by Brian Keene
"Hello. What's this?"
Kneeling, he plucked the knife from the mud and wiped away the grime. The initials M. H. were engraved on the side. The stainless-steel blade was crusted with brownish red blood—sticky and congealed, but not quite dry. Before he could examine it further, Heffron came back on the line.
"Stefan? Is there anyone else with you?"
"No, I'm afraid we're scattered all over the island."
"And you don't know the current whereabouts of any of our crew members or your fellow contestants?"
"Raul and Jeff are dead." "You're positive about that?"
"Of course I am. I don't know about anyone else. I haven't seen anyone."
"Jesus . . . Okay, can you make it to the meeting area?"
"Actually, I was already on my way there when you called."
"Good! Go there, and if you find any of the others, tell them to do the same. We're sending help right away. The EMTs should be there shortly."
"Tell them to bring along some guns."
"W-what?" Heffron sounded surprised. "Say again?"
"I said, tell them to bring guns. Lots of guns. They'll need them. It seems that we're not alone on this island."
"Are you saying the island is inhabited? That there are other people there?"
"Yes, in a manner of speaking. But they're not people. They're . . . things."
He heard Heffron mutter something to someone else, but the sound was too muffled to make out clearly what was said.
"Stefan, are you sure you're not injured?"
"I'm fine. I'm not hallucinating, and I'm not delusional. Just get here and you'll see for yourself."
"Okay. Just hang in there. Make your way to the landing zone. Be advised that the team is on the way."
"Tell them I'll be waiting in the circle of protection, Mr. Heffron."
"Keep the satellite phone with you, okay?"
"Will do. Shall I turn it off to conserve the battery?"
"Yeah, you might want to do that. But I'll be standing by here, and if you need to reach me, just dial one. That will put you through directly to me. Okay?"
"Dial one. Cheers."
"Just hang tight. They're on the way." Heffron terminated the connection.
Stefan stared at the phone. It felt empowering somehow, to be holding this piece of technology now, after weeks of sleeping on the ground and building fires with flint. The phone made him feel safe and filled him with renewed confidence. He briefly considered trying to call someone in the United States, but decided against it. He had no family, other than an ex-wife and two kids he hadn't seen in five years, and he didn't really have a desire to speak with any of his friends. They were more like acquaintances, really, and after what he'd just been through, their petty concerns and drama seemed more trivial than ever. Besides, they'd hear from him soon enough. They all would. He was the sole survivor, after all—the last one left on the island. He was about to be famous.
He turned off the phone and put it in his pocket. Then he wiped the blood off the blade of the pocketknife and put that in his pocket, too. As he did, he caught sight of his waistline, and it occurred to him just how much weight he'd lost during his short time here.
The reality-television diet, he thought. That has quite the ring to it. I should write a self-help book about it. I could be rich.
He started down the path again, his step a little
lighter and his shoulders not quite as slumped. The air seemed warmer, and the mist dissipated. Even the wildlife seemed to be affected by his mood. He heard bird calls throughout the jungle. His senses seemed hyperaware, and he was almost convinced that he could feel the sun dragging itself toward the horizon to chase the moon away.
But then again, why bother with writing a book? I'm going to be rich anyway.
Throwing aside caution, Stefan laughed out loud. The sound echoed through the darkness. He was still chuckling to himself as he rounded a turn, slipped in the mud, and fell face-first into a puddle. Cold, brackish water rushed up his nose and down his throat, choking him. Sputtering, Stefan tried to push himself up, but his hands kept skittering through the mud, and he couldn't find purchase. He rolled over instead, blinking water from his eyes, and tried to stand. Instead, he fell over again. This time, he heard a wet snap. It sounded very near. For a second, he thought it was a tree branch, but then he felt the pain.
"Oh, no. Oh Jesus bloody fucking Christ..."
