Island 731 (12 page)

Toward the far end of the island, between a pair of hills, he saw the sparkle of water, behind which lay more land.
A lake
, he thought. People were invariably drawn to fresh water.
If Kam keeps moving until he finds the lake, he might stay there. And if we’re stuck here …
Hawkins pushed that thought aside.
Focus
. Between the distant hills and the lake sat a lighter patch of green. He couldn’t see exactly what it was—there was too little to make out—but it looked like a large clearing.

Maybe an old airfield
, he thought. “The island is volcanic,” he said, noting the raised perimeter. Like most islands in the Pacific, this one had once been the top of a very large, active volcano.

“You don’t see any steam, do you?” Joliet asked as she explored the fringe of the clearing.

“No, it’s dormant. Probably been for a long time. There’re a couple of tall hills, a lake—probably at the island’s lowest point—and a large, flat clearing, but all of it is inside a very large crater.”

“Probably multiple craters,” Joliet said. “Volcanic cones tend to shift in the ocean.”

Hawkins heard the sound of shifting vegetation.

“Hey, I found the path,” Joliet said from below.

Hawkins looked down. Joliet stood on the far side of the small clearing, holding a large-leafed plant aside.

“I think I see footprints, too.”

Something about the word “footprints” triggered a new question. “Why is Kam barefoot?”

Joliet just stared up at him.

“Did you ever see him go barefoot on the ship?”

She thought for a moment and then shook her head. “He wore sandals all the time.”

“So why is he barefoot now?”

“Maybe they fell off in the water.”

That made sense, but still felt wrong. They were missing something. “Maybe.”

What the hell aren’t we thinking of?

“Hey, look at this,” Joliet said. She held the plant up in the air. The large leaves were bound together at the bottom. “The leaves were staked into the ground. He covered the path on purpose. Why would Kam do that?”

The mental floodgates opened.

Kam
wouldn’t.

“We need to go back to the ship,” he said, sliding down the dome to the edge of the pillbox roof.

“Why? It will still be daylight for a few more hours. We can—”

“It’s not Kam,” he said, lowering himself over the front end of the pillbox. He held on to a vine for support.

Joliet rushed up and put her hands under Hawkins’s foot, supporting some of his weight. “What do you mean, it’s not Kam?”

“Why would Kam—”

The vine supporting most of Hawkins’s weight tore free from the concrete above the pillbox entryway. Taking the vine with him, Hawkins fell. He and Joliet spilled onto the grass in a heap.

Hawkins pulled his legs off of Joliet and got to his feet. He helped her up and as they both brushed off their damp clothes, he continued. “Why would Kam swim to shore, run straight to a path in the jungle, come all the way up here, and then conceal his tracks?”

She had no answer.

“Exactly,” he said. “Kam wouldn’t. Someone was already here.”

“But Kam is missing,” she said.

“He might have been lost in the storm with Cahill.”

“Or he was taken,” she said.

Hawkins didn’t think so. The footprints weren’t deep enough to suggest someone was being carried, but he couldn’t discount the theory, either. Kam wasn’t very big.

“Either way, we need to get back to the ship. The island is too big to search on our own, and the presence of an unknown person … or people, changes things. We need help.” As Hawkins turned toward the path leading back down to the cover, he glanced at the pillbox and noticed something different. Something was painted above the doorway, where the vine had been.

He brushed away the moss and vine bits still clinging to the wall and looked at the writing.

“Is that Japanese?” Joliet asked.

“That’d be my guess, but I have no idea what it means.” He looked at each character individually, trying to remember them, but stopped when he heard a faint scratching sound behind him.

“Got it,” Joliet said, capping a pen and slipping a small notebook into her cargo shorts pocket. “Now, let’s get the hell out of here.”

As Joliet started down the switchback path, Hawkins took one last look around the small clearing. When thinking about dogs and cats being left behind on the island, he made the logical leap to the idea that they’d be feral after seventy years of breeding, hunting, and surviving on an island. But now he had to consider another possibility.

What would people be like if they’d been left here, cut off from the rest of the world, for seventy years?

13.

Hawkins led the journey down the hill much faster than they’d ascended it, in part thanks to gravity, but mostly because he’d been spooked by their discoveries at the pillbox. His neck had grown sore from looking back over his shoulder as they hiked, but his paranoia had company. Nearly every time he looked back, Joliet was already doing likewise.

He’d once spoken to the survivor of a mountain lion attack; a young woman who’d been jogging a trail in Yellowstone in the early morning. She hadn’t seen or heard anything. But she
felt
it. The danger. Had she not unclipped her bottle of pepper spray from her belt in advance of the attack, she’d have been easily killed. Instead, the cat got a face full of liquid pepper and would probably think twice before attacking another human being.

Is that what I’m feeling?
he wondered. He’d encountered wild animals on several occasions, but had never felt that advance fear. He liked to think it was because he was on equal footing with the world’s predators, and to an extent, had proven that to be true. That he was feeling spooked now only increased his building sense of doom.

Halfway between the hill and the beach, something snapped.

Hawkins froze.

Joliet stood beside him.

Neither spoke. They just watched. And listened.

After a full minute, Hawkins said, “Man, this place has me on edge.”

Joliet gave a nervous laugh. “I know, right?”

But then the sound repeated. Closer. And overhead.

Both of their heads craned up. The tall palms, mixed with other exotic, leafy trees, swayed, creaking quietly. Sunlight filtered through and the bright green leaves shimmered on the jungle floor. But there was nothing else there.

“Do rats climb trees?” Joliet asked.

“Not usually,” Hawkins replied. “Unless they’re trying to make it easy for the birds that eat them.”

