The closer they came to the island, the less Roberts liked their situation. The signal had returned before they'd left the ship. Now it was gone again. Red had a portable transceiver with him, and old green contraption that still operated in the frequency range of the distress signal. They hadn't managed to raise the fleet, and with visibility as bad as it was Roberts didn't want to get underway and risk running into something they couldn't see. If the electronics weren't malfunctioning, he'd risk it, but as it was, there was time to check out the island, and the signal. Didn't make it feel right.
"There it is, sir," Red called out. "They're broadcasting again, whoever it is. "The signal is strong and steady."
"See if you can get any kind of fix on it," Roberts said. "I don't want to be on this island any longer than we have to be."
A sharp outcropping of stone rose up through the waves, and the coxswains steered around it carefully. The beach was sand. Up close, they could see it was about a fifty yards from the shore to the line of palm trees. The peak of the single mountain rose through the center of the trees and disappeared in the mist above.
They pulled up into the sand and killed the engines. Both crews piled out, and they worked together to drag the whaleboats a little further up onto the beach. Lieutenant Johnson had two long lines that he dragged up the beach and wrapped around a stone protrusion, tying them off.
"Don't want to take a chance on the tide," he said.
Roberts nodded distractedly. He was staring at the tree line.
"Any chance you can give me a better idea where that signal is coming from than," he waved his arm in an arc that encompassed the island, "over there?"
Chief Casper grinned at him.
"I can do a little better," he said. "That signal was strong on the ship, and it's only good for line of sight transmissions. I'd say it's up some, maybe on the side of the mountain. If we get in closer, maybe we'll see a trail."
"Let's get started then," Roberts said. "I want to get back to the ship as quickly as possible."
They gathered packs and equipment, and headed across the beach and into the trees. On the island the mist hung high enough that they could see clearly near the ground. There was no immediate sign that the island was inhabited, but if Red was right, Roberts knew someone had to be turning that crank. He hoped whoever it was would be as happy to see company as they were anxious to find him and get back to sea.
They continued through the trees for about twenty minutes. There was minimal undergrowth. Palms rose up on all sides, leaving a fairly clear trail for them to pass. Roberts was starting to wonder just what he'd gotten himself into when one of the petty officers on the far side of Johnson called out.
"Sir, I've got something over here."They stopped and gathered around. Jutting up through the sandy soil, a rusted green ammo box lay half-buried. The young man, a boatswain's mate named Rubenstein, dug the box out with the tip of his knife, stood up, and held the box out to Roberts, who took it and studied it carefully.
"This is World War II all right," he said. These were shells for an M-1."
He stared at the relic a moment longer, then tossed it down, and turned back toward the trees. "Let's get going," he said. "And carefully – I remember those stories about Japanese soldiers still believing the war was going on. I don't want to run into the US version and get shot trying to rescue them."
They moved on, and this time it was only ten minutes before they broke out of the trees and into a cleared area. As they stepped through the trees, they stopped, fell silent, and stared.
Four tall stones stood in a row on the far side of the clearing. They rose to a little more than six feet in height, and each was a good three foot wide at the base. The stones were carved. Each bore the rough hewn features of a face with deep, coconut shaped eyes, rows of squared-off teeth, and oddly shaped hands and feet wrapped around the stone near the center and bottom.
"Jesus," Staley said. "What the hell are those?"
"I've seen something like them," Red said. "They look like those statues in the EasterIslands."
"Looks more like something from my dad's tiki bar," Lieutenant Johnson said, "only a hell of a lot bigger." He pointed at the center carving. "I'd swear I drank lemonade out of that one's little brother when I was in grade school."
The ground in the clearing was worn by the passing of many feet. Roberts walked carefully across to the statues, but he kept his distance.
"Over here, sir," Rubenstein called. He and a couple of the others had circled the clearing, and he stood now at a point about ten feet from the statues and a little behind them.
"What is it?" Roberts called.
"There's a path here, sir," Rubenstein called. "It leads toward the mountain."
"Let's go," Roberts said.
The second he turned his back on the huge stone heads, the sensation that he was being watched was overpowering. He stopped and scanned the trees behind him.
"What is it?" Staley asked. The man was clearly spooked himself, so Roberts shook his head and turned to follow the others.
"Nothing," he said. I thought I heard something."
* * *
The trail was clear and had been used recently. Surface was packed too solidly to show individual footprints, but after kneeling for a second, one of Staley's men, a swarthy-skinned Cajun kid named Caouette, stood and frowned.
"Whoever has been walking here was barefoot," he said. "I can't tell how many – the tracks are too jumbled, but I see at least five that are different sizes."
Roberts scanned the mountain side ahead. The sensation of being watched had given way to an equally irritating sensation of being followed. He glanced quickly to the side into the palm trees. Nothing moved. He shook his head.
"We'll go for another twenty minutes," he said. "If we don't find what we're looking for, we're going back. I don't know what kind of place this is, but I suspect that whoever carved those – things – we just passed isn't going to be all that happy to see us."
"What about the distress signal?" Red asked.
