X-Isle

by Steve Augarde

  But by now the Eck brothers were in the dining area, and Baz’s only choice was to serve up what he had.

  “Soddin’ hell. It gets worse.” Amos looked at his plate. He splashed at the food with his fork, dibbled it around a bit and pushed the plate away. “Come back Fatso, I say.” He reached for the wine bottle instead.

  “Aye, well. There are going to be some changes this week.” Isaac glared at Baz as he took a forkful of his own food. “Come Tuesday or Wednesday we shall be saying a few goodbyes.”

  Baz felt his heart jump at this remark, but there was no time to stop and think about it. He had other things to do first. Preacher John would be waiting for his dinner. Baz lifted the aluminum tray from the food trolley, turned to go...

  ... and there was Preacher John, standing right behind him. Baz stepped backwards in fright, and bumped into the food trolley. He stumbled, but managed to regain his balance. Upright again, he held the tray out to Preacher John.

  “Er... I was just...”

  Preacher John looked down at the dish of watery mince as though it were river-mud. “Isaac is right for once,” he said. “There will have to be some changes this week. Take that muck away from me and get out of my sight.”

  Baz did as he was told. He put the tray back on the trolley and wheeled it towards the kitchen door. But here he hesitated. Should he go into the kitchen, out of Preacher John’s sight, or stand here and wait as usual? He decided to wait for more definite orders.

  The Eck brothers were plainly surprised to see their father. They watched him in silence as he circled the table, Isaac in particular looking darkly sullen and suspicious.

  “Aye, there will be changes!” Preacher John’s voice boomed around the dining area. “And we have waited long enough. The day is upon us, my sons, and a momentous day indeed!” He laid his hands on Luke’s broad shoulders. “The waters are finally clear over Skelmersley. Our prayers have been heard. Our sacrifice has been accepted.”

  Luke twisted his shaven head in order to look up at Preacher John. “Clear?” he said. “So we can take the boat out that way? Give it a try?”

  “Yes, Luke.” Preacher John beamed down at him as though he were giving his son permission to go and play. “You can. I have been down on the jetty all this time, praying, and I have seen a vision of what will be. Such a vision! I cast my nets across the water, like Simon Peter himself, and how those nets overflowed – filled with riches. The bounty of the Lord!” He raised his hands and gazed up towards the dusty ceiling tiles. “And, Lord, if this vision be true, then I shall give thanks with the ultimate sacrifice. The ultimate! All that I have to offer shall be thine!”

  “There!” Amos banged his hand on the table, caught up in Preacher John’s enthusiasm. “You were right all along, then, Father!” He looked meaningfully across at Isaac. “The power of prayer.”

  “Aye. Prayer and sacrifice.” Preacher John lowered his arms. “And by tomorrow night you will see how right I am.”

  But Isaac’s face was as sour as ever. “That’s all very well,” he said, “but you’re forgetting about Moko. We’re a man down now. We need two to dive and two to work the boat. It’s not safe otherwise. And so all these wonderful riches and ultimate sacrifices are gonna have to wait a bit longer. Till we can get a replacement.”

  “Ah, yes.” Preacher John seemed suddenly deflated. He gave a heavy sigh. “Of course. We need a full crew. Isaac’s right again, then, and we shall have to postpone our victory. Continue to have patience—”

  “No!” Luke clearly had no patience at all. “What about... what about... you?” He looked up at Preacher John. “I mean... couldn’t you come out with us, Father? Just this once? To work the winch – or take the helm? It’s not that hard.”

  “Me?” Preacher John appeared insulted. “You’d have me work on a salvage boat? No, I don’t think so. My mission is here, praying for our salvation and communing with the Lord. I have nothing to do with the boat, nor anything that happens on it. The boat is Isaac’s responsibility.”

  Isaac had been sitting with his arms folded, scowling at his unfinished plate of food. But Baz saw the skipper’s expression begin to change slightly, his narrowed eyes moving to the right, as if a new possibility had occurred to him.

  “Deck work’s not easy.” Isaac kept his head down as he spoke. He didn’t look at Preacher John. “Loading, and that. Swinging the nets on board. It’s heavy going. Yeah, and it can be dangerous too – takes a couple of good men to do it right. Young and strong. It’s not everyone that’s up to the job.”

