by Kyle Warner
One question is answered and another takes its place.
I’m stuck in their den. Why don’t they want me to leave?
I keep walking. Whenever I come to stand beneath the glow of the sun, another Rakasa moves in and blocks my way. They want me to have hope before they snatch it away.
Pretty soon they don’t have to bother. The sun is setting. The holes blend in with the rest of the darkness.
I think I’ve been walking through this shit for hours.
The encroaching cold is affecting the sludge. It’s solidifying and freezing up. Getting harder to walk now. Think I better sit down and rest, but there’s no time for that. The things will come for me when I’m too weak to fight them off. I may be exhausted but I can’t let them know that.
But maybe I can sit down for just a minute. Yes, one minute wouldn’t hurt.
I find something hard and sit my ass down. Probably seated on bones but I can’t afford to care anymore.
Something splashes in the muck behind me.
I bolt upright, point my sword in the direction of the sound.
They’re quiet, but I can hear them sloshing through the sludge, making their way towards me. They’re done waiting.
There are too many of them. I can’t win this. I turn about and run as fast as I can through the muck, though I know the entire effort is futile.
I’m half-stride when I put my foot down and the ground seems to fall away. The sludge offers no resistance and there is no solid ground beneath it. I fall face first into the muck and descend beneath the surface.
There must’ve been a drop-off in the cavern floor. I’m floating in fluid I do not wish to identify. But more than that, I feel I’m being pulled somewhere.
There’s a current beneath the surface.
I gladly let the current take me where it wants to go, knowing that if I choose to surface here then I’ll have monsters eating my face in seconds.
The current intensifies. It slams me into the rocks and the oxygen is beaten out of my lungs.
I swallow the putrid liquid and desperately attempt to surface. Monsters be damned, I need air. But the current will not release me. It drags me under, it drags me deeper. It drags me to where the liquid no longer tastes like death and bile.
I’m spat out of an underground cave and left hovering in the water.
The moon’s glow greets me from beyond the rippling surface above. I’m out of the cavern. The current has taken me back to ocean that surrounds the island.
I try to kick my legs but they don’t obey. I’m done and I strangely feel okay with that. I’m going to drown but at least I’m not going to be eaten alive. Gotta keep a positive outlook on things, right?
I start to lose consciousness. I hope I sink straight to the bottom. I hope my remains don’t wash up on shore. I hope I don’t end up back in those caverns either dead or alive.
I hope.
11.
I’m alive… more or less.
Seaweed clings to my legs like it wants to take me back into the ocean but the sand has my torso and it’s not letting me go.
I sit up slowly and the sand falls away. Waves roll up the shore, slap my legs. It should feel good, but there’s something hard in the waves, and it feels more like getting a caning.
Debris and driftwood ride the waves, battering the shore. Occasionally they leave behind tidbits like a table leg or a picture frame, but mostly the debris seems unwilling to get out of the water.
I take a casual glance to my right and see the chewed up lifeboat is right where I left it. I’ve washed up in almost the exact same spot as last time.
And I’ve got company.
All up and down the beach, littered in between the pieces of debris, are the burnt bodies of my shipmates. Most of them are lying face down. Others are missing limbs, presumably thanks to sharks and other marine life.
The only detectable signs of life come from the crabs that make a home in their guts, searching for a soft and tasty treat.
I vomit into the ocean and the rolling tide throws it right back at me. I gag and wade out into the water to clean myself, only to find I’m now standing in surf crowded with corpses.
I’m screaming before I realize it. Too late to stop. Let it all out.
The mind reels. I recognize faces in the waves and I beg a waiting shark to mistake me for the dead and bring the nightmare to an end.
The birds descend upon the beached corpses. I run at them, swatting water their way like it’ll possibly make any kind of difference.
“Get out of their heads!” I cry as a parrot sticks its beak into Ahmed’s fractured skull.
The birds take flight. They squawk and dribble blood behind them as they return to the trees. The crabs take more convincing. I beat the corpses with driftwood to drive the crustaceans out. They flee, claws raised in challenge, and disappear into the frothing surf.
I fall to my knees and pound the sand.
One-Eyed Jack is missing his last remaining eye, likely thanks to the birds. It’s awful.
I decide to bury the bodies.
I find a suitable piece of wood to act as a shovel and dig away a big enough hole to bury them all. It won’t be deep and they’ll be stuffed in pretty tight, but it’s better than leaving them to the scavengers.
I grab No-Eyed Jack and Ahmed the storyteller and put them in first. Feel a bit like a heel for dropping them in so unceremoniously… but then Ahmed did start the fire that sunk the ship and Jack had tried to kill me. Or did I try to kill Jack? Can’t recall. Either way, I don’t care. They’re just gonna have to forgive me for not taking the time to write individual eulogies.
I find the ship’s doctor and other assorted crew and throw them into the pit, clearing the sand of its corpses.
I wade out into the water where I count three more bodies plus one dead tiger. I’m surprised to see the tiger floats. Not exactly sure why it wouldn’t float, but still I’m surprised.
I take the tiger by the paw and lead it to shore. It’s heavier than two men combined, despite how sickly it was in its final days.
