by Ronan Cray
Uncomfortable, Emily welcomed a distraction, even Carter, when he spoke up across the fire. “I heard a psychological question involving survivors once. It went, ‘What is the one thing you would want after being stranded on a desert island?’ Never thought I’d get to test it with first-hand experience. Anyone care to answer?”
“A cigarette.” Eddie lit a reed of grass in the fire and then put it to his lips.
“Chocolate,” someone answered.
“Ice Water.”
Despite Carter initiating the conversation, Emily decided to join in. “A shower.” Everyone agreed. Hygiene had become an issue.
“Bacon,” Amy said. Mason laughed. “Really! Bacon.”
“A glass of Scotch,” Mason added.
Carter watched carefully, as if noting every answer for future use. “Interesting. You see, this theory proved that whatever you wish you had is also the first thing you want after sex.”
“Carter!” All the nervous laughter proved the theory. Emily found it disgusting.
Mason said, “When I get home, I’m going to have all of the above. And then some.”
Amy mocked surprise, “What, you’re not going to ‘grapple with the idea of staying on the island’?” She did a pretty good impersonation of Tuk. They all laughed.
“Hell, no.”
Carter asked seriously, “How will you leave?”
Mason stretched out both arms toward the light of the fire. Then, in his own dramatic version of Tuk, “’With these two hands’.”
Emily didn’t like how they’d brought Tuk to the fire, even mockingly. She’d gotten on his bad side. She just didn’t know how. Either way, it was the wrong side to be on. She tried to change the subject. “I can’t believe it’s only been a few nights since we were in the water.”
Mason followed it. “I thought I was a goner. I was too drunk to swim. I held on to some floating junk as long as I could. I had just about decided to let go when I heard a whistle.”
“Like this?” Amy pulled out a small silver whistle and blew a shrill note. “That was me!”
Mason stared at her with dawning appreciation. “Amy, you saved my life. I heard that whistle and thought, ‘Hang on just a few minutes more.’ Then someone pulled me out of the water. Thank you,” he said, and took her hand. She smiled back at him.
Someone shouted “Get a room!” and the conversation drifted on.
Mason must have thought that was a good idea. Emily heard him whisper to Amy, “Do you really eat bacon after sex?”
“Why don’t you find out?”
A few moments later, they were gone, leaving Emily cold and alone.
Emily woke with a start. She suffered from insomnia late into the night. Frustration dreams haunted her. She felt her head. Did she have a fever?
Outside, dawn bruised the horizon. Grey light crept through the cracks in the wall, over the sand, and past a resting cockroach. Visions of dead passengers, stolen vessels, Tuk with the head of a fish, swept over her every time she closed her eyes. She knew she’d need her energy to survive even the next day, but she couldn’t sleep at all.
Footsteps sounded on the path outside. At this hour? Fear pushed her up and out the door. She ducked into Lauren’s empty room but immediately regretted it. There they were, those ugly words, RIN DWA, staring at her.
It had been the right decision. The footsteps stopped in front of her hut and went in. It took the space of one breath before the person came back out again. She could see his feet through the crack in the door. They were big feet.
They turned toward her. The door ripped open. She scrambled back. A face as ugly as any nightmare peered in, followed by a hand that reached for her neck.
Emily crushed herself against the back wall. It broke, sending her sprawling across the sand as the hut collapsed. Whoever the ugly one was, the roof slowed him down.
In an instant, she was convinced the other six had disappeared the same way. Her mind told her legs to run, and they obeyed.
Emily stumbled across the landscape for an hour. She had no direction, no intention, she just needed to get away from camp, to think, to be alone. She had to get off the island.
She fantasized that she would find a hidden cove where some abandoned life raft lay drifting, long forgotten, filled with supplies of water and canned food. Still seaworthy, she would push it out to sea and sail away from here. That fantasy kept her going when panic and pure adrenaline left.
Rational thought began to seep in. She didn’t have any supplies with her. No water, no food. She had no idea where she was going. She was thirsty. Her muscles burned.
