“If this island was occupied during the war,” Joliet said, “why isn’t it on any maps?”
“If the island was never discovered by the U.S., the Japanese stationed here probably just deserted and went home when the war ended.” Hawkins searched the small space for WWII relics, but found nothing. “Looks like they cleaned up shop when they left, too. They didn’t leave a thing behind.”
“Aside from a giant concrete octagon, you mean?”
“Right.” Hawkins turned to a pile of dirt and leaf litter on the side of the room. A splotch of red color next to the debris caught his attention. He knelt down and picked it up. The thick cloth was easily identifiable as a piece of baseball cap. The remnant of a B confirmed Hawkins’s suspicion that it was Kam’s Red Sox cap. That it was ruined was cause for concern—the kid rarely parted from it—but it being here was also the first real evidence that Kam had made it to the island and not drowned in the storm.
“That’s Kam’s hat!” Joliet said, taking the fabric from him.
“Yeah, but why is it—”
A loud squeak made him jump back and Joliet shouted in surprise as a black shape shot across the floor and out the door.
“What … was that?” she asked, catching her breath.
“A rat,” he said. “I think.”
Joliet inched toward the open door, looking for the rodent. “Looks like the Japanese left something else behind, too. Where people go, rats follow.”
“Mmm,” Hawkins said, but he’d only heard half of what she said. He walked back to the window and looked down the hill, scratching his chin.
“What is it?” Joliet asked.
“The rat,” he said.
“You don’t like rats?”
“Rat,” he said. “Singular. Rats tend to live in colonies. Sometimes several hundred in a single colony. And each female in the colony can have sixty young, per year, half of which might be females. Eleven weeks after birth, those females start cranking out young of their own. On an island like this, left to breed for the past seventy years, their population should have expanded until the place was overrun.”
“But it’s not,” Joliet said. “This is the first we’ve seen.”
Hawkins placed his hands on the windowsill, watching the jungle floor below for movement. “And there are plenty of food sources out there. Rats aren’t picky. It’s possible that their population exploded and suffered a massive die-off because of starvation, but that still doesn’t explain the lack of a colony. Rats live just two years. For there to be one rat, there needs to be others, and we run into the colony explosion scenario again, unless…”
“Unless what?”
“Unless something is keeping them in check.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s a reason Yellowstone is never overrun with rats. They’re there—they’re everywhere—but their population is controlled—” He looked her in the eyes. “By predators. Mountain lions, wolves, foxes, lynxes, bobcats, eagles, hawks, owls, and a variety of other predators keep the rodent and rabbit populations in check.”
“So what? The seagulls here have a taste for rat?” Joliet said with a grin.
“No,” he said, “to keep a rat population down to where they’re not scurrying everywhere requires a healthy population of a number of different predators.”
“How do you know there are different predators?”
“If there were only one species of predator, they would face the same overpopulation issue as the rat. They’d be everywhere. Predators are kept in check by competition. Other hunters.”
Joliet’s smile faded. “How come we’re not seeing them then?”
“Because they’re predators,” Hawkins said, eyes still on the hillside below. “They don’t want to be seen.”
12.
Hawkins let the moment drag out for a moment and then smiled. “Don’t worry, any predators on the island would have come with the Japanese, too. Feral cats. Maybe wild dogs. And some bird species, like the seagulls, which seem aggressive enough to handle a rat.”
Joliet’s let out a breath. “Bastard.”
Hawkins chuckled, but it was only partly sincere. The combination of a dead woman, a WWII fortification, and the presence of an active ecosystem that included predatory animals had him on edge. The island appeared to be as close as you could get to a tropical paradise, but the history of the place trumped the environment. And he had no doubt the lush jungle hid more secrets.
But he wasn’t a historian. Nor was he here to speculate on wildlife. He came to the island to find Kam and take him back to the ship. He stepped out of the pillbox and scanned the clearing outside. He’d lost Kam’s trail before they’d reached the switchbacks, but he couldn’t think of a reason the kid would have gone trailblazing. If anything, Kam had cut straight up the hillside, ignoring the switchbacks altogether. He’d hoped to pick up a trail atop the hill, but saw nothing.
Nothing at all. No rocks. No trees. No overgrowth. The clearing around the pillbox entrance looked almost manicured. Grass covered the ground, but it was neatly trimmed.
Not good, he thought, but didn’t voice his fears. Once they had Kam, they could theorize about the island all they wanted. Until then, Hawkins would stay on task.
He spun around, looking at the pillbox again, and noticed that the trees surrounding the building were just barely taller than its domed roof. If he stood atop it, he’d have a good view and might be able to gauge the size of the island.
Joliet stepped outside as he walked to the side of the pillbox and tested the strength of the vines with his hands. They’d make decent handholds, but he wasn’t confident they’d hold his weight. “Give me a boost,” he said.
Joliet looked at him like he was crazy. “You know I’m half your size, right?”
Hawkins found a thick vine high up on the wall and gave it a tug. It would do the trick. “I need to take a look at the island.”
“Why don’t you lift me up, then?”
“The operative word is ‘I,’” Hawkins said. “No offense. But I need to see the island for myself.”
