Fatal 5

by Karin Kaufman

He ran to the edge of the cliff. The skull hit the ocean and sank out of sight.

  “Jake, what have you done!”

  He spun around at Betty’s voice to find her and Crystal clinging to each other. They shrank back as he approached them, as if he were the ghoul itself, risen enfleshed from its watery tomb.

  He didn’t know what to say. Behind Betty and Crystal, the headless soldier tilted awkwardly against the trench. He stumbled over to it and ran his fingers across the depression in the soil where the skull had rested. His own head spun, so that he had to blink away the dizziness. He sank to his knees and leaned into the grim figure. He could think of nothing but to stare at the shimmering water. Stare until at last he saw what the eyeless sockets of the Lone Soldier had seen. His chest began to heave, and his whole body shook with convulsions.

  Betty and Crystal ran to him and then put their arms around him.

  “Someday his country will return for him,” he whispered. “This soldier was loyal to his country. We don’t know how long he survived here. Maybe years, maybe decades. One by one his companions died off until only he was left. And when his time came, when he knew he was going to die, he put on his full uniform and came out here and manned his position. He died looking out to sea, still waiting, still expecting.”

  He swallowed the hoarseness in his throat. “All this time on the island, I thought I was the loyal one, that God was the disloyal one. First He took Ginny, then Eve.”

  He hung his head. “This soldier has shamed me. I’m the disloyal one. Instead of looking to God and waiting on Him, instead of expecting good from His purposes, I counted the hardships, and I counted them against Him.”

  Sobs rattled unhindered from his chest. “I thought He had abandoned me. But it was the other way around. I abandoned Him.” He covered his face with his hands. “God, forgive me.”

  Crystal sniffled. “So we wait and trust Eve will come back?”

  Jake raised his head. “No.” He planted a kiss on her forehead and stood. Strength glowed inside him where once the darkness had vanquished him. “We’re going to act in trust.”

  He placed a hand on Betty’s shoulder. “Quick, grab what you want and head for the raft. I’ll help you board. Crystal, bring all the coconuts you can. We can’t overtake the yacht, but we can go to the sea-lane and radio for help.”

  Betty grasped his arm. “Go without us, Jake. The raft is too slow. Take the canoe and go.”

  “No.” He shook his head vehemently. “I won’t leave you behind.”

  “We’ll be fine.”

  “All sorts of things could happen to you.” The possibilities lined up like troops called to formation. “I can’t bear the thought of losing you and Crystal on top of everything else.”

  “For Eve’s sake, every minute counts. Go, Jake.” Betty shoved him toward the beach. “Disconnect the canoe while we bring the food and coconuts.”

  He paused, then hugged her fiercely. “I’ll get the life vest.”

  Chapter 61

  Eve stood on the deck and watched the island disappear. Next to her, the monster gripped her arm. “You see there’ll be no swimming back to your boyfriend.”

  She forced herself to breathe normally, in spite of her erratic heartbeat. Knowing she was going to die made things simple. Made it easier to focus on her plan.

  “I need a bathroom so I can clean up.”

  “You will address me as Master.”

  In spite of her resolve, her heart quaked. She stiffened her chin. “Okay, Master, where’s a bathroom?”

  His fingers bit into her shoulders as he swung her to face him. “I can see you’re a feisty woman, so you’re lucky I’m a patient man.” His voice was light and friendly. Playing with her. A spasm jolted down her spine. “I’ll wait until the first time you don’t do as I say, and then I will discipline you. If you live through the beating, you won’t be feisty anymore.” He smiled as if he’d just explained how to win his undying love and affection.

  “Being the nice guy I am, I don’t want to hurt you. If I’m forced to beat you, it’s because you’re showing me you want me to.” He shrugged and raised his eyebrows. “So you see, anytime I have to hurt you, it will be your fault. It will be because you want me to discipline you.”

  She refused to bat an eye.

  A flame of rage flickered over his face. “This is where you answer with, ‘Yes, Master, I understand.’”

  She needed to back down to get her way. “Yes, Master, I understand.” She lowered her eyes and waited in total submission.