He glanced down at his foot. His ankle was already swollen, and in the moonlight, he saw an ugly, dark purple bruise spreading beneath the skin. Stefan pulled himself up and stood on his uninjured foot. Then, carefully, he tried to put his weight on the other leg. The resulting pain made him cry out harshly. He toppled over again and lay there, writhing and moaning.
"This is not good. This is not good at all."
Deciding to call for help, Stefan reached for the
satellite phone, but it was gone. He patted his pocket frantically. The knife was still there, but the phone had slipped out during his tumble. He clawed through the mud, searching for it. The fog returned, swirling around him. His cold fingers closed over the hard plastic phone casing. Breathing a sigh of relief, Stefan called the ship.
"Are you okay?" Heffron asked when Stefan reported what had happened.
"I don't know if it's broken or just sprained, but don't you worry about that. I'll be at the landing zone. You just tell them to wait for me."
"Maybe you should just stay put until help arrives."
"Nonsense. I'll be there."
He hung up and returned the phone to his pocket. Then he began to crawl forward, pulling himself through the mud, inch by inch.
"Wait for me, mates," he whispered. "You'd just better bloody well fucking wait for me. I'll be along shortly. And then, we're bloody well going home."
Chapter Twenty-one
Mercifully, Pauline's screams stopped once she passed out from shock.
Becka's screams, however, were just beginning.
"Get back," she shrieked as the three creatures entered the alcove and closed in on her. "Get away from me!"
If they understood her tearful pleas, they gave no indication. They filed into the alcove, one after the other, and the tight space suddenly felt even smaller. Despite their short stature, they seemed to loom like giants. Their stench filled the limestone cranny, and Pauline's blood still shined on their half-erect organs. The beasts leered at her prone form. Becka scrambled backward. The monsters' approach never slowed. The expressions on their snarling faces made their intent all too clear.
They can't rape me, she thought. They just got done with Pauline. They can't get it up again that quickly. No male can, no matter what the species.
Biology—or fate—proved her wrong. As if aroused by her panicked terror, all three of the beasts began to swell again. Thick ropes of drool
dripped from their slavering, oversized jaws. Their hands clenched and unclenched in anticipation.
Becka backed against the cave wall and cowered in fear. She wanted to be strong, but couldn't summon the courage now that they were here. She hated them even more for that. Not only were they about to rape her, but they'd taken away her strength and dignity. Becka's mind flashed back to the last contest, the race—swimming to shore for a chance to win a place in the circle of protection, and thus, extending her stay on the island. It had only been yesterday, but it seemed like years ago. So much had happened between then and now. But the one thing she remembered clearly as the monsters closed in on her, was how she'd almost given up during the competition. She recalled the resignation that had overwhelmed her—and then, the sudden burst of resolve and competitiveness that had followed.
No, fuck this.
Once more, her depressed futility gave way to a sense of frustration and anger. She hadn't come all this way and lived through the storm and the attack just to give up now. She was in this to win. No matter how much she hurt, no matter what they did to her, there was no retreat and no surrender. No
t yet. She glared at the monsters. They could rape her if they wanted, but Becka swore it would cost them.
Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Shonette. The black woman had curled into a fetal ball and wedged herself as far behind the boulder as she could, almost completely hidden in the shadows. She made no movement or sound.
"Shonette," Becka shouted. "Help me! We've got to fight back."
"Be quiet," Shonette whispered. "I told you. If you don't resist, they'll go easier on you."
"Shonette!"
"Hush now. Don't fight it. Just go along. Think of another place. A happy place. I'm in my kitchen with my kids and there are Fruity Pebbles."
The creatures' shadows fell over Becka. Her tear-stained face was level with their engorged members. Their combined stench assaulted her senses. Becka gagged, and her throat burned with sour bile. Her resolve shattered with their proximity.
"Shonette," she sobbed hoarsely. "Please ..."
"Don't ask me to watch, Becka. Please don't ask me to do that. I can't look. I can't hold your hand. See, I'm with my children and they need me right now. You have to do this by yourself."
