Wake of the Sadico

by Jo Sparkes

  Melanie knelt in the rain mist, plucking twigs and tree bark from wet sand. Dry leaves worked best, but there were none here.

  She may not know much about diving, but she knew how to build a fire. Fuel, kindling, and tinder - she recalled the words from her Girl Scout summer.

  Once upon a time she’d been a Girl Scout. So long, long ago.

  The men collected hefty driftwood specimens, as men were wont to do, and she’d set Jill to finding kindling. The brunette had eyed her suspiciously - exactly what the hell was suspicious in smaller sized wood? - but obeyed. Jill liked to think herself a rebel - but she was very obedient just the same. Easy to picture the girl scurrying on all sorts of foolish errands, trying to please.

  Anyway, Melanie had assumed the more difficult task herself. While kindling littered the island, actual tinder was scarce.

  Wall labored nearby, trying to yank free a large log from a bramble bush. Typical male - applying brute force to the problem.

  The Brit ceased, studying the tangle. And then circled round to lift it out easily. So he had noticed it hooked on the plant trunk. Mike would have braced his feet and muscled it free.

  Wall was, she reminded herself, different from most males. Very different from Mike.

  “Well spotted,” she told him, using his own vernacular.

  Already walking away, he gave her a quick nod.

  “You don’t have to run off. I know about Jill.”

  That made him pause.

  “You did nothing wrong. I sort of pushed you away first.”

  He turned, looking her in the eye. First time someone had looked directly at her in days, she realized.

  “I figured you were more attracted to Mike.”

  Melanie pondered this. The muscle man had been more…masculine. Less cerebral. Cerebral tended to make more money, so her mother always said.

  Realizing he expected an answer, she shrugged. “It’s a moot point now.” To her own ears she sounded callous, but the tall man returned to stoop beside her.

  “I’m sorry, Melanie. Sorry for your loss, for anything I did wrong. For…”

  She stopped him with a gesture.

  After a moment, he rose again and turned away.

  “Wall.”

  He hesitated.

  “We need to shelter in the lower cave. It’s safer.”

  He stared as if she’d truly lost her mind.

  She wasn’t altogether sure she hadn’t. “I’m serious…it’s more protected. All we have to do is push firewood and supplies through that chimney hole on the ledge. Nothing can reach us there.”

  “And just how do we get ourselves inside? All the dive gear sank with the Sadicor.”

  She looked at him, willing him to see, to understand. The upper cave was far too exposed; they had to go underground.

  But whatever that switch was, it flipped again. Wall smiled, but a fake smile meant to reassure. “We’ll be fine.” He marched away with his ridiculously large log.

  Well, at least now she could stop scouring for tinder. Tonight’s fire would be the last.

  By nightfall - judged by Wall’s watch, as it was already pitch black outside - they huddled in the upper cavern, around a tiny fire Jon swore would not smoke them out. It hadn’t, but that was the only bit of good news. The pounding rain and gusting winds battered their shelter, leaving them all clustered, scared and miserable, around a small flame gallantly trying to survive.

  “This isn’t possible,” Jon insisted for the fifth time. “Storms of this magnitude can’t just spring up out of nowhere. This thing feels like a full on tropical storm.”

  “Perhaps you lost track? With the wreck, blowing the cargo hold?” Wall tried to make it sound a minor thing, easily excused. But no one sailing his own boat, let alone deliberately isolated in foreign waters, could risk ignorance of weather conditions.

  Not and live long.

  “Mike says the sea’s like a sexy woman. She’ll sooth your senses, tempt and tease. And destroy you for the merest perceived slight.”

  Jill clutched the lone flashlight. Shut off as it was to save battery power, it was just cold metal, but still she held it like a lonely child with a stuffed toy. Maybe her claustrophobia, or whatever it was, was flaring up. She’d moved away when he tried to comfort her.

  Wall checked the blankets - stretched out on a rock near the fire in a futile attempt to dry them. One was still sopping, but at least it was semi-warm instead of the chilling cold.

  He distributed them.

