The Island

by Amy Cross

  “And I was right!”

  “Maybe, but -”

  “And I'm right about Vargas and her people,” she adds, interrupting me. “You'll see that eventually. I just hope it's not too late.”

  As she walks away, I pull on the twine, and this time I manage to get it tight without pulling so hard that it breaks. If I told Jude the truth about myself, she'd run so fast and so far, I'd never see her again. The whole idea of coming to the island was that I had a chance to start again, to prove to myself that I'm not that person again, but I should have known people can never be satisfied with that. They always want to dig into the past and find answers, and the first thing anyone does when you meet them here is start spewing out their life story.

  I'd rather die than tell anyone who I really am.

  Chapter Forty-five

  Iris

  When I open my eyes, I find that I'm on my side with my face pressed up against a set of wooden boards. I blink a couple of times, struggling to remember exactly what happened, before hearing a faint wheezing sound nearby. I turn and see that I'm in some kind of low-ceilinged wooden room, little more than a box with a crack in the wall so that light can get in, and the old man is sitting slumped on the other side.

  “You're awake,” he gasps, clearly struggling to get each word out. “That's good. Let me... get a better look at you.”

  I try to reply, but the only sound that comes from my mouth is a guttural grunt. For a moment I can't work out what's wrong, until I realize that there's a burning pain at the top of my throat and a taste of ashy blood, and that's when I remember the feeling of that blade slicing through my tongue. A cold shiver passes through my body as I remember it again, and again, and then again, until I crawl back against the wall, too shocked to even think.

  It was a dream.

  It must have been.

  None of that actually happened, except...

  I can feel some kind of immense pain rolling through my mind, getting ready to burst.

  “You're hurt,” the old man continues. “Please -”

  I try to ask him where we are, but without a tongue I can't form any words. No matter what I do, all that emerges is a series of formless grunts and gurgles from the back of my throat. Too shocked to believe that it really happened, I open my mouth and reach a couple of trembling fingers inside, hoping against hope that I'll find my tongue. As my fingers go further and further back, however, I start to feel dried, burned flesh, and finally the crispy stump let behind after the fire sealed the wound. Feeling a burst of sorrow in my chest, I pull my fingers out, still convinced that somehow there has to be a mistake.

  The pain is still coming, like a vast wave rising above me.

  “I know,” the old man says, with tears in his eyes. “I saw what they did to you.”

  I shake my head, still trying to speak as my panic builds, and then I force myself to stop. The sound of my groans is too horrific. Turning to the old man, I can see several large chunks missing from his naked body, mostly around one side of his chest. After a moment, I let out a faint, exhausted whine of shock.

  Like an animal.

  And still the pain won't come. It's as if my shattered mind is forcing it back, but I know it's only a matter of seconds until...

  “She's good, isn't she?” the old man continues. “She cauterizes the wounds after each meal, and she applies some kind of balm. It means her fresh meat doesn't bleed out and die too soon. She likes to keep her food alive for as long as possible.” He tries to move, but the pain is obviously too much and he lets out another gasp. “When I got here,” he explains, “there was another poor wretch in this box, and she'd... There was almost nothing left of her. She's gone now, probably because Vargas wanted to start on me.”

  I try to reply, but all I manage is a faint clicking sound.

  “She's eating me slowly,” he continues. “She's a monster, she's worse than anything I've ever encountered in my time on the island. Speaking of which, what the hell are you doing here? I thought you'd managed to get away. I never thought you'd be dumb enough to follow me right through the gates of hell.”

  Crawling toward him, I can't stop staring at his wounds.

  “Did they chase you down?” he asks.

  I look up into his eyes, before shaking my head.

  “Did you come to them voluntarily?” He pauses, waiting for an answer. “Please tell me you didn't think you could rescue me!” He sighs. “I knew you were following me through the forest earlier. I hope you didn't think you were being subtle. You were -”

  Suddenly he lets out another gasp. Reaching up to his damaged waist, he runs his fingers against the edges of torn skin, letting his fingertips brush against the bare, charred ribs that are poking out from his flesh.

  “It doesn't even hurt now,” he continues. “It's as if, after a certain point, the pain became meaningless. I'm sure that'll change when she's hungry again, or...” He stares at me for a moment. “You've got yourself into a right mess, do you know that? I got you out before, back on the beach, but no-one's luck holds forever. Why couldn't you have just stayed away? What the hell is wrong with you, coming after me like this? Jesus Christ -”

  He gasps again, clearly frustrated.

  “Everyone makes mistakes when they first come to the island,” he adds, “but that's natural. I've been here three years now, and I've seen things that are burned into my soul. Awful cruelty, the most barbaric of people...Given the way the island usually works, three years is actually quite a decent achievement. I'm guessing the average for survival is probably more like... three hours.” He pauses. “Maybe I should have left you on that beach. At least you'd have been spared all this suffering if you'd been killed quickly, like your friend. The truth is, I thought he was the worst kind of monster on the whole island, but I was wrong.”

  Frozen by fear, I stare at his wounds and realize that I'm going to be next. My tongue was just the start.

  And I think the pain is coming.

