Sligger Island

by Michael Yowell

  “Holy shit,” Mason guffawed. “The damn missing cruiser!”

  “Huh?”

  “Demarcus told me about it a few days ago. Missing cruiser, Charlie’s Angel, belonging to Charles Winter.” He hurried to the water’s edge to get a closer look. The boat looked intact, but nobody was inside. “Mr. Winter!” he called out to the woods. “Can you hear me?”

  There was no response, which did not surprise Mason. If Charles Winter was on the island, he would have followed the gunshots and explosions when Mason and the others arrived two days ago. So he either died on the island last week or something happened to him at sea and his trawler ended up beached here.

  “I don’t think anyone’s here,” Mason stated. “Not alive, anyway.” He stepped to the side of the boat. Then he pulled himself over the gunwale and onto the cruiser. “Come on up, Eave. Let’s try to start it up.” She climbed aboard after him.

  He walked to the pilothouse. As he approached the wheel, he noted the engine key was turned to the ON position. Frowning, Mason went to the stern and checked the gas tanks. They were bone dry.

  “Shit,” he said. “Out of gas.”

  “Are you serious?” said Eaver. She huffed, deflated. “What a kick in the ass this is. Found a boat, got our hopes up, then come to find there’s no gas.” Her hopes dashed, she broke down and began to cry. “We’re gonna die here, Mason.”

  Mason brought his eyes up and noticed the sideband radio mounted on the console. Unknowingly holding his breath, he flipped the switch and a red indicator light came on. “Maybe not,” he said.

  Eaver saw the radio power on, and her spirit was revived. “Oh sweet Jesus, please work.”

  Mason turned the volume knob, picked up the microphone, and spoke into it. “Mayday, mayday. This is Charlie’s Angel, requesting assistance, anybody hear me?”

  There was no reply. Mason switched to another channel and tried again. “Mayday, mayday. This is Charlie’s Angel, requesting assistance, can anyone hear me?” Still no response.

  He tried for five minutes, broadcasting on every channel. But nobody was within earshot of his signal. He hung the microphone back on its hanging clip.

  “Don’t give up,” said Eaver, afraid Mason had surrendered.

  “I’m not, sweetie,” he assured. “I just don’t know how much battery is left on this boat. I want to conserve power. We’ll try again in a little while, and keep doing so until someone answers… or until the battery dies.”

  He transmitted every fifteen or twenty minutes, each time keeping it short to minimize battery usage. No one acknowledged his calls. Each failed attempt to make contact with the outside world brought their spirits down a notch.

  It was hot in the pilothouse, like a humid, muggy sauna. But while the heat was uncomfortable, being shaded from the sun was more important than being out in the fresh air. Eaver opened the windows to better ventilate the space. Mason and Eaver remained inside and listened to the waves.

  “Close your eyes and get some sleep,” said Mason, noticing Eaver’s heavy eyelids struggling to stay open. “I’ll keep watch.”

  She merely nodded and grinned. Then she leaned back against the wall and drifted off for a nap. Mason sat in the pilot chair and quietly kept guard. His exhaustion got the best of him, however, and he dozed off in the cushioned chair.

  He snapped to later, realizing he had fallen asleep. Looking around to make sure nothing had changed, he found Eaver still sleeping in the corner. He felt guilty about not staying awake, but luckily nothing bad had happened. Mason reached for the radio and made another broadcast.

  Eaver woke and rubbed her eyes. “Any luck?” she asked.

  “Not yet,” said Mason. He reached down for her to help her up from the floor, and she took his hands. “Here, sit down up here. The chair’s nice.”

  She settled into the pilot chair, and the cushion relieved her sore behind. Then she saw Mason yawn. “Take a nap, baby,” she said. “I’ll wake you in a while and you can try the radio again.”

  Mason was not going to pass up the chance for some additional much-needed rest. “Okay,” he said. “We’ll do shifts.”

  The hours passed by. Mason and Eaver took turns watching over each other. Mason continued to try reaching somebody on the radio. Still nobody heard.

  By now it was late in the afternoon. Mason awakened from another brief slumber. Slowly standing, he scanned the woods through the pilothouse windows. There was no movement outside. The greenery was tranquil, dormant.