Attracted by Shonette's ramblings, one of the creatures turned to her and grunted. Shonette immediately fell quiet. Becka saw her quivering uncontrollably. The curious monster stepped toward her.
"All the Fruity Pebbles you want, Monika," Shonette muttered. "All that you want."
The creature shook its head rapidly, like a dog, spraying spittle all over the women and the cavern walls. Then it reached into the cranny and grabbed Shonette's arm. She squealed, but put up no resistance. Slowly, it began to drag her out of the shadows. Shonette's eyes were squeezed tightly shut.
"All that you want," Shonette repeated. "Come here, Darnell. All the cereal you want. All that you want... all that you want... just let me get off
this island . . .all you want. . . please no not again no more please no no nononono nooooo ..."
"Leave her alone," Becka yelled. "Get your fucking hands off of her, you bast—"
With a sharp grunt, one of the creatures slapped her across the face with the back of its furred hand. Becka's head struck the stone wall, and immediately, she saw stars. Until now, she'd always assumed it was just a saying, but there they were, floating in her vision—bright pinpoints of sheer white light. The attacker struck her again, knocking her head in the opposite direction. Her cheeks felt flushed and hot, and she tasted warm blood squirting through her mouth. Becka felt something hard and sharp slide down the back of her throat and realized with alarm that it was a tooth. She coughed, but it was too late. She'd swallowed it. More blood dribbled out from between her swollen lips. She spat on the cave floor and groaned.
Rough hands seized her shoulders and pushed her to the floor. Screaming, Becka beat at the creature with flailing hands. She grabbed two fistfuls of hair and pulled, earning herself another hammering blow. She clawed its back, tugged out fistfuls of wiry hair, and yanked hard on its ears, but it pushed her away and shoved her the rest of the way down to the floor. She tried to get a knee between herself and her attacker, but the second monster grabbed her legs and pulled them apart. Becka screamed as the first held her arms against her side. She felt its slick, hot erection slide against the bare flesh of her arm. Repulsed, Becka turned her head and vomited. There wasn't much in her stomach
other than acid. As she dry heaved, the creatures laughed, amused by the display.
Next to her, Shonette put up no resistance. She simply repeated her crazed mantra over and over again, shuddering as the third creature groped roughly between her legs with its long fingers.
"Shonette," Becka moaned, "you've got to fight."
If Shonette heard her, she gave no sign. Her body went limp. The only indication that she was even still conscious was her repetitive whispering. Becka's heart sank even lower.
One of the beasts clawed at Becka's top, slashing the thin material with its talons. The material fell aside, revealing her breasts. The attacker frowned, ogling them, and hooted with disappointment.
Becka's fear turned to anger. "We can't all have boob jobs, you hairy son of a bitch!"
The creature's frown deepened.
Becka spat in its face.
The monster reared back, wiped the spittle from its snout, and bared its teeth. Despite her desire to appear brave, Becka whimpered. The creature responded with a deafening roar. Its sharp white teeth flashed in the darkness. Before she could react, it lashed out, striking her twice more across the face. Its claws raked her cheek, slashing narrow, bloody furrows in her skin. Then it seized her breasts in its rough hands, squeezing them hard. Those same talons dug deep. The beast tugged and pulled. The last of Becka's resolve shattered. Screaming, she struggled to get away, but the other's hold on her legs remained unbroken. The more she fought, the tighter they gripped. The calloused
palms felt like sandpaper-covered vises. They ripped away her shorts, and Becka wailed. Something inside her throat snapped, and her shrieks became whispers.
One of the creatures positioned itself between her legs and pressed against her. She felt the slick heat, felt it throbbing, and threw up again—bile, blood, another tooth. The convulsions turned into dry heaves. Then she felt it invade her slowly, just an inch at a time. Becka closed her eyes, held her breath, and tried to block out the violation with the only weapon she had left—her mind. She thought of her parents, of her cat, of college and friends and the first boy she'd ever kissed. When none of that worked, she thought of Jerry. The creature thrust deeper, and she prayed again, this time for death.
