The Island

by Amy Cross

  “But they've left,” replies a guy with an English accent. “That's the important thing, right? We obviously scared them off.”

  “She's still gonna want to be sure. You know what she's like when there's even a hint of strangers setting up camp in the area. For God's sake, man, I don't get how you don't understand this already. If there's any doubt, you always kill strangers.”

  Staying completely still, I listen to their conversation some more as they head off into the distance. I'm pretty sure I recognize at least one of them from the group that took the old man away, and there's a part of me that still wants to turn and run. After everything that happened at the beach with that Liam guy, the thought of coming anywhere near another human being is horrifying, but I tell myself I have to push through that sensation. I'm not some cowardly little thing who runs from danger and just looks after herself.

  Or rather, I am, but I want to be more.

  I want to be a good person.

  When I find their settlement a few minutes later, I'm surprised by the size. There are several buildings dotted about in a large clearing, surrounded by a wooden fence. I can hear lots of voices from inside, and when I creep closer I'm able to see twenty or so people getting on with work. Dead rabbits have been hung from the walls, along with other, larger chunks of some different kind of meat, and it's hard to believe that people out here have managed to organize themselves so well. It's almost like looking at some kind of medieval village.

  Keeping my distance and staying low, I move cautiously around the very edge of the clearing, trying to get a better understanding of the village's layout. I guess I was hoping I'd find the old man alone, chained up somewhere away from the center, but it's clear this won't be nearly so easy. In fact, as I continue to watch the place, it occurs to me that I might already be too late. It's more than possible that they simply spoke to him and let him go, and that he's miles from here now; on the other hand, if they were going to kill him, there'd be no point in them delaying things. There's a very real chance that I'm taking this risk for nothing, but I have to be sure. For all I know, the meat hanging from the walls might be his. If there's -

  “Got you!” a voice shouts behind me, and I'm shoved face-first into the dirt before I have a chance to relax. “Been watching you for a few minutes,” he continues, holding me down as he leans closer to my ear. “If you're so keen to meet us all, why didn't you just come and knock on the front door? Vargas always loves visitors.”

  ***

  As one of the men shoves me forward, another puts his foot out and trips me, sending me tumbling down against the muddy ground. I let out a gasp of pain but immediately start getting up, only for someone else to grab my hair and pull me back.

  Nearby, a woman lets out a cheer, as if she enjoys seeing me suffer.

  “Patience,” says the guy with the English accent, staring down at me. “You've got nothing to worry about. We're just curious about anyone who we've caught sneaking around on our land.”

  “Are you with them?” another voice asks. “It can't be a coincidence, her turning up just a few hours after those other two were here.”

  “Are you here with friends?” the English guy asks, leaning closer to me. “Do you know Asher and Jude? Do you know where they've moved themselves off to?”

  “I don't know what you're talking about,” I stammer, trying not to panic. “I was just looking for a friend.”

  “I seriously doubt anyone round here is your friend,” he replies with a smile.

  Someone laughs nearby.

  “We should've killed the others when we had a chance,” another voice sneers. “This is what happens when we're soft, we end up with others coming here. We need to set an example.”

  “Please,” I reply, “I just -”

  Before I can finish, a horrified cry rises up from nearby, filling the air with such force that I instinctively flinch and try to pull away. As the cry continues, the English guy starts laughing, clearly amused by my reaction.

  “What's wrong?” he asks. “Never heard a man in pain before? That's another one who trespassed on our territory and... Let's just say he didn't convince us of his good intentions.”

  As another cry of pain rings out, I look over toward a nearby wooden hut and realize that the sound is coming from in there.

  “It's Vargas who'll decide what to do with you,” the English guy continues. “You're lucky, she's busy at the moment, but -”

  He stops for a moment as the cry returns.

  “She'll get to you soon,” he adds. “Don't worry, she's very fair. She only punishes people who've done something wrong.” He leans closer to me. “Have you done something wrong?” he asks. “Why were you sneaking around out there, anyway? What do you want from us?”

  “Please,” I stammer, my whole body shaking with fear, “I was just looking for someone, that's all. I thought -”

  Suddenly the cry rings out again, somehow sounding even more pained than before, and I can't help remembering Tash's scream on the beach when Liam ripped her guts open. I try to speak, to explain myself and beg for mercy, but it's as if pure fear has gripped my soul and won't let my voice leave my body. Instead, all I can do is turn as I hear footsteps nearby, and after a moment I realize that a woman has emerged from the nearest hut.

  “Vargas wants to see her,” the woman says, with a hint of pleasure in her voice. “Take her straight in.”

  As I'm pulled to my feet, the cry continues and I'm shoved closer to the doorway. I'm too shocked and terrified to fight back, so I stumble into the dark interior and for a moment I can't see anything at all until, finally, the flickering light of a torch on the wall allows me to just about make out a twisting, twitching naked human figure tied to a table. I take a step forward as I realize that it's the old man, held down by ropes. On the table's other side, a figure is sitting in darkness, but after a moment she leans forward slightly and smiles from beneath a mop of unruly dark hair, as the old man continues to whimper.

