by Jane Henry
“Put this on him,” Carlos says, shaking it at Adrian.
I glare at him, the image of the brutalized woman coming to mind. I’m supposed to help him? But then I remember. If I don’t help him, he could die. And how will I see him punished if he’s dead?
Carlos doesn’t respond, so without a word, I pull a vest over my head, stark orange that lights up the inside of the cabin of blues and blacks. It looks so flimsy, way too flimsy to save anyone’s life. There’s a place where I pull to inflate it, but I’m not supposed to pull that until we hit water. I hand Carlos a life vest, but can’t give our prisoner his, because he’s cuffed.
I lean in, and ignore the way my hands shake, and my palms grow clammy when I draw close to him. He’s bigger, stronger, and more muscled than I remembered from the brief time I touched him. He’s fucking huge, so big he could pick me up with one hand and snap me in two.
I’d like to see him try.
“Uncuff me,” Adrian growls. It’s the first time he’s spoken. His voice is dark and gritty like gravel and pitch, carrying with it a scary, commanding vibe. “When we land, you’ll need my assistance and if I’m the only other survivor and you can’t find that key, you’ll wish you had.”
“Nice try.”
I glare at him, bend down, and go to put his vest on, but as I do, he quickly turns his head. I jump, gasping, expecting him to bite me, and just about drop the vest when his tongue hits my wrist, lazily lapping at the tender skin. I curse, drawing back is if his mouth is fire, the wetness of his saliva on my skin making nausea roll in my stomach.
“You son of a bitch,” I growl, and without thinking about it, smack my hand straight across his cheek.
“Nadine!” Carlos reprimands, looking at me sharply. Like I give a fuck? We’re crash-landing a jet with a wanted murderer. It isn’t time to be politically correct.
Adrian only shoots me a lewd grin, revealing perfectly straight white teeth. I shiver involuntarily and toss the vest to Carlos.
“You lick me, I’ll knee your nuts,” Carlos mutters, turning to face Adrian. He puts the vest on, but Adrian only sits there meekly.
Son of a bitch.
The plane pitches down, and I stumble forward, smacking my head on the wall. I blink, trying to clear my star-filled vision, Carlos’s voice coming from too far away as if he’s in a tunnel.
“For Christ’s sake, Nadine. Sit your ass down,” he says. I make my way back but I’m falling, stumbling about the cabin like tumbleweed on a prairie, wild and reckless. Our prisoner’s body lunges as far as he can go, as if he wants to reach out and catch me or something, but he’s buckled in and cuffed, so there’s no way for him to help me. I tell myself it’s the fear making my brain irrational, imagining things that can’t be. Finally, I fall into my seat and snap the buckle in place, craning my head to look out the tiny window. We’re so close to the ocean now I can see the foamy flecks and the angry rocks below.
You’re gonna die. This is it, I think to myself, closing my eyes and bracing for impact. I try to let the cadence of Carlos’ jumbled prayers soothe me into a sort of acceptance of my fate, but our prisoner’s lewd, raucous laugh makes it impossible.
This isn’t the landing they planned. This isn’t what we were supposed to do. We hit the water, the sound of wrenching metal and screams the last thing I hear before I lose all consciousness.
So much pain.
So much darkness, and so much pain. My head throbs as if I’ve been whacked with a baseball bat. One knee radiates pain so badly I wonder briefly if I’ve lost a limb. The thought makes my stomach clench, as I slowly, painfully, reluctantly regain consciousness.
My first thought is I survived.
The second thought is, how badly am I hurt?
And the third, did anyone else make it?
I try to open my eyes, but my lids are so heavy, it’s as if they’re pinned in place with super glue. I can’t open them. My head throbs with a dull ache, and something warm and wet trickles down my face. The metallic smell warns me that it’s blood. Mine, or someone else’s?
I take stock of the pain I’m in. My head is killing, both internally and externally. Hot pain flares along my forehead, confirming that I have a head wound, but I can breathe. I focus on taking deep, cleansing breaths, welcoming the familiar rise and fall of my chest and shoulders with the effort of breathing. This is something I can still do. I may not be able to open my eyes, or speak, or walk, but I can breathe.
