Stranded! (9 page)

***
Marshall didn't realize that he was clutching the skull tightly within his fist. His heart felt like it was beating out of his chest and his knees were weak. All he knew is that he felt strange standing out in the middle of the beach like a target. He intended to hurry towards the relative safety of the forest but something else caught his eye.
Marshall blinked but what he saw was no mirage. This Island had large rocks and perhaps he had been distracted by the familiar images of the rock formations. But now he clearly saw the evidence of the wooden structure that set on the beach not more than a mile ahead of him.
Marshall began jogging forward. It was mid-morning or he would not have dared doing this in the Caribbean heat. But he jogged forward, still gripping the skull, his bare feet slapping the wet sand, by-passing the succulent conk and the scurrying crab. He stumbled to a stop only a few feet from the wrecked ship. At some point it must have been quite a formidable ship. But now it was just broken bones; like that of the body he'd found several yards back.
He thought of Noah's Ark—not that he believed this was the Ark, but the idea that the Ark was buried in the sand of some Middle Eastern desert--probably preserved like a mummified corpse, was brought to mind.
The bottom half of the ship was buried in the sand—a good indication that it had been there for years, perhaps decades. He walked around the broken shell, noting that one end of it had rotted and had been carried away by the tide at some point in time. What remained was still a good size. The broken deck rose approximately four feet over his head and what remained of the length was several yards in length. Excitedly, he thought about what he and Oceans could use from the ship. He moved further ashore and dropped his belongings, surprised to see the skull still in his hands. He brushed his palm against his dirty jeans, as if he could wipe away the evidence of death.
Quickly, he hurried to the broken end and stepped inside. Sand had completely filled the cavity and as it was wide opened, he figured that there would be nothing salvageable on this level. Besides it would take him weeks to dig through the sand. He needed to find a hatch to the lower level. If being buried had protected the lower cargo from the harsh elements, then perhaps there would be useful items inside. Down below, there could be rum, spices, tools...
But the amount of sand that collected inside the cavity filled it to the ceiling. He would need a bulldozer to shovel through it. Eyeing the upper level, he walked away a few steps then did a running leap, catching the upper deck and dangling there for a moment before he was able to drag himself up. His arms no longer had the same strength that they'd had weeks ago. And once he was lying on the worn wooden floor there, he had to lay on his back panting for breath. He eyed his surroundings as he lay there.
The mast had been broken and lay like a thick telephone pole onto the deck. Parts of the sail was still present; rotted and moldy. Marshall was certainly no expert on boats, but he'd seen enough pirate movies to know that this was more like a pirate ship then a modern day sailboat. He stood up. The floor was solid. It didn't even creak.
He was more confident than ever that the lower holds would be intact. He scanned the surrounding rocks and figured out the story here. The ship tried to come ashore and hit the rocks. Why? Why did they try it? His eyes caught sight of the hatch. In movies it was raised above the floor and it was no different on this ship. He hurried to it and tried to raise the door. The metal hinges were so rusted that they had seized, though with little effort the wood gave way from the metal.
It was dark down below, but despite the total blackness, he did not see sand. Marshall grinned and felt his lips crack. Damn, he'd forgotten about eating and drinking again. He took note of the position of the sun and saw that it was high noon. If he wasn't careful he'd be dead of heat stroke!
"For fucks sake!" He grumbled. But it wasn't as if he could go down there without a torch anyways. Marshall lowered himself down to the sandy ground and headed back to his possessions. He unplugged the top of his water jug and drank long of the stagnant, hot water. He picked up this pack in order to move closer to the forest under the shade of the trees and as an after though he picked up the skull and carried it with him. Once he found a coconut to break open and he'd drank the sweet water and eaten the contents, he sat back and studied the skull. The bone was clean and white.
Oceans should be here with him for this discovery. "Baby, why do you think they tried coming ashore?"
In his mind, Oceans responded that they may have needed fresh fruit. Or maybe they were all sick. Diseases probably ran rampant on ships in those days. With a sigh Marshall tucked the skull into his pack. He couldn't leave it here. That just wasn't right. He'd bury it when he got a chance, maybe back with the rest of the bones.
