by Jade Allen
“Where did you hide it?”
“By the lagoon above section three.”
“What? You know that’s tidal--it could be anywhere along the river by now!”
“Nah, it’ll be there.”
Rayne had no other alternative; she paddled as quickly and silently as she could away from the voices, downstream. Getting behind a bend, Rayne climbed out of the canoe, hoisted it onto the bank and crept slowly back. Two men wearing yellow biohazard gear emerged from the undergrowth, their faces covered. One made a show of pointing in a direction and freaking out that the head was gone. They glanced at the downward stream path and would have walked over to reveal Rayne’s hiding spot had they not taken another look at the lagoon and seen Billie’s bright hair. The men walked around the lagoon and waded in, dropping Billie’s torn up head into a thick black bag. The men then walked back to where they came from, their yellow suits disappearing into the green undergrowth.
What in the actual fuck is going on?
The rest of the morning was a blur for Rayne. She had returned the canoe to the chirpy staff and wandered aimlessly in the forest for over an hour until she careened into Ben.
“Rayne, where have you been?”
Shaken, Rayne looked around uneasily “Why?” she couldn’t hide the edge in her voice.
“There’s been an evacuation called. Plus, I didn’t see you yesterday. I was worried; they said guests have gotten sick. More have disappeared today.”
Evacuation? Today? More missing?
“Well, where were you? Yesterday, I went canoeing and sunbathed; dinner was served in my cabin.”
“I was… I was… around, I guess you could say.”
Rayne went to back away, but Ben’s firm hand grasped her wrist. “What have you seen?” he asked, his once friendly brown eyes now taking on a frightening blackness. “Where is Nelson Patrick? Where’s Billie Toms?”
Before she could open her mouth to scream there was a thundering explosion from behind them; gunshots peppered the serene rainforest atmosphere. Ben had released Rayne’s arm, giving her the perfect chance to take off. Spinning on her heels, Rayne pumped her arms and legs down a track and then off into the dense underbrush. Behind her, she could hear Ben calling her name and his heavy footfalls—he was gaining on her!
Rayne leapt over logs and used trees to swing herself down the slope without tumbling head over heels. Another noise joined Ben’s crashing: motorbikes. Shrill, revved engines tore down the slope in front of and behind Rayne, causing her to skid to a halt.
“Hey, hey! Over here!” she waved her arms.
With an almighty crash, Rayne was spear-tackled to the ground from behind just in time to hear a thick shot of bullets blast where her torso should have been. Rayne gasped for air from under Ben’s crushing body.
“You hurt?” Ben hissed into her ear. “No? Good, this place has gone to fucking hell and we need to get out of here. Come with me.”
Ben yanked Rayne up and half dragged her through the rainforest. The bikes were still around, but making it back up the slope and sighting their quarry was virtually impossible. “They’ll have to circle back and guess where we’ve gone,” Ben explained.
Just as they reached the hire shack for the canoes—which was now deserted—there was a peppering of bullets and the wide, ancient trees next to them exploded. Rayne instinctively stepped back and grabbed Ben, pulling him away in time to see a large crossbow arrow split a neighboring sapling. There was another crash, and a figure in camouflage leapt out from the undergrowth, pulling Ben down. In a flurry of fists and kicks, Rayne could see that Ben was out of his depth with this raging killer. Instinctively, she rushed over to the hire shack, grabbed a double-ended paddle and charged back to the fray, bringing the blade of one paddle down hard on the foe’s head with a mighty roar. The attacker slumped and collapsed onto the ground, leaving Ben gasping for air. With no attackers watching them, Rayne dragged Ben toward the shack, lifted an unlocked roller door and shoved him underneath before climbing in. Luckily, there were no staff members hiding inside.
“What the hell is going on here? And who are you?” Rayne snapped out the words, carefully trying to tend to the cuts that opened on Ben’s face. “Ben?”