When she heard the deep, rumbling grunt, she assumed it was just one of her attackers. She didn't realize that another one of the creatures had entered the alcove until she felt her rapist suddenly withdraw. Even Shonette fell silent. Wincing in pain and shuddering with revulsion, Becka opened her eyes. The creature that had been menacing Shonette and the two monsters that had been savaging her were standing up and had their backs to the women. Becka peered between them and saw why. The silver-haired elder stood in the opening, silhouetted in the firelight. It snarled at the three younger creatures in their weird, hooting language, and though Becka couldn't understand the words, she had no problem discerning their meaning. The old one's penis, while withered, was visibly aroused, as well, and he wanted to have a turn. The other three were
clearly displeased with the turn of events, and refused to step aside. The chieftain's growls took on a menacing tone, and even though he hadn't raised his voice or made any threatening movements, the three younger creatures were suddenly cowed. They bowed and scraped and whined apologetically. Then they scrambled out of the way and shuffled past their leader with their heads lowered, obviously unwilling to meet his gaze. They returned to the main chamber without glancing back.
When they were gone, the elder turned that same malevolent glare on the two women. He gave Shonette only a cursory glance before focusing his full attention on Becka. Then, without preamble, it came for her.
Crawling on all fours, Becka managed to skitter into Shonette's former hiding place. She'd almost wedged herself into the crack when the chieftain grabbed her ankles and pulled. Becka grasped at the rock walls and one of her fingernails peeled back, bringing a fresh burst of agony. Screaming, she clutched at the floor, searching for a handhold, a purchase, anything that would stop her from being dragged back out and raped. Her fingers closed over a softball-sized rock, and she seized it without really thinking about it. The old creature pulled her completely out of the crevice. Without bothering to flip her over, it tried to take her from behind. It pressed against her back and she felt the thin member— much smaller than those of the younger creatures'— creep between her buttocks. Enraged, Becka lashed out blindly with the rock. There was a sickening crunch, and it felt like the rock had hit something
soft. Wetness splattered her face. She struck two more times, and then, the monster's crushing weight was suddenly gone. She heard it slump to the floor beh
ind her.
Coughing, Becka whirled around and gaped. The silver-haired creature lay crumpled before her. Its rheumy, heavy-lidded eyes were open, but stared sightlessly. Its gray, lifeless tongue lolled from its mouth. There was a large indentation on the side of its head, right above the left temple. Given the poor lighting, she couldn't tell how deep the wound was, but blood matted the fur and pooled on the stones where it lay.
Still gripping the rock, Becka prodded the creature with her foot. It didn't move. Cautiously, she knelt, staring closely at its chest. Then she held her fingers under its nose. It wasn't breathing.
"Holy shit."
Becka sat down and began to shake. Her entire body trembled, and the rock slipped from her fingers. Her vision grew blurry and the cave seemed to dim.
Shock, she thought. I'm going into shock. Some kind of delayed reaction to ... to what happened.
Apparently, the rest of the tribe was oblivious to what had occurred. The sounds of the feast continued to echo from the main cavern. She didn't know how long her crime would go undiscovered, though. Gritting her teeth, she drew her knees up to her chest and stuck her head between them. Then she took deep, measured breaths until the nausea, dizziness, and shaking had subsided.
When she felt better, Becka crawled over to Shonette and gently shook her. The black woman's eyes were closed, but her chest rose and fell slightly.
"Shonette. Wake up. We're getting out of here."
"I'll be home soon, baby. You and your brother just hang tight."
"Come on, Shonette," Becka whispered louder. "It's me—Becka. Wake up."
"Becka?" Shonette's eyes fluttered open. "I told you not to piss them off. Now it will be worse. Why couldn't you just let me stay home with my kids?"
"Listen to me." Becka shook her harder, squeezing her arm firmly. "Snap out of it. I killed the leader, Shonette. He's dead. The others are gone."
Shonette bolted upright and glanced around. When she saw the chieftain's corpse, she moaned.