by Jake Bible
“Hey,” Max said as he stepped onto the catwalk that rimmed the specimen bay. “You hungry?”
“Who am I?” Darby asked, seated on the floor of the cage, her back against the bars. “Who am I?”
“Fuck if I know, anymore,” Max said and shrugged. He held up a plastic container. “I thought you might be hungry. There’s some biscuits and scrambled eggs in here. They’re powdered eggs, but you’ve been in the military long enough to not mind, right?”
“Have I?” Darby asked.
Max froze. It was a different question. That was new.
“Have you what?” he asked cautiously as he climbed down to the deck that was level with the floating cage, the plastic container of breakfast tucked under his arm.
“Have I been in the military long enough to not mind powdered eggs,” Darby explained. “How do you know that?”
“From what Ballantine has said, and what little you’ve told me, you served a while in Israel. In the Mossad, right?”
Darby shrugged. “Who am I?”
“Darby,” Max said and sighed. “You’re Darby.”
He looked at the cage and shook his head.
“You probably have to take a shit or something, huh,” Max said. “I’ll find you a bucket.”
“Who am I?” Darby asked. She started to become agitated. The questioning persona was gone, only the single question remained. “Who am I?”
“A woman that’s going to shit her pants if I don’t figure out how to get a bucket in there to you,” Max said. He set the food container down on the deck and looked around the bay. “It’s a fucking ship. There has to be like a hundred buckets around here somewhere.”
He saw one over by the far wall. Looking defeated, he walked to it slowly, picked it up, and headed back to the spot where he left the food container. Darby was sitting on top of the cage. Outside the cage. Waiting there, staring at him.
“Goddammit,” Max said and dropped the bucket.
Darby stood and shouted, “Who am I?”
“My karma, I guess,” Max said as he pulled a pistol from his hip and fired six darts directly into her chest.
Darby looked down at the darts, swayed for a second, plucked one free, swayed some more, then collapsed onto the top of the cage. Half her body hung over the side, then like a slow motion crash, she toppled into the half-filled bay and was lost from sight underwater.
“Goddammit,” Max said and dove in after her. He didn’t even bother to take off his boots or clothes, just tossed the tranquilizer pistol aside and jumped.
After a minute, he came up sputtering and maneuvered Darby over to the deck. He got her up onto the surface, climbed up after her, put his ear to her chest, then began CPR. After thirty seconds, she coughed up water and began to breathe again. Her eyes flickered, but didn’t open.
Max fetched the tranquilizer pistol and shot her one more time, just to be sure.
He moved to a set of controls that dangled from a thick cable over the deck. He pressed a big green button and the cage swung towards him. It took him a lot longer to get Darby into the cage than it did to rescue her from drowning. By the time Max had her in there, he was exhausted and nearly collapsed next to her on the cage floor.
But survival instinct kicked in and he forced himself to get up and climb out of the cage, his leg killing him from all the exertion. He grabbed the bucket, which didn’t have a roll of toilet paper in it, and the food container, dropping them into the cage before he shut and locked the top.
“I’ll find you some TP,” Max said. “Stay put, please.”
He knew she’d just get out again at some point, but he didn’t care. At least he got to interact with her. Her determination to get free of every conceivable detention scenario they came up with was sort of endearing. It was so very Darby.
If she wanted to know who she was, that was the best indicator. Someone that never gave up and absolutely refused to be a prisoner. She just wasn’t in a state to recognize herself in herself.
He left the specimen bay and went to the nearest head, snagged a couple rolls of TP, then made his way back.
He wasn’t surprised at all to see Darby up on top of the cage again, although looking considerably woozy.
“Who am I?” Darby muttered.
“Darby,” Max said and shrugged. “You’re motherfucking Darby. Move over.”
The woman glanced at him with drugged eyes then slowly shifted her body across the top of the cage. Max climbed aboard, dropped the rolls of TP down inside, both landing perfectly inside the bucket, then settled in next to Darby.
