by Eva Pohler
Chapter Fourteen: Escape at Laguna Harbor
“What are you playing at?” Stan asked Larry.
Daphne and Pete both stepped back and stared at Stan in disbelief. Daphne’s knees felt weak as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.
“Hortense wants them brought back,” Larry said.
Daphne searched Stan’s eyes and was horrified by what she saw. Admission.
“Sorry, kiddo.”
“How could you? Why?”
“It’s not why, but what.”
Pete took off running toward the beach, a wall of dust rising on the hillside. “I’ll send help, Daphne!”
Larry followed but couldn’t catch him. Pete reached the kayak and ran with it as far as he could before paddling to the east and out of sight.
“He won’t get very far,” Stan said.
Daphne pivoted and ran in the opposite direction of Pete, back toward the center of the island. Stan caught up to her before she reached the base of Sierra Blanca.
“You never hurt your ankle!” She gasped for breath and struggled to free her arm from his grip, but he held on. “It was a lie, like everything else.” She hit his chest and slapped at his face, but he wouldn’t let go.
“Not everything was a lie.”
“I’ll never believe another word you say, whoever you are!” She hit him once more before he put the gun away and pinned both arms at her sides.
“That’s too bad. I hope you’ll change your mind.”
He pulled her back to the horse and to Larry, who stood hunched over, catching his breath.
“Please let me go.” Her voice was soft. She stopped struggling. “I just want to go home.”
A flock of gulls cried out above them and then disappeared beyond Sierra Blanca.
“Sorry, kiddo.” He hooked his arm through hers, gripping her forearm, and walked her down the road, toward the beach, while Larry led the horse behind them. “That’s not an option.”
“Why? Can’t you tell me what you’re going to do with me?”
“I know this won’t make sense to you now, but, ultimately, you’ll decide.”
“Whatever. Is your name even Stan?” Tears formed in her eyes.
“Yes. Yes, it is.”
They hiked the serpentine trail, turning away from the beach and onto a ridge overlooking a lagoon. Daphne glanced back to see the island fox was still following them. She stuck out her tongue, not to the fox, which was as innocent as she, but to the watchers—Hortense and her lot—or whoever else might see. To make sure she was understood, she raised her free hand and shot the finger.
Larry chuckled behind her, making Daphne grit her teeth.
“I’m hungry and thirsty,” she said after a while.
Stan said. “There’s a little cave down at Laguna Harbor. We can rest there and eat.”
“Then what?”
“It’s about another half hour to the resort from there.”
They followed the road down a steep incline towards a lagoon, passing an old wooden sign that read “Laguna Harbor.” Here there was little sand compared to the beach at Punta Arena, mostly boulders and gravel along the shoreline, and one stretch of rock that formed jetties on the eastern side. The road then turned sharply back toward the north, up a steep hill, toward the center of the island, along a stream pouring into the lagoon from a five-foot drop. Larry led the horse to the stream above the falls for a drink, while Stan pointed the gun at Daphne and ordered her to refill the three canteens. Daphne complied, thinking only of escape.
Once the canteens were filled and the horse content, Stan led the party down the rocky embankment from the road toward the lagoon to a cave nestled behind the falls.
“Isn’t this a pretty place?” Stan spoke loudly to be heard over the sound of the falls as he took two of the canteens and handed one to Larry.
Daphne drank the cold water without giving Stan the satisfaction of a reply.
“One of my favorites.” Larry let the reins drop. He then found a rock to sit on inside the cave.
Stan dragged his pack into the cave and rummaged through it for food. The gun was near him on the ground and both hands deep in the pack. Daphne was hungry but worried this might be her only chance. She dropped her canteen and jumped onto the horse.
Larry tried to climb to his feet, but fell over like a crab on its back, arms and legs swinging. “Ah!”
Stan leapt from the pack and grabbed Daphne’s leg, but she kicked and kicked till it was loose and then caught him with her shoe beneath his chin. Stan yelled and bent over, clutching his jaw as Daphne dug the stirrups into the horse and cried, “Go! Giddyup!” She slapped the reins and dug the stirrups, and the horse took off. Stan chased her, calling out commands to the horse. She kept the horse at a run up Sierra Blanca until the terrain got steep. She could no longer see or hear Stan.
“Good boy,” Daphne said, petting his mane. “Thank you!”
She knew she would be a sitting duck at the top of the mountain, so she took the horse down to the east along the base hoping to find Central Valley, which she would cross to Prisoners Harbor to get help. The base of the mountain became difficult to navigate, because huge slabs of white granite jetted out of the ground, but as terrified as she was of the beast moving beneath her, she was even more frightened of Stan and Larry. She couldn’t find a trail and kept stopping, turning back, and stopping again. She knew she couldn’t turn back the way she had come, so she plowed onward, but it was taking a long time to get anywhere.
The sun shined down, hot and unrelenting, burning her skin. The salty sweat dripping down her face and chest stung. The drink from earlier seemed to have little effect on her thirst and only made her hungrier for something to eat.
She couldn’t believe Stan had betrayed her. She had grown so fond of him in the short time they had spent together, but obviously she was no good judge of character. Hadn’t Cam told her Stan was a patient? So either Cam had been lied to or he had lied to her.
Of course he had lied. Her mother never would have sent her into such danger. This whole place was crazy and the sooner she could get off the island the better.
But she’d known Cam her whole life. He was her friend. How could he do this to her?