  He yanked her down the stairs and shoved her into a stateroom. “Shower and put on something pretty. I’ll be waiting.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “The closet is full of gowns.” He pointed to a set of sliding doors that were full-length mirrors. “The former occupant didn’t cooperate, but you will.”

  “Yes, Master, I will.”

  He shut the door and locked it. Relief swept through her that he hadn’t stayed.

  The room was filthy. A musty smell permeated it. Some kind of brown muck was spattered on the walls, the beautiful sea-green carpet, even the bed sheets.

  She caught her breath. It was dried blood.

  Discipline!

  As if he’d heard her, the brute called out, “Don’t keep me waiting.”

  He must have been lingering outside the door for her to realize what had happened to the former occupant. “Yes, Master, I’ll hurry.” This time, the meekness was genuine.

  “When you come out, you’d better look like a damn princess. Otherwise, I’ll to have to hurt you because you didn’t try hard enough.”

  She swallowed hard to keep a tremor out of her voice. “Yes, Master, I understand.”

  His laughter accompanied the thud of his feet up the stairs.

  She had to hurry. One chance—that was all she had.

  She ran into the bathroom. Thankfully, no blood spattered the walls or floors. She locked the door, for what minimal security it afforded.

  Everything she needed was at hand. She grabbed an eyebrow pencil and tore off a small piece of the bottom of a tissue box. Help! she wrote. Survivor of Gateway. 3 others marooned on outer island.

  The information was bare, but enough to get a detective started. When the yacht came into the hands of the authorities, they would search the vessel with a fine-tooth comb, looking for evidence of what had happened.

  An arrangement of cosmetics was grouped on the sink countertop. She pulled the lid off a cylindrical box of dusting powder, buried the note in the powder, and shoved the lid back on. A cloud of fine, white dust puffed into the air. She grabbed tissue, wiped off the sink and floor where the powder had settled, and threw it into the toilet.

  She was a ticking time bomb. She stripped and showered. Ran to the closet, grabbed a gown and shoes. Put them on. Sped back to the bathroom for makeup and hair.

  Jewelry. She didn’t want to give the monster an excuse to hurt her. A jewelry box lay on the dresser. She helped herself to a diamond necklace and earrings.

  Done. She slid the closet door shut and surveyed her efforts in the mirror. The gown, a turquoise satin sheath, hung loosely on her frame. The neckline plunged too low, but she wasn’t changing clothes now. The necklace and earrings sparkled against the tan of her skin. Her hairdo and make-up added a touch of sophistication.

  She swallowed back a sob. Yes, she looked like a damn princess.

  * * *

  Without an outrigger to balance the canoe, Jake had to battle the ocean as soon as he paddled beyond the breakers. The swell of the ocean created roller coaster troughs that required either an exhausting climb or a dizzying descent. Both threatened to roll the canoe. At the top of each trough, he reoriented himself to the north by looking south back at the island and west up at the sun. The ocean seemed determined to tug him away from the sea-lane.

  His chest and arm muscles protested each stroke of the oar. His mouth was dry. Sweat blanketed his chest underneath the life vest. It w
as only a matter of time before he’d get a dehydration headache. If only he could stop for nourishment. But the tiny canoe fought him, wobbling as if it had a flat tire. To keep it upright, he had to use both hands on the oar, rowing first on one side, then quickly on the other.

  Arching over the heat and weariness and thirst was his biggest obstacle. Time.

  Time to reach the sea-lane before nightfall hid him from passing ships.

  Time to find Eve before the brute ended her life.

  * * *

  Eve blinked at her image in the mirror. She had met her goal and beat the clock. The surge of adrenaline evaporated, leaving her scraped out and empty. There was nothing left now except to die.

  Her knees buckled, and she collapsed to the floor. She put out her hand to brace herself. Her fingers brushed against a spot of rust on the carpet. She backed away, hiccupping spasms of lung-tight air. Blood!

  The room spun. Confusion trickled over her brain like a spring melt. Was the blood hers or someone else’s? She needed help. Wasn’t there someone to help her?

