Awake

by Edward J. McFadden III

  It was a tiny splinter the size of a pin laying atop an oak leaf streaked with blood. How they’d missed it the first time she didn’t know, and then it occurred to her that it might not have been there. They hadn’t seen which direction the killer went, so there was no way to know if the fragment was there prior, or if it had been recently dropped. Maureen picked up the leaf and examined it. She’d seen enough broken bones to know the fragment was a splinter caused by the snapping of a bone. She dropped the leaf, and looked back the way they’d come, uncertain. If the killer had come this way, perhaps they should take a different path. They could cut straight across the island.

  Tim cracked his knuckles and said, “We most likely missed that on the way in. And think of all the other dangers in the forest; cats, spiders, snakes, scorpions, and all kinds of other creepy crawlies that can sting and bite us much easier than some nutball with bad aim can shoot us.”

  Maureen considered this. She had the rifle, and could defend herself at need, so she nodded, and started walking again. They reached the patch of dead oak trees, but this time, there was no rattling of a diamondback. Instead, as if it had heard Tim’s plea, an adult panther watched them from behind spiked-shaped green leaves, its keen black eyes appraising them. Maureen froze, and Tim bumped into her.

  “What the…?” The panther licked its lips, and came forward, slipping beneath the leaves. The cat’s black hair filled gaps in the undergrowth, but it moved so fast it was hard to keep track of where it was.

  Maureen brought the rifle to her shoulder, pointed it skyward, and fired. She considered what the gunshot might bring, and realized she just sent up a flare and alerted everyone on the island, but she’d seen no other choice.

  The cat spun around, and darted back the way it had come, its sleek black body shooting through the foliage. Maureen pulled a bullet from her jeans pocket, inserted it into the firing chamber, and slammed the bolt home. She continued on slower, warily watching every patch of saw palmetto, and every thicket with increased scrutiny.

  As they broke free of the forest, Maureen remembered Geoff’s body. His torso still lay in the cattails, blood leeching into the clean water, and all the same thoughts and problems that had arisen with respect to the body parts resurfaced. There was really nothing she could do, and pulling it from the water would be no help.

  “We can’t just leave him like that,” Maureen said.

  Tim frowned. Nothing moved along the shoreline, and there were no signs of other people. If Saura and Ping or Raul and Wendy had come this way, they’d left no signs of their passing. “We have to leave him. You know that. Maybe we can come back and get him later.”

  Maureen couldn’t even look at him. “Yeah, no croc will munch him. I’m sure they’ll leave him be. You’re right, though. We’ll have to leave him.”

  With that decided, they started off down the trail again. It seemed like a long time since they’d heard the scream and left the water’s edge, but it had only been a little more than an hour. Maureen figured the rest of their party was still lounging around camp, enjoying the ride. She would have to take control when she got back. Raul seemed strong and competent, but he was on a ride, and she couldn’t count on him. She couldn’t count on any of them. Perhaps when she told them what she’d seen they’d come around, but she doubted it.

  Maureen’s legs hurt, and she was starving. She looked back at Tim and he trudged along like he had two hundred pounds on his back. The stress and fear had worked their bodies harder than any paddle or hike ever could. Tim up-chucked most of his breakfast, so he was running on fumes from last night’s dinner on the plane. She took off her pack, but didn’t stop walking. She pulled out an energy bar and shrugged the pack back onto her shoulder. She tore the bar in half and pressed one half into Tim’s hand. They ate in silence as they traversed branches, roots, sawgrass, and mangroves.

  As they came around a sharp curve in the shoreline, they noticed a great bay stretching into the distance. Dotted with hardwood hammocks and mangrove trees, most of the bay was choked with grass, and would most likely run dry during the arid season. Flocks of birds, and squadrons of insects filled the air, and a light breeze pushed everything toward the island.

  “We’re about halfway around, I’d figure,” Tim said, as he consulted his compass.

