Dark Island

by Matt James

  The air inside was more refreshing than that on the outside, which wasn’t saying much. Air-conditioning was a luxury in this part of the world. Mack could hear the faint hum of a window unit somewhere within the lobby, struggling to cool down a square footage it wasn’t designed for. Simple things like central air and Wi-Fi were what she missed the most when she was on location.

  “Better than nothing,” she mumbled, moving toward the back of the first floor.

  Like a lot of information centers, this one was loaded with pamphlets. There were both spannable towers and greeting card-style shelves of the things everywhere. The colorful displays reminded her of the rest stops along the Florida Turnpike, specifically the southern half of the state. Each brochure advertised something different for you to do in the park, showing off a variety of tours and whatnot. But Mack was more interested in the unguided hiking tour, snagging one of those maps on her way through.

  She was about to greet the two women behind the counter but decided that Ian should do it since he spoke the language. In the past, she’d made the mistake of thinking everyone on the planet spoke English. It simply wasn’t the case.

  Ian addressed them quickly, motioning to Mack as he spoke.

  “ID,” Ian said, holding out his hand.

  Mack gave him her “badge,” as they called it. In reality, it was just a plastic rectangle with her face, name, and employer printed on it. It was threaded onto a fraying University of West Virginia lanyard, one that had seen some mileage.

  The older of the two women looked over Mack’s credentials, eyeing her and Ian skeptically. They quietly conversed with one another for what seemed like minutes.

  “Ms. Moore?” she asked.

  Mack stepped forward. “Yes, I am Mackenzie Moore.”

  The woman’s eyes went from her to Ian. Her face quickly switched from intrigued to annoyed.

  “And Mr. Hunt… I cannot say that I am happy to see you.”

  Her English is impressive, Mack thought. Of course, it would make sense that she spoke the language since she dealt with tourists on a regular basis. In not wanting to overestimate the woman’s ability to know English, instead, Mack ended up underestimating it.

  Before Ian could say something, Mack stepped in.

  “Mr. Hunt is my guide on this story. He has come highly recommended by my superiors with National Geographic.”

  “And what story is that?” the older woman asked.

  Mack smiled. “The recent seismic activity. I want to write about the impact it’s having on the landscape and animals within the park.”

  “That’s it?” she asked, looking skeptical.

  “It is,” Mack nodded, flashing an even bigger smile. “I want to bring the potential adversities to light…maybe even help increase the park’s footprint in the process.”

  Both women grinned. Mack had successfully appealed to their pocketbook. She glanced at Ian and winked, causing him to smile back. She knew how to talk the talk. Her dad had been the master at “diplomacy.”

  Taking back her badge, Mack filled out the necessary paperwork, logging in her team and their equipment. She was, honestly, a little surprised that the locals didn’t ask to check their truck. She must have really appealed to their wallets.

  “One more thing,” Mack said, flashing her winning smile again, “it won’t be a problem if we stay overnight and study the habits of the nocturnal animals, will it?”

  She was happy to see both women quickly shake their heads, no. Mack knew they’d be compliant from now on if it meant a potential uptick in business.

  “Would you like to reserve a tour?” the woman asked.

  “No, that’s okay, Mr. Hunt will be showing us around.” The lady frowned. “But,” Mack quickly added, “I’d love to take one when we’re finished, maybe see some things that we missed.”

  That got a smile out of the two women.

  Mack sighed on the inside, though. She’d need to follow through with it and keep the peace, just in case she ever returned to the area. Her father had taught her to never burn a bridge, no matter the cost. If taking a private tour of a Madagascan national park was the price, Mack would gladly pay it.

  Lord knows I’ve done worse.

  She recalled having to flirt her way out of the situation in the western Congo, the time her group’s guide walked them into a civil war. The militia leader spoke broken English and said he found Mack “fascinating.” He started the conversation by saying he’d never been with a redhead before.

