Eviskar Island

by Warren Dalzell

  She gave him a confident look in the eye. Inwardly she knew that this might be difficult, but there was little choice. “Remember,” she said soberly, “you have to trust me. Let’s wade out a bit.” She led him out to where the water was chest deep. “Now, turn around and face me. You’re going to float backwards with your head tilted back, your arms extended, and with your hands on my shoulders. It’s called the ‘tired swimmer’s carry.’ You float, I swim, and we reach the other side in no time. Okay?”

  Jack nodded bravely, and Jocelyn pushed off the bottom, propelling them both forward with a powerful breaststroke. At first Jack floated comfortably, but within seconds his feet began to drop, rotating his body until his chin fell below the surface. Instantly panic overcame him. A gut-wrenching fear displaced all reason as the deeply buried memory of the awful experience of his youth consumed him. He began thrashing violently, grabbing Jocelyn in a desperate attempt to keep his head above water.

  “Jack! Jack, stay calm!” she shouted to no avail. He was much stronger and heavier than she, and was carrying her down with him. Jocelyn fought to stay focused. Her lifeguard training kicked in. She grabbed a quick breath and did what all panicked drowning victims fear most—she submerged. Jack immediately let go of her and began churning the water with his arms, trying to stay afloat. Jocelyn deftly swam around and approached him from behind. Throwing one arm across his chest, she put him in a ‘fireman’s carry’ and resumed her swim to shore.

  At first he tried to grab her again by reaching behind his back, but failed in his efforts. He quickly realized, though, that they were moving and that he was out of danger. Forcing himself to relax, he made it easy for Jocelyn to complete the rescue, and within a few seconds they were standing on soft gravel, wading the last few meters to shore. Jocelyn was exhausted. Dealing with Jack’s weight, superior strength and panic had almost been too much to handle. As she slogged toward where she’d left the packs, she slipped and did a ‘face plant’ in the soft mud. Jack rushed to her aid. Lifting her to her feet, he tenderly worked at removing clods of gunk from around her eyes.

  “I’m so sorry,” he repeated over and over. There was hurt and sympathy evident in every word. “I don’t understand what happened. I thought I was in control…” He quieted as Spencer came up beside them.

  The younger boy looked like a drowned rat. His clothes were plastered against his thin frame and his backpack, which he’d failed to remove prior to his swim, had filled with dirty water which was now dripping as though from a fire hose. A wisecrack pertaining to Jack’s crossing formed on his lips, but never made it out when he noticed the embarrassment in his companion’s countenance. The episode was best forgotten.

  * * *

  Two more stream crossings lay before them, neither of which required the need to swim. Jack again took the lead. The first segment presented little difficulty, although the slippery rocks caused Spencer some pain in his foot. The last stream was wide, rocky and very shallow. Looking across they could see the terrain rise, transitioning quickly from a broad beach into a ‘bamboo’ grove and finally to an expanse of larger trees where the slope increased toward the hills. What lay beyond the trees was of particular interest because that was where they had wanted to go all along. If there were an accessible eastern route to the sea, above and beyond the mist and cloud that enclosed the valley, it might prove to be Debbie’s salvation. Alas, only after hours of hiking over difficult and potentially dangerous countryside would they learn whether or not their trek was successful.

  Jack began to pick his way across the final stream while the others held back. If an archosaur or some other danger were lurking nearby, the shallow water would pose no impediment to it. There was no use endangering the entire party by crossing simultaneously.

  Halfway across, Jack stopped. In front and slightly to his left there was a commotion in the ‘bamboo.’ Something, some animal of significant size, was making its way towards the beach. Jack slowly started to back up, preparing to run at the first hint of danger.

