The Island - The Final Chapters

by Michael Stark

  The old woman studied the cigarette pack as if thinking about lighting another. She finally set it aside and looked up. “He says, now remember, he’s six years old, Hill William, so he ain’t got a lot of learning to fall back upon. But, he says the rock has claw marks on it from the Bad One.”

  I looked up. “Who’s that?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said. “In my mind, the impression equates to the Devil or something like him. That’s because my mind has a place it can lock into. His doesn’t. When I ask him who the Bad One is, he says he’s too scared to look.”

  “What about you? What do you see?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t see anything. I can feel it though and he’s right, the presence is evil, so evil that just knowing it’s there makes my skin crawl.”

  There are levels of disbelief in everyone. For me, mine began with having the conversation in the first place and ended with not wanting to believe what I was hearing. Maybe the old woman had hit the issue squarely when she said that Daniel’s mind had no place it could turn for an explanation. Maybe that was my problem, because mine sure as hell didn’t.

  I wanted to talk to her longer, but Denise came out on the porch at that point, buried in what looked like the same hooded sweatshirt she’d worm on the day she and Joshua came strolling out of the bushes. The shorts had disappeared. She’d donned jeans and running shoes instead.

  Elsie climbed to her feet and pointed toward the kitchen.

  “I think I’ll fix us a bite to eat. We have Dinty Moore on the menu tonight. Give me a good day tomorrow and we’ll eat like paupers, but it’ll be good nonetheless. One of Charlie’s sacks had a five pound bag of dried beans and a bag of cornmeal. I got eggs this morning and we still have a little butter left. That means beans and cornbread for supper.”

  Denise looked back and forth between us as if searching for the inside joke. Finally, she turned to Elsie. “Why do you need a good day for that?”

  Elsie laughed. “Because I’m not picking creasy greens in the rain.”

  The younger woman still looked lost.

  “Cress,” I told her. “We used to drive up in the mountains when I was a kid. Up on those old rock faces where water leaked down, the stuff grew all over the ground. Old folks always said they made the best greens.”

  “That they do,” Elsie chimed in as she headed for the door. “And we’re gonna have ourselves a mess of them.”

  “Ahhh,” Denise said as if the light had just dawned. The look on her face clearly indicated that it hadn’t.

  “I’ll show you. Little plant, grows close to the ground, has long shoots spreading out from the center with leaves on the end. It’s a member of the cabbage family.”

  I studied her face for a moment. “Whoopee, huh?”

  She grinned. “Ok, so I’m not the person you want to send looking for wild edibles.”

  I motioned toward the beach. I didn’t feel like taking her away from the station, but wanted to talk to her without others around.

  “Let’s take a walk.”

  Denise glanced toward the sky hesitantly. The gloom had deepened. The fog that had threatened the inlet earlier had found its way all the way up into the little bay. The ocean, what I could see of it anyway, looked dark and restless. Night would come soon, and with it the same fears that had kept us boarded up inside the station for weeks.

  “We won’t go far. We’ll be back before dark. I promise,” I told her.

  We didn’t go far. I took her out on to the beach, up from the surf enough to avoid the water and walked beside her with my hands inside my jacket. A hundred yards down, I stopped and told her about ghosts and how she wasn’t one.

  She stared hard at me, searching my face, hope flickering in her eyes, but too timid to gain much traction. I couldn’t blame her. Hope is a universal need. You can see it everywhere, from the excitement of lottery players scratching off tickets to people waiting nervously for the doctor and praying that the odd lump he found turns out to be something common and completely harmless. I’d seen it in my father every time he looked at Angel. I’d seen it in Becky’s eyes the day we’d brought little William home.

  My father had once told me that hope was the one emotion that could change the course of a life, choose the winner of a war, and even lift a society out of the ashes of oppression. His mantra, repeated so many times that the words still rang through my mind in his rough voice, was that with hope, anything could be achieved and everything was possible. He was right. What he forgot to mention in the pep talk was that hope crushed or abandoned usually led to an equally profound moment, one akin to falling off a cliff into a chasm of despair.