"That's the only reason we're going on, Chief," Roberts said. "We can't ignore it, but if they're in trouble, we may be getting our first clues what the trouble is. Could be we should have brought a larger landing party."
They moved ahead cautiously. After about ten minutes Caouette stopped and held up a hand. He raised his head, looking for all the world like a large dog catching a scent.
"There's smoke ahead," he said. "Smells like a campfire."
Roberts organized his men quickly. They moved forward in two teams, Staley, Red, and one of the two security teams moving in first, and Roberts following with the second. The trail ahead wound in toward the mountain. They could now see the smoke Caouette had smelled, rising up through the fronds overhead. The only sound was the brush of their boots on the trail.
Caouette took point, along with Rubenstein. They covered both sides of the trail, then, as they reached the corner, they approached in single file. Caouette squatted and glanced around the corner. He stiffened for just a moment, then signaled Rubenstein to follow and slipped around the corner.
Commander Staley eased up close to the corner, waiting. The others closed in behind.
"Clear," Rubenstein called.
Commander Staley rounded the corner, stopped, and stared in shock.
To the side of the trail, a small clearing had been cut into the trees. A square structure with a peaked roof stood in the center of the clearing. A chimney made of carefully piled loose stone rose at one corner. Only gravity held the stones in place. The walls were formed with tree trunks for corner posts and planks shaved from palm trunks for slats. There was a window without glass, and a solid wooden door.
The front of the clearing was cut off from the house by a white fence. In the center there was a trellis that rose in twisted, sun-bleached angles and spirals over a sidewalk formed of carefully lain flat stones. Caouette stood beside the gate, staring down but unwilling to push it open.
"Damn," Staley said.
Roberts stepped up beside him.
"What is it," The Captain asked.
"The American dream," Staley replied. "A little house and a white picket fence."
Roberts stared as his men crowded in behind him. The fence was made of carefully aligned bones.
A small wisp of smoke rose from the chimney. It escaped through the loose stones, escaping through the top only because it was the path of least resistance. A breeze riffled through the palm fronds that served as shingles. There was no sign of life.
"No recent tracks, sir," Caouette called out from the gate. "It doesn't look like anyone has been in or out in a while."
Roberts stepped up to the gate. He reached out, and then hesitated. There was something about this place that stood the short hairs on his neck at attention. Instead of opening the gate immediately, he turned to Chief Casper.
"Red, can you get through to the ship from here?"
"Yes sir, I think so," Casper said. "The signal is a little flaky, but last time I checked – about twenty minutes ago – there was no problem."
"Get McLelland on this place," Roberts said. "I want him to scour charts, hit the ship's library, and if they can get the satellite link, to try the Internet. I want to know what this place is, and fast."
"Yes sir," Casper said.
Roberts turned back to the gate. Before his brain had a chance to recalibrate and stop him, he reached out, pushed it open, and stepped in onto the walk.
"Wait here," he said.
The walk was only about ten feet in length. As he approached the front of the small shack, he saw that the door was short. He would have to duck to enter. He grabbed the doorknob and twisted. Nothing happened. He frowned and pushed lightly on the door. It swung inward. He stepped inside and glanced down at the edge of the door. The knob was a carefully carved bit of wood, and nothing more. There was no locking mechanism. The inside of the doorframe was smooth and unmarked.
Roberts stepped inside.
At first glance, the interior seemed neatly furnished. A table stood beneath the open window, a pair of carved chairs on either side. There was a cot in the corner, covered in an ancient wool blanket that he recognized as military issue. The material was so worn and threadbare it appeared that if someone touched it, it would crumble to dust.
Along one wall there was a short bookcase. Roberts stepped over, reached down, and pulled out the first volume. He flipped the cover open and stared. The inside was a solid block of wood. It had covers that opened, but no pages. No words. The leather cover felt oily to the touch, and he had a sudden vision of the fence separating him from his men, and the trees separating them from the beach and the ship.
A strange thrumming sound shivered through the air. It started low, rose, and then fell in a rhythmic, hypnotic pattern. Roberts dropped the leather-bound block on top of the bookshelf and ran to the door. Outside the sound was louder. It shivered through the ground and seemed to ripple through the palm fronds.
“What the hell is that?” he called out.
Staley and Red glanced at one another, then back at Roberts.
“No idea,” Staley said.
“Drums,” Caouette cut it. “It sounds like drums, sir.”
The sun had dropped farther down the skyline. It ran down the slopes of the mountain like streaks of orange fire, or lava. Roberts crossed over the yard and passed through the gate, paying no attention to the bone fence.
“Red, tell me you have something for me.”
“Not much sir,” Casper said, “but some. They found the island on an old chart, but not on any of the newer ones. There’s no name attributed. McClelland says he found rumors of an island in this area with an active volcano about fifty years back. Seems it was owned by a writer named Kale – Nathaniel Kale. He bought it when he inherited his father’s estate, and it promptly dropped off the maps, out of the news. He wrote several novels after moving here, and then appears to have just disappeared. When his books dried up, so did any mention of the island. Probably because of the mist, I’d say.”