  “Here we go again,” he said lifelessly. “Cross your fingers.” Mason took the radio handset and broadcasted yet again. “Mayday, mayday, this is Charlie’s Angel, can anybody hear us?”

  A few seconds of familiar silence passed.

  “We read you, Charlie’s Angel,” a voice crackled forth from the speaker. Mason and Eaver dropped their jaws. It was the most beautiful sound they had ever heard. “This is Sheriff’s Department, Deputy Johnson speaking. Over.”

  “Demarcus!” Mason blurted, almost squealing. “Is that you?”

  “This is Deputy Johnson,” the voice repeated. “Who is this? Over.”

  Mason laughed out loud. “It’s me, Sheriff Parker! Man, am I glad to hear your voice. Over.”

  “Sheriff? Where are you? Everybody’s looking for you. Over.”

  “We’re stranded on Wrecker Island, repeat Wrecker Island! We need help, over.”

  “Um, okay, wow. Confirming, you’re way out on Wrecker Island? Over.”

  “Affirmative, buddy. Send help as soon as you can. We’re in trouble here. There are sliggers on the island, a shitload of ‘em. Repeat, sliggers on the island. Bring lots of guns. Over.”

  The deputy’s voice became animated. “Holy shit! Yes sir, Sheriff, on it right now. Um, stay where you are, I’ll call you back on this channel when I get more information for you. Over and out.”

  “Out,” said Mason. He turned to Eaver, seeing the same flushed, excited face he was wearing. Tears of relief dribbled from their eyes. They embraced each other tightly, and sobbed out loud as their emotions took over. Then, after a moment of release, Mason pulled his head back to make a statement.

  “I’m going to give Demarcus the biggest fucking raise ever.”

  CHAPTER 20

  The police boat arrived around seven o’clock. Mason and Eaver waved it in when it came into view on the water. The sight of their salvation was almost too much for them to take in, and they broke down crying tears of jubilation.

  The twenty-five-foot patrol cruiser slowed as it approached the shoreline. Mason could see his deputy, Demarcus, at the helm. The rookie waved back emphatically. He steered into the shallows until the boat was stopped by the sandy bottom.

  Mason and Eaver jumped off the beached trawler and splashed toward the rescue vessel. “Demarcus!” Mason praised. “Thank God for you, man. You’ve saved our lives. Literally.”

  Deputy Johnson was pleased to see his young boss. “Damn, Sheriff, you’ve got a lot of blanks to fill in here. Get on over here, let’s get you back home.”

  The weary couple waded to the edge of the police boat, where Demarcus and two other men pulled them aboard. One of the men was a paramedic Mason knew from the hospital, Scott Watkins, and the other was one of the town’s favorite fishermen, Phil Tandino.

  Once they were inside the cruiser, Mason and Eaver collapsed onto the starboard side seats. “Thank you so much, guys,” Mason slurred.

  Scott offered cold bottles of water. “Here, you two, drink these. I’m sure you need it.”

  They did indeed. Seeing the clear water before them sent a bolt of desire through them. The couple hurriedly opened the plastic bottles and guzzled down the contents. Drinking a little too quickly, Mason had to collect himself to restore his breathing.

  “Thank you,” he repeated. Then, remembering the danger present on the island, he sat up straight. “Now come on, we’ve got to get out of here immediately,” he said, his eyes darting back and forth along the wo
oded coast. “And where are the guns? I told you to bring guns.”

  “I did,” said Demarcus, putting the engine in reverse. “They’re right there, stowed under where you’re sitting.”

  While the deputy backed the patrol boat away from shore, Mason rooted through the weapons and pulled out a shotgun. Then he gripped it tightly, expecting an attack from the water at any moment. None came, however, and soon the boat was turned around and heading away from the island.

  The seasoned fisherman stood at the deputy’s side, guiding him through the treacherous waters. Then he turned to Mason. “So what on earth were you guys doing on Wrecker Island?” Phil asked. “You know the water’s full of reefs here?”

  “We know,” said Mason. “We got here safely enough, Danny knew his way in and out of here.”

