Savages

by Greg F. Gifune

  “You fucking sonofabitch.”

  “Fuck off, Quinn.” He glanced down at Harper. “She doesn’t give a shit.”

  “Don’t you?”

  “No.” He took a step toward her. “I don’t.”

  “Get away from her.”

  “I wanted to fuck the stupid little bitch, so I did. Why not? Doesn’t matter anyway. She doesn’t even know where she is. Besides, we could all be dead any minute. Probably will be.”

  “Just…get away.”

  “I’m not done yet.”

  “Yeah. You are.”

  Herm chuckled and shook his head. “You know, at first I kept thinking they’d find us. Sooner or later they’d have to, right? Today’s day and age and all that. But you know what, Quinn? The more I thought about it and the worse things got, the more I realized the odds of us ever leaving this island were more or less nonexistent. And the more I thought about that, the more I realized maybe that didn’t have to be such a bad thing. It’s all in what we do, how we deal with it, see what I mean? Hell, what am I missing anyway? What do I want to go back to so badly? My empty apartment? My nowhere job and all those snot-nosed little fuckers who laugh at me behind my back—sometimes even right to my face—a world where I’m nobody, a fucking joke, and no one cares if I live or die? A world where women don’t give me the time of day? A world where I’m essentially powerless? That’s what I was jonesing to get back to?”

  “Just get away from her, all right?”

  “Nah. I don’t think I will.”

  “You make me sick.”

  “Be that as it may, the way I see it, one of two things is gonna happen here. One, that thing out there is going to take us out one by one, just like it has the others, in which case we’re all gonna die anyway, so who gives a shit? Or two, we figure out a way to stop it, to kill it before it kills us. And then, this island is ours. Or I guess I should say mine. Gino’s fucked, we both know it. I stayed awake last night while you had your little nappy-poo, and watched him. Yeah. His big tough guy know-it-all days are over. He’s burning up with fever, which means he’s got an infection, which means it’ll likely kill him. And this one,” he scoffed, motioned to Harper. “She’s a fucking vegetable. A vegetable with great tits, a hot little ass and a sweet pussy, no question, but still a fucking vegetable. She won’t even take food or water anymore unless you force it on her. Dumb twat’s gonna be dead in a matter of days, so why not get some? Back in the world, she would’ve laughed at me, looked at me like I wasn’t even human. So fuck her. Literally. That pretty much just leaves you and me, Quinn. And this island. And that’s all it leaves. For the rest of our fucking lives.”

  “You’re out of your mind.”

  “Yeah, probably. We all are. Who could blame us after everything we’ve been through, right? Not really sure what that’s got to do with anything. Point is, for however long I’ve got, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months or years, I’m not going to be the joke anymore, the weak one, the one nobody takes seriously. This island is mine. And for however long she lasts, so is this cretin. In time, you will be too, because there won’t be anything but us.” Herm smiled, straightened his wig. “So go back and play nursemaid to Gino while I finish up playing with this slut, and then we’ll figure out what to do next.”

  Quinn shook her head no.

  “Since when do you care, anyway? This ass cost Dallas his life and you’re—”

  “Don’t you say his name,” she snapped. “You don’t deserve to say his name.”

  “You’re right. He was the best of us, wasn’t he? And look what it got him. It’s a new world, Quinn. Yours and mine. We either take it, or die trying. That’s it. That’s all there is now.”

  “Just get out of here. Go back and...”

  “No can do.” Scratching his beard, Herm looked down at Harper. “Few more things I want to do with my special lady friend here.”

  “I’m not fucking around, Herm.” Quinn leveled the ax, raising enough to remind him she was carrying it. “Leave. Now.”

  “It doesn’t matter anymore. We don’t matter anymore. Get it?”

  “You’re not touching her again.”

