Island 731

by Jeremy Robinson

  “Let me have a look,” Drake said, stepping up next to the goat.

  Something about Drake put the goat on edge. It shifted away from him, but the granola bar kept it from fleeing. When Drake stood still, hands on knees looking at the collar, the goat relaxed and focused on its meal.

  “Goat three hundred fourteen,” Drake said.

  Bray turned to the captain. “Huh?”

  “That’s what the collar says,” Drake explained.

  Bray looked doubtful. “How well do you speak Japanese?”

  With a sigh, Drake explained. “Passable, but not fluent. I met my wife in Japan. Learned the language so I could speak to her parents. Ask her father’s permission. Do things right.”

  “Didn’t know you were married,” Bray said.

  As soon as the words escaped Bray’s mouth, Hawkins saw the subtle change in Drake’s expression and knew the truth before the man spoke. “I’m not. She died ten years ago. And before you ask, it was cancer. The fast, merciful kind. If there is such a thing, but it took her just the same.”

  Bray lowered his eyes to the ground. “Sorry.”

  “Ten years ago,” Joliet said. “That’s when you became captain of the Magellan.”

  Drake gave a nod. “Called in a favor.” He looked at Hawkins. “Needed to escape.” He stood and stepped away from the goat. “Now, if we’re done with our trip down memory lane, what’s the big deal about the collar, other than the fact that it confirms the island is populated by people with access to the outside world?”

  Hawkins hadn’t thought about the ramifications of the people here having plastic. Drake was right. Whoever lived here hadn’t been isolated since World War II, but that didn’t mean they weren’t off-their-rockers crazy. “I’m not sure.”

  “I know what it means,” Bray said, petting the goat. He waited for the others to look at him and then said, “It means Kam lied. The band around the turtle didn’t say ‘broccoli.’”

  Joliet scoffed. “There’s no way to know that.”

  The goat finished with the first of the two crunchy granola bars. Bray offered it the second, which it happily accepted. “Why would a plastic band that matches the one around this goat, which is accurately labeled ‘goat,’ identify a loggerhead turtle as ‘broccoli’?”

  “There’s probably a hundred different possibilities,” Joliet said.

  “Including that Kam lied,” Bray said. “You agree that the turtle had been experimented on. The tracker in its gut was proof of that. Given what we found on the beach, the presence of the dracos, and now a matching collar makes a pretty air-tight case that whoever screwed with the turtle is, or was, on this island. If they took the time to accurately label a goat, why call a turtle broccoli?”

  “Could have been to throw off anyone that found the turtle,” Drake offered.

  Bray nodded his agreement. “One of the hundred possibilities. But whoever experimented on the turtle didn’t expect the tracker to fail. They might not have intended it to live more than a year or two before recapturing it. Even then, I doubt they expected it to survive into adulthood. Just doesn’t make sense to me. It’s … unscientific.”

  “Experimental science is full of code names,” Joliet said. “Especially those born out of the Second World War.”

  “I’ll give you that,” Bray said as the goat finished the second bar. He stood up. “But I’m not sure ‘Project Broccoli’ has much of a ring to it, especially if we’re talking about Unit Seven thirty-one, whose members subscribed to the bushido code just as much, if not more so, as the soldiers who eviscerated themselves after losing a battle.”

  Both sides of the argument made at least some kind of sense, but everything was based on pure speculation and Hawkins knew that did no one any good. “How about this? We’ll ask Kam when we find him.”

  “Works for me,” Drake said. “It’s time we got moving and our guide is waiting for us.”

  The goat’s bell jangled as it wandered to the hidden path at the edge of the clearing. It paused at the jungle’s edge and bleated at them.

  Bray zipped up his backpack. “Hold on, Pi.”

  “Pi?” Hawkins asked.

  “Three fourteen,” Bray said. “Three point one four. Pi. It’s amazing you can tie your shoes, Ranger.” He stood and headed for the goat, which turned and entered the jungle.

  “We’re being led by a goat,” Joliet said. “Great.”

