by Josie Brown
Battoo hesitates for a long moment. Finally he nods. “Yes, of course. But I caution both of you to follow me closely. We are only a twenty-minute walk from the crest of Mount Fantasia, the island’s most spectacular vista point. Still, the jungle is fraught with danger.”
His warning weighs heavily on the already moist air enveloping us.
An even bigger warning is the poison dart that whizzes past my head.
Jack jerks me back just as another one flies by, spearing the trunk of a dwarf palm.
I follow closely at his heels as he leaps into the bush, taking us off the footpath. We don’t dare stop and turn around. The sounds of the darts slamming into tree trunks and shredding palm leaves are all the incentive we need to keep moving.
We’ve run a quarter of a mile when suddenly Jack stops short—
At the ledge of a cliff. The drop is at least six hundred feet into a copse of thick foliage, and who knows how far below it? To climb back up is impossible because the wind has stripped any vegetation off the cliff’s sheer face.
From what I can tell, there is only one way to escape. Somehow we’ve got to leap to the other side of the trail—which from the looks of it, wraps around the hillside.
But where does it end?
Jack turns to face me. “It’s a seven-foot leap. With a head start, you can clear it.”
“What? Are you crazy?” I shake my head so that he gets the message:
No. Fucking. Way.
“It’s a broad jump. You did it in high school, right? There’s no difference here.”
“Oh yes sir, there is a very big difference. I’m twenty years older. And back in the day if you fell, you cut your knee—you didn’t kill yourself!”
“Listen to me, Donna, you can do this! And I’m certainly not going without you—so, ladies first!”
Ladies first, eh? Now he pulls the etiquette card?
Then I see it. Long, strong, and swaying over my head, from a ledge that juts out over the abyss:
A vine.
I take off in a dead run. I grab it just as it waves past me, twisting it around my wrist and holding on tight—
And I take a flying leap.
I glide far, far over the chasm—
Until I’m swaying over the path on the other side.
Drop the vine—now! Drop it…
I do, and I flop down onto the muddy path. Yes! Yes! I’m on the other side!
When I turn back, Jack is staring at me in awe.
He looks hurt. “What the hell, Donna? You couldn’t have waited for me to grab hold of it, too?”
I shrug helplessly. “But you said ‘Ladies first’!”
He waves me off, annoyed. At least my weight gave the vine the needed momentum to sway back toward him.
Thank you, God, for those eight lousy pounds that won’t come off.
Jack takes a flying leap, grabbing hold of the vine as it goes overhead. Then he swings back over the abyss, toward me.
But then his face twists into a grimace. At the same time he jerks forward—
Oh my God, he’s been hit by a dart.
His grip is slipping. His eyes open wide at the realization that he may not make it. But when they shift toward me again, I see love and hope and determination—
Until he falls.
I run toward him, praying that I make it in time.
I slide to the edge, belly flopping just in time to stop, and to grab him.
Yes! I’ve got his hand. But…barely.
The rest of him dangles over nothing but thick, moist air.
And silence. Except for the shrieks of birds.
I wish those parrots would shut the fuck up.
Jack’s grip is softening. I do my best to hold tight with both hands, but he’s much too heavy. Any second now, he’ll slip away from me.
From the life we’ve built together.
From the love we share.
The look in his eyes is not fear. Nor is it resignation.
It is adoration.
It is…surprise?
Something has grabbed hold of my legs.
Whatever it is pulls me back, across the rocky ground. And because I’m still holding onto Jack, he is being dragged up and over the edge.
I don’t let go until he is a safe distance from the ledge. Then I turn to see who saved us.
An ape?
No, it’s a man—
A very hairy man.
A very hairy, naked man.
So there really is a Sasquatch.
Ha. Cute ass.
Jack is cold. His body stiffens. I don’t want him to die this way. Please God, don’t let him die.
But if he does, at least it will be in my arms.
