“They might be okay,” Paul said. “Historical accounts show that the Diab goes on a feeding frenzy for a bit, then quiets down for a little while, then feeds again.” He glanced back over the dunes, where we’d heard the screams. “It might be full right now. But probably not for long.”
Elena walked toward the shore. “Maybe we should just swim for the yacht?”
“Wait,” Paul reached for her arm. “You can’t. The jellyfish.”
Elena gritted her teeth, and I could tell she was remembering the stings we’d received only hours before. “But we have to get out there,” she said. “Maybe I can just deal?”
“I can deal, too,” I offered, impressed by Elena’s bravery. “They’re just stings. It’s not going to kill us.”
Paul looked conflicted, then glanced around the beach, as though searching for something with which to make a boat. Suddenly footsteps sounded in the soft sand. I straightened, on full alert. Branches began to rustle, and my vision went spotty. Diab?
“Yo!” said a familiar voice as someone burst through the trees. “Need to get somewhere safe?”
I slowly opened my eyes. It was Mosley, the guy from the market, and he was dragging a Zodiac raft with a small outboard motor. He wore a rainproof jacket and a canvas hat, but he might as well have been wearing angel wings.
“Man,” Paul said emphatically, slapping his hand. “You are a lifesaver.”
Mosley glanced over his shoulder toward the dunes. “You having some trouble at the concert, eh?”
“You think?” Paul muttered sarcastically. “We’re heading for one of the yachts. We need to call for help.” He helped Mosley get the raft into the water, then shook his head. “I asked them one thing: to keep everyone on the festival grounds. I tried to warn them.”
“Aw, man, kids never listen to instructions,” Mosley said gently. Then he looked at us. “Climb in.”
I climbed into the raft, feeling the warmish water wash over my aching jellyfish stings—definitely not the most pleasant feeling.
“It’ll be okay,” Mosley said as we pushed out to sea. He sounded almost cheerful. “Tell me where to go. I’m your captain.”
“This way,” Elena instructed, pointing toward the boat with the blue lights. She looked at Mosley gratefully. “Thank you so much.”
“No problem!” Mosley grinned. “Anything to help.”
There was something jarring about his tone, I felt—so sunny when everything seemed so bleak. Then again, Mosley’s boat was a huge break. We were in the water now. We’d be at the yacht soon. And after that, we’d be able to call for help … and save everyone from Diab.
“So I think it’s definitely back,” Paul said after we got over the initial breakers and were on calmer water.
“What’s that, brother?” Mosley asked absently.
“You know.”
A small, tense beat passed. The outboard motor sputtered a little. Mosley’s expression didn’t change. “You believe that nonsense, Pauly boy? I thought that was just something you were into when you were younger.”
Paul pressed his lips together. “You mean to tell me you didn’t hear that growl in the woods? You didn’t hear the screams?”
“Nah, I was over on the other side of the island,” Mosley said as we crested another wave. “I just got back here about fifteen minutes ago. Saw you guys scuttling down to shore, figured I’d see what’s up.”
“Wait, you don’t believe in the Diab?” I interrupted. “And you’re from here?”
Mosley shrugged. “Not everyone from Myla is as cuckoo as Paul here. Generally, I only believe in things I see.” He nudged Paul playfully, as though he was his little brother. “Don’t buy everything this guy tells you! He’s a real manipulator, this one!”
Paul opened his mouth, then shut it again. The fury on his face was obvious. So was the sinking in my stomach. What if Mosley was right? Was Paul pulling our leg? I thought of the screams I’d heard, the roar. Could it have been from something else? Was this some sort of elaborate … scam?
But then something hit me. Mosley’s voice: It wasn’t just familiar because he’d spoken to me in the market and at the festival. I’d heard it more recently than that. Like … earlier tonight. There was no way Mosley had just gotten to this side of the island only fifteen minutes ago. It had been Mosley in the trees, calling out to that big group of people.
There’s shelter this way, a voice just like his had said. You can lie low there.
The voice had sounded so assured, comforting, confident … but by the screams that followed, Mosley had led the group straight into the jaws of the creature.
