“Peter…” Cyrus shook his head slowly. “I think we… killed him.”
He didn’t know how to feel. Doug had been the lowest kind of scum, but this wasn’t what they’d come there to do. Realization slowly spread across Peter’s face, and he did a small jump away from the widening pool of blood, shivering in disgust.
“Let’s… get out of here,” said Peter.
Cyrus nodded. He stepped out of the shed, and only through a massive force of will did he manage to keep from throwing up.
“He deserved it, Cyrus,” said Peter.
“That’s…” Cyrus shook his head. “That’s not something that should be up to us.”
The two of them walked back to Peter’s car, but neither of them said anything until they were several streets away.
“What now?” asked Peter.
“I don’t know…” Cyrus was in shock, disgusted by himself and what they’d done.
“They’ll probably think it’s related to drugs, right?” asked Peter. “I mean, he had a syringe out… and who knows what other shit he’s into.”
“I don’t know…”
“What happens if they figure out that it’s us, though?” asked Peter.
Cyrus just shook his head.
“Cyrus…” Amy was still being held by Peter, but her attention was focused entirely on him. “That’s where Doug disappeared to? You… you killed him?”
Cyrus nodded slowly, unable to meet her eye.
“And this trip…” Peter had an odd smile on his face. “Tell them the rest, Cyrus. This trip was so you could run away to Fiji and never come back.”
“No!” said Cyrus. “This trip was Darius’s idea… just so we could have some time away.”
“See, I’m well respected back in Weston,” said Peter. “I can probably get off with a slap on the wrist if I claim self-defense. But you, Cyrus? Known weed dealer and miscreant? Fiji was your only hope…”
“Peter, you’ve lost your mind!” shouted Cyrus. “Let Amy go!”
He surged forward, finally finding the will to fight back against his former friend. From beside him, he heard Kyoko and Maggie make similar moves.
Peter laughed, swinging the large, makeshift oar up to bat with one hand. Cyrus dodged underneath it, but hadn’t expected a follow up punch from the hand that’d been holding Amy. It hit him squarely in the jaw, black stars exploding across his vision.
“Hey, let her go!” shouted Maggie.
Kyoko let out a scream, and Cyrus was dimly aware of the sound of someone else hitting the sand. He staggered up to his feet, but Peter punched him again, this time directly in the temple. He was out before he hit the ground.
CHAPTER 28
“Shhh, just try to relax.”
Cyrus winced and opened his eyes. His head felt as though someone had taken a hammer to it. He was in one of the shelters, and it was near pitch black outside. A soft hand rested on his chest.
“What… happened?” he managed.
“Peter knocked you and Kyoko out,” said Maggie. “Kyoko… still hasn’t woken up yet.”
Cyrus forced himself up to a sitting position, fighting against the gentle urging of Maggie’s hand, trying to keep him on his back.
“I have to go after him,” he said. “Amy… He took her.”
There was no fire in the camp tonight, and he could only see Maggie’s silhouette. She shook her head.
“You have to rest, for tonight,” she said. “You wouldn’t even stand a chance finding them.”
Cyrus groaned and lay back down.
“I’m so sorry, Maggie,” he whispered.
“Did Darius know?” she asked. “About… what happened with you and Peter, and that man?”
“No…” Cyrus felt an ache in his heart that made the pain in his head seem miniscule in comparison. “I mean, he knew I was in trouble, but not the specifics. What Peter said… I wasn’t running away, Maggie. They found the body a few days after it happened, and the police were still investigating.”
“Why did you go, then, huh?” she asked. “Because it doesn’t add up, from where I’m standing, Cyrus. Why the hell would you go to Fiji after doing something like that?”
Maybe she’s right, he thought. Maybe I was running away, and I just didn’t want to admit it to myself.
“I’m sorry, Maggie,” Cyrus whispered. “I let you down. I let… Darius down.”
“You haven’t let anyone down, Cyrus.” Maggie’s voice was resonant with emotion, with love. “You’ve saved all of us in the time that we’ve been here.”
