by Alex Just
~ Island – pacific ~
Life almost became a meaningless dribble. Every day was the same; just after first light all sixty of them were marched towards an area of jungle where they had to clear away the flora. It was a bearable task, one which didn’t cost too much energy. It got worse once they’d successfully cleared a large area of vegetation, leaving behind a moist and damp earth. They weren’t given breaks and days soon became meaningless to every one of them.
The morning knock sounded and the doors were opened letting sunshine stream in and they were led back to the site. This time half the people received a shovel and the others a bucket. With the sun blasting down on their backs and unprotected heads the group was forced to dig out the foundation trenches so that concrete could be poured into them and the structure be built. It was going to be huge and the hours were long with no rest, progress was made quickly but not fast enough for the prisoners who were forced to endure every gruelling second. Time continued to pass in this way; soon it became routine for everyone.
Stan, Adrianna and Rose kept to themselves, although Stan was approached many times at the start, by people asking him to get them out, call help through some spy gadget. He hated the look of despair and disappointment he left them with each time he told them he couldn’t be of any help. It wasn’t as if he’d given up hope though. Far from it. He knew that while they were working, making a break would be impossible so he’d decided the only way out was to break out of the prison.
One day he was approached by a shy lady who told him she’d found something whilst digging. It was a golden dagger. She wanted him to have it seeing as he’d know how to best use it. Stan thanked her and promised he would try.
Later that night, after the day’s work had been completed Rose, Adrianna, Jeremy and his wife Lisa sat huddled around Stan as he outlined his idea to them.
‘The toilet area is the perfect place to try and begin this. The one on the far left, the pipe goes down into the ground, only whoever built this place couldn’t be bothered sealing it properly. I’ve looked closely at it and there’s a gap between the pipe and the edge of the concrete circle. The concrete around the pipe is really brittle and should be easy to break apart enlarging the hole. If we’re lucky we can open up a large hole in that area to get to the earth underneath and begin digging a small tunnel out. We’ll have to work at night, every time I strike the concrete somebody has to cough.’ He noticed the forlorn looks on their faces.
‘Look, I know it’s barely anything to go on but there is nothing else for us to focus on. We’ve a large group of people and together this will give us hope. The progress will be a guideline. We need hope, especially seeing as we don’t have the captain with us any more to support everyone.’
People were beginning to fray at the edges and get restless. The idea with the escape plan was not, for him, about succeeding, as he knew it was near on impossible, but instead it was about giving the people something to work towards, a sign of hope. Soon toilet duty, as the task was christened, became a core part of the prisoner’s existence, tradition was formed, no one would look at the pipe area until they’d finished the night’s work, and it was their reward to view the progress that was being made.
At first it was barely recognisable but as time wore on, more and more people were slotted into the roster for the toilet duty and the gap got larger. One day as everyone marched back in from work, someone gave an excited yell from the toilet and people tried to rush into the cubicle at once. The hole was now big enough to begin excavation on the dirt floor underneath. The day this occurred, something unexpected happened.
Outside the prison there was more noise than usual. Everyone froze in place, terrified their hard work had been discovered. The door opened wide and light tumbled into the room, illuminating the inches of grime on the floor. Thrust inside was a tall boy, square jawed with tousled brown hair. He looked fierce with the glow of light behind him and his silhouette towering above most people. The illusion quickly evaporated as the door closed snuffing out the bright light as a screaming woman rushed at him and gripped him in a tight embrace. It was Lisa; Stan recognised that it was her kid. The question that remained was what had happened to the other one. If he was still out there he could help them all escape. He was jostled about as people rushed, all as one, to see if he was alright and to discover what had happened to him and his friend. Even from afar Stan could recognise the mournful shake of the head, bowed in sadness. The other kid hadn’t made it obviously. The moment it died down, the boy would come over to their corner with his parents and Adrianna and Rose, and he’d be able to question him on what the island was like.
Perhaps he might have found where the rocket launching site was on the island. Not for a moment did Stan feel guilty that all he could think about was their escape, regardless if it meant grilling a young man who’d just suffered a huge ordeal and witnessed his friend die.
