Scar Island

by Dan Gemeinhart

  There were a few seconds of nothing but the sound of rain. One kid leaned against the stone wall. Another coughed.

  “So, like … what should we do?” Miguel asked.

  “Thould we get them out of the rain?” Colin asked.

  Jonathan’s brain was working. He was looking at all the dead grown-ups and frowning and thinking of home and family and everything that had happened to bring him here to the island of Slabhenge. A small, ugly, beautiful idea was wiggling in his mind. His stomach rumbled, wanting more than a meager bowl of oatmeal. It was hard to hatch a dark and dastardly scheme on an empty stomach.

  “I think we should eat,” he said, just loud enough for everyone to hear. “I’m starving.”

  Sebastian’s brow was still creased with dark, thoughtful lines.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’m with the new kid. Let’s go eat.” Then his face smoothed into a grinning smile and he cocked an eyebrow back at the huddled boys. “Whatever we want.”

  One kid clapped. But just one. Most of the boys had probably lost their appetites when they watched all the adults get struck and killed by lightning.

  But Sebastian started off across the rain-drenched courtyard toward the kitchen door.

  Jonathan stepped out after him.

  All the rest slowly followed close behind.

  The straggly line of somber, soaked boys snaked right past the lifeless bodies staring up at the storm.

  The kitchen was noisy with cooking, but there was not much talking. Mouths were too full for talking most of the time.

  Tony stirred a pan of ten scrambled eggs. Jonathan didn’t think he planned on sharing. Benny was eating jelly out of the jar with a spoon. Sebastian was shoving a banana in his mouth while frying up six pieces of bacon. The two big brutes—Gregory and Roger, Jonathan remembered—were eating pepperoni slices by the handful, greasy grins on their faces. The little black-haired kid named Jason sat on the floor in the walk-in fridge and gnawed on a brick-size block of cheddar cheese.

  Most of the boys just stood around, eating in the kitchen, but some got what they wanted and picked a spot at a table. No one sat at the Admiral’s table. Jonathan made himself two gooey peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and joined them, sitting across from Colin and Walter. Another kid sat down next to him, a little taller than him, with glasses and short, curly brown hair.

  “Francis, right?” Jonathan asked through a mouthful of peanut butter and jelly.

  “Yes. And you’re Jonathan. Our newest arrival.” Francis held out his hand and Jonathan blinked at him for a second before reaching out and shaking it. Francis had a slight accent, but not a foreign one. He pronounced all of his syllables very precisely. To Jonathan, he sounded like the rich people on TV. “Looks like your stay here has been cut quite short.”

  “Yeah,” Jonathan said, chewing. “Guess so.”

  “And what terrible wrong did you commit to deserve being sent here?” Francis asked. He was being sarcastic, Jonathan could tell, but he still flinched. He swallowed his bite.

  “What did you do?” he asked back. Across the table, Colin frowned and took another bite of his apple.

  “Oh, hardly anything, really,” Francis answered in a bored voice. “I pushed our gardener off the ladder. Honestly, if he hadn’t broken his hip, there wouldn’t even have been charges.”

  “Was it an accident?”

  Francis shrugged. “No.”

  “Why did you do it?”

  Francis rolled his eyes. “Does it really matter?”

  “I guess not.”

  Francis sighed. “Yes. Well, my father got a top-notch attorney, really quite expensive, but the whole thing happened at our summer house and all the local townspeople were quite up in arms about it. Really screaming for blood. Tried to make it all into some ridiculous wealth-class issue. So … here I am. Eating white bread. The damned country judge sent me here.”

  “That’th a terrible thing to do,” Colin said.

  “Yes, well, the judge’s hands were really quite tied, I’m afraid. It’s an elected office. He had to give the people what they wanted.”

  “I meant it wath a terrible thing to do to the gardener.”

  “Oh,” Francis sniffed. “Well. It didn’t end well for me, either, as you see.”

  They all chewed in silence for a while.

  “How does the refrigerator work?” Jonathan asked. Everyone stopped chewing and looked at him. “I mean, there doesn’t seem to be electricity here. It’s all torches and candles. What’s running the fridge and freezer?”

  Walter scraped a piece of jelly bean out from between his teeth and looked at it stuck to his finger.