  “There's no way out,” he tells me. “Don't you think I tried? Before I even stepped past the fence, I knew they weren't going to let me go. I put up a good fight, but there were just too many of them. They dragged me to that woman and... Well, let's just say I've been on her table three times now.” He pauses for a moment, staring at me. “You shouldn't have to see this barbarity. No-one should. Do you want me to...”

  After a few seconds, he reaches out and puts his hands on either side of my head.

  “I'm sorry,” he whispers. “This is for your own good.”

  I pull away just in time, before he can break my neck. Falling back, I stare at him in horror.

  “I was trying to help you!” he shouts. “I wanted to spare you -”

  He lets out another gasp, as tears rolls down his cheeks.

  Spotting a wooden hatch in the ceiling, I reach up and try to push it aside, only to find that it's firmly held in place.

  “They'll come and get you soon enough,” the old man continues, once again trying but failing to sit up. “Believe me, there's no way to break out, I tried when I was first in here. These people might be barbarians, but they're not fools.” Reaching down, he touches the exposed ribs on one side of his body. “In some ways, you could say that they're highly inventive. It can't be a coincidence that out of all the people who've come to the island, it's the monsters who've proven most successful when it comes to organizing a new town. Maybe you have to be a monster, just a little, if you truly want to set yourself up like that. At least on a place like this.”

  I start checking the wooden walls for some kind of second exit. Finally, as fear starts to burst through my chest, I try using my shoulder to smash one of the walls down, and when it doesn't work the first time I try again, then again, and several more times until I slump to the floor with a gasp.

  I can still feel the pain coming, building to a point where my numbness will no longer be able to hold it back. The prospect is truly terrifying.

  “You'll only hurt yo
urself,” the old man tells me. “Save your energy.”

  Turning, I feel a burst of panic in my chest, and the only way to relieve it is to throw myself against the wall. When that still doesn't work, I do it again, then again.

  “There's no way out!” he says firmly.

  I try one more time, before slumping down. I can feel fresh blood in my mouth, and finally tears come to my eyes as I sit up and look around the shadowy little space. The pain in the back of my throat is still starting to build and when I turn to look at the old man I can see so much pity and sorrow in his eyes, I can't even begin to imagine how awful I must look right now. Taking a deep breath, I realize I have to find a way to communicate, so I try once again to speak.

  “There has to be a way,” are the words that are supposed to come out, but all that emerges is a series of six vague grunts from the back of my throat.

  I sound like a goddamn animal.

  He sighs.

  “Can you understand me?” I try to ask, with no better results. “Please...”

  “There's no use trying to plan an escape,” he continues. “The only chance will come if they make a mistake, and I doubt that'll happen. I'm sorry, I don't even know your name, but you've followed me to hell and I can't help you get out.”

  “We have to try,” I tell him, although none of those words actually come out. Filled with anger, I crawl over to him until I'm staring into his face. I try again to speak, but this time I feel the stump of my tongue catching in the back of my throat, filling me with a sudden sense of nausea. Turning, I spit up a small amount of blood, which I quickly have to wipe from my chin.

  “There's only one thing we can do now,” the old man says.

  I turn to him.

  “We have to try to find a little honor in death,” he adds. “There's no dignity in being strapped naked to a table and eaten alive by cannibals. In fact, I don't think there's any dignity on this whole goddamn island.”

  I pause for a moment, before turning and reaching up to the hatch, trying to push it away. When that doesn't work, I twist my body around and start using my shoulder, trying as hard as I can manage to force my way out. After a moment, however, I hear someone laughing. When I turn to look back at the old man, I see nothing but exhaustion in his eyes, so I glance up at the hatch and realize that the laughter is coming from the other side. Someone's out there, most likely listening to us, and laughing at our desperation.

  “Go to hell!” I try to shout, but that's not what comes out. All that comes out is another terrified wail as I lose control and start banging my fists against the hatch. Even when I feel the bones in my hands start to break, I keep pounding at the wood and crying out in anger, before dropping back and turning to the old man. “Kill me!” I tell him, but I can't form any words, not anymore.

  And that's when the pain comes, bursting through my defenses, flooding my body with enough force to flush out every thought from my mind. I can't do a damn thing to keep myself from howling like a monster.

  Chapter Forty-six

  Asher

  Beyond the ridge at the edge of our camp, there's a patch of high land that forms a cliff, running to a sharp drop-off overlooking the sea. Taking a moment to get away from Jude, I sit and watch the horizon, trying to remember what it was like before I came to the island, back in the days when I still had an actual life.

  Sometimes I think there's still a part of that person in my soul. Sometimes I think only death will get rid of her entirely. Maybe I was wrong, maybe you can never truly forget who you once were, or what you once did.

  I need something to fight for again. Something to believe in.

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Iris

  They're coming. I can tell. I can hear footsteps getting closer and I want to scream. Maybe I still can scream, even without a tongue, but I'm too scared to try and I feel as if there's no energy left in my body, not after crying out for hours and hours. I can't imagine that monstrous, distorted sound coming from my mouth again, and I want to be myself right now, not that howling monster. Looking up, I listen to the sound of the hatch being cleared, and then I turn to the old man.

