Boy X

by Dan Smith

  Isabel was already sick. And she was getting worse by the hour.

  ‘We need a fire.’ Isabel turned away and Ash followed her gaze, seeing that the pool was now shrouded in a grainy light. There was a faint mist seeping in from among the trees on the other side, washing around the shore. The sun was dropping quickly and it felt as if the forest was closing in around them.

  As he watched, a chilling growl sounded through the jungle. It began as a low grumbling and grew louder until it was the sound of hell itself. It echoed from the rocks and spun around the pool, searing right through him.

  ‘Howler monkeys,’ Isabel said. ‘The loudest sound in the jungle.’

  ‘It’s horrible.’ The eerie noise pulsed in and out, as if some terrifying beast was crying out in pain. It was joined by other similar voices, all of them growling like devils until the air was thick with the sound and it was impossible even for Ash to distinguish one from another.

  ‘We should go inside,’ Isabel said. ‘There is dry wood and we can light a fire.’

  ‘Good plan.’ Suddenly, the idea of bats wasn’t so bad. Ash cast his eyes around the trees and thought about Cain and Pierce out there somewhere. Thorn too. Isabel had said Thorn wouldn’t be able to cross the river and follow them, but there was something inhuman about him. He had found Ash and Isabel in the darkness of the BioSphere, he had escaped the storeroom without any light, and he had followed them through the jungle even though they had left no trace.

  ‘D’you know what time it is?’

  ‘About six.’ Isabel turned to him as if she knew what he was thinking. ‘The sun will rise at about six, also.’

  ‘That’s twelve hours,’ Ash said. ‘We can’t stay here that long.’

  ‘We’ll rest for a while and get dry.’ Isabel put her hand on his shoulder. ‘Please. We’ll see what kind of moon it is. Maybe there will be enough light to travel at night. Maybe . . . maybe the animals will leave us alone because you are here, but we should rest a while at least.’ She wasted no more time, using the last of the light to pick fruit from the trees that grew clustered around the concrete building.

  ‘Why are there so many fruit trees here?’ Ash asked. ‘It’s like someone planted them.’

  ‘Not planted,’ Isabel said. ‘They grow here because people threw the seeds on the ground.’ She reached up to tug a large yellow fruit from a tree with spreading fronds like a short palm. ‘They were here a long time ago – seventy years, Papa said.’

  ‘But why? What is this place?’

  ‘It was a place for soldiers,’ she said. ‘We are close to Panama, where the canal is, so it was important in the war. And Isla Negra has many unusual plants and animals, so maybe they did experiments here.’

  Out by the pool, a long creaking sound joined that of the howler monkeys.

  ‘Frog,’ Isabel said. ‘Nothing to be afraid of.’ As if in reply, the sound repeated, followed by another answering from further away.

  ‘What about the monkeys?’ Ash asked. ‘Will they come here?’

  ‘Maybe.’ She shrugged. ‘But they have never been dangerous.’

  15 hrs and 57 mins until Shut-Down

  The old war bunker was littered with rubble and the walls were crawling with moss.

  ‘Be careful where you stand,’ Isabel said.

  Close to the door there was a large, tattered opening where the floor had collapsed into the darkness below. Metal reinforcement bars protruded from the edges like a witch’s clawing fingers. Chunks of concrete clung to them in places. There was a similar hole in the ceiling, which would have let in light during the day.

  They skirted round the hole and went deeper into the room. When they were a safe distance from it, Isabel put down the fruit and sank to the floor.

  ‘How do you feel?’ Ash didn’t really need to ask, and he didn’t need to use his heightened senses to know that she was exhausted. For the first time since she had mentioned it by the river, Ash was beginning to consider that he might have to continue alone.

  ‘We need to make a fire,’ she said. ‘But I don’t think I can get my hands to work. I’m cold. Is it cold in here?’

  ‘Yeah. It’s cold.’ Ash couldn’t feel it, though. He hadn’t been hot in the jungle and he wasn’t cold now. ‘You want me to try getting a fire going? You got matches or something?’

  Isabel frowned. ‘I had waterproof matches in my pack.’

  ‘Oh.’ Ash pictured all their gear being washed away down the river. ‘Nothing else?’