  “Do you believe it?” she eventually asked.

  I shot her a crooked smile. “As much as I believe anything else in this crazy-ass world. I don’t know how the rest of you see Daniel, but to me, he’s a like a blend of a scary little boy from a horror movie and the Oracle of Delphi.”

  She looked unconvinced. I offered the only explanation I had. “He has no social skills or wisdom to fall back on. Most of the time, I’d rather be worried about the question than have the crap scared out of me by the answer. But, in this case, the answer is a good one.”

  “What about everyone else? Are you a ghost, William?”

  I’d never been one to spin things in either a positive or negative light. Shit happens, and sometimes, it simply is what it is.

  “Not yet,” I told her with a sigh. “The lines there get a little fuzzy. He calls us shades. Elsie doesn’t know what he means. I don’t either. Still, if I’m looking for silver linings, this particular cloud might have one. I don’t line up on the ghost side yet.”

  I hesitated and then lied, not because I wanted to, but because telling a man who was already sick that he was going to die would help no one. Denise had known Devon for a long time. I’d never cared much for him, but saw no reason to make his last hours even worse and had no reason to expect she wouldn’t tell him.

  The progress of the disease followed a well-defined graph. Within the next few hours, Devon would slip into a semi-lucid state. Following that could be a coma-like sleep from which he would never wake. If the news reports were valid, a period of aggressive and dangerous behavior could pop up as the disease progressed. Jessie had gone to bed sick and never gotten back up. If Devon stayed on that course, he didn’t have long before the next phase. Telling him might not only destroy what little hope he had, but possibly take away his will to fight and, in the process, make the prophecy self-fulfilling.

  The real issue didn’t lie with Devon, but with Joshua. The relationship there was more complex and had much more history behind it. I told her about Daniel’s prediction and watched emotions play across her face.

  “Like I said, most of us are shades,” I continued hastily. “The only people that had certainty attached to them on the good side were you and Elsie.

  I looked up into the failing light.

  “Come on. Let’s get back. It’ll be dark soon.”

  We strode up the beach, close but not touching. Denise said nothing. I could feel the change in her. The poets might pine away about how bittersweet the feeling must be, to know one would live while others would die. But, up front, the verse writers and wordsmiths didn’t have a Sword of Damocles hanging over their heads. I could understand the first emotions being both relief and exuberance.

  The tidal flats on the beach in front of the station seemed extraordinarily exposed, as if the ocean had been sucked away to the other side of the world. My thoughts wandered back to my father, leaned back against the stern, one hand guiding the wheel while he drew circles in the air to illustrate the moon, the sun, and their effect on tides. I didn’t have to close my eyes to see the way his face lit up when he launched into one of his impromptu lectures.

  I still had him on my mind when the shot rang out. Someone, it sounded like Kate, screamed. Startled, I glanced at Denise. She looked back, wide-eyed, and then turned and bolted for the st
ation. I took off behind her.

  One thing I will give the woman, she was fast. It took every ounce of speed I had to catch up to her. We rounded the last set of dunes at the same instant and skidded to a stop.

  Devon stumbled across the yard, waving the shotgun. Joshua lay on the ground in front of him, hands clutching feebly at his chest. Kate stood a few feet away, her face splattered with blood. Keith had his hands out, imploring the smaller man to lay the gun down.

  He refused, slinging his head side to side in an exaggerated no. He staggered to a stop and stood weaving with his feet spread wide apart. The shotgun wavered so badly that it swung like a pendulum in tiny arcs with Keith at the center.

  “Where he?” Devon shouted in an odd, toneless voice. “Where he?”

  “Where be Wee-Lee-Um?”

  Chapter XXIV - Dragons

  I hit him like a freight train, coming in low and from behind in a tackle that would have gotten me banned for life from any form of football. Keith flung himself sideways in the same instant, trying to avoid the potential blast from a reflexive jerk.