  “Am I glad to see you,” the woman tells me calmly, with a faint smile. “Finally, someone a little more tender. This old bastard is so tough and stringy, he's making my jaw ache.”

  With that, she reaches down to the man's side and he cries out again, and a moment later I hear the sound of bones being broken. Suddenly I'm shocked to see the woman holding up a piece of meat in her bloodied hands, and she slowly slips it into her mouth as if it's the juiciest delicacy she's ever tasted.

  “No!” I shout, stepping forward before I'm grabbed from behind and held back. “What are you doing to him?”

  “What does it look like?” the woman replies, reaching down and causing the man to cry out again. “I'm having dinner. Why, are you hungry? Do you want some?”

  I watch in stunned horror as she tears more flesh from his waist. He cries out, his whole body tensing as he tries to get free of the thick ropes that are holding him to the table. There's nothing he can do, however, as the woman holds up a strip of meat and flesh, which she drops into her mouth before starting to slowly chew while a smile spreads across her face.

  “Show some respect,” a voice hisses over my shoulder, before I'm shoved forward. Hands press down on my neck, forcing me to kneel.

  All I can do is stare in shock as the old man continues to struggle, and a moment later he groans with pain as the woman starts cutting into his chest. This time she takes longer to pull a section of meat away, while muttering something under her breath.

  “I'd offer you some,” she says finally, smiling at me, “but something tells me you wouldn't accept. Then again...”

  She tosses a piece of meat at me. It drops to the floor just in front of my knees, and I instinctively pull back only to be once again pushed forward. I stumble and the palm of my right hand lands on the meat. Disgusted, I pull away and start trying to wipe the blood onto my tunic.

  “I might be wrong,” the woman continues, raising her voice a little so she can be heard over the old man's cries, “but something ab
out the look in your eyes makes me think you're quite new to the island.” She stares at me for a moment. “Maybe very new. Tell me, how long have you been here?”

  I try to reply, but my whole body is trembling and I feel as if I'm about to pass out.

  “There haven't been any fresh deliveries in the past twenty-four hours,” she adds, “but there was one a few days ago, just a couple of miles away, so I'm going to assume that was when you came. You're lucky you made it more than three feet from your canopy, though. Even after that massive storm, I'd have thought the lurkers and loiterers would be out in force.” She snaps a rib from the old man's body, causing him to scream louder than ever, and then slowly she starts chewing on the bone, scraping meat away with her teeth. “I remember the poor bastard who tried to get me when I first arrived,” she says with a smile. “It was the last mistake he ever -”

  Before she can finish, she lets out a loud burp, which seems to amuse her. She gets to her feet and steps around the table, coming closer to me, while using a finger to scratch at one of her teeth as if she's trying to dislodge a stray piece of meat.

  “I'm full,” she continues, reaching down and putting a finger under my chin, and then tilting my face up so that I'm looking into her eyes. “Get up.”

  Too terrified to move, I simply stare at her.

  “Get up,” she says again.

  “Get up!” one of the men says behind me, grabbing my shoulders and hauling me to my feet.

  “My name is Vargas,” the woman continues, reaching a bloodied hand toward me. “Well, that's the name I use here, anyway. Some people on the island like to use their old names, and some like to re-christen themselves. I tried to think of something that sounded powerful, but the best I could come up with was Vargas. To be honest, I probably could have done better, but it seems to work. Tell me, what do you want to be called while you're here?”

  I try to stammer an answer, but I'm trembling too much.

  “Let me show you something,” she says, taking my hand and leading me around the side of the table. Too shocked to resist, I follow until I see the other side of the old man, where parts of his chest have been cut away, exposing his ribs. “Now,” the woman continues, “I'm sure -”

  I turn away.

  “What's wrong?” she asks. “Weak stomach? Are you -”

  Suddenly I start retching, but there's nothing in my stomach to come up except some bile, which I quickly spit out.

  Nearby, several of the men start laughing at me.

  “You can't do this,” I stammer, filled with shock. I turn and hurry toward the door, only for two men to block my way.

  “I don't have time for this,” Vargas continues. “I want my taster and then she can go into storage. Hold her down.”

  I try to get free, but the men grab my shoulders and force me down onto my knees, while Vargas takes a knife from the table and comes over to me.

  “What do you want?” I ask, trembling as I see the blade glinting in the low light.

  “Do you know the best part of a meal?” she asks, staring down at me. “Anticipation. To know, to really know, that you're due a proper feast. That old guy on the table is a little stringy, but you... You look much more succulent, more juicy. I want to spend a few hours thinking about how good your meat's gonna taste. Think about it, girl, wouldn't you like a nice big cow steak right now, with sauce and fries? Cooked just right, nice and tender on the inside? That's how I'm thinking about you right now.”

  “Please,” I reply, my voice shaking with fear, “let us go.”

  “Why should I? What can you offer me that's better than your own meat?”

  “I'll do anything, just -”

  “Stop talking,” she says firmly.

  “Please -”

  Suddenly one of the men grabs my head to hold me still. I try to get free, but the other man keeps me in position as Vargas grabs my face and forces my mouth open.