She gravitated toward the back side of Mount Elvis. The sand gave way to a steep, rocky hillside. She paused to catch her breath. By now they must realize she was missing. She hadn’t shown up for her work detail. Would they send someone after her?
Of course not. Emily hadn’t searched for Lauren. Karma is a bitch.
Emily hadn’t run ten feet in the past ten years. She never guessed she’d be running for her life. Where did she expect to go? She could hear her husband’s voice in her head. Emily, Emily, Little Emily. You never think ahead. He had always taken care of her. Where was he now?
Howie’s shoes flapped loosely around her tiny feet. She couldn’t climb over rocks without sliding around. Every step had to be deliberate, cautious, slow. She knew this gave them time to catch up. She had to think: where would she go?
She stopped at a rocky outcropping and stared across the ocean. Somewhere out there people still lived ordinary lives. Three days on the island felt like three months. How could anything be the same anywhere else?
In the distance, silhouetted against a white cloud, a mottled purple mound rose above the water. She caught her breath and stared. The mound didn’t move. It wasn’t a ship. It was an island. She had to tell the others.
Rocks clattered behind her. She swiveled to look south. A white spot bounced up and down, first behind this boulder, then behind the next, growing closer.
She scrambled down from her perch. She couldn’t run back the direction she came in the sand. She could only pick her way across the terrain in front of her. How she longed to run! Fear gripped her in a panic. Every inch seemed hard-won. The rocks only grew bigger, the hillside steeper. Whatever sand she found, she dashed through until the next igneous roadblock.
She tried handholds on the boulder in front of her. The stone looked like air entrained chocolate. Each bubble edge was sharp as a razor blade. Her hands bled. She fell so many times she’d lost count. Sand stuck to the blood on her knees, caked by the sun. Her elbows were skinned. It was like trying to climb a cheese grater. I wish I’d brought some Neosporin.
She fell into a sandy pit caught between several boulders. She sprinted across the open sand and leapt up the rock opposite. She wasn’t fast enough. Halfway up the rock, she saw someone enter the sand pit behind her. She stopped climbing, froze, closed her eyes like a little girl. A tear forced its way out.
“Hey.” It was the voice of the meanest looking man on the island. She had seen him making his rounds twice a day at the work details. Ados called him “Angel” but wouldn’t elaborate on his role.
A bag of water sloshed on his back, beckoning like solid gold scales on a serpent. “Emily? Emily, I brought some water for you. Why don’t you climb down and have some, and then we’ll head back.”
“No.”
“Come on, Emily. Where are you going to go? We need each other on this island. We need you to catch fish. You’re such a good… fish catcher.” His sarcasm betrayed him.
“I can’t. I can’t live here.”
He stalked her, like a hunter approaching a baby deer. “Emily, baby, we all have trouble here. It isn’t easy. We have to trust one another to survive.”
“What about the other one?” She saw the island in the distance. Maybe it was more hospitable.
Angel’s face flickered with surprise, but he hid it quickly. “The other island? Sure, there’s anoth
er island. It’s no better than this one. Want me to tell you about it?”
He used her interest to edge closer.
“I’ve been to that island. It was Tuk’s idea, a couple of years ago. Tuk wanted to see if there were any resources we could use. You know, washed up on the beach like it does here.
“There were eight of us on that trip. We landed on the beach, found a veritable treasure trove of debris, and started collecting. That night we built a big fire, got roaring drunk on Dragos’ home brew, and passed out. In the morning, half of us were missing.
“After a short search of the island, we found them. They were being cooked alive. The natives had a big lunch planned, and we were invited. We barely escaped. Haven’t been back since.
“Come on down. You have to be strong, for the others. You’ll be back in Minnesota before you know it!”
Her hand slipped and she fell to the sand. She didn’t know what to do. She had no plan at all. She had no strength to follow one.
Angel lurched over, plucked her off the sand, and cradled her like a baby rabbit. He reeked of sweat and some kind of fish oil. She revolted at the touch of his bare arms and chest. His sweat left long swathes of dampness on her t-shirt.
