The Island

by Amy Cross

  Stopping at the top of a small ridge, I spot something glistening in the distance, and finally I realize that it's the ocean. In all the time I've spent on the island, I've kept well away from the beaches and I haven't seen the ocean once, not since the day I first arrived. For a moment, I can't help marveling at the beauty of light rippling on the surface.

  “Hungry yet?” Jude asks, stopping next to me.

  “No,” I reply, although my stomach chooses that exact moment to start rumbling. “I'll be fine. I'll find something soon.”

  “Shame we can't go fishing,” she mutters. “Damn, I miss that kind of food.”

  “There's no marine life near the island,” I point out. “Not with that electric cable running all the way around the perimeter. The water's deadly.”

  “It'd be a way to go, though,” she replies with a smile. “If you were sick of things, I mean. Just run down the beach and into the water. You'd be electrocuted before you got anywhere. Of all the ways to die around here, that'd actually be the quickest and least painful.”

  “Let's not get morbid,” I mutter, turning and making my way along the ridge. “We'll stick to the original plan and head to the northern tip, then we'll start seriously thinking about checking the beaches. There's got to be a reason why -”

  Suddenly something flashes past my face, and a fraction of a second later I hear the dull thud of an impact. I turn just as Jude slumps down against me, and then there's another flash before I feel a sharp pain in my shoulder. Dropping to the forest floor, I realize that someone just launched a couple of rocks at us, and when I turn to Jude I see that she's unconscious with a deep cut on the side of her left temple.

  Grabbing her arm, I start pulling her around the side of a nearby bush, hoping to at least gain some temporary cover.

  “Are you okay?” I whisper, nudging her arm. “Jude, someone's attacking us, can you hear me?”

  Hearing movement nearby, I fumble in my bag and quickly pull out a knife. Usually I'd be confident about taking on anyone we encounter, but if some asshole can throw rocks with that much accuracy and speed, I need to come up with a better plan. Trying to stay calm, I listen to the sound of footsteps moving toward us, but after a moment I realize I can hear a second set a little further to the west. I look around, but I don't see anyone. This is starting to feel less like some random attack and more like a calculated assault.

  “One's down!” a female voice calls out suddenly. “The other's not!”

  Turning, I look through the forest and spot a hint of movement as someone ducks out of sight behind a tree. I glance back the other way, figuring that the other person must be the one with the rocks. From the sound of footsteps, I'm pretty sure he or she is only a few feet away now, so I just have to wait and -

  “Back!” the female voice calls out. “You're getting too close!”

  I immediately hear the footsteps moving away, which means my chance to rush them and use the knife just got taken away.

  “Hey!” I hiss, turning to Jude and patting the side of her face. “Can you hear me?”

  I wait, but she doesn't respond.

  “Great,” I mutter, turning and crawling through the undergrowth. I have no doubt that the asshole with the rocks knows where I am, but I also figure he needs to really see me in order to aim at my head. After all, if he fires and misses, he'll need to re-load, and that's my one chance to get at him. Stopping and peering through the long grass, I realize I can just about spot a figure creeping closer, and sure enough it's a guy with some kind of rope in his hands and a rock attached to one end. I'm not sure how it works, but it's clear he knows how to use the damn thing and -

  “Got her!”

  Suddenly I'm dragged back and slammed down into the mud, while a foot crashes into my right wrist, causing me to drop the knife. I struggle to get free, but the figure reaches down and grabs my throat, squeezing tight until I can't breathe.

  “Now that's what I call teamwork,” the guy continues, speaking with a strong Australian accent as he leers at me. A moment later, the guy with the rocks appears next to him, followed by a thin, wiry-looking woman.

  “The other one's got more meat on her,” the woman mutters.

  “Two of them to feed three of us,” the Australian mutters with a smile. “That'll compensate for the one we didn't manage to track down last night.” He leans closer to me, still squeezing my throat shut. “I wouldn't be surprised if these two bitches were the ones who stole our target away from us.”

  Unable to breathe, I struggle desperately to get free, but I can already feel myself starting to black out.

  “No point wasting time,” the Australian continues. “I'll take this one, you two -”

  Before he can finish, a shape flashes over me and slams into the woman, knocking her back. The Australian's grip loosens as a scream rings out, and I turn to see that Jude has landed on top of the woman and is stabbing her repeatedly in the chest. Letting out a cry of anger, Jude quickly turns and slashes at the Australian, almost catching him in the face. As he stumbles back, I realize this is my chance so I reach up and grab his waist, pulling him back. Before I can do anything else, however, he slams his fist into my face, knocking me to the ground.

  “Run!” Jude screams, and I look over to see that she's managed to get her knife into the gut of the guy with the stones. Her hands work fast, gouging his belly, and she quickly shoves him to the ground.

  “We -” I start to say, but suddenly the Australian lunges at her, twisting her arm with enough force to bring a cry from her lips as she drops the knife. I reach out to her, but I'm too late and he swings her around, smashing her head twice against a tree before shoving her limp body to the ground.

  I try to grab the knife, but he turns and kicks it away.