There’s a brief moral debate about what to do with the tiger before I throw it in with my shipmates. Burying men with a tiger might break some rules, I’m not sure. But I figure, why not? The tiger never killed anybody. I figure that makes it a more trustworthy passenger than most my fellow pirates, and thus more deserving of a respectful burial.
One of the final three bodies that I pull out of the ocean is the charred corpse of Jarvis Jenks. His skin is black and purple and actually smells a bit like a steak dinner. My stomach growls before I can tell it not to.
Oh God, anything but that. I bury Jenks fast, lest I do something I’ll one day regret.
I pat down the sand of the makeshift grave and collapse into a heap. It’s not emotions that beg me to fall and take pause, it’s exhaustion. Burying a dozen men takes a lot out of you, especially if you’ve gone days without food or water.
Something begins tapping me on the back of my leg.
Bobbing at the edge of the surf is a crate. I fish it out, open it.
There are thirty sticks of dynamite inside. They’re wet and useless to me… but maybe there’s a way to dry them.
I take out the dynamite and line them up in the sand, letting them bake in the sun. I’m not sure what I plan to do with them, but I’m thinking I might be able to sink the island beneath the waves if I try hard enough.
While the explosives dry, I’m slowly dying inside. Need water. I know I shouldn’t, but the ocean’s looking mighty tasty right about now. I’ll drink the ocean only as a last resort. The birds and the Rakasa are living well, so there must be a water source somewhere on the island.
Gotta find it.
I must’ve lost my sword in the ocean and the pistol is somewhere in the jungle. Must improvise. I pick up a piece of wood that’s sturdy enough to act as a club then I walk back into the jungle, knowing that I am expected.
12.
There�
�s a pond at the center of the island. Most of my time on the island has been spent running back and forth from the beach to the mound, only stopping in between to get dragged down a hole. This area of the island is new to me.
The water tastes old and deadly but I fill my belly with it anyway. Beggars and choosers and all that. Won’t get a better drink until I’m back in port and saddled up to the bar in a smoky saloon.
The thought makes me shiver.
I know that’s not gonna happen. I think me and my mates knew we were destined for the grave weeks ago. Never did I really think survival was a possibility. Not then, certainly not now.
Still, doesn’t feel right abandoning all hope. If it did, I’d be drinking from the ocean like it was whiskey and dying in the sand.
However hopeless it all is, I don’t intend to let go of life quite so easily.
My whole life’s been a struggle and dying should be just as difficult. When I was a wee lad my dad kicked my ass on a regular basis. Got to be so good at it he started beating on other people like my Ma. Didn’t enjoy watching that, but it did ready me for the world.
A man with my kind of pocket and a certain lack of luck must be constantly wary. Something’s always trying to eat me. Used to be that I meant that figuratively, but lately it’s taken on a certain literal meaning.
I didn’t kill all my predators but I did let them know that I’d outgrown their lessons. They’ll remember me long after I’ve forgotten them. I’m sure of it.
They’ve all been practice for this test. Aye, mere child’s play as I prepared for my days on the island of monsters.
Even so, I feel the lessons have left me unprepared for this place. For even if I kill my monsters, there’s still no escape.
My stomach growls and at first I mistake it for an animal’s call in the jungle.
I suppose I could eat the birds… but I’m not confident I’m skilled enough to catch them.
… I could dig up the grave and pick through the human flesh that looks fresh enough.
No.
I won’t do that. I’ll eat the sand before I eat the men that reside beneath it. I’m not a cannibal and no amount of suffering will make me fall so low.
Stop thinking about it. You’ll start reasoning with yourself and then next thing you know you’ll be taking a bite out of Jarvis Jenks’ hand.
I stand up, brush myself off, and walk back towards the beach.
I hope my dynamite is ready. I don’t expect all the sticks to be serviceable, but a few might be.
I have to sink this place before I forget who I am.
13.
Some of the dynamite feels dry on the outside. I have no idea if it’s still usable, but I have to try.
I collect six of the driest sticks of dynamite and wrap them up in a big, green leaf. My only weapon is my club and I don’t think that’s going to be enough to keep the beasts at bay.
I begin my search for the flintlock pistol, but I do not intend to use it as a weapon. Not exactly.
I cradle the explosives in the leaf like a baby in a blanket. Don’t drop the baby, don’t give it any reason to get upset and make noise—this baby will kill you in a flash.
Mary wanted kids.
Fuck, what am I thinking about? Stop it. Focus.
But I can’t. My mind drifts.
Mary’s going to start a family with a different man. She’s had many suitors, including some respectable Navy men with the sort of legacy that I could never have. Her last name will change and I will not know her. She will be lost to the world of privilege and rank and even if I survive this I will never find her again.
I want her to name her firstborn son after me. It feels selfish but it also feels like the very least she could do.
Focus, damn you.
Aye, mustn’t let the mind wander in a place like this.
Up ahead is the hole the big alpha male dragged me into. They’re down there somewhere. Sleeping? Not likely. They’re watching me, listening to my footfalls, tracking my progress back to their lair.