  “Oh, there’s electricity. There’s a coal generator downstairs that we all get to take turns shoveling coal into. Makes just enough juice to run the fridge, freezer, and the Admiral’s TV.”

  “Oh.” Jonathan swallowed the last bite of his second sandwich and considered going to make another one. “And the freezer’s big, too, like the fridge?”

  Walter nodded. “Yeah. A little smaller, I guess, but still a walk-in. Why, man?”

  Jonathan shook his head. “No reason. Just wondering.”

  But Jonathan’s head was still buzzing with dark dreams. And he did have a reason for asking about the freezer.

  Eight reasons, in fact.

  The sixteen students of the Slabhenge Reformatory School for Troubled Boys stood at the gate, looking out at the white-capped waves of the ocean. Somewhere out there across the sea was the mainland and home. Home. With meals, parents, beds. A happy place. For most of them.

  Sebastian had crept up and unclipped the key ring from Mr. Vander’s belt, and they’d opened the heavy wooden door to the outside. They stood in the shadow of the stone arch, looking out at the water and waiting for the boat. The eight bodies still lay in the drizzling rain behind them.

  They leaned with their hands holding the rusty iron bars. Some of them still chewed on crusty bread or chunks of cheese.

  “How much longer?” a kid asked.

  “I told you, any minute,” Benny answered.

  “What should we say?”

  “What do you mean, what should we say? All the grown-ups got killed by lightning and we want to go home. Dummy.”

  The rain was just a constant gentle tapping now. The thunder and lightning were gone, but the clouds were still night-black and the world was dim and dark.

  Then, thin and lost somewhere beneath the sound of the waves smacking the stone walls, there came a low buzzing sound. Like a fly caught between the window and the screen.

  “There!” Miguel called out, his voice excited. “There! I see it!” He pointed. Other fingers joined.

  “Yeah! I see it!”

  “There it is!”

  The boat was a dot, still far distant, fighting its way through the wind and the waves. To bring them back to the real world. Jonathan chewed on the inside of his cheek. He looked at Sebastian, leaning in the corner where the gate met the stone wall. Sebastian was the only one besides him who wasn’t smiling. His scowl was as grim as the deadly clouds, his eyes as full of dark thoughts as Jonathan’s. Their eyes met. Jonathan thought he saw a wet glimmer of tears in Sebastian’s eyes before they looked away from his.

  All the boys’ voices fell silent as they watched the little boat make its way toward their gloomy island.

  Jonathan took one deep breath and then spoke his voice into the silence.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t go.”

  Heads snapped his way. Sebastian’s sour face turned sharply toward him.

  “What?” Walter asked.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t go,” Jonathan repeated. “Maybe we shouldn’t tell what happened. Yet.” Sebastian’s eyes stayed locked on his. His jaw clenched. Jonathan cocked a questioning eyebrow at him. And then Sebastian nodded.

  “What are you talking about?” a kid asked.

  Jonathan raised his voice and put some strength into it.

  “I’m talking about
staying. Without the grown-ups. Without any grown-ups. I’m talking about all of us staying here at Slabhenge. Alone.”

  “Stay? Why would we do that?” Francis asked.

  “Why shouldn’t we?” Jonathan answered. “Were any of us really that happy out there? I mean, we’ve got a chance here. We can live here. Without grown-ups. Without rules. Not forever. Just for a while. We could live here—free. Doing whatever we want.”

  Eyes blinked at him.

  “Think about it,” Jonathan argued desperately, knowing the boat was getting closer by the second. “Out there we’re just … troublemakers. Punks. Here we could be kings.”

  “You’re crazy!”

  “No, he’s not.” The voice was Sebastian’s. He pushed himself off the wall and faced them all. “He’s right. We’ve got a winning lotto ticket here. And we’re just gonna throw it away? Without spending any of it?”

  The boys looked back and forth among each other.

  “Don’t you see?” Sebastian demanded. “How long have we all been here, besides Jonathan? Four weeks? Six weeks? Ten? And all that time, we’ve been crapped on. Cleaning. Working. Eating garbage. Kneeling on that stupid Sinner’s whatever. Sleeping with rats. All ’cause of those jerks. And now …” His eyes wandered out to the bodies behind them. “And now they’re gone. And we can enjoy this. Eat whatever we want. Whenever we want. Eat the Admiral’s chocolate. Watch his TV.”