  “Hm.” Preacher John moved round to Moko’s empty chair and pulled it out from the table. He sat on it sideways, one arm resting over the back.

  “I see that you’re trying to protect me, Isaac. And it would certainly be wiser to wait until we find a replacement for Moko. But that will take time. Meanwhile we ignore the will of God at our peril. Hm. Well. Let’s suppose that I were to make an exception and come out with you tomorrow after all—”

  “Yes!” Luke reached across the table and bumped knuckles with Amos.

  “Good,” said Amos. “You know, if the boat really is gonna be that loaded up, then I think maybe we’ll need a tender.”

  “A tender?” said Luke. “But that’d mean another pair of hands...”

  “So what about one of the capos? We could take Hutchinson maybe. Leave Steiner behind...”

  Preacher John loudly cleared his throat to speak. “If I were to make an exception and come out with you tomorrow, then it would have to be on Isaac’s say-so. As he’s already pointed out, I’m not used to hard labour and I’m not as young as I was. I wouldn’t want to be a liability. Isaac – this decision is entirely up to you. Let me hear what you think.”

  “Yeah, well. I suppose if we were properly prepared...” said Isaac. He seemed to have brightened up, become more animated. “Skelmersley’s a good way off, and so it’d be a long hard day. We couldn’t afford to waste time in the morning. Luke, you’d need to check all the equipment now, directly after we’ve finished here. See that the air tanks are full, the wetsuits are on board and the boat gassed up. Check the winch motor, and make sure there’s plenty of petrol in it. Shove an extra can in the locker – maybe a can of diesel as well. I want that boat made ready this evening. Got it? No messing around in the morning – just straight up and away.”

  “And what about a tender?” said Amos. “Could come in handy. But that means dragging some kid along – one that’s got a bit of sense. What d’you reckon? One of the capos?”

  Isaac rubbed at his black beard. “Hm. We could take... Hutchinson, maybe. Make that ugly mongrel work for a change. Yeah, OK. Steiner can deal with these other snot-noses just for one day...”

  Preacher John rose. With a vague wave of his fingers he indicated that the others should remain where they were. “It seems that the question is settled then. Isaac, you’re the skipper and so I shall leave the details to you. I’m sure I’m in capable hands.”

  He flicked a speck of dust from the lapel of his long black coat, and walked away from the table. Before turning right towards the dark corridor Preacher John glanced across at Baz. It was only a brief look, but those eyes were as fierce and cruel as a hawk’s, and once again Baz felt his insides begin to quake.

  “Are you still here?” Preacher John’s voice was a low growl. Baz could make no reply, but in any case the preacher had already passed by, leaving the faint scent of candle-smoke behind him. His footsteps made no sound at all as he disappeared into the gloom.

  Luke let out a long breath. “Bloody hell! The old man on the boat! All of us on the boat – the whole family. I can’t believe it.”

  “No, nor can I,” said Isaac.

  And nor could Baz. It was the best chance they were ever likely to get, he was certain of that. As he cleared away the half-eaten plates of food, he was already thinking about the fishing boat, picturing it far out to sea, miles away from the island. All the Eck brothers onboard. And Preacher Jo
hn as well, yanking at the starter motor...

  But even better, Hutchinson would be there too! That was a last-minute bonus that couldn’t have been predicted.

  Back in the kitchen, Baz looked doubtfully at the remains of the marrow and mincemeat. He’d yet to take any food up to Nadine and Steffie. But how hungry would they have to be to eat this mess? Maybe if he drained off the liquid and gave it all a quick fry-up, it would taste better. It was something other than beans, anyway. Worth a try.

  “Hey!” The back door of the kitchen opened and Ray stuck his head round. “Is it safe to come back through? It’s getting pretty dark out there – and we’re starving!” More faces appeared in the doorway.

  “What? Yeah – hang on. The divers have gone to their rooms, but I’ll just check it’s all clear. Grab yourselves some tins of food, while I have a look.”

  Baz had almost forgotten about the boys up in the library, so many things were spinning around his head. There was nobody in the dining area, and so he waved the troop through.