I glanced at Paul, not wanting to give away what I’d just put together. If it was Mosley, why had he just lied to us—about his whereabouts, and about believing in the creature?
“Those are interesting flashlights,” Elena said suddenly, pointing to something in Mosley’s bag.
Mosley looked down sharply, and I caught the look that flashed across his face. “Oh.” He secured the flap of the bag, which set off alarms in my head. I hadn’t gotten a great look at what was in there, but they sort of resembled glow sticks that were passed around at concerts. It seemed like an innocent thing to be carrying—maybe Mosley thought he could sell them to people at Solstice.
But why was he trying to hide them?
But suddenly something popped into my head: When Zack and Steve had told the legend of the creature on the island, they said the thing was attracted to phosphorescent light. As in … glow sticks. Was that why Mosley had a bunch of them? Was this what he’d used to lure the creature to the people in the woods?
The boat suddenly felt dangerous. Without moving my head, I flicked my gaze toward Paul. He was staring at Mosley’s knapsack, too, his eyes blinking fast. He’d also figured it out. But he wasn’t sure what to do.
Blue light shone on our faces. When I looked up, I realized we were only yards from Marx’s yacht. Relief filled me—I wanted off this boat with Mosley as quickly as possible.
A few of Marx’s men scrambled down the stairs to the launching dock and threw us ropes. Paul grabbed one, and they pulled us in. I stood, ready to disembark, but suddenly I felt someone shoving past me—and Mosley was off first.
“Excuse you,” Paul said under his breath.
Mosley’s knapsack bobbed against his back. I eyed it warily, imagining the glow sticks inside. Mosley stuck out his hand to a worker on the yacht, and the guy greeted him warmly like they were old friends. But the smile melted from Mosley’s face as he stared at the landing just above the launching deck. A second man was standing there.
“Why did you bring them?” this second man called.
I followed Mosley’s gaze, my heart lurching in my chest. There, in the shadows, stood Captain Marx. His arms were at his sides. His face was calm, in repose. Something lay next to him. Something big. Something limp. Something I was used to by now, considering I’d seen it two other times already today. A body.
Elena gasped. I felt Paul stiffen. I squinted hard, taking in the person’s twisted fingers, spiky brown hair, and plastic glasses, now askew across his lifeless face. I clapped a hand to my mouth and let out a weak wail.
It was Zack Frazier.
22
“ZACK?” I SCREECHED IN HORROR. Then I stared at Marx. “What the hell! What happened?”
“Is he…?” Elena cried, staring at Zack’s lifeless body. But she didn’t have to finish the question. He was. “Oh my God. Oh my God.”
“Mosley,” Marx said sharply, interrupting us. “Why. Did. You. Bring. Them?”
“I…” Mosley glanced at us, then at Marx again. “Shit. I thought you wanted them here.”
Marx blinked impassively. “And why would you think that?”
Marx was just standing there, staring at us, his face eerily … neutral. It was almost like he didn’t notice there was a dead man at his feet. I thought of Marx and Zack clinking glasses the night before. I thought of their camaraderie, their clo
seness, the way they’d bonded when they found Eric on the shore.
But now Marx was acting like Zack was a crash-test dummy. Not even human.
Marx glanced at Mosley, raising his chin in a silent command. Mosley nodded, opened his knapsack, and tossed a glow stick—it was a glow stick!—into the water. And then, as though Zack Frazier’s body was an annoying bit of trash, Marx kicked it, hard. Zack rolled over the side of the yacht, making a loud splash in the sea, just inches from where the glow stick bobbed.
“No!” I cried out, pivoting toward the waves. I wanted to jump in. Save Zack, somehow—even though I knew, intellectually, he was dead.
Paul grabbed my arm hard to pull me back. Just in time, too, because suddenly there was a great rumbling beneath us. The boat started to shake, and the current became so rough I nearly toppled overboard. White foam swirled around Zack’s corpse, bubbling and bubbling, and then, like a geyser, something exploded from the deep.
Something gooey.
Something muscular.
Something bigger than any shark or whale I’d ever seen.
