The Island - Part 3

by Michael Stark

  “I got hold of Evan Marshall too. He’s Portsmouth’s caretaker in the summer months. He said the there’s probably twenty or thirty gallons of kerosene in the tank at the station. He also told me that the ranger’s station has some diesel left over for the generator.”

  “What tank?” I asked him.

  He glanced at me. “It’s just outside the back door next to the summer kitchen - probably sitting up high somewhere since everything over there is on gravity feeds.”

  I’d felt stupid before. The next question wasn’t going to make me seem any brighter. “Okay, what summer kitchen?”

  He let out a loud guffaw. “Go out the back door onto the little porch. Turn right and go through that door. That’s the summer kitchen. Houses on the island had no electricity back in the day and no air conditioning. Summers in these parts get hot. Most buildings had an attached kitchen to keep the heat away from the main house.”

  The vet rubbed his hands together briskly. “You get the stuff loaded up. I’ll be back in a bit and we’ll get your man hooked up to some drugs.”

  He started to turn and paused. “Keep an eye out. Something has been creeping around out here the last few nights.”

  I thought about telling him how weird my nights had been lately, but decided to have that conversation toward the end of our visit. I needed the old man to concentrate on Gabriel, not worry about me. By then, everyone would have heard the news. Turning one’s back on a man who sounded crazy would have been difficult before The Fever transformed normal people into raving lunatics. Doing it after stories of cannibalism and dismemberment filled the airwaves would have implied brain function just above motor skills. Or as my father would have said, a genetic makeup formed from the froth at the edge of the gene pool.

  I could still hear him saying it, savoring each prepositional phrase along the way.

  “From the froth, William.”

  “At the edge, the very edge, mind you. We’re talking the dirty, scummy edge.”

  The last four words always came out with the emphasis on gene as if the heart of the insult lay directly in those four letters.

  “Of the Gene pool.”

  The memory vanished as Charlie reached out and put a hand against my arm.

  “You ok?”

  “Yeah,” I said with a wry smile, “just thinking about things creeping around in the night.”

  “Been thinking about that a lot myself. That old house back there pops, creaks, and groans enough at night to make a parson jittery,” he said with a nod. “About a week ago, I saw something moving in the shadows next to the shed. I never got a good look at it. It was big though, as big as a Sasquatch.”

  I glanced around at the deep shadows and swaying bushes.

  “Where’s the shed?”

  “Behind that big tree.”

  Wonderful, I thought, and stared at the magnolia tree. A herd of elephants could hide behind the thing, not to mention a flock of little demons.

  “That’s all we need,” I said when I turned back. “The news has been full of odd things, ogres, trolls and now a Bigfoot.”

  Charlie frowned at me. “Sasquatches are real. I’ve seen one before. Those other things, well, I don’t know if people are hallucinating from The Fever or just on edge enough to see monsters in every little thing that moves.”

  Even with goose bumps standing out on my arms, I had to grin.

  “Okay,“ I said, drawing the word out long and slow. The urge to start humming the theme to the Twilight Zone flickered through my mind again. “You saw one, huh? Sure it wasn’t a bear or moose or even a loose monkey?”

  He leaned over and patted me on the arm the way one does a child. “Son, I’m a veterinarian. When it comes to animals, I don’t misidentify them. Now, you go on and load up. Just watch what you’re doing over there near the shed. Whatever it was came out of the bushes next to it.”

  He walked off in a slow, rambling gait leaving me alone next to the fire. I grunted and set to work. The crate went on top of the cabin where the dune buggy had sat. The chickens inside rustled and clucked a time or two, but for the most part, being carried down to a boat and lifted up on top of it didn’t seem to bother them much. The sacks were heavy. I peered inside one. It looked to be full of dried foods and cans, all of which would last for years. I stacked those on top of the crate and lashed the bundle down.