The five adults sat and listened to Martin’s tale of survival, in awe of his bravery and sympathising with him as he showed them his scars. One in particular, on his leg would’ve been a nasty gash. He paused here and looked up with sadness in his eyes.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said forlornly to his parents. ‘This is where Tom died… we were attacked by a wild boar and it went for Tom first, it stabbed him straight in the abdomen. I tried to pull it off but only succeeded in getting my leg ripped open. He was my best friend.’ He wiped his eyes as he said this and revealed on his forearm, a scar that looked like this: §. It was a very thin line and an angry red, it almost seemed to glow it was so raw. As Rose saw the scar Stan noticed her sit up and go slightly pale. He looked around and was glad that nobody else had picked up on it.
Unfortunately Martin didn’t really have any valuable information so his parents showed him the toilet and as an honour of his return, he was allowed a solo shift working on freeing up the earth for their escape.
Everyone was fast asleep except for Stan and Rose who, sitting against the barren wall, were holding a whispered conversation.
‘Are you ok? I know it must have been weird to hear his name spoken out loud,’ Stan asked her in a concerned voice.
‘It wasn’t that,’ she said determinedly, ‘I’ve accepted his death a long time ago. No it was something about Martin that’s not quite right. He’s lying about something, only I can’t exactly place what it is. There is a lot going on Stan, which you have no idea about. Roger was killed because of it. He was always there for me, trying to prevent what Smith is planning.’
Stan said nothing for a while in silent thought.
‘What do you mean with there’s more going on?’ Stan asked, slightly confused.
‘I’m sorry Stan that is something I am not allowed to say, in fact, I’m not allowed to speak of it to you or anyone at all. You wouldn’t believe me anyway. But Martin unsettles me, and he’s definitely lying.
‘I agree,’ he finally admitted. And he did, it was seeing him wipe his eyes, after telling how his friend was mauled. It seemed genuine at the time but thinking back he realised that the kid hadn’t shown enough shock or fear at reliving something so terrifying.
‘You get some sleep Rose; I’ll go have a word with the lad.’
She mumbled thanks and lay down on the hard floor. A spotlight briefly illuminated her face like a burst of lightning and it triggered something familiar in his memory. He’d seen someone who looked similar. He just couldn’t place where. Shrugging it away as unimportant, he stealthily made his way over to the toilets to have a few quiet words with Martin. A quick glance behind him to make sure the kid’s parents weren’t awake and going to cause any trouble, he continued. He knocked on the door to the cubicle and walked in to see Martin drenched in sweat surrounded by piles of dirt, the hole he’d dug was very large. If the digging continued to progress with a pace like this one they would be out of here in no-time. He told Martin so. The best way to go about this, Stan had reckoned was
to be straight up.
‘I know Tom’s not dead.’
Very slowly Martin stood up and climbed out of the hole, walked right up to Stan, forcing Stan to look up at the boy. He hadn’t said a word so he wasn’t denying it. This was bad. Stan fought the urge to step back from this giant and remained rooted where he was. Martin uttered two words.
‘Prove it.’ An ugly leer spread across his face.
Moving with sudden speed and aggression Stan punched Martin in the solar plexus and twisted his right arm behind his back in the classical police lock, shoving him face first against the concrete wall.
‘I don’t give a shit what happened between you two but it’s not going to get in the way of the rest of these prisoners’ escape. Do you understand!’ he hissed angrily. A brief quick nod was the only response Martin could give. Stan released him, slowly.
‘What’s the urgency to get off? I don’t understand it,’ Martin’s question seemed innocent enough, so Stan answered it. He told him of the attacks planned by Smith and mentioned that none of the other prisoners were aware of this as he didn’t want to spread panic.
‘Are you nuts?’ Martin whispered loudly. ‘You’re not going to tell them? Don’t you realise that it would push them over the edge, and they would all double their efforts to get out of the prison and off the island. I’m going to wake them now and tell them, we can be half way through this hole by tonight and finished tomorrow night.’ Angrily he pushed past Stan into the main room and cupped his hands around his mouth and was about to wake everyone.
‘Stop. There’s no need to panic them. You have your friend on the outside to help get us out. When he reaches this place we can sort something out.’
‘He’s not my friend, OK?’ the look that Stan received was poison, but it didn’t deter him. He was about to retort, when a loud whisper reached his ear. As one, Martin and Stan spun around in the direction of the noise, and looked straight into the pretty face of a girl, who was gesturing wildly with her hands.
***
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