The Island (19 page)

He sat in front of the box now, looking at the ginger tabby as it cowered in the back. He poked a finger through the mesh.

“Hi Tiddles,” the boy said. The cat hissed in response. It sensed the danger it was in. The boy smiled and took the gloves out of his pocket. They were thick gloves his father used when he was chopping wood for the log burner. Very thick, very durable. They would protect against most things, cat scratches included. The boy pulled the gloves on, savouring every second, wishing it could have been different. The fact was that his father loved the cat more than his own son, and in any world that was wrong.

He unclipped the latch on the door with his left hand just enough to fit his right arm in. He grabbed the cat. It scratched and clawed, but the gloves did their job. He didn’t feel it. Once he was confident he had a grip, he opened the door the rest of the way and reached in with his other hand, closing his hands around the cat’s skinny neck.

He had rehearsed this is his head countless times, but none of it compared to actually doing it. He pulled the squirming scratching cat out of the cage and squeezed with everything he could muster, watching as the life left it at exactly the same time he came to orgasm, wetting his underwear in a hot, sticky explosion as he broke the animal’s neck.

He fell to his side in the leaves, exhausted and staring at the animal. It had been the family pet for three years.

Three years of coming second best to a cat.

The boy shook his head. No more.

He stood, wincing at the uncomfortable wet warmth in his underwear. He stood and grabbed the limp animal by one leg, picking it up and holding it at arm’s length. He felt nothing. No emotion, no sense of right or wrong, just a pitiful black void.

He looked around his secret place, and knew nobody would ever find out what he had done. He was too clever. Too smart even for his own family, even at just twelve years old. He reared back and tossed the cat into the woods, a gift for the animals, maybe a midnight snack for the bears.

Enjoy it, bears. It will make a nice change to fish all the time.

He scrambled back up the bank, looking forward to watching the mental suffering his family would endure until they realised poor little Tiddles wasn’t coming back.

The feeling of what he had done was still fresh, still memorable in every detail, and yet, he still couldn’t wait to do it all again.

At the bottom of the hill, under the watchful eye of the half moon, an eye opened from its bloody mask. As a tongue ran across broken teeth and assessed damage, a familiar rage started to build. No major injuries. He moved his hands, his arms. Then his legs. Sure enough, he had taken some damage, but it was all superficial, things that would fuel the beast that lived inside him.

Alex got to his feet, and started back up the hill. More determined than ever to feel that elation at least one more time, and feed the demon which Chase had awoken.

ODDS ON

DAY FIVE

7:08 AM

As exhausted as they were, none of them were able to sleep aside from Moses, who continued to drift in and out of consciousness as the fever in him grew. They had awoken tired and angry. With no food and seemingly no chance of survival, morale was as low as it had ever been. Chase had been particularly troubled. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw snatches of Alex, the wide eyed look of realisation on his face which he knew would be forever burned into his psyche.

It had dawned on him, as he stamped out the small camp fire, that he had taken a life. Even though he had gone into the game knowing it was something he might have to do, the act itself made him feel both ashamed and nauseous. He wondered how it would be presented on television. How it would come across to his family and friends. He would look brutal and heartless. It came to him, as he stamped out the dying embers of their camp fire, that maybe Perrie had it right all along. They had ridiculed her and laughed at her for her lack of understanding, but she had been right. It was all a show. True, they weren’t actors, but they were on a set. The output was being manipulated to be delivered to the public in a certain way. To them it was about survival, to everyone else, it was just a game show.

“You ready?” Ryder said. He looked jaded and haggard. Most of the mud had flaked away from his skin. It was hard to imagine him as the brash, cocky man from less than a week ago.

“Yeah, I’m good to go,” Chase said.

“What about him?”

They both looked to Moses, who was struggling to pull on his boots.

Ryder lowered his voice. “We can’t carry him forever. He’s fading. It’s going to get to a point where we have to make a decision.”

“I think we both need to stop playing god and let fate decide.”

“We don’t have that luxury.”

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Moses said as he struggled to his feet. He grimaced as he limped towards them. “I’m dying, not deaf.”

He walked on towards the tree line. The others followed, wondering if this was the last sunrise they would ever see.

TWO

Following the storm, the new day was baking hot. As the ground dried, a light steam rose from it, giving an eerie backdrop to their slow journey. They moved through the scrub of trees, tense and waiting for something to happen.

“It’s quiet,” Chase whispered.

Ryder nodded. Even the birds seemed to have silenced. The only sounds were their footfalls and the moans and babble of Moses, who seemed to be flitting from coherent and aware to disorientated and ranting.

They went on, struggling with the humidity and waiting for the chaos Lomar had promised them.