  They trudged on, the air along the shore hot and sticky. Maureen was soaked through, and her booties chaffed her feet. She took a pull of water from her canteen, and clipped it on her belt. Tim hadn’t brought water, and he had to ask for sips of hers. She heard him behind her, barely lifting his feet as he stumbled along, not appreciating anything around him. Everywhere there was life in its purest, most simple form. To her, the animals looked like they had it good.

  The path ended, and they were forced to climb through a thick patch of mangrove trees. Tim carried his flip-flops because he was afraid of losing them, and every few minutes, she heard the knock of his leg hitting a tree or a restrained cry as he hit his head or bumped his elbow.

  “There!” Tim said, like he’d been floating on a boiling sea, and had just seen land.

  The bright colors of the kayaks stood out through the mangroves. Tim walked with the light footedness of a young child skipping through the gates at Disney World. Maureen was relieved, like a part of her had never expected to make it back.

  “Hello,” Saura said. She sat on a blanket along the shore, wearing only her bikini, and sunning herself as if on a beach.

  “Hi,” Maureen said, restraining a laugh. Obviously, the woman didn’t know a croc could spring out of the water and drag her in like she was a steak. Or that scorpions and an array of spiders were everywhere on the island. She was a nurse, but she wasn’t the girl’s mother. When Maureen noticed Tim gawking at the young woman, her humor fled, and she punched him hard on the shoulder.

  “Shit! WTF!” Tim said.

  “Grow the… ” She reined herself in. Looking at a pretty woman isn’t a crime, and to be expected. Maureen and Tim hadn’t touched each other in months, and she’d caught herself gawking at Raul. She tried to play it off. “You okay, boy scout?” She rubbed his shoulder.

  Tim’s eyebrows rose, and he smiled, eyeballing Maureen as if verifying she was joking. She smiled back. Turns out drama class prepares you for life better than any other high school subject.

  Acting had been her dream when she was younger, and she still fantasized about being the next Nurse Jackie, and she smiled thinking of Raul calling her that. She’d done a community play a few years back and received nice compliments. Often she wondered what would have happened if she’d stuck with it, but Dad’s speech on money broke that spell. She still dreamt that one day she’d give it a serious try.

  “You guys hungry?” Ping said. He sat on a kayak, gazing out across the water like there was something there that Maureen and Tim couldn’t see.

  “A little,” Tim said, as he rushed past Maureen.

  Ping had broken out Hawk’s supplies, and was cooking burgers on a small barbeque. Gray smoke blew across camp, and the smell of roasting meat tormented Maureen’s senses. She was going to scold Ping, but for what? She accepted a burger, and tore into it like she hadn’t eaten in weeks.

  Between bites, Maureen asked, “Where are Raul and Wendy?”

  “Like, out looking,” Saura said.

  “Any sign of Conrad?” Tim said.

  “Not since you guys left,” Ping said, sucking mucus.

  “And what are you guys up to?” Maureen asked. They both looked extremely happy, as if they didn’t have a care in the world. No doubt the ride.

  “Raul said to hold down the fort,” Saura said. “We figured we should enjoy ourselves as we did it.”

  “Yeah, well…” started Maureen, but she was interrupted by yelling as people came from the forest.

  “Yo ho ho and no bottle of rum. Yo ho ho and no bottle of rum.” It was Conrad, followed by Raul and Wendy, and they were singing as they walked. They came to a halt when they entered camp a
nd stopped singing. Wendy and Raul giggled.

  Maureen rolled her eyes. “You find anything?”

  Conrad looked at her as if she had just ended his party, and reality had once again crept into his head. “No. Nothing. I heard gunshots, and growling. Found some blood, and two bones, but no sign of Lilly.”

  “No Sheryl or Geoff either, Mother Teresa,” Raul said, then he giggled.

  “Yeah, I know where most of Geoff is,” Maureen said, and that silenced everyone.

  “Like, what do you mean most of him?” Saura said, twisting her hair.

  Maureen told her story from first to last, pausing briefly to let Tim tell of the discovery of the head and limbs. When she was done, she’d ruined their ride. Ping cleared his throat and hawked every few seconds. Wendy couldn’t take her eyes off Raul as she waited for a reaction. He stood in a trance, eyes down, silent.

