by Matt James
DARK ISLAND
Matt James
www.severedpress.com
Copyright 2018 by Matt James
ALSO BY MATT JAMES
THE DANE MADDOCK ADVENTURES W/ DAVID WOOD
Berserk
Skin and Bones
Venom
Phantom (coming soon)
STAND-ALONE TITLES
Beautiful Dragons
Dark Island
THE HANK BOYD ADVENTURES
Blood and Sand
Mayan Darkness
Babel Found
Elixir of Life
THE HANK BOYD ORIGINS
The Cursed Pharaoh
THE DEAD MOON THRILLERS
Dead Moon: Nightmares Are Born
Dead Moon 2: Home Sweet Hell (coming soon)
THE LOGAN REED THRILLERS
Plague
Evolve
THE WILLY FLORES THRILLERS (SHORT STORIES)
Broken Glass
DARK ISLAND
Matt James
PROLOGUE
Andringitra National Park, Madagascar
Nicknamed the “Desert of Rocks,” the Andringitra Massif mountain range covers a distance of nearly forty miles. It’s also over six miles wide at its center-most point. Formed by a sudden volcanic event, the eastern slope is a spectacle to see in person. Whereas the western side gradually slopes back down to the surrounding grasslands, the east face of the range is entirely different, abruptly ending at steep, ominous cliffs.
Ian and Abigail Hunt just finished the trek of that unforgiving rock face, using a difficult, switchbacking backpack trail to do so. The next phase of their hike was of the “off road” variety. They’d need to proceed with caution. The surface was pocked with swiss cheese-like crags hiding in the lowlight. Some were shallow in depth, only around two feet deep. Others were measured at over ten times that, some deeper still.
Nasty place to get trapped, Ian thought, stepping lightly.
Sunset was almost upon them, and they needed to move fast and find a proper campsite before it was too late. Even moving by flashlight wasn’t recommended when exploring the United Nations Educational, Scientific, and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) World Heritage Site. Things could happen in seconds, and you’d be on your own to fend for yourself if they did.
“It’s not worth the risk,” Abigail said. The beautifully blonde Australian was predictably overcautious. “I figured a bloke of your background would appreciate the gravity of the situation.”
Nearly halfway across the breadth of the range, Abigail stopped and shrugged out of her pack, dropping it to the ground with a sigh. She stretched, her shirt lifting a few inches. Ian was still awestruck by the shape his wife stayed in. She was an absolute vision fifteen years ago when they first met.
Still is.
Maybe he would get to see what was under that shirt later. If that didn’t come to pass, he could always close his eyes and envision Abigail in the buff instead.
He grinned. The benefit of being me…
Ian rolled his eyes. “Come on, Abby, this isn’t combat or anything. We’re hiking, not sneaking up on a terrorist cell in an Afghani cave. I seriously doubt there’s a herd of Taliban assholes waiting for us out here somewhere.”
He sat, also shedding his pack. Abigail laughed and scooched closer to her husband. Ian wrapped a strong arm around her shoulder and squeezed. The night air was cooling down quickly and, for some reason, Abigail had neglected to pack anything warm for their romp atop the massif.
“And if we do get into a scrum,” she jabbed, elbowing him in the gut, “you won’t have any of your mates back home to help you.”
Ian flexed his bicep, earning a laugh out of Abigail. “Since when do I need help from anyone?” His eyes widened, and he quickly added, “Except you, I mean.”
She elbowed him again. “Good save…wanker.” She shivered in his arms. “Dammit-to-shit, Ian, why didn’t I pack a jacket?”
“Because you have me to keep you warm.” He grinned. “Plus, you get a little flighty sometimes.”
Abigail shook her head. “Har, har…”
Her head leaned into his neck and together they sat there and watched the sun dip beneath the horizon. It was the most peaceful scene they could ask for. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d just sat and quietly watched a sunset. Life was busy and, like for most people, tough to manage.
“Do you really think it’s here?”
Abigail didn’t answer.
He was about to ask the question again but stayed silent and listened. The only thing he heard besides the gentle breeze was his wife’s heavy breathing. She was out cold. Gently, he laid her down and stood, letting her use his own rolled sleeping bag as a pillow. He breathed in deeply and sighed, enjoying the pleasant and refreshingly, cool air.
It smelled like nature.
And he loved it.
After thirteen years in the United States Navy, Ian had retired and moved to Australia with his wife, Dr. Abigail Hunt. Eventually, the two made their way to South Africa, where they lived now. Abigail specialized in a very controversial field, learning under the renowned Dr. Catherine Forster at George Washington University in Washington D.C.
The study of dinosaur-bird evolution was, at first, a very debated one. But as the years went by, and as more information became available, it began to make more and more sense. But it was something Ian had a hard time buying into.
Like so many in their field, Abigail and her mentor, Dr. Forster, believed that the dinosaurs in the Paraves clade eventually evolved into birds and flew away. It reminded Ian of Dr. Alan Grant’s speech at the beginning of Jurassic Park when he gave the same explanation to a group of onlookers.