“You think he’s out there?” Chase asked.

Ryder glanced around, eyes scanning the trees. “Could be. Depends how good he is.”

“Wouldn’t we see him?”

“You didn’t see me,” Ryder said, glancing over his shoulder. “I was as close as ten feet at some points. If you know how to use the environment, you can be invisible out here.”

Chase stopped in his tracks, looking through the break in the trees. “Then what would you suggest we do about that?”

They had reached the opposite edge of the tree line. Beyond, was a marsh, the water filthy and topped with leaves and algae. Large mosquitoes zipped across the surface. There was no way around it. It stretched for miles in each direction. Forty feet across from them, a gentle bank sloped upwards towards firmer ground.

“It stinks,” Chase said, looking both ways up and down the bank.

“No way to go around. We’ll have to cross,” Ryder replied.

Chase picked up a rock from the edge. “We don’t know how deep it is.”

“Don’t,” Ryder snapped holding a hand up. “Don’t disturb the water. We don’t know what might be in there.”

It had never entered Chase’s head. He dropped the rock on the ground, and stared at the surface of the water. There was no movement, no hint of anything there. If Ryder hadn’t been with them, he would have tossed the stone in the water. He felt suddenly like he knew nothing, and had got by on blind luck so far.

“So what do we do now?” he asked.

“We wait for a while and watch.”

“For what?”

“Anything that might disturb the surface. Bubbles, ripples. Some animals, crocodiles and alligators, only need to breathe every so often. Usually they wait under the surface or the water, waiting for someone to either step on them or throw stones in the water.”

“It’s not alligators I’m worried about,” Chase said, ignoring the jibe.

“No, that makes two of us.”

“How long do we wait?”

“Twenty minutes maybe. Just to be sure.”

With nothing else to do, they waited, all three of them staring at the water. Fifteen minutes passed. Then twenty. Nothing moved apart from the mosquitoes, and nothing but Moses’s babbling punctuated the silence. He had been indulged in a heated conversation with a family member, possibly from the past and one only he could see. For the past ten minutes, he had been repeating the same phrase, saying over and over again.

Why won’t you let me retire?

Why won’t you let me retire?

Why won’t you let me retire?

It was infuriating to listen to, but Chase couldn’t stop it. Moses was clearly starting to break down. For a moment, Chase considered that maybe he was the lucky one.

“Alright, it’s safe to move,” Ryder said, standing up and approaching the edge of the water. “Here’s how we’re going to do this. Chase, you go first. I’ll follow ten feet behind. Moses, you bring up the rear, again another ten feet back.”

Why won’t you let me retire?

Why won’t you let me retire?

Why won’t you let me retire?

“You hear me in there? Do you understand?” Ryder repeated.

Moses nodded. He was shivering and rubbing his hands against his upper arms despite the stifling heat. Ryder and Chase glanced at each other.

“Alright,” Ryder said, deciding it was best to move on. “Here’s what we do. We go in slowly, quietly. We don’t know how deep the water is, so we might have to swim. If that’s the case, do it slowly. Remember, the aim here is to make the least disruption possible. If it’s shallow enough to wade in, then again, keep quiet. Move slowly. Slide your feet across the bottom, don’t be tempted to take big steps. You don’t want to stand on anything down there.”

“What about if we get in there and something comes?” Chase said.

“Then we swim like hell. It’s only forty feet or so. Fifty tops.”

“Great,” Chase grunted. “Why do I get to go first?”

“So I can keep an eye on you and make sure you’re not doing anything that might draw attention. It’s easier for me to do that if you’re right in front of me rather than behind.”

“Alright, makes sense I suppose.”

“You ready?”

Chase nodded, somehow managing to fight the urge to run.

“What about you?” he asked Moses. The old man stopped his incessant mantra, blinked and looked at him. “I’m ready, Simi. Just tell Father I’ll be along soon, eh?”

“Jesus Christ, this is going to be a disaster,” Ryder mumbled. “Come on, let’s do this and hope the old bastard here understands what’s happening.”

Ryder turned to Chase. “The bank slopes down, so that should mean you can walk in. Remember, keep it slow. Take your time. I’ll be watching.”