  “I could be another hour yet,” he whispered to Gene. “Got lots to tell you. Were you OK up there?”

  “Yeah, brilliant. See you later, then.”

  The door of the art room was locked, or wedged somehow. Baz pressed down on the handle with his elbow, but it wouldn’t open. He stood in the gloomy upstairs corridor, feeling like an idiot, a plate of hot food in each hand.

  “Hey!” he shouted. “Anybody in there?”

  “Who’s that?” Nadine’s voice from the other side.

  “It’s me – Baz. What’s wrong with the door?”

  There was no reply, but Baz could hear activity just inside the art room. After a few scrapes and clunks, the door opened. Steffie was dragging one of the art stools back into the room. Nadine stood to one side. She was holding a broken wine bottle in one hand. Had there been an accident?

  “What’s going on?” Baz began to cross the dim room, intending to put the plates of food on the windowsill. There was still just enough light to see by, and as he passed Steffie he got a better look at her face: dirt-streaked, her eyes all red and watery – the girl had obviously been crying.

  “Hey, what’s the matter?” Baz took a couple more steps and put down the plates of food. Nadine was jamming the metal stool beneath the door handle, giving it a shove with her hip. She still had hold of the broken bottle.

  “You’re asking me what’s the matter?” Nadine crossed the room. She jabbed the bottle towards the windows. “After what happened down there today – that horrible... awful thing... and you’re wondering what’s the matter?”

  Baz glanced through the open window. A moon-haze already shone on the endless expanse of water, glints of blue and green, a shimmering curve that stretched beyond the protruding crane and church tower all the way to the horizon. Over to the left stood the jetty. The altar and the cross were clearly visible, dark shapes against the failing light.

  “Oh,” he said. “You saw it, then. The sacrifice.”

  “Yeah, we saw it.”

  There was silence for a few moments.

  “We thought... we thought it was nice at first. Watching you all down there. Singing hymns. We could hear you.” Nadine stood close to Baz, her free hand gripping the windowsill. “But then we heard the shots, and we started to get... and then we saw the wheelbarrow... and that awful man. Preacher John. God, he’s horrible! That poor animal. We just couldn’t believe it.”

  “Yeah. You know what? I wish you’d stop waving that blimmin’ bottle around.” Baz edged away from Nadine.

  “Sorry. Sorry... Hey, come on, Stef. It’s OK. It’s OK.” Nadine laid the jagged bottle on the windowsill and put an arm around Steffie’s shoulders. “Tomorrow we’re out of here.”

  The younger girl wasn’t crying, though. She looked drained, exhausted, but her mouth was set firm and her voice was steady. “I know,” she said. “I’m OK, Nad. Just tonight to get through, and then we’re gone.”

  Baz had his doubts about this. He didn’t believe that Preacher John had any intention of ever bringing Aunt Etta back to X-Isle. But he said, “You’d better eat something. Come on. You’ll feel better.”

  “Yeah.” Nadine gave a long sigh. “Thanks.” She made no move towards the food. Instead she looked straight at Baz and said, “What’s going on here? I mean, it’s like it’s all just insane or something...”

  Baz could see no point in lying. “Well, that’s just it,” he said. “Preacher John is insane. I mean, madder than you could ever believe. He thinks he’s like Moses, or someone from the Bible, and that if he prays – and makes sacrifices to God – then God’ll reward him. He wants the water to clear so he can carry on diving and get richer. He reckons that if he makes enough sacrifices, then God’s gonna do that for him. Or even make the floods go away. He talks to God, and he thinks that God talks to him.”

  “Well, so do I talk to God,” said Nadine. “I pray. Sometimes...”

  “Yeah, but you don’t make sacrifices. You don’t throw goats and rabbits onto altars... or throw kids into the sea... you don’t murder people—’ Baz stopped. He was saying too much, too quickly.

  “Kids into the sea?”

  “Well... that’s what we think.” Baz pulled back a little. “It isn’t Preacher John that actually does it, but it happens – and everything that happens around here is on his orders. Kids die. They disappear. They get shipped back to the mainland when the Ecks have had enough of them, and’ – he shrugged – ‘we’re pretty sure they never get there.” He could find no way of making things sound any better than they were.