“I didn’t save Amy.”
“But you saved me.”
Maggie leaned forward, letting her chest press against is. She stayed in that position for several seconds, her face mere inches away from him, and then kissed him on the lips.
Cyrus let his hands slide up the sides of her body, unsure of whether to pull her closer or push her away.
“Maggie,” he whispered. “I’m not him.”
“I know you’re not.” She kissed him again. “We’re all struggling with the choices we’ve made, and the choices we have to make, Cyrus. You’re not the only one.”
She kissed him a third time, and this time, Cyrus let himself really kiss back, pulling her into a tight, intimate embrace at the same time. Maggie straddled him and ran her hands over his chest. She was so pretty and so perfect, and in that moment, he wanted her more than anything.
His hands found her breasts, soft and supple, and Maggie made no move to stop him. She rubbed her crotch over his hardening bulge, her movements shifting from sensual into sexual. Cyrus kissed her again, feeling her tongue press into his mouth, and responded in kind.
Strange thoughts swirled in his head, each one threatening to spark inner conflicts. He thought of Darius and Amy, and in how many different ways what he and Maggie were in the process of doing was a bad idea. None of it seemed to matter.
Cyrus took hold of the bottom hem of her sundress and pulled it up and over her head. Even in the dark, he could tell that she wasn’t wearing her underwear underneath. A quick touch of his fingers against the hot, naked skin of her breasts gave him all the confirmation he needed.
Maggie unzipped Cyrus’s cargo shorts and pulled them down, followed immediately by his boxers. She let her hands tickle his erection for a couple of seconds, each touch sending waves of pleasure and lust through Cyrus. Maggie slid further down, bringing her face level with his erection. Cyrus met her gaze in the dark, and watched as she gave his cock a hot, wet, loving kiss.
“Oh, Maggie,” he moaned. She kissed it again and again, offering up her tongue and swirling it over the head of his cock. Her technique was basic and simple, but backed by the illicit heat of the situation. Cyrus worried that he would blow his load early if she kept it up, and Maggie seemed to pick up on his excitement.
She slid forward, letting her midsized breasts hang in front of Cyrus’s face. He sat up, resting his cheek against her bosom as she positioned herself over his cock. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for her, for what was about to happen. Maggie lowered herself down onto him, letting an inch or so of his erection push past the gateway of her tight, hot womanhood.
“…Cyrus!” Her voice sounded fevered and urgent, filled with finally realized passion, and undercut with guilt, at the same time. They’d wanted each other in this way for longer than either of them would have open admitted.
Maggie slowly began to rock back and forth, working herself down the length of Cyrus’s thick, hard shaft in much the same way that she might wiggle into a pair of tight jeans. The sensation was phenomenal, and Cyrus was a little glad for the darkness, which hid the stupid, dumbfounded expression he had on his face.
He reached his hands around, squeezing Maggie’s soft buttocks. He thought of how good it had felt to have her riding on his lap, months earlier, and how hard it had been to not think about fucking her back then. Now it was actually happening, a sexual fantasy realized through dark circumstance.
&
nbsp; Maggie slid lower, until Cyrus’s entire length was sheathed inside her cunt. She shivered slightly, setting her hands against his chest and pushing him back again. Then, she began to move.
It was an elegant sight coupled with forbidden pleasure. Maggie slid back and forth, up and down on his cock, each movement accompanied by a small noise of pleasure from her and a burst of guilty sexual bliss through Cyrus’s body. He ran his hands up her sides, across her breasts, and against her cheeks. She was so perfect, a sensual, sexual goddess.
And she isn’t supposed to for me. She was the love of Darius’s life.
The conflict only made the encounter that much more arousing for him, the fires of his lust fueled by the perversion of his brother’s legacy. The harder Cyrus tried not to think about it, the more it dug its hooks in to the forefront of his mind. He was fucking Maggie, his brother’s girlfriend. She’d been like the older sister he’d never had, and now she was moaning with his cock buried deep inside her cunt.