“Was he military?” Roberts asked.
“Not as far as I know, why?” Red asked.
“The radio?”
Casper reddened. “Oh. Yeah. No, no mention of military service or any record that US forces have ever been here.”
“When did this Kale drop out of sight?” Roberts asked.
“Around 1959,” Red answered. “His last book was published in 1958.”
Roberts nodded. The drumming was louder, and the sun was lower. He glanced back the way they’d come. The path had grown dark. He thought about the three stone statues and frowned.
“We’ll move on,” he said. It’s late now. “We aren’t going to make it back to the ship before the tide shifts in the morning. We might as well finish what we’ve started.”
“Sir?” Rubenstein said, stepping forward.
“Yes,” Roberts said, turning to stare at the man.
“It’s Kale, sir,” Rubenstein said. “Nathaniel Kale. I’ve read some of his work – his books are – odd.”
“I doubt we’re going to meet the late author here,” Roberts said.
“It’s not that, sir,” Rubenstein said. “It’s this place – this house. The fence appeared in his third novel – made of the bones of thirty-seven men. I just wondered, sir…were there books inside?”
Roberts stared at Rubenstein, trying to decide how to answer.
“Not exactly,” he said. “Nothing in this place is what it seems – exactly. The book I pulled off the shelf had leather bound covers. There were symbols that resembled letters on the spine and the cover. There were no pages. It was a block of wood.”
Rubenstein’s face went pale.
“What?” Roberts asked.
“I’m not sure, sir. It’s been a long time since I read that book.”
“Let’s get moving,” Staley suggested. “We aren’t going to find any answers here.”
“Okay,” Roberts agreed. “Caouette, Rubenstein, take point. We’re going up the mountain.”
Caouette moved into position. Rubenstein followed more slowly. His brow was furrowed, and he appeared to be lost in thought.
“Hey Ruby,” Staley called out.
Rubenstein turned.
“Whatever you’re thinking about, get it out of your head. You better wake up, or I’ll relieve you. You understand?”
Rubenstein nodded, and then plunged ahead after Caouette. The others regrouped and followed them into the growing gloom.
* * *
As the sun dropped lower on the horizon, the shadows continued to deepen. They wound their way up the trail toward the mountain. They stayed close, not wanting anyone to get lost in the gloom. They had lights, but Roberts wasn’t ready to waste batteries until the daylight was lost.
Caouette and Rubenstein forged ahead, moving more quickly than the others. As they rounded the final curve in the path where it curled up the mountain, they stopped.
“There’s a branch to the right,” Caouette said.
Rubenstein glanced back the way they’d come. “Which way do you think we should go?” he asked.
“We could split up,” Caouette said, “but I think we’d better let the skipper make the call. Go back and tell them what we’ve found, I’ll watch here.”
Rubenstein, quietly glad they were not splitting up, nodded. He turned and disappeared back down the path.
A few moments after he’d gone, a strange glow filtered between the trees down the trail to the right. Caouette glanced back. The others weren’t far behind, but he thought he had time. Moving with the quiet stealth he’d learned fishing and hunting in the Louisiana bayous as a boy, he crouched down and started down the right hand path.
The trees opened up again almost immediately. Ahead, he saw the flames of torches. They stood in parallel lines, stretching off along the side of the mountain. There was no sign of any movement, but he knew the torches had not lit themselves.
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As he crept closer, large shadowed shapes broke free of the darker gloom. What appeared to be a tall, thin house rose to the right of the line of torches. Between the flickering, dancing flames, a rounded object rested on the ground. Caouette wanted to move closer, but in the distance, he heard a branch snap, and the low hum of voices, and he knew the others had reached the crossroad. Backing away from whatever it was he’d just witnessed, he slipped slowly back through the darkness.
***
“I left him right here, sir,” Rubenstein said.
“Over here, sir,” Caouette called out.
He waited until they’d turned before stepping from the shadows. “I know I should have waited, but…sir? You aren’t going to believe what I found down this path.”
Roberts stared down the trail. He saw the flickering light of the torches, growing brighter as the sky darkened. He turned and stared up the other trail toward the mountain. There was a soft glow from that direction as well.
“You said that signal came from up there, Red?”
Chief Casper nodded.
“What’s down this other way?” Roberts asked, turning back to Caouette. “What did you see?”
“I don’t know for sure, sir,” he said. He described the lights, the tall building, and the rest as quickly and accurately as he could. “I didn’t get in too close, but there’s definitely something strange down that way.”
Rubenstein stood, staring off down the path Caouette had taken.
“What is it, Ruby?” Staley asked.
“I’m not sure, sir,” Rubenstein said. “I’m remembering something about that author. He had a private airstrip, if memory serves. There was an article in Rolling Stone about it, how he bought up crates of military surplus – nothing dangerous, just oddities. He had them flown in to the island.”
“It did look like a runway sir,” Caouette said, “sort of. But – with torches? Who uses torches to light a strip? In this fog they might as well have tried birthday cake candles.”
A Taste of Blood and Roses Page 14