Joliet strode over to him. She linked her fingers together and bent down to take Hawkins’s foot. “You know, Tarzan wouldn’t need Jane’s help.”
Hawkins placed his foot in her hands, held on tight to the vine, and said, “Jane was a helpless damsel in distress.”
Joliet lifted and Hawkins pulled. He rose up the side wall and reached over the top with his free hand. Once he had a grip, he reached his other hand up and pulled. Joliet pushed until his foot rose out of her reach. After swinging a leg up and over the top, Hawkins made short work of the climb. He got to his feet, standing on the flat edge that surrounded the dome. He turned back to Joliet and said, “That was a compliment, you know. The Jane thing.”
Joliet smiled up at him. “I know.”
She stood there for a moment, staring up at him with a smile and squinted eyes. He was frozen in place. His stomach knotted uncomfortably, but his own smile widened. Screw Bray and his curvy women, Hawkins thought, she’s amazing.
Hawkins thought she must have read his thoughts, or at least seen a glimmer of them in his eyes, because she let out a laugh and asked, “What?”
You know what, he thought, but said, “Nothing.”
Hawkins thought he saw her blush, but she turned away and said, “Just take a look, will you? We need to keep moving.”
Over the past month, he and Joliet had formed a bond neither of them would admit to, and thus far it hadn’t included a physical element. But he could sense them growing closer, and the way her sweat-soaked T-shirt clung to her body made him hope things moved forward sooner than later. Before Joliet could catch him staring, Hawkins turned toward the domed roof.
The structure looked sound enough, but it had been exposed to the elements for seventy years. He stood slowly and gave the dome a couple of hard kicks. When nothing gave, he leaned forward and put his weight on it. The dome, known to be a naturally strong sha
pe, held his weight. Moving slowly, he crawled to the top on his hands and feet.
Then he stood.
And gasped.
He could see over the tops of the trees and had a view of the jungle below. The mottled sea of green fell away as the hill descended, stopping at the lagoon. He could see the crescent-shaped beach and a small, moving figure he assumed was Bray. The Magellan lay in the lagoon, silent and motionless. From this point of view, he could see that the entrance to the lagoon was actually a curved channel through the cliffs. From the outside, it would be hard to see.
How the hell did the ship get through there without crashing?
Beyond the cliffs, the endless blue Pacific Ocean stretched to the horizon. With his eyes on the outer fringe of the island, he made a slow turn, taking in every detail. His wonderment over the view quickly turned to dread. The island was large. The far end was perhaps three miles away, easy to cover in a day, but he figured there were at least nine square miles of land—nearly six thousand acres—to cover. And that wasn’t including the many hills he could see. There was enough land to stay lost in for a long time.
Toward the far end of the island, between a pair of hills, he saw the sparkle of water, behind which lay more land. A lake, he thought. People were invariably drawn to fresh water. If Kam keeps moving until he finds the lake, he might stay there. And if we’re stuck here … Hawkins pushed that thought aside. Focus. Between the distant hills and the lake sat a lighter patch of green. He couldn’t see exactly what it was—there was too little to make out—but it looked like a large clearing.
Maybe an old airfield, he thought. “The island is volcanic,” he said, noting the raised perimeter. Like most islands in the Pacific, this one had once been the top of a very large, active volcano.
“You don’t see any steam, do you?” Joliet asked as she explored the fringe of the clearing.
“No, it’s dormant. Probably been for a long time. There’re a couple of tall hills, a lake—probably at the island’s lowest point—and a large, flat clearing, but all of it is inside a very large crater.”
“Probably multiple craters,” Joliet said. “Volcanic cones tend to shift in the ocean.”
Hawkins heard the sound of shifting vegetation.
“Hey, I found the path,” Joliet said from below.
Hawkins looked down. Joliet stood on the far side of the small clearing, holding a large-leafed plant aside.
“I think I see footprints, too.”
Something about the word “footprints” triggered a new question. “Why is Kam barefoot?”
Joliet just stared up at him.
“Did you ever see him go barefoot on the ship?”
She thought for a moment and then shook her head. “He wore sandals all the time.”
“So why is he barefoot now?”
“Maybe they fell off in the water.”
That made sense, but still felt wrong. They were missing something. “Maybe.”
What the hell aren’t we thinking of?
“Hey, look at this,” Joliet said. She held the plant up in the air. The large leaves were bound together at the bottom. “The leaves were staked into the ground. He covered the path on purpose. Why would Kam do that?”
The mental floodgates opened.
Kam wouldn’t.
“We need to go back to the ship,” he said, sliding down the dome to the edge of the pillbox roof.
“Why? It will still be daylight for a few more hours. We can—”
“It’s not Kam,” he said, lowering himself over the front end of the pillbox. He held on to a vine for support.
Joliet rushed up and put her hands under Hawkins’s foot, supporting some of his weight. “What do you mean, it’s not Kam?”
“Why would Kam—”
The vine supporting most of Hawkins’s weight tore free from the concrete above the pillbox entryway. Taking the vine with him, Hawkins fell. He and Joliet spilled onto the grass in a heap.