  “Time to come out!” a voice yelled. Three powerful knocks boomed on the stateroom door.

  She shrank back. “Go away! You can’t come in!”

  * * *

  “Go away!” she yelled at her brother. “You can’t come in!”

  He pounded on the door again. “C’mon, Evedene! C’mon out!”

  “No! You’re drunk! You and Roger go away or I’m gonna tell Dad when he gets home!”

  To her twelve-year-old mind, there wasn’t a more powerful argument than telling Dad. She smirked. She had used the threat plenty of times on Dax, and it always worked.

  She nestled against her pillow and picked up her book to continue reading. Should she tell on Dax? At first it had been fun when her father was gone in the evenings to attend meetings with his boss, and the boss’s son had stayed with her and Dax. Dax was fourteen and Roger was fifteen, and she’d thought it great stuff to sit between the two on the rec room couch and snarf down popcorn, guzzle pop, and stay up way past bedtime watching TV.

  They’d done other crazy things too, like climb out onto the roof and lie flat against the steep incline, the rough shingles like sandpaper against their skin, while they gazed up at the black sky and laughed and told jokes. Or the time they’d gone out at midnight and, starting at one end of the block, had climbed over dozens of fences to sneak through everyone’s backyard until they reached the other end of the block. They did lots of silly things their dads didn’t know about, and she always looked forward to those evenings of fun and adventure.

  But then Roger found her dad’s liquor stored at the back of a kitchen cabinet. She joined them the first time they stole into the Scotch, but she didn’t like the taste, and as the evening went on and the boys got stinking drunk while she didn’t, she decided she wouldn’t do it again. Soon drinking became the norm for Roger’s visits, the talk became raunchy, the jokes dirty, and she withdrew to her bedroom. The boys didn’t like her retreat, but with the power of tattling held over their heads, they left her alone.

  She heard the boys mumbling now outside her door, a drunken giggle, and then the sound of something scraping between her door and the doorjamb. Suddenly the door burst open and the two boys fell laughing into her room.

  “Get out!” She was aware she was wearing her short, summer jammies, and that after all the dirty talk she’d heard, she didn’t want the boys seeing her with practically nothing on.

  “C’mon, sis! You’re no fun no more.”

  “Yeah, we wanna play with you. C’mon ’n play cards with us.”

  “I’m not playing anything with a bunch of drunks! Get out or I’m telling!”

  “Hey,” hooted Roger, “how ’bout Strip Poker? Two hands and you’re in trouble, kiddo!” He howled and slapped Dax on the back.

  “Yeah, little sister, you’re growin’ up, alrighty!”

  “Get out, now!”

  Roger’s eyes were greedy on her. “Let’s make ’er play, huh, Dax, ol’ bud? Let’s make ’er, yeah?”

  Eve threw her book at the boys as they stumbled toward her. “I’m telling Dad!”

  “I’m tellin’ Dad!” Dax mimicked her in a high-pitched voice. He was too drunk to be scared of Dad.

  Eve eluded them and ran out of the room. They howled in delight and gave chase.

  Now she was scared. This was no game. She ran down the stairs, around a corner, and was momentarily out of sight. The coat closet! She slipped in, shut the door, and pulled the hanging jackets in front of her. Her heart pounded so hard she could hardly hear. She gasped tiny snuffs of air through her nose and tried not to cry. Her chest shook from the effort.

  The boys passed her by. They were having fun. Howling with laughter while she cowed.

  Back and forth they ran, guffawing, yipping like a pack of wolves. Then it was quiet. She knew what they were up to—waiting for her to come out of her hiding place, that’s what. Well, she wouldn’t. She would stay in the closet until Dad came home.

  She slid to the floor and crouched against one corner, a jacket covering her from sight. It was hard not to cry. She hated Dax. She was going to tell on him for sure!

  The closet door opened. She huddled under the jacket and held her breath. She didn’t move one little bit.

  “Found ’er!” Roger cried.

  Then the jacket was ripped away and she was dragged out of the closet by her legs.