  “Danny Young?” said Scott, and Mason nodded. “Where is Danny?”

  “He’s dead,” Mason softly declared. “Along with Mitch Haverson and Jesse Reed.”

  The three rescuers stared incredulously at Mason and Eaver, shocked by the tragic news.

  “Killed by those sligger monsters?” Demarcus finally asked.

  “Yes,” said Eaver. “They live in a big, underground cave. Came out at night and attacked us. We had to climb the trees to stay alive. And we still lost Jesse, Mitch, and… Danny.” Her voice quaked as she started to unravel. “I don’t think we would’ve have made it another night. They would’ve come back to kill us too.”

  Mason wrapped his arms around her and let her sob. She needed the release. They both did, but Mason would keep it together for Eaver’s sake. He wanted to be strong for her, someone who could hold her up. He would have time later to process his own emotions once they were safely home.

  Soon they were in the open sea. Mason and Eaver looked out the back of the boat, quietly watching the island fade in the distance. When it was too small to see on the darkening horizon, the couple turned to look forward. The vessel continued its hour-long journey, following the setting sun to the mainland.

  As they drew nearer to the coast, the seaside town of Sweetboro came into view. Mason and Eaver could see the dock, Sherrie’s restaurant, the small buildings lining Main Street, and a brilliant sunset framing the scene from above. It was the most glorious sight they had ever seen.

  Demarcus brought the cruiser to the dock and cut the engines. Phil leaped over the side and tied the vessel to the cleats. Then everybody unloaded the patrol boat and stepped onto the wooden pier. While they were walking in, Eaver saw her mother standing anxiously waiting next to the deputy’s parked car.

  “Momma!” Eaver cried, running forward to find the arms of her mother. Sherrie responded in kind, trotting onto the pier to meet her. They embraced for a long time, holding onto each other tightly.

  Eventually Sherrie stepped back to get a good look at her daughter. “Oh dear lord, you look terrible.”

  Eaver tilted her head. “It’s been a rough weekend, Momma.”

  Sherrie chuckled, tears still welling in her eyes. Then she hugged her daughter once more. “Oh, baby, don’t you ever leave me again.”

  Mason made his way to the two women, and he gave Sherrie a squeeze. “We sure are glad to see you,” he proclaimed.

  “Likewise,” said Sherrie. “Where the hell you been?”

  Mason glanced at Eaver. She looked back at him with zipped lips, giving him the unwanted duty of telling the wild story. He took a deep breath and explained to Sherrie what had happened over the last three days. Sherrie was understandably in shock after hearing the account.

  “You poor babies!” she gasped. “You almost got killed! And you’re sure it was those same damn monsters that were running around town last year?”

  Eaver stared blankly at her mother. “Yes, Momma, we’re sure.”

  “I mean, of course you are, I’m sorry, it’s just…” Sherrie brought her hands up to cover her mouth. “I can’t believe there are still more of them out there.” She studied Eaver’s eyes in the waning light of sunset. “Are you really okay?”

  “I never want to climb a tree again, that’s for sure,” Eaver chortled.

  “Come on, you two,” said Scott, corralling the weakened couple. “We need to get you up to the hospital and get you checked out.”

  Eaver shook her head. “No, I just wanna go home.” She looked to Mason for his thoughts. “Don’t you think?”

  Before Mason could offer his opinion, Sherrie raised a finger. “Um, no,” she said sternly, “you need to let the doctor check you out.”

  “Momma, I’m just tired…”

  “Nonsense. You’ve been traumatized, seriously sunburned, and probably malnourished. I want you to at least have him look at you in case you need treatment.”

  “Okay,” Eaver surrendered. “We’ll go get looked at.”

  Mason agreed with Sherrie. “It’s not a bad idea, I’m sure we’re a bit of a wreck.”

  Demarcus escorted Mason and Eaver to the squad car. He opened the rear door for them, and they sat down inside. Then Demarcus thanked Phil for coming along, and the dutiful waterman responded with a salute and a smile. Demarcus and Scott climbed in, and the deputy started the cruiser. He slowly pulled away from the dock, with Sherrie following in her own car.