  The beast that emerged from the foliage was a quadruped. It was stocky, but leaner than the dicynodont they’d seen the previous day, and it was quite a bit smaller. The way it moved suggested that it spent considerable time on land vs. water. Roughly the size of a dog or a small goat, it was built low to the ground, its reptilian lineage in evidence. It weighed about forty pounds, sported a short tail, and its snout was round and whiskered. Perhaps its most striking feature was its coloration. The larger animals they’d seen the day before were both a dull greyish-brown, with a skin or covering that was tough and scaly, like those of snakes or armadillos. This creature had smooth, leathery brown hide covered with irregular dark patches—reminiscent of the camouflage clothing worn by hunters.

  It paused at the edge of the clearing, appearing to sniff the air prior to leaving the safety of the forest and heading to the river. One could immediately tell that it was hurt. It limped badly from a wound to its left shoulder; blood stained the rocks as it slowly moved to the water’s edge. There it stopped and lowered its head to drink. Jack crouched to lower his profile and remained motionless. He blended well with many of the rocks that dotted the stream. All three students watched in rapt fascination this wounded animal from a past epoch.

  More rustling and crashing were suddenly heard in the nearby vegetation. Spencer and Jocelyn sought refuge among tall ferns and Jack scooted over to a large rock. Jack’s cover was too small to conceal him completely, but there was nothing else available. He felt particularly vulnerable considering that whatever was coming through the brush was larger and seemingly more aggressive than the animal drinking at the river bank. The same unmistakable thought ran through everyone’s mind: the creature that had wounded this animal was probably moving in for the kill.

  A shrill cry accompanied the appearance of the hunter. It leaped onto the beach and ran on its hind legs towards its prey. In marked contrast to the other quadrupeds they’d seen, this one was purely bipedal and had a head surrounded by fur. In one forelimb it brandished what appeared to be a weapon. Sure enough, close inspection showed the object to be a spear. Swift on the attack, it plunged its lance into the chest of the other, killing it instantly.

  The figure looked around apprehensively, wary of the arrival of yet another creature. The three students now realized that the spear-wielding killer was human. He had long, brown, disheveled hair, an unkempt beard and wore crudely constructed leather shoes and a breechclout. As they processed this astounding new information, that a human was living and hunting in this primordial world, they too heard what had captured the attention of the man standing before them. Another animal was indeed approaching. A series of high-pitched grunts accompanied the occasional snapping twig as this new arrival slowly maneuvered towards the beach.

  The breechclout-clad man adopted a defensive stance and pointed his spear at the ‘bamboo’ grove as the new arrival made its appearance. In body style it was similar to the animal the man had just killed. It had a short, stocky, lizard-like body with leathery skin and a short tail—overall length: just over four feet. The head, however, was that of a carnivore. Surprisingly dog-like, in both appearance and mannerism, it had its nose to the ground, following the recently deposited blood trail. When it looked up and saw the man standing there, its upper lip curled up in a snarl, revealing sharp canines and incisors. Like the archosaur they’d encountered the day before, this creature had a head disproportionally large for its body, at least by modern standards, and its jaws were filled with sharp nasty-looking teeth.

  The carnivore began circling the human, who staunchly positioned himself between his kill and the unwelcome interloper. Spear point and teeth flashed as the standoff progressed. Every lunge by the animal was countered by a well-placed thrust of the human’s pike. The man was eventually able to jab his point into the animal’s neck, not deeply enough to cause significant damage, but sufficient to end the altercation. The carnivorous beast squealed and grunted as it slunk b
ack the way it had come, pausing once to look back in envy at the meal it had been denied.

  The human watched intently the animal’s departure. When he was certain it wouldn’t return, he turned his attention back to his prey and wasted no time binding its legs together with twine and looping them over his shoulder as a means of carrying it away to another locale for butchering.

  Jack stood up from behind his rock. The man with the spear was concentrating on his preparations to leave and had no idea he was under observation.

  “Hello,” Jack yelled. He made no move towards the man, not wanting to appear aggressive. The man whipped his head around at the sound and stared at Jack. Jack held up his hands as though surrendering—the universal sign that he held no weapon and meant no harm. “Can you understand me? Do you speak English?”