The two of them stayed that way for a long time until Darby began to snore slowly, her hand resting lightly on Max’s knee.
“You’re Darby,” Max said. “My Darby.”
***
“Can I join you?” Nivia asked, her head appearing over the railing of the crow’s nest where Lucy was set, covering the beach with her sniper rifle. “I asked Popeye if I could help him and he only growled at me that I’d be in the way. The captain, what’s his name? Lake? He wasn’t much better.”
“No,” Lucy said, her eye to her scope as she scanned the beach and the tree line, coming back to center on where Team Grendel had entered the jungle. That was her reference point. The odds were small that the team would exit from that same spot, but it gave her a place to center on, to return her scope to after each sweep of her rifle.
“What?” Nivia asked, shocked by the answer. “What do you mean, no?”
“I’m working and I can’t have the distraction,” Lucy said. “Sorry.”
“You were pretty nice last night,” Nivia said. “Today you’re just like the rest.”
“Not quite,” Lucy said. “You see how I’m on the ship and they’re on the island? I’m not like the rest. I don’t have anywhere near the training they do. I can shoot, but that’s about it. I get in the shit and I get hurt. Every fucking time.”
“Hurt how?” Nivia asked, climbing over the railing and taking a seat next to Lucy despite the woman’s objection. “Have you been shot?”
“Plenty of times,” Lucy said. “I’m a bullet magnet, as the team likes to say.”
“Team Grendel?” Nivia asked. “What’s that all about? Why Grendel?”
“Ballantine likes ancient Anglo-Saxon legends or something,” Lucy said. “The ship is named the Beowulf III.”
“Three? What happened to the first two ships?” Nivia asked.
“We don’t talk about that,” Lucy said. She sighed and glanced away from her scope for a second. “Listen, you want to help?”
“Yeah, sure,” Nivia said.
“Then you can be my spotter,” Lucy said. “You know what that is?”
“No,” Nivia said.
“It’s someone that helps me with distance and wind speed and the other variables that go into being a sniper,” Lucy said.
“Okay, what do I do?” Nivia asked.
“You go down below deck to the Toyshop,” Lucy said. “Find Ingrid and ask her for a spotter scope.”
“Spotter scope,” Nivia repeated.
“If Ingrid isn’t there, then ask Moshi,” Lucy said. “She doesn’t talk much, so don’t expect a conversation. You can ask Carlos, but he’ll just give you a ton of hell. If he does, then tell him to call me on the com so I can chew his ass out.”
“He’s the jerk everyone hates?” Nivia responded.
“Hate is a strong word,” Lucy said. “Seriously dislikes. He has his good points too, but mostly he’s a jerk, so yeah, if he gives you any grief, tell him to call me.”
“Do I get a com also?” Nivia asked.
“No,” Lucy said. “Thorne won’t like that. You can be my spotter, but I can’t have you on the com.”
“Even on mute?” Nivia asked.
“Even on mute,” Lucy said. “No debate.”
“Okay,” Nivia said. “At least I’ll have something to do.”
“Get some water and sunscreen,” Lucy said. “We’re going to b
e out here all day.”
“All day?” Nivia asked and looked up at the tropical sun. “Do we get a break?”
“No,” Lucy said. “If you want to help, then you’re all in or you’re nothing. There’s no half-ass way to do this job. Full-ass all the way.”
Lucy thought about it, looked back up at the sun, then nodded. “I’ll be right back.”
“Cool,” Lucy said, her eye never leaving her scope. “Don’t forget the water and sunscreen.”
“And to call you if Carlos gives me trouble,” Nivia said.
“You’re learning,” Lucy chuckled.
***
Carlos gave her trouble.
“I don’t know you,” Carlos said. “You’re just some stray castaway that Thorne found on a boat. I’m not giving you any of my equipment.”
“Lucy said you’d be like this,” Nivia replied. “She said to give her a call.”
“No,” Carlos said and folded his arms across his chest. “Now leave.”