  He stared at her for what seemed forever, the mist all around them and the fog moving between them like ghosts. “I’ve always liked and respected you, Quinn. Hell, truth be told, I’ve jacked off thinking about you over the years more times than I can remember. Used to feel guilty about it. Kind of. Now, not so much. So no more telling me what to do. The way things work now is, you don’t tell me shit. I do what I want.”

  Herm reached for the machete, yanked it free of the palm tree. “Fuck off, Quinn, before this gets past a point we can’t come back from.”

  “We’re already there.”

  “What do you think you’re gonna do?” He stepped closer, the machete down by his leg. “What do you think you can do to me? Huh?”

  “Go back and keep watch. I’ll take care of Harper and we’ll—”

  “I’m not going anywhere until I do everything I want to do to this cunt.”

  “I’ll kill you if I have to.”

  Herm smiled. “What makes you think I won’t kill you if I have to?”

  “Get out of here.”

  “Why don’t you come make me?” The machete held higher, he slowly began to circle her. “Come on, butch, let’s see what you’ve got.”

  “We need each other, Herm.”

  “All the more reason for you to fuck off.” He circled closer. “No more rules.”

  “I’m not going to let you do this to her.”

  “Then this must be the part where you try to stop me.”

  “You really have lost your mind.”

  With sudden and horrifying viciousness, Herm swung the machete.

  Quinn leaned back and out of the way just in time, the blade missing her by inches. Stumbling away, she caught her balance and squared her stance, ax at the ready. “Okay,” she said, gritting her teeth. “Okay. Come on.”

  They circled each other in the mist, the fog surrounding them.

  As he lunged for her again, she blocked the blade with the ax, raising it up before her so the handle took the brunt of the machete strike. But he landed with such force it knocked her back and off her feet and tore the ax from her grip. Quinn fell onto the seat of her pants, stunned, the ax spiraling through the air and landing a few feet away. She lunged for it, but before she could reach it Herm pounced, swinging the machete at her in wide, wild arcs.

  She rolled away, scrambling back to her feet just in time to dodge another swing of the blade. As it whizzed by her face, she pivoted and kicked Herm in the knee with her heel.

  Wailing, he staggered back but remained upright. Then he rushed her again.

  This time Quinn was ready.

  A two-punch combination landed before he could reach her, snapping his head back, breaking his glasses and dropping Herm to one knee. Blood trickled from his nose and split lip. He stood up, wiped at the blood then looked at his hand and smiled.

  “Stop,” Quinn said. “Stop.”

  Tossing his glasses aside, he rushed her again, stabbing with the machete rather than swinging it this time, which backed her up along the sand and into another tree. She fell back against it, bracing herself and raising her hands in a gesture she hoped would make him stop.

  But instead he swung the machete at her head.

  She ducked and it struck the tree behind her, lodging in the trunk.

  Hitting him first in the gut and then with an uppercut, she knocked him back, but Herm was tougher than he looked. With his wig askew, he grabbed hold of her by the throat and backed her against the tree, squeezing with such force she could no longer breathe and spittle began to bubble up and out of her mouth.

  Slamming her fists down into the bends in his arms, she broke his grip, and gagging, dropped to her knees, struggling for breath, but Herm was on her again, this time grabbing her by the hair and slamming her head against the tree. As pain exploded through
the back of her skull and a sunburst of colors exploded across her field of vision, she nearly lost consciousness.

  He pulled her head forward, ready to slam it into the tree again, but Quinn stabbed a thumb deep into his eye.

  Herm yelped, staggered back and doubled over, his hands covering his face.

  Quinn stood near the tree, swaying and dizzy.

  He came for her again, suddenly, and they both smashed into the tree, jockeying for position. As Quinn pushed her forearm under his chin and pushed hard as she could, she realized Herm was reaching behind her for the machete. With her other hand she grabbed his wrist, but he was too strong, and quickly yanked the blade from the trunk.

  Still controlling his wrist, she used all her strength to prevent him from bringing it down onto her skull, but she knew she couldn’t hold him off long. She brought a knee up into his crotch. He gasped, released her and dropped to his knees in pain.