  Mack laughed it off, knowing that denying him outright would be the wrong thing to do. She needed to keep the man talking until they were rescued. Luckily, they were able to send an SOS before being rounded up.

  The entire ordeal had only lasted a couple of hours, thankfully. But unfortunately, Mack had been mentally and emotionally scarred when the leader forced himself on her, getting as far as removing her jeans. If they hadn’t been recused when they were, she would’ve been raped for sure.

  I would’ve died fighting.

  “Ready?”

  The question startled her. She’d been so engrossed in the memory that she failed to realize that they were finished with the two local women. Now, they were just standing there, staring at her. Blinking hard, Mack gave them a nervous smile and thanked them for their help.

  She spun on a heel and hastily made her way back to the door. Ian pounded up behind her and grabbed her arm, causing her to flinch. She wheeled on him, balled her fist, raising it to hit him.

  “Whoa there, killer,” he said, squeezing both her upper arms hard. Relaxing some, Mack pulled out of his grip and shoved through the door.

  “I’m fine,” she said, waving him off. “Just…just give me a minute.”

  8

  There were a lot of things going on that confused Ian. Mack almost slugging him topped the list. He replayed the happenings inside the information center but couldn't determine what had transpired to warrant her behavior.

  If it was Nash, or even Babo, trying to punch him, Ian probably could’ve found something deserving. As far as he knew, he had treated Mack with nothing but respect. He liked the way the woman carried herself. She seemed to have it together for the most part.

  Looks like I was wrong.

  “What the hell was that?” he asked, thumbing back toward the building. Either Mack didn’t hear him, or she was flat-out ignoring him.

  He caught up to her halfway between the truck and the information center. Reaching out, he grabbed Mack’s arm again, getting a similarly violet outburst out of her. She blindly swung at him once more. He reached out and snagged her wrist and pulled her in close, so their faces were only inches apart.

  She ground her teeth and attempted to pull away from him. Ian stood his ground and refused to let go until he got an explanation. As the seconds ticked by, Mack’s fury subsided.

  Hearing one of the passenger doors open, Ian held up his other hand, telling Babo to stay put. He knew it was Babo without having to look because Nash was not the type of guy to come to Ian's rescue, not that Ian was in any real danger.

  Still without an answer, Ian squeezed her wrist tighter.

  “Let go,” she said, cringing.

  “Tell me…” He didn’t release her.

  “Let go!” she screamed.

  “Tell me!”

  He was stunned to see her eyes tear up. The emotion forced him to relent, and Mack pulled her arm free and turned away from him. Not sure what to do, Ian just stood there and waited for her to compose herself.

  After a few soft sobs, Mack faced him, eyes red and wet.

  “It’s Nash.”

  “Nash?” Ian asked. He didn’t recall the two of them talking again after they were introduced, and the job set up.

  “No, not Nash himself,” Mack explained. “I, uh… I had a run-in with a Congolese militia leader, and he…he tried to rape me.” Ian was shocked. “He didn’t, though—but he got close.”

  “And trying to kill me?” Ian as
ked, trying to hide his smile.

  Mack rolled her eyes. “When I promised the women that I’d return. I don’t know… For some reason, my mind wandered back to when I had to make a different kind of deal. It’s the only reason I wasn’t, well, you know…” She sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “This is the first time I’ve been back to Africa since. I’ve struggled with it for a while, but I never thought it would hit me as hard as it just did.”

  “This isn’t the Congo, Mack.”

  Wandu? He thought of the three locals attacking them yesterday. Maybe when Wandu threw Mack to the ground, it had broken something inside of her?

  “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

  She nodded and sniffed. “I know, Ian. I just…”

  Mack threw herself at him and began to cry uncontrollably. For a moment, Ian was unsure of what to do. He hadn’t been with another woman since Abigail died. It was a legendary dry spell. Not even Babo knew that.

  Blinking out of his stupor, Ian gently wrapped his arms around her and squeezed. Mack relaxed at his touch and calmed some.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Ian understood the “thank you” wasn’t for the hug, but for the sympathy and support. Mack was still haunted by her attack all those years ago and was also suffering from the loss of her father.

