Islanders

by Brandon Enns

  "What will you do with Trevor?"

  "He'll be disposed of like the others."

  "Ashton?"

  "Oh, of course. He's been gone a while now."

  She cringed.

  "Don't worry though. We are delicate with our executions. Well, maybe not Stefan. But the rest all went without pain. Trevor will go without pain."

  She tilted her head and wiped her wet nose with her finger. “Thank you,” she muttered.

  He inched closer. That's right. A little more.

  "It will be clearer to you soon. And you'll feel right as rain."

  Right as rain…"So what's the deal with you? You're like a servant to them then?"

  He sighed. "I'm still paying my dues in flesh, but my time will come soon enough. I'll need to be replaced."

  "How'd you get here?"

  "Pure luck." A big greasy smile took over his wrinkled face. "Backpacking. I was a writer. A journalist. A very terrible one at that.” He chuckled. “I couldn't be what everyone wanted me to be. I was a stain on my family, an outcast at my core. There's great shame in that. It brought me here, though. I was the first to find them. I set them free and they welcomed me in like family. Helped me see things the way they should be seen."

  One more step. Her hand grabbed hold of the knife and she pulled it out and attacked in one fluid motion. His eyes lit up and the knife missed his face and slashed his arm. Bruce grabbed her wrists and squeezed. She tried to push the knife towards his face, but he was too strong. He wrenched the knife from her hand as it clanked on the floor, so she threw her head into the bridge of his nose. His gun dropped to the floor.

  She ripped her hands free and got to it first. Erin backed up against the far wall, gun pointed straight at his chest. "Don't think about going for that knife," she commanded.

  "I wouldn't dare." The fear had abated and was replaced by a sly smirk again. "You know that old story. Don't bring a knife to a gun fight right?"

  Her hand was on the trigger.

  "You're not going to kill me, are you, Erin?"

  "Let's not find out."

  He touched his puffy nose and sniggered.

  "I will do this. I will," she whispered.

  He staggered slowly over to the knife, bent over, and picked it up. "I wish you had the flare for taking a human life, but sadly, you don't. You're going to be a doctor, Erin. You don't take life. You’re supposed save lives."

  "Drop the knife and face the door. Please, just do it."

  He stepped toward her, looking down at his feet as he did so.

  "Drop it."

  "No." He took another step.

  "Stop!"

  "You're where you belong. Don't you want to stay?" He took another calculated step.

  "Don't move!"

  “You’ve got it. No more moving.” He placed a finger on his left nostril and cleared out his right onto the cement floor. It left a green stain on the cement. “I’ve been around long enough to know cowardice. Don’t take it personally. It’s something that built into you; both from birth and your environment when you were of an age too young to control it. We’re often erased before we have a chance. That’ll never change. Not with the way the world is.”

  “I’m not a coward.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  “What are you then?”

  “I’m half a second away from shooting you.”

  He chuckled. “I’m afraid not. I have a speech about a lion. Care to hear it?”

  “I’m sure I’ve heard it before.”

  “Right. Well the takeaway is that you are not a lion. You are something else.”

  “The one with the gun. Yes.”

  “I wonder what you will be like…”

  “What?”

  “After we drain all the blood from your body.”

  “Dead. I’d be dead.”

  He sniggered and ran his hand through his scruffy facial hair. “You’re charming.”

  “Get up against the door and turn around.”

  Bruce's face collapsed. Any resemblance of the human condition was now gone. He jolted at her with the knife cocked back. She pulled the trigger. He fell to the floor. Keeled over against the wall, he put a hand to his bloody chest.

  Erin tried to exhale but it was more like short vibrations of her vocal cords. The shimmer of keys caught her eyes. She reached around his belly and snagged them without touching any of the blood. She stepped over his body and out the door. Standing in front of the other captive room, she slid the key in the lock and it turned. Yes, yes. Thank you, God. She pulled out the chains from the steel handle and swung open the door. Trevor looked awful, but he was alive. "Are you okay?" he asked.

  Chapter Twenty-seven - Erin

  He hugged her tightly and she hugged him back, despite everything. "I'm so sorry," he whispered.