  Gabriel moaned from the cockpit as I turned to head back toward the fire. I eased over and gazed down from the cabin roof. He lay on the seat, his face turned toward the sky, the blanket pulled up tight around his chin. His face had lost all color. His breath came ragged and uneven, accompanied by a wet, rumbling sound in his chest. He shivered as if he were lying in a pool of icy water instead of his own sweat. The sight sent my hopes plummeting. Even in a hospital, surrounded by high tech equipment and doctors, his chances wouldn’t have been good. I wondered whether or not Angel would be transporting her second body by the time we made it back.

  The thought sent a shiver running up my back. If he died, he would not stay on the boat, even if I had to carry his body up the hill across my shoulder. After what had happened to Zachary, I had no intention of leaving him out to serve as dinner for the ghoulish little bastards.

  The sight of the cabin light pouring across the cockpit brought back images of patrol boats. They wouldn’t stop to check out a fire pit, but a boat light down on the water might bring them in to investigate. I flicked the light off before I headed back up the bank.

  I left the gas can for last and, honestly, came close to leaving it period. The idea of extra gas had sent a bolt of relief shooting through me. Five gallons would go a long way on Angel if I ran the motor easy enough. The idea of going to get it made my hair stand on end.

  Muttering a string of curses, I eyed the tree at least half a dozen times. An old hunter had once told me that movement drew the eye faster than anything. The porch light joined forces with the wind to paint the edge of the yard in a mass of wiggling shadows. If I’d been hunting and looking for movement, I could have blown hell out of the entire yard.

  “Does the man put the gas can out with all the other stuff, next to the big roaring fire?” I asked out loud at one point. “Noooo, he leaves it in the bushes where the boogey man hangs out with Sasquatch.”

  Finally, I gave in and walked toward the tree, sure as hell that some monster from my nightmares would leap on my back the instant I passed beneath it. People say that in the last moments of life, everything flashes through your mind. I got news for them. I didn’t revisit great-grandpa or see my first birthday cake or relive the winning touchdown I made at the homecoming game. No, my thoughts were simpler. Scenes from every horror movie I’d ever watched played through my mind with each step taking me closer to I’m-a-dumbass-and-gonna-die stardom.

  Walking along in the dark like that sucks - kinda like getting a call from a casting directory for the new Star Trek movie and having them hand you a red shirt when you walk in the door. At that point, the question isn’t if the three headed monster with long tentacles is going to rise up from the rocks and eat your ass. The question is how many speaking lines you get before you have to start screaming and trying to run.

  I found the gas can on the steps to the shed, jerked it up, and started back. As long as the walk had been getting there, going back seemed to take twice as much time - most of which came from something everyone knew. The idiot who walked into the monster’s lair, even though the other twelve people who went in before him had been eaten and dismembered, somehow managed to almost get free before the thing whacked him in half. Even worse, maybe it would just sneak along behind me for a bit until I realized the breeze blowing against the back of my neck was too hot to be the wind.

  Relief swept through me when I passed the bonfire. The dumbass was still alive, even if he had sweat dripping down his back.

  Back aboard Angel, I hoisted the can on top of the cabin and tied it firmly to the mast, opposite the chicken crate, settling the la
st knot in place just as Charlie emerged from the darkness.

  The old man walked stiffly, yet purposefully. A woman followed behind him. She looked thin and frail when she passed the fire pit. With her long white hair and pale skin, she could have been a ghost materializing out of the shadows. She hadn’t dressed for the night either. In fact, it looked as if he had dragged her out of bed.

  Gabriel groaned from the cockpit. I glanced down to see him tossing his head from side to side.

  The woman followed her husband down onto the dock and stood off to one side with her arms crossed. The light gown she wore fluttered around her knees. She clutched the material tightly across her midsection, looking cold and uncomfortable.

  Charlie waved in her direction.

  “This is my wife, Marcy. She’s going to help me place the IV,” he said. “She has better eyes than I do. Besides, if she can find a vein in a skittish horse, she can probably find one in your friend.”

  I waved in greeting and climbed down from the cabin roof. She pulled her gown tighter and gazed down at Gabriel lying in the cockpit. Her lips tightened and a look of distaste swept across her face. The expression surprised me after her husband’s outspoken independence and willingness to help. Apparently, Marcy preferred to be somewhere else and from the looks of it, just about anywhere else.