  “It’s not leading us,” Hawkins said. “Just happens to be headed in the same direction.” He chased after Bray, reclaiming his position on point. He paused at the clearing’s edge and peered into the canopy-dimmed jungle. Once his eyes adjusted, he saw the goat waiting for them twenty feet down a switchback trail. It stood next to a footprint.

  Hawkins shook his head and thought, We are being led by a goat. And he was actually okay with that. The bell jangling around the goat’s neck would make it a predator’s first target, and would help disguise their approach to anything or anyone that recognized the sound. In fact, if they could get the bell off the goat, Hawkins thought it might be a good idea to take it. But for now, they’d follow the goat, as long as it didn’t start swinging from spiderwebs or sprout sea snake fangs.

  23.

  As the group neared the bottom the switchback trail on the opposite side of the hill, Hawkins kept expecting an attack. The longer the goat’s bell rang, the more it sounded like a dinner bell. The high-pitched voice of his childhood neighbor calling her cat filled his thoughts. “Here, Draco! Come on! Time for din-din.”

  But they were never bothered.

  “Has anyone seen a draco-snake?” Bray asked.

  “Not a one,” Hawkins replied. “Doesn’t mean they’re not there, though. I think they can hide pretty well when they want to.”

  “It’s possible we’re out of their territory,” Joliet said.

  Hawkins shook his head. He’d thought of that, too, but the theory had flaws. “Based on their size and the number of individuals we saw, I’d guess the whole island is technically their territory. Would have to be to support that many.”

  “Maybe they just lost our scent when we went over the hilltop,” Bray said.

  “I don’t think so,” Hawkins said.

  Bray shook his open hands at Hawkins. “Then enlighten us, o wise wilderness sage.”

  Drake’s voice startled them all when he spoke from the back of the group. “It’s the bell.”

  “The bell?” Bray sounded incredulous.

  Before Bray could launch into why he thought that was a stupid idea, Hawkins spoke up. “Actually, I agree. The dracos are either afraid of the goat for some reason, and the bell warns them away, or they’ve been trained to avoid the bell.”

  “Huh. Like a Pavlovian response?” Bray said. “So instead of salivating when they hear the bell, they run for the hills, or the trees, in this case.”

  “Something like that,” Hawkins said. “Either way, I think we should stick close to our goat friend.”

  “Or take the bell,” Drake offered.

  Hawkins nodded. “If we have to. But I couldn’t use the rifle. It would give away our position.” He motioned to the harpoon in Joliet’s hands. “We’d have to use that.”

  Joliet looked mortified. “I’m not shooting the goat.”

  “Her name is Pi,” Bray said. He sounded serious, but the grin on his face said otherwise.

  “I’ll take care of it,” Drake said.

  As Hawkins rounded a stand of palms at the corner of the last switchback, he froze. He thrust an open palm toward the others, stopping them in their tracks.

  “What is it?” Joliet whispered.

  Hawkins gestured with his hand like he was ringing a bell.

  Eyes widened.

  The bell had fallen silent.

  With the rifle at his shoulder, Hawkins crept around the sharp turn in the trail. When he saw what lay ahead, he relaxed his grip on the rifle, but didn’t lower it. Pi stood at the center of the trail, her white tail twit
ching. She turned her head slightly and lifted her nose.

  Hawkins wasn’t sure if the goat smelled something dangerous, or was tasting the air for a potential snack, but he suspected the first option. Pi hadn’t stopped eating the whole way down the hill. If she took this route often, they probably had her to thank for keeping the path so pristine. At times he felt like the path was part of some kind of nature park. That there were switchbacks meant the trail had been created by men, but its current condition was thanks to Pi, and any other goats on the island.

  With a bleat, Pi expressed either her disinterest in the scent or the all clear. She continued her casual pace into the jungle, where the path leveled out and meandered into the distance.

  Hawkins followed, but kept the rifle at the ready and quickly scanned their new surroundings. The scenery here looked similar to the jungle on the other side of the hill, but there were fewer palms and larger, leafy trees with tangling roots, branches, and vines. The air felt more humid here, if such a thing were possible, and the air lacked any trace of the ocean’s salty scent. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought they were deep in the Amazon jungle. Of course, the Amazon is alive with noise. Here, there wasn’t much to hear beyond the clang of Pi’s bell.