  "Come on."

  Trevor followed Erin underground to the wine room. It had been boarded up, the wood thick and unbreakable. They were trapped with only one direction to go. Bruce's cabin. The yacht would be their escape, if they were able to find the keys, or perhaps attempt to hot-wire it. She assumed such a task would be beyond Trevor's skill set, but one step at time was the best approach moving forward.

  She led Trevor by the hand back to the green door until she felt him pull back. He had stopped. "You know now that I didn't kill Skye. And I did not sleep with her. Never even a chance in hell. There’s no magical spell on me. You see that, right?"

  His tone was final and somber. It was the truth. Erin nodded subtly, not wanting to waste time with words that would still taste bitter. "We have to go through the cabin. It's the only way out. No matter what happens to me, just get to the boat." His eyes lifted at the implication. "If we can't find the boat keys...Find a screwdriver, something that might give you a chance to turn it over."

  He grabbed hold of her hand. "I should be saying the same to you. So how about we just both get the fuck out of here, okay? Leave no man behind. What’s that from?"

  She stepped into her captivity room to find Bruce still there in a pool of blood. She stepped around his body to pick up the gun. She handed Trevor the knife, and the corner of his mouth tightened. "What? You're stronger in close. You know, hand-to-hand combat. Knife won't do me any good. Plus, I saw your shooting," she said.

  "Fair enough."

  "Okay."

  He tried to take the lead, moving past her, but she stopped him. "I've got the gun. Unless you plan on throwing that knife?" He stepped aside.

  She crawled up slowly, gun in her right hand, her left pressing against the uneven concrete step. She could feel pebbles molded in with the cement. It was cool and bumpy. As her hand reached up to the knob on the green door, the image of her bloodied hands rolled right before her eyes like a projection screen.

  She shook the image loose and twisted the knob slowly, waited, then charged through.

  Erin staggered to the side. She backed up to the kitchen, next to Bruce's beloved espresso machine.

  Stefan sat comfortably in Bruce's recliner, sipping from an apple juice box. He remained seated, seemingly enjoying her reaction. He was dead. She had witnessed it. "You're..." she stammered.

  "And yet here I am." He turned his attention to Trevor. "You look funny, cousin. Something is off with you." He wagged his finger emphatically.

  Erin was stirring, holding onto the counter for balance.

  "Don't get up!" shouted Trevor. "Stay where you are and start talking."

  "As you wish...Well, needless to say, you've all been part of something very special. A tradition actually. One that takes place only once a generation, this being my first, obviously. You've all been chosen based on what they like to call your unrighteous sins. A little too biblical and dramatic for my taste. I'd prefer utter fucking selfishness, stemming from greed, or what they would call gluttony. Moreover, they've never been able to find that soul that could be purified by their hands. They've yet to find a single soul they even desired to save…
But then you came along, Erin. You in all your shameful glory… I still think it's because you have that girl-next-door quality, but who am I to argue the merits of age-old spirits."

  He waited for Erin to reply, but her brain wasn't computing.

  Stefan proceeded in a less relaxed position, leaning forward in his chair, feet tucked in. "You've been chosen. You're special. I honestly did see it from the very beginning. Can he say the same?" He gestured at Trevor.

  Trevor snapped. "You don't know a thing about us. You're just a spoiled little rat turned cult. I don't give a shit about all this garbage. I know what you are. You think you intimidate me? You think you scare me? You are an ant at my feet, and I've been gracious enough to not step on you. So fuck you and your hocus-pocus. You can't have her. She's going home and I’m burying you with the rest of them."

  Stefan smiled, then bowed his head and closed his eyes. He lifted his head back up, cheeks flushed, his smile bridged on the left as he shook his head. "I can respect that. But you're a realist, Trevor. Which normally would suggest your prior comment to be true, but you know neither of you are going anywhere. That is the real truth that you know in your heart. Soon you will be sand and bone like the rest. We all die anyway. Consider us a cleanup crew."

  "I saw what you wanted me to see, you manipulative piece of shit."

  Stefan ignored him. "Erin, you can be with me. I think you'd learn to love me. I get better with time, or so I've been told."