Make that Sasquatch’s. He turns around and comes back to us, if only to yank Jack up and over his shoulder, like a sack of potatoes. He practically runs down the path with him.
Leaves slap my face as I fly through the brush after him. I round each curve just in time to see him disappear around the next—
Until I don’t.
I stop short. The bushes are once again thick on both sides of the path. I backtrack about twenty feet, scrutinizing every palm leaf and every fern, every nook and cranny of the hill towering over the path—
Until I find it: a tiny crack, half hidden in a thatch of vines.
I have to turn sideways and bend to the waist to enter.
It is pitch black inside.
I’ve lost them.
Is Jack now Sasquatch’s bitch?
“Don’t worry. He’s just stunned.” Sasquatch’s voice is coming toward me from the deep recesses of the cave.
I hear sharp scratching sounds. The next thing I know, flames are flickering in a pile of brush, creating shadows that dance on the cave’s walls.
Jack is lying beside the fire. I run over and kneel beside him, cradling his head in my lap. “You—you know English?”
He lets loose with a husky chuckle. “I’m from the South, darlin’. You Yankees are the ones with the accents, and don’t you forget it.”
He saunters back over and crouches down beside Jack, whose eyes are wide open, but he’s shivering. Sasquatch turns him over on his stomach, then runs his hand over Jack’s back.
I shove it away. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m trying to save, him, pretty lady.” He grasps both my wrists in one hand, while the other continues across Jack’s shoulders. When he reaches the right one, he stops. “Ah, there it is.” He plucks a tiny feathered dart from it, and holds it up for me to examine. “See?”
“Oh!...Thank you.” I pat Jack’s head. “How long will he be like this?”
He tilts his head as he assesses Jack. “Depends. It didn’t go in too deeply, and at least it hit muscle. Maybe an hour.”
Much too long. I look around the cave. “Will—will they follow us?” There’s nothing to make a weapon—no stones, no stakes.
“Calm down, lady. They never have before. They don’t have the guts to make the jump.” He smirks. “Or else, they’re too damn lazy.”
“Who are ‘they,’ anyway?”
“The island’s original native tribe. Boarke pays them to act as game trackers. Can’t have a bunch of hunters sitting there with thumbs up their asses and bored out of their gourds, now can he?”
“If they track animals, why were they shooting at us?”
He stares hard at me then laughs. There is no joy in his cackle. “You really don’t know, do you?”
But I can guess. Somehow, we’ve blown our covers.
“Are you—are you Doctor Lionel Mandrake?”
He freezes when he hears the name. “What do you know about Mandrake?”
“Please, there is no threat here—not after all you’ve done for me, and for Jack.” Can he hear the gratitude in my voice? I hope so. “We were sent to retrieve the bacteria—”
Fear darkens his face.
No, it is resolve. He reaches against the wall and pulls up a gun
nysack, then he makes for the cave entrance. Once there, he tosses a thermos at me, along with his answer. “To get back to the lodge, head right out of the cave, then down the hill. When you come to the fork, turn left. Another mile and a half, you’ll find yourself on Eden Key’s beach. If I were you, I’d get the hell off this hellhole of an island. Otherwise…let me put it this way, if you don’t leave now, you never will.”
He’s gone.
Jack moans, and moves ever so slightly.
From the determination in his eyes, I can tell that he wants to get out of here. I do, too.
Gently I pull him up into sitting position then I bend his knees. This allows me to pull him up. He tilts against the wall, but with my support he can take baby steps.
Another part of our journey begins.
It takes us two long, arduous hours to get as far as the fork Sasquatch mentioned. Jack has been walking slowly, but he seems to get stronger with each step.
Battoo is waiting for us there. He stops pacing when he sees us. Relief floods his face. He may be short, but he’s also strong. He leads Jack into the back of the jeep.
We bump along until we hit asphalt, about a quarter-mile from Eden Key’s main gate. At that point, Battoo stops the car. “Please know I would never have put either of you in danger.”