  ‘There is a fire steel on the sheath of your knife. You know how to use it?’

  ‘I think so.’ Dad had showed him a few different ways to make a fire without matches, so Ash pulled his knife from its sheath, grabbed a thin, dry stick from the woodpile and began whittling. He stopped every now and then to scoop the shavings together, and when there were enough he arranged a wigwam of sticks around it.

  After that, he took out the fire steel and scraped the back of his knife along it. His first attempt was useless, so he repeated the action until he was showering the tinder with sparks. The ends of some pieces began to glow and small tendrils of smoke rose from them.

  ‘That’s it.’ He cupped his hands around the wigwam, blowing gently until the flames grew, then sat back and fed the fire with more wood.

  The orange, flickering light revealed a room about half the size of a school gym. In the far corner, a rotten table with only three legs was pushed up against the wall, leaning at an awkward angle. Underneath it was a pile of empty, rusted tins, a ragged mound of papers, a beaten-up typewriter and a rotten boot with the sole peeling away from the leather. There was a dirty tarpaulin there too, twisted and wrinkled like a decayed corpse. On the adjacent wall stood a wonky row of corroded filing cabinets, while one or two others lay on their sides like dead monsters. Thrown on top of them was a cage much like the kind a dog owner might have for their pet.

  The walls were just bare concrete, but the one to the left of the entrance was painted with a faded black eagle with its wings spread wide.

  Ash studied the eagle, with the growing sensation that he had seen it before. This exact one. Right here, on this wall.

  You’ve been here before, said the voice. But that’s our little secret.

  No, that wasn’t possible. He must have seen it in a picture. Maybe in a book. He went over to the table and touched the toe of his boot to the papers, trying to spark a memory.

  ‘Papa said we have to leave everything as we find it. There might be something important here about the island.’

  ‘What’s through there?’ Ash pointed to the door opposite the entrance.

  ‘Other rooms. And some stairs going below. Papa said not to go. It’s too dangerous.’

  Ash nodded, but he wanted to know what was down there. He had such a strong sensation that he’d been here before, and he wanted to prove himself wrong. He went over to the fire to pull out a burning stick and then crept towards the edge of the hole.

  ‘Be careful.’ Isabel didn’t need to tell him, though. As soon as he saw that gaping, bottomless pit, Ash had to stop himself from thinking about falling in. His stomach lurched the same way it had done when the rope snapped on the river crossing.

  Dust cascaded from the broken edges as he inched closer; there was a soft sound down there, the shuffle of leathery wings. The light from the burning stick wasn’t strong enough to reach the bottom, but daring to peer closer, Ash could see the light reflected in something below.

  ‘There’s water down there.’ He let go of the burning stick and watched it fall for a couple of seconds before it hit a pile of rubble on the floor about seven metres below. It erupted in an explosion of sparks, causing a flurry of clicking and chattering that made him step back in alarm. When the sound died down and he risked another look, the stick had settled into a slowly fading burn and he could see that the room beneath was more or less the same size as the one they were in. Black, stinking water shimmered from wall to wall like an oil slick, and
there was an island of rubble in the centre, where the floor above had caved in. Four or five rusted barrels lay part-submerged, and one wall was stacked high with cages. Others were lying in the rancid water. Ash could also make out a large table and a couple of benches, various bottles and jars, and more papers.

  ‘Wouldn’t want to fall down there,’ he said. ‘What is all that stuff?’

  ‘Papa thinks it was used for experiments a long time ago. He said some of the papers look like research, but he didn’t know what. The cages must have been for animals. Better to keep away, I think.’ Warmed by the flames, Isabel was starting to sound better. She removed her boots and socks and placed them near the fire to dry, then lifted her T-shirt away from her body, wafting it in the heat. ‘You did a good job with the fire,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry I—’

  ‘Forget it.’ Ash came back and sat beside her. He untied his laces and removed his boots. ‘It’s weird. I feel like I’ve seen this place before. It’s like déjà vu. Do you know that word?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Maybe you have seen a photo.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe.’

  Isabel watched him across the fire, eyes sparkling. ‘You hungry?’

  ‘Starving.’