  Conrad sat on the ground, all energy drained from his body. He looked to the sky, then at the kayaks, then back up at the sky. He was lost, and Maureen understood why. Lilly was most likely dead, and that thought, late in coming to her, kindled a new fear that worked its way through her like a worm. Then she sat down where she’d stood, the damp ground wetting the butt of her jeans.

  The late afternoon sun sent errant rays of light through the tree canopy onto the peat shore. The sun felt good and brought new energy and perseverance. Maureen rose, went to the center of camp so everyone could hear her, and said, “I’m taking my chances and getting off this island now. Who’s coming with?”

  Camp erupted.

  Chapter Eleven

  The dirt bike screamed as Don tore down the driveway onto the street with Tank in tow. The dog ran in long, looping strides, and Don quickly left him behind. He’d follow. The motorcycle was making a lot of noise, but he was going so fast he didn’t see how any walkers could impede him. So far, he hadn’t seen any of them using weapons, or laying any significant attack plans.

  Though the noise of the bike didn’t attract the attention of any walkers, it appeared to be alerting citizens who hid in their houses. Don had looked for a helmet to cover his head, make it look as though he wasn’t breathing the outside air, but he couldn’t find one. So it was that his short hair blew in the breeze, and he hoped he didn’t inspire anybody to venture outdoors and follow him. The birds, cats, lizards, and other animals simply went about their business as though nothing was happening.

  People appeared in their front windows, hiding behind curtains and peering out into the street. Kids waved, a couple of dogs barked, but he was approached by no one, and in five minutes, he was turning onto the street where he’d left Lester and Tobi. As he passed a thick hedgerow, he thought maybe it wasn’t a good idea to just tear-ass up the driveway to where his friends waited. Better to shut the cycle down and walk it the rest of the way, and at least make a half-hearted attempt at stealth.

  He killed the dirt bike’s motor and coasted to a stop next to the line of hibiscus shrubs, their pungent floral scent making him sneeze. His ears were ringing from the intense noise, and his hand shook from gripping the throttle. He was hungry, thirsty, and tired. His last drink of water seemed like days ago. He flicked the kickstand out and left the bike standing in the bushes. Then he skirted the front of the house, slipped through the gate, and headed for the shade tree where he’d left Lester and Tobi.

  There was nobody there. No sign of them, or where they’d gone. He pulled his watch free. It read 2:49PM. He’d been gone more than two hours. Even if Lester gave him extra time, clearly he hadn’t waited long enough.

  “Sure would be nice to have a cellphone,” Don muttered to himself. Landlines and most cell towers went out with the power, and whatever lines were available got a recorded message about quarantine or static. His sat phone would work, but it was long gone.

  A part of Don was happy Lester and the kid were gone. He couldn’t keep taking in strays, and still conduct a fast, successful investigation. When night came, things were going to get much worse, and tomorrow wouldn’t be much better. He couldn’t be worrying about them and still perform at the highest level. But Don couldn’t lie to himself. Some people were good at it, self-justification and borderline delusion acting as a cocoon that many folks hide themselves in. Don wasn’t one of these people, and he knew Tobi and Lester had no chance without him.

  The backyard was enclosed by a five-foot fence. He went through the front gate, made his way across the front yard, and looked up and down the street, searching for any sign. There was nothing.

  Then he heard it. That damn song.

  “When the boys hit the brew. When the boys hit the brew. When the boys hit the brew.” It was coming from the house across the street.

  Tank rounded the corner, and bound up the street, ears back, tongue hanging from his mouth. Don greeted him, and the two of them stared at the house the music emanated from. The death metal pounded through the house’s walls, and seemed to be getting louder.

  Lester burst out the front door. The hockey stick was cracked, and the speaker on its end hung like a broken wing. Lester ran right at them. He no longer wore his gas mask, his full face revealed for the first time. He looked older than Don had imagined. His gray hair was matted to his brown face, and dark black bags hung beneath his eyes. Tobi wasn’t with him.

