Savages

by Greg F. Gifune

  “He was running?”

  “Yeah, he was definitely moving, and fast.”

  “With that wound I find it hard to believe he even made it this far without losing consciousness and bleeding out. But I guess, maybe an adrenaline dump, and he’s disoriented, frightened, in shock, he starts to run and he—”

  “But then he fell onto his knees and pitched forward onto his chest. Up to that point, what I’m seeing makes sense.” Gino stood, bent forward at the waist and continued to study the terrain, moving forward and up a slight incline onto another shelf of jungle floor. Once there, he stood upright, hands on hips. “But...”

  “What is it?” Quinn climbed up behind him.

  “Up ahead, there’s a much larger amount of blood, like that’s where he ended up. But there’s no body, which means he somehow got back up and kept going, even though there’s nothing to indicate that. When I went up ahead just now, there’s no more blood. The trail ends there.”

  “That not possible with that sort of wound. Even if he got up and kept going there has to be a blood trail right up until we find the body. There has to be.”

  “I know. But what I’m saying is that it stops there, with that big stain where he fell onto his stomach. From what I’m seeing, his body should be there. But it’s not. It’s like he got that far and then just…disappeared.”

  “Disappeared?”

  “And that’s not the only thing. It shouldn’t look like this. The trail, it should have a different look.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “See how the disturbance in the ground is more or less the same width and length it was back where it first started?” Gino pointed to a wide swath of sand, dirt, blood and flattened leaves just ahead of them. “It goes up the incline and over to that point there. Andre’s body left that mark. Not his knees, not his footprints, but his body. His entire body, lying flat and bleeding out, left its mark on the ground as it went.”

  Quinn looked back at where they’d come from. “So he fell back there, onto his knees, then pitched forward and crawled up here? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “That’s what makes the most sense,” Gino said. “Problem is that’s not what this is telling me. That’s not what this looks like. It should look like that, but it doesn’t.”

  “Okay, what does it look like?”

  “The track is too smooth, steady. Same with the blood, see how it’s smeared in a solid line the whole way? If he was crawling, it shouldn’t look like that. The blood spatter and smear should have a little more intermittent or uneven look to it, and the track should too. Same as it would with any badly wounded animal.”

  “All right,” she said, head spinning. “So…”

  “So just like his body should be over there, but it’s not, it looks...” Brow knit, he ran a dirty hand across his face, and the several days of beard growth there. “I mean, if this was any other injured animal I was tracking I’d swear it looks…”

  “It looks what? For crying out loud, just tell me.”

  Gino’s dark eyes found her. “It looks like he was dragged.”

  ***

  It was getting later. The sky was changing, slowly transforming into a glowing orange color, as if the world had caught fire just above the ocean. The breeze had changed too, becoming a bit cooler as it set the palm trees swaying and the edge of the jungle rustling. Herm and Dallas had fed the fire and kept it going, and it was slowly growing stronger. Though the goal was to eventually turn it into a bonfire, the flames high and spitting sparks, they hadn’t gathered enough burnable material to achieve that as yet. They hoped they had enough to keep it going through the coming night, but exhaustion had gotten the better of them. The lack of water and food was bad enough, but their utter mental, emotional and physical fatigue meant that pulling anything more from the jungle simply wasn’t an option until they were able to recharge.

  At their makeshift camp, Murdoch was maintaining consciousness for longer periods than earlier, and Harper had taken up position a few feet away on a large piece of driftwood, weeping while unenthusiastically gnawing away at a piece of coconut Dallas had managed to crack apart after nearly half an hour of attacking it with a sharp rock. Since then he and Herm had fed on and drank from another, sharing it with Murdoch when he was alert enough to swallow without choking. The rest they left for Quinn and Gino.