He knew how to make a successful torch, and to do so quickly and efficiently. He would use the rags from the sails of the ship. He left his possessions back near the edge of the forest and went back to the ship, hauling himself back onto deck. Once back on the ship's deck he used the fresh, green branch that he had pulled from a tree and wrapped it with scraps of cloth. Other scraps he shoved into his pocket before he took his lighter to it. The cloth went up quickly.
He hurried back to the hatch. He tested the first step before putting all of his weight on it. It didn't even creek. He wanted to move quickly, unsure of how long the impromptu torch would stay lit. But at the same time, he didn't want to fall and break his leg, trapped in the cargo of an old pirate ship. So he moved slowly and carefully. The passage down was narrow but soon he came to a small door. It was very small.
People from the 17th century were small but damn. He pushed and pushed against the door but it wasn't giving. It led to the area filled by sand. If the door did manage to open it would probably fill the narrow stairwell and suffocate him. He went down to the next landing and continued downward where he came to another hatch.
Again, it was hard to move. He needed two hands but couldn't afford to put down the torch and risk catching the ship on fire. Cursing, he spent a few minutes straining one handed with the heavy metal handle before it finally gave way, rotted wood shattering. This time there was an odor that invaded his nostrils. It was like a dank cellar, but more unpleasant.
It was even darker then the narrow stairwell. The darkness felt cool; and moist. He stepped down surprised to see that the floor met him before his head had cleared the ceiling. He had to stoop in order to see the cargo area. He pulled his torch forward, illuminating the remains of the small hull.
Marshall went down on his knees. He knelt there until the flame began to flicker and then he pulled the remaining rags from his pocket and wrapped them carefully about the dying flame until it blazed anew.
Marshall took stock of every item of the cargo hold, knowing that there was not one item that would be salvageable. He would not ever carry anything out of it but nightmares. Finally he climbed out of the small hold. There was probably another level below this one. He was almost sure that there had to be. But he had no interest in seeing its contents.
When he reached the daylight again he gulped down several deep breaths of fresh Caribbean air, and then threw the torch towards the sea where it extinguished immediately. He then leaped down to the sand and walked away from what he now understood was not a pirate ship, but a slave ship—no longer a ship, but a giant coffin.
There had been so many bones inside that he had resorted to counting skulls. He could see the heavy iron manacles; now discolored from the elements, and how they had held the slaves tethered to the floor, incapable of sitting up. They had been held by their necks.
57 skulls is what he had counted.
Marshall sank down to the sand. His stomach began to hitch and suddenly the contents came up and out. He vomited bile for several minutes before reaching for the water jug and swilling down the last of its contents.
When the ship crashed, no one had come down to unlock the manacles. That hull had been no more than four feet high, and they'd just lain there.
Marshall gulped and picked up his pack. The skull stuck out and he hesitated. He ripped it from the pack roll and clenched it in one fist.
"Why didn't you let them out?" Tears sprouted from his eyes. He was lost on an island and it felt like his grave. But those people had been trapped in the hull of a ship, flat on their backs with absolutely no daylight.
And they had been left to rot in the Caribbean heat until they suffered no more.
Marshall dropped the skull. "We wouldn't be alone if you had let them out." He whispered.
****
Marshall couldn't stand to be near the slave ship. So he roamed the forest for fresh water while his brain replayed the horrors of the people in the hull. He now accepted that there was no leaving this Island. This place would be his grave, just like it had been there's. He had seen no evidence of Oceans in these 72 days; two and a half months. He would keep searching, but if he found...
Marshall would not exist on this Island alone. If something happened to her then he would find a way to die as well. And that was that.
He found his water source and once he drank he bathed for the first time in weeks. He felt the need to wash the stench of death from him, but couldn't. He kept smelling the hull, and of course he kept seeing the bones covering the floor.
There were no people on this Island. No one had set eyes on that ship in these hundreds of years but him...and possibly Oceans. But she certainly hadn't gone inside because the hatch had been untouched. He thanked god for that.
For the first time in months he stopped his travels and made camp within the forest. He spent the remaining daylight contemplating his suicide and then when night fell he slept.