  It was almost dark by the time they reached the hospital. Demarcus rounded the last corner and the car’s headlights landed on the front entrance of Sweetboro Medical Center. He drove to the entrance and parked along the curb.

  The paramedic got out and opened the door for Mason and Eaver. “Alright,” said Scott, “let’s get you in there.” He led them into the hospital and to the examining room. Sherrie went with them, quietly occupying a chair in the corner.

  Rachel Wallace, the nurse on duty, took the couple’s vitals. Their temperatures were slightly elevated, as were their blood pressures, but both were within normal parameters. Then Rachel left to get the doctor.

  Dr. John Warden entered minutes later. “Hello, Sheriff,” he said, extending a hand. “We couldn’t believe the news when Deputy Johnson called to tell us where you’d been found.”

  Mason sat on the gurney, slumped forward. “Shipwrecked, of all things.”

  “So what happened while you were there? Did you get injured?”

  “Not really, no,” said Mason. “A little banged up from running through trees and stuff. But no serious injuries. Nothing broken.”

  “And what about nourishment? Did you have anything to eat or drink while you were out there?”

  Eaver shrugged. “We found some fresh water in the swamp. It tasted terrible, but it was drinkable. And we killed some frogs to eat. Oh yeah, and we found a couple of pelican eggs. But we couldn’t cook ‘em.”

  Dr. Warden leaned back, astonished. “Oh wow. You actually had your own Robinson Crusoe situation.”

  Mason nodded. “Yep. Even had to make a fire from scratch.”

  “Have you eaten anything lately?”

  “We had some beef jerky and chips on the boat coming back,” said Eaver. “And a few bottled waters.”

  “Well,” the doctor announced, “the first thing we’re going to do is make sure you’re properly hydrated. Then I think I’ll draw some blood from you both, do some tests to make sure everything’s okay.”

  “Okay, Doc,” said Mason.

  Dr. Warden had Nurse Rachel set up two IV bags of normal saline. Then the nurse ran the tubes and started the drips. She took blood from Mason and Eaver, taking the samples out of the examining room.

  Sherrie held her daughter’s hand when the three of them were alone. “My baby,” she frowned. “I almost lost you.”

  “We made it, Momma. It’s okay now.”

  After the doctor had run the blood tests, he brought the nurse back with more IV bags. These were filled with yellow fluid. Mason looked at the bags with uncertainty. “What’s in those?” he asked.

  “These are what we call banana bags,” said Dr. Warden. “Filled with electrolytes. They’ll fix you right up. Your blo
od work showed you’re low in potassium and dehydrated. And we’re going to mix some antibiotics in as well, since your white cell count was a little off. Probably from the bacteria in the swamp water.”

  “Then we’ll be good as new?” Eaver prodded.

  The doctor responded with a comforting grin. “Good as new.” He waited for the nurse to finish, then addressed his visitors once more. “You both just rest now,” he directed. “I’ll be back to check on you.”

  “Thanks, Doc,” said Mason, watching Dr. Warden leave with Nurse Rachel.

  It was almost midnight by the time Mason and Eaver were released. The doctor gave them some Tylenol for the sunburn pain and a prescription for more antibiotics. Then Sherrie brought the couple to her car and drove them to her place. It was late and they were tired, but Sherrie knew they were starving. She would make them some soup and sandwiches, something that would be gentle on their stomachs.

  Sherrie parked in front of her home and helped her guests out of the car. They ambled wearily across the yard. “Come on, babies,” she said, ushering them to the house and inside.

  Knowing they were covered in salt, sweat, and grime, Sherrie had them peel their filthy clothes off and take showers. While they washed, Sherrie left bathrobes on the sink for them to wear. Then she took the dirty clothes to the laundry room, dropped them into the washer, and went to the kitchen to start cooking.

  Filling up with grilled cheese sandwiches and chicken noodle soup made Mason and Eaver feel much better. Sherrie added a pinch of powdered garlic to the soup, which her daughter had always loved. Sherrie sat back and watched her precious family eat.

  “Thank you for bringing my baby back,” Sherrie finally uttered to Mason. “And yourself, of course.”

  Mason looked up at her, and she saw disappointment in his eyes. “I wish I could’ve brought everybody back.”