  It was difficult to gauge the fellow’s immediate reaction because of his fully bearded countenance. When recognition set in he adopted a relaxed stance and waved, the crinkles around his eyes belying the presence of a smile. “I bloody well do speak English,” the man boomed, “and just who the hell might you be, friend?”

  Jack stepped forward and held out his hand. The man clasped it heartily. “I’m Jack Malinowski. My colleagues and I were working on an archeological site and had an accident while exploring the coast of the island.” He waved for Jocelyn and Spencer to join him, but needn’t have bothered. They were already almost entirely across the stream, both sporting broad grins.

  “Loren Endicott,” their new acquaintance said, “I also worked at the Eviskar excavation until last year.” His voice trailed off as he remembered the circumstances that had brought him here.

  “You’re one of the three researchers who disappeared last June,” Jocelyn recalled. She and Spencer had arrived in time to hear Endicott introduce himself. “What happened? Where are the others?”

  Endicott shook his head. A look of sadness replaced his previously eager demeanor. “We have a lot to discuss,” he said soberly. Taking an apprehensive look around, he continued, “It would be prudent to talk back at my camp. The blood from this pig will attract more lizard wolves. We’d best not be here when that happens.” Abruptly he began walking away from the river and beckoned the others to follow.

  XI.

  As they hiked single-file along a jungle trail, the students excitedly related to Endicott the story of their experiences of the past several days; about Debbie’s fall, the failure of the satellite communicator to send an SOS message to Morgan and the others at the dig site, and of their perilous journey through the valley. For his part, Endicott listened solemnly. He asked a few questions about the satellite unit, but, in general, his attitude became ever more sullen. What might have been a rescue party, his salvation, had turned out to be nothing more than a group of kids who shared his predicament.

  It was a long way to camp. Dr. Endicott explained to the group that the best hunting was in the valley, but it was too dangerous to live down there. In this exotic land, lush and humid meant food and sustenance, while arid and cool, where they were headed now, meant fewer predators and bugs. Slogging along, they meandered through vegetation that became more and more sparse as the trail wound up into low hills. The older students expressed interest in routes to the eastern coast and whether or not Endicott knew of a convenient path to get there while bearing a stretcher. The response they got was disheartening.

  “I’ve been in this God forsaken place for over a year,” their host began. “Sure, there are places where one can overlook the sea, but you need to be a mountain goat to get there. I’m afraid the most likely way to get your injured friend to safety is by going back the way you came in.”

  “I don’t get it,” Jocelyn commented. “If that’s the only way out, why do you live way over here?”

  “How much food and vegetation did you see there?” came the rather curt reply. “It snows up on that ridge regularly, right through the month of June. It’s a day’s hike from anything edible as well as anything that can be used for constructing a shelter or fueling a fire. I stayed there for nearly a week after our accident and damn near died. The wind up in those high peaks routinely gusts to over 100 miles-per-hour. There is one thing of which you can be entirely certain: your two colleagues buggered down on that shelf are having a miserable go of it.”

  “I’m sorry to have offended you Dr. Endicott. I know you’ve been through hell here, but we’re desperate to help Debbie.” Jocelyn’s strong-minded nature was unaccepting of Endicott’s defeatist attitude. “We’re getting out of here no matter what it takes. Even though we’ve been unable to call for help, a rescue party should arrive in a couple of days. Snow or no snow, wind or no wind, I will personally be on that beach to welcome them. For Debbie’s sake I simply wanted to know if we could get her out of here sooner.”

  Endicott pondered her statement. “That’s very noble of you,” he said, “very admirable indeed, but tell me, just how do you intend to get to the beach? Can you fly?”

  “We have all the climbing gear we need to scale the cliff,” Jack interjected. “That’s not the problem. The key issue is how to get Debbie up over that ridge and down to the beach without killing her.”

