“Dreams? Like precognitive dreams?”
“Yes. I began having a recurring dream that I have yet to interpret, and also dreams of events before they happened. Small things, big things. I dreamt of Black Monday – one of the more significant stock market crashes – a couple of months before it happened. Prior to the event, I was able to position myself financially to make a killing. That’s how I came to live here.”
“So you’re a self-made gazillionaire?”
“Yes. Well, was. An impressive portfolio doesn’t carry the weight it once did.” She laughed. “My father was a professor at Ludwig-Maximilians, a university in the heart of Munich, and my mother was a housewife. I never married. I had always known I wanted to live in this part of the world...felt drawn here. So I moved to Florida in my thirties. Not here, of course – I couldn’t afford the real estate even back then when it was much cheaper. So when I had the dream about the stock market crash, I borrowed some money to invest. Thankfully, it worked.”
She remembered the thrill and terror of borrowing two-hundred-thousand dollars at an exorbitant interest rate, then risking it all to buy high-quality stocks that had bottomed out. Her gamble paid off. With additional future savvy investments, she became one of the wealthiest women in the state.
“That’s a huge risk to take based on a dream.”
“Crazy, I know, but by then I trusted them. Knew that what I had seen would come to pass.”
“What’s your recurring dream about?”
She gave him a mysterious smile. “That I will not discuss. It is of a romantic nature.”
“Did you dream about Chicxulub?”
She hesitated, considering how to frame her response. “Yes and no. I knew something terrible was going to happen. I dreamt of it in metaphorical terms...dreams that were nebulous and confusing. It was as if my sixth sense couldn’t dial in the manner in which the end would come, but knew that it was imminent.”
“Did you tell anyone?”
“Who would I tell? What would I say?”
Tyler nodded.
“Since I couldn’t warn people, I decided to take steps to assure my own survival. That foresight is the reason you’re enjoying a fine Bordeaux this evening.”
“My palate thanks you. This is the best wine I’ve ever had, but that’s not saying much. I’m more of a Corona and lime guy.”
“As a German, I can’t begin to express my horror at the thought of drinking Mexican beer with fruit. I’d love to hear about your life, Tyler. Before. What was your family like? Was there a special lady?”
The young man’s facial responses were immediate: first abject sorrow followed by a quickly donned mask of indifference.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked such personal questions. It was inappropriate of me.”
The mask was still in place when he answered. “I just don’t want to talk about that stuff.”
“I understand. Just know that if you ever do want to talk, I’m here for you. I’m an old crab who doesn’t make that offer to many folks, so don’t take it lightly.”
“Are you two finished with your May-December belly bumping?” Kenny said, stepping around the corner of the house.
“Oh my god, dude. Don’t be so disrespectful.”
“Kenny, don’t listen to him. You can say anything you want to me. I find you refreshing. The world could use more people like you, even if you are a handful sometimes.”
“You got that right, sister,” the teenager said, squeezing his crotch.
Tyler closed his eyes in embarrassment.
Ingrid chuckled. “I’ve overstayed my welcome. I better be getting home before full dark when all the ghosts and goblins come out.”
“Thanks for the wine. Would you like me to walk you home?”
“No, I don’t need an escort, thank you.”
When she stepped through the French doors, she heard Kenny whisper, “She’s hurrying back to her geriatric Valentino.”
“Shut up, Kenny.”
She smiled, then headed home to Hector.
Later that night, she dreamt of a hurricane spinning in the Atlantic Ocean – a malignant, colossal beast of swirling salt water and dreadful, unrelenting winds. It was unquestioningly one of her precognitive dreams. When she awoke from the nightmare, her heart pounding, she had much to think about. And since sleep would elude her until daybreak anyway, she had hours to ponder what she would do.