  “Use his bathroom,” Tony added thoughtfully. “I hear he’s got actual toilet paper.”

  “Sleep in his big, fancy bed,” Miguel said.

  “Go to bed whenever we want,” Walter chipped in.

  “With a light on,” Jason squeaked.

  “Thith ith crathy,” Colin interjected. “You’re all nuth.”

  “Don’t be such a wussy, Colin,” Sebastian said.

  “Just for a couple days,” Jonathan argued. “Like a little … vacation. A vacation from grown-ups. No punishment. No problems.”

  The tall redhead, Gerald, looked up at the building around them.

  “God,” he said quietly. “This place would be amazing to play hide-and-seek in.”

  “There’s plenty of food,” Jonathan said.

  They stood quietly, each boy wrestling with his own thoughts.

  Colin shook his head and opened his mouth to speak, but Sebastian cut him off.

  “We’re doing it,” he said, his voice hard and decisive. “Just for a little while.”

  “But … the boat’s coming,” Francis pointed out.

  Sebastian scowled and looked out at the ocean.

  “We’ve still got like five minutes,” he said. “All he’s coming for is mail. Benny … do you know where the mailbag is?”

  “Sure. In the staff room.”

  “What about the guy, though? Won’t he notice … something?”

  Jonathan shook his head. “When I got dropped off, Mr. Vander didn’t even talk to him. He stood in the shadows the whole time.”

  Sebastian rubbed his chin roughly with his hand.

  “But still …”

  “We have Mr. Vander’s jacket and hat,” Jonathan said. “Well, we could get his jacket and hat.” Some kid in the shadows gasped, but Jonathan kept going. “And if Gerald stood on a stool or something, he’d be just as tall. Wearing that hat and jacket, back here in the shadows …”

  “Let’s do it.” Sebastian’s voice was quick and bossy. “Benny, run and grab the mailbag. Gerald, stay here. Everyone else get around the corner out of sight. New kid, come with me.”

  There was only a momentary pause and then everyone scrambled. Colin was the only one who stayed where he was.

  “Thith ith tho thtupid,” he said to no one in particular. Sebastian grabbed him roughly by his shirt and jerked him around the corner so hard his head snapped back on his neck. He slammed him up against the stone wall. He pressed his forearm hard into Colin’s chest and leaned in close to his face.

  “Don’t mess this up for the rest of us, you little jerk,” Sebastian growled. “You do, you’re dead.”

  “Hey,” Jonathan said. “Take it easy, man. He’s cool.”

  Sebastian snorted. “There’s nothing cool about this little dweeb,” he said.

  “Come on,” Jonathan said. “Let him go. We gotta hurry.”

  Sebastian gave Colin one last glare, then followed Jonathan out toward the heap of bodies. They stood together for a second, looking at the corpse of Mr. Vander lying in the middle of the pile.

  “You really think we can do this, Johnny?”

  “Jonathan. And it’s worth a try.”

  There was no time to be queasy or delicate. Sebastian knelt down next to the tall, still form and started pulling at his long, blue coat.

  “Damn! It’s buttoned! Help me, will you?”

  Together they frantically yanked the buttons through their holes. Jonathan kept his eyes on his fingers and away from the dead man’s face. They did wander once, though—he saw the mouth half-open, a bit of dry gray tongue poking out, saw a raindrop roll off the forehead, saw the swirling storm above reflected in the cloudy, unfocused eyes—and he almost lost it. His breath caught, his fingers fumbled … but he blinked and looked away and kept going.

  With the buttons undone, the boys started pulling the arms out of the sleeves. Mr. Vander’s arms were incredibly heavy and stiff. Sebastian and Jonathan tugged and wiggled and jerked. Mr. Vander’s head lolled and rocked from side to side, loose and floppy. Jonathan clenched his stomach and kept his eyes on his work.

  “God,” Sebastian panted. “And I thought I hated this guy when he was alive!”