  There hadn’t been much conversation since they’d returned to camp. Instead, they’d focused on the tasks at hand and kept to their own thoughts and fears about what they’d found of Andre. Dallas continually watched the jungle, waiting and hoping for Quinn and Gino to return safely. His thirst and hunger at least somewhat sated, he studied his hands and the bevy of small cuts and scrapes that littered both. Although the sharp rocks were somewhat effective in splitting the coconuts, they were also extremely difficult to handle and work with, and his hands showed it. With a sigh, he stood, walked down to the water’s edge and soaked his hands a few moments, washing away the blood and letting the saltwater rush between his fingers.

  “You think they’ll find him?”

  Dallas quickly looked behind him.

  “Sorry,” Herm said, sidling up next to him, “didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Dallas nodded but said nothing. He didn’t much feel like talking just then.

  “Do you?”

  “What?”

  “Think they’ll find him.”

  “I don’t know, Herm.”

  “Between you and me,” he said, crouching too, “there’s something about this whole thing that doesn’t add up.”

  Though they were clean, Dallas continued to bathe his hands in the gentle surf.

  “If Andre got caught on the reef,” Herm continued, “and his arm was mangled to the point that he actually lost it once he got into the jungle, then where was the blood?”

  “What are you talking about? There was blood all over the place.”

  “In the jungle, yeah, but not leading in and none on the sand. Think about it. If his arm was barely attached when he reached shore, there would’ve been a huge amount of blood loss by the time he got there. And even if every trace of blood in the water or along the shore washed away in the night, there still would’ve been a trail of it across the sand leading to the jungle. Even that heavy rain wouldn’t have washed it all away. But there wasn’t. The only blood was where we found his arm.”

  Until that moment, Dallas had only been half-listening. But Herm’s assessment hit him like a slap in the face, and he found himself wondering how he hadn’t thought of that as well. He’d had his suspicions in the jungle, but this was so obvious. “Yeah, you—you’ve got a good point.”

  “I know I do.” Herm scratched at the edge of his hairpiece, nonchalantly sliding a finger up and under the side of it as he scratched his head. “And what that point tells me is that Andre didn’t tear his arm up on that reef out there. He lost it right where we found it, in the jungle.”

  Dallas was so tired and drained he couldn’t think straight, and worse, he was becoming used to it. “That makes sense. Seems obvious even, but…”

  “Yeah, well after everything we’ve been through, and the shape we’re in right now, none of us are thinking all that clearly.”

  Dallas forced himself to focus and organize his mind into some semblance of order. “So then what happened to him?”

  “Well that’s just it, isn’t it?”

  “You say anything to Harper or Murdoch about this?”

  “No, didn’t see much point in it. Harper’s already shutting down. Far as I can tell, she’s right on the edge of a breakdown. And Murdoch’s not exactly coherent yet.”

  Standing, Dallas rubbed his eyes. “This is insane.”

  “We’re not alone on this island, Dal.”

  Dallas rubbed his wet hands across his face, letting the water trickle down along his neck and chest. A little way out, the sharks were returning, as they did each day at both dusk and dawn. “Come on, man, we—”


  “Something did that to him. Either someone or a something, but it wasn’t that goddamn reef. We need to get the hell out of here and—”

  “And how do we do that, fly? There’s nowhere to go.”

  “I’m telling you—”

  “Easy.”

  “We’re not alone here.”

  “Keep your voice down. And you don’t know that.”

  “Yeah, I do. And so do you. I can tell. Known you too long, buddy.”

  “I don’t have all the answers, but we need to hold it together as best we can. Don’t jump to conclusions just yet.”

  Herm straightened up, put his hands on his hips and looked out at the ocean in what he likely considered something of a heroic pose. Though he’d wanted to appear brave and unaffected, he looked silly, like the uncertain and displaced middle-aged high school teacher he was. Theirs had always been an easy relationship, fellow teachers and casual friends outside work. And even in such extreme circumstances, Dallas still couldn’t shake the Herm he knew so well, the one strolling the school hallways and wisecracking with the kids, a sad sort who presented himself as if he were popular with the students, when in fact most of them made fun of him behind his back, laughing at his wig, mocking his mannerisms and doing horrible impersonations of him.

  “I’m sorry,” Dallas said softly.

  “What for?”

