by Ronan Cray
“Keep mum, Colin. Don’t tell him nothin’.” Chuck never ran out of those barbs.
“You have his ingredients somewhere? Maybe he left a little behind? “
"Colin wouldn't tell us even if he did know. Would ya? Ha ha." He stuck out his pink tongue in an offensive gesture.
Rather than take offense, Colin grinned. These two were better off dead. He turned to walk away.
"If you find a secret stash..."
"Oh, stop your bawling! I liked you better drunk!”
"A man can hope!"
Colin’s heart hardened. The number of potential victims grew by two.
The wind whistled across the island like an angry referee on the pitch. The clouds on the horizon turned a sickly green.
Colin stalked the bottom of the Wall, inspecting it. Though the Gate was the weakest and most obvious point to strike, C&C’s presence complicated that approach. Perhaps he could find another. He had an unusual knack for knowing where things would break. Years of working with leather, taught him to recognize the softest grain. Everything has a grain - leather, wood, steel, ships. Even men. He was acutely aware of his own poor grain.
Dynamite isn’t that hard to make. Sammy showed it to him that first year, explaining that his Tamil unit had picked it up off the internet from American History. Apparently, soldiers in the Civil War collected guano from bat infested caves and used it to extract saltpeter. This island had bats aplenty. A short climb up Mount Elvis reaped bagfuls of bat shit. The rest of it was basic chemistry.
They tested their concoction on the remains of the Prince Edward. It took two months to scuttle the ship of all supplies, decorations, and removable objects. What remained was an iron husk. They didn’t have the tools to take that apart, but Tuk was adamant that it disappear. At the time Colin wondered why. It made a great beacon for rescue.
Exactly.
The first test blew the ship in half. The back end, groaning in relief, slipped beneath the waves. The second charge blew out some of the reef. It took over sixty charges to decimate the ship completely, but the bats kept making more Guano.
They stored the dynamite in the same dry cave they stored the foodstuffs, tucked directly behind the Manor House. That posed the first problem in a plan with many difficulties. How would he get past Angel and Tuk, steal the dynamite, waltz it across the Flow, and set it off at the Gate right under the noses of Cliff and Chuck?
Colin put off the method of stealing the explosives to concentrate on the weakness of the Wall.
There were three weak points - the middle and each end. If he placed the blast on the sea end, he risked shearing the cliff off, leaving the wall intact. If he placed it near Mount Elvis, he might be able to take out the Manor House as well, but all that rock might divert the explosion harmlessly across the Flow. He only had one shot at it. He had to make it count.
The middle was the only option. If only he could think of a way to bribe Cliff and Chuck.
A scraping noise distracted Colin. A man stood at the top of the Wall. He fought to stay on as the wind buffeted him. He held a bucket in one hand and a trowel in the other, pouring out wet salt. The hot sun dried it like concrete, growing the height of the wall. Tuk had doubled this detail ahead of the storm. He didn't want any Creepers coming over the top.
Colin would see that they didn’t.
Colin recognized the man on the wall as one of the new 'recruits'. Mason. Colin rowed the boat that brought him to the island, but that wasn’t the first time he’d seen Mason.
In the darkness, Colin pulled his launch alongside the Princess Anne to place the charges. He cut holes in the heated plastic they used to watertight the compound. Then he slathered a glue against the stick to attach it to the painted hull. As he placed the first stick against that cold steel, he heard laughter directly above him. High overhead, a woman in red appeared. Colin froze. She pulled herself up to sit on the rail, her legs dangling over. On a ship that size, she was several stories above the water, but she still had line-of-sight with Colin if she bothered to look down. For a moment, Colin panicked. If she jumped, or fell, she would land right on top of him, maybe even right in the boat. He didn't worry about the explosives going off, but he did worry about discovery.
The woman in red teetered on the edge. Mason appeared. He held her around the waist. She said something. They kissed. The kiss lasted some time before they finally disappeared from the rail.