Ian especially enjoyed the part when Grant threatened that bratty kid with his fossilized raptor claw. Though, after seeing the series of movies a dozen times, or so, Ian had to admit that a good portion of dinosaurs, sort of, did look like turkeys.
Just like “chubs” said to Dr. Grant.
When Ian and Abigail went on their first date, she told him about her studies, exhibiting the passion she still showed for it to this day. His initial reaction was to laugh in her face, exactly like those same bystanders did at the beginning of the movie.
Fifteen years of marriage had forced him into becoming an unwilling expert on the subject too. She’d bounce her hypotheses off him daily, and he’d always give his real-world responses. Ian was just a normal guy with a normal way of thinking.
Which is why Ian thought the ramblings of a senile old fool from one of the villages that bordered the rise of the rocks in Madagascar, was just that—ramblings. But, after some serious digging, and a few very long-distance phone calls, Abigail theorized that the hybrid of the two animals did, in fact, exist and they lived within the Andringitra Massif.
The coot said that he’d heard a set of screeching calls six months ago, soon after a series of small tremors occurred. The man would regularly poke around the rocks, searching for lost valuables. Hikers routinely lost things and Yakko—yes, like the Animaniacs character—would scour the many crevasses for the sellable goods.
He said the noise sounded like a giant bird but with hate in its throat.
Whatever the hell that means.
Hefting his tactical shotgun on his shoulder, Ian felt confident in his ability to take down such a creature, if it actually existed. He hoped it did too. It was Abigail’s life’s work, and he wanted nothing but the best for her. She worked for the Museum Africa back in the Newtown Precinct of South Africa. She hoped this discovery would land her a job as the building’s new curator.
It had been her dream job since she was a kid.
Ian’s dream job ended when he got shot in the Middle East, fighting the war on terror. He
survived, but his close call with death forced him to call it quits and come home to his “hot-ass-babe” of a wife. He complained for all of ten minutes… Now, he was her unofficial research assistant, and more importantly, her private security chief.
His new job was to keep her hot ass safe.
They traveled the world together and had been to some perilous places over the years. Thankfully, Madagascar wasn’t one of them. Yes, like all countries—especially some of the ones in Africa—there were pockets of threats.
Ian gripped his shotgun harder. That was when he was at his best. As a former Navy SEAL, Ian was an extremely competent person while under duress. He never flinched or lost his nerve. He’d seen heavy combat in his past life and was actually really good at his job.
That’s when he took three rounds to the chest and was down for the count. It wasn’t even during an enemy attack either. One of the guys in his squad snapped and tried to kill Ian, and anyone else that was nearby. Ian had jumped on top of the crazed man, saving countless people in the process. He was labeled a hero and was honored by his superiors as one. But his wounds, two of them piercing his left lung, were so bad that he actually died on the scene.
Can’t hold me down.
It was his answer to the miraculous recovery. He said the Grim Reaper couldn’t keep its death grip on him. It was the truth too. Ian thought of himself as being better than death, stronger than it even. He refused to let his wife go, and after he returned home, he called it quits so he could be with her. The navy was willing to bring him back, but Ian retired before they could.
He paused mid-step, feeling something unusual. The ground beneath his feet suddenly began to quake. It was slight at first but quickly grew so strong that he was thrown to the ground. Never before had he been tossed around like he was a pair of sneakers in a clothes dryer. Not even when he’d been in the service.
The earth around him cracked and popped, lifting and falling like someone was detonating mortars all around him. The sound was deafening, and he had to close his eyes to keep himself from vomiting. Just when he thought he was going to pass out, the shaking stopped. Still feeling a slight vibration beneath him, Ian could only lay there and try to catch his breath.
The Andringitra Massif was supposed to be geologically stable from what he understood. There hadn’t been an episode of mass upheaval in quite some time, although small tremors were still common.
Stable my ass!
Groaning, he picked himself up off the rocky ground, hearing a skittering noise as he did. It seemed to originate near the foot of Pic Boby, the highest peak within the mountain range. That was supposed to be their goal tomorrow. They were scheduled to scale it and look for any, and all, cave entrances. The volcanic rock gave them quite a few to check out too.
Not anymore.
The earthquake had surely destroyed countless cave entrances—but, perhaps it had also opened all new ones. It was a terrain that neither of them could safely traverse, even in broad daylight.
The skittering noise picked up again.
Leveling his shotgun at it, Ian stalked forward like a stealthy lion, taking each step slow and soft. He needed to be careful, now more than ever. Three steps in, the breeze around him kicked up a little, covering his own movements more.
But it also drowned out the scratching noise.
Ian paused, hearing more to the northwest.
He turned toward it and once more moved forward, doing precisely what Abigail advised him not to do. He had no flashlight to speak of, instead, using the now starlit sky as his torch. Darkness was something that happened really fast out here with no artificial light on the mountain. The sky was clear and beautiful from the high elevation. Boby Peak rose to around 8,500 feet, or so. The terrain he was on now sat at 2,000 feet above the grasslands.
“Where are you?” he asked himself. His voice was just below a whisper and something he did without realizing it. He talked to himself constantly. Abigail spoke to herself too. It was always a funny moment when they’d catch each other doing it and then look up at one another and say, “huh?”
