Lost Island Rampage

by Gustavo Bondoni

  “I’d worry more about the Mosasaur,” the guy said.

  “Nah,” the girl replied. “I think we’re okay on a rowboat. The noise won’t be enough to attract its attention in these waters. Not while the Stern’s engines are on.”

  “I guess you’re right.”

  “Will you please get rowing?” Sked growled. “My ass is killing me and the doc and I could really use your help.”

  They rowed.

  ***

  A small Indian Navy vessel picked them up before the coast of Andaman came into view. Sked wondered how the hell they could have failed to find the island after rowing what seemed like forever.

  The Indians were extremely suspicious of the group of people climbing the rope ladder. A couple of cadets with rifles stood on either side of the ship’s Captain as he ushered them aboard.

  “Have you noticed no one is ever happy to see us?” Akane said.

  “Yeah. They must have heard of you,” Sked replied.

  She stuck her tongue out at him.

  This time, they were unable to sneak their weapons aboard. As soon as they reached the top of the ladder, both Sked and Akane were patted down and the guns were confiscated. The Captain of the cutter looked through Sked’s backpack but shrugged and handed it back.

  They were led to the front of the ship, where an open space allowed them all to stand together in the shadow of a reasonably sized deck gun. The artillery actually made Sked feel much better than before: they would be able to defend themselves, at least.

  “All right,” the Captain said. “Who can tell me what’s going on here?”

  Sked was about to speak, but the doctor stepped forward. “My name is Dr. Pendalai. I’m the doctor at the Sentinel Island resort. We suffered an attack by the natives… and by some other things you wouldn’t believe, and these are the only survivors.”

  “Why are you on a lifeboat from the Stern Liberia?”

  “Because the ship picked us up, but it’s sinking now, and we needed to get off,” Pendalai replied.

  That earned them a hard look. “Sinking? Are you certain?”

  “Absolutely.” The doctor seemed completely unintimidated by the Indian Navy.

  “They haven’t sent a distress call.”

  “They wouldn’t want you to board them.”

  The Captain turned to his men and began to give orders telling them to get the ship ready.

  “Don’t turn on the engines!” the woman from the control room said, pushing to the front of the group.

  “Unless you have a really good reason for that, Miss, we’re moving out right now.”

  He turned away from them.

  The doctor grabbed his arm. “That isn’t a good idea. There’s a large sea monster on that ship. Maybe two.”

  The Captain turned back to them. “Maybe you’d better tell me the whole story from the start. But I’m not stopping the ship unless I hear something a lot more compelling than sea monsters.”

  Sked spoke. “We’ll tell you everything, but please arm your weapons.” He nodded towards the deck gun. “We’ve been through much too much for you guys to get us killed now.”

  The Captain shrugged but gave the order. The cannons on the deck were designed to dissuade illegal fishermen, but they were a hell of a lot better than a machine gun if the monster attacked. These things could do real damage, and naval types were always ready to show them off… at least until they had to explain firing expensive shells to budget-conscious superiors.

  They told the story as the tiny ship headed back the way they’d come. The Captain listened with raised eyebrows which made it easy to guess what he was thinking. He wasn’t concerned about whether they were telling the truth. He’d apparently dismissed that as a possibility as soon as he heard the words “sea monster”. He was probably asking himself if the group he’d picked up was stoned out of their minds, or if he’d had the bad luck to rescue a lifeboat from the loony bin.

  Sked shrugged it off. “Do you guys have wi-fi?” he asked instead.

  “Not for civilian use, I’m afraid,” was the answer.

  “All right.”

  Sked returned to the group at the front of the boat, wondering if he could hack the Indian Navy’s wi-fi. He decided against it. It was bad enough that any routine background check they ran would turn up a few anomalies. He didn’t want to do anything that might lead someone to follow up on those anomalies. If they asked Washington about him… it could lead to awkward questions at the very least.

  The Stern Liberia came into view and Sked swallowed. The ship was much lower in the water, and it didn’t appear to be moving at all.

  There was no sign of the monster.

  “You really need to turn off that engine,” Sked told the Captain.

  “What I need to do is to go see that ship,” the officer replied.

  Sked shut up, saving his arguments for a battle he could win. This man wasn’t going to listen to reason. Meanwhile, he scanned the water, bracing for impact. He didn’t think the… had they called it a Mosasaur?... was big enough to bite this cutter in half, but it could probably put a serious dent in the hull and launch it a few yards into the air.

  Hopefully, he’d get thrown into the water, where the creature would ignore him while it demolished the ship.

  “Look!” Ania yelled, pointing into the sea.

  A hundred yards away, the monster breached, challenging this new interloper. Sked wondered how any animal could function if it felt it had to attack everything bigger than it was. He assumed Jurassic seas weren’t exactly teeming with large ships, but it still felt like an exhausting way to live.

  “What the hell…” the Captain said.

  “This is what we were telling you about,” Sked said. “Get your gunner on the job, man.”

  “We… we don’t have a gunner.”

  “How can you sail without a gunner?”