Colin marveled at the little scene. He gave up on ever finding a woman for himself. He could picture the horror on any woman's face as he leaned in for a kiss. The thought made him shiver. Still, he had longings, and he felt jealous of this man, kissing a stunningly beautiful woman on the dark deck of a luxury cruise.
Colin sighed with multiple levels of relief when they disappeared. He almost felt sorry for these two as he set back to his work. Likely neither of the lovers would survive the night.
Imagine his surprise when, hours later, after his creations ripped the ship to shreds, after that hulk slipped beneath the black sheet for its final slumber, after the cries of help died down to a manageable number, who should Colin pull out of the water but this man, Mason, the luckiest of men.
Ados.
Ados would help him. He made his way across the Flow to the greenhouse. Several men hauled rocks from the base of Mount Elvis to hold down the plastic sheeting and other structures. They weren’t having much luck. The wind kicked out one wall. A flat sheet cracked like thunder as it flapped free, and a long plume of thinner plastic billowed out of the room like the hair of a ghost, twisting and braiding until someone pulled it back in.
Ados, usually so calm and reserved, seemed flustered. He stood over his desk, packing odds and ends into a waterproof trunk salvaged from the lifeboats. He had far too many instruments to fit in the box. His eyes darted about in calculations of triage.
It took several minutes before Ados realized Colin was in the room.
“Yes, Colin. Ah, I’m so sorry for your loss. This must be very hard for you.” His words were correct, but the tone made them a mere formality. “What can I do for you? I’m quite busy.”
Colin held out both hands, turned them into fists, and let one fall.
“You need help? You need a partner. I see. You’ve always had Dragos. I can’t be that partner, Colin.”
Colin shook his head. He brushed his hand over his white hair and then shook his hand.
“Oh! You want someone from outside the Wall, someone from Departure Camp? Interesting. Well, we have to bring them all in anyway. No one will survive this storm outside the Wall. Who did you have in mind? No, let me choose for you. I know best.” He seemed relieved to have a puzzle to solve. It visibly calmed him. He placed a hand on his chin.
“Ah. Yes. That Mason fellow. He’d be perfect. Tuk and I were just discussing him. He’s survived this long. The only drawback is his attachment to that leech Amy. Nevertheless, I think I have the means to draw him out.
“Do this, Colin.” He took a moment to select one of the surplus books, reluctantly tore out the back page, and scribbled a few words on the blank portion with his quill pen. “Give this to Mason. What that man needs is knowledge, and he’ll work out well for you.”
Colin took the paper and ducked back into the storm. He knew where to find Mason.
Twenty minutes later, Mason stood in Ados’ study with Colin behind him. The walls shivered as the wind increased velocity. Mason panted, catching his breath after running through the wind. “I’m sorry it took so long, but C&C wouldn’t open the Gate to let me back out to Departure Camp. I had to bribe them. You don’t want to know with what.”
“You did get the sand, though?”
“Yes. I put it in this thermos and kept it covered, like you asked. It’s just sand from behind my bungalow. What’s so special about it?”
Ados only said, “Hmm” cryptically, almost condescendingly, as he accepted the thermos. Then he began, in his most pedantic voice, as if lecturing a class:
Ados unscrewed the cap as one would disarm a bomb. He poured it gently, very carefully, into a bowl made of dried salt. It seemed as if he didn’t want to lose one grain.
“This island, however, strips life to the bare minimum. Plants are limited to a few varieties of grasses and lichen. The only insect species are cockroaches, ants, and those that fly. No birds. No mammals, with the exception of bats living in crevasses high up on the mountain. The only creatures thriving here are those that don’t touch the ground.”
He dug in his box for a moment, retrieving a small leather pouch. From this, he drew a delicate glass pipette. Turning, he dipped it into an earthen jug of water. He inspected the contents, pressed out a few drops on the floor until the pipette was only half full, and then wiped all excess water off the outside surface. He held the pipette over the small bowl of sand so carefully an outsider might have assumed the pipette contained nitroglycerine.