“Cyrus!” Maggie gripped his hand tightly, as though struggling through a similar conflict.
“Oh god, Maggie,” he moaned. “You’re… perfect.”
He pulled her face down to meet his and kissed her deeply. Maggie’s hips seemed to be moving in a rhythm that was outside of her control, bouncing up and down, her cunt sliding up and down his cock. Cyrus took hold of her buttocks and began thrusting up to meet her, pushing himself in as deep as he would go.
They were both moaning together now, crying out each time their bodies slapped together. It felt so good, and yet so bad, at the same time. It needed to happen. They had to do it, to get it out of the way and clear the air. Just this once, and maybe once more, to make sure.
“Cyrus!” Maggie’s cries reached a fevered pitch, and Cyrus began thrusting up with all his energy. He was hugging her against him, his cock slamming upward over and over. He buried his face against the nape of her neck and felt her shiver in orgasm, right as he began to explode inside of her.
I’m still inside of her, he realized, through the fog of desire. And I’m cumming?
Cyrus flinched backward, trying to fight his way back to reality through the pleasure of his orgasm. He slipped his cock out of Maggie, but it was too late. He’d already unloaded the lion’s share of his hot, sticky cum inside of her. She rolled over next to him in the shelter, out of breath and too lost in her own bliss to care about what had just happened.
“Maggie…” Cyrus whispered, after another minute.
“It’s okay,” she replied. “We’ll… figure things out in the morning.”
Cyrus thought of Amy, and realized that in the grand scheme of things, none of it mattered. He could cum inside Maggie a dozen times, and it wouldn’t change what needed to be done. He had to save Amy, and this time, do it right.
CHAPTER 29
Cyrus woke up to rising sun and the smell of charred air. Maggie was still sleeping on the ground next to him, and he was careful to not wake her up as he slipped out of the shelter.
The rock mound in the center of the island had a thick plume of smoke rising up above it, wider and denser than Cyrus had ever seen it before. He stared at it for a moment, contemplating whether or not it was something he would have to account for, or possibly could use to his advantage.
Shadow was waiting by the unlit fire pit, and brushed up against Cyrus’s leg as he walked over and hefted his torch club into hand. There was no getting around what he had to do. He’d already waited for too long.
Peter won’t have gone far, he thought. The raft is still here. Hope… is that what he called it?
Cyrus took a deep breath and started walking across the sand. For some reason, the fact that he was shoeless made him feel as though he was naked against what he was heading into. He’d been without shoes since his first day on the island, but it had never been much of a concern, not when things were peaceful, and he didn’t have to consider the condition of the soles of his feet, or the weight he could put behind a solid kick.
He figured that Peter would probably be somewhere along the beach, maybe on the other side of the island. It didn’t take him long to jog the distance and discover that it wasn’t the case. The island was small, and there it wasn’t like there was anywhere for Peter and Tamyra to hide, especially not with Amy as their captive.
Peter is always looking for an advantage. He’ll hold out somewhere that’s hard for me to reach.
If Peter had been thinking clearly, Cyrus figured he would have grabbed Amy, food, fresh water, and been on his way. Then again, if Peter had been thinking clearly, the situation would be vastly different from what it was. It still made Cyrus shiver to think of what he’d seen on the raft, and the fatalist way his former friend had spoken of Aiden and what they’d had to do to survive.
Cyrus made his way into the interior of the island. The jungle felt like his back yard, the position of each vine, branch, and tree root long since memorized. He headed to the lake first, waiting at the edge of the jungle, looking for any trace of Peter and Tamyra.
They weren’t there, and that fact told Cyrus exactly where they were. Shadow was still following him, and he briefly considered shooing the cat away. He had no idea how things were about to play out, and didn’t want any more blood on his hands, regardless of who or what it belonged to.
There were several different ways up the face of the rock mound. Cyrus chose the hardest one, the one that Peter and Tamyra would be the least like to expect him to approach from. He slipped his club through two of the belt holes of his cargo shorts and started climbing, his fingers digging into crevices within the rock.