Chapter 11 – Anonymous
Dear Diary,
Today was arduous. It is a test of my patience to be in the presence of imbeciles. Still, there are fewer idiots now than there were before. Which brings up some tantalizing questions: Why are people these days so intelligent? So attractive, their facial symmetry near-perfect? Why does no one talk about it? Do their powers of observation not mirror their beauty and intellect?
Genetics was a field of study in which I self-educated, as I have done in many areas, but nothing explains how a global plague that occurred virtually overnight could have produced survivors that are above average in these areas, and perhaps in others too. I’m only now beginning to suspect this goes deeper than I thought, but I’m not ready to speculate further on that here. There’s more thinking to do before I commit ink to your hallowed pages.
On other matters, I managed to refrain from killing anyone today. It wasn’t easy. The desire lurks always just below the surface, niggling and scratching at my thoughts. Soon I’ll give it free rein, but the longer I hold off, the better. I would prefer my nature not be discovered until I’m ready to leave on my own terms.
Until then, I’ll continue to play the benign person they all believe me to be. It’s fun, yet challenging, pretending to be something so antithetical to my true self. I’m not self-deluded though. I know I can’t last much longer.
Perhaps an animal to tide me over for a bit. It’s midnight and the moon is waxing gibbous – perfect conditions for a night hunt.
Yes, I think that’s an excellent idea.
Farewell, Diary. I shall report on my nocturnal activities tomorrow...
Chapter 12 – Rosemary
Rosemary rarely found herself in a quandary about anything. Between her honed instincts and quick mind, she could produce a solution within seconds of analyzing a problem. So the issue of what to do about Zoey vexed her. It didn’t help that the female was imprisoned in her spare bedroom. She hated the thought of her lovely little bungalow being used as a jail.
As she lay in bed listening to the sound of Lucas breathing, she pictured a flow chart of the issues. Next, using imaginary lines, she connected them to viable solutions, then below each solution more lines linking them to potential negative and positive outcomes. Most people would have to sketch all that out on paper or plug it into a spreadsheet, but she could picture it as if it were a chalkboard filled with data.
In terms of the Zoey conundrum, however, there were no good scenarios.
Rosemary did not trust her. Nor would she send her off in a kayak just to paddle back home and report in. Even though the would-be immigrant had been denied access to the Love Shack, the community garden, and the aquaponics facility, there was still plenty of information an intelligent person would have observed: the Colonists were well-fed and healthy; they were organized; they had devised a clever system to protect their island, which meant they may have assets worth protecting.
If the roles were reversed, these pieces of information alone would have been enough for Rosemary to launch an invasion. And if the situation in Tequesta were as dire as Zoey claimed, the ‘Terminators’ had nothing to lose.
She took a deep cleansing breath and began her nightly, sleep-coaxing exercises. She focused on the sporadic breeze wafting through the open window and the balmy ghost fingers fondling her skin. She noticed a shaft of moonlight illuminating the white face of the wind-up alarm clock on the bedside table: two minutes past midnight. She breathed in the scent of Lucas – man sweat and sunblock – and found it comforting. She had never been
in a long-term relationship before, and even though she had no delusions about the longevity of this one, she would enjoy it while it lasted. From two blocks away, she could hear the music of the sea – waves ebbing and flowing, pulled and pushed by the moon. The calls of night birds; the croaking of frogs; the chirps of crickets; the rustle of lizards scuttling through the shrubs outside her window.
Then, piercing the tranquility, she heard the sudden screech of an animal in agony, which ended abruptly the next moment. She wondered if one of the feral cats had just become dinner for an enterprising coyote.
The circle of life.
She had just begun to get sleepy when movement at the door sent a shot of adrenaline through her body. Her hand was already clutching a seven-inch hunting knife before her mind registered that she had removed it from its drawer.
Zoey stood in the doorway, shrouded in shadow and holding a finger to her lips. Then she lifted empty, open palms: I mean you no harm. Then the crook of another finger: Come with me.
