The children moved down the wall, away from the obelisk, and toward Emmei, who shook with laughter that Mahdi now recognized as mania. Whatever the man had experienced in the island’s interior had clearly broken his mind. Could it have been worse than this? he thought, and he decided yes when he remembered the peeled-open face of the man on the beach, and his second set of eyes.
It could be a lot worse.
And then it was.
The children lowered to the ground and moved on all fours, their arms and legs splayed wide, joints bent at ninety degree angles. They began shrieking at one another, the pitches varied, but all were ear piercing.
Is that a language? Are they communicating? It sounded closer to dolphin calls drizzled in terror fuel, but the way their movements became coordinated said that they were organizing.
Two of the larger children scrambled out of the cave. Their eyes were on Mahdi, and for a moment, he thought the chase had begun.
He was halfway up the incline when he looked back again. The two children, both boys, had stopped on either side of the fire pit. They grasped the large metal sheets, oblivious to their sizzling skin, and dragged them away.
Impossible.
Mahdi thought two grown men would have trouble moving the plates. They must weigh hundreds of pounds each, and they’re scalding hot. The two boys made it look easy.
Wind barreled through the valley, propelled by the storm still forming above. The air struck the open pit. Embers flared bright orange, and small flames leaped up, but the blaze needed more fuel.
Emmei’s laughter became a scream.
The Sentinelese children had found a fuel source for the furnace.
Emmei rose up over the short mob of bodies. They carried him like a crowd-surfing concert-goer. Though upright, their legs were still spread wide, each movement looking more insectoid than human. The Sea Tiger’s captain kicked and flailed, but the children never parted, never ceased his slow passage toward the waiting heat.
Emmei’s heel connected with a little girl’s head. The blow to her temple was hard enough to snap her neck to the side and spill her body to the ground. Then she was up on her feet again, no tears, no anguish in her eyes. She was indifferent to the pain, if she felt it at all, and to the fact that they were about to scorch a living man.
Mahdi fought the urge to go back, to help. It was suicide. Emmei’s fate was sealed. Had been since he’d entered the lush interior. Mahdi’s fate, on the other hand, was still undecided. He crawled to the top of the crest, prepared to run, but he stopped when Emmei’s screaming reached a fever pitch.
They had him angled up, face first, over the open coals. Rising heat distorted the scene, but Mahdi could see that Emmei’s mind had returned in time to experience this final moment. His screaming wound down to a high pitched hiss, and then sobs. “I’m sorry,” he screamed to the sky. “I didn’t know!”
And then the children released him.
Into the pit.
A spiral of flames burst high, consuming the body with a crackle of skin and fat. Emmei’s body didn’t move. Didn’t scream. He fell into the blaze like any other log would, the smoke that once was a man, rising into the canopy.
The children, once again on all fours, fell silent, their faces somber, as though they had just carried out a serious chore and were awaiting their parents’ approval.
Thunder growled from the sky.
Run, Mahdi thought, but he couldn’t look away.
The children shifted their collective gaze from the fire to Mahdi.
Run!
They smiled. The line separating upper and lower lips stretched wide, and then too far, dividing their small faces horizontally, from ear to ear. When the children shrieked again, it was from open mouths as wide as their faces.
They weren’t children at all.
Like the man on the beach, they were something else.
Finally, Mahdi ran, but as the shrieking rose up behind him, he knew it was too late.
29
“You’re not going to shoot me.” Sashi’s feigned defiance wasn’t fooling Rowan. She was terrified, not just of Talia or the gun she was holding, but of facing the island alone—again. While Rowan wouldn’t condone shooting Sashi, if the truth didn’t come out, she would be on her own. It was a death sentence, which was why he had no doubt she would talk.
Rowan scanned the area with his FN SCAR. When they first infiltrated the island, they were afraid to even whisper. Now they were standing out in the open, having a not-exactly-quiet conversation. Their inhibitions were still being affected, even if they weren’t getting…naked. Rowan looked down at himself, and then the two women. Of the three of them, Talia, with her black bikini top and matching shorts was the most clothed.