“What?” Nivia asked, surprised by his response. She didn’t expect him to completely refuse. “No, you have to call Lucy on the com. That’s what she said to tell you to do.”
“And you told me,” Carlos said. “Now leave. This is my workshop. I’m in charge here. You are getting nothing from me. Leave.”
“Did she say what type of spotter scope she wanted?” Ingrid asked, coming out from behind the Toyshop shelves with a crate of equipment. “Does she need extra-long range? Maybe laser sighted? Or just a basic scope?”
“She didn’t say,” Nivia answered, grateful for Ingrid’s appearance. “I don’t know anything about spotter scopes. She just said to come down here and find Ingrid and she’d give me one.”
“I’m Ingrid,” Ingrid said. “I’ll give you one.”
“No, you will not,” Carlos snapped. He tried to grab the crate out of Ingrid’s hands, but her grip was much stronger. He gave up with a huff and refolded his arms. “She just said that she doesn’t know a thing about spotter scopes. No way she’s getting a sensitive piece of equipment without any training on how to use it.”
“Get off it,” Ingrid said and set the crate down on the counter. She pulled out a spotter scope, all beige plastic and dials, and smacked it hard on the counter’s edge. “These things can get run over by a Humvee and still survive.”
“Ingrid!” Carlos exclaimed as she smacked the scope on the counter edge again.
“See?” she said as she put the scope to her eye and turned it on. “Works just fine. Here ya go.”
She handed the scope across the counter to Nivia. Nivia took it gratefully and stared at the equipment in her hands.
“What do I do?” she asked.
“Lucy will show you,” Ingrid said. “Or I could come up and show you.” She glared over at Carlos. “I could use the fresh air. We should grab some sunscreen and water on our way up.”
“That’s what Lucy said,” Nivia responded and smiled. “Thanks.”
“You bet,” Ingrid said, returning the smile. “You hungry? We’ll get snacks from the mess and make a picnic out of it.”
“A picnic?” Carlos scoffed. “You’ll be sitting in the blazing hot sun in the crow’s nest. Sounds like a nightmare, not a picnic.”
“That’s why you’re not invited,” Ingrid said. She snagged a second scope from the crate and waggled it in Carlos’s face. “I’m taking my own. Picnics are more fun when we all have something to do.”
“Whatever,” Carlos said as they turned and left. He stared down at the crate on the counter in front of him. “Hey! Who’s putting this gear back on the shelves?”
“You,” Moshi said as she made a quick appearance then disappeared.
“No, I’m not!” he exclaimed.
After three minutes of staring at the crate, he picked it up and headed back into the shelves to put the equipment away.
“I’m only doing this because I’m organized!” Carlos called out.
No one responded.
***
Darren kept his eyes open, one centered on his M4’s scope, one keeping watch for movement from his surroundings.
The surroundings were a dense mix of large ferns, low, creeping vines, and tall, thick palm trees. Other trees were interspersed now and again, but Darren didn’t recognize the species. They were tall, thick-barked, with wide leaves that provided plenty of shade when the palms thinned out.
“Nice to be in a jungle where nothing is trying to eat you,” Shane whispered.
“Not right now, at least,” Kinsey responded. “Tonight will be different.”
“I wasn’t planning on sticking around for the jungle after party,” Shane said. “Just nice not to have fifty-foot dinosaurs or carnivorous plants on our ass.”
Darren lifted his hand into a fist and crouched down. The rest of Grendel followed, all getting as low as they could, but still being able to spring up and fight if the moment called for it.
Thorne crouch walked up next to Darren and surveyed the area. Darren pointed to the front and off to the right. Thorne raised an eyebrow. Darren shrugged then made a walking movement with his fingers and flipped them over to flash three fingers.
Three targets, all walking through the jungle.
Thorne’s brow furrowed. He tapped his chest. Darren shook his head no. Not people. He shook his head some more. Not sure what he saw. But there were three and they were walking.
Thorne nodded and stood up. He pointed at Shane to take the left flank and at Kinsey to take the right. He and Darren would head straight on.