  Nearby, there's nervous laughter from some of the men by the door.

  No matter how hard I struggle and cry out, I'm powerless to stop Vargas as she forces her knife toward the back of my throat, and a moment later I feel the blade slicing through the base of my tongue. Blood bursts into my mouth and sprays out against Vargas's chest as she continues to cut, and the pain is so intense I feel as if I'm about to black out. My whole body is shuddering with agony and I try biting down, hoping I can cause her enough pain to make her pull out, but nothing I do can even slow her down as I feel the blade cutting through the final piece of flesh. Finally there's a snapping sensation and she pulls my severed tongue out and holds it in the palm of her hand for a moment, before leaning down and biting the tip off.

  I try to scream, but I just end up spraying more blood from my mouth.

  “Oh that's even better than I expected,” Vargas says with a smile, staring at me as she chews. “It's almost orgasmic.” She turns to look at someone behind me. “What are you waiting for? Cauterize her before she bleeds to death.”

  I try to force the men away, but a moment later one of them forces my mouth open and holds up a burning torch.

  “I'm going to spend the whole day looking forward to dinner,” Vargas says, as the man pushes the flame into my mouth. She adds something else, but my gurgled scream is too loud for me to hear her.

  That's the last thing I remember. As the flame fills my mouth and burns the stump at the back of my throat, I'm lifted up off my knees, just as I lose consciousness and everything turns black.

  Somewhere nearby, people are laughing.

  Chapter Forty-four

  Asher

  “We should go back to them.”

  Turning, I see that Jude has come up behind me while I've been working on a new wall.

  “Back to who?” I ask cautiously.

  “To them,” she continues, keeping her voice low so that Deckard won't hear us as he drags fresh wood over to the far side of the clearing. “To the people we met before. They had an actual town going, they could help us so much if you could just get your head around the idea for five minutes. It's crazy to turn them down.”

  “They have their own rules,” I mutter, turning back to the wall. “I don't like -”

  “Is it because of what they eat?” she asks, grabbing my shoulder and forcing me to turn to her again. “If they weren't cannibals, would you be willing to work with them?”

  “No,” I reply, trying to focus on the work at hand, “it's not that. Not just that, anyway. I don't like the idea of being controlled by anyone else, period.”

  “And I don't like the idea of dying,” she hisses, “not when we could develop some kind of alliance with those people and the opportunity is right there waiting for us on a plate. I don't know about you, but I'd give anything to sleep under an actual roof again, to know I have food tomorrow. To know I have a decent chance of still being alive this time in a month. Whoever that Vargas woman is, she's obviously smart and if they'd wanted us dead, I'm pretty sure they'd have finished us off by now. They just want order in all this chaos.”

  “I want my own order,” I tell her. “I had enough of other people's rules long before I came here.”

  “And why did you come here?” she asks.

  “Never mind,” I mutter, turning away.

  “Why won't you tell me anything about yourself?” she continues. “You have a tattoo on your shoulder, but you refuse to explain it. What's Steadfall?”

  “It's nothing.”

  “What was your life like before you came here? Who were you in the old world?”

  I start drawing some sections of canopy twine around part of the wall, just the way Deckard taught me, while trying to hide my frustration. “Jude -”

  “You know all about me,” she continues. “I told you my whole goddamn story, but you won't even tell me if Asher is you real name or if it's one you picked when you got to the island.” She pauses, waiting for me to say something, but I keep working in the hope that she'll give up. “What did you do?” she asks finally
.

  I pull harder on the twine. “Jude -”

  “Why did you come to the island?”

  “Jude, please -”

  “Who the hell are you, Asher?”

  “I'm -” Before I can finish, the twine snaps in my hands and I stumble back. Part of the wall topples forward and I barely step out of the way in time before it crashes down into the mud. Turning, I see Deckard watching with a concerned expression from the other side of the clearing. “It's nothing!” I call out to him. “I've got this!”

  He pauses, clearly unconvinced, before getting back to work.

  “Sometimes I wonder about you,” Jude says as she helps me lift the section of wall back up so we can put it in place. “Sometimes I see a glint in your eye and I feel like you're not telling me something important. I told you all about -”

  “I never asked you to tell me a damn thing,” I reply, unable to hide my irritation a moment longer. “I told you right from the start, as far as I'm concerned we're all completely new people once we set foot on the island. Anything we did in our old lives is gone, anything we felt, anyone we hurt or...” My voice trails off as I realize that I'm in danger of saying too much. “Just leave it,” I add, threading a fresh piece of twine between two sections of the wall.

  “What do we do if this doesn't work?” she asks.

  “It will work.”

  “And then what? Even if by some miracle we end up with a few decent buildings, what do we do when we start attracting attention? It's pretty clear that you hate people, Asher, so what happens if a bunch of strangers show up and want to work with us?”

  “That'll never happen,” I tell her.

  “Sure it will, eventually.”

  “You're just trying to create problems,” I reply, stepping past her and making my way around to the other side of the wall, ready to pull the twine tight. “You were the one who wanted to start building something permanent in the first place, remember? You had to persuade me.”