“I’m…I’m not Ben. My real name is Malcolm Derby. I’m an investigative journalist here to find out what’s going on, and I think I know what’s happening.” It had flowed from Ben/Malcolm’s tongue so easily that Rayne stopped what she was doing and sat back on her heels.
“What?”
“How did you get invited?” he asked, wincing from the pressure she applied to his wounded face.
“I accidentally picked up a card dropped by a woman at a train station.”
Ben/Malcolm nodded at Rayne’s confession. “That makes a lot of sense now. You’re not like the rest of them.” He looked up deeply into Rayne’s eyes. Ben/Malcolm went to move, but a searing pain rippled through his side and he hugged his ribs.
“Shit, let’s have a look.” Rayne started unbuttoning Malcolm’s shirt to expose his sculpted body. The exploding wood had ripped into his skin, and there were obvious signs of bruising from his fist-fight. Rayne saw a flask of water nearby and cloth. Grabbing both she dampened the cloth and started to gently clean the wounds.
It was several awkward moments before Malcolm broke the silence. “I loved that dress, by the way,” he murmured. “As did half of the room.”
“You’re not dying yet; you can save the petty lies.”
“Honest, half the room couldn’t keep their eyes off of you. I was hoping to chat with you sooner, but Billie swooped in. I sort of resigned to thinking you were an airhead when that happened. I’m glad you changed my mind when you came back.”
Rayne blushed. No one had ever sounded so thankful to be in her company before.
“This is quite a view you know. It’s not every day I find myself straddled by a woman who’s ripped open my shirt. It’s definitely up there in my top five experiences.”
“Oh really?” Although Rayne was focusing on cleaning his wounds, she couldn’t help that her hands wandered somewhat freely over Malcolm’s torso. It was making cleaning a slower process.
“Hmm-mmm, it’s almost worth going back to the waterfall to compare a second time--that is, if you’re up for the experiment.”
“Well,” Rayne had to focus to keep her voice even, “I would need to insist on several re-enactments of the original, just so we have enough comparable data of course.”
“Of course!” Malcolm winked and gave Rayne’s thigh a little squeeze.
Footsteps running past the shack put Rayne and Malcolm back on edge. As soon as the last wound was clean, Rayne re-buttoned the shirt and they quietly shuffled to a far corner of the shack.
They waited for several very long minutes until the sounds of the forest returned before recommencing their whispers.
“So, why are you here?” Rayne ventured first.
Malcolm failed to keep the sorrow from his face. “I’m trying to figure out why my best friend never came home from here. He told me over drinks he’d been given this exclusive invitation and wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about it, so naturally he showed me the card and everything. I thought nothing of it until his mother called me asking if I knew where he was. I did some digging and found that there have been increased reports of people going missing--people who would never normally be reported as missing.”
“But don’t people go missing all the time? It’s hardly enough to stage a huge investigation.”
“You’re absolutely right, but the people I found who were going missing were influential fringe-dwellers. Bankers, stock traders, socialites, trendsetters. People who sit somewhere in an area of influence, but wouldn’t draw a lot of attention; there were about a dozen cases in the past month.”
“So, then…”
“I did some digging and found nothing on this resort, its builders or even its location. I tried to contact the authorities, but they
said this place never existed. Eventually, I worked through all my contacts and paid a lot of money to wrangle a card out of someone who was invited…Ben, an advertising guy.” He gritted his teeth as he shifted into a different position. “You a nurse back home?”
“No, I am—well, I was—the go-to first aid person in my office. I don’t know if I can still say that I am; I don’t know if we’ll make it alive off this island.”
Malcolm gave a slow nod. “For all it’s worth, I’m glad I met you.”
Rayne paused and gave Malcolm a small smile, “Me, too.”
There was a long pause, before Malcolm continued, “Why did you run from me before?”
Rayne let out a long deep breath and mentally braced herself. “I found Billie Toms’ head in a lagoon this morning, and it was collected by men in biohazard suits. I was in shock, so when you asked where she was, I thought that maybe you had something to do with it.”