  “Jude!” I scream, lunging toward her. “Jude, get up! Jude -”

  Suddenly he slams his knee into my face, sending me thudding back to the ground. I roll over, but there's a stinging pain in my shoulder.

  “Jude!” I shout. “Get up!”

  “Goddamn bitches,” the Australian mutters, taking another knife from his belt as he steps toward me. “Now I'm gonna have to go and make more friends, aren't I? You killed the ones I had.”

  Figuring that I need to strike fast, I lunge at him. He swings the knife at me and slices its blade against my shoulder, but I throw my weight against him and manage to knock him down, landing on top of him. I reach for the knife, but in my panic I can't find it anywhere so instead I slam my fists down against his face as hard as I can, striking him again and again. I keep expecting to feel a blade sliding into my gut, but with each second that passes I'm able to pound his face harder and harder until finally I feel his skull cracking.

  I let out a cry of anger as I keep going, not daring to stop, not even when I feel blood spraying up against my face. I punch him over and over, still waiting for the flash of his blade, and soon I realize that my fists are covered in blood.

  Still, I can't stop yet.

  I have to be sure.

  Pounding at his face, I finally realize I can feel his skull breaking apart beneath the flesh. My hands are agony now, so I pull them up and start using my right elbow instead, cracking his face open until I break through and feel pieces of bone scratching my skin. A moment later, as the rage starts to fade, I realize I've broken all the way into his head and now I'm hitting his brain directly.

  I strike a couple more times, before pulling back and staring in stunned horror at what I've done. With my bare hands, I've managed to break the guy's head apart, and it's only now that I realize how much of his blood has sprayed all over my face and chest. It has been so long since I let my anger out like that, I thought I'd left that side of my personality behind when I came to the island.

  Slowly, I turn and see that Jude is completely still.

  “Jude?” I whisper, before scrambling to my feet. I glance at the other two attackers and see that they're dead, and then I hurry to Jude and drop to my knees n
ext to her. Filled with a sense of panic, I don't see much of an injury at first, but when I take hold of her head and tilt it slightly, I'm shocked to find that she has a bloodied dent on her temple, with the bone having obviously been cracked beneath her flesh and hair.

  I press two fingers against the side of her neck, searching desperately for a pulse. It takes a moment, but finally I find a faint hint of life.

  “Jude!” I shout, forcing her left eye open but immediately seeing that pupil is very large. “Jude, can you hear me?” I wait for a moment, hoping against hope that she'll respond, before finally I scream her name again: “Jude!”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Iris

  “And how recent is this information?” Logan asks as we sit in an interview room in the prison's infirmary. “A man like Darius Locke is likely to move regularly and -”

  “Two days,” I reply, barely able to speak thanks to the cuts on my lip. My right eye is swollen shut, too, and the stitches on my neck are rough and harsh, tearing at the damaged flesh. “No more than that.”

  “And you're not lying to me, are you?” he continues. He stares at me for a moment. “No, you're not. I can tell. You have a very easy face to read, Iris.”

  “What's that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing. It's a compliment. Don't you like compliments?”

  “Please,” I reply, “you have to make sure that Bran Edwards isn't taken away with the rest of them. He's a good person, you have to fix it so he's okay. Just give him a warning.”

  “I told you I'll do everything I can,” he replies, “and I'll keep that promise.”

  Looking down at my hands, I feel a slow sense of fear rippling through my body. Trembling, I can't hold back the tears any longer as I realize that despite all the lies I've told myself, I just betrayed Bran and the others. I can tell myself over and over, for the rest of my life, that I was justified in my decision, but I don't think I'll ever stop feeling guilty. Wiping tears from my cheeks, I look over at Logan and see that he's making some notes.

  “Where's my sister?” I ask finally, feeling a sense of hope in my heart. After all, Della is the only thing that matters now.

  “Iris -”

  “You promised me!” I remind him, through gritted teeth. “I'm getting out of here and I'm going back to her!”

  He pauses, and I can tell that something's wrong.

  “Where is she?” I ask again.

  “Iris -”

  “She's okay,” I continue, forcing myself to keep from panicking. “I know she is. If something had happened to her, I'd feel it already. I'd know it in my heart.”

  “I told you I'd look into the matter of your sister,” he says cautiously, “and I kept that promise. To be honest, though, what I found was... surprising. It gives me no pleasure to do this, Iris -”

  “Where is she?” I snarl, my voice trembling with fear.

  He stares at me for a moment. “Even though you were squatting in the basement of an old hotel at the time of your arrest,” he says finally, “there were still a few working cameras down there.”

  “I know,” I reply. “I covered them up. I didn't like the idea of being watched all the time.”

  “You didn't cover them all up. There was one in the ceiling that you missed.”

  “Great,” I mutter. “That's not creepy at all.”

  “I accessed that camera's footage,” he continues, “and... Iris, I'm really not sure about the best way to break this to you. I think maybe I should just show you a clip.”

  “We're wasting time,” I reply as he activates the screen on the table and starts loading a video file. “My sister is out there, anything could be happening to her! Please, if Della needs help, I -”

  Before I can finish, I see a shot of my old room appearing on the table's monitor. The two beds are clearly visible, and after a moment I see myself crawling through a vent and dropping down into the room.