  “Let go! You’re hurting me!” She kicked Roger hard on the nose. He released her and clasped his hands to his face. She jumped to her feet and would have gotten away, except that Dax came up behind her and grabbed her arms. He pinned them behind her.

  “Stop it, Dax! Let go of me!” She squirmed helplessly as his grip tightened.

  “Got ’er, Roger.”

  Then Roger was in front of her, cussing, his nose swollen, though it wasn’t bleeding. “Hold on tight ’cause she’s gonna pay now!”

  She screamed when he touched her, screamed minutes later when unbelievable pain knifed through her. And all the time, her brother pinned her arms and cheered Roger on.

  They left her groaning, curled into a tight ball on the floor. She reached down and touched the area of pain. Blood smeared her fingers.

  She hobbled to a chair in her father’s room. When he arrived, before she could speak, he told her Dax had confessed everything. “They were drunk,” he said. He kept his eyes from meeting hers. Why wasn’t he taking her into his arms and rocking her like he had when her mom died and they had cried together? He just stood there.

  Finally he said, “If I press charges, I’ll lose my job.”

  She understood his shame then. She got out of the chair and went to her own room.

  * * *

  The door to the stateroom banged open, and Eve jumped. The scrawny man with glasses stood in the doorway. He held a pistol pointed at her. “Jojo wants you. Now.”

  Chapter 62

  Jake’s head throbbed. The glare of sunlight on water brought stabs of pain to the backs of his eyeballs. He risked a squint behind him. The island, while not a speck, was at least a blob on the horizon. Was this what the ships saw from the sea-lane, or did he have farther to go?

  He stuck the second oar into the water so the two paddles straddled the canoe and stabilized it. The sea was calmer now, not as combative—maybe he could manage a piece of fruit with one hand while he held the two oar handles with the other hand.

  The overripe star fruit was soggy and bland, but the juice was as good as heaven-sent. Two more lay on the canoe floor. Best to save them in case he needed to eat with one hand again. The coconuts and other fruit required two hands and a knife to open them.

  Ahead of him and to the east, a dark spot appeared on the ocean. His heartbeat quickened. A ship? He raised his hand to shade his eyes, then stood to wave frantically. “Hey!”

  The two oars plopped into the ocean. The canoe wobbled, tipped, and tossed him in after them. He rose to the surface, sputt
ering.

  It was a ship, all right, but hardly nearby. He and the canoe would be no more noticeable than a pebble in a gravel pit.

  He swam to the canoe and righted it. Water flecked with soot sloshed in the shallow cavity he had burned out for a seat. The coconuts and star fruit were gone. He attempted to crawl aboard, but the boat rolled every time. Finally, he mounted it as if it were still a log, wrapped his arms and legs around it and rotated it until he splashed flat on his stomach into the cavity. The boat sank as his body displaced the water but rose when he squirmed his chest onto the bow.

  Forget sitting up. Using both arms as oars, he paddled smoothly forward.

  In the distance, the ship sailed in a steady path westward. Jake oriented himself to the same destination. A destination with a sky rapidly turning pink.

  * * *

  Eve rose to her feet and stared at Eduardon. For a moment, past and present collided. Her heartbeat thudded against her ears, shook every bone down to her wobbling ankles. Then past and present separated into their two monsters—her father decades earlier; Jojo now.

  “Go.” Eduardon’s pistol prodded her below her left shoulder blade. She mounted the stairs to the lower deck on shaking knees. The past tore holes in her stomach. Clawed talons at her heart. She gripped the railing to stay on her feet.

  Jojo would torture her now—beat her, slash her, stomp out her breath. But his torture was only to her body. Not like what her father had done. He had thrown her soul out the window. Left it splattered on the roadside for the vultures to eat. She fought the tightness in her chest to draw in air.

  Eduardon grasped her arm and pulled her to the bridge’s ladder. “Go.”

  Go where? To her death peaceably? She clenched her teeth and inhaled a deep breath. Not unless God willed it.

  “Eduardon.” She clasped the ladder and put a foot onto the first rung. “Together we can stop him.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Better to kill him than to let him kill me.”

  “I said, shut up!” He shoved her so hard the ladder bruised her skin.