  The Captain gave him a look. “In ten years, I’ve never had to do more than fire a warning shot for an arrest. People don’t tangle with the Indian Navy. Not in these waters. So we just need someone who can point the tubes up and in the general direction of the people we’re trying to frighten and push a button to fire over their heads. They get the message pretty quickly.”

  “I don’t think the monster got the memo,” Sked replied. Then he sighed. This next bit was going to cause every single one of the awkward questions he’d wanted to avoid. “I can target the guns.”

  “You can?” The Captain’s voice turned icy.

  “Yes.”

  “And if I ask you where you acquired such a skill?”

  “I’d tell you to take it up with the Pentagon. I’m not allowed to tell you. But we’re wasting time.”

  To his credit, the Captain led him belowdecks, only pausing to warn the group behind them to get the hell away from the guns if they wanted to keep their hearing.

  The gunnery console was at least three generations older than the ones Sked had trained on, but it had been updated with video monitors. The 1990’s computer display told him he was looking at the firing control for an OTO 76mm gun. He grinned; Godzilla was going to have a bad day.

  He quickly established distance and fired. Miss.

  “I could have done that,” the Captain said, deadpan.

  The explosion enraged the monster. It circled a few times trying to find the source of this new and painful noise, but, finding nothing where the shell had detonated, it began to move quickly towards the ship again, fueled by its anger.

  “We’re gonna get one more shot at this thing before it gets too close to shoot at,” Sked said as he tracked the monster on the screen.

  “Make it count, will you?”

  Sked fired just as the monster dove. The explosion kicked up a fountain of water.

  “Did you get it?” the Captain said, leaning over Sked. The man smelled like soap and Sked suddenly felt every single minute of the days they’d been on the run land on him like the proverbial ton of bricks. He would glad
ly have killed for a shower.

  “I don’t know. The shot was good, but it dove right before impact.”

  Suddenly, another splash just ahead of them revealed an enraged monster that reared, almost revealing its full body. It must have been unimaginably strong to lift that mass out of the water.

  Sked didn’t even bother trying to find the range. He just pressed the button and the rapid-repeating gun at the front of the ship boomed.

  This time, there was no doubt. Instead of a spray of water, a large chunk of the creature’s lower jaw exploded outward in a shower of pink gobbets. The smell of cooked meat wafted across the ship, overpowering even the strong scent of sea.

  The creature toppled backward and sank beneath the waves.

  “Told you I could hit the thing,” Sked said. He slumped back in his seat, drained now that the adrenalin was gone.

  “Are you all right?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with me that a few weeks in bed won’t cure.”

  “If you need a bunk, we’ve got a few free.”

  “Why are you suddenly being nice to me?” Sked asked.

  “Because you hit the thing.”

  “A blind civilian could have hit it at that range.”

  “No. I meant the second shot. It was bleeding before it came out of the water. I think it was already dying and wanted to take us with it. If you hadn’t hit it, it probably would have come at us underwater. I know that’s what I would have done in its place. Good show.”

  “Thank you,” Sked said. “I’m glad I could help.” He sighed. Even the possibility of dropping on a bunk wasn’t enough to inspire him to move out of his seat. He preferred to just nap there. “Now what?”

  “Now, we need to assist that ship over there.”

  “You might want to wait until backup arrives. You’ll want Marines and zookeepers.”

  “What?”

  Sked sighed. “Ask the folks outside. I need to sleep. But don’t board the ship without backup. I mean it.”

  Sked’s eyelids grew too heavy to keep up. Sitting down on a padded chair in front of the console had been a mistake. He suspected he’d wake in an interrogation cell somewhere in a New Delhi basement.

  He would worry about that later. Now, it was time to rest.

  Chapter 24

  Mary checked her map. Though Google was telling her she was on the right road, she didn’t trust it, which was why she bothered with the impossible-to-fold paper item. It was one of the few times in her life in which the roads she was approaching didn’t have a Street View giving a preview of what she was getting into.

  But then, Digos City’s suburbs weren’t exactly on the beaten path. Fifteen miles south of Davao along the coast, the town looked, at first, to be a series of shacks along the Pan-Philippine highway. Only when the car she’d hired turned off on a muddy road that seemed to disappear into the jungle did she realize that here, hidden from view, lay the real town.

  But she also realized that she was completely at the mercy of her driver. She would never be able to find her way out alone. The map was as useless as her cell phone.

  Fortunately, the guy seemed to be more concerned for her than she was. He turned back to look at her. “Are you sure this is where your friends live?” he asked in excellent English. “This is a poor part of town.”

  “I know. This is the right place. Do you know where it is?” she said.

  “According to the guy I asked back at the highway, it’s just a little further this way.”

  The houses here were pretty much all built on the same pattern: cinderblock walls topped by steeply sloped corrugated roofs, streaked with rust. A style that would have telegraphed poverty anywhere else in the world was given a certain charm here because there was sufficient space between houses for dense vegetation to turn everything an impenetrable green with houses and walls and fences sticking out.

  The air coming in through the car’s open window was hot and humid. But things had been hot and humid ever since she arrived in South Asia. She was used to it.

  “This is the house, lady.”

