Lights blinked into life all around me, and a hissing noise permeated through the cockpit that sounded much more encouraging than worrying. But as far as the engine revving into life went, nothing happened of course.
Had I really expected it to start chugging like a Ford Escort? This was clearly a fuel powered jet and needed combustible fuel to operate. That, I had learned, did not seem to exist on this island. However there was another button that said IGNITION. Perhaps it was like a scooter, where you turned the key then fired the spark plugs by pressing the ignition button! I took another breath and pushed this without much hope.
Again, nothing.
The lights and controls were still whirring, but I reasoned this is because they were battery powered. As much as I was expecting it, it took a deep chunk out of my soul to admit to myself there that we weren’t going to be flying anywhere on this aircraft.
Akari was breathing shallowly from behind me. I felt a curious sort of resignation, like this was it. I had tried everything and failed. I rose from the cockpit, taking care not to bang my head on the ceiling, and went into the cabin area plonking myself down on the extremely comfortable chair next to Akari.
She was almost gone, I thought as I looked at her. Her eyes were glazed over, and her breath was coming in ragged gasps. Blood had congealed on the corners of her mouth and she looked like a cancer sufferer in the last throes of life. Her colour had vanished and she was almost see-through.
I leaned over to her and gave her a soft kiss on her forehead. She was cool and dry to the touch.
“I’m sorry, darling,” I said through tears. “I’m so sorry.”
Her eyes flickered briefly, and I got the impression that she had heard me as the thinnest wisp of a smile broke the corner of her mouth.
Then she drew in her final breath, and died.
6%
I awoke at dawn. The light outside was orange, and quite beautiful. It shone through the small oval windows on the side of the plane and cast an ethereal glow on a row of crystal whiskey bottles in the corner.
My head was fuzzy, again as though I were hungover, and I shook myself like a dog coming out of water to try and inject some day into me.
Then the flashing percentage resolved itself on my eyeline. Down to 6%. Somewhere between meeting Akari and losing her I had lost an inexplicable and whopping 12%.
At first I barely comprehended this fact as I had no idea where I was. Then it came back to me. I hardly dared turn my head to the chair next to me to look at Akari. But I did.
She was there, in exactly the same position as she had been when I had said goodbye to her, eyes closed and mouth slightly parted, a serene expression on her young face.
What had she done to deserve this? And why had I been unable to protect her?
Because that was what had happened, wasn’t it? She had sought me out; the only other person on this forsaken pit of an island that could have helped her. She had ploughed every bit of her resourceful young mind into giving it a chance at life and where she had succeeded, I had failed.
Not only had I failed at keeping her alive, I had failed at prolonging my existence, for even now my percentage was being eaten up and was dangerously low.
How, now, did I continue?
Akari was young, only 19, and yet she was coughing up blood and barely able to breathe by the time her percentage ran out. What was I to expect? Would my limbs start to drop off, or would my brain simply explode into a cloud of dust?
I guessed I would find out pretty soon. What was left for me now? How did I eek out the rest of my percentage?
I knew I couldn’t stay on the plane. Akari was dead, and in the heat of the day would no doubt start to decompose pretty sharpish. Or would she? Like the food, would she simply sit in a state of freshness, a cadaver-esque limbo, while she awaited someone else to come along and find her? If this place had seen Those Who Had Gone Before why weren’t there remnants of the dead, the unsuccessfully escaped, all over the island waiting for me to stumble across them and enlighten me as to the futility of escape? Surely we couldn’t be the only two unlucky wretches ever to have been here?
I felt guilty for even thinking about leaving Akari, but I knew I had to. What was the good of sitting around moping? I was a human time bomb after all. If I only had a few hours left I may as well enjoy them. Maybe there was a charging point somewhere that I would stumble across just as my battery hit zero. I think what pissed me off the most was not Akari dying, or the fact that I was most probably about to as well, but that I was still no closer to understanding why. The causality of it all.
“We defy augury,” Hamlet had said. But we don’t. How can we? I defy any man who says he has control over his own destiny. Try telling that to a man whose life can be counted down in percentage points like mine. Try telling that to anyone but the man who is in his final death throes and knows what is about to come. Tell it to the man who is about to step into the road and be hit by a bus without knowing it that he has just 14 seconds to live, and he will laugh in your face.