What had Larry meant when he said the therapy was for the watchers? She imagined she must be like a character in a reality TV show to them as they watched her fighting for her life. From where were they watching? And who were they? Or was this more nonsense meant to confuse her about the true purposes of the island?
When she cleared the granite spikes, she came upon a stream and decided to follow it down to what she hoped was Central Valley. Too frightened to dismount for a drink, she kept the horse at a walk, fearing she might be headed for an ambush, and began to wonder if she wouldn’t be better off on foot so she could more easily hide in the brush and boulders. She lacked the horsemanship to outmaneuver any who might spot her. Plus, she was frightened of getting bucked off again.
Before she could decide what to do, she heard voices calling out ahead of her. Crap! She turned the horse back toward Sierra Blanca and made a run for it. The granite spikes slowed the horse down at first, but then she turned up the mountain, and soon they were flying toward the top. Despite the fear and adrenaline pulsing through her, her mind was clear. She commanded herself to think and act because she had no one else to depend on but herself. In answer to this command, she decided she would use the horse to get a head start, and then she would send him off, down the mountain, and hopefully they, whoever they were, would follow.
She found a cliff edge shrouded in dense brush with footholds up the steep side. She pulled the reins and stopped the horse, dismounted, and sent him running back down toward the stream. When the horse was out of sight, presumably headed toward Central Valley, she climbed up the steep cliff edge to the top to hide.
She wedged herself into the dense foliage at the top of the cliff, thankful to have shade, as the sun was at high noon and bearing dow
n hot. Although she was only halfway up the mountain, this spot afforded her a clear view down the east and south sides of Sierra Blanca, all the way to the stream, where she had heard the voices, and to the south, almost to Laguna Harbor. If any approached from this side, she would see them. If any came from the west or the north, she would likely hear them.
As she lay in her nest, clenching the thin, smooth branch of whatever bush was shading her, she wondered again about Stan and how easily he had deceived her, but before she could think too long, a party ascended the mountain from the east—probably the source of the voices she had heard by the stream. She stiffened and held her breath, listening.
“You think she rode up the mountain?” The voice belonged to Cam.
“Only one way to find out,” another man, maybe Phillip, said.
So sending the horse without her hadn’t worked.
“Over there!” Cam said.
She lifted her head. Larry and Stan made their way up the mountain. They didn’t seem to be in a hurry. Phillip and Cam were both astride horses. She ducked down when Stan and Larry reached the cliff edge below her.
“We lost her,” Stan said.
“How?” asked Cam.
“We underestimated her,” Larry said. “We, not just me.”
“Phillip and I’ll go to the top and look around. Why don’t you guys head back and rest.”
“I won’t argue with you,” Stan said. “She kicked the shit out of my jaw and I’ve got a bloody damn headache now.”
Daphne listened to the horses climb the steep edge to the west of her as Larry and Stan descended to the east. She lay there, not breathing, waiting. When she could no longer hear the horses or see the men on foot, she took a deep breath and let her body relax.
Then she noticed a trail of tiny red ants crawling along her hand and arm. Without moving the one arm, she swept her hand along the trail on her skin, killing the insects in one sweep. She released the branch, seeing it was infested, but not without receiving two painful stings on the back of her hand. She wouldn’t be able to hide here after all.
She scrambled out of the brush and scanned her surroundings, wondering how to proceed. If she followed Cam and Phillip, it would be harder to get away if discovered. If she climbed down, she would be going closer to Stan and Larry, who could be waiting to ambush her. Their speech about returning to the resort might have been a ploy to cull her out of hiding. She skirted along the cliff edge, weighing her options, wishing she could find a cave to hide in until dark, but not sure if one could be found on Sierra Blanca. If it did have a cave, the others would know of it, and that’s exactly where they would look. No, she needed to go down, down into Central Valley and head for Prisoners Harbor without being seen or heard. She crouched low, behind the rocks along the mountain, heading for the spikes of granite when she spotted the fox a few yards away, staring at her.
Great. Just what I need.
If he continued to follow her, they would always know her position. She had to do something. She hated to take his life, but that seemed like the only way to save her own.
Maybe she could disable the tracking device on his tail without killing him. She crouched behind a boulder and collected a pile of rocks, the size of lemons, and waited for the fox to get closer. When he was about three yards away, she grabbed the biggest one in the pile and flung it like a baseball toward his tail, expecting to miss. The rock hit the fox right at the tail-head, and he flinched and stammered a few feet back. She wondered why he didn’t run off. She took another rock and threw. This time she did miss. She threw again and again, causing the fox to dance as it evaded the rocks. She had two stones the size of ping pong balls left in her pile. She threw one right after the other, and the second one hit the fox on the side of the head. He faltered to the ground as tears poured down her cheeks.
I’m so sorry! Then, inexplicably, she looked at the fox and cried out, “Kara!”
Glancing in all directions, Daphne moved quickly toward the fox. She cradled him in her arms. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. She found the tracking device and twisted, but it wouldn’t come loose from the tail. The fox was breathing rapidly and was frozen stiff, as she had been on the cliff under the brush moments ago.
She was sobbing now, sobbing uncontrollably and as hard as she had ever sobbed before. “I’m so sorry, little fella.” She found a rock, one she had thrown, and, flattening his tail against the rocky ground, she used it to crush the tracking device. The fox winced as the rock struck his tail, but she hit it several times to be sure. Then, as quickly as she could, she carried the fox and ran toward Central Valley before the watchers found their way to the base of Sierra Blanca.