Chase walked to the edge, by now getting used to fighting the instinct to flee. Keeping Ryder’s words in mind, he inched into the water, grimacing as the cold, frigid liquid soaked through his pants. He waded in quietly; knowing that every step could be his last if there was something waiting to snatch him away. He the water reached up to his chest, then the depth stabilised. He managed to bob forward, fighting against the natural buoyancy of his backpack. He wished he had remembered to remove it before getting into the water, but knew it was too late now to backtrack. He wouldn’t dare risk doing so now for fear of disturbing the water. From down at water level, it was even more frightening. He was aware that anything could be out there and he was powerless to stop it should it decide to attack. He paused and glanced over his shoulder. Ryder was up to his knees, moving slowly, eyes alert and flicking left to right with each step. Moses still sat on the bank, head low, arms on the floor. He looked like he was sleeping, his head flicking up every few seconds as his eyes rolled over to the whites.

Chase put him out of his mind. His own safety was the only thing that mattered to him. He focussed on what was there, on reaching out with his senses. The earthy, rotten stench of the water, which clung to him with its chilly determination, leaving a slick of green algae sticking to his shirt. His foot brushed something unseen, something solid. He froze, waiting for the attack, determined that the last conscious thought he would have would be the image of his wife and daughter.

But no attack came. He exhaled, and risked moving his foot again. The solid object was still there, but whatever it is was no threat. He suspected it may have been a root or some kind of underwater grass. He stepped over it and continued on his way, now almost halfway across. He risked another look over his shoulder. Ryder was now also up to his chest. Unlike Chase, he had remembered to take off his backpack, and was holding it above his head. Behind him, Moses was also in the water. Inching forward into the cold, filthy water. It seemed that as delirious as he was, he was still lucid enough to have listened to Ryder’s instructions.

He turned back to focus on the way ahead, and froze, his brain taking a second to register what was in front of him.

Lomar stood on the opposite bank. He was dressed in army fatigues, his rifle in hand, finger resting on the trigger guard. He stared at Chase, a wicked, small-toothed grin on his face. Chase stared back, time frozen as both men sized each other up. Lomar started to move, swinging his gun towards them.

He lied,
Chase thought to himself as he prepared for the bullets to rip through him.
He lied just to get us here.

He wondered if it would hurt as the bullets shredded his insides. He wondered if they would show it on screen, perhaps splice in one of the other contestants over Lomar. He hoped not. He didn’t want his family to see him suffer.

He closed his eyes as the explosion of gunfire shattered the silence.

He wasn’t dead.

The gun had definitely ejected. Six shots. He opened his eyes, looking at the ripples as they moved through the water.

“Move, move now!” Ryder said, as he started to move through the water as fast as he could, Moses following behind as quickly as he could. Chase saw it coming towards them. A wake from further down the river, a rolling tide of water as whatever was beneath homed in on them. He started to move, wishing his legs would move faster, the backpack throwing him off balance. He lost his footing, and his head went under the water. He took in a mouthful of rancid water, the bitter taste making him retch. He threw his head up, coughing and spluttering. Lomar tossed the rifle into the water, then turned and started to walk away.

Chase coughed, as his feet found purchase. He glanced behind him. Ryder was stumbling along behind. Moses had abandoned his backpack and was swimming, his hair mottled with clumps of algae. He had almost caught up to Ryder. Both of them were around fifty feet from the wake which was drawing closer. As they watched, a great, grey brown back broke the surface.

Chase was able to move faster now. The water was only waist high and his feet were able to grip in the soft mud. Ahead, he could see Lomar disappearing into the trees. Anger fuelled him, and he accelerated. He was free of the water, free of the mud and whatever was closing on them. There was no forethought. He put his head down and broke into a sprint, determined to get to Lomar.

THREE

Ryder saw the wake coming towards him, and knew he was going to die. Moses was swimming, head down, arms slamming into the water.

The thirty-six-foot Sarcosuchus closed in on them, drawn to the noise. A relative of the common crocodile, the Sarcosuchus possessed a much longer snout filled with sixty six teeth. At the end of its snout, a large bulbous protrusion called a bulla helped the enormous creature to lock on to the scent of its prey and hone in on it with deadly precision. The combination of scents from the two stranded men, sweat and the bloody mess seeping from Moses’s boots, combined with their thrashing as they tried to flee, convinced the giant predator that this was a viable meal. It flicked its tail, and closed in on the two men. Ryder saw it coming, but couldn’t stop it. The creature opened its mouth; the soft, pink throat seemed impossibly large. He held his ground, and then at the last second lurched to the side. His intention was to make the creature miss allowing him time to flee, but he moved too early, and the Sarchosuchus reacted. It flicked its head in the same direction Ryder had moved. He saw it and threw up an arm, but the Sarchosuchus still managed to get a grip on his arm, its teeth sinking into the soft flesh of his upper arm.

Moses had reached the bank, and scrambled up to higher ground, he lay on his front, gasping and panting. He turned back to the water just in time to see the Sarchosuchus roll, taking Ryder with it into the filthy, black waters.