I left Akari where she was. I gently closed her mouth, wiping the corners of it before I did so, a little concerned at how much pressure I had to apply to remove the crusted blood. She looked as peaceful and serene as a teenager taking a nap on her favourite sofa. That at least gave me some consolation.
Outside the airport I stood for a while in the morning sun and fished out a cigarette from my backpack. I surveyed the view of the mountains in the distance and dragged deeply. Well, at least I knew I wasn’t going to die of cancer.
I couldn’t help but burst into tears as I recovered my bike and found Akari’s perched against it in a final gesture of reliance. With great difficulty I separated the two. The chains had become locked together, in an ironic final embrace.
I loved her, I think. I may have only known her for 24 hours, but can’t a man can grow to love in such a short space of time? Especially if the circumstances force it thusly?
As I climbed on my bike and headed out of the airport grounds I wondered to myself what kind of love it could have been. She was a beautiful young woman, no doubt about it. Most men would have given her more than a second glance. But my thoughts turned to my own daughter, and how the thought of her in this situation was so utterly inconceivable. My need was to protect her, and as I have said and will say again, I failed.
---
The air was dry and hot again, no hint of a storm, as I made my way along the deserted roads. I didn’t know where I was heading and found myself surprised around an hour later when I saw the signs for Playa Blanca homing into view.
Life goes full circle, I thought. I had come home in a certain respect. Life was a big hamster wheel that we call rode on, hardly even realising that we were just coming round to the same place over and over.
Strangely, I was surprised as I cycled through the town limits and found them deserted. I had half expected a welcome of sorts, dammit. Perhaps the invisible film crew that had been documenting this whole charade would finally reveal themselves and we could crack open a few bottles of bubbles, drink ourselves stupid, and then the final denouement of the evening could be Akari revealing herself, alive, and holding two SINGLE plane tickets off the island.
My head began to hurt as I reached the beach. I saw the hut where I’d had a few beers after the Hotel Hesperia exploded, and instinctively headed towards it. The sea was as flat and as calm as I had ever seen it.
Well, that’s about it I’m afraid. I’ve just finished writing the whole shebang down and I’m going to have myself a few deserved beers.
My head is hurting like I’ve never known.
Just one more thing to say though. Perhaps it is a final gesture of defiance, but I shall be damned if this island is going to be my final resting place. I’ve stripped to full nudity, and I’m going to leave this place exactly as I imagine I arrived.
Which I have no idea how, obviously.
I could head back to the Sun Royal, lie down on the very
bed I awoke on and wait for the inevitable, but that would be a gesture of acquiescence that I refuse to give this island.
This Island of Nothingness.
In about three beers time I plan to walk down that beach, have a good old cigarette and then step into the sea and bid farewell to Island Zero.
I’ve decided that if I can’t have life, then it damn well can’t have me.
Author’s note
It is almost impossible to write an ‘apocalyptic’ novel without referencing or being influenced by the works of, as I like to call them here, Those Who Have Gone Before. Indeed, the main reason I got into creative writing was in large part thanks of the following works, and although Island Zero is a totally original work I most humbly doff my cap to Stephen King for The Langoliers and The Stand, to John Wyndham for The Day Of The Triffids, to George R. Stewart for Earth Abides, and to Richard Matheson for I Am Legend. For me, these works capture more than any other the extreme manias, from isolation and desperation to unbounded hope, one would feel in an apocalyptic or post-apocalyptic environment. I can only hope to have gone some way towards emulating them.
Lanzarote itself holds a tangible fascination to me, and I couldn’t have written this without numerable visits to the island and I would like to thank it too. Whilst most of the places and names within are accurate some have been invented for creative purposes, and it is not the intention to cause any offence to them, only to showcase what a paradise lies for those who wish to visit them. Inter-lunary tourism may be a lot closer than we think, but until then I am content with Lanzarote.
About the author
Nick Cracknell was nearly born on a cement ship off Jamaica in 1978, but made it to Northern Ireland just in time. After reading Russian at university, he worked as a music journalist, building surveyor and voice actor before turning to writing. He lives in Devon with his wife, two children and some chickens. Island Zero is his debut novel.
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