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

by Jeremy Costello

  ‘Depends.’

  ‘On?’

  ‘On the game.’

  Headache returning, James pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘We need to bury Gibson. I’d rather not do it alone.’

  Expecting the Australian to refuse, he climbed doggedly to his feet. ‘Okay, let’s go. Then I suppose I might get some peace. Paradise my arse! Get me back to Bell’s Beach.’

  Gibson waited just beyond the tree line, detached limb akimbo. He looked dismal, even pathetic. It took only a few minutes to locate a suitable ditch to inter the man, and only a few more to lower him gently in and cover him with bracken and shale. When they were done there was no trace of the pilot, no evidence there was even a body four feet beneath them.

  Kneeling next to the burial site, Sol wheezed, ‘We done?’

  ‘You think maybe one of us should say a prayer or something?’ James suggested.

  ‘Knock yourself out, dude, if you believe in all that.’

  ‘It just seems respectful, you know. Only I don’t really know any. Do you?’

  Sol smirked. ‘Oh yeah, dozens. I know the Bible backwards.’

  ‘Point taken. A minute’s silence?’

  A noiselessness surrounded them. Sol appeared quite tranquil sitting next to Gibson’s resting place. Maybe he just liked the quiet. For more than the agreed minute the two survivors maintained their silence, their unshared reasons no doubt varying. When respects were paid and platitudes were whispered, James slipped peacefully away leaving Sol to his peculiar resolution.

  Back in the camp Anthony was prodding the fire, a dented steel tray of fish lying by his side. Abbey was talking animatedly to him, about what, James could only guess; the conversation looked remarkably one-sided. So many things seemed to be going awry. Teri’s disappearance, the smashed transmitter, the rift developing between himself and Abbey; it felt like the whole thing was coming down around them. Strange happenings were occurring within the camp, bizarre lights in the trees. It was beginning to feel like a torrent of burden was weighing down upon him, pressing doggedly against his better judgement. He glanced solemnly across the camp.

  Gradually, despair was taking over.

  45

  The terrain had become unfamiliar, though it hadn’t varied much from the ground already covered. Each new bay presented itself in different length or width. Some were harder to reach than others, some hardly bays at all, but in essence they were just more sand, more trees and water.

  Walking alongside Abbey was Anthony. He hadn’t uttered a word since agreeing to come along, not even so much as a “watch your step.” She got the impression chivalry was something Anthony avoided rather than being incapable of. He had grown up with an abused sister, an abusive father, and a birthmark buying up permanent real estate upon his face; all things most others lived without, never had to cope with. Yet the man was still standing. She figured that had to be worth something.

  Climbing down onto what she assumed to be the northernmost shore, Abbey waited as her companion jumped down after her. As his feet hit the sand he continued walking, not a word in her direction. So far there had been no sign of Teri, not a shred of evidence to suggest the tattooed girl had even been this far. Abbey began to curse her own hot head. What if James had been right? What if Teri had never strayed far from the camp and they’d found her already. Tail between her legs came to mind.

  ‘you don’t talk much do you?’ said Abbey at last. ‘Nothing wrong with that, not much of a talker myself.' Anthony just blinked. ‘But I’ll just...think aloud if you don’t mind. Helps me get my bearings.’

  He glanced at her impatiently, his eyes saying clearly, “If you must.”

  ‘You’re not the only one with a messed up childhood, you know,’ she told him. ‘I grew up in foster care, made new brothers and sisters at a late age, though I was fortunate enough to be placed with a good family. But it wasn’t until I met Edward that my life began properly. We were college sweethearts. Right from the outset I knew he was going to be the one I’d marry. Before him I’d been trying to tick the boxes of what I thought I needed in a man, but with Edward there were no boxes to tick. He was just…Edward.’

  No reaction from Anthony. Was he listening? Was he tuning her out?

  ‘I would’ve married him after our first date, you know. I’ve never told anybody that. But he always joked he wouldn’t marry me until he could afford to divorce me, the bastard. I suppose in a lot of ways, we were made for each other. I’m not exactly a picnic to live with, either. But when Edward’s dad died a couple of years ago I promised I’d always be there for him. It was like an unofficial renewal of our wedding vows. He already knew it, but I could see what it meant to him to hear the words aloud.’