  Devon didn’t go down. He went up and over my shoulder with a deep ummph ripped from his chest at the impact. The shotgun flew upward as well, spinning like a baton tossed high in the air.

  I rolled across the ground five feet beyond the spot where the younger man had stood, spinning with memories of Baby and Marcy running hot in my mind. He landed with his feet still high in the air, the base of his neck absorbing most of the impact. The blow would have knocked another man senseless. Instead, he twisted and climbed jerkily to his feet.

  His face burned with fever. His eyes gleamed as if backlit by the fire blazing inside. He lurched toward me, hands outstretched. I let him come two steps before throwing a right cross that started somewhere in the middle of my back and, in my mind, went through his face. Dad hadn’t taught me that. Virgil had.

  Every time I started feeling invincible and ready to take on the world, the old man would don gloves and we’d go a round or two. The first time ended quickly and painfully. It took three years before he finally stepped back and gave me the little nod of approval that said more and meant more than the keynote speaker when I’d graduated college. The latter mostly wasted his time with dry words and a drier message, that of finally being ready for the world. Virgil’s approval didn’t mean I’d reached badass status. It mostly meant I could go through life without worrying about others who thought they were.

  The punch sent the younger man sprawling. That time, he stayed down.

  I glanced sideways to where Joshua lay. Denise had fallen to her knees. She pulled at his shirt, imploring him to say something. Kate still stood shaking, dripping blood that had to belong to the man on the ground. Elsie rocketed out of the doorway, moving faster than I thought possible for someone her age.

  She knelt beside him and pulled Denise back.

  “Help me get his shirt off. Hurry!”

  Joshua died before they could work the buttons free. What lay exposed, looked like it had been put through a meat grinder. He exhaled in one long sigh and then simply stopped breathing. The same hands that had been worrying with his chest a few seconds before fell limp and open.

  “Nooooooo,” Denise wailed, falling over against him and rocking against the body. Off in the corner of my vision, Keith rose from the ground, brushing dirt and twigs from his arms. I stood, shaking with emotion, feeling the anger swell from inside like lava bursting from the mouth of a volcano.

  I reached down, snatched up the shotgun and shook it at the sky.

  “You want me?” I screamed at the clouds. “Then COME FUCKING GET ME.”

  The roar died away leaving only the sound of Denise sobbing behind me to fill the sudden silence. I couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand the off and on nature of monsters and diseases jumping out from dark corners only to retreat and wait for another ambush. The wrath blossomed, exploding upward and consuming me.

  I flung the weapon aside and cast about for something, anything, and settled on the Suburban. One rear door to the cargo bay still hung open where Joshua had tied it back when we’d loaded Jessie’s body. I strode over and grabbed it. How, I don’t know, but when I heaved, the thing ripped free and sailed out across the yard like a giant Frisbee.

  The rage roared in my ears, filling my heart, my soul, every fiber of my being with the urge to confront and destroy. Had Satan himself stepped from the shadows, the war would have been on. I was ready, more ready in that moment than I’d ever been to face anything the sky or hell had to throw at me.

  It was a good mood, a perfect mood, a mood that left me growling with excitement when I looked up and saw the thing that had burst from the clouds maybe five to six hundred yards away. The creature looked huge, with black leathery wings beating against the humid air like a flying lizard resurrected from the age of dinosaurs. Behind it, as if riding in its wake, a rash of smaller creatures dotted the low hanging clouds, wings flapping furiously to keep up. I couldn’t tell for sure at that distance, but they looked about the same size as the little beast that had crawled from Zachary’s mouth.

  I turned and walked toward the station.

  “Get inside,” I told Elsie and Denise as I passed.

  “Now listen here, Hill William,” Elsie said, her tone warning of yet another, “I’m offended, you’re going to suffer,” lecture heading my way. I don’t know what she had in mind to say next because the words trailed off and ended in what sounded like a startled gasp.

  I took it that Elsie had looked past me.

  The yard broke into a pandemonium behind me. Keith shouted at the women. Denise yelled at Kate. Elsie’s voice wavered between ushering them inside and snorting at Keith.