  Taking him by the shoulders, Quinn pulled him to his feet, spun him around and slammed him into the tree, driving him into it with a shoulder block to his midsection.

  As he crashed into the tree, his head snapping back and slapping the trunk as well, Quinn reached down, grabbed the machete and cocked it back, holding it there a moment.

  Herm’s eyes widened, and he pushed off from the tree, lunging for her.

  Before she fully realized what she’d done, Quinn had driven the machete straight into him. It penetrated his stomach with a sickening wet sound, and he gagged, grunting like the wounded animal he was.

  The fog engulfed them, as if to hide their sins.

  Quinn fell against him, and they stood there a moment in each other’s arms, the blade buried deep in his gut, his blood flowing over them both. He looked into her eyes and tried to speak, but vomited blood instead, spraying her face and neck with it.

  Wheezing, Herm fought to remain conscious, glaring into Quinn’s eyes with disbelief and drooling dark blood out over his bottom lip.

  Then he nodded, as if submitting and somehow granting her permission.

  Quinn gripped the machete with both hands, and with a primal scream, ripped it up and over, tearing through what remained of his abdomen.

  Another explosion of blood erupted from Herm’s mouth and eyes, and he dropped to the sand, the machete still buried deep inside him.

  He made gurgling sounds for a few seconds, convulsed then lay still, a large pool of black blood forming all around him and soaking into the sand.

  Quinn stumbled back then dropped to her knees. Exhausted, her head spinning, sickness throttled her. As she vomited, behind her, Harper rose to her feet.

  Quinn watched, still trying to catch her breath and grasp what had just happened.

  Harper, or whoever—whatever—she was now, looked right through her, then turned and walked off across the sand and down to the lagoon, wide swaths of blood staining her thighs and buttocks.

  By the time Quinn realized what she was doing it was too late, but she forced herself to her feet and stumbled after her anyway. “Harper!” she screamed.

  She was already in waist deep water.

  “Harper! No!”

  She turned and faced Quinn. With a sad smile of temporary recognition, or perhaps just release, Harper fell straight back into the water.

  Within seconds, the sharks had closed on her, and all Quinn could do was drop to the sand and watch as Harper was poked and prodded, and finally, bitten.

  The approaches and attacks escalated quickly, and soon Harper’s body was thrashing and jerking about like a ragdoll.

  The lagoon turned a deep crimson, bubbling with carnage as her body vanished beneath the surface in a feeding frenzy of unimaginable gore and violence.

  In time, everything went quiet again.

  Mist and fog drifted out over the lagoon.

  Quinn sat there a moment, numb. She wanted to cry, to rage, but realized she neither had the strength nor the capacity.

  And then she realized something else.

  She was not alone on the beach.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Even as she turned and rolled away, the enormous sword was falling toward her, striking the ground where she’d been and missing her by seconds. The attacker came to her in a blur of motion and panic, a large being with reptilian-like armor, a horned helmet and frightening faceplate, above which sat a pair of blood-red, rage filled eyes. It smelled like rotten garbage, and with each movement, the terrible stench grew worse.

  Scrambling away in a crablike walk, Quinn scurried back, trying to regain her feet as the massive figure followed, swinging the sword with precision and violence.

  In a frantic attempt to escape it, Quinn threw a handful of sand at the creature, hitting it full in the face and across the eyes. It stopped the thing a moment, and it shook its head, reaching for its eyes.

  Quinn flipped over onto her hands and knees, crawled away quickly and eventually rose up and broke into a run, back toward the palm trees and Herm’s body. Her ax lay in the sand not far from him, but by the time she’d gotten hold of it and looked back at the lagoon, the creature had already closed the distance and was only a few feet away, angling the samurai sword at her in a rapid sweeping motion.

  She screamed, not in fear but rage, a wail of challenge and defiance.

  The creature attacked.