“Right,” Joliet said before glancing down and seeing the hunting knife in Hawkins hand. “You know something I don’t?”

He didn’t really remember drawing the blade. “I hope not.”

Brush along the path, just twenty feet behind them, shook. He’d normally write the movement off to a squirrel. Or in this case, a rat. But he didn’t think that was the case here. They were being stalked.

“Go,” Hawkins whispered. “Run.”

Joliet seemed surprised. Did she not see the brush moving, or was he really just being paranoid? Better paranoid than dead, he decided, and said, “All the way to the beach. Don’t stop. Go. Now!”

As he raised his voice, movement swirled around and above them. He saw shifting shadows and flickering sunlight as something moved through the canopy. Nothing more. But he had learned something—the creature stalking them wasn’t alone.

There was a pack.

Joliet needed no more convincing. She took off down the winding path, moving swiftly. Hawkins took one last look around and saw nothing. Sensing the predators moving in, he followed after Joliet, knife in hand.

The trail made running easy, but it also wound a meandering path through the jungle.
Fastest way between two points is a straight line
, he thought, and then went off-path, cutting straight through the jungle, tearing through brush, hopping fallen trees and making a racket.

Joliet heard him coming and whipped her head in his direction. Her face was twisted with fear, but quickly turned to relief when she saw it was him.

“Don’t bother with the path!” he shouted. “Just cut through the trees!”

When the trail wound to the right, Joliet plowed straight ahead, leaping through the forest like a frightened deer. She moved so quickly that Hawkins had a hard time keeping up. Her small size let her pass by obstacles that he had to crash through, like a tank following a sports car through a slalom course.

The trees thinned and the bright glow of the beach beckoned to them. But they hadn’t made it yet. The movement around them had grown frenzied. He glanced to the side a few times and got quick looks at something yellowish, stumbling with each look back. But he didn’t have to see them to know they were moving in to strike. The creatures’ frenzied approach grew louder, their movements combined with shrill chirps.

“Go, go, go!” he shouted.

A shadow drew his eyes up and what he saw held his attention. The creature was silhouetted against the bright green canopy. He couldn’t see colors, or details, but its overall shape had been revealed. It had a rounded head, like an oversize, dull arrowhead. He saw four legs sporting clawed feet, splayed wide. The body was just a foot long, but its tail, which wagged frantically back and forth, extended another foot. But none of this held his gaze for long. It was the two translucent wings, for lack of a better word, extending out from the creature’s midsection that had him transfixed—and caused him to run into a fallen tree.

The limb caught him across the waist and flipped him ass over tea kettle like a professional wrestler. The loud “oof!” that escaped his lungs and the thud of his body hitting the jungle floor spun Joliet around.

“Mark!”

He pushed himself up and shouted, “Keep going! Get help!”

As he caught his breath, Hawkins noticed he no longer held his knife. While keeping his eyes up and on the lookout for danger, he searched the area around him with his hands.
I’m lucky I didn’t fall on the blade
, he thought.
What an idiotic way to die that would have been.

A chirp that was one part whistle, one part growl spun him around. The creature stood upon the fallen tree, staring into his eyes. It was three feet long from snout to tail and covered in yellow- and black-striped scales. Its size wouldn’t normally intimidate him, but the hooked inch-long claws it used to cling to the tree looked dangerous. And when it chirped again, he saw two rows of needlelike teeth accompanied by two snakelike fangs. The wings he’d seen were now gone, folded beneath the creature’s pale belly.

Even though the lizard looked imposing, and its ability to fly was certainly surreal, Hawkins felt he could handle the creature, even without his knife.

But the chirps closing in reminded him that this creature was not alone, and nature is full of predators that worked together to take down much larger prey. Including people.

Hawkins’s hand struck something hard. He reached his fingers out and felt the familiar shape of his knife’s hilt. He clutched it tight, waiting for the right moment to strike.

He didn’t have to wait long. The lizard sprang from the tree. Its wings snapped open from beneath its body and it covered the distance between them in a flash. Hawkins fell back and as the creature passed overhead, he slashed out with the knife. The blade slid through the wing’s membrane so easily that Hawkins wasn’t sure he’d struck a blow.

But then the lizard crashed to the jungle floor, shrieking in agony.

The sound seemed to agitate the other lizards. They bounded from tree to tree, flying and clinging, closing the distance. Everywhere he looked, serpentine eyes stared hungrily at him.

A rustling on the jungle floor alerted him to danger. He stood quickly and saw the wounded lizard charging him. Instincts born of a childhood on the soccer field took over. Hawkins kicked the thing and sent it flying, though much less gracefully than it was accustomed to.

“Hawkins, get down!”

He obeyed the voice, ducking quickly. He heard an impact above him. A large stone fell to the ground next to him, accompanied by one of the lizards. It was stunned, but far from dead.

Hawkins turned toward the voice and saw Joliet, armed with another stone. He ran to her. “I told you to leave.”

“And I just saved your life,” she said before turning and making a beeline for the beach.

Hawkins thought Joliet’s claim was a little exaggerated, but kept it to himself. Now was not the time for arguing the details, and he couldn’t deny he owed her a “thank you.” Still, she should have listened. In a different situation,
she
could have been killed.

Spurred by the knowledge that the jungle’s denizens really did want to maul them, the pair charged toward the beach, blazing a new path through the jungle. The chirping behind them grew louder. Frantic. And then, all at once, it stopped. The jungle fell silent.

The sudden silence was so powerful that Hawkins and Joliet actually stopped. Hawkins spun around, knife at the ready. “What the hell?”