  "Don't listen to him," said Trevor.

  "He's upset," said Stefan. "Erin, I think you're amazing."

  Trevor extended a hand to Erin. "Just hand me the gun." She stepped toward Stefan and the cabin shook. Trevor's mouth jutted open and he fell to the ground. Shot in the back between the shoulder blades. Her scream was nothing but a pathetic croak. Bruce’s came booming up the steps and over top of Trevor, who was trying to say something. After a panicked breath, his head smacked into the floor.

  "I killed you," Erin muttered.

  Stefan rose to his feet to join Bruce. They blocked Trevor's body, and she tried to look around them. "Get away from him!" she cried. "Get away from him!"

  "It's time for the ceremony now. We must go."

  "No! Stay back! Get away from me!"

  "You should shoot me," Bruce said. "Come on, shoot me again. I think it'd be good for you. Shoot me. Once more for the crowd! Come on, Erin! A little more gusto this time!"

  Her gun was shaking violently, feeling heavy in her hand.

  "Human instinct. Hesitation. How can you expect to survive? Shoot me." She couldn't. "Shoot me!"

  She pulled the trigger, then turned to Stefan and squeezed once more. He had a smile on his face before he was hit. Both crumpled to the ground, the cabin now filled with bodies.

  Erin gulped for air. Trevor was gone. She shook and cried, her lips inches away from his. The cabin was silent, and then they rose. Stefan, then Bruce.

  Stefan was over the moon with excitement. "That was brilliant, Erin! Are you having fun? Because I'm having fun. I can't believe you pulled the trigger on me. You are outside your mind right now, and I love it."

  "What..."

  "Fake bullets. Fake blood. I thought you had maybe figured it out back at my place when you tried to dress my wound."

  Erin's eyes lit up as she looked down at Trevor, a glimmer of hope that he was alive.

  "Oh. Yeah. Sorry. That, unfortunately, was real. He's dead."

  Her heart plummeted. "I'll kill you.”

  "You will?" Stefan moved in close and she pivoted and socked him with a hard right to the mouth. He staggered back with his hand to his bloodied lips. She stepped in and stroked him once more in the face. Her knuckles cracked and shifted in her hand.

  The burly arms of Bruce wrapped around her and pulled her to her feet as she kicked, scratched, screamed, and bit, doing anything to separate herself from him.

  Bruce was so strong. "Give her the drugs!" Bruce yelled at Stefan. Stefan reached into his pocket and pulled out a small syringe. She tried. It wasn't enough. It took mere seconds for the drugs to sink in, making her feel increasingly tired the more she tried to fight it. Urine dribbled down her legs and her heart slowed.

  Chapter Twenty-eight - Erin

  Erin was in her garden back in New York. The dark soil in her hands was moist, the air was crisp. A worm wriggled at her feet. She looked up at her old apartment building, tattered and worn, but it had enough character that she always thought of it as a person. The sun was catching the corner of her eye, blinding her, and she smiled. The warm rays and cool breeze balanced. Erin looked back down at the dirt and then to her neighbor Wei, a lovely elderly Chinese woman that would cook for her every Thursday. Sometimes they'd clock out their Monday's with a shot of baiju. The stuff would burn the hair off a girl's legs, but it was a tradition she cherished. They'd shared many laughs. Her English was spotty at best, but they were able to converse with relative ease once they'd gotten to know one another.

  She pondered what she was going to cook for herself that evening. Maybe she'd use up some of the vegetables still in her fridge. Make a stir-fry with orange teriyaki. Her stomach gurgled at the thought, but her mouth did not salivate as a horrible smell suddenly attached to her nose. It smelled like ammonia.

  ***

  Erin's head bobbed up from the scent. A tiny bag of smelling salts was raised up to her nose.

  Her mouth was dry, lips cracked, and she tasted blood. She wanted so badly to go back home, to her garden. She missed Wei. But instead, she was about to be sacrificed like some animal, apparently destined to live out her own hell on an unknown island off the coast of Belize.