  She smiled. No matter how often she’d been addressed that way in the past year, she never quite managed to suppress the desire to respond: “Oh, lovey, I’m no lady.” But once again, she kept that to herself. She didn’t want any misunderstandings with the driver. Instead, she simply said, “Thank you. Please wait here until I get back.”

  “Of course.” He got out of the car and, leaning on the fender, fished in the pocket of his shirt for a cigarette. “If there’s any trouble, yell for help. I’ll come as soon as I can.”

  “Thank you.” She gave him another smile. “I’m not expecting any trouble.”

  To Mary’s surprise, she believed what she was saying. If someone had told her she’d willingly walk into the poor part of a backwater town in the Philippines with no one to take care of her but a tiny little driver who she could probably take in a fair fight, she would have told them they were crazy.

  And yet, now that she was here, she was perfectly relaxed. The place appeared peaceful. A couple of goats chewed the grass on the side of the road, luxuriating in the mid-morning sun. This scene was too bright, too idyllic to be threatening. She smiled. It would be very different at night, she thought, wondering if any of the widely-spaced streetlights even worked.

  Mary realized she was stalling. The most frightening part of the entire trip was what happened next. She opened the thigh-high iron gate, rusted and repainted in the tropical manner, and advanced to the door.

  A deep breath later, she knocked on the door, a blue-painted panel whose uniform finish was broken only by a black ribbon tied around a nail.

  She heard a scuffing sound from within, so she waited. Just when she was about to knock again, the door opened to reveal a dark woman with grey-streaked black hair.

  “Are you Mrs. Ramos?” Mary said.

  The woman nodded, eyes suspicious but unafraid. “I am.”

  Mary sighed with relief. She’d been sure the woman wouldn’t speak any English and she’d have to hire a translator.

  At least now she understood why she hadn’t been able to get a phone number or an email address for the woman. The house didn’t look like it held such technically advanced items as a cell phone or a computer.

  “I knew your son,” Mary said. “Marco. He was a cook for a man I know.”

  “He worked on a ship.”

  “Yes. I knew the owner.”

  “He’s not here. He died three months ago. Far away. I’m sorry.” The woman made to close the door.

  “I know. I was with him when he died.”

  The door stopped and, for a moment, Mrs. Ramos seemed undecided about what to do. Finally, she opened the door with a sigh. “You should come inside. Is that man with you?”

  “He’s my driver. I don’t want him to hear this,” Mary replied.

  “I will offer him water.” Without waiting for Mary’s response, she called to the driver in Filipino. The man responded with a smile and the woman disappeared into the dark house, reemerging a few moments later with a glass of clear water. The man accepted it with grateful-sounding words.

  “Your driver is a polite man,” the woman said. “Please come inside.”

  Mary entered, expecting a house of that sort to be dirty, smelly as well as dark. But again, her preconceptions proved wrong. The house smelled of lemon, the floors were boards, not rough, but worn smooth, with no sign or scent of the damp that pervaded the rest of the country. The underside of the house must have been very well insulated.

  And the darkness was only real in relation to the bright sunlit exterior. Within moments, her eyes had adapted and the house began to take shape around her, illuminated by the open window in the rear as well as the door, still open to the street.

  Lai’s yacht, it most certainly wasn’t. The house was furnished in a potpourri of mismatched wood and metal furniture painted in bright colors. The overall effect was of a happy, colorful place. A kinder
gartener would have felt right at home there, but that wasn’t what caught Mary’s eye. Her attention was drawn to the embroidered wall hangings and the little figurines, saints and animals, that adorned the top of a rectangular dresser.

  Suddenly, she was sitting in her grandmother’s house in Bournemouth, on some long weekend visit, staring at the little religious icons on her mantlepiece and inventing stories for each of them.

  Mary pulled herself away from the memory. She had a conversation to get through. The first part would be the hardest.

  “I was with your son when he died,” she repeated, not knowing how else to broach the subject.

  “You were nearby? You spoke to the doctors?”

  Mary shook her head. “I was holding his hand. There were no doctors. We were on a ship. It was sinking.”

  “The ship he worked on?” the old woman asked.

  “No. A different ship.”

  “He abandoned his position?” Mrs. Ramos cast her eyes downward, obviously disappointed, but at the same time stoic, as if no amount of bad news could ever surprise her or beat her down completely. She gave the impression of a woman who had lived a full life. That her dead son might have been unreliable just seemed to be part of her lot.

  “No. Of course not.” Mary thought for a moment. “Your son didn’t seem capable of doing such a thing.”

  “Heh. Someday you’ll have children of your own. Talk to me after they grow up.”

  Mary felt a pang. But no, this woman needed to know how her son died before speaking of why she was really here. “Your son died a hero. He saved my life. More than once.” Mary wiped away a tear. “If he hadn’t been there, I would be dead now.”

  The woman nodded, unconvinced. “You came all the way here to tell me that?”

  “Yes. I mean, I would have, even if there hadn’t been other things.”

  “Other things.” The woman’s voice was flat, her expression saying that nothing good could possibly be forthcoming.

  “Yes. Mr. Lai… your son’s boss, that is, sent you this.” She handed Mrs. Ramos the envelope containing a fat check that Lai had entrusted her with. The woman tore it open.