“That should have been our first clue. It wasn’t. Our first clue was watching Mike die.”
Three drops plummeted from the pipette, darkening the sand. Immediately, three red vines sprouted from the bowl, slithering outward over the table and entwining whatever they found in a spiral grip.
Ados, keeping his distance, threw a handful of salt over the bowl. Within seconds, the vines withered, dried, and settled into a gray ash.
Mason’s eyes went wide. “What the hell was that?”
“That is the culprit. Carnivorus Vitis, or, as the men colloquially refer to them, ‘The Creepers’. There is not another plant like it in our world, though it is not unlike most carnivorous plants. They are often specific to one biosphere, usually appearing in arid environments where food is scarce. Such environments are frequently sunny deserts. Places like this one.
“What makes carnivorous plants so interesting is that they are poor competitors. Their only advantage comes when nutritional resources are too low for other species. In fact, the worse the conditions, the more adapted the plant.”
From the same leather pouch, he withdrew a magnifying glass and tweezers. He bent over the sand and dug around until he found something, plucked at it, and held it out for inspection.
“Sundews and bladderworts often die off in dry seasons. They leave behind a highly resistant pod filled with sugars and starches. The resulting turions, you may think of them as seeds, in this case almost microscopic, hold all the energy the plant needs to propel growth when ideal conditions return.”
Mason bent over the magnifying glass. “Geez. That’s small. I can barely make it out. It looks like a rolled up armadillo.”
“On this island,” Ados continued as if Mason had not spoken at all, “there is only one ideal condition – rain.”
He paused to let that sink in. It did. Like a stone. Mason’s eyes widened as he appeared to do the math, comparing the few square inches in that bowl to all the sand on the island.
“Just as the African desert blooms overnight when the rainy season starts, so, too, will this island bloom when the hurricane hits. We have survived through storms like this before, but I must add that this storm, based on my barometric and temperature readings, will be the largest we have endured since our first nights on this island.
“Further complicating matters, what makes the species so impressive is the speed at which it grows. It has adapted to adversity by increasing its growth rate exponentially, faster than any other species on earth.
“It has only one weakness. Can you tell me what that is?”
“Salt.”
“Yes. Salt interrupts its vascular tissues. The ivy has very thin cellular walls and virtually no woody matter. It does not waste energy by growing structure. Salt almost immediately destroys cellular growth. When that happens, the whole vine breaks down, decaying back into dust.
“So you see, this is why we hide behind a fortress of salt. It is the only protection we have.”
“Can I try it?” Mason asked.
Ados glared at him like an errant schoolboy. Finally he said, “If you wish.”
Mason repeated the careful preparations. He poured sand into the salt bowl, sucked up the water, and dropped them in. He stood too close. Vines leapt out at his arm. “Shit!” he said, swiping his arm away. In doing so, he flipped the bowl over. Sand spilled over the table into a puddle on the floor. Huge stems erupted, and large bulbs developed at each end.
In a flash, Ados pushed past Mason, sweeping a crescent of salt over the creatures from a bag at his waist. They whispered to dust, leaving only the partial remains of a separated bulb.
“I’m sorry. It grabbed my arm and…”
“This is what we fear.” Ados ignored him, spiking the bulb with a long plastic tube. A mucous oozed out of it, dribbling down the pipe. “You've seen the defensive mechanism of a mimosa? Its leaves close immediately when touched. It tries to disappear. Imagine, however, a plant that becomes aggressive when touched. Imagine that plant is also a carnivore, like the Venus flytrap.
“Don’t touch it. You see these cilia here? The bulb sprouts trigger hairs which provide it the ability to propel itself, much like a centipede. It opens, like a mouth, to attach to its victim. Then the digestive juices do their work. A nasty, but effective, business.”