When Rosemary rolled off the bed onto the floor, Lucas didn’t stir. Her bare feet made no sound on the ceramic tile. She pressed the knife to Zoey’s throat the next second, ushered her back out the door, and then closed it behind her with a soft thud.
Zoey whispered, “Can we talk? Just us girls? If I wanted to hurt you, I would have done it by now.”
Rosemary studied the female. The cocky smile was back. The sapphire eyes, illuminated by ambient starlight, were frank and compelling.
“Outside.”
A minute later the two women stood in the backyard. Like Tyler’s, it had been elegantly landscaped before the end of the world, and when Rosemary took ownership, she continued to maintain the gardens. She hauled waste water from the fishery for the plants during the July drought. The extra work was worth it; this place was her sanctuary. Even washed in the sepia tones of night, the foliage was enchanting...her shadow flowers.
“How did you get out of that room?” she whispered.
Zoey gave a derisive snort. “Please. Zip ties? Deadbolt locks? Hardly a challenge.”
“What do you want?”
“I want you to see that I’m on the level. I could have surveilled your operation and then headed back to report before you even knew I was gone, if that had been my goal.”
“So I’m to assume this little stunt proves you’re harmless?”
“Of course not. I’m no more harmless than you. But it does prove that my motives are not to spy on the Colony then spill my guts to the Terminators. I want to stay here, like I said before.”
“It’s that simple?”
The lopsided grin. “Is anything simple these days?”
Rosemary didn’t respond. She was plugging this new development into her mental flow chart. Zoey had just proven she could escape confinement, that she didn’t want to return to Tequesta, and that she didn’t plan to murder the leader of the Colony, nor the head of security who had injured her earlier. All this tipped the scales in her favor.
“What do you have to offer?”
The grin broadened. “I majored in meteorology in college and minored in environmental science. The end came before I finished my degree, but I learned more than any of you people know.”
“We don’t need a weather girl to tell us it’s hot in Florida in July.”
“It’s not about stating the obvious; it’s about predicting the future so we can prepare for it. I can do a hell of a lot with a Farmer’s Almanac and a barometer, and I have tons of data stored up here in my noggin.” She tapped a temple. “Resource conservation, clean energy, effective composting techniques.”
As with the hibiscus and oleander blooms, darkness had drained the vivid color from Zoey’s long hair, but its splendor pervaded the gloom. The woman was gorgeous, an asset that had doubtlessly been exploited for years.
“I can be useful here. And I can be a team player.”
“Funny. You strike me as a prima donna.”
“Just like you.”
She did see much of herself in this young woman. Unlike Zoey, though, Rosemary concealed her disdain for inferior people. It served no purpose to make others feel obtuse or slow-witted. Yet it hadn’t always been so. It had taken years to curb her impatience with average intellects. Perhaps with time, Zoey might…
“Oh my god! I thought you looked familiar. You’re that broad that scammed those old rich people out of millions several years ago. I remember seeing your photo on TV. They never caught you. You were lighter back then. Now you look less like Halle Berry and more like Angela Bassett.”
Rosemary’s worst fear had just materialized. She did not want to kill Zoey, but she could not allow the Colonists to know about her past.
“Don’t worry. I won’t tell a soul. Let me stay and I swear on my mother’s grave I won’t breathe a word about it.”
Rosemary felt the weight of the pivotal moment; felt time slow down; felt herself teetering at the crossroads of two paths: morality and self-preservation. She could dispose of this woman and be done with multiple problems at once.
Seconds ticked by as she considered her options. A hushed silence had invaded her sanctuary, as if Mother Nature herself held her breath in anticipation of a decision.
“If you cause one iota of trouble here, I will have Lucas bury you alive. And I mean that literally. Are we clear?”
A slender hand reached out, grasping Rosemary’s.
“Deal. I promise, Rose, you and I are going to get along famously.”
Perfect, white teeth gleamed in the moonlight. The young woman’s hand felt warm – almost feverish – in her own. The fine bones were delicate, but there was strength in them
“We’ll see about that,” Rosemary said.