  Melanie gave him an odd look as he held out the faded yellow material. “For me?”

  Wall nodded.

  She took it, shaking her head. “You cannot like me anymore.” And watched him wistfully, as if regretting past actions. He compromised with a smile before tossing the soggy blanket aside and settling on a spot close to the fire.

  There were no ‘good night’s, no well-wishes. Instead the conversation died with the flame.

  And the wind began to howl.

  She watched Wall hauled away, forced up a gangplank of another ship. Light rain trickled down her face, or maybe she was crying.

  Jill woke from her bad dream to the roar of the storm. She shot upright, shrouded in pitch black. The cave, she realized. Outside the storm’s fury ranted like a living thing, a hideous beast pounding on their door.

  Intent on their destruction.

  She forced herself to breath, calming slightly as her vision returned. Dwindling embers bathed the cavern in a flickering red, offering the tiny comfort of seeing she wasn’t alone. Wall’s tall form was near enough she could touch him - she had to stop herself from doing so. Jon lay closest to the entrance, as if guarding the tunnel passage.

  She couldn’t see Melanie.

  The blonde, she remembered, had chosen a spot against the back wall. As far from the rest of them as possible. Squinting, Jill tried to pierce the shadow, searching for some sign of the woman.

  No lump presented itself; no slumbering form, no glimpse of blonde hair. But something did gleam oddly - sort of flickering. Fluttering as the manta had fluttered within the wreck, just before it attacked.

  Her cry seeped out; instantly Wall jerked upright.

  “Melanie,” she told him. He didn’t ask questions. Grabbing the flashlight, he swept the beam along the back wall.

  The fluttering was a discarded blanket. And the gleaming…

  “Wait a minute.” Jon crawled to it, extracting a large metallic thing from the cloth. He checked, fumbling it. The long blade clattered against the rock floor, twinkling in the pale ember light. “What the hell is she doing with this?”

  Mike’s machete.

  The word ‘keepsake’ floated through Jill’s brain - but she didn’t believe it. A girl might snatch an old T-shirt, or a photo or a piece of jewelry, but this blade spoke more of macabre than romance.

  Wall swung the light wider, scouring the stone floor, the entrance, the sides. “Bloody hell - she’s out there. In this storm.”

  Staring at the gleaming blade - the edge looked unusually sharp - Jill’s peripheral vision caught Wall wrapping a tarp about his shoulders. “What are you doing?”

  “She said something earlier, about feeling safer in the lower cave. Maybe she attempted it. Might be in trouble on the beach or on the path.”

  The last of his words drowned in a shriek of storm.

  Jon barred his way. “Wall…that’s bad out there.”

  “We can’t just leave her to die. I’ll take it slow. ”

  “You could die if you go after her.” Jill rose up on her knees, clutching his arm. Looking pathetically desperate, she knew, but she couldn’t make herself let go.

  “That ledge is slick right now,” Jon corroborated. “Wind gusts…blinding rain. A sudden blast could whip you straight into the sea.”

  A tiny, gallant smile curved his mouth. She stared back hopelessly, knowing nothing would dissuade him.

  Wall cupped her cheek. “I’ll crawl if need be. If it’s t
oo dangerous I’ll come back.”

  Her fingers wrapped around his hand, trying to hold him there. “Wall - please. Don’t risk your life to save another.”

  His palm slipped down to her chin. “That is the sensible thing,” his lips twitched in a fleeting smile. “But maybe it’s not the right thing.”

  He kissed her. Long and lingering, proving his reluctance to go. “No unnecessary risks. I promise, sweetheart.”

  And then he snagged the flashlight, crouching down by the opening. The man actually winked at her before vanishing into the tunnel.

  Still holding the machete, Jon glared at her.

  “What’s going on between you and the Brit?”

  The wind wailed louder, the cold deepening as he crawled away from a fire he thought useless. And then Wall reached the outside.

  Suddenly wind slammed him, blasting water up his nose. Gasping, choking, he banged his skull against the stone behind him. He braced there, snorting, until he could breath.

