.

  ‘I’m not talking about the flame. The bodies are damp. We’re going to need some kind of accelerant.’

  Sebastian pocketed the lighter. ‘I don’t know if anybody’s noticed, but there don’t appear to be any gas stations around here.’

  ‘Leave the accelerant to me,’ said James. ‘I have that covered.’

  From the end of the line, Sebastian sniggered. ‘I love this guy. Everything’s so dramatic.’

  Abbey grinned and turned to look at James.

  ‘Don’t encourage him,’ James smirked.

  Gradually her smile transformed into laughter, she couldn’t help it. Sebastian’s comment had tickled her. Soon after, Sebastian and even James joined in with the gratuitous chuckling, caught up in the somehow hysterical moment. Only Anthony remained quiet. His eyes lingered unwaveringly on the gory effigy.

  ‘Something funny about death?’

  Elaine had approached stealthily along the beach, the sand aiding her silence.

  ‘We weren’t laughing at that, Elaine,’ James explained. ‘The laughter was at my expense.’

  Hardly appropriate, though, is it? Standing before the shells of so many departed souls. Do you think God would approve?’

  Anthony’s quiet sneer was lucid to all.

  ‘I say something funny, Anthony? Are you mocking God’s name? Because I can assure you, you’ll pay for it when you’re kneeling at His feet.’

  Anthony turned his back. ‘Better watch out for that then.’ The sarcasm wasn’t lost on anybody.

  ‘How dare you stand before me and ridicule my beliefs! Jesus Christ died for your sins.’

  Anthony offered a humourless smile, mouth full of crooked teeth. ‘What sin exactly, The Tree of Knowledge? I have some depressing news for you, Elaine, that story is a metaphor. Only a moron would believe it as fact.’

  ‘Blasphemer!’ she cried. ‘This is how you choose to exercise your free will, by ridiculing God's name?’

  ‘No, I exercise my free will to not believe in Him.’

  Elaine was visibly paling. ‘He didn’t give you free will for that purpose, Anthony. He gave it to you so you make good decisions in life, and strive to be a good man.’

  ‘Says who?’

  ‘Says our Lord, Jesus Christ!’

  ‘Your Lord, not mine.’

  Taking a step back, Elaine reeled in disbelief. ‘Are you not thankful for surviving the crash? Do you not believe it a miracle you’re still alive?’

  Anthony’s face visibly darkened, the moonlight bathing one side of his face in shadow. ‘A miracle? And what about these people?’ Slowly he turned to face the stack of human devastation. ‘Are you going to tell the families that their loved ones are dead because a miracle took place?’

  ‘God will welcome these souls into Heaven, Anthony.’

  ‘How convenient.’

  Tears in her eyes, Elaine uttered, ‘I shall pray for you tonight. I shall pray that God has looked upon these remarks with sympathy.’

  Anthony turned away. ‘Prayer means nothing.’

  ‘How can you say that? Prayer is the most powerful tool we have.’

  ‘Talking to thin air is not power, it’s called gullibility.’

  ‘Let me tell you something, Anthony,’ Elaine said firmly. ‘Last year I was in Daga Medo, Ethiopia, doing some volunteer work. Their colonies were dying out. Crops dehydrated to the point of decay, land infertile. It hadn’t rained in months. The starvation there was breathtaking.

  ‘One evening, three colonies came together and prayed for water, and you know what happened, it rained. The very next day. So the next ti
me you think about ridiculing prayer, why don’t you spare the people of Daga Medo a thought? Try telling them prayer isn’t powerful.’

  Anthony was stony-faced. ‘You think I’m a virgin to prayer? For years I knelt by my bed and prayed. I prayed that my father wouldn’t come through the door, whiskey on his breath, and take my sister away with him. For years he brutalized her, his only daughter. He destroyed her in every way imaginable. I prayed to God for it to stop. I prayed for anything. And when He didn’t answer, I realised the truth. I was speaking to nothing but empty space. Your God can go fuck Himself.’

  Elaine paled further. ‘Anthony,’ she murmured. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to…I didn’t…’

  Waving a hand in dismissal, Anthony walked towards the shore. Abbey went after him.

  ‘I am truly sorry, Anthony,’ she called out. ‘I…I honestly didn’t mean to…’

  Intervening, James said, ‘Okay, Elaine, leave it alone.’

  ‘But I didn’t mean –’

  ‘I know. But what’s said is said. Let him cool off.’

  Backing away, Elaine fell to the sand and buried her face in her hands. For the first time, she appeared her age, frail.

  Further along the shore they could make out Abbey talking with Anthony. The conversation wasn’t long. In under a minute she came walking back towards them, the light evening breeze teasing her hair. ‘He’s okay,’ she said rejoining the group. ‘Just wants to be left alone.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to upset him?’ Elaine assured them.

  Abbey took a seat next to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. ‘So, what next?’

  Looking to the top of the human structure, James took a deep breath. ‘I guess we light it.’

  *

  After commandeering Sebastian and disappearing for nearly forty minutes, James returned with several large water bottles stuffed into his rucksack, the South African likewise.

  After revealing that amongst the wreckage he’d spied the fuel tank, he and Sebastian had filled the empty bottles with the remaining avgas – aviation gasoline as Gibson had reliably told him it was called – and returned, prepared to douse the beach’s centrepiece.