by Eva Pohler
Chapter Twenty-One: Tripped Up
The woods soon gave way to more rocky crags they must either climb or go around, and since going around also meant the possibility of running into the ghostly crew, they opted to climb. Daphne’s muscles ached when she dug in her feet and pulled herself up. At least the wounds on her leg and hip were scabbed and no longer bleeding. The wind lifted her ponytail and cooled her skin, moving through Brock’s shirt and up her shorts.
“Stay close to the rock,” Daphne warned. “We don’t want to be spotted.”
Once she reached the summit, she lay flat on her belly and looked over the edge. She gasped, because she saw something she had never seen before, even from the peak of Mount Diablo: a tower.
“That must be the naval tower,” she told Brock once he had clamored up beside her, flat on his belly, too. “Cam told me about it on the way over. Real naval guards should be manning it.”
“What do you mean ‘real’? As opposed to unreal?”
She quickly explained what had happened with the girl in the valley and the interview with the supposed guards.
“This place really is screwed up,” he said when she had finished her story.
“Do you think the real guards could help us?” she asked.
“I would think so. What do you think?”
“I say we go for it and get help.”
They made their way over the rocky crags and back down toward another patch of lush trees. It was shady here, and the wind was gentler, and soon they came upon a path that led to a spring.
Daphne knelt by the water and submerged her face. She allowed some of the water to rush into her mouth. It tasted fresh and delicious.
“It worries me that we can’t see the tower from down here,” Brock said, “but this spring and this path must lead to it, don’t you think?”
“Yeah. I would think so.” Then she said, “I need water.” The little taste from the spring hadn’t been enough to quench her thirst.
He turned around so she could get the last bottle from the pack. Now that they could refill it with spring water, there was no reason to conserve it.
She gulped down half of it and then asked Brock if he wanted some. “It’s so good,” she said.
He drank the rest of it, and then bent over the stream and refilled the bottle.
Keeping their eyes out for signs of the others, they picked through the trees beneath the songs of birds and a new mossy smell, until they came upon a paved road running north and south. The south would lead them back to where they started, so they headed north. It was nice to have the sun and a sense of direction again.
The heat off the pavement made Daphne hot and sticky, and the sweat stung her sunburnt skin, but the smooth road was easier on her feet, even though it was uphill.
“I liked it better in the woods,” Daphne said after a moment, not meaning to complain.
“I think I see something up ahead.”
She craned her neck. “What?”
“A jeep.”
“Not from the resort.”
“I hope not. Let’s get off the road.”
They darted into the trees and crept toward the jeep for a better view of its passengers.
“Can you see anything?” Daphne asked.
“Not yet.”
They trudged on, and soon Daphne saw the jeep and two men wearing white navy uniforms standing on the road talking.
“Thank God,” she said. “Maybe they can help us.”
She stepped onto the road ahead of Brock, but then she thought better of it. What if they were part of Hortense Gray’s lot? Before she could retreat, one of the guards turned and spotted her.
“What are you two doing way out here? Lost?” the one with the glasses asked.
“Yes,” Brock said, but at the same time, Daphne said, “No.”
“Well, what is it? Are you lost or not?”
“Lost,” Brock said. Then he added, “She thinks she knows where we are. You know how girls hate to stop and ask for directions.”
The naval guards laughed along with Brock, and Daphne just smiled with as much charm as she could muster.
“So what brought you out this way?” The other guard, the blond, asked. “Hiking is prohibited in this area.”
“We’re trying to get back to Scorpion Anchorage so we can get off the island,” Daphne said. “Can you give us a ride?”
“Sure, but that still doesn’t explain why you’re here.”
“Oh, that would be so wonderful!” Daphne wanted to hug the naval guards. “We’re so exhausted. We were guests of the resort until Dr. Gray’s therapy got out of hand.”
“Who’s Dr. Gray?” the blond asked.
Daphne said, “She’s the one conducting the experimental therapy at the resort on the other side of the island. But her games have gone too far. Can you take us now to Scorpion Anchorage?”
“Games?” the guard with the glasses asked. “What kind of games?”
“Let’s just say one man’s dead because of them.”
“Wait a minute, Daphne. We don’t know any of this for sure.”
She gave Brock a dirty look. “Yes we do.”
“Hold on,” the guard with glasses said. “Do you mean to say someone’s been killed?”
“I saw a body in the water. His first name was Pete. The tide washed him into a cave.”
“What? Where?” the one with glasses asked.
She pointed. “Um, southwest of here near Bowen’s Point.”
“You don’t sound lost,” the blond said.
Daphne and Brock exchanged worried looks.
The guard with glasses asked, “Can you take us to where you saw the body?”
Daphne glanced again at Brock, and he shook his head and shrugged. “We really want to get off the island.”
“Not if there’s a dead body,” the blond officer said. “We’ll have to launch a formal investigation, which means shutting down all ports.”
“Get in the jeep,” the guard with glasses said.