All strength left her. She wanted to be carried, even if it meant enduring this monster.
“When we get back, we’ll get you washed up and have you for dinner.”
“What?!” Emily tried to struggle upright, but Angel’s arms crushed her in a fetal position. He gripped the back of her throat with one hand and squeezed. She thrashed as frantically as she could.
With one palm out, like an australopithecine surgeon, he selected a mid-size boulder from the sand. “Nice bunny,” he said to Emily.
He hesitated with the rock, thinking. “You’re pretty light already, but you’ll be lighter if I gut and skin you here. I’m afraid if I wait you’ll taste gamey.”
Emily twisted her head and sank her teeth into his right teat. His hand released her and went to his breast. She fell hard on the sand and backpedaled away.
Her hand brushed against a rock. She picked it up, swiveled, hurling it like a discus directly at Angel’s head. The rock hit him in front of the left ear with a thick crunching noise. A second crunch sounded out, like an echo, when his body pitched backward and smacked head-first into a pointed, black stone on the ground.
She didn’t actually expect the rock to connect. She felt a moment of triumph.
He lay still for a moment, then dragged himself to his feet. His fingers tenderly brushed the gash near his ear. “It’s just a scratch. For a moment there, I thought my modeling days were over.”
A splashing sound caught their attention. He looked down. Rivulets of water trickled down his black legs. The water pack had broken.
Angel stared at the wet sand, his eyes wide. “No!” He lifted his brawny arms over his head, trying to get at the bag on his back. Water splashed all around him. The sand beneath him had already started to move.
Emily managed to scramble to the base of a boulder and started climbing again.
The sand erupted in rusted ivy. Tendrils warped out in every direction.
Angel wrenched the bag from his back and tossed it toward Emily. Water gushed across the sand below her boulder. Ivy erupted from the spot as he ran back the way he’d come. “Ina ng Diyos!” He shouted, pumping his legs as fast as possible.
“Wait!” Emily screamed, in spite of herself. She saw the naked fear in Angel’s eyes. Nothing scared that man. The thing that could, she didn’t want to see.
A sound washed up behind her, raspy, like the wind in high grass. She wouldn’t look back. Ahead of her a rockslide evened out the terrain, black rocks shiny in the hot sun. Each step tripped her. Every rock burned. The slithering came closer, and now she heard popping noises.
She pinched her foot in a crevice and fell, splitting her knee open on a twisted, pockmarked stone. Her head burst into flashes of white. It hurt with self-absorbed, all encompassing pain. She wouldn’t be walking again. Holding her knee in both hands, she turned to see the noise. She wished she hadn’t.
Red ivy crested the rock. It wavered in the wind, alive, searching. Pink pods ballooned at the tips of each vine, drooping like obscene breasts over the edge. These pods popped off, rolling around while thousands of tiny hairs sprouted from their sides. The hairs propelled the pods, skittering across the rocks toward her. With a rending sound, they split in half, opening jointed jaws. Soft tubers wriggled where teeth should be.
She wanted to scream. Wanted to but couldn’t. Her mouth opened; nothing came out.
Eyes wide open, gasping for breath, she kicked backward with one good leg. Her brain simply couldn’t process what was happening. Venus fly traps, watermelons with teeth, were about to devour her.
She felt the first one clamp onto her leg. It made sucking noises as some form of saliva poured across her skin. Everything the saliva soaked immediately dissolved.
Now she could scream.
Pod after pod latched on to her, covering her like tumbleweed. Each of them found purchase, some pound of flesh on which to feed. She felt that flesh melt off her legs, her arms, her chest. One clamped itself to the side of her face. It smelled like aloe vera, and tasted like it, too, as the digestive juices seeped into her mouth. The screaming stopped when her throat melted.
Something bit into her spine. She lost all sensation. She could no longer struggle. She stared out at the blue sky with her one good eye and wondered, idly, if those teeth were clean.