  “Oh my God,” breathed Steffie. “We knew something bad must be happening, but not... not that.”

  “You haven’t seen what they’re really like,” said Baz.

  “We were starting to guess. As soon as Aunt Etta left, everything changed. They all got nasty with us. And then, when we saw what happened today, we thought, OK, this place is wrong. We gotta get out of here. So we locked ourselves in to try and keep safe. Just till tomorrow.”

  Baz didn’t reply to that. After another few moments Steffie said, “But she’s not coming back, is she?”

  “Who – Aunt Etta? Course she is.” Nadine sounded as though there was no doubt. “She said she was coming back on Monday, and that’s what she’ll do.”

  “Hey, I’m not a baby.” Steffie was defiant. “I’m as old as Baz is, so you don’t need to pretend to me. We’re stuck here, aren’t we? I know we are. And like Baz said before – it’s almost like it’s been planned this way.”

  “What? How do you mean?”

  “He sent for us.” Steffie’s voice began to waver. She looked at Baz as she spoke, and in her hazel eyes he thought he saw something change, a moment of realization. “Preacher John sent for us,” she said. “And it wasn’t just to be kind. I think he wanted us here.”

  “Why? What good are we to him?”

  “I don’t know. But if he’s really as crazy as Baz says he is, then maybe he’s going to... going to...” Steffie sounded really scared now.

  “To what?”

  “To kill us.”

  Baz could feel his mouth hanging open. He knew that Steffie was watching him, reading his reactions, searching for the truth.

  “Like the goat...” Steffie’s voice sank to a whisper. “Like maybe we’re next...”

  “Whaaat?” Nadine sat down – or rather collapsed – onto the one remaining stool. She looked at Baz, helpless, speechless.

  Her T-shirt glowed white in the dim light of the room, and Baz shivered, remembering the wheelbarrow, the little patch of white showing. And then there was that awful thing that Preacher John had said, about how he would be offering God the ultimate gift, the ultimate sacrifice. That had to be a human life. Had to be.

  But Baz couldn’t bring himself to tell Steffie that he thought she was right. He avoided looking at her, and searched instead for words of comfort, grabbing at whatever came into his head. “Nobody knows for sure what Pr
eacher John’s thinking,” he said, “or what he’s gonna do next. Listen, though... it’s gonna be OK. You’re gonna be OK. Whatever Preacher John’s got planned, it’s not gonna happen.” Baz stumbled recklessly on. “We’ve got a plan of our own. Yeah. Been working on it for weeks. We’re gonna get rid of the lot of them.”

  God, that sounded so stupid. And Baz could see the surprise on the girls’ faces, the doubt.

  “Get rid of them?” Steffie didn’t try to hide her disbelief. “How?”

  “Doesn’t matter how. You don’t have to know.”

  Because if I told you, thought Baz, it wouldn’t make you feel any better. We’ve built a bomb out of farts and gun powder, and we’re gonna blow the Ecks right out of the water. Oh really, Baz? That’s OK, then. Our troubles are over.

  “Look, you’re gonna have to trust us,” he said. “We’ve been planning this for a long time. So just keep doing what you’re doing and it’ll be OK. Lock yourselves in and wait. You’ll be safe enough.”

  “All right, then,” said Nadine. “So... when’s this plan gonna happen? Will it be soon?” She seemed less skeptical than Steffie, more ready to believe. Or perhaps more desperate. Something in the way that she looked up at Baz made him want to act the hero. At any rate, the words came out before he could stop them.

  “Tonight,” he said. “We’re gonna do it tonight. I promise.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “Tonight?” said Gene. “Hang on a minute, Baz. We only just finished building the bloody thing yesterday!”

  The wind-up torch had been switched to lantern mode. It stood on the floor between Gene’s mattress and what had once been Cookie’s, the pale tube of light a focal point for the boys who sat around it. The ring of solemn faces looked eerie, illuminated from beneath like kids at Halloween.

  “It has to be tonight.” Baz had thought his arguments through as best he could before returning to the slob room. Most of the boys had still been awake, surprised at his urgent demand for a meeting. They were willing enough to gather round the clockwork lantern and listen, but Baz knew they were going to take some convincing.