Chapter 13 – The Love Shack
“Quiet down, please. We have a long list of topics to discuss.” Rosemary stood at the head of one of the picnic tables.
Firelight from a half-dozen tiki torches reflected off the faces of more than fifty people. The Atlantic Ocean, indigo this time of night, lay behind them. Upon its placid surface was painted a glistening snail trail, extending from the shoreline to the luminous celestial body that had created it – a mystical avenue used by otherworldly folk for traveling from earth to heaven and back again. It was an appropriate backdrop for a gathering that somehow radiated an eerie, preternatural undercurrent.
Everyone felt it. Something was different tonight. Something was off-kilter or askew. Something was either missing, or a new something, and not necessarily a good something, had been introduced into their community. Those who were tuned in to their ‘gut instincts’ or their ‘sixth senses’ felt it. Others fidgeted on the wooden benches or shifted from foot to foot on the sandy grass.
Life in the Colony had been clicking along smoothly for months. They were due for some bad news.
“I’m sure you all have heard about the intruder from yesterday morning. Zoey, please stand up.” All eyes turned to the young woman, who was not wearing her usual cocky grin. She appeared serene and compelling while doing a slow, graceful pivot so everyone could get the full measure of her beauty. Several of the men, and perhaps some of the women, fell in love at that moment.
“Zoey swam here to escape an unsavory group in Tequesta. After a thorough vetting by myself and Lucas, we have decided to accept her into the Colony, if she can garner a majority vote. She has some skills, including a knowledge of meteorology and environmental science that could benefit us. She’s also young, healthy, and strong. A show of hands, then. All in favor of her staying?”
Rosemary counted more than thirty upraised arms. The next part was superfluous.
“All in favor of her leaving?”
Ingrid and a few others raised their hands.
“Thirty-seven for staying, fifteen for leaving. Congratulations, Zoey. You’re in. Now on to other business.” Rosemary glanced down at her legal notepad. It was only for show; all the bullet points had been stored in her brain. “A feral cat was found dead on
the beach this morning.”
“Nobody brung it to me!” Charlotte said, emerging from the Love Shack. She carried a tray of cookies and began passing them out. Her comment evoked a round of laughter.
Rosemary smiled. “I don’t think cat would taste very good.”
“That’s what most folks think about possum or squirrel. Them folks would be wrong.” She finished serving the cookies and sat down in an empty seat next to Zoey. The contrast was striking.
“A dead cat isn’t the problem. We know there are predators here on the island, but it wasn’t killed by a fox or coyote. It was eviscerated and skinned with surgical precision, then left to be nibbled on by scavengers.”
A murmur went through the crowd.
“Surgical precision? How can you tell?” Hector asked from his seat next to Ingrid.
Lucas replied, “Because I’ve seen it before. I investigated a serial killer case a few years back where the suspect was a doctor. He used a scalpel to remove the skin and organs. The cat we found was just like it.”
Louder voices now.
“Are you saying we have a serial killer here?”
“Of course not.” A hint of annoyance flirted with Rosemary’s normal composure. “There could be any number of explanations. Does anyone have any information about this event? Not conjecture. I mean have you seen anything out of the ordinary, specifically in regard to animals?”
“I saw Amelia luring one of those cats into her condo,” an older man said. “And she’s our doctor, so she would have the know-how and equipment to do something like this.”
Amelia sat next to Fergus on one of the benches. She turned slowly to face the man who spoke. “I’m an animal lover, Howard. I thought I would adopt one of the wild creatures and give it a home. I don’t own any scalpels, and I don’t know how to conduct surgery. However, I’m quite skilled at setting broken bones and stitching up wounds, as I did on that nasty gash you sustained tripping over barbed wire. I believe I could manage a skinning and an evisceration if I wanted to, though. I’m contemplating it even now.”
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