Beyond the Brink_Toward the Brink IV

by Craig McDonough

  “Estimated time of arrival?” Elliot asked.

  “I’d say seven—seven thirty.”

  “Great.” Elliot remembered. “We’ll catch everyone in time for a morning coffee.”

  Sandspit 30

  At exactly 4:00 AM, the alarm on Chess’ military-grade watch chirped. He, along with everyone involved with the search party, slept inside sleeping bags in the motel’s office. He jumped out of his bag in a flash. He hadn’t slept all night. Neither had the others—not that anyone thought they would.

  “Up and at ’em.” Chess roused those that hadn’t got up as fast as him, but kept his voice low. A small battery-powered lamp had been left on in the room all night. If Cindy could see the office from wherever her position was, she’d know something was afoot if too many lights went on early. A small night-light wouldn’t look suspicious—it might even look like it was deliberately left on in case she decided to return.

  No one had to bother with dressing, they’d slept in their shirts and pants. They just had to throw on their jackets and boots and they would be good. Once Chess was sure everyone was awake, he pulled on his Aussie army sweater, as Kath entered the room.

  “Who’s for coffee?”

  “Is she serious?” Cleavon looked for an answer from around the room, astounded.

  “She’s just kidding, that’s all,” Chuck responded. “She knows we all want coffee, and believe me, you’ll appreciate it, too.”

  It took half an hour for the entire search team of eight to eat their warm baked beans and get three cups of coffee into them.

  “Looks like we’re ready,” Chuck said.

  “I think so. Are your injuries healed enough to keep up?” Chess was genuinely concerned with Chuck’s health. “There’s some steep hills and thick growth to get through, should we have go off the main track.”

  “You young whipper-snappers, you’re are all the same!” Chuck grabbed Chess by the shoulder and spun him around to face the door. “Let’s get going!”

  Chess was at least ten years younger than the Tall Man, but he took the good-natured banter for what it was. He was as aware as anyone that he’d been dragging his chin on the ground for too long now—he needed a lift.

  The team marched out into the bitterly cold morning air of Sandspit. Still dark at 4:30 AM, each man carried a flashlight. Once they reached the main street, they split into teams of two to cover buildings on each side of the street. Though the threat of foamers was never far from their minds Chuck and Chess agreed that if there were foamers in any of the stores and houses, they would have known about it long before now.

  “Listen up, you know the drill: if you find Cindy, one of you remains with her while your partner alerts the rest of us. Do not, under any circumstances, physically restrain her. She is not—I repeat—not a suspected terrorist, understand?” chess was in command and he informed every one of the search parameters.

  As soon as Chess received confirmation, they moved off toward the stores on the main street with orders to regroup at this crossroad in one hour. That would make it almost 6:00 AM and the sun would be well and truly up. Chess was given charge of the group because half were part of the Special Forces team who flew into Prince George with him on the fateful night. The decision makers in the group had decided those men would probably accept his orders more readily from Chess should a situation develop. Without any weather interference, the rain held off and the wind kept low, the team wouldn’t be hampered. All the buildings in the main street and the side streets just before the thick growth of pine trees that surrounded Sandspit would be searched—no stone would be left unturned. None of the searchers mentioned, but they couldn’t help but wonder if Cindy ran off into the woods. If she did…

  Just over an hour later, all eight members of the team met back at the crossroad where they had started. The sun had risen and now provided a little warmth to the day.

  “Well, I guess we could look at the houses along the beach,” James suggested as he wiped sweat from his brow. He wasn’t in as good a shape as the others and welcomed the break.

  “That will take some time.” Chuck paused, then added. “One of us needs to go back to the motel and grab that old car.”

  A high-pitched whistle came from the direction of the motel down the street interrupted.

  “What the…” James turned around.

  “It’s the sub captain, Mayer,” Cleavon informed.

  Mayer came toward them, waving his arms above his head to get their attention. He wore a thick green, fur-lined naval jacket that he didn’t have with him earlier. He’d obviously visited the sub down in the harbor while the search for Cindy was underway.