This time, two different sets of the skittering noises reverberated around him. He spun and checked behind him—only to be startled as he fell, tripping on a small outcrop of rock.
Clicking on her flashlight, Abigail looked down at him and shook her head, smiling in amusement. She relaxed and lifted the bill of her George Washington University baseball cap, blowing out a long breath. He’d startled her too.
“Seriously, Ian, really?” She put a hand on her hip. “I wake up, and nearly piss my fucking pants because I think the world is crumbling around me, and you’re nowhere to be found!”
He reached up a hand, knowing she’d offer one any minute. She did, taking his and helping him to his feet. He winced as he picked out a handful of small pebbles from his palms.
“I’m fine by the way.” He looked around, checking their surroundings. Then, his eyes found hers again. “I think I heard something. Sounded like claws on rock.”
Abigail’s face lit up. “Really?”
Ian shrugged. “Not sure what it was. Could’ve just been a little critter or something. Wanted to make sure it was nothing to worry about while we camped out for the night.”
She nodded.
The sound grew louder, surrounding them.
“Um, Ian…”
“Shhh,” he hissed, weapon up. “Stay behind me.” She did, grabbing the back of his belt, walking with him.
“Watch our asses, okay?”
He took a step and stopped.
“Give me some light up here.”
Abigail lifted the light over his shoulder, igniting the ground in front of him with a quivering hand. Carefully, he stepped toward the noise, jamming the stock of the shotgun deeper into his shoulder. His aim was steady and his breathing slow. This was kids play to him, and he hadn’t had a reason to play soldier in a while.
His wife’s labored breathing was nothing like his.
She yelped as Ian let loose a shell, seeing a shadow moving in on them quickly from straight ahead. Whatever it was, cried out in pain, quickly disappearing deeper into the night.
“Abby… What…the actual…fuck?”
“I…I don’t know,” she replied, sounding scared. “I’m not—”
Twin shrieks announced the arrival of two more of the things, one from each side. Ian spun to his left and pumped two rounds into the fast-moving wraith. He attempted to do the same to their other attacker but stumbled over his wife’s inert feet. She was still clutching his belt and was pulled to the ground when he turned.
He also fell on his ass, smacking the back of his head on something hard and jagged. Small rises of granite littered the plateau-like mountain and the back of Ian’s skull had, apparently, found one of them when he fell.
Woozy, he reached for his panicking wife. Just barely snagging her hand, something enormous raked its claws across the side of his head. The only reason he hadn’t taken it directly in the face was thanks to Abigail who had let go of his hand, causing him to rock backward, away from the razorblade-like strike.
Concussed and bleeding heavily, Ian shouted in abject horror as his hysterical wife was dragged away into the darkness. Unarmed, he stumbled to his feet and followed as fast as he could, zigzagging through the pitch-black landscape. The only reason he knew she was still alive was because of her constant, heartbreaking screams.
Tripping and falling again, he looked up, and, just for a moment, saw Abigail staring back at him in the moonlight. The next thing that happened was worse than anything he’d ever seen—ever experienced.
It was even worse than when his own teammate tried to blow his head off.
With one final cry, Abigail was silenced with a wet gurgle that only came when someone—something—slashed your throat. Ian had heard it several times while he was overseas. Thankfully, the shadows reappeared as it happened, hiding her gruesome murder from him.
But he’d heard it…
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br /> “No!” Ian yelled, trying to get to his feet. His weapon was gone, and so was his beloved wife. He would use his bare fists and beat whatever killed her to its own death. Ian didn’t need a weapon to take care of business.
On his feet now, he wiped the smear of blood, snot, tears, and sweat from his face and marched forward. The ground shook again, opening the earth beneath his feet. He landed hard, rolling down the steep grade of a tunnel, feeling two of his ribs crack in the process. Finally, he stopped faced down, breathing hard.
A chirping noise drew his attention forward, and he instinctively lifted his chin to see what it was. He was surprised that he could see at all but realized light was being provided by Abigail’s flashlight. It was lying next to him, pointing straight ahead. Though it was through an unrelenting headache and blurred vision, he knew he’d seen what had killed his wife.
And what he saw could only be described as evil.
1
Burke, Virginia, U.S.A.
Seven Years Later, Present Day
After getting chewed out by her boss at National Geographic, journalist Mackenzie Moore’s ass felt raw. “Mack,” as she preferred to be called, stood from her laptop and stretched. Even though the reaming came via Skype and not in person, she was still shaking, coming “this close” to losing her job. Mack loved what she did, but recently, it didn’t seem to love her back.
The latest of her published works covered what she thought was an amazing and historical encounter, a slam-dunk piece. Man-eating giants were unearthed in Sardinia a month ago, and she was the first to scoop the story and run with it. She even went as far as to travel to the Mediterranean island to interview the parties involved. But once she landed and began walking the small town of Cabras, she quickly discovered that her trip was all for naught.
No one there would talk. Nobody. Most of the residents said they weren’t in the area when the alleged occurrence happened. And the other people in town either didn’t speak English or flat out refused her at their doorstep. One man even threatened her with a shovel…