I turn to face him. “Then tell me: who shot at us?”
“The natives of the island need us for their livelihood.”
“And they make money by hunting down the island’s guests?”
“No! They aren’t hunting, they’re—” He stops cold. “They are just supposed to tranquilize the prey, to slow it down. That is all.”
I laugh at what we both know is not funny. “Jack and I weren’t on all fours, Battoo. You were there with us. You know this. Why did they shoot at us?”
He looks down at his lap. “I really don’t know, Miss Tallant. Maybe someone suspects the truth—that you aren’t who you say you are.”
If he’s right, there goes the mission.
“Can you find out if that is the case?”
Looking up again, he nods. “Yes.”
“Is it Mr. Boarke?”
It’s his turn to laugh. “He thinks Mr. Stone is his savior. It can’t be Boarke.”
Well, that’s good to know. “If not him, I’ll need to know who it is.”
“I will do my best, Miss Tallant.”
“Call me Donna. Stone.”
He puts out his hand, and I shake it. I can tell the gesture means a lot to him.
Our lives depend on this supposition.
He drives us to my tiki hut, and helps me to unload Jack from the Jeep. He insists on walking us to the front door.
I’m glad. I’m bone tired and Jack must be, too, because he winces through each labored step.
Gentle waves lap against the posts that lift the tiki’s boardwalk over the sand. It is high tide, but the planks are raised just enough that the water isn’t a problem.
The sun is setting, and the light has shifted. The water below us, cellophane clear in bright sunlight, is now navy in hue. We can no longer see the tiny colorful schools of fish beneath us.
Suddenly bubbles rise to the surface. “Look!” Battoo points at it. “A shark!”
I’m sure it won’t be the last one that crosses our path.
Chapter 9
Language Barrier
Unless you are fluent in a second, third or fourth language, misunderstandings between you and those in the countries you visit are bound to happen. So, what’s the avid traveler to do?
Simply this: Learn a few key phrases! For example:
Knowing “Hello,” “Goodbye,” and “Thank you,” are universal courtesies, appreciated the world over.
Learning “How much is this?” and “Where is the grocery store?” and “Where is the bathroom?” and “Where is the train station/airport/hospital/bus station/police station?” are necessities, so please put them on your must-have list of phrases to know.
However, “She dresses like a hooker” or “He’s a fat slob” or “Your baby is ugly” may raise a few eyebrows, not to mention a few guns or pitchforks, so learn them only at your own risk.
In fact, speaking your mind in English may not be such a great idea either, since half the world speaks it as a second language. In other words, keep your smug provincial thoughts to yourself.
And certainly phrases such as “That’s highway robbery” or “Get your hand off my ass, or I’ll cut it off” will leave the natives with the right message: you’re not to be fucked with.
Better yet, pick up a book of Italian hand gestures. A finger is worth a thousand words.
“You say Jack was hobbled by a zombie dart? How perfectly odious!” Dominic waves an open palm in front of Jack’s face. “Chilling stare it’s left on the poor fellow’s clock, wouldn’t you say? Can’t have the old boy scaring off all the women and children. Here’s hoping the effects wear off soon.”
Jack slaps his hand away. “It has worn off, you oaf.”
“Now, now, boys! No bickering. We have a full day ahead of us.” I smile encouragingly at Team Fantasy.
(Like the name? You should see the logo! It will look very cute on a French tee, which I will order in all team members’ sizes—
If we survive this wretched mission.)
I turn to Arnie. “My guess is that the feral man I met is our suspect.”
Jack shakes his head. “I beg to differ.”
Really? You’re arguing with me in front of the kids—again? And after all I’ve done for you? Still, I keep my voice level when I murmur, “Based on what, might I ask?”
He ignores my glare. “Based simply on the fact that there is no evidence to validate your suspicions.”