  “How did he know we’d be here?” James asked.

  “Hey, glad I found you. I waited down the street hoping to see some of you about,” Mayer answered, but now the reason why was on everyone’s mind. “I see you’ve had no luck so far?”

  “Nope. We’ve searched all the nearby buildings. They’re dark inside and she could easily be hiding, but I doubt it,” Chess explained. “Still, I think she’s nearby. What news do you have?” Chess knew Mayer didn’t come all the way out here to check and see if Cindy had been found.

  “I checked with my men back on the sub, they expect the tide will start going out at about zero-seven-thirty.”

  “How do they know that?” James asked.

  “We’ve been monitoring the situation. When your boat’s parked in shallow water, you have to be on alert,” Mayer said.

  “So if we’re to leave, it’s best to do so before the tide goes out, right?”

  “You catch on quick, Chuck. You sure you didn’t serve in the Navy anywhere?”

  “No, not me. Give us the bottom line, Captain.”

  “Well, as you just said, we have to leave before the tide is out so I’ve ordered the crew to prepare to sail at zero-seven-hundred.”

  “And if we haven’t found Cindy by then?”

  “I’m sorry. We can’t wait any longer. It’s not easy for you but it’s a decision you people must come to. Until then, I’ll be on the Louisiana. I hope to see you there and please, be fifteen minutes early to get situated.”

  Mayer turned and headed back to the motel while the team looked at each other—lost, searching for answerers.

  “That’s like forty-five minutes. How we gonna find Cindy and—”

  “All right dammit! Can you stop with the ‘how we gonna this’ and ‘how we gonna that’? I’m sick of it. We need to be positive here!” Chess tore into James for what he saw as negativity.

  “You know your temper is a handicap. You really—”

  “That’s it—handicap. That’s it! James, you got it!” Chess placed his big mitts on either side of James’ head, pulled him forward, and gave him a kiss on the forehead. His frustration with James replaced instantly with encouragement.

  “What the hell do you mean, Chess?”

  “Yeah, I’d like to know what’s going on too,” Chuck joined in.

  “Look, handicap,” Chess looked at everyone and nodded, “handicap—golf… you get it.”

  “Err…not really?”

  “Chuck, the golf course and the golf office. It’s not far if we follow the road on our left. She could have made it, even in the dark.”

  “Why didn’t you just say, ‘let’s check the golf course?’ It would have been easier than playing fuckin’ charades!”

  Time ran short and Cleavon volunteered to run back to the motel and grab the Jeep Wrangler. Chuck, Chess, Rob, and James wasted no time and jumped into it the moment he got back and drove to the golf course. The others went back to the motel to tell everyone to grab their belongings—it was time.

  Against All Odds 19

  “There it is, Jerry.” Elliot pointed to the land mass almost all the way out to the western horizon. “That’s our island paradise.”

  “Your own Gilligan’s Island, eh?”

  “Yeah, you might say that.”

  “Tell me, do y
ou have a Ginger or a Mary-Anne?”

  “No. The only Ginger on the island is mine!”

  Jerry nodded and started to smile when the engine suddenly pitched in sound. The revs decreased momentarily, before returning to normal.

  “What the hell was that?”

  “It’s okay.” Jerry checked all the instruments. “This plane has a reserve tank. It just switched over to it, that’s all.”

  “I nearly shit my pants!”

  “Yeah, gave me a jump, too.”

  “How long now?”

  “The island may look close, but we’re still a good hour away, and we have enough in the reserve tank to get us there.”

  Elliot sat back in his seat, relieved after all he had endured. He would finally be home, with the ones he loved and cared for—people that were part of the living. His dad, Chuck, Riley, Aunt Kath, Chess and the others. But especially Cindy. He so wanted to see her, hold her, and say to her, “Yes, I want to have our baby!” He wanted to tell her about his full support all the way, and that he’d never leave her side again.

  Hang on, Cindy, I’m coming!