The other guard climbed into the driver’s side, radioing his alert.
The last thing she wanted was to be detained on the island. What if the naval officers took them back to the resort to question the others? And she still wasn’t sure they weren’t connected to Dr. Gray. Daphne glanced up at Brock with wide eyes, and, hoping he’d take her lead, she threw her water bottle at the guard standing next to her and ran across the road and into the woods on the other side. She glanced back to see Brock on her heels, but one of the guards wasn’t far behind.
“Stop!” the guard ordered. “Stop, or I’ll shoot!”
“This way!” Brock took her hand and pulled her to the side behind a large boulder and through a thicket.
Branches scraped against her flesh, but she ran at her top speed, keeping up with Brock’s pace. Glancing back, she could no longer see the guard behind them. Then she heard a shot. A flock of blue birds lifted from the trees and took flight.
“Keep going,” she said. “Let’s keep running for as long as we can.
The sun was at high noon, so it was difficult to know for sure if she was still running east. They slowed to cut through another thicket and then found themselves on an open field of purple morning glory. How she wished she could lie down on the purple blanket of flowers and go to sleep.
“Hurry,” she said. “To those rocks.”
They turned to what she hoped was the north, and headed for a formation of boulders the size of houses. They climbed a whole neighborhood block of those boulders, up and down, up and down, helping each other along as quickly as they could move, until the ocean became visible.
“Look at all those boats,” Brock said.
There were at least fifty boats moving through the sea.
“Should we go for it?”
She studied the huge round rock toward Scorpion Anchorage to the east. She was exhausted and sore and didn’t want to climb another thing as long as she lived.
“Let’s go,”
she said.
She looked back to see three ghost girls and at least four men, one of them Stan, trailing behind them below.
“Hurry!” she cried.
“Daphne, wait!’ Stan called. “Let us explain!”
“Leave us alone!” she shouted as she pulled herself up the massive rock.
Brock climbed beside her. “You okay?”
She nodded as they pulled themselves to the top of the headland, from which they could now see the pier at Scorpion Anchorage. The wind raged against them, as if it, too, wished to keep them on the island. Below were at least a hundred yards of rolling rock between them and the pier.
She looked back to see Stan and two other men reaching the top of the last boulder.
“Daphne! Wait! I have a gun!”
They hurried down the rolling, solid rock toward the pier as shots rang out. Daphne tried not to run in a straight line, to avoid being an easy target.
“This way!” she shouted to Brock. “Zigzag!”
She heard another shot, and she flinched, losing her footing, and though she reached out with her hands to break the fall, her left knee hit hard, taking most her weight.
“Ahh!”
“Daphne!” Brock knelt beside her. “You okay?”
She tried to stand but fell back. The knee was too tender. “It hurts. God it hurts.” She gently touched the knee cap, feeling it swell beneath her fingertips. “I think it’s broken.” Tears brimmed in her eyes.
“No, Daph! I’m so sorry!” He swept her up in his arms and cradled her against his chest. “Does it hurt your knee to be bent like this?”
“It hurts no matter what. Are you sure you can carry me?”
He spoke as he ran for the pier. “You’re light as a feather, silly.”
He carried her down the rocks, and after a few minutes, though the pain in her knee was sharp, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to relax in his arms. She was tired and wanted to go home and would give anything to be back in her bed in San Antonio with a coke in one hand and a slice of pizza in the other and the television on American Idol. She leaned her cheek against Brock’s chest and sighed. She was so sleepy.
“Mmm,” she said.
“You okay?”
“Mm-hmm.”
She opened her eyes as he reached the wooden pier.
“Over here!” Brock called. “Help! Over here!”
Shaded from the sun by Brock’s body, she felt the cool breeze from the sea sweep over her, and once again she closed her eyes and imagined herself at home, safe with Brock.
She jolted awake at the sound of another person’s voice.
“Lay her down in here,” a man with white whiskers and a Hawaiian print shirt said.
Brock followed the man into the cabin of the boat.
“What’s happening?” Daphne asked, still in Brock’s arms. She wondered how long she’d been sleeping.
He set her down on a cot and fluffed the pillow behind her head. “Go back to sleep. The doc’s getting ice for your knee. Everything’s going to be alright.” He covered her with a sheet.
The cold sensation on her sore knee woke her again.
“It’s okay,” Brock’s smooth voice said. “Go back to sleep and rest. Good news. Your knee’s not broken, only bruised, but the doc’s going to give you something for the pain.”
“What?” she half-opened her eyes in time to see the whiskered man stick a needle in her shoulder.
“It will make you feel better,” the old man said.
“What is it?”
“Morphine,” Brock said. “To help you rest.”
“Morphine? Why?” she asked with alarm, but before she could ask more, she felt the room spin, and the need to close her eyes was overpowering. “Brock What’s happening?”
She heard him chuckle as he tenderly kissed her cheek. Then she dropped down into peaceful oblivion.