  They got one arm loose and, with a grunting heave, they rolled Mr. Vander over onto his stomach to work on the other. His face smacked against the stone ground with a sickening thud. Sebastian grabbed the cuff of the second sleeve and gave it a swift yank like a magician whipping the tablecloth off a table full of dishes. The jacket pulled free and Sebastian fell back onto his butt in a puddle.

  “Grab his hat, Johnny.”

  They raced back toward the gate, Jonathan holding the hat, and the coat stuffed under Sebastian’s arm.

  Gerald stood alone, scratching at his neck and looking uncomfortable.

  “Put this on!” Sebastian hollered, tossing Mr. Vander’s jacket to him. He ducked low and peered out the gate. “He’s almost here!”

  “Man, I don’t know if I want to put on a dead guy’s coat.”

  Sebastian shot him a dark look.

  “Don’t put it on and you’ll be a dead guy. Do it. All you gotta do is stand here in the shadows. Big deal.”

  Benny ran up huffing and puffing, a canvas bag slung over his shoulder. He tossed it on the ground at Sebastian’s feet.

  Gerald grimaced and pulled the long coat on. He pinched it between his fingers like a dirty diaper. The bottom of the coat piled on the ground. Jonathan gave him an apologetic look and handed him the hat. Gerald closed his eyes and plopped it on his head. It dropped down onto his ears.

  Sebastian stepped back to take a look at him. Behind them the sound of the boat got louder.

  “Shoot!” Sebastian exclaimed. “We forgot the stool! You’re way too short!” He looked frantically around for something for Gerald to stand on.

  Jonathan thought fast. He dropped to his hands and knees in the shadows just inside the gate.

  “He can stand on me,” he said. “But make sure the coat covers me up.”

  Sebastian pulled Gerald over and he stepped gingerly up onto Jonathan’s back. He was a lot heavier than Jonathan had expected. The hard stone blocks ground into his kneecaps. He felt Sebastian adjusting the long trench coat as best he could to cover him.

  “Wait!” Gerald protested. “How am I gonna get the mailbag? And give him ours?”

  Outside, the motor got louder, then quieter as the gas was cut back.

  “Sebastian!” Jonathan hissed from the ground. “You do the bags. And try to stand between him and us!”

  “All right.”


  “What do I do if he talks to me?” Gerald asked, his voice high and fast.

  “Just grunt,” Jonathan answered.

  “He’s here,” Sebastian said. “Showtime.” Jonathan lowered his head and peeked out from beneath the coat.

  The dingy metal boat was just pulling up to the algae-covered stone steps. It was the same boat that had dropped Jonathan off the day before, but this time, Patrick was alone.

  “Hello, Mr. Vander!” Patrick shouted good-naturedly as the boat bumped up to the stairs. Gerald didn’t reply. Patrick leapt expertly out of the boat onto the steps, a rope tied to the boat in one hand and a canvas bag over his shoulder. Sebastian stepped down to meet him, the mailbag in his hand.

  “I’ll trade ye,” Patrick said with a smile. Sebastian just held the bag out. Patrick shrugged and took it, then handed his own to Sebastian. “What’d ye do to get the supreme honor of being Mr. Vander’s little helper?” he asked with a wink.

  Sebastian froze. “I … I … nothing.”

  Jonathan winced from underneath Gerald.

  Patrick squinted at Sebastian. “Ah. Well. Bet ye won’t be doin’ that again, now, will ye?” He looked past Sebastian, up to where Gerald stood atop Jonathan.

  “How are ye there today, Mr. Vander?”

  Gerald grunted. It sounded a little high and nervous to Jonathan. But Patrick only nodded and smiled with half his mouth. “Good to hear it.”

  They all stood for a moment looking at each other.

  Patrick cocked an eyebrow.

  “Well,” he said. “Guess I best be off. Can’t stand here jabbering with ye all day, Mr. Vander.” He raised one hand to his forehead in a little salute and then waved. “Give me best to the Admiral, won’t ye?”

  Gerald grunted again.

  Patrick laughed and hopped into the boat. Looking back over his shoulder, he threw the boat into reverse and receded slowly away against the incoming waves.

  All three boys watched him, holding their breath. When he was far enough out, Patrick whipped the boat around and gunned it, chugging toward the mainland. He didn’t look back.