  Elliot looked at the clock on the instrument panel of the Cessna 172. It was just after 6:30 AM, the sun rose behind them, and there were some high clouds stretched across the sky to the northwest. But other than that, most of the sky looked clear—undoubtedly cold, but clear. If Jerry’s estimate was right, they would touch down at Sandspit Airport at 7:30.

  “Damn, this is gonna be such a surprise!”

  Sandspit 31

  Chess and Chuck vaulted from the car as it pulled into the parking lot of the golf course.

  “You guys take the back entrance.” Chuck pointed to the other side of the club house as he and Chess rushed into the bistro of the club.

  More ambient light was available to them now that the sun had risen. Inside they found tables, white tablecloths, and chairs tossed over, and a foul smell lingered within the confines of the small diner and bar.

  “Foamers?” Chess asked his more-experienced friend.

  Chuck pushed his lower lip up like a big silverback gorilla and shook his head. “Nah, it’s not right. Smells more like—”

  The sound of a plate smashing into pieces from the kitchen behind and to one side of the bar, prevented Chuck from finishing.

  Both men dropped to one knee, raised their rifles, and pointed them toward the door. Their hearts pounded, the sound of blood rushing to their ears deafening. To be caught in a foamer attack in such a confined space wouldn’t be good. They heard a door or window being slammed, a scuffle of feet then followed, before they heard a scream—a woman’s scream.

  “Cindy, That’s her!” Chess turned to Chuck, who was already in the motion of rising.

  “Let’s go!”

  The two rushed past the bar but when they were five feet from the entrance kitchen, the double swinging doors burst open.

  “Look who we found,” James said, a triumphant grin on his face. He pushed through to the door to the side of the bar and allowed the others past. The decor was a brown-red on a dark carpet, but no one seemed to notice.

  “Let go of me! Dammit, let go!” Cindy tried to pull free of James’ grip on her hand.

  “Cindy, we haven’t got time for any more of your dramatics. We have to get going.” Chuck checked the time on the watch that used to belong to Terry Ashwood. Chess had asked him to take it, in memory.

  “I’m not going anywhere without Elliot and that’s—”

  “Bullshit! Elliot isn’t coming back. Get that through your head and let’s get moving!” Chuck wasn’t pleased and regretted being so cold in front of Elliot’s father, but it had to be said.

  “I’m so shocked at you, Chuck. Just so shocked.” Cindy shook her arm loose. “For you of all people to give up on Elliot like that. He looked up to you like the brother he never had. He loved you, do you know that? And you’re going to repay that love by abandoning him?”

  Chuck had no answer.

  “Cindy, you don’t—”

  “And you, James, you’re worse! You’re Elliot’s father. How do you—how could you—possibly explain yourself?”

  Cindy continued when no one answered. “Well, do any of you have anything to say? Do you?”

  Chuck hung his head then slowly looked up at her. “Chess?”

  “Roger.”

  “What-what are you doing? Let go of me, let go!” Cindy cried as Chess bent down and picked her up. He threw her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. If she were a few more months along in her pregnancy, it wouldn’t have been a good idea. But at this stage…

  “What are you doing, Chuck, what—?”

  “Just what has to be done, James. You know we don’t have time. Now come on.”

  Chess put Cindy in the backseat and sat next to her while Chuck took the seat on the other side. Cleavon, Rob, and James squeezed in the front while the other three sat in the open trunk; their legs dangling over the side.

  “Straight down to the harbor, Cleavon,” Chuck said. “We got a boat to catch.”

  Chuck looked at his watch. It was zero-six-fifty, they had just enough time.

  Reunions and Departures 1

  “There’s the airport, Jerry.” Elliot leaned forward and pointed.

  “I can see that. Both my eyes work you know.” Jerry had become testy as they neared the island—more so when he took manual control of the aircraft again.

  Elliot hadn’t noticed in his excitement, but when he turned to answer, he saw tiny beads of sweat on Jerry’s brow.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m okay,”

  “You sure? I mean—”

  “For someone with a broken sternum and about to land a small plane for the first time. I’m doing pretty darn good, wouldn’t you say?