  I reached inside the door, hefted the Marlin from where it leaned against the wall, and walked back into the yard. Elsie and Denise staggered past me dragging the still frozen Kate toward the station.

  Keith stood in the yard, watching the pack draw near.

  “Better go,” I told him as I jacked a round into the chamber.

  “Nah, I’ll stay,” he said. “I’ll probably die behind that door before long. I don’t feel like running for it now.”

  The thing leading the pack looked like a dragon.

  “Then grab the shotgun. It has two rounds left in the magazine. They’re useless at a distance. Wait until the little bastards are close. I’ll take the big one.”

  He disappeared from sight and returned carrying the gun.

  The massive animal in front had started its dive, swooping in with wings stretched out like they belonged on an airplane. Armored legs swung underneath, each terminating in talons that looked long enough to drive right through any one of us.

  “Hey William,” Keith said.

  “Yeah?”

  “Remind me not to piss you off.”

  I settled the sights on the beast’s head. It looked to be a foot across.

  “Hey Keith.”

  “What?”

  “Remind me not to shout, ‘come fucking get me’, at the sky ever again.”

  I pulled the trigger before he could answer. The thing had spread its wings in a landing motion, pulling up with clawed feet stretched out below it. The bullet puffed against its forehead and snapped the giant head backward. I worked the lever and fired again. The second round caught it just under the chin.

  The beast twisted in the air, no more than a couple of hundred feet away, its huge bulk blocking out the sky. I felt like David standing before Goliath with a rifle that seemed as puny as a slingshot.

  Even with it looming over me, I still had no idea what family tree the thing called home. What it looked like was a cross between a pterodactyl and a T-Rex, with a good bit of monster snake thrown into the genetic blender. A long ridge ran along its spine from neck to tail, the entire distance spiked with what looked like huge, black fangs fitted on backward. Thick, iridescent scales at least four inches wide coated most of its body. Muscles as big as fire hoses rippled beneat
h the leathery skin. The only biological classification that made sense didn’t exist. Science hadn’t created a genus for dragons.

  The first shot had probably bounced off and done nothing more than give it a headache. The second had hurt enough to cause the beast to jerk sideways and ease out of its landing position into a swooping glide.

  Soft spots, I thought.

  Behind me, the Benelli roared. Above me, the dragon screeched. The sound reverberated through the clearing, the cry like that of a monstrous hawk searching for prey. It looked down, yellow eyes gleaming under heavily armored brows. Rows of teeth shaped like triangular daggers filled the open mouth.

  I’m not the best shot in the world, but dinner plate eyes a hundred feet away? Even Daniel could hit that. I followed the beast with the sights, the little iron V leading the long, black slit of a pupil by a fraction. The instant I pulled the trigger I knew I’d scored, if not a mortal blow, then a damned painful one.

  The flying blend of lizard and dinosaur screamed a guttural cry loud enough to rattle the windows behind me. Seconds later, the thing exploded into a twisting ball of wings and claws, the smooth glide disintegrating into an erratic and rapidly descending path toward the forest. I raised the rifle, hoping for one last good shot. The target I wanted was low on the back of its head, where the thick bony plate covering its skull ended. Armor always had joints. I wanted to slide another bullet right up the back side of its brain the way Cajuns do when hunting gators.

  What I saw left me astounded. Sticking up amid the flurry of wings and scales, a pale face peered back.

  “What the hell?” I exclaimed, stunned by the sight.

  The shotgun blasted behind me again. Even that wasn’t enough to make me turn around. The fleeting image had me mesmerized. The face had looked like a child compared to the monster.

  “William!”

  Keith’s shout broke the trance. I spun. He swung the weapon like a club. Three of the little demons dodged and swirled around him. Keith should have had the upper hand. He was bigger, stronger, and wielding what amounted to a seven pound ball bat. But, the imps were much faster and incredibly nimble. What should have equated to a giant laying waste to the little people looked more like a drunk trying to smack see-sawing piñatas.