  Endicott stared at Jack and Jocelyn. He’d fixated on one thing that Jack had mentioned, and as he contemplated it he became excited. He grasped Jack by the shoulders and exclaimed, “Ropes? Climbing gear? Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place? My God, I should have realized—that’s the reason you’re all uninjured. You had to have proper climbing equipment or you wouldn’t have made it here. Let’s hurry now and get back to camp. At dawn tomorrow we’ll gather supplies and head over to that blasted cliff. How long did you say it will be until they begin searching for you?”

  “They’ll probably set out on Friday if they don’t hear from us,” Jocelyn said.

  Endicott laughed. “My dear girl, how presumptuous of you to think that I have the slightest idea of what day of the week this is. Please, just tell me, again, how many days until they come for you.”

  “Two,” Jocelyn replied, “possibly three.”

  “Ah, excellent, I’ll pack food sufficient for six people for three days. We can certainly manage to camp on the beach for that long. Come, my young liberators, we’ve no time to waste.”

  “What do you propose we do about Debbie?” Jocelyn asked. There remained the important question of how to extricate the badly injured woman from the mountainside.

  Loren Endicott’s eyes again hardened. “She’ll live,” he snapped. “Her husband can stay and care for her for a few hours once the cavalry arrive.” Fighting to control his exasperation, he said almost apologetically, “Think, my dear girl. When your…our… colleagues arrive they’ll be able to send a Sat phone call to Daneborg. Within twenty-four hours, probably less, a rescue chopper will arrive to pluck that poor woman from peril and transport her to a proper medical facility.”

  He paused to rest. Dropping his ‘pig’ to the ground, Endicott sat on a rock and rubbed his eyes with filthy, weathered hands. Jocelyn made note of his long, broken fingernails, cracked lips and numerous cuts and sores. She began to fathom what he’d been through in the past year and the psychological toll it had taken. His volatile temperament was understandable.

  “Don’t for a minute think that I’ve no sympathy for your friend Debbie,” the Doctor continued, “I and my colleagues shared a similar experience. A fall, it was, but in our case I’d guess you’d say it was more of a landslide. On a rare, clear day we hiked from the beach just as you did, anxious to catch a glimpse of what all of us thought was the bowel of an unexplored, smoldering volcano. One minute we were gazing into the interior of the island and the next…it was an eerie sensation of free-falling amongst a shower of boulders. Fate favored me, I suppose. My injuries were astoundingly minor; a few broken ribs, a badly sprained wrist and a number of bumps and bruises.” His eyes were hollow. He was staring at nothing in particular as his mind resurrected the details of that fateful day. “
It happened quickly, but the terror of the episode seemed to drag it on forever. I’ll never forget the enormous pressure exerted by one of the rocks that rolled over me once I was prostrate down slope. Like a truck it was; it must have weighed several tons. I believe that’s when my ribs fractured.

  He looked down and shook his head. “Aage, that would be Dr. Aage Randrup; he was killed outright, crushed and mangled by tons of rock. A finer man I’ve never known, a native Greenlander who had such passion for his work. That archeological dig meant so much to him. You see, he was part Inuit and part Nordic, and he considered the Eviskar settlers as distant relatives. Learning about them was a link to his own past.

  “And Karlsen, the Dane, he was very badly hurt in that fall, mortally so. Of course I could do nothing for him given my own circumstances. The memory of his moaning, beseeching me for help that I couldn’t render, still haunts me every day. Finally, when he knew the end was near, he pleaded with me to make certain to tell his wife and children how much he loved them. That was his dying wish: that I relay those sentiments to his family. Strangely, those words were largely what have kept me going. I promised that man that if it’s the last thing I do, I’ll fulfil his dying request.”

  Endicott stood and shouldered his quarry. As he did, the sadness left his voice to be replaced by bitterness, “Karlsen might have lived had they come for us. He lived in misery for several days, but no proper rescue attempt was made.”

  “But they did search for you,” Jocelyn said. Morgan told us they patrolled the coast for weeks and saw no sign of you or your vessel.”

  “Well, it wasn’t enough, was it?” he fairly spat the words. “My exile here proves to me that we just didn’t matter.”

  Endicott’s words hung in the air as they resumed their trek.