  “If I hadn’t invited you to come with us you’d—”

  “Don’t be a jackass. I wanted to come. To be honest, I was really glad you included me. I felt a little out of place being the only single one, but what else is new, right?”

  “We’ll get out of this. One way or another, we’ll get out.”

  “I’m so tired,” he said.

  “Me too, we—we’re all spent.”

  “My whole body aches, and half the time I can’t even put together a coherent thought.” Herm pushed his eyeglasses up higher onto the bridge of his nose and gazed over at camp. “I’m too old for this Gilligan’s Island shit.” He smiled but there wasn’t much behind it, and his expression quickly turned more serious. “Maybe tomorrow we can position some rocks or coconuts into a big-ass SOS on the sand. Hey, works in the movies. We need to keep that fire going strong too, got to get it built up a lot higher, especially at night. Have to hope someone sees it and gets us out of here.”

  That seemed about as likely as escaping the island via spaceship, but Dallas played along. “Yeah, sure.”

  “Trust me, someone’s going to find us,” Herm insisted. “Must be shipping lanes out there or something, or maybe a plane or—whatever—point is in this day and age—”

  “Not sure any of that applies here.”

  “Time will tell.” Herm grinned smugly.

  “Time’s a funny thing,” Dallas said. “It was always so precious. Scarce, you know? But even when it’s all we have it’s never enough. Right about now we’ve got nothing but, and it’s still the enemy.”

  “This whole place is the enemy, you ask me. Paradise my hairy ass.”

  “What the hell’s taking them so long out there?” Dallas turned his attention back to the jungle, as an array of horrible scenarios and possibilities coursed through his mind. “They don’t show soon I’m going after them.”

  “You better be careful with him, my friend.”

  “Don’t start.”

  “I know you and Gino are old pals and you think he’s our savior and all that, but I’m telling you—”

  “If it wasn’t for Gino, we’d already be—”

  “Blah, blah, blah, thanks, I get it. He’s the Almighty out here. Good for him. You pray to him if you want, but don’t expect me to.”

  “If you’re right, and there is something else out there, we’ll need him even more.”

  “I’m not saying he doesn’t have his uses.” Herm stumbled away awkwardly then came right back, as if he’d forgotten something. “But I’m telling you, as a friend myself, you better watch him.”

  “Meaning what, exactly?”

  “Meaning this isn’t like back home, okay?”

  “No shit.”

  “The rules are changing.”

  “You think I don’t know that?”

  “If you give a guy like Gino too much power, and let him make all the rules, it can be dangerous. He’s the big bad wolf, the alpha male—I get it—we’re all pussies and—”

  “That’s not what I’m saying.”

  “No? Well, here’s what I’m saying.” Herm lowered his voice, but the level of intensity in his eyes was unmistakable. “Every pack has rules that all the members have to follow, even the alpha male. Know why? Because every alpha male, if he’s never challenged or questioned, can just as easily destroy the pack as save it.”

  “We’re not a pack of wolves.”

  “You sure?”

  Dallas stared at him.

  “The longer we’re stuck here, Dal, the less human we’re going to get.”

  Dallas wanted to be horrified. But he knew Herm was right. It was already happening. Maybe not in deeds or gestures, but inside each of them things were changing instinctually, adapting, searching for ways to survive and find an upper hand, a superior position if need be.

  Just when he’d begun to feel hopeless, Quinn and Gino appeared on the beach, exiting the jungle at a slow and steady pace. As they headed their way, Dallas watched them, his eyes bouncing back and forth between his friend and his wife. Gino was hard to read, but he could tell from the look on Quinn’s face that something was wrong.

  “They’re coming,” he said, motioning to them.

  Herm turned, his tired eyes blinking slowly behind the scratched and smudged lenses of his glasses. “Anything?” he asked when they’d gotten closer.

  “No sign of the body,” Gino said to Dallas, looking right past Herm. “It’s like it just—I don’t know—disappeared. Might’ve been dragged, I couldn’t really tell.”