  He held up the backpack. “That man needs a real doctor and a hospital. That means going to Morehead City or up to Nags Head. We got a clinic here, but from what I’ve been hearing, the patrols are just as likely to shoot you as help you.”

  The next words came out slow and careful as if he wanted me to pay special attention. “I put some stuff in here to knock him out and made some notes in a little book to tell you how to use the other drugs,” he said. “That leg gets worse or his fever don’t go down, you read what I wrote. Hear me?”

  I nodded. “I hear you.”

  “Alright, let’s do this,” the old man said, reaching out to feel for the netting. I leaned in and lifted the edge for him and his wife. Charlie climbed in quickly. The woman hesitated.

  “Come on, Marce,” the old man urged. “Get in. We got to get these boys out of here. We’re all likely to end up in jail or worse if anyone else sees them.”

  He glanced up at me.

  “She’s not been feeling well the past few days.”

  I pushed the netting higher to give her more room. Still, the woman balked, her gaze moving back and forth between her husband and the fever-stricken man tossing and turning beside him.

  “Charlie, this doesn’t feel right. Something is wrong.”

  “Of course something is wrong,” the veterinarian barked. “He’s dying. Come on. Let’s get this thing in him.”

  Her face twisted into a look of disgust. “He stinks. Can’t you smell it?”

  Gabriel stirred and struggled to push himself upright. A low, liquid moan slid out of him.

  “Dammit Marce, hurry,” Charlie ordered, reaching over to hold Gabriel down. “You get down here too, William. It might take all three of us to get the IV in him.”

  Gabriel writhed under the old man’s hands. “I don’t envy you on the way back,” the vet grunted. “We might ought to tie him down. Marce, get in here “

  I held the netting high. The woman ignored me and stepped gingerly down onto one of the seats.

  Gabriel bolted upright, sweat dripping off his face, his eyes white and staring. The glazed look slid away for one brief instant and they focused, not on me, and not on Charlie, but on Marcy.

  “Get back, bitch,” he growled. Spit flew from his mouth in tiny pale flecks.

  Charlie grabbed at Gabriel’s arms, trying to pin them down. The younger man pushed him off easily and raised a trembling finger. “You! Get back.”

  I scrambled through the netting and fell heavily, landing in the floor on top of the veterinarian.

  Gabriel pushed himself back hard against the bulkhead, his eyes hot and burning with rage.

  “What’s wrong with you?” the woman asked. “It’s not supposed to be this way.” Her voice sounded tiny and lost, like an abandoned child wandering alone in the darkness. She stood at the back of the cockpit. Firelight loomed behind her, the glow forming an orange halo around her loose hair.

  She reached out slowly, gently, and offered her hand to Gabriel.

  He lowered his head. His eyes gleamed from the shadow of his face.

  “Harlot,“ he whispered. “Bitch from hell.”

  His voice rose as he cursed her, growing stronger and more powerful, seeming to lift him up in the process.

  “Take your filthy hand away.”

  I fought to untangle myself from the old man. He flailed and twisted, gasping as if out of breath. He probably was. I’d landed dead center in the middle of his stomach.

  “Get off me!” Charlie grunted. “What the hell is wrong with your friend?”

  Like I knew - the only thought that made sense was The Fever and the hallucinations that had been all over the news. I finally pulled myself off the old man, accidentally digging an elbow in his ribcage in the process. Rising to my feet, I watched Gabriel and the woman each other up like bears about to fight. Charlie struggled erect behind me, wheezing like an old train running out of steam.

  I don’t think Gabriel or Marcy noticed either of us. Their eyes had never left each other. I glanced back and forth between them. He glared openly at her. She stared at him in surprise. Charlie crouched behind me. He launched himself at Gabriel before I could stop him.

  “Come on!” He yelled. “Help me.”