Something that took up the whole horizon, its body covered in scales and lesions, its mouth huge and filled with many layers of teeth, its eyes oozing from multiple parts of its head. It emitted a stench I couldn’t fathom—of rot, of blood, of decaying bodies, of bacteria, of dead teeth, and of some kind of musk that was the pure odor of a predator. Long tentacles jutted from parts of its body, lashing out for us. And then it turned in the air powerfully, as though it could fly, and, for a moment, one of its large, glassy, oozing eyes fixed directly on me. I could see my slack, terrified face reflected in its eyeball.
“Diab!” Paul screamed.
My brain couldn’t quite process what I was seeing. I screamed. Everyone screamed. And then the thing roared, making that awful pterodactyl howl, and as it turned, its shape seemed to morph—becoming more fishlike, more linear, like a snake. It’s tentacles literally disappeared. One eyeball jutted out like an appendage. The monster stretched its mouth wide, revealing a thick, meaty, terrifying tongue.
Finally, it pounded back into the water with a groan, setting off a tsunami that nearly upended our boat. A funnel of water trailed behind it as it burrowed back to the bottom of the ocean, though its smell lingered like a fog.
And when I looked again, the glow stick was gone. So was Zack’s body.
The scream froze in my throat. Next to me, Elena was too stunned to sob. I stared at Paul in horror only to find that he’d leaned over the side of the raft to throw up.
“What was that?” I wailed. My brain couldn’t process what I’d just seen. I kept picturing the thing’s eye fixing on me. It seemed like it was sizing me up in an almost human kind of way. And when I looked at my hands, they were covered in ooze. I shrieked and wiped them on my shorts. From the thing? Was it poisonous? How did this even get on me?
“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.” Elena trembled on the raft’s floor, her arms wrapped around her knees. I crouched down next to her and slung an arm around her shoulder, for my benefit as much as hers. I stared emptily up at Marx and Mosley, who now stood side by side on the upper deck, their mouths twisted into smirks. It was like they weren’t even afraid of the thing. How was that possible? And then it hit me: This wasn’t the first time they’d seen it. They were used to Diab—had it trained, even.
“You did that on purpose!” I cried. “You let it eat him!”
“Of course they did.” Paul’s voice was gruff and ragged as he stood back up and wiped off his mouth. “That was their plan all along.”
Marx glared. “Watch it, Paul. Don’t say something you regret.”
I looked from Paul to Marx. That was their plan all along? I tried to work out what had happened. Zack must have gotten to Marx’s boat after we got separated. He was probably still under the impression that Paul was killing people … or maybe he wasn’t? Maybe he’d seen Diab and wanted to call for help. Whatever the case, he’d reached out to Marx … and then …
Something happened that led to his death. One piece snapped into place: Marx killed him. It certainly explained his lack of empathy. But … why?
I stared shakily at Marx, wondering what his plan was for us. I thought of how he’d apathetically kicked Zack into the water. He could have just waited for him to sink, and that would have been that—but he’d signaled for Diab. He wanted to show us that he knew about the thing—and that he could control it. To scare us. To say, Watch your step, or you’re next.
A sick feeling invaded my chest. Those glow sticks in Mosley’s bag were like a carrot on the end of a string, luring Diab straight for those people back on land. Maybe these two had led the monster to Eric, too. Maybe all the deaths were Marx’s fault.
Was it possible?
I felt the boat shift beneath my feet. Before I knew what was happening, Paul was climbing toward the front of the raft and reaching for the ladder.
“Stop this,” he said to Marx as he climbed up. “Stop whatever you’re doing. You’re killing innocent people.”
The corner of Marx’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t budge.
“You have to save those kids,” Paul urged. “You have to get them off this island. You have an obligation to do that.”
Marx snorted and reached for something in his jacket pocket. “I wouldn’t come closer,” he warned.
“Oh yeah?” Paul hauled himself up another rung. “Why?”
Marx’s hand emerged from under his coat. In it, he held something black and blocky and gun shaped. I cringed. And just like that, Marx aimed the weapon into the sky and fired. Everyone screamed, but to our surprise, out came not a bullet but a phosphorescent flare, exploding into the darkness with a hiss and a whine.