It’s a start.
I try to grasp the threads of memory but it’s hard when my head is throbbing and thoughts saunter in and out like wisps of clouds. Wet. Something is wet. Am I? Panic floods my gut as I remember we were crash landing in water. But no, I can still breathe. If I can still breathe, then I’m either not underwater or I’m dead.
Death shouldn’t be this painful, though.
Should it?
My clothes are soaked, clinging to my body like cling wrap, my head heavy with damp hair.
I have to open my eyes. I must open my eyes.
With considerable effort, I open one of them. I’m on shore, and the wreckage of the plane is about ten yards from where I’m lying. Torn metal, smoke and small licks of flames litter the beach. The sun has almost set, the horizon a dark blue, and I realize with a shock that when that sun sets, I’ll be plunged into darkness.
Then what?
I push myself up to sitting, taking inventory of my wrecked body. My left leg feels miraculously fine, but pain radiates near my knee on my right leg, and I realize there’s something sticking out of my leg. It’s a piece of metal, like shrapnel, wedged into my leg below my knee. If it’s deep enough and I pull it, I could bleed out. Then what? Is anyone else here? With my stomach clenched in nausea and shaking hands, I reach for the metal that’s torn right through my pants, crimson blood staining the torn fabric. A dry sob catches in my throat. I have to get to safety.
Is there safety here?
That’s when my gaze falls on the unthinkable. It takes me a minute to make sense of what I’m seeing.
Plane wreckage isn’t covered in blood-soaked fabric.
A body ripped asunder in the crash is strewn on the sandy beach in front of me, arms and limbs torn brutally apart as if ripped by cruel hands. I roll to my side and retch onto the ground, emptying the contents of my stomach until nothing but bile remains. I swipe the back of my hand across my mouth and fall to my back, wrecked. I can’t look again. I recognized white, though, which means that body was a pilot’s, and not Carlos or Adrian. Carlos was wearing regulation navy and Adrian in the clothes we found him in.
Something else caught my attention, though. I need to see again, so I open my eyes and look to the sandy beach, pretending the body parts washed on shore are part of the beach. I can’t look again.
Out in front of me, stretching all the way to the waves crashing on the shore, lies a path where my body was dragged. I didn’t land here, where I am now. Someone found me and hauled me out of the water while I was still unconscious, so I wouldn’t drown. That would explain my soaking wet clothes and the fact that I’m here, on dry land, and breathing.
Someone else survived, then, or there are natives in hiding. Where did they go? Did they have to leave me here so they could rescue the others?
I push myself up to sitting again, ignoring the pain that flares in my leg, and scan the coast with gritted teeth. The task ahead of me makes nausea swirl in my recently emptied stomach.
I need to identify bodies. I need to know who I’m here with. I didn’t become who I am by nursing my wounds and hiding in fear.
I push myself to my feet, but the pain in my leg is unbearable. I look down. The piece of metal sticking out is smaller than I thought at first, but it has to come out. When I pull it out, I’ll bleed, which should cleanse the wound, but if I make a tourniquet, or even a bandage tight enough, I could staunch the flow of blood. I quickly undo the buttons on my top, take it off, and wrap it around my leg to form a loose loop above th
e wound. I’ll leave it there to grab when the time comes. My hands shaking so hard I almost lose my balance, I grab the piece of metal and pull. My screams echo in my ears, the pain so intense my vision blurs. I throw the blood-soaked metal away, then quickly wrap my leg in the shirt. I watch as the bleeding slows. Temporarily I’m okay, but I won’t be able to bear much weight on it. I’ll need to rest it to heal.
In the dim light of the fading sun, I scan the coast.
Then my eyes fall on navy.
Carlos.
I whimper and drag my hand across my eyes, wanting to push this vision away. How do soldiers at battle deal with sudden, violent loss and devastation?
Get up, I tell myself. See if you can help him.