  “Dragged? By what?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well I came up with something I think you missed,” Herm said, straightening his posture and striking another of his poses.

  Gino finally looked at him. “Oh yeah, what’s that?”

  Herm explained the lack of blood on the beach but had only gotten a few words out when Gino interrupted him.

  “Quinn just pointed that out a few minutes ago on our way back. We got it.” He slapped Herm on the back, but there was no camaraderie in it. It was purposely demeaning, and they all knew it. “You worry about the fire, okay, chief?”

  Something died in Herm just then, his words of becoming less human echoing in Dallas’s mind. It was as if Gino had kicked him, or worse, dismissed him as not even worthy of a kick. Anger, resentment—maybe more—smoldered in Herm’s eyes, but he said nothing more.

  “So he lost the arm in the jungle then?” Dallas asked.

  “Everything points to that,” Quinn said. “But we’re all tired and…”

  “Then we’re not alone here?”

  “I don’t know. Probably, but…”

  “But maybe not.”

  “There’s likely a reasonable explanation for all this,” Quinn said, though it didn’t sound like even she’d bought it. “We just have to find it.”

  Gino turned and pointed to the cliffs. “Tomorrow I’m going up there and getting a view of the island and what we’re dealing with.”

  Quinn moved closer to Dallas. He put an arm around her shoulder. “And until then?”

  “We secure camp as best we can and stay alert. Take shifts staying awake, feeding the fire and keeping watch.”

  Herm walked away, trudging off through the sand in a gait that would’ve been comical had it not been so sad.

  “Come on, it’ll be dark soon,” Gino said. “We’ve got to get ready.”

  Night was on its way, and there’d be no stopping it.

  All they could hope for now was that it planned to come alone.

  CHAPTER SIX

  On the island, th
e darkness was unlike anything they’d experienced before. Even Gino, with all the exotic locales he’d visited in his life, had never seen anything quite like it. The night was complete and pure, and but for the stars in the heavens, void of any light whatsoever. The feel of the island changed after dark as well. Sound amplified and sharpened, each wave lapping shore, every crackle of fire, surge of wind, coconut dropping from the trees or shifting of the jungle stood out as a reminder that this was an alien place where they were the intruders. At one point they were swarmed by mosquitos and other small flying bugs, and only the smoke wafting from the fire was able to dissipate them, though only somewhat.

  Snuggled together, Dallas and Quinn took up position near the fire. They were supposed to sleep until it was time for them to take watch, and Dallas was sure he had drifted off a few times, but sustaining it proved impossible. Although she didn’t say anything, Dallas had slept in Quinn’s arms for years and he could tell when she was restless or not fully asleep, and he knew she was experiencing the same thing. Despite their exhaustion, sleep refused to come in anything but short intervals. In its place came fear, worry and a gnawing sense of loss and longing for their lives back home.

  Gino sat crouched near the fire but facing the jungle. Every few minutes he’d change position so he could keep an eye on the stretch of beach behind them as well, though it seemed unlikely he could see far in such utter blackness.

  Herm and Murdoch lay a few feet away. Dallas couldn’t tell for sure about Murdoch, but Herm was awake, his eyeglasses resting on his chest and his eyes open and blankly staring up at the night sky.

  Sleep was not a problem for Harper however, as she was curled tightly into a fetal position, out soundly and had been quietly snoring for some time.

  Dallas closed his eyes, held Quinn tight and tried not to think about home. He couldn’t take it. The idea that they might never leave this place, might never again get home and see their family and friends and resume their lives, was too much to bare after everything they’d already been through. The chance—however slim—that they could make it back was the only thing that kept them from not completely losing whatever was left of their minds and spiraling down into complete breakdowns. But in the quiet, in the dark, holding the woman he loved, Dallas couldn’t be sure he believed any of it. Maybe they were already dead and just didn’t know it. Maybe Davis and Andre and Natalie were the lucky ones, spared the horrors of dying slowly, gradually, in a place so far from home. Maybe for Dallas and the rest of them, the nightmare was just beginning.