Paul’s eyes widened. Marx turned back to Paul, his eyebrows coyly raised. Paul froze, his arms outstretched, his gaze snapping over to the water. Ripples formed on the surface, turning to wavelets, turning to giant breakers. The creature was back. It sensed the flare. I could see it undulating only a few feet down, the length of two yachts put together. My heart pounded. I could feel bile rising in my throat. I didn’t feel safe standing on this shaky boat. And Marx was doing just what I thought: showing us he had the creature right where he wanted.
I heard a splash, and the creature’s bulbous head popped out for a moment into the air. There were its eyes, searching. It opened its mouth, showing rows and rows of teeth, more than a shark’s. The longest, creepiest tongue I’d ever seen—the size of a whole cow—protruded. Elena and I screamed, clutching each other. But then it sank back down into the water, circling some more.
Elena looked at Marx. “Please,” she whispered. “Please don’t do this to us.”
I nodded, too. But then it hit me: We probably weren’t going to make it. Marx was unstable—that much was clear. But I couldn’t just let Diab eat us without some kind of explanation. I needed this explained to me, even if it was the last thing I ever heard.
“Why won’t you help anyone on the island?” I called to Marx. “Why are you trying to kill them?”
Marx lowered the gun and looked at me with an almost bored expression. “Haven’t you heard that quote from Tennessee Williams? ‘Success and failure are equally disastrous.’ Sounds like a literary sentiment, huh? Maybe about love, about artistic endeavors, something like that?” He waited a beat. Of course no one answered. “Nope, he was talking about insurance. Which is what I’m thinking about, too. Although”—and now he hooked his thumbs into his belt loops, proudly—“I’d change the quote a little. Maybe to say, Failure can sometimes be successful. Especially if you’ve taken out an insurance policy.”
The waves lapped ominously. Wind snapped through my hair, sending a chill down my spine. Then Paul breathed in. “It’s you,” he said quietly, almost in wonderment. “You’re the investor. You’re the one who bought that half of the island. You’re the one who pushed for that festival.”
Marx smiled, not confirming or denying. But I looked at Pa
ul, still not understanding what any of this meant. Marx owned half of Myla despite knowing there was a monster that lived here? Why would he do that?
And then it hit me. That one day I’d spent at the law office came in handy, because I remembered something Michael at the law firm—who seemed a million worlds away now—said while I sat in my new cubicle, bored and miserable: the story about the claims adjuster making millions off all those disasters in the buildings that had signed up with him for insurance policies. Sometimes people hoped for failures—there was more money in that than success. This was the business equivalent of killing someone when you were their life insurance beneficiary.
I cocked my head, trying to understand Captain Marx’s motives. I didn’t believe he could be so cruel … but then, so many people had surprised me in the past two days. “You’re the one who pushed for this festival. And you’re the one who orchestrated it to be a train wreck.”
Marx looked amused. “Train wreck is such a harsh phrase. I prefer disaster.”
A fire roiled in my belly. “This is why Zack seemed so puzzled about the lack of infrastructure and supplies. You never sent them. Or medical backup. Or security. You duped the guy organizing this festival—someone who thought of you as a friend.”
Marx rolled his eyes. “Zack was a moron. Who makes a living on YouTube? He should have been more on the ball. It’s people like me who run successful music festivals, not idiot upstarts like him.”
Elena looked at Marx, too, seemingly beginning to understand what was going on. “So you knew about the monster all along?”
Marx grinned. “Of course. We all talked about it, remember?”
“But you framed it like it was a silly legend by ignorant people,” I pointed out. “You downplayed it to us—including Zack, even after Paul tried to warn him. You didn’t want anyone to be worried. You didn’t want him to believe—because then he’d cancel the event. But then Zack did start to believe. That’s it, isn’t it? He came out here because he saw the monster firsthand—and he was going to call in the big guns. But you couldn’t have that, so you killed him so you could follow through with your plan. The more people who die, the bigger payout you get, is that right? Because now your investment in Myla is worthless. And what pays for that? Your insurance policy.”
Solstice Page 17