Mason got over his initial fear, melting into anger. “Wait a minute. I brought this sand from directly beside my bungalow in Departure Camp. Are you telling me that these… things were all around us this whole time?”
“Yes. The sands are saturated with turions waiting to bloom.”
“So, for the last two weeks, I’ve been sleeping next to these murderers, and you knew this?”
Ados only shrugged. “This is why there is salt beneath your latrine.”
Mason had no response. He was clearly struggling with his emotions.
“Now you know why people disappear. Death sleeps all around us.”
“I can’t go back out there.”
“You won’t have to. We’re bringing you inside the Wall. I wanted you to understand why.”
Colin followed Mason back to his station. Mason picked up two buckets of salt with a vengeance and made for the Wall.
Colin held him back.
“I can’t wait! We need this wall higher!”
Colin didn’t know how to tell him what he needed. He wished Dragos were here to do the talking. Maybe it didn’t matter. The wind blew words away. How was he supposed to communicate?
Pictionary. He’d used it before, though he’d never used it for a complex process like this. Colin pulled a knife from his belt.
Mason backed away.
Colin held up an open palm. He swiped the blade across the Wall, leaving a long white streak. A few more dashes and he had a decent line drawing, gleaming white against the blood red salt.
“The Gate?”
Colin stabbed the wall several times, and then drew with looping movements.
“When the rain comes,” Mason shouted, “the Creepers will come.”
Colin drew small boxes against the Gate. He paused long enough for Mason to register, then drew long laterals out of them.
“You want to blow up the Gate? But why! The Creepers will get in!”
Colin nodded.
Clarity descended on Mason like a mist of Novocain. The stress of the past two weeks, the anger of ignorance, the hard work, the constant danger, all led to a moment of opportunity for Colin. Maybe now Mason would understand. “That’s the only way to end it all? Suicide? Why would I want to do that?”
Colin sighed. He applied the knife again, this time taking his time. After a moment, a ship appeared on the Wall. He wrote the words “Princess Anne”. When he saw that Mason read it, he drew sever
al smaller boats beside it. Then, with one violent motion, he split the ship in half and sent stick figures flying into the air.
“You… blew up the ship? My ship?!”
Colin had no choice but to wait for Mason to cycle through anger and denial to the acceptance phases. Mason did him the favor of remaining silent as his features worked through them.
“So… you’re saying I should help you because Tuk blew up our ship. Not just ours, but many other ships as well. I assume you’re also saying he had something to do with the deaths of the others.”
Colin nodded.
“Shit.” He held his hair and turned around. “Shit. Jesus. You blew up my ship to bring me to a desert island populated by man-eating plants. I don’t… I can’t… “ He shouted into the wind, “I’d like to wake up now!”
Colin didn’t wait for Mason to stop screaming before he started drawing again. The white cone of Mt. Elvis loomed behind the Wall. He drew Creepers crawling up the sides, and a little stick figure at the top.
“You think I’ll be safe up there, at the top of the mountain?”
Colin knew it. Elvis provided shelter before, during large rain storms. Their defenses had not always been so formidable. He spent many a night shivering on the face of the cliff, watching Creepers writhe around out of reach.
That said, he’d never been in a hurricane beyond that first week on the island. And Sammy found evidence of desiccated vines at the balloon site. Best not to mention that detail to Mason right now.
“So what are we supposed to do then?”
Colin shrugged. Survive, he thought. He drew the word “Tuk”, crossed it out, then an equal sign, then the word “Freedom”.
Mason pursed his lips and nodded. “Ok. You’re crazy, but I’m in. What do you need?”
The rain began.
A few drops blew horizontally at first then began to fall in torrents. Sheets swept over the Flow. At first, everyone ducked for cover, but Angel sent them running back out again to complete whatever task they had at hand. The plastic sheeting still needed to be pulled in from the salt ponds or it would be lost for good. Without them, they’d have no fresh water.