  Ian had experienced the debilitating effect of pain and fear many times, mostly while he was in jail. He didn’t have the support Mack had, and knew just how bad it could get mentally without it. Suicidal thoughts had flashed through his mind on occasion. He’d lost a handful of friends due to PTSD-related suicides.

  Nash… Dammit.

  “Look, if Nash’s presence is going to cause a problem, I—”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head, “don’t do that. I’ll be okay. She looked up into the sky and took another deep breath. “I think being outside for a couple of days will do me some good—help clear my head.”

  Ian knew it would. He felt the same way now.

  “So, you good?” he asked, watching her stretch. Her muscles twitched and—

  Damn… His eyebrows scrunched. Did I just think that? He silently cursed himself for thinking of Mack as anything more than his employer. She was the money. Ian was the ability.

  That’s it.

  She looked at him and smiled. “I am.”

  The smile made his stomach dance, and he caught himself staring at it. Quickly looking away, he marched back to his truck.

  “Right, then,” he said, “we should get moving.”

  He didn’t check to see what look, if any, Mack gave him. Ian knew he needed to focus on the mission and not Ms. Moore’s tight butt. He sighed, berating himself again. The fact that he even noticed that she had a toned ass confirmed that he felt something for her.

  Ian had no interest in the local women, and they wanted even less to do with him. The only ladies that did give him anything besides a sideways glance were the “pay-for-play” type. Mack was the first lady, in years, that had even given him the time of day. And she possessed some of Abigail's traits too. She walked the walk and talked the talk and didn't seem to be afraid to speak her mind and share her feelings. She showed a vulnerability that he liked.

  Ian was the same way. He just hid it better than most.

  Mack had gotten a glimpse of it when he opened up about the night Abigail died. It was the one and only thing that could tear him down emotionally. He was trained to overcome adversity. SEALs could do just about anything at any time.

  But, losing Abigail was something I could’ve never prepared for.

  “You coming?”

  The question was in the form of a muffled shout, and it was coming from inside the truck. He peeked into the front of the vehicle and found Mack looking at him with a raised eyebrow. She had already climbed in and was waiting for him. Ian opened his door and hopped into the still-running truck.

  Without word, he shifted into drive and drove off, entering the park. He could see Mack occasionally glancing at him as they moved, not asking the question he knew was coming.

  Are you okay?

  Thankfully, she didn’t speak. Ian didn’t want to have that conversation with Babo and Nash within earshot. Babo would bring it up later as a way to poke fun at him, while Nash would undoubtedly say something to piss Ian off. The fact that the Brit was making Mack feel uneasy angered him as it was. He really didn’t want to have to put the man in the ground.

  They drove in silence the entire way through the park. There was basically nothing around them. Still, it was beautiful. The landscape was dry but flourished with life. Wherever there was a healthy carpet of grass, there was a herd of zebus. The humped cattle were common in the region and famously known as India’s “sacred cow.”

  A small smirk formed on Ian’s face when he saw them. The expression didn’t go unnoticed.

  “What?”

  He glanced at Mack. “Them,” he said, tilting his chin at the cows.

  “What about them?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know… The simplicity of it all.”

  She nodded her agreement. “It really is nice to get away sometimes.”

  Ian wanted to add, “away from what haunts you,” but didn’t. That was the biggest problem with his own life since his wife died. He had never left to start over. Instead, he stayed and dug himself in deeper and deeper.

  Unconsciously guiding them forward, Ian lost all track of time and had to brake hard. The two-lane road ended at a small roundabout, and he’d almost sent them careening into the common ground within its center.

  “What the bloody hell!” Nash shouted, snorting as he did. The man had fallen asleep a little bit ago and was startled awake. It was something that happened to Ian every single night.