  He switched off the music. “I… I hoped you’d come back. We were waiting for you. Looking out that big picture window there,” Lester said as he panted. He turned and pointed to the house he’d just come from.

  “Where’s Tobi?”

  Lester looked at the ground and said nothing.

  “Where is Tobi?” Don asked, a bit sterner than before.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I was watching for you, and he fell asleep, despite the caffeine pill. He was exhausted. I think I was just attacked by his parents. Got me?”

  “Then what?”

  “He ran from me when his parents showed up.”

  “Mannnnnn.” Don threw up his hands and started pacing. Tank sat and watched Lester with cold gray eyes. “I give you an easy task. Don’t ask you to do shit, and you mess it up. All you had to do was babysit a little kid.” Don stopped, and the eruption appeared over. Then a secondary surge pushed out more lava. “That why you lived in the drug house? You some kind of loser?”

  Lester jerked back like he’d been punched, his face twisting with anger, sorrow, and fear. “Yeah, I am. I’ve lost everything. You’re a great detective.”

  Every muscle in Don’s body tensed, his stomach grew hot, and he began to sweat. This man saved his life and had provided him the lead for the very clothes on his back. “Lester, I’m an ass. I am.”

  “This is an out-of-control situation. No one’s perfect. Not even you.”

  That reality struck home for the first time in Don’s life. Despite the fact that he’d been a military brat, and then went on to the academy, he’d never focused on how little control he had. Now that he had none, he began to think about the choices he’d made.

  The decision to forgo a family, a home, a place to belong, had been made so long ago Don didn’t remember consciously making it. This is what he did. It was what he’d always done. Except, that wasn’t true. He’d become jaded. His power, though it hadn’t corrupted him, had molded him, and he became dependent and soft. Worst of all, he was alone.

  He’d gotten lost once at a huge carnival in Europe when he was a young boy. His father insisted that he didn’t stray, so of course, Don had spent the entire afternoon doing just that. He’d never forgotten the feeling of terror and utter loneliness as crowds of strangers streamed around him, paying him no mind. It had been the longest two hours of his young life.

  “I can’t see looking for him,” Don said. “We’ve got to move on.”

  “He’s probably with his parents. They’d both transformed. He told me so. And when those two walkers showed up, they knew him. If they weren’t his parents, they were adults who knew him well.”

  That was a crazy, ye
t insanely soothing thought. Therefore, Don did believe it possible. “Let’s go. The bike is down the block a little.” They started off down the street. Lester appeared downcast. He hung his head and didn’t look at Don.

  “Here,” Don said, handing Lester the M16. “Still has the trigger lock on.”

  Lester nodded and took the weapon. “I can pick that given a little time. Jerry lost his keys all the time.”

  “Where’s your mask?” Don asked, as they threaded their way through the bushes to where the bike waited.

  “When I lost Tobi, I freaked and ripped it off. Couldn’t believe I’d done it. I deserved it, I guess.”

  “Don’t worry. I doubt very much it’s airborne. I think we’re dealing with a contact killer, but I’m no scientist,” Don said. They walked a bit further, and Don grumbled, “What the…?”

  The dirt bike was gone. Don felt his pockets, and confirmed that he still had the bike’s key. Whoever… or whatever took it, couldn’t have gone far. Don’s mind started revising plans and making new calculations. His stomach went cold. Everything he’d tried so far had met with more than expected problems. He’d wasted three hours getting supplies and the bike, an effort that was in jeopardy of being wasted.

  Tank barked. Don went to him and saw the tracks from the motorcycle’s knobby tires. They followed the tracks through the hibiscus, and came out on a patch of grass. The street was to Don’s left, and a fenced-in alleyway cut between houses to his right. This piece of neutral territory was six feet across. Weeds ran along the fences, and a thin path of dirt cut down the alley’s center. A manhole cover marked the center of the path, and Don surmised that power and communication lines ran under the service alley along with waste pipes and the water supply.