  ‘Dying is easy,’ Anthony said quietly. ‘Living is the hard part.’

  Abbey stopped dead in the sand.

  Anthony paused and turned. ‘What happened to your real parents?’

  ‘What do you mean dying is easy?’

  ‘What happened to your real parents?’ he said again.

  Unable to explain why, she wanted to respond to Anthony’s insistence. Was it excitement, she wondered, sharing things with a stranger? ‘They were murdered,’ she mumbled.

  ‘Speak up,’ he said sharply.

  ‘I said they were murdered!’

  No reaction. ‘How?’

  ‘I was ten years old when it happened,’ she began solemnly. ‘Don’t remember much. My parents used to leave me alone all the time, go on holidays and business trips. One day they never came back. They later turned up in a slum in south east London with their hearts missing…’

  ‘Don’t stop.’

  ‘I was home when the killer visited our flat. He had this thing about returning the hearts he’d taken. I was hiding in the living room. He didn’t know I was there, not at first, but on his way out the door he stopped. Just stopped and looked straight at me. I wasn’t scared. A stranger was standing in my home no more than ten feet from me, pitch black, but he didn’t frighten me.’

  They began walking again.

  ‘For years I tried to rationalise it. I was ten years old, I should’ve been terrified. Finally I realised, the man before me was responsible for taking away my parents, and I was…grateful. I think maybe I knew all along, I just didn’t want to admit it. I mean, what kind of monster would that have made me, worse than my parents? But that feeling of warmth that spread through me was the feeling of freedom. I know that now. I’d been freed by this dark man, this stranger, and I couldn’t ever remember feeling happier, more liberated.’

  ‘Then what happened?’ said Anthony.

  ‘I got on with my life,’ she said simply.

  Approaching the end of the bay they fell back into their ponderous silence. Anthony made no attempt to reciprocate with tales of his own, nor did he probe Abbey’s stories further. Instead he led the way to the top of the next rocky partition, pausing at the peak. At the base of the rocks, splitting them from the sand was a large crevasse, twelve feet across and seemingly bottomless. ‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ Abbey gasped. ‘What's caused that?’

  ‘Evolution,’ Anthony replied quietly.

  Stepping down as far as she could, she peered over the edge, a sight propelling her backwards. ‘Jesus, Anthony, there’s a man down there!’

  She moved closer to the edge and poked her head over the side. Twenty feet down, sitting on a shelf or rock protruding from the face of the east wall, was the human skeleton of a man, scraps of fabric remaining to cover his modesty.

  ‘Who do you suppose he is?’ she probed.

  ‘One way to find out. I’ll lower you down to take a look.’

  Abbey stepped back from the edge. ‘You’re bloody kidding! I’m not going down there.’

  Anthony picked at his teeth with a twig and flicked it over the edge. ‘You faced your parents’ killer without fear. This is a walk in the park by comparison.’

  ‘You don’t get to pull that one, Anthony. I didn’t tell
you those things for you to use against me.’

  ‘Are you telling me you don’t want to do this?’

  ‘Don’t try and twist thi –’

  ‘Are you telling me you don’t want to do this?’ he said again.

  She hesitated. Something about the danger of it all did appeal, she couldn’t deny that, but the simplicity of circling the chasm’s edge and forgetting about it appealed immensely too.

  ‘What’s it going to be?’ he said. ‘Since that day when you were ten years old, there’s been something inside you, hasn't there? A burning need to understand that feeling you can’t turn off. I see it in your eyes. Something’s been amiss all your life and you’re dying to learn what it is. That chasm may not have the answers, but the closer you are to death, the closer you are to understanding.’

  Never in her life had anybody spoken to her like Anthony. He understood her, knew how she’d suffered inextricably behind the facade of her perfect existence.

  She stepped back from the edge and looked into Anthony’s perplexing eyes. ‘We’re going to need some rope then.’

  *

  Coiled beneath her rump, the tree vines dug into her skin as Anthony lowered her down. In the absence of rope, the sturdy vines were more than adequate to support her weight. Up top, Anthony had tied the vines off against the trunk of a palm tree, the slack coiled at his feet.