His legs lie at odd angles, broken beyond repair, white bone shining clear through one stretch of torn fabric. I kneel beside him, lifting his limp body in my arms. His eyes are open, staring vacantly to a place beyond. I know he’s dead, but I need to prove it to myself. Gently, I place his body back on the sand where it falls with a soft thump, then pick up his arm and place my fingers where his pulse ought to be, where lifeblood should be flowing through his veins. No pulse. I turn away, the confirmation my partner’s gone making sudden tears spring to my eyes.
But I don’t cry. And I won’t now.
I close my eyes tightly and give myself a moment to deal with the pain of loss, before I stand and look across the sandy beach once more. I don’t have time to spare.
The plane lies in a heap of twisted metal on the shore, half in the water. I can see how one wing is completely blown away, and reason the wingtip must’ve hit a wave or rock, causing us to impact the water harder than we were supposed to. That wasn’t the landing our pilots had planned. Ignoring the waves of pain that make me want to vomit, I stumble on unsteady feet toward the plane. And then I see it. One final body slumped against the window in the cockpit filled with water. Dead on impact? Drowned, pinned in the cockpit? I’ll never know.
I fall to my knees as the memory of the pilot’s last words come back to me.
We have five souls on board.
Including myself, the two dead bodies of the pilot and Carlos, I now have four.
I still haven’t found our prisoner.
Chapter Two
Adrian
I watch the bitch from where I crouch, hidden in the darkness of trees. I moved quickly while she was unconscious, ignoring the pain that pulsed against my skull. Still cuffed, miraculously tossed to the shore, the first thing I did was locate the man she called Carlos. I took the keys and uncuffed myself, putting the cuffs in my pocket. I’d need those later.
I walked out to the sea and did a quick scan of the remains. The co-pilot’s body was torn to pieces, the impact of the crash likely killing him before he was dismembered. The pilot never made it out of the aircraft, unconscious against the window as water filled the small cabin. He likely drowned, if he wasn’t already dead.
And then I saw her, her body slumped over the one good plane wing, unconscious. Bloodied, but breathing. I dragged her body to shore. Having another survivor will prove useful, no doubt. The fact that she’s a woman will be even more convenient. She’s a total bitch, but I know ways to subdue women. I’ll punish her for the way she’s treated me. Then make her obey me.
What happens after that will be up to her.
After looking her over to make sure she’s breathing and has no life-threatening injuries, I leave her where she can see the remains of her comrades when she wakes. Good. Maybe it’ll scare her a little. Take some of the fight out of her.
Hopefully not too much, though. I like a good fight.
After she’s on shore, I go about getting whatever useful supplies we may need that I can salvage from the wreckage: a small store of food, first aid supplies, and bottled water.
It’s a small island. I remember from being airborne seeing the coasts from above. Thousands of small, uninhabited islands litter the Pacific. There’s no telling where we are now, but it appears we’re alone. I’m guessing I could walk the whole perimeter in under four or five hours. Beyond the shore lies a man-made structure that piques my interest. Clearly, someone civilized was here once, but it appears no one lives here anymore. The small, clapboard building houses a sign,
U.S. SCIENTIFIC RESEARCH OCCUPIED 2010
FUTURE RESEARCH PENDING APPROVAL
Interesting.
I try to open the door but find it locked. I huff out a laugh. Strange to lock a door where literally no one would be around to get in. Still, I’ll have to pick the lock and see if there are suitable sleeping arrangements inside. Possibly more supplies. Something to keep me out of the cold.
I frown, looking back at the shore. Something to keep us out of the cold, I suppose. There’s no use letting her fend for herself if I need her. She’ll prove useful to me, but not if she dies from hypothermia or some fucking savage animals. Natives, maybe? But my gut says we’re alone.
My jaw clenches at the memory of the way she treated me. As if I were some type of monster who ought to suffer pain and torture. I shake my head.
We’re all monsters. Every last motherfucker deserves no less than I’ve suffered.
She has no idea what I’ve seen. What I’ve done. What I’ve suffered.