  “It's okay,” he says calmly, “don't be...”

  He pauses, but I can tell from the look in his eyes that he knows what's going to happen.

  “She's hungry,” he continues. “That's all. In a way, it's a good thing for me. I doubt she'll keep me alive now that she has another meal ready to start, so I'm the lucky one. For me, the misery is going to end soon, whereas for you...” He pauses, with tears in his eyes, before reaching out and taking my right hand in his, squeezing it tight. “If there's even the slightest chance to end the pain early, you must take it. I don't know about you, but I'd rather kill myself that let that bitch have the pleasure. You should have let me break your neck earlier.”

  There are voices above us now, and footsteps all around the top of the hatch.

  “I don't regret coming to the island,” the old man says, his voice trembling a little. “I regret how it's ended, and I regret the fact that you followed me here, but I'm still glad I came to get away from the rest of the world. At least here, the barbarians show their true faces, instead of hiding in polite society, and at least... At least I know that I didn't become one of them. I could have become like Vargas, any of us could, but you and I, we didn't. We kept some part of our moral selves. I guess it was like a test. Some people descend into brutality and cruelty, and some don't. There's some pride in being good people.” He squeezes my hand even harder, until it starts to hurt. “No matter what she does to you, try to remember that you stayed strong.”

  Suddenly there's a loud bump above and the hatch is pulled aside, revealing two grinning men staring down at us, framed against the cloudy gray sky.

  “Kill me,” I try to say, filled with panic.

  “I don't -”

  “Kill me,” I say again, grabbing his hands and placing them on either side of my head.

  I can see that he understands. “Are you sure?”

  I nod.

  “Up you come,” one of the men says from above us, clearly enjoying every moment. “Both of you. It's dinnertime!”

  “Goodbye,” the old man says to me.

  He adjusts his grip on my head, but before he can do anything the other men reach down through the hatch, grabbing my shoulders and pulling me up. I try to fight back, but I'm no match for them and I'm quickly pulled out and thrown down to the ground. A moment later, I hear the old man crying out as they lift him up. I turn and watch as he's dragged onto the mud, with the wound in his side glistening as white ribs poke out from the meat. He slumps down, clearly filled with pain, but there's a different look in his eyes now and when he glances at me I can tell that he's had an idea.

  “We've all been working hard,” one of the men says as he closes the hatch. “Worked up a real appetite, as it happens. Fortunately, you two look like you've got enough meat on you to feed the lot of us. Don't worry, though, you won't feel anything this time. Vargas wants me to cut both of you up so you can be shared out fairly. Shame, really, but there you go.” He smiles at me. “Get that tunic off, we'll do you first.”

  I turn and look over at the fence. I don't know what I'm hoping to see; something, anything, that might come and save me.

  “When you get the chance,” the old man whispers, “you must run.”

  I turn to him.

  “Wait,” he hisses. “Just be ready.”

  “Alright,” the guy says, leaning down toward me, “if you won't take it off yourself -”

  Suddenly I hear a loud snapping sound next to me, and I turn just in time to see that the old man has broken off one of his own ribs. He lunges at the guy next to me and lashes out at him, using the broken rib to gouge the man's neck and rip a hole in his throat just below the ear. As he does so, he also grabs a knife from the guy's belt.

  “Run!” he shouts, turning to me. “Get out of here!”

  As the other guy rushes over to sto
p us, the old man turns to him and flashes the knife in his direction, cutting straight across the guy's face and sending him stumbling back with a cry. All I can do is stare in stunned silence for a moment, before the old man limps toward me, grabs my hand and pulls me over to the fence.

  “Move!” he grunts, manhandling me over until I drop to the other side. He thrusts the knife into my hand. “Before they -”

  He lets out a gasp, before turning just enough for me to see a knife in his back. Several people are rushing this way, and a moment later another of them throws another knife, this time missing me by inches.

  “Go!” the old man hisses, with blood running from his mouth. “This time, for -”

  Again he gasps, before slumping to the ground. I kneel to help him, but from the glassy stare in his eyes I can tell it's already too late and when I turn him around I see a knife in the back of his neck. Hearing footsteps nearby, I turn and see that half a dozen men have almost reached me, so I turn and run, racing between the trees as fast as I can manage. Blind terror pushes me on, and I don't even have time to turn and look to see how many people are chasing me, or how close they are. All I can do is keep going and hope -

  Suddenly something slams into me from behind, sending me tumbling to the ground as it lands on top of me. Turning, I see that one of the men is leering into my face, and I instinctively thrust the knife toward him. To my shock, the blade slices straight into his belly, causing him to pull back enough for me to shove him aside. Spotting more men hurrying toward me, I pull the knife from the man's body and turn, dodging between trees as I try to get away.

  Any second now, another thrown knife could slice into my back, or I could be tackled and brought down again. I don't dare look back, though, I just keep running. There aren't even any thoughts in my mind now. Just a wild, animal urge to run and hide.

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Asher

  “Someone's coming,” Deckard says suddenly, looking up from the section of wood he's been fixing into place at the base of the wall.