  Inch-by-inch she descended into the tapering crevasse. The lower she went the damper it became, the smell of saltwater filling her nostrils. Her feet touched down on the shelf without incident.

  Leaning against the wall of the chasm, the man had died on his back. Arm raised, he was propped against a protruding boulder, tibia bent out at an odd angle. Edging closer, she guessed he would’ve been tall, maybe six feet, with narrow shoulders and a sloping chest. Around his neck hung a medallion, stubbornly clinging to him, surviving countless tropical storms.

  Anthony was peering down.

  ‘He’s wearing a medallion,’ she revealed. ‘Same man as in James’s photo, I’m certain. I reckon we have our hut builder. Looks like his leg’s broken. If he fell down here, no way he could’ve climbed back out. He would’ve died of dehydration long before his leg healed.’

  ‘Anything else?’ Anthony called down.

  She took a step back. Above the dead man’s head was an inscription carved into the rock, etched deeply to last. She leaned closer and squinted: Jerry Benton – 1925.

  ‘Anthony, this guy’s been here for eighty…eighty-six years!’

  She looked up. No birthmark loomed over her. Anthony had slipped out of view.

  ‘Hey!’ she called. ‘I’m done down here, pull me up.’

  Nothing.

  ‘Anthony! This is not funny, get me out of here.’

  Then came the jabbing moment of despair as she watched the vine sail past her, untied and pitched into the chasm. Hurriedly she stepped out of the makeshift harness before the weight propelled her forwards.

  ‘Anthony!’ she cried.

  She hugged the wall, eyed Jerry Benton’s skeleton, and suddenly had grim thoughts of her own body found here in ninety years by some other poor fool who braved the descent.

  Jerry Benton’s lifeless skull seemed to be smiling.

  ‘Anthony!’

  *

  The light was failing and Abbey had not returned. James’s mind began wandering into patches of shadow. They should’ve been back by now.

  Fire roaring, Sebastian was preparing the fish he’d caught earlier in the spill, offering his catch to others. It was a welcome change from fruit.

  Everybody bar Sol and Teri were accounted for, and so his concern was not unjust; Abbey and Anthony had been gone too long.

  ‘Chief,’ Sebastian called. ‘You want some of this?’

  James waved in acknowledgment as he panned the coast, the moon already high in the sky. When the light failed entirely, the situation would become a whole other entity. He would no longer be able to sit on his hands.

  And then he heard his name being called, faint and indistinct. It was Abbey’s voice, he was certain.

  James!

  The second call was clearer, some of the others turning their heads.

  He narrowed his eyes to the west.

  ‘Where are you?’ he uttered to himself.

  James!

  There she was, stumbling over the rocky panhandle, Anthony draped over her.

  ‘Oli!’ yelled James. ‘Eric!’

  He sprinted towards them, covering the bay in seconds. Standing before the bedraggled duo, he paused in awe. Abbey looked disorientated, confused, her eyes harbouring bloodshot panic.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Take him!’ she cried.

  ‘Abbey, what happened?’

  ‘Just take him!’

  As James shouldered the burden of Anthony, Abbey crashed to the sand. Anthony looked barely conscious, his hair matted with dried blood.

  As Oli and Eric arrived on the scene, James said, ‘Eric, take Anthony. Carry him back to the camp and lay him down in Gibson’s tent.’

  Without question, the big man hoisted Anthony over his shoulder.

  ‘Oli,’ James said, ‘help me with Abbey.’

  She waved them away. ‘I’m not injured, just exhausted. Had him over my shoulder for more than two miles.’

  ‘What happened out there?’ Oli cried. ‘Were you attacked?’

  She closed her eyes, fell onto her back. ‘We’re in trouble,’ she gasped. ‘We need to get off this island.’

  *

  For over an hour Abbey sat with James and Elaine, the others out of earshot, and filled them in as best she could. When she brought up the discovery of Jerry Benton’s skeleton, James fished the photograph from his shorts and ran his thumb over the image.

  ‘Unbelievable,’ he murmured. ‘He’s still here.’