  That jest about crawling might be his only option.

  The image of returning to the cave tempted him. Wherever Melanie was, whatever trouble she might be in, she’d brought it on herself. No one had pushed her outside.

  But if it were Jill, he’d knew he’d go. Or Jon, for that matter. Crawling was a relatively safe option, and once off the rock, his only real danger was getting wet. He could turn around if it got too difficult.

  Dislike should never factor into the equation.

  “MELANIE.”

  An oily slick coated the ledge, keeping him on hands and knees. His right shoulder scraped along the granite beside him - as he pressed away from the sheer drop to his left. One glance at the raging ocean below was enough - afterward he kept his eyes pinned on the bushes ahead. It had to be a full force gale now, and for the first time he wondered just how strong this tempest could grow.

  Was it possible for a force five hurricane to spring out of nowhere?

  At last he reached the path. Wall kept low until trees surrounded him. The wind still buffeted, but now surrounding branches helped anchor his body. Or perhaps their safety was just illusion.

  Glimpsing the ocean through the vegetation, he couldn’t believe Melanie had gotten anywhere near it. Ten foot seas pummeled the island, wave after wave after wave. Impossible to swim through those.

  “MELANIE!” He could barely hear his own cry. A yearning to return to the cave flashed, but he pressed on.

  It was hard going reaching the beach, and scarier when he got there. The flat sand strip was gone, consumed by surging seas now threatening the line of palm trees. Wind and salt water stung his eyes, cutting visibility even further.

  “MELANIE!”

  Spotting the launch, poised just feet away from the greedy surf, he struggled to it, dragging it higher, tying the boat’s line to the thickest tree. Even so he doubted it would survive.

  He refused to dwell on their own survival.

  “MELANIE!”

  Despite mounting fear Wall went as far as he could, pushing through thick brush around the crescent-shaped lagoon. Pushing past the ‘unless it’s too dangerous’ promise he’d made Jill, but he felt better for doing it. Even though he found no sign of the blonde.

  Which wasn’t really surprising. The storm seemed intent on cleansing the entire island.

  “Jill.”

  Hugging her knees beside a woeful fire - Jon had done his best with what driftwood remained - Jill heard Melanie’s voice. At least, it sounded like Melanie’s voice.

  “Ji-ill.”

  She glanced at Jon, blowing at a promising ember. “Do you hear that?”

  Crouching low to a promising smolder, he didn’t even hear her.

  “Jilly Jill!” It came from the tunnel.

  Well, she wouldn’t leave the shelter. But she could take a peek. Shifting close to the opening, she strained her ears listening for anything above the storm. She heard nothing.

  Peering through the tunnel’s dark void, she saw nothing.

  “Jill…please…”

  Reluctantly she crawled inside.

  Sound echoed oddly within the stone tube - almost as if someone was sobbing. Or laughing? But when Jill paused, the noise turned out to be just the wind.

  Vaguely reminding her of old horror movies.

  Jill poked her head out; the storm fury smacked her face, blinding her with water and grit, deafening her with its inhuman wails. Instinctively she turned her head sideways.

  In a flash of lightning she saw Melanie - huddled on the ledge. Arms crossed to protect herself, eyes riveted downward at the violent surf.

  The beautiful blonde now looked like a drowned rat.

  “Melanie! Are you okay?”

  The woman seemed petrified.

  Jill reached out - barely able to touch her. Melanie shuddered violently.

  So Jill inched out onto the ledge, keeping low as Wall had said. Wind buffeted her body, but she was safe enough with the solid rock at her back.

  “Melanie?”

  Gaze fixed on the water below, Melanie shook her head. Jill inched close enough to wrap an arm about her shoulders.

  “Come on. Let’s get you inside.”

  At last Melanie looked up. And grinned.

  She shoved Jill off the ledge.

  For an eternal instant, there was nothing.

  Jill tumbled through void, a roaring silence shrouding her. If there was a passage way to hell, this must surely be it.

  And then she hit the sea.