  "Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey," Stefan said joyously. "Quick little power nap for our girl. Our star girl…Sorry, I gave you a little too much, had to use those nasty salts to get your motor running. We don't have a ton of time, Erin. The sun is coming up."

  She groaned. Everything ached. She spit on his shoes and he laughed uproariously. "I love it."

  Her wrists had been bound with duct tape and she was sitting upright on the couch. When she turned to her left, she cried out. Trevor was there. His chest rose and fell. He was alive.

  Bruce was in the middle of applying the salts to Trevor’s nose. He was tied up as well. "Trevor. Trevor look at me." She turned to Stefan. "He needs medical attention. Please!" Not a worry in the world registered on his arrogant face. "Trevor." His eyes finally opened as his eyes squinted and his head bobbed around, saliva dangling to the floor. "Look at me. You're gonna be okay." Back to Stefan. "Get him help!"

  "Settle down. He was sedated. Did you not hear me before? It was our fake blood you were seeing while you had your little freak-out. He was tranqued. I was just pulling your leg. Take a joke, doctor." Stefan walked to the fridge and pulled out an apple. He used the largest kitchen knife to cut it into slices, savoring each bite with the smack of his lips. "Sorry about the tape. It’s easier this way. You'll be free of it soon. Free of it all."

  A jackhammer was drilling into her head, pain sensors going off like a pinball machine. Trevor coughed and spit. He looked over at Erin, eyes terribly bloodshot. She saw the realization register in his eyes, remembering what had transpired before. Bruce ripped a strip of duct tape and put it over Trevor’s mouth before he could speak.

  Stefan had leaned in close and Trevor tried to jolt up, but Bruce slammed him back down into the couch. Stefan's words were damp on her ear. "I want you to remember this moment. What it was like to be human, to be afraid...Everything. Remember it. You'll never forget it for the rest of your unlimited days. Just because you've transcended the human form doesn't mean you shouldn't remember what you were. You should, and you will."

  Erin placed her taped hands on Trevor’s and he blinked in understanding, or so she hoped.

  Bruce sauntered over with espresso and held it to her lips. The aroma would have been delightful if she were about to wake up in her villa after a horrible dream. "Take a sip." She hated him, but took a si
p anyway, knowing it would be her last taste of coffee. Bruce stepped back but hung around to feed her more. "Here." He placed the cup perfectly in her fingers, sliding her pointer finger through the handle but away from the piping hot cup itself. "How's that?" he asked.

  "Perfect, thank you." She took another sip. Stefan was staring at her. The man of so many faces…He was talented. "Why?" she asked simply. "Absent of the bullshit that so often comes crawling out of that mouth."

  He knelt down and helped her off of the couch. Trevor rose protectively with her, but Bruce’s hands held him back. "An excellent question, Erin. For them? They're lonely," he said with a high note, very matter-of-fact. "And that harrowing tale of the rebels storming their land, which they were banished to—if you remember our history lesson from earlier—well, that was mostly true. An honorable family with such love and compassion, slaughtered for some extra land. They just took it because they could. An agreement was broken. And they haven't been able to rest since. They have great purpose now.

  Erin awaited more.

  "Could you imagine living without any purpose? What a waste of life. They're not evil. They eliminate evil. And they provide the greatest thing that exists; redemption of the human soul. Picture the perfection of it. Not just false words people like to spout off. Actual redemption you can hold in your hands. You can be free of your guilt soon, Erin. You've earned that right. They feel your hurt, your love, all of it. And they will accept you as one of their own. We will rejoice! And you and I can be together." Trevor reached for her, but Bruce pushed him back. He was trying to shout, but the tape muffled his sounds. Stefan sighed at the sight of him. "I know you don't see it now. And I don't expect you to. It's okay, really. But you will soon. And you won't even be able to describe it. I know I haven't given it any justice. How could I?"

  "We need to go." Bruce was edgy.

  Stefan sneaked in behind her and held her tightly. Her heart was racing. She used her remaining fuel and rammed her head back, clocking Stefan in the nose. "Goddammit!" he yelled. "You are fierce!" He chuckled and grimaced, dabbing at the blood under his nose.