The logic behind removing their clothing still made sense, but maybe their logic had been poisoned by instinct? At least we’re not naked, he thought, feeling a dose of shame that he hadn’t experienced while performing the haka, and what happened after.
Talia lowered the gun. “You’re right. I won’t shoot you. But I will leave you here.”
“I’ll follow you,” Sashi said.
“You won’t be able to keep up,” Rowan added, knowing his lack of support would undo the last fragments of emotional mortar supporting Sashi’s defiance. He liked Sashi, and she knew it. She had saved him. Pulled him from the edge of despair. But that salvation was only temporary. She had coaxed him away from the cliff to sacrifice him on the Devil’s island. “The truth is the only thing that can keep you alive.” He checked the jungle around them. “But keep your confession quiet.”
Sashi wiped tears from her cheeks. She was in pain, and despite feeling compassion for her situation, Rowan kept his expression resolute and cold. Sashi’s voice shook as she said, “If you promise to help me.”
“Help you how?” Talia asked.
“I—I need you to kill someone.”
“Not a chance,” Rowan said.
“Is it Winston?” Talia asked. “Because if it’s Winston…” A flash of surprise slipped through Talia’s face. She was either surprised she felt so strongly or that she had said it aloud. Maybe both.
“That’s my condition. If you want the truth, you need to free me from it.” This time Sashi’s defiance was genuine.
Given their circumstances, Rowan didn’t see any option other than to agree. He wasn’t swearing on a Bible, or signing a contract in blood. He didn’t need to fulfil his promise. “Who am I killing, then?”
Sashi’s eyes lit with hope. “You will?”
“If the secrets end,” he said. “Now, who am I killing, and why?”
“Rattan Ambani,” Sashi said.
“Ambani?” Talia said. “What does he have to do with the expedition? Other than the boat, and traitorous…crew. Huh…”
Rowan was surprised that neither he, nor Talia, had considered the hotel tycoon’s involvement before. Emmei’s and Chugy’s actions were both suspect, and the pair worked for Ambani, not the Indian government.
“Very little of what you’ve been told about our expedition is the truth.” Sashi cowered a little, as though expecting a beat down. But neither Talia or Rowan moved, or even spoke. The flood gates had been opened. All Sashi had to do was keep talking. Then she did. “We’re not here to study, make contact with, or save the Sentinelese people.”
“We’re here to kill them,” Talia said, struggling against grinding-teeth rage.
“How could the government condone—”
Sashi cut him off. “The Indian government doesn’t even know we’re here.”
“Do you even work for the government?” Rowan asked.
She nodded. “Department of Cultural Services. That was the truth. Mr. Ambani approached me about the island. He wanted to initiate contact, to broker a peace with the Sentinelese, but we both knew such actions would be a death sentence for such a violent and protective people. I declined his proposal…and he turned to my husband, a real estate developer.”
&
nbsp; Rowan remembered the black bindi on Sashi’s forehead, worn to express mourning of a husband’s passing. “Your dead husband?”
“He’s dead to me, but his heart is still beating. Ambani wants to develop North Sentinel Island. Make it an eco-resort. He intends to build a resort, but leave most of the island as is. He’ll leave whatever villages exist and hire desperate Andamanese to act as Sentinelese, adding an air of danger to visitors’ stays. ‘A vacation to the past,’ he called it. He’ll make millions, but only if the island’s current occupants either die, or deserve to.”
“The vicious slaughter of two scientists and their American protection might justify it,” Talia said, “If the coconuts failed to infect the island… What was on the coconuts?”
“I’m not sure,” Sashi said. “Flu, I think.”
“And when that didn’t work?” Rowan asked. He knew the answer, but wanted Sashi to say it.
“You would be put in a position to be killed by the Sentinelese, or Winston would do it, and make it look like the Sentinelese had killed you.”
“The string of murders you showed us at the resort weren’t enough?” Rowan asked.