  ‘We could catch some frogs and insects. Cook them on the fire. Very tasty.’

  ‘Maybe I’m not that hungry, after all.’

  Isabel snorted. ‘Or we have these.’ She picked up one of the large yellow fruits and cut it in half lengthways. She did the same thing again, separating it into four long pieces, then scraped away the black seeds before passing one to Ash. ‘Papaya,’ she said, taking a large bite. ‘Much better than frog.’

  Ash sniffed the fruit, thinking it smelt like the Best Thing Ever, then nibbled the edge. The flavour exploded in his mouth like fireworks. Mum was always telling him to eat more fruit, that it was good for him, but if he had known it could taste like this he would have eaten much more of it. His fingers were sticky and the juice ran from the corners of his mouth as he wolfed down the soft, delicious flesh and put the rind to one side.

  Isabel grinned and passed him another. ‘Good, hmm? But we can go look for frogs if you don’t like it.’

  Ash shook his head and bit into his second piece. ‘No way.’ He began to settle for the first time since waking up in the white room. The glow of the fire and the crackling of the burning sticks was soothing, and the fresh woodsmoke hid the unpleasant smells of the building as it rose to escape through the hole in the ceiling. He thought about everything they’d been through and how good Isabel was in the jungle. ‘You learn all that stuff from your dad? About the animals and fruits?’ he asked.

  Isabel nodded and put her second piece of rind beside the other. She sat back and crossed her legs, staring into the base of the fire. ‘In San Jose – where we lived before Papa took this job – we sometimes travelled out to the forest at the weekend, and sometimes for longer. Papa grew up with it and wants me to know the forest too.’ A distant smile crossed her lips. ‘Mama loved the forest, but . . .’ She stared into the fire, her eyes filling with tears. ‘The smoke,’ she lied. ‘It always itches.’

  ‘Did something happen to your mum?’ Ash asked.

  ‘She was very ill with malaria. It was a long time ago, but I miss her every day. Today I miss her a lot.’ She wiped her eyes.

  Ash watched her through the flames. ‘My dad died.’ His voice sounded like it belonged to someone else. ‘Last week.’ He reached out to take a stick from the pile, poking it at the base of the fire, making the glowing embers sparkle. ‘It was all my fault.’

  Isabel just sat there not saying anything. She wiped one hand across her eyes and waited for him to go on.

  Ash shoved the stick right into the hottest part of the fire and held it there, wishing it were as easy to burn away the awful empty ache in his heart. ‘Dad took the dog out for a walk and . . .’ He tried not to think about the terrible sound Mum had made when the police came to the house. ‘Dad was hit by a car.’ He let go of the stick and looked up at Isabel. ‘The car just drove away. The police still don’t know who did it.’

  Ash hadn’t been there when it happened, but he had seen it over and over again, a million times in his head.

  ‘But why do you say it was your fault?’ Isabel asked.

  ‘I was supposed to take the dog for a walk. It should have been me. He was my dog.’

  ‘But that doesn’t make it your fault. Your mama doesn’t blame you.’

  ‘Maybe not, but I do. I blame myself because I made such a fuss about going out that night. It was raining and cold and I didn’t want to go, but Dad was so calm and just picked up his coat. The last thing I remember of him is the dog dragging him along the path and . . .’

  His voice trailed off. It was the most he had said about it to anyone since it had happened. It felt good to get it out, like removing a splinter that was stuck deep in his skin. And Isabel didn’t try to comfort him or say the right thing, like people usually did. She just sat there and listened.

  ‘If I had gone out instead, then maybe it wouldn’t have happened. Or maybe it would have been me that got hit.’ Ash put his hand to the identity tag hanging on the leather cord around his neck. He turned the metal disc in his fingers. ‘This was Dad’s,’ he said. ‘One of his dog tags from the army. There’s always two. He kept one and gave me the other. He wore it all the time and said I should too. He was wearing it when they—’ He didn’t want to remember, but there it was: the funeral, everyone in black, the coffin, Dad lying inside it with the other tag around his neck.

  Isabel leant closer to see the shiny metal disc with the black plastic ‘silencer’ fitted around it. She read the name McCarthy, and saw a series of letters and numbers she didn’t understand.