  When Hawkins reached the spot where Pi had paused, he stopped and smelled the air for himself. There was a subtle change. A slight coolness on the breeze coupled with something fresh. Is this what the goat smelled? He looked down and saw a pair of bare human footprints. Whoever had left them, Kam or his kidnapper, had stopped here, too.

  But why?

  “I hear water,” Joliet said, stepping up next to Hawkins.

  Hawkins hadn’t heard anything, but focused on his ears anyway. And then he heard it. A faint, monotone static. “Sounds like a river.”

  “On an island?” Bray asked.

  “It’s not common,” Joliet said. “But I think some volcanic islands have fresh water springs. And Mark did see a body of water separated from the ocean. Could just be overflow from the storm.”

  Drake pushed past them. “It’s going to take months to find anyone if you all keep stopping to discuss the island and its critters. Best way to find the answers is to keep moving.” He continued down the path with his fire ax perched on his shoulder.

  The man had a point. No one argued. Hawkins motioned for the others to follow them and he took up the rear. He was going to suggest the position change anyway. If the bell really was a deterrent, an attack would come from behind. And if that happened, he wanted to respond quickly with the rifle.

  They walked for ten minutes. The static hiss became a roar. The air grew cooler. And the darkness of the jungle gave way to sunlight pouring through the open canopy above the river.

  After passing through a field of waist-high ferns, the moist earth path gave way to gray sand. The ten-foot-long beach was hemmed in by lush plants that grew along the banks of a narrow but fast-moving river. But the most dramatic feature of the river was a waterfall emptying into the river from a forty-foot cliff to their left. A rainbow arced through the mist that clung to their skin and saturated their clothes. A series of vertical ridges covered the dark gray cliff face. They looked unnatural, almost manmade—like incredibly tall, square organ pipes—but Hawkins had seen volcanic formations like this before. Plants clung to every ledge, lavishing in the combination of mist and bright sunlight.

  Pi, however, was on edge. The goat stopped several feet short of the water. Her thighs rippled with tension as though ready to spring away. The goat seemed fearless on land, but it definitely didn’t like the water.

  Or whatever it thought might be in the water.

  “Stay back from the river,” Hawkins said quickly.

  Bray and Joliet jumped back quickly. Drake responded less slowly, but stepped back and readied his ax.

  Pi’s large belly bounced as she sniffed the air. Her eyes remained locked on the water.

  “What’s that?” Joliet asked. She had a hand over her eyes, blocking out the sun as she looked up toward the top of the waterfall. “Is that a rock?”

  Hawkins followed her eyes up. At first he couldn’t see anything, but then he saw an aberration between the mist and the jungle at the top of the cliff. The gray coloration looked lighter than the stone of the cliff, and far smoother. They’d already seen something similar. “Another pillbox.”

  He was going to suggest they check it out, but Pi gave a bleat and started through the water. He thought the goat would have to swim across, but it never sank more than knee deep. Hawkins edged up to the water’s edge. To his left, the waterfall basin was dark, turbulent, and coated in mist. Anything could be down there and he’d never know it. To his right, the river flowed smooth and fast, five feet deep, but clear. But directly ahead, a smooth gray surface cut across the river. “Looks like a concrete bridge. The water must be high from the storm. It’s covered by a few inches of water.”

  Hawkins took a step onto the concrete. It felt solid beneath his feet, but he could feel the tug of fast-moving water on his lower legs. He made his way across and then waved for the others to follow. Bray and Joliet quickly joined him on the other side. Drake took one last look around and started across.

  When Drake reached the halfway mark, Pi, who had continued along the path into the jungle on the other side, began bleating. The rapid-fire, high-pitched staccato call from the goat sounded like nothing Hawkins had ever heard before, but apparently Bray had.

  “It’s a warning call!” Bray shouted. “The goats on the farm did that when a fox or coyote came near. Get out of the water!”

  Drake heeded the warning and focused on crossing the remainder of the river. To his credit, he didn’t panic or move too fast. A misstep would send him into the water.