“Fakes,” Talia said, and Sashi didn’t argue. “I knew it was too much. The Sentinelese are protective, but they’re not serial killers. Tribal people might seem savage to us, but they’re guided by the same moral compass as the rest of us. The Sentinelese didn’t want to kill us. They’ve given us more than one opportunity to leave.”
“And the Sea Tiger?” Rowan asked. “Was stranding us here part of the plan?”
Sashi shook her head, twitchy and rapid fire. “Why would I ever set foot on this island?”
“All of this for a resort.” Rowan raised his assault rifle, aimed it at Sashi. “Why shouldn’t we leave you here?”
“My husband,” she said.
“Your living husband,” Rowan added.
“He made a deal with Ambani. The resort’s contract will go to my husband, and along with it, a five percent ownership.”
“All of this for money?” Talia asked, her rage barely contained. She was a woman of financial means, but clearly she had no love for wealth.
“Not for me,” Sashi said. “I—I am here for my daughter. My presence legitimized the expedition. Without me—”
“He couldn’t have hired us,” Rowan said.
“And without my help…Ambani will marry my fifteen-year-old daughter.”
“That can’t be legal,” Talia said.
“It’s not.” Sashi’s head sank. “But that doesn’t stop it from happening. Eighteen percent of Indian girls are married by age fifteen. I was one of them. I don’t want that life for my daughter. If I could kill Ambani myself, I would. But to save my daughter I would do far worse.”
“You’d let us be killed to save the people you love?” Rowan asked.
Sashi looked him in the eyes. “Yes.”
Rowan lowered the rifle. “You’re a better mother than mine.”
“And mine,” Talia added, the fury gone from her eyes.
Sashi’s eyebrows rose. “You’ll kill him, then?”
“He’d force himself on a fifteen year old girl, blackmail you into committing murder and genocide, and drag us across the world just to kill us? I’ve killed a lot of people, because I was ordered to, and others because I made a mistake, but I never had what I would call a ‘good’ reason to take a life. Yeah, I’m thinking I’ll kill him. Who else is with him?”
“Winston,” Sashi said. “He’s a mercenary, and a sociopath. He’s successful, I think, because people underestimate him. Emmei is simply well-paid and loyal to Ambani. Chugy, too.”
“And Mahdi?” Talia asked.
“He was supposed to die with the two of you, but…he learned the truth.”
“Why didn’t he tell us?” Rowan asked.
“Mahdi is being hunted,” Sashi said. “His brother-in-law is Hamas. Winston threatened to turn him over.”
“He was going to sacrifice us to save himself.” Rowan wasn’t surprised. Very few people were willing to sacrifice themselves for other people, especially people they’d just met, but it was a far less noble motivation than Sashi’s. If they saw Mahdi again, the reunion wouldn’t be pleasant for the linguist.
Rowan wasn’t thrilled with the answers, but he was satisfied that they knew the truth, and that Sashi wouldn’t betray them. The emotion about her daughter’s situation felt real. If he could help her, he would. “Time to go.”
A relieved Sashi wiped fresh tears from her face and gave a nod. Talia took the lead. She moved like a stalking jaguar, silent and swift. Keeping up was a challenge, but without his boots, Rowan found himself able to move in complete silence.
Their return to the beach was uneventful. There was no evidence that the Sentinelese had passed through the area, and none of the tribe lingered on the sand, or in the choppy turquoise waters surrounding the island.
“They must have turned before reaching the beach,” Sashi said.
“Mmm,” Talia grunted and then stepped out into the sand. She scanned the beach in both directions, and then relaxed. “All clear.”
When Rowan exited the wall of green and stood in the open once more, he noted Talia’s attention was now on the sky. Looking out from the beach, everything appeared normal. The sky was blue. The ocean inviting and tropical. But above…dark storm clouds swirled. “Is that…normal?”
“The island has its own micro climate,” Sashi said. “It’s not unusual for clouds to form over the island while the rest of the sky is clear.”
Talia pointed up. “But this?”