  ‘It gives you courage,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah. Dad was so tough, and I think he wanted me to be like that too, but I never was. I’m scared of heights, the dark, spiders, just about everything. I don’t know why; I just am. I always feel like such a wimp, and it doesn’t help that most people in my year at school are bigger than me. He told me that when I was scared I should hold it and say the words, “I am Ash McCarthy. I am strong. I can do this.” That probably sounds lame, doesn’t it?’

  ‘No.’ Isabel shook her head. ‘It sounds strong. And look what we have done today; look how tough you have been. I think your papa would be proud of you.’

  8 hrs and 36 mins until Shut-Down

  Time. Time. Time. Everything was about how little of it was left.

  The hard concrete floor was cruel to his lean frame. Within minutes of lying down, Ash’s hips and shoulders had been aching. And there had been that creepy howl and moan of the monkeys outside. He had tried to ignore it, sometimes listening to the erratic rise and fall of Isabel’s breathing, but he had been scared by the way her heart raced and fluttered.

  Now he watched the flames flickering and dancing in the dark and realized that, despite his discomfort, he must have fallen asleep. He had that groggy, just-woken-up feeling and the fire had dried the air in the bunker, so his throat felt parched and sore.

  You’ve got it too, the voice sniggered. Kronos is inside you. It’s in your blood. But that has to be our little secret. You can’t tell anyone.

  He sat up with a start. ‘What time is it?’

  Isabel stirred from sleep and rubbed her face with both hands. It took her a moment to focus on her watch. ‘Two,’ she mumbled. ‘In the morning . . . ¡Madre de Dios!’

  They had been asleep for hours. How could they have wasted so much time? How far ahead of them would Cain and Pierce now be?

  ‘Look, we need to get out of here,’ Ash said. ‘We should check if there’s enough light from the moon to keep going. And we need water. Can we drink from the pool?’

  ‘No.’ Isabel sat up and looked across at the rickety table and the rubbish lying beneath it. ‘But we can collect water in one of those tins. Boil it over the fire to make it safe to drink.’

  W
ith a renewed sense of urgency, they rummaged in the pile of tins, searching for one without holes rusted in it. Seeing a good one at the bottom of the pile, Isabel tugged it out, dislodging the others so they fell and clattered around them. As they collapsed, a dark shape scurried out from the tangle and scuttled across the shadows on the twisted tarpaulin.

  ‘Get away!’ Isabel grabbed Ash by the arm so hard that he fell backwards.

  ‘Ow, what’re you doing?’ He glared at her but she wasn’t looking at him; she was staring at something to the right of the collapsed mound of tins. A dark shape sitting on the tarpaulin, swaying from side to side.

  ‘Stay still.’ Isabel shuffled to the fire and took out a burning stick before bringing it closer to the table. She held it at arm’s length, illuminating a fat spider with a dark brown body, about twice the size of Ash’s fist. Its legs spanned wider than an adult’s hand at full stretch, and it was crouched back on four of those legs, with the front four held up in preparation to launch itself at Isabel. Its large fangs were shining in the firelight.

  ‘Wandering spider,’ Isabel said. ‘Very dangerous. Very aggressive. On Isla Negra they are even—’

  ‘– more aggressive than normal? And bigger?’

  Isabel nodded and the spider turned towards her. She gently waved the burning stick to keep its attention. ‘It could kill both of us.’

  ‘Fantastic.’ Ash looked about, searching for signs of other similar creatures. ‘Perfect.’

  ‘They are lonely spiders,’ Isabel said.

  ‘I’m not surprised.’

  ‘I mean, there won’t be others. Just this one.’ She didn’t take her eyes off the spider. ‘But they can move fast.’

  ‘As if I’m not creeped out enough already! Now it’s fast? How do we get rid of it?’

  ‘Maybe we can trap it. Pass me one of those tins,’ Isabel said. ‘A big one.’

  ‘What? No way. It’s too close to the spider.’

  ‘Just do it!’

  Ash crept across the floor while Isabel was distracting the spider, and used a long stick to drag one of the tins towards him. The spider twitched and lifted its legs higher so that its fangs were aimed right at Isabel.