“How about this for facts? Fact number one: we went out specifically to find him, and there he was. Fact number two: Obviously he’s living off the grid, which is why we haven’t been able to find him, despite eliminating, by now, over eighty-three male guests. And fact number three”—I pause, because really, I have no third fact. However, this works with the kids, so I’ll try it now—“because I say so.”
Jack smothers a chuckle with a cough. He is smart enough to know that my revenge is a dish best served with some toxic ingredient, and when he least expects it. Nonchalantly he adds, “Excellent deductive reasoning, for sure—and easily validated with, say a DNA sample. Were you able to pluck a hair or two?”
I smile, but shake my head. “No, sorry, I was busy at the time.” Saving your life—or don’t you remember?
“How about a few other deductions? For example, how old did he look to you?”
I stop to think. “Late thirties, maybe early forties.”
Jack nods. “And Mandrake is in his late forties, so certainly in the wheelbase—except for the fact that Sasquatch is also at least six inches taller than the good doctor, not to mention strong enough to carry me over his shoulder.”
“I say! He really is a beast,” Dominic murmurs.
Jack ignores him. “This brings us to the final and perhaps most important evidentiary component.”
I roll my eyes. “And what would that be, Sherlock?”
“Mandrake’s mushroom cloud tattoo.” Jack smiles. “You said yourself he was naked. And you walked behind him—for quite a distance, in fact. If you’re correct and he’s Mandrake, surely you would have noticed one.”
“I...” I feel my cheeks heat up at the thought of Sasquatch’s….well, his cheeks. “Okay, no.”
Dominic leans in, fascinated. “No, you didn’t look at his arse? Or no, he didn’t have the tattoo?”
I look from one of my tormentors to the other. “Okay yes, I…looked. If he had one, I would have noticed—and he didn’t.”
Jack frowns. I guess giving him the answer he wanted backfired. “I rest my case.”
“But remember, we were out there because Mandrake’s GPS coordinates led us there.” I turn to Arnie. “Can you check our coordinates at around, say three-
thirty, with those of Mandrake’s?”
Arnie diddles with his iPad screen then projects a video onto the wall, so that we can all view it. “Here they are, side by side. As you can see, he was certainly in the vicinity.” He points to our GPS readings, and that of Mandrake’s, which are close to ours, but oddly enough are following a different trajectory. While ours move in tandem, and in line with the mountainside, Mandrake’s comes in from a different angle.
I glance over at Jack. “But how could that be? We were on a trail that hugged a cliff, for God’s sake. For him to have followed the route shown here, he would have been floating in a cloud!”
Jack thinks hard for a moment. “Or else he was in the abyss below us.” He points to the break between the lush greenery on both sides of the path. “Arnie, can you zoom in, right here?”
With the touch of his index finger and thumb, Arnie is able to magnify the screen so that we can actually visualize what was below us. “See this?” He points to a flurry of white and gray. “It’s flowing water, and it’s almost at sea level. You were hanging over some sort of river.”
“I guess that means Mandrake was standing below you,” Emma murmurs. “Perhaps he was in a boat?”
Abu shakes his head as he points to the screen. “You’re half right. Not in a boat—unless he was carrying it to the river. You see, here, where he came from? Only moments before, he was traipsing through the underbrush, below your footpath.”
Curiouser and curiouser.
“Donna, do you remember Sasquatch’s reaction when you asked him if he was Mandrake?” Jack asks.
“Yes, of course. He wanted to know how I’d heard of the good doctor—but he didn’t deny he was Mandrake.”
“You then mentioned the missing bacteria plague,” Jack reminds me.
I nod. “It spooked him. He couldn’t get out of there quickly enough.”
“He also gave us directions, and then warned us to get off the island as soon as possible—before we couldn’t leave, for whatever reason.”
Dominic frowns. “It doesn’t sound as if he’s the perpetrator, only that he’s concerned about the havoc Mandrake could wreak on our little idyll.”