Cyrus’s main focus was on staying quiet, and he was aided in that by a low, unfamiliar thrum that came from deep within the volcanic vent at the mound’s center. It was helping his approach, but still unsettled him at a deep level.
The chamber underneath the island was probably the most active it had been since the crash, and he didn’t know enough about the physics of volcanos to understand the level of threat it posed. He climbed higher, and as he drew within a dozen feet of the final ledge, he heard a familiar voice, speaking at a rate that only someone on the verge of insanity could maintain for any length of time.
“…From the beginning, and he’s never stopped doing it. He hates the fact that my family has money, and his doesn’t. He probably was going to set me up to take the fall for that guy in the shed. He’s my friend, but I can’t pretend that he has my best interests at heart. You understand, don’t you? You’ve always understood me, and I understand why you didn’t want us to be together.”
It continued on like that, but Cyrus tuned out. Peter was raving like a lunatic, to either Amy or Tamyra, not waiting for the women to respond before continuing. It didn’t make any sense to him.
There’s fresh water on the island. If he was dehydrated before, he should be back to normal now… right?
Cyrus shifted, his foot scraping along the igneous rock as he heaved his arm up and onto the uppermost ledge. The smoke was thick enough to make his eyes tear up, and he couldn’t see Peter or Tamyra through its curtain.
He turned his head to take one last breath of fresh air and rolled fully onto the top of the rock mound. The smoke was surging up from the hole in the center of it and it was an unreal sight, like something out of Natural Geographic video, or a Hollywood blockbuster.
It was only when Cyrus rose to his feet that he saw Peter, Tamyra, and Amy. Amy lay unconscious across the rock, with Peter on one knee by her side. Tamyra was scanning the ground below for threats, and apparently noticed Cyrus out of the corner of the eye, whirling to face him as he took his first step in their direction.
“Peter…” said Cyrus. “Stop this.”
Peter staggered to his feet, clearly still mentally affected by something, dehydration or perhaps smoke inhalation. He turned to face Cyrus brandishing a long branch fashioned into a point on one end, a serviceable spear of wood.
“Stop what?” Peter flashed a very unchara
cteristic smile. “Stop what, Cyrus?”
Tamyra was already advancing toward him, her face set in an expression of grim, emotionless determination. There was something insane about the way her eyes flicked over him, rolling a bit too freely in their sockets. Cyrus felt a rush of fear as he noticed the knife in her hand, a real knife, apparently something she’d been hiding from the rest of the survivors since day one.
“Stop this!” shouted Cyrus. “Let Amy go! You can take off in your raft again, I don’t care about that. Just let Amy go, Peter.”
“I’m saving her!” shouted Peter. “You fucked her, didn’t you?”
“Peter…”
“You made me kill...” Peter was grinning as tears ran down his cheeks. “You made me do something that I can’t live with, and then you took her from me. Cyrus… we haven’t been friends for a long time, have we?”
“We’re still friends!” shouted Cyrus. “Peter… please…”
Peter nodded to Tamyra, who lifted the knife in her hand and advanced, knees bent and arms lifted into a defensive stance, the stance of a trained killer.
Cyrus legitimately didn’t know what to do. He didn’t have any martial arts training whatsoever, and only a few years of little league to draw upon when it came to swinging a two handed weapon.
It was enough to kill Doug. Maybe it’s enough to kill her, too.
The thought made him want to throw up, and the words Peter had been shouting at him took on a new meaning. Cyrus had never been a saint, but now more than ever, he was staring the consequences of his decisions in the face, and taking responsibility for them. He wasn’t a killer, but he had killed. Was he a killer?
Tamyra lunged forward, taking advantage of the moment. Cyrus swung his club, missing her by only a few inches in what was clearly an intentional dodge on her part. He tried to carry the momentum of his swing back around for a second, but Tamyra was faster than he’d anticipated, getting inside his guard before he could.
Survival Island: Last Man Standing Page 17