  Elliot finally realized the gravity of the situation. To get this far, away from the clutches of foamers and mutants, only to die in a fiery plane crash in a remote airport.

  Now, that wouldn’t exactly be justice, Elliot said to himself.

  Jerry exhaled several times. Then—very, very slowly—took in one deep breath.

  “Here we go, tighten your seat belt.” Jerry reached over, his hand open. Elliot gripped his partner’s hand firmly and both held on for a good few seconds—they would either make it together or die in the attempt.

  “I’m with you, man!” Elliot said before he adjusted his belt and sat back.

  Like most first-time pilots on their first landing attempt, Jerry had slowed down too much. The plane wobbled and dipped, then picked up as he increased the throttle. The sight would have been an air-traffic controller’s nightmare, but there were none at the Sandspit Airport—or anywhere else. The runway appeared bigger in the Cessna’s windscreen and, as Elliot noted, so too did Jerry’s eyes.

  “You got it now, Jerry, just put it down!” Elliot thought a word of encouragement would be appropriate.

  With a whine of the engine and a yaw to the left, Jerry dropped the plane to the runway. Elliot had never fallen from a tall tree or the roof of a building, but he now knew what it felt like, and so did Jerry. The hard landing jolted his body so hard, his cracked sternum became a clean break.

  Jerry screamed as he struggled to hold onto the controls of the aircraft. He wouldn’t be leaving the craft without the aid of several people and a waiting stretcher.

  “Hold on, Jerry! Hold on. You can do it!” Elliot encouraged between Jerry’s screams and gasps for air.

  Jerry straitened up as best he could and held onto the yoke with the last of his strength. “Ease the throttle back, I can’t manage it.”

  The Cessna came to a halt near the end of the runway at the entrance to the apron. There would be no point risking further damage to Jerry’s chest, so they decided to leave the plane there.

  Jerry reached for the bottle of painkillers the moment he shut down the engine. He was all thumbs as he tried to get the bottle open.

  “Here, let me.” Elliot said and
poured several pills into his palm and held them out. “Take three. We won’t be going anywhere for a while.”

  Jerry popped the pills, then looked up at Elliot. “What is it, what’s wrong?”

  “I thought someone would have heard the plane.”

  “Maybe they’re on their way,”

  “Maybe. Look, there’s the catamaran I told you about, there in the bay.”

  “You came from the mainland in that? Looks more dangerous than an old Cessna with a broke-up pilot who’d never landed a plane before.” He gave Elliot a wink, then took a sip of water.

  “I hope…”

  “Don’t even think it, Elliot. If there’s been a foamer attack, I can tell you now we won’t be going anywhere—unless you want to do the flying?”

  Elliot stepped out of the Cessna. They decided it would be best for him to go alone—not that there was much of a choice. He left Jerry with water, canned food, jerky, the pain medication, and the sawed—off shotgun, before setting off. Elliot carried the Remington, his revolver, and a bottle of water. The wind picked up as he started for the fish market, the last known dwelling of his friends. In fact, he could see one side of the building once he passed the airport’s main entrance.

  Something wasn’t right and it bothered him. “Surely Chuck and Riley would have heard the plane,” he spoke aloud as he went over the possibilities in his head.

  There was discussion of moving to more hospitable quarters and I’ve been gone a while, maybe that’s it.

  Elliot got to the crossroad and was about to turn the corner that would take him down to the fish market when he heard a car headed his way. He had his confirmation that, apart from Jerry and himself, they weren’t alone. When the car came into view, he could see the outline of four, perhaps five people in the car. This wasn’t a time to panic. Neither Foamers nor mutants drove and if it were some other armed group of survivors, he would need their assistance to help Jerry from the plane. He laid his rifle on the ground before him and then did the same with his revolver.

  “CHUCK, RILEY!” Elliot yelled when the car was within twenty yards. “OH, MY FUCKING—” Elliot ran toward the Jeep.