  “Why are you showing me this?” I ask, trying to hide my frustration. “It's completely irrelevant!”

  “Do you remember this moment?” he replies. “It was just a couple of days ago, shortly before your arrest.”

  I watch the screen as I see myself in soaking wet clothes. I remember that morning, it was when the rain really hit and the streets were turning to mud. I watch myself brushing dirt off my clothes and then heading over to the desk, where I start setting out some bread and vegetables, but...

  Something's wrong.

  Della's bed is empty.

  “Hey,” my voice says on the screen. I watch myself turn to look over at the empty bed, and there's a pause. “I... It was gonna get thrown out eventually,” my voice continues, followed by another pause, as if I'm waiting for someone to speak. “So's starving,” my voice adds. “Don't worry, no-one's going to miss the scraps I took.”

  “What's going on?” I ask, turning to Logan. “Where's my sister?”

  “That's what I kept asking myself,” he replies as the video continues. “You certainly seem to have been having conversations with someone, but all the files show the same thing. You were alone in an otherwise empty room.” As the video continues, he pulls up a second screen and starts accessing a few more files. “So I started looking into your background a little more, Iris, and I found the records for your sister.”

  Watching myself on the screen, I shake my head. I can feel a faint pain in my skull, radiating from the back.

  “Della Catherine Bloom,” Logan reads from the other screen. “Born at the St. Vincent's Hospital, died -”

  “No!” I say firmly.

  “Died on March 20th, back in -”

  “No!” I shout, feeling a sense of panic rising in my trembling chest.

  “Your sister Della died three years ago, Iris,” he continues. “She died before your parents' accident.”

  I shake my head, while watching the screen that shows me sitting on Della's empty bed, apparently talking to myself.

  “The records are clear,” Logan adds. “Iris, I think maybe there's something wrong with you. You appear to have retreated into some kind of fantasy while you've been alone on the streets.”

  “It's okay,” my voice says on the screen. “Soon we're going to get out of here, I promise. This isn't forever.. I reckon in a month, maybe two, we'll be able to move on. There are places out there that are much nicer than this and there's nothing stopping us, not really. We'll be fine.”

  “This isn't right,” I whisper, as the pain in my head gets worse. “You've edited this, or you've done something else to it, you're trying to trick me.”

  “I wouldn't do that,” Logan replies. “Believe me, I was shocked when I realized the truth.”

  “Are you forgetting the ten year plan?” I ask on the screen, grabbing one of my old journals and tossing it onto the other, empty side of the bed. “Refresh your memory. It's all worked out and we're on course.”

  I distinctly remember Della opening the journal that morning, but on the screen nothing happens. I simply sit and wait, while the journal goes untouched, but... I swear, I remember Della picking it up and looking through the pages.

  “I told you the beginning would be hard,” my voice continues, “but I also told you we'll get somewhere good eventually. I meant -”

  “Turn it off,” I whisper.

  “That plan didn't just plop out of my brain one day, you know,” my voice adds.

  “Turn it off!” I scream, gripping the sides of the chair.

  “I worked on it for a long -”

  Suddenly the screen goes black, and I turn to see that Logan has stopped the video.

  “My sister's not dead!” I stammer. “I'm not mad! We've been living together, I've been looking after her!”

  “I'm very sorry, Iris,” he replies calmly, “but you have to face the truth. You quite clearly imagined Della being with you, as a way of coping with your loneliness after your parents died. I'm not accusing you of lying, it's clear that you truly believed she was there. Maybe it was the
only way you could find any purpose in your life, but... I'm sure deep down, you can already tell that I'm right, can't you?”

  I start to shake my head, before freezing. I want to tell him to go to hell, to scream at him and make him admit that he's tricking me, but as the pain in my head continues to grow I start to realize that there are certain memories I've been holding back.

  “She was very sick,” I hear my mother's voice telling me, many years ago. “It was quick in the end. She won't have felt much, and now she's not in pain anymore. That's the most important thing.”

  For a fraction of a second, I remember standing next to a grave.

  “I can provide you with the full records,” Logan says after a moment. “Your sister died of a very rare degenerative condition that affected her brain's development.” He turns the second screen toward me, and I see an old photo of Della in her hospital bed, with hundreds of tubes and wires running in and out of her body. “She spent almost her entire life on that ward,” he continues. “My understanding is that someone with her illness would never have been able to talk or respond much to stimuli. She was basically a vegetable from birth until death. Maybe that's why it was so easy for you to imagine her later and invent a personality for her.”

  With tears in my eyes, I stare at the image for a moment before looking down at my hands.

  “I'm so sorry,” he continues. “I can only assume you suffered some kind of psychological breakdown following the death of your parents. I'm sure that's what a psychiatrist would determine, if one were to examine you. Not that there's really any need for that, but...”

  As his voice trails off, I sit in silence for a moment. Even though I don't want to believe him, deep down I know every word is true.

  After a moment, Logan gets to his feet and heads to the door. “I'll give you a few minutes alone before the guard comes to take you back to your cell. As for the matter of your next move, I've already started working on the paperwork to get you excused from the transit tomorrow and then we'll work on -”