Team Grendel moved out, M4s up, ready for whatever came at them.
They carefully broke through the trees and found themselves in a small clearing. Tall, bright green grass filled the clearing with several buttercup-looking flowers on even taller stalks dotting the space here and there. There were no two-legged walkers in sight.
Thorne and Darren kept moving, taking their steps slowly and cautiously. To the left was Shane, having just come into the clearing from that side. To the right, Kinsey appeared. She shook her head. Shane did as well. They all continued moving.
Without warning, a cacophony of loud, raucous, ear-piercing shrieks filled the clearing. Three shapes took flight and launched themselves high into the air, soaring above the clearing then above the trees with only a few wingbeats. They were gone and lost from sight almost as fast as they appeared.
“So much for no other animal life,” Thorne said.
“They looked like cranes,” Darren said. “I don’t know what kind of cranes, but the wingspan and leg length certainly fit with cranes.”
“Maybe they stopped here for a rest before continuing on out over the ocean,” Shane suggested.
“I don’t think that’s how cranes migrate,” Darren said.
“You a crane expert now?” Shane asked. “Branching out from impossible whales?”
“I just don’t think we’d see cranes this far out in the South Pacific,” Darren said. “Maybe they’re going to Australia, but I don’t think so.”
“But you could be wrong,” Thorne said. He held up a hand before Darren could argue. “If those were even cranes. We all got a split second look. None of us can be sure of the species.”
“I know what they eat,” Kinsey said, pushing the grass aside with the barrel of her carbine. “Check this out.”
They did.
At Kinsey’s feet was a pile of almost picked clean beetle carapaces. The exoskeletons were cracked open and broken, piled almost a foot and half high and three feet wide.
“Hungry birds,” Shane said. “Where’d they get all the food?”
“You do know what the primary danger on this island is, right?” Darren asked. “Have you even been paying attention?”
“It’s daytime, numb nuts,” Shane replied. “The beetles hide underground during the day. So how’d the birds get so many beetles?”
“They dug them out,” Kinsey said, several feet away and looking at a new spot in the clearing. “
Do I have to do all the leg work here?”
The others joined her and found a spot where the grass had been yanked up and the ground had been excavated to about five feet deep. The sides of the hole were littered with tunnel openings, each maybe a foot wide. There seemed to be some sort of black shell rimming the openings.
“It’s how they keep the tunnels from collapsing,” Darren said as he nudged a tunnel hole with the toe of his boot. “They secrete something that hardens and provides structure to the dirt.”
“Clever little buggers,” Shane said. “You think these tunnels run the length of the island?”
“Yes,” Thorne answered for Darren. “We should count on it.”
“That means they can come up and out from anywhere at any time,” Kinsey said.
“Not anytime,” Shane said. “Nighttime. Nighttime, people. Nocturnal attacks.”
“Nocturnal is a big word,” Darren said. “Don’t hurt yourself.”
“Yes, Shane, nighttime,” Thorne said. “Still doesn’t make the revelation anymore easy to swallow. We are basically walking over the enemy right now.”
“Let’s find the facility,” Darren said. “We get that secured and then deal with the beetles.”
“And the birds,” Shane said. “We should probably think about those birds. If they didn’t migrate, then how the hell have they survived on this island? I’d like to know that secret.”
“As would I,” Thorne agreed. “Darren, keep moving. I want to be to that facility within an hour.”
Darren nodded and resumed his position at point. The others fell in and they left the clearing behind. After about ten minutes, the birds returned, landing by the pile of empty shells to see if maybe they had missed a morsel or two.
***
It was considerably longer than an hour before they reached the base of the volcano’s long dormant caldera. The island itself was a volcano that had grown up out of the ocean, adding layer upon layer to its height over billions of years until it broke through the water, eventually died, and became an island paradise.
Several seismic shifts and continental drifts later, the island spread out and the caldera had collapsed, leaving a large, wide valley in the center of the island. Directly in the center of that valley was a building. It was small, unassuming, not much to look at.