  Instantly a wave engulfed her. Feet thrashed, hands clawing her way back to the surface. Her head popped through the water, lungs sucking in air. A clap of lightning revealed the rock cliff looming close, far larger than she remembered. She could still feel its threat when darkness swallowed her sight.

  Her whole body slapped against granite. Flesh raked across it, cutting her forearm, shoulder. It unnerved her that she felt no pain.

  “JON! HELP!” Seawater choked her, even as she braced for striking the cliff again.

  Now it gashed her back, her calf. Peering frantically up at the ledge, she glimpsed the empty footpath. Even if Jon stood directly above her, he wouldn’t hear a thing.

  A surging wave broke over her, driving her deep. She barely gulped oxygen before hurtling to the bottom, smacking the sand. Clawing her way back to the surface.

  Gasping air, she knew she had to get away from the rock cliff. Her chances of making the beach in this violent sea were not good - but she’d be battered to death here.

  Jill turned, striking out for open water. Putting her head down, swimming with all her might, carried her a mere few feet, before the ocean body-slammed her against the cliff again.

  And drove her under, with enough force to embed her feet in the sea floor. The current yanked her out again, tossing her at the rock while still beneath the waves. Cheek scraped stone, fingertips shredding as she braced against it. Only her feet were spared, finding a hole in the cliff wall.

  A hole. The underwater cave.

  Rolling, tumbling. Jill realized she was on the surface. Gasping, she heard her own hysterical whimpers. She was running out of options.

  Running out of time.

  The underground cave had that chimney opening on the top ledge. She might even yell loud enough to be heard. Maybe Wall could get down to her, so she wasn’t alone in the dark.

  If I stay here I’ll die.

  Another wave pile-drove her down, slamming her sideways into the cliff. This time her hands searched frantically, finding the opening. Grabbing the edge.

  She launched herself through, and prayed that she’d reach the pool surface before her lungs gave out.

  The Climb Back

  It took forever to get back to the others.

  Wall had searched, had shouted. There’d been no trace of Melanie. Nor, as far as he could figure, any reason for her leaving shelter. If she had tried for the lower cave, she’d most likely been blown out to sea.

  He ought to feel more
remorse. Probably would, later. Now he only felt…exasperation.

  The storm grew stronger - the wind’s howl rising to a shrill pitch, the brush around him flattened against the earth. Without the flashlight he never would have found the path back.

  The storm itself fought him, a living thing determined to sweep him away. He’d begun grasping branches to stop them slapping his face, and now held on to anchor against forceful blasts.

  At last he crawled onto the ledge. Below the sea raged, waves smashing chaotically against each other. A boiling white frenzy, the stuff of nightmares.

  Dizziness engulfed him.

  For an instant, watching the fury below, he lost balance, lost his grip. An image of tumbling into the torrent overwhelmed him.

  He snapped off the flashlight, turning his face to the granite wall. And took deep breaths.

  And crawled.

  Light flickered ahead, marking the tunnel entrance. Relief spurred him on, knees banging against rock, eyes clenched to mere slits against the storm’s fury. He intended to dive inside the tunnel.

  Something stopped him. It might have been the length of ledge, longer than he remembered. As he ducked to enter, a turtle-shaped knob caught his eye. Recognition stopped him, allowing memory to catch up at last.

  The lower cave - the turtle knob marked the lower cave chimney. Crawl through that and he’d never crawl again.

  Slowly he inched backwards, until he found the entrance hidden beneath a palm frond. Wall peeled it back - the wind ripped it away.

  The change in pressure on his ear drums deafened him. Unnerving, until he emerged into the cavern glowing with the ghost of a fire. The silence now struck him as unnatural.

  Wall switched on the torch.

  Jon lay face down on the stone, a thick dark cloth trailing across his forehead. No, not a cloth. Blood.

  Sweeping the beam around the cave, he saw no sign of Jill.

  “Jon.” Dropping to his knee, Wall felt for a pulse.

  “Wall?”

  Jon coughed, rolling up on his elbow. “What happened?”

  “I was going to ask you.”