Malcolm pulled Rayne into a crushing hug. “I’m so sorry I scared you. I had been sneaking around trying not to get caught—I had just avoided getting tased by some guys in those suits who ambushed the group I was with. I had stopped to read some stupid plaque on a tree, and before I knew it, I had to hide under the boardwalk and crawl back to the resort. I thought something dreadful happened to you...wasn’t far off the mark in the end, was I?”
Rayne squeezed her arms around Malcolm. “So,” she mulled the words over in her mouth, “why do you think people are disappearing? Why was Billie murdered?”
Malcolm released her from the hug but reached out and held Rayne’s hand, his warm grip returning her to the reality of the situation.
“I’m not completely sure, but I know that the guests who disappear have acted unusual. The day before you turned up, I noticed a male guest acting differently. He was a big talker and had a huge personality. I only noticed his strangeness because in the morning he was complaining of chills and hot flashes, but by lunchtime, he had completely shut-up—you couldn’t get a word from him. He never came to dinner, and has been absent ever since.”
“Is it possible he was bitten by something?”
“Possible, yes, but then other guests have been acting strangely and disappearing. I had an activity with Nelson yesterday. We were supposed to go for a rainforest hike, but he was pulled out when he started complaining of headaches and never came back for the rest of the day.” Malcolm looked thoughtful for a few moments, “I think that’s what happened to Billie.”
“Doesn’t explain the reasoning though.”
Malcolm looked surprised. “You are very shrewd,” he smiled. “That part, I’m not sure of yet. But I think we’re being exposed to something. Why else would you send thirty strangers to a remote island?”
Rayne nodded and bit her inner cheek; she didn’t want to blubber in front of this amazing man.
“You have anyone waiting for you at home? Parents, friends, partner? Because there’s always hope that they will also sound the alarm.”
At that, Rayne blinked a few large fat tears.
“Hey, hey, hey...don’t cry, Love. We’ll be fine; I’ll figure it out.” Malcolm propped up onto an arm and, with his free hand, gently stroked the tears away. “I would never normally say this, but you are just breaking my heart.”
“This is the worst date I have ever been on.” Rayne sniffled, muffling her choked laugh. Malcolm beamed back, and despite the matted blood on his face, he looked more handsome than ever.
“What do we-” Rayne’s voice was cut off by a delicious kiss from Malcolm. He snaked a hand through Rayne’s damp hair and cupped her head ever so gently. The danger and rush of surviving pumped wildly in her veins, Rayne couldn’t help but return the deep kiss.
“So,” Rayne managed breathlessly, “what do we do now?”
****
There was blood everywhere. It coated the walls, the floor--there were even spurts on the ceiling. Rayne held a double-ended canoe paddle in both hands and braced herself; this was not in the brochure.
Rayne stood in the middle of the killing floor, a secret chamber within the airplane hangars where the “resort” managers checked out their guests. Bile threatened to spill out from Rayne’s throat, but she swallowed firmly and started to breathe through her mouth.
A large stainless steel table sat to the side of the room. Installed at regular intervals were several built-in circular power-saws sitting idly, the teeth riddled with shards of bone and strips of tissue. Beside the table stood large dripping containers filled with the putrefying meat of their fellow guests. Rayne could see a tuft of matted magenta hair poking out through one of the mounds.
Rayne crinkled her nose as she walked around the room to see if there were any hidden holding chambers or computers. Earlier, Malcolm had stolen a biohazard suit from a wandering worker and handed it to Rayne; he pocketed a small taser found on the suit’s belt to complete their disguises as captor and captive. Since leaving the shack, they had clambered and slipped down the forest hillside following fresh tire tracks leading back to the airport. It was the only clue they had.