MAPS
Detail of “Untitled Map”. 30cm x 45cm. Charcoal and tempera on dried leather.
Found floating off the coast of the Cape Verde Islands in a watertight plastic chest with various scientific books. No correlation to known islands or habitations. Markings indicate artist as “Ados”.
This previously undiscovered volcanic island north of Cape Verde appears to have landforms matching the map. Note appearance of man-made structure in highlighted area. Unconfirmed.
BOOK TWO
THE PRINCE EDWARD
CHAPTER FIVE
The hurricane that stalked the cruise ship Prince Edward began where all hurricanes do – in the dry Sahara. A hot wind blew off the desert seeking freedom over the limitless ocean. It picked up speed and moisture as it traveled hundreds of miles across warm, humid ocean air. Its ambitions didn’t include reaching the coast of South America, as most do, to ravage little island nations. Not this storm. This storm wanted the Prince Edward. Halfway out to sea, it turned Northward, heading for the shipping lanes like Felix in ‘95, and, like Felix, it was shaping up to be a Category 4. A general warning went out to all ships in its path, but only one really needed to know.
First Officer Dragos tapped the screen. “Weather warning, sir.”
Captain Tucker Speyside closed the small notebook filled with receipts that distracted him from his duties. “What’s that?”
“A hurricane headed our way.” Dragos punched up a map. A green line plotted their course from Fort Lauderdale to Venice. To the southeast, a red light burned. “It blew off Cape Verde but bent northward. It will cross our path… here.” He pointed somewhere ahead of them.
Tucker inspected the map. The storm approached from the Southeast, gathering speed. If they kept on their current course, they would almost certainly meet it. He could steer North, but he had no taste for the cold.
Perfect. He couldn’t have asked for a better opportunity.
“Take us Southeast.”
“But, the storm approach us from the Southeast. Sir?” Dragos’ strong Romanian accent trembled in confusion.
“We’ll turn southeast and run below it. Once it passes, we’ll head back north.”
Mike, Staff Captain, Tucker’s best friend onboard, and the only one with the authority to question orders, had to put in his two cents. “Tucker. Come on. There’s a good chance it’ll peter out before it even reaches the shipping lanes. If we stay on course, it’ll blow right by us.
”
“You want to risk running through a hurricane? Just because this is our last trip across the pond doesn’t mean we can take risks.” He was cross, and he let it show. Damn nerves.
Mike pursed his lips, but Dragos answered, “Dragos will need your override, Sir.” Tucker growled and punched in the coordinates.
An alarm blared. Tucker fumbled for the button to turn it off. His ears rang in the silence. “Goddamn that scared the crap out of me.”
Colin MacInness, Able Seaman, appeared on the bridge as if out of thin air. “What was that?”
“Colin, get off my bridge.” Tucker knew it was him without even turning around. A ginger headed Scottish boy who looked five years younger than he was, Colin always had too much excitement for Tucker’s taste, moved too quickly.
Mike was kinder. “That was an alarm. It sounds automatically when the ship is off course.”
Colin, wide eyed, backed out the door. “I never heard it before.”
“I guess you’ve never been off course before.”
Tucker marveled at his luck. For two days he’d been dreaming up ways to trick the crew into turning south. Now the beast set it’s prow toward Africa, and the crew had a reason to believe. If he could just keep up the charade for another twelve hours, it would be too late for the crew to do anything.
“Years later, her mother still hasn’t forgiven me.” Mike relaxed on the bridge, feet up on the steering console, hat over his eyes. “As if I deliberately set the dog on fire. She’s a ball buster, that woman! Like mother like daughter. What are you gonna do? Two kids, a mortgage, and a little Nutcracker in the kitchen. That’s the sum of my life. Before I left, she had the balls to ask me, ‘Why do you spend so much time at sea?’ Why? So I don’t put a rope around my neck, that’s why.” He let out a long, dramatic sigh, shaking his head. “I dread retirement. I really do. I think I’d rather be stranded on a desert island.”