  I turned to separate them, to try and get some order back. I never had the chance. Marcy flew by me, leaping toward the two struggling men. In a flash the three of them were bound tight, Charlie trying to pin Gabriel’s arms, while Marcy wrestled with his head.

  I stared at the wild tangle of arms and legs, unable to believe what I was seeing. If I hadn’t been watching, I would have never believed what happened next.

  Marcy had Gabriel by the head, twisting it brutally to one side. Tendons stood out like ropes against his neck, the muscles tense and straining so hard it seemed something would burst or break at any moment. He thrashed violently against the seat, finally freeing one hand from the doctor’s grasp and swinging hard at her face.

  She jerked to avoid the punch and in the process, slid one hand down along the curve of his neck. Electricity crackled between them. Blue-white light blazed in the cockpit, leaping between them in a tight, sizzling arc. The woman screamed as she threw herself or something flung her back. She skittered along the seat in a crazy tangle of arms, legs and frizzy white hair, her fingernails scrabbling like claws against the fiberglass. The stern brought her ungainly slide up short as her head struck the vertical wall with a solid thump. She lay in a crumpled heap, her nightgown twisted around her middle, the hem flaring high along her thighs. Betty Boop smirked beneath the edge of her gown, her bright eyes and cartoon face emblazoned on white panties barely a shade lighter than the woman’s pale, flaccid skin.

  A thick pall of gray smoke, ripe with the sickening odor of burned flesh, swirled across the cockpit. She laid face down, hair bristling and standing out as if the air had suddenly grown full of static. Steam rose in tiny, white fingers from the thin shift that now seemed too short and too revealing.

  Charlie hung from Gabriel’s legs paralyzed, gaping up in shock. Neither man moved for what seemed an eternity. I stumbled in the narrow footing of the cockpit, still reeling from the scene that had just played out in front of me.

  The vet pushed himself away from Gabriel and climbed to his feet, tottering like a baby taking its first steps. I reached out to steady him, but he shoved me aside and started toward his wife.

  He had barely covered half the distance when she bolted upright, the motion so abrupt and unnatural that the old man stopped and took a step backward. Her head jerked one way, then the other, her movements quick and bird-like.

  Charlie reached out toward her, his hand trembling
and thick.

  “Marcy?”

  The woman whirled to face him. Her entire body spun around on the cockpit seat, the movement stiff and unnatural. She raised her head high, stretching her neck thin. Her legs splayed wide leaving her looking like a grotesque stripper displaying her wares. Half a dozen Betty Boops peeked out from juncture of her legs. She bared her teeth and hissed.

  “Take it off,” she spat.

  The veterinarian stared at her in confusion. “Take what off? What are you talking about, honey?”

  She looked past him, gaze locked on the sick man behind her husband.

  “Take that fucking thing off.”

  Charlie stared at her, his face slack.

  “Marcy?”

  She shifted her gaze, studying Charlie as if seeing him for the first time. He reached out again. The woman drew her lips back in a snarl, revealing a mouth full of dull, yellow teeth. A babble of voices burst from her mouth, all of them speaking the same words, all in deep, liquid tones.

  “We took the bitch two nights ago while you were standing at the door trying to figure out who was outside. You shouldn’t leave the window open, Charlie.”

  She reached out as if to take his hand, locked her fingers with his and jerked down viscously. The old man cried out and dropped to his knees as she forced his hand backward. She leaned down close to his face and whispered.

  “She cried for you.”

  The old man stared up at her in stunned disbelief, the wrinkles carving deep fissures down his face.

  “What happened to you?” he gasped.

  The woman brought her other hand around to the back of his head, and stroked his neck gently, almost lovingly.

  “I died,” she whispered. “And I have been reborn.”

  The woman looked past him to Gabriel.

  “You understand, don’t you? It takes time to grow, to live again.”

  She cupped her hand at the base of the veterinarian’s skull and jerked him brutally against her chest. Bones snapped. She twisted his head to one side. Charlie’s feet thrummed against the cockpit floor in the fluttering death-dance of muscles and tendons abruptly severed from the brain that controlled them.