***
The next day Marshall felt tired down to his very bones. He walked for 8 hours a day but probably covered no more than three miles in a day. When searching for Oceans, he couldn't just walk along the beach. He had to also check the forest too. The thought that he could miss her by mere steps haunted him.
Lately he got tired much quicker. Sometimes he thought he could sleep for days. Maybe he wouldn't have to commit suicide. He was dying. Literally, no. But spiritually, yes. So instead of getting up at the break of dawn, Marshall slept until nearly noon. The only time he budged is when he was bitten by ants and all he did was to scratch and roll away. He never even noticed that a delicious snake had slithered over his legs, nestling between them before disappearing beneath some fallen leaves.
Later, when it was time for him to get moving, he resumed his walk along the beach where it met with the forest. Breakfast/ lunch/dinner consisted of water and little hard fruit that Oceans called mammee apples. Just as the sun began to lower in the sky, he saw something glinting in the distance. He thought he knew what it was, and it caused him to sprint. Oh fuck...Oh fuck...
He stopped where several pieces of fiberglass and metal had washed ashore months and months ago. Now it was mostly covered by sand and Marshall spared precious minutes to brush away the debris until it reflected the sun again. It was where they had washed ashore! They hadn't been that far from the wreck of the slave ship; less than a day's walk away! He squinted into the distance. This meant that he was almost home.
Marshall had renewed energy when he resumed walking. Almost home still meant several hours but he moved fast. He just wanted to be back at camp.
***
The sun was all but an orange ball in the distance. Normally he would have been stopping to set up a place to sleep. But nothing was going to prevent him from sleeping in his own hammock tonight and maybe making a fire to roast some cassava.
Marshall blinked as he came closer to his home. There was flickering that told him that there was already a fire burning in the outside fire pit. Even if his eyes were playing tricks on him the smell of burning wood was unmistakable.
Marshall's legs were tight, his back was stiff, and his feet were sore, but when he saw the flickering flame he started running.
"Oceans!!!" He screamed. "Oceans?!!" She appeared from the hut and Marshall stumbled and almost fell at the sight of her.
He saw Oceans’ pretty face light up. She hurried down the ladder and sprinted to him as well. Marshall ripped the bedroll and water jug from his shoulders and threw them to the ground. He stopped sprinting when they were seconds from crashing into each other. Oceans threw her body at his and he caught her, stumbling back a few steps. He couldn't help it. He started to cry.
"I hoped you'd be here." He murmured into her loose hair. Her curls tickled his nose and smelled of lye and flowers. It smelled so good. She squeezed him tightly to her but he wanted to pull away and look at her. Instead he held onto her firm body. He realized that she was crying too.
"You left. I thought you'd left. You never came back-"
"No no...I didn't leave. I just went to find you." He lowered her to her feet and looked deep into her eyes. "Oceans, I never wanted you to leave. I said that stupid thing..." He looked away and grimaced. "I was being stupid."
"But you never came back!" She was practically shouting as tears streamed down her brown cheeks. "I waited here and you never came." Air gushed from her mouth as she sobbed. "I thought the pigs had gotten you or-or..." She couldn't talk from crying so hard. He pulled her into his arms again, rocking her against his body.
"Shh, shhh, baby. I'm here." He felt her pull back and he released her again, though he couldn't stop touching her. She put her hands on his hairy face and stared deeply into his eyes.
"You're sick, Marshall. You're burning up with fever, honey." He grinned slowly.
"Ahh, that's why I feel like shit." She wasn't smiling.
"Honey, you might be having a heat stroke, and that can kill you." He nodded in all seriousness at her words. One day ago he had contemplated his own suicide. And one day later he wanted to live—not for himself but because he would not leave this woman alone on this Island.
Oceans' quickly ushered Marshall back to the hut. She was alarmed at how thin he was. His normally athletic body was little more than skin and bones. He had darkened to a deep brown which made his beautiful hazel eyes stand out in a striking manner. His light hair hung limply over his shoulders and she could see that he had fresh scars covering his arms, some bled, and some looked infected. She wasn't used to seeing his face covered in a bushy beard. He had always used the hunting knife to keep his beard manageable. He reminded her so much of the refugees that she'd see on television.