They probably showed her the pictures, though.
I shake my head. Now isn’t the time to dwell on this. I look at the flimsy lock on the shelter. I need to find something to pick it and do it soon before it’s totally dark here.
I have to find the bitch before she hides somewhere or does something stupid and hurts herself. This is no rescue mission, though.
This is survival of the fittest.
Chapter Three
Nadine
I sit on a large rock on the beach with my back to the wreck for minutes. Maybe hours. My stomach churns with hunger, my head aches from lack of water and food. But it hurts to move. I’m still surrounded by their bodies, too weak and helpless to do anything about that. The smell of death hangs in the air. I wonder if I’ll follow them.
I have no idea where I am, no idea how to reach anyone who could rescue me, and for all I know, the man whose ass I just arrested is somewhere hiding. A man I know is capable of brutal, devastating murder and wicked, unspeakable torture if it suits him.
There is no safe place.
But as I sit, something that should have dawned on me much earlier becomes crystal clear.
The large rock I’m sitting on has been getting smaller by the minute, and as I wallowed in misery and indecision, the tide has been coming in. The change to the beach is dramatic. Panic wells inside me and I get to my feet, suddenly not caring if he does see me. What’s he going to do? Kill me? At this stage, that would almost be welcome.
When the tide rises further, I’ll be submerged with literally nowhere to go but the cold, deadly depths. I need to get back to the shore. I could swim, but my leg is hurt and I have no idea what lurks in the depths.
A low, familiar chuckle makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. He’s behind me. Oh, God. He’s behind me. I turn and look over my shoulder to see Adrian, remarkably unscathed, standing by the trees. His arms are crossed on his bare chest, but it’s so dark I can barely make out his expression.
“Quite a predicament you got yourself into there,” he says.
Asshole.
“So you survived.”
“Clearly.”
I don’t say anything else at first. I’m not sure what to say. I just arrested this man, hurt him, and allowed my hatred for him to shine through in every interaction we’ve had with one another. And now we’re alone, on a deserted island, like some type of sick survivor show.
He nods his head and looks around me. “Were you planning on sleeping out there?” He asks, the mockery undisguised in his voice. I realize now it was a stupid thing to do, but I wasn’t exactly playing with a full deck either. The trauma is affecting my brain.
His voice cuts through the thick, humid
air like a whip. “I asked you a question.”
He’s no longer amused.
“Maybe,” I spit out. “So why don’t you just shut up.”
He shakes his head, as the sun dips even lower in the horizon. “Better yet, why don’t I leave you?”
He turns to go, but I feel like a kid whose mother just bluffed about leaving them in the damn store after they had a fit.
“No!” I shout. “No, please don’t go!”
He turns slowly and eyes me. I’m glad I can’t see his eyes in the shadows. His eyes scare me.
“If I rescue you, you’ll pay for it,” he says.
Cold fear clutches at my chest. “Pay for it?”
This man is sick. Twisted.
He releases a low, mirthless chuckle. “You think I’m going to rescue the woman who captured me? Humiliated me? Hit me? With no recourse?” He tips his head to the side and his voice hardens to granite. “I’m no fucking altruist.”
“Fine, then!” I grit out. The water’s risen so high now it laps at my feet, and panic sweeps across my chest.
I’ll pay. I’ll do whatever the fuck he wants right now.
He gives one quick nod, then reaches for something behind him. I can’t see anything in the darkness, but I’m beginning to lose my mind with the fear of drowning. It’s something… yellow? I squint my eyes and look. He has some sort of inflatable raft with him. It must be the rescue one aboard our flight that he managed to salvage.
What else has he gotten?
And how the hell is he going to make me pay for this? I push the thought out of my mind. I don’t need to focus on that yet.
I watch as he puts the raft in the water, pulls out a sturdy plastic paddle, and comes toward me. When he reaches me, he stops and looks up at me. “Get in.”
I shake as I step toward the tiny raft. He takes up two thirds of it. If I get in, I'll be flush up against his body. Nowhere to go.