Hawkins pulled his legs off of Joliet and got to his feet. He helped her up and as they both brushed off their damp clothes, he continued. “Why would Kam swim to shore, run straight to a path in the jungle, come all the way up here, and then conceal his tracks?”
She had no answer.
“Exactly,” he said. “Kam wouldn’t. Someone was already here.”
“But Kam is missing,” she said.
“He might have been lost in the storm with Cahill.”
“Or he was taken,” she said.
Hawkins didn’t think so. The footprints weren’t deep enough to suggest someone was being carried, but he couldn’t discount the theory, either. Kam wasn’t very big.
“Either way, we need to get back to the ship. The island is too big to search on our own, and the presence of an unknown person … or people, changes things. We need help.” As Hawkins turned toward the path leading back down to the cover, he glanced at the pillbox and noticed something different. Something was painted above the doorway, where the vine had been.
He brushed away the moss and vine bits still clinging to the wall and looked at the writing.
“Is that Japanese?” Joliet asked.
“That’d be my guess, but I have no idea what it means.” He looked at each character individually, trying to remember them, but stopped when he heard a faint scratching sound behind him.
“Got it,” Joliet said, capping a pen and slipping a small notebook into her cargo shorts pocket. “Now, let’s get the hell out of here.”
As Joliet started down the switchback path, Hawkins took one last look around the small clearing. When thinking about dogs and cats being left behind on the island, he made the logical leap to the idea that they’d be feral after seventy years of breeding, hunting, and surviving on an island. But now he had to consider another possibility.
What would people be like if they’d been left here, cut off from the rest of the world, for seventy years?
13.
Hawkins led the journey down the hill much faster than they’d ascended it, in part thanks to gravity, but mostly because he’d been spooked by their discoveries at the pillbox. His neck had grown sore from looking back over his shoulder as they hiked, but his paranoia had company. Nearly every time he looked back, Joliet was already doing likewise.
He’d once spoken to the survivor of a mountain lion attack; a young woman who’d been jogging a trail in Yellowstone in the early morning. She hadn’t seen or heard anything. But she felt it. The danger. Had she not unclipped her bottle of pepper spray from her belt in advance of the attack, she’d have been easily killed. Instead, the cat got a face full of liquid pepper and would probably think twice before attacking another human being.
Is that what I’m feeling? he wondered. He’d encountered wild animals on several occasions, but had never felt that advance fear. He liked to think it was because he was on equal footing with the world’s predators, and to an extent, had proven that to be true. That he was feeling spooked now only increased his building sense of doom.
Halfway between the hill and the beach, something snapped.
Hawkins froze.
Joliet stood beside him.
Neither spoke. They just watched. And listened.
After a full minute, Hawkins said, “Man, this place has me on edge.”
Joliet gave a nervous laugh. “I know, right?”
But then the sound repeated. Closer. And overhead.
Both of their heads craned up. The tall palms, mixed with other exotic, leafy trees, swayed, creaking quietly. Sunlight filtered through and the bright green leaves shimmered on the jungle floor. But there was nothing else there.
“Do rats climb trees?” Joliet asked.
“Not usually,” Hawkins replied. “Unless they’re trying to make it easy for the birds that eat them.”
“Right,” Joliet said before glancing down and seeing the hunting knife in Hawkins hand. “You know something I don’t?”
He didn’t really remember drawing the bla
de. “I hope not.”
Brush along the path, just twenty feet behind them, shook. He’d normally write the movement off to a squirrel. Or in this case, a rat. But he didn’t think that was the case here. They were being stalked.
“Go,” Hawkins whispered. “Run.”
Joliet seemed surprised. Did she not see the brush moving, or was he really just being paranoid? Better paranoid than dead, he decided, and said, “All the way to the beach. Don’t stop. Go. Now!”
As he raised his voice, movement swirled around and above them. He saw shifting shadows and flickering sunlight as something moved through the canopy. Nothing more. But he had learned something—the creature stalking them wasn’t alone.
There was a pack.
Joliet needed no more convincing. She took off down the winding path, moving swiftly. Hawkins took one last look around and saw nothing. Sensing the predators moving in, he followed after Joliet, knife in hand.
The trail made running easy, but it also wound a meandering path through the jungle. Fastest way between two points is a straight line, he thought, and then went off-path, cutting straight through the jungle, tearing through brush, hopping fallen trees and making a racket.
Joliet heard him coming and whipped her head in his direction. Her face was twisted with fear, but quickly turned to relief when she saw it was him.
“Don’t bother with the path!” he shouted. “Just cut through the trees!”
When the trail wound to the right, Joliet plowed straight ahead, leaping through the forest like a frightened deer. She moved so quickly that Hawkins had a hard time keeping up. Her small size let her pass by obstacles that he had to crash through, like a tank following a sports car through a slalom course.
The trees thinned and the bright glow of the beach beckoned to them. But they hadn’t made it yet. The movement around them had grown frenzied. He glanced to the side a few times and got quick looks at something yellowish, stumbling with each look back. But he didn’t have to see them to know they were moving in to strike. The creatures’ frenzied approach grew louder, their movements combined with shrill chirps.
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