  She managed to block several blows with the ax handle, the steel blade clanging against the metal ax and sending her off her feet and onto the ground. She landed with such force it knocked most of the wind from her, and she realized then that she stood no chance against this thing. It was far too big, powerful, determined and skilled for her to fight.

  As she got back to her feet, swinging the ax before her in a defensive mode she hoped would keep the creature at bay, it walked right into the path of the ax without concern. The ax struck its side, bouncing rather harmlessly off its armor and reverberating up Quinn’s arms with such force that the ax was torn from her grip and flew several feet into the air in the other direction.

  And then it had hold of her, it’s gloved hand, covered in the same mesh-like armor across it’s torso, clamping onto her neck and effortlessly pulling her up and off her feet.

  Kicking and punching hard as she could, Quinn could still not break its grip, as it lifted her high into the air with one hand and shook her.

  The next thing she knew, she was vaulting backwards in midair, flying across the sand and slamming into one of the nearby palm trees.

  Collapsing into the sand, she rolled and came up on her knees. The ax was several feet away, the machete was trapped beneath Herm’s body, and the creature was closing on her again.

  There was no time, and she had no chance. If she tried to fight, this thing would surely kill her. Turning, Quinn rose and ran for the jungle.

  Breaking through the nearest opening in the brush and running with all the strength she had left, she sprinted through the jungle. But she could hear it behind her, running too, getting closer and closer still. The smell grew stronger, and she could hear its armor and weaponry rattling. Fearing it was even closer than she realized, Quinn darted quickly to the right, felt her foot snag on something and suddenly she was airborne again, this time hurdling through the heavy jungle, the vines and leaves tearing at her as she landed and plummeted down a steep decline.

  The world blurred and tumbled as she rolled along the slanted ground, the force of her body ripping through the brush with such speed she was unable to stop or even slow her momentum.

  Eventually she hit a tree, slamming it with her shoulder. Stabbing pain exploded up into her neck and down along her spine as her body finally slowed and rolled to a stop at the bottom of the large slope. Aching and sore, her flesh torn and scratched from the brush, Quinn struggled up into a kneeling position and looked back in the direction from which she’d come. The slope was steep and covered an area of seventy yards or more, which she’d descended in a matter of seconds.

  She stayed still as possible and tried to l
isten. But the sound of her labored breath made it difficult to hear much of anything else. So she relied on her eyes. The jungle above was thick but the fog and mist had mostly dissipated here, and she was able to make out the top of the ridge from which she’d fallen.

  Something separated from the surrounding jungle.

  There it was. Standing at the summit in all its horror. A killing machine from another time, another place.

  A chill coursed through her as its head turned one way and then the next. Slowly, it panned back and forth, moving past her position several times.

  It doesn’t see me, she thought.

  Quinn remained perfectly still. Her body had become smeared with dirt and debris during the slide, and combined with the brush and vines hanging all around her, she was effectively concealed, at least for the moment. Though it was difficult, she tried to slow her breathing and even refrained from blinking as long as she could, her eyes set and staring directly up at the thing standing in the distance above her.

  Just when she thought she’d found some hope, the thing turned and began descending the slope sideways, purposely but skillfully heading for her with a fluid, graceful gait.

  There was no way she could outrun it, and she had even less chance fighting it, so Quinn lay back in the brush, burying herself in it as deeply as possible and hoping it might camouflage her. Lying alongside a rotted stump, she found softer ground, burrowed as far into it as she could then lay very still.

  The creature descended the slope quickly, stopping less than ten feet from where she was hiding. The terrible stench wafted all around it, the smell of death and decay. It took a few steps to the left, then came back, moving more to the right.

  Quinn lay covered in dirt and brush only a few feet away. She held her breath, despite the pain in her chest and shoulder, and forced her eyes closed. If it found her, she didn’t want to see it coming.

  Do it, you fuck. Just do it, get it over with. Kill me. Do it.