They entered the hangar with the most footprint tracks leading inside, Rayne wearing the yellow biohazard suit and holding the paddle as though she confiscated it from Malcolm. The hangar concealed a suite of industrial-like office rooms and was eerily quiet. With no one to stop them, Rayne followed a small trail of blood to what she would learn was the killing floor, while Malcolm followed footsteps that led further down into the building. He had shown Rayne a flash drive which he hoped to load onto an encrypted website that would alert his friends to send help. Finding a computer was their prime goal. Lost in the horror of the bloody room, Rayne almost missed the hissing voice of Malcolm behind her.
“I think I found the place we need, but we need to make a distraction first. Follow me.”
Rayne stepped out of the blood and wiped her feet on a nearby cloth before running after Malcolm and back to the undergrowth. Malcolm scurried down the forest running parallel to the hangar, coming to a stop at the two-thirds mark.
“You’re not going to like this, but I think there are surviving guests in this part of the hangar—it’s like a hospital wing. I took a quick look and saw a ton of computers, but there are medical staff working on the group. They keep using ear thermometers on them for some reason. For me to get in there, we need to make a distraction.”
Rayne thought back to her memories of the runway; I’ve got it!
“How much do you like your shirt?” she asked.
****
An almighty explosion rocketed the side of the compound, sending sheets of metal and debris soaring through the air. Workers milled out of every building to converge on the explosion, only to be faced with smaller explosions dotted around the hangars. Malcolm, now shirtless and shielded by Rayne in her yellow suit, sprinted to the access door that led to the hospital wing.
They watched several staff run from the room before they barged through the doorway and into a pristine white space filled with gadgets and machinery. All the remaining guests were hooked up to a bevy of monitors and pumps. At the end stood a doctor reading charts.
“Oh, what a surprise--another one! We have just one left out there now: a female. I wonder if she’s the reason behind that kerfuffle outside.” The doctor picked up one of the strange ear thermometers and crammed it into Malcolm’s ear. When it failed to go off, he recalibrated and tried again. This time when it didn’t go off, Malcolm stuck him with the taser and let him spasm to the ground.
Rayne ran back to the entry door and hauled some heavy gas cans into the room before bolting all the doorways.
“It’s too late,” the doctor slurred from his collapsed position. “Doesn’t matter what you do, these hosts will be sent back into circulation tomorrow to beckon the beginning of a new world order.”
“Hosts? Is that what you’re calling these people? What have you done to them?” Malcolm had leapt to a monitor and was feverishly tapping keys.
The
doctor was unable to control his limbs and continued to tremble on the floor, “Done? You mean improved. Ha, one by one, the elite will find their lofty heights crumbling to ruin, never realizing it came from within.”
Around the ward were shimmering tanks. At first glance, they looked like decorative screens, but seen up close, the tanks were filled with millions of tiny clear and silvery bits. Rayne held her hand up to the glass of one tank and a cluster of silver converged on the spot, mimicking the shape. She gasped and stood back. “What is this?”
“It’s new nanotechnology--my nano-bites.” The doctor had pulled himself up to sit, slumping against a bedpost. “These critters do amazing things when they’re inside the human brain. They love patterns, you see. You’ve already felt the effects of these nano-bites, but you two were highly resistant.”
Rayne looked up at the doctor. Malcolm paused as he typed frantically. “What do you mean?” he ventured.
“Remember that night with the loud music? You were all fed large amounts of nano-bites in your cocktails. The bass-driven music was chosen to allow the nano-bites to activate your most basic survival needs. We ended up with twenty nine people having intercourse uncontrollably--all in the name of cross contamination.” He had pulled himself to his knees and was attempting to stand back up, but Rayne grabbed her paddle and smacked him hard against the ribs, sending him back to the floor.
“Are these people still alive? Can these nano-bites be removed?” she snapped.
The doctor sputtered and laughed, “No, they’re as good as gone. The nano-bites will have destroyed enough of the brain during the replication process. They’re on life support until the nano-bites reprogram themselves.”
“And what about us?”
The doctor motioned to the ear thermometers. “Find out for yourselves. They’ll beep if they make contact with nano-bites; your friend over there with the taser doesn’t have them.”