Except I’m not going down the hole. I’ll never go down there again if I can help it.
When the big bastard pulled me below, I dropped something along the way.
The pistol shines in the light of the sun. The creatures haven’t touched it. They don’t know the power of man’s inventions.
I will enlighten them.
Without taking my eyes off the hole, I pick up the gun and tuck it beneath my ever loosening belt.
A growl escapes the dark lair and I think I see movement. It’s not much, just the hint of raggedy hair shifting in the shadows.
It’s probably my imagination. You can see a whole world of monsters if you stare into the abyss long enough.
But these monsters don’t belong in my imagination. So, instead of writing it off as nothing but a shadow trick, I respectfully distance myself from the hole and run as fast as I can.
The birds follow my progress from up above. Their squawking lets me know that the Rakasa are not chasing me, but I don’t slow down. Can’t slow down. If I stop now, I’ll collapse.
The ground is becoming more brittle. I come to the edge of the trees and stand in the shadow of the mound of dirt.
Like a teenage mother leaving her baby at the doorstep of a rich family, I leave my bundle in the place where it has the most potential to succeed.
The green leaf unfolds, exposing the dynamite to the sun.
This feels good.
I crawl up the mound, taking my time, knowing the end is near.
My legs don’t want to carry me any farther. My arms are weak and my fingernails are pried off the skin. I’m crying by the time I reach the summit.
I spin myself around so that I may look down upon the gift I’ve left for the occupants of this god-awful place.
It’s in the perfect spot.
I can do this.
Now I only have to wait for my guests to arrive.
14.
Mary touches my hand and I’m gone. Sleep robs me from the world. The dream embraces me, warms me. I feel some measure of peace.
I know it’s a lie. Obvious, really. But I enjoy the lie more than the sweetest wine.
Mary’s dressed like a bird, all feathers and color. Behind her are the real birds. They stay in their tree and ridicule me from a distance, laughing at how much I need this. I’m like a drunk with his hands on the bottle that’s likely to kill him, but I don’t care. The birds laugh and screech, cheering me on so that I may go deeper, drink fully, and disappear.
My lady love says, “Wake up,” but I don’t want to.
I want to stay here with her forever. She touches my face. My body tingles.
She gently presses against my back with her third hand.
Three… hands?
The claws sink into my skin and I jolt awake.
The Rakasa withdraws its paw down the mound’s central hole. It hisses at me and I can hear it go down deeper into the dark.
My back’s wet and warm. It cut me deep, I fear. Doesn’t hurt but I expect the wound might kill me just the same.
A growl ahead of me brings me back to the world.
It’s pitch black now. The air is heavy and wet.
Somewhere in the darkness below is my package of dynamite but I cannot see it for the moon has been blocked by ominous clouds.
I stand, keeping my club aimed at the hole directly beside me should the Rakasa test me again.
I hear something but it’s not coming from the hole in the hill. It’s coming from down below, ground level. Maybe it’s not even a sound I’m hearing but purely a sense of something moving through the thick, humid air.
I squint in the darkness, trying to catch sight of my audience below the mound.
The clouds part. The moon shines through. The island is revealed.
Beneath me are a dozen, no two dozen of the hairy monsters. I almost pull the trigger in a panic but I keep calm.
The creatures are blocking the explosives
from view.
They’re just sitting there licking their jowls. Occasionally one will make a move towards the mound but then the others hiss at it and push it towards the back of the group.
A rock tumbles behind me. I spin and gasp. There are even more of them on the other side of the mound. Their big eyes glow in the moonlight.
And then the cloud passes back over the moon and the light goes out.
They start growling one by one until it’s a chorus of predatory want. It’s getting louder and I know they’re coming up the hill towards me.
I put my hands to the side of my head and scream. My body shakes like a leaf. I’m crazy with fear. I’m ready for the madhouse, sir. Please, let me in!
They’re trying to scare me. They’re trying to make me quit.
Not animals. Animals don’t behave this way. They’re not here just to kill me, they want to break me first—mind and soul. They’re evil incarnate. I am hopelessly outmatched.
The clouds dissipate, releasing the moon’s glow.
The Rakasa are all around me. I can reach out and touch ’em if I like. Their teeth glint in the moonlight. Their breath is as foul as the deepest, darkest shit pit on planet Earth.
But as they’ve closed in on me… as they’ve driven me to the edge… they’ve also thinned out, revealing the leaf wrapped dynamite on the ground below.
The Rakasa behind me rises up and is ready to put its teeth into my neck. I ignore it.
The creature beside me is aiming its claws at my belly with the intention of gutting me. I barely give it a glance.
Ahead of me, a particularly hairy Rakasa is coming at me with mouth wide and drool dangling. I don’t look it in the eye. Can’t. Instead I extend my arm past its head, take aim, and pull the trigger.
The explosive blast sends everything flying. The creatures in front of me are thrown against my chest while I collide with those that were sneaking up behind.
Man and beast tumble through the air together, bathed in an orange glow. The heat of the explosion is unexpectedly pleasant but the blast is oppressive. I feel my bones cry for mercy.