  Joliet stabbed a finger to the river beyond Drake. “Oh my God, what is that?”

  Hawkins saw an impossibly large shape slipping through the water. It glided toward Drake with little effort. He took aim with his rifle, but didn’t fire.

  “Shoot it!” Bray shouted.

  Drake turned to look and slowed as he did.

  “Shoot!” Bray repeated.

  “Bullets don’t penetrate water,” Hawkins said in a stern voice. “Have to wait for it to surface. Captain, move your ass!”

  With a burst of speed, the shape closed in.

  Drake discarded his previous caution and ran through the shin-deep water.

  Tracking the creature’s swift passage through the water, Hawkins could see it would reach Drake before he made it to the shore. Seeing just one option available to him, Hawkins lowered the rifle—

  —and dropped it to the ground.

  24.

  As the rifle fell to the ground at Hawkins’s feet, he twisted around and snatched the speargun from Joliet’s hand. She had already begun to take aim, but he couldn’t risk her missing the shot. Unlike the rifle, there would only be time to get off a single shot. They had replacement spears, but reloading was time consuming and cumbersome. And while he could squeeze off ten shots with the rifle in just as many seconds, water did a remarkable job stopping bullets. The speargun, on the other hand, was designed to slip through water with ease.

  Looking down the length of the speargun, Hawkins took aim at the submerged creature surging toward Drake. Only a few feet separated the pair.

  He fired.

  With a puff of compressed air, the spear shot away. The three-foot-long metal rod passed beneath Drake’s arm as he ran. It found the water a fraction of a second later and pierced the surface like no bullet could. There was a snapping sound as the sharp tip of the spear struck the creature’s midsection—and ricocheted away toward the opposite bank.

  Realizing that neither spear nor bullet would stop the creature in time, Hawkins discarded the weapon and lunged toward Drake. He reached out his hands, intending to yank Drake forward and hopefully out of reach.

  He glanced down and saw the large shape in the water had stopped moving forward. But then a reptilia
n snout broke the surface. Green-skin-rimmed nostrils snapped open as the creature took a breath. Hawkins felt Drake’s fingers reach his and began wrapping his hands around the other man’s wrists.

  Water exploded as the creature rose up and revealed itself. A crocodile. He wasn’t sure exactly what species of croc, but it was easily eighteen feet long and would have no trouble devouring a man. Hawkins saw the long mouth lined with thumb-size teeth snap open. But still, the apex predator didn’t move in to strike.

  Is it just trying to scare us out of its territory?

  The question was just a flash in his mind, answered nearly at the same moment he thought it. The flesh at the back of the croc’s throat, where its tongue should have been, expanded. Rolls of undulating muscle unfurled in a flash. At first, Hawkins thought the croc was regurgitating a meal, but then he saw it move. Two long, squid tentacles unfurled from the croc’s mouth, slipping out of cavities at the back of its mouth. As they emerged, the limbs began twisting and shaking like wounded snakes. At the center of the throat, Hawkins saw that where the croc’s esophagus should be there was a beak. Loud clicks came from the croc’s mouth as the beak repeatedly opened and snapped closed.

  Another chimera. This one a vile perversion of nature.

  The twin tentacles shook with tension and then sprang from the reptile’s mouth. Part of Hawkins’s mind registered seeing the flesh stretch out toward Drake, but then he had his arms locked with Drake’s and yanked.

  A loud slap filled the air as Hawkins pulled Drake beyond the waterline. The two men began to fall back but stopped halfway to the ground. Hawkins looked into Drake’s eyes and for the first time saw fear. Then he saw why. Drake’s right leg was being lifted off the ground. There was a tug and Hawkins was pulled upright.

  Hawkins looked over Drake’s shoulder. The croc sat in the river, its yellow eyes locked on Drake. Two long, pale tentacles as thick as Hawkins’s forearm stretched between the crocodile’s mouth and Drake’s leg. The two tentacle clubs were stuck to Drake’s calf. And if they were anything like actual squid tentacles, they’d have buried rows of sharp hooks into the meat of Drake’s leg.