  ‘Been here since 1925. He carved it into the rock face.’

  James shook his head in astonishment. ‘What happened after that?’

  ‘Anthony vanished,’ she replied, her head shaking. ‘I screamed for him to pull me up but he didn’t answer. Next thing I knew, the vine was being thrown into the chasm. Whoever threw it over intended to keep me down there.’

  ‘Did you see anybody?’ said Elaine.

  ‘Nobody. It was weird.’

  ‘So how did you get out if this guy never managed it?’ said James tapping the picture.

  ‘Jerry Benton was injured, broken leg,’ she revealed. ‘The climb wasn’t so tough. If Jerry had been able-bodied he wouldn’t have died on that shelf. When I reached the top I found Anthony face down in a pool of his own blood. He can’t remember what happened, just remembers hitting the deck, a scuffle of feet around him, and then lights out.’

  Elaine appeared anxious. ‘What does this mean?’

  James eyed the picture.

  ‘Come on, guys,’ Abbey said resignedly. ‘Get your heads out of the sand. It’s obvious what’s going on here, isn't it? This island isn’t as deserted as we thought.’

  ‘Whoa, that's a bit of a jump, Abbey!’ James challenged. ‘What about Sol, what about Teri, they’re both roaming around out there.’

  ‘They didn’t do this. We know enough about Sol and Teri to rule them out.’

  ‘What do you know? You met them three days ago.’

  ‘I know enough. Sol’s a deadhead and Teri’s twenty-one years old and angry. Neither of them is insane.’

  ‘What about fresh footprints? Another camp, anything like that?’

  ‘No, nothing.’

  In the subtle orange hue, Elaine fixed Abbey with a concentrated stare. Then she shifted her gaze to James. She seemed fidgety, nervous.

  ‘Elaine, you okay?’

  Elaine shook her head and glanced warily over her shoulder.

  ‘We’re alone, Elaine. What is it?’

  ‘There’s something I have to tell you,’ she revealed quietly. ‘I think I know what happened to Teri.’

  A pause.
/>
  ‘Elaine,’ said Abbey, ‘I would really appreciate you telling me this information came to light after I left.’

  Elaine continued to scan the sand, doggedly refusing to meet Abbey’s eyes.

  ‘Great,’ Abbey uttered. ‘Fantastic.’

  ‘Look, all I had to go on was Eric’s word. I honestly didn’t think it was relevant. I’ve raised him for forty-six years and you just kind of get used to his strange stories. Most of the time they’re nothing more than adaptations of something he’s seen on TV.’

  ‘What is actually wrong with Eric, Elaine?’ James asked.

  Glancing up warily, Elaine said, ‘When I met Eric’s father, Graham, he was a good man. Strong-willed, handsome, motivated. He was involved in rugby in a big way, a local hero in our community. It had been his dream since childhood to one day play for the All Blacks, and when he turned twenty, things started happening for him. He was playing for a lower league club when he was scouted by the Wellington Hurricanes, but during his second week of training, his left knee was bent ninety degrees the wrong way. After that he was never able to play in competition again.’

  Further along the sand, Eric was laughing at something Oli had said.

  ‘Predictably Graham took to the bottle. He became abusive and brutish, but somewhere along the way I fell pregnant with Eric. I should’ve seen it coming, but by then I was so blinded and living in fear that I ran out of bargaining chips.

  ‘Eric was born a perfectly healthy child, and he remained that way until he was twelve. He loved to read, spent most of his time in the library. God knows, he was a smart kid. Graham didn’t like that, not one bit.’

  Sebastian called out a final request for fish.

  ‘What happened after that?’ said James.

  ‘Graham could see his son growing big and would one day rival, if not surpass him, in size. So he got it into his head that Eric should be playing rugby. There was a vicarious undercurrent to what was happening, I saw it a mile off, and it didn’t take long to escalate into a full-blown obsession. But Eric wasn’t sporty in the least. All he wanted to do was read. One day his father came home drunk and angry. I was out at the store, was literally gone for thirty minutes, and when I got home I found Eric battered and beaten and lying in his own blood at the foot of the stairs.’