The black clouds swirled through the sky like an isolated hurricane. Lighting arced through the clouds, the thunder loud, shaking through Rowan’s chest.
“It’s extreme,” Sashi said. “Yes.”
Rowan started down the beach. They weren’t far from the tree bark bunker, and they already knew the man they’d killed was no longer there. In fact, the more he thought about that thing, and its many eyes, the more willing he was to take his chances in a rubber raft, on the open ocean, during a lightning storm. His walk became a jog as he neared the bunker, but slowed when he saw a swath of destruction surrounding it. The first aid kits, food bags, and raft had been shredded and scattered about. Had the resurrected creature attacked in a fit of rage, or had the Sentinelese raided the stash? It was impossible to tell if anything had been taken.
“Shit,” Talia said when she saw the deflated raft, shredded into strips.
Rowan made a quick mental leap from escaping the island to surviving it. He began scanning for any salvageable food or medical supplies. Talia joined him, discovering a can of chocolate pudding, but the search came to an abrupt end when Sashi stepped backward through the mess, toward the jungle, eyes on the ocean. Her eyes flicked down to Rowan’s. “The water…they’re in the water.”
30
Running without a destination was never a good idea. The risk of overexertion, the temptation to push beyond limits or the possibility of rescue, and the danger of injury. Mahdi hated running. Thought it the fool’s method of exercise. Hard on the knees and shins, and every other bone beneath the ribs. A cold, or rainy, or snowy day could prevent the run, and then what was the point of starting a routine? If Mother Nature could upend a resolution, it wasn’t ever resolute. So, when he ran, it was on a treadmill, Downton Abbey on the screen, rain or shine. But still, he hated running.
Even more now. Because to stop was to die, most likely in a horrible way, just as Emmei had. Roasted alive. It was the kind of barbarism heard about in the Middle East, but seen far less than any American would believe. Wars sometimes claimed fewer lives than daily life in some U.S. cities. But he could call neither the extremists in his homeland, nor the gangs fighting over American streets, barbarous anymore. The Sentinelese had redefined the word.
Burned alive. Skin flaking in hot black sheets. Fat melting, spitting. The images were gruesome, but he allowed them to flood his mind, to blot o
ut the exhaustion and adrenaline waging war for his mind and body. Slowing meant death. Running was all there was.
But running to where? There were no guideposts or obvious markers to help determine where on the island he was, or where he was heading. The Sentinelese might recognize every tree, but to him, they were all the same, sweeping high into the air, twisting trunks topped with billowing leaves, the mixture reminiscent of a lemon-lime soda commercial. All he knew was up, down, left, right, and forward. Back was not an option.
But then he stopped.
The jungle ahead was a wall of lush green. The boundary where life began and ended. It was where they captured Emmei, but it wasn’t where they killed him. The question was, did he lose his mind because of what he had discovered on the other side? And if Mahdi was caught in some kind of sacred place, would he be dragged back out before he was barbequed?
Shrieking and the sound of small feet slapping rapid-fire over roots made up his mind for him. I can be captured and killed here and now…or in there. The difference seemed negligible, and if he lost his mind before being captured, perhaps that would be a mercy?
He shoved through the growth, pushing his way through branches. There were no thorns, but the foliage clung to him. ‘Stay,’ it told him, ‘not that way.’ But he persisted, and broke through. The jungle on the far side opened up, but looked nothing like the manicured ground surrounding the island. Where that was a family park, this was a lush tropical paradise. Cool humidity clung to his skin, easing the heat. Flowers tickled his nose, putting him at peace. Lavender, he realized, and then he saw the plant blooming nearby.
He felt both welcome and like a trespasser. But he was also desperate. He pushed onward, running through the lush terrain, sluicing through streams, crashing through long, hanging vines, and all the while, regaining his strength.
Ten minutes into his run, he got a second wind for the first time in his life.
I can make it, he thought. If I just keep moving straight, I’ll reach the ocean.
And then what? Swim to freedom? He looked up at the sky, storm clouds swirling lower. In that?
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