  Embarrassed, Ian didn’t react. He just spun the wheel and pulled around to the back of the circular path, throwing the truck into park. He killed the engine and climbed out, immediately moving to the covered rear bed.

  The others joined him as he unlocked the hardtop. He lifted it, locking its hydraulic arms in place. Next, he popped the rear gate. Reaching in, he grabbed Mack’s backpack, handing it to her without looking. He was going to do his best to keep from making hard eye contact with her for a while. He needed to focus, and she was beginning to be a problem for him.

  He shook his head a little. That’s a pathetic reason, Ian.

  “Thanks,” she said, grazing his hand as she took it from him.

  He looked her way and nodded, getting a small smile from her.

  Damn…

  Next, Ian and Babo moved their own packs out of the way and slid a long, black, plastic case out from deep within the bed. Inside were the two men’s weapons. Nash, being the gun nut of the group, had decided to bring his own locker.

  There was a smaller watertight case off to the right, but Ian decided to leave it. He seriously doubted they’d need something of that caliber of volatility.

  In other words, BOOM!

  Unhinging the larger case, Ian and Babo went about arming themselves. The first thing they did was don their well-used Kevlar vests. He knew what kind of weapons the dinos had at their disposal. The ultra-resistant material could easily deflect a slashing blade, or in this case, a claw.

  Ian buckled his thigh holster into place, filling it with his Sig Sauer P226 pistol. It was a common sidearm for SEALs to use, Ian included. Then, he attached his combat knife to his belt and loaded the pockets on his vest with ammo magazines. Two extra “clips,” as they were referred to in the movies, for his handgun, and two additional eight-round cartridges for his favorite weapon. The Benelli M4 Super 90 tactical shotgun was durable and preferred for special operations soldiers for just that reason.

  He’d thought about bringing his FN SCAR assault rifle but decided on the more-bang-for-your-buck variant instead, going with the 12-gauge. He preferred slugs to shells too, appreciating their hard-hitting makeup. They didn’t spread like a ball shell did. They went straight and tru
e and packed a mighty wallop.

  Last was his backpack. It was prepacked with his personal effects. If he didn’t have it, Babo or Nash would. More than likely, the two men packed like Ian did. Mack, on the other hand, would have her pack filled with camera equipment since she was the journalist in the group. But, like the men, her backpack sported a bedroll on top.

  He didn’t give Mack a weapon of her own and was about to close the lid of the truck, but he had second thoughts, recalling his promise to keep her safe. Arming her was a way to do just that. While the three men were seasoned in their skillsets, Ian doubted the feisty redhead would survive on her own if they got separated—especially without a means to defend herself.

  Let’s hope that doesn’t happen.

  9

  This wasn’t the first time Mack had carried a gun. It wasn’t even the first time she had a weapon holstered on her body either, recalling the gun she was given in Brazil. When Ian had initially presented her with it, she was going to refuse the offer. Then, she remembered what kind of creatures potentially awaited them.

  Ian tried to explain the small nuances of the weapon as he knelt to attach the pistol’s holster to her belt and thigh. Being set up for his thicker leg, he had to lean into her body a little to rework the straps and buckles, touching her inner thigh and waist. His hand even got dangerously close to her right butt cheek.

  What surprised Mack the most about the slightly awkward situation was that she didn’t pull away from him when he touched her. She’d only known Ian for barely a day and a half but trusted him like they had been friends for years.

  Now, she found herself walking with her hand resting on top of the pistol’s handgrip. In her mind’s eye, she looked like Sharon Stone from The Quick and the Dead. But in reality, she probably looked as uncomfortable as she felt. Yes, the Sig Sauer eased some of her rising fear, but it also rammed home the fact that she was probably going to have to use it at some point.

  And use it soon.

  Firing a gun wasn’t anything new to Mack, she owned one, actually. She hadn’t brought it out in some time, though. She used to go to the range frequently when she was tasked as her father’s in-home caretaker, wanting to protect him, as well as herself. But then life got in the way and her free time diminished down to nothing.