Slaughter Beach

by Jones, Benedict

  “Gilbert! Gil, get up, mate.”

  There was no answer. Samson climbed down and checked that no one was there. Stupid bastard, he thought, Curtis would have his fucking hide if he’d swum over to the island to see the women. Then a thought struck Samson – if Gilbert had swum over to the island then why were there wet footprints on the deck if he hadn’t come back? Samson’s gut tightened and he headed back to the wheelhouse fumbling for the key that Don had given him. Inside he shook Christopher awake and unlocked the gun cupboard. The long-barrelled, black .357 looked at him and he grabbed at it, checked the load and then looked to Christopher.

  “Might be there’s someone on the boat.”

  “Like who?”

  “If I knew that I wouldn’t need the bloody gun,” replied Samson as he strapped on the gun belt and holster for the pistol.

  Christopher nodded and drew the lock knife from his belt. He nodded once to Samson and they moved off to search the boat.

  *

  The need to piss pulled Heidi out of her sleep. She climbed out from beneath her thin sheet and stepped over Nubia to reach the flap of the tent. The sky had begun to lighten as she emerged and crossed the sand looking for somewhere private. She moved into the tree line and pushed on until she was well out of eyeshot of the camp. Finally she crouched down and pulled down her panties. She sighed as she relieved her champagne-strained bladder.

  “Even when you piss you look good.”

  Heidi tried to turn and ended up falling back into her own puddle. Gilbert sat, crouched, on a fallen log to her left. He was only wearing a pair of small shorts, still wet from his swim over and in his hand he held a short bladed knife.

  “Shit, even sitting in your own piss you look good.”

  Gilbert hopped down from the log.

  “I saw how you were looking at me earlier.”

  Heidi shook her head.

  “I wasn’t.”

  “Yeah, you were. Just me and you now so no need to make shit up.”

  Scooting back Heidi looked around but the line of trees blocked her sight of camp. She prepared to scream as Gilbert stepped closer.

  *

  They checked the deck quickly, Samson with the revolver outstretched and Christopher hanging back with his knife. Samson stopped.

  “I want the boss over here, this isn’t right.”

  He grabbed up a torch and headed to the starboard side to try and signal Don. Christopher turned and looked at the door to the engine room.

  “Samson, we haven’t checked down here.”

  “Leave it.”

  Even as Samson spoke Christopher tugged apart the doors to the engine room. As the doors opened a wire slid sideways and pulled the pin from the grenade. In the second before it went off Christopher stared at the olive green shell and the brass head. It popped with a flash of light and Samson threw up his arm, feeling the burn of shrapnel cutting into the muscles of the limb as he did. Christopher screamed and Samson tried to scramble across the deck to him. Boom-boom went two more explosions that rocked The Ariadne. Samson was thrown sideways and hit the rail. He turned to see Christopher walking towards him extending handless arms that dripped red.

  *

  With one hand undoing the flies of his shorts, Gilbert stepped toward the prone Heidi. She scrambled back and screamed. Gilbert’s face twisted to anger.

  “Now why did you want to do that? I know you want me.”

  “I don’t fucking want you.”

  Heidi’s foot kicked out and connected with the side of Gilbert’s knee. He dropped and she scrambled to her feet and turned to run. Gilbert swung his knife towards her neck but was surprised when it seemed to halt in mid-air. He watched as his hand fell away, dirt catching on the bloody stump. Heidi turned and saw the rolling hand and screamed again.

  “Fuck,” said Gilbert trying to work out what had happened to his hand.

  Regaining her feet Heidi turned and ran back towards the camp. Gilbert turned and, with the stump of his wrist pressed tight against himself, walked in the opposite direction with a stumbling gait, the life dripping out of him. After a few yards he heard the crunch of a branch underfoot and turned. There was nothing there. He turned back and the blade kissed his throat. In a single sweep Gilbert’s head was separated from his shoulders and sent to bounce back across the clearing to come to a rest in the puddle of Heidi’s piss.

  *

  If the screams from the woods didn’t wake him up the explosion from his boat certainly did. Curtis snapped awake and saw a sleepy looking Benjy come running in fumbling with the M1. Curtis jumped out from his sleeping bag and grabbed the gun. He dropped to one knee and checked the weapon was ready to fire.

  “I thought I’d let you sleep for a bit, boss.”

  “Grab a machete and get near the tents.”

  Benjy nodded and grabbed up a long knife. Curtis looked around, saw the pall of smoke rising from The Ariadne and was torn. He looked back and forth for a moment, swore, and then headed for the tree-line where the screams had come from. He kept the carbine tight into his shoulder as he ran, finger outside the trigger guard. Heidi stumbled from the bush and Curtis aimed the carbine straight at her blonde head. She stopped dead and looked straight at him. Curtis stared at her down the barrel for a moment and then pulled it up.

  “Who’s in there?”

  Heidi’s mouth moved but no sound came out. Curtis looked at her for a moment and then pushed past her into the trees. He moved slowly, picking his positions and stopping to listen as he went, the carbine tight to his shoulder. Curtis found Gilbert’s severed hand and head first. He looked at them for a moment and then moved up to the rest of his body. He dropped to one knee and scanned the jungle. Noise filled his ears; clicking insects, the screech of birds, shouts from the camp. Curtis stood and worked his way back to the beach keeping the M1 pointed at the jungle as he did.

  The camp was up and moving when Curtis got back. Marshall was walking around in his Speedos with a small silver pistol in his hand, a Walther PPK – James Bond’s gun. He brought his hand up as the Captain came out of the tree-line. Curtis gave him a moment and was glad when the American let the pistol drop.

  “What the fuck is going on here, Curtis?”

  Curtis shrugged.

  “Someone’s took Gilbert’s head off and fuck knows what’s happened to my boat. I’ll give you a clue Mr Marshall – step the fuck off me and let me find out what’s going on.”

  Marshall made to raise the pistol but Curtis grabbed his wrist and stared straight into his eyes.

  “Get in my way, Mr Marshall and I will fuck you up. Keep the gun down and watch the tree-line for me.”

  For a moment Marshall looked like he would argue but he saw the look in Curtis’ eyes and stepped away. He knelt down and pointed the Walther PPK he carried at the tree-line. Curtis nodded and moved off heading for the surf. Everyone had come out of the tents and Curtis felt their eyes on him as he hit the surf. He watched the boat as it came towards them from The Ariadne. When it got close Curtis dashed out and helped pull it up onto the beach. Christopher was pale and unmoving, Samson’s right arm a mass of red torn flesh. Curtis helped get the two men out of the boat and onto the beach. Tammy had the medical kit open and was trying to get a bandage wrapped around his arm.

  “What the fuck happened?” asked Curtis.

  “Booby trap. Chris opened the hatch and it took his hands, there must’ve been something hooked up to the door and more below the surface. One in the engine and two for the deck. Engine’s in bits and there’s a hole in the hull.”

  “Who?” asked Curtis.

  Samson shrugged.

  “Didn’t see a fuckin’ thing. Flashed white and took the boy’s hands off. There was wet footprints on the deck. There’s someone else here on the island, boss.”

  Curtis looked at his injured crewman and then at his stricken boat.

  “Shit,” he said and turned away.

  7.

  They stood on the beac
h and watched The Ariadne go down. There were tears in Curtis’ eyes but he pushed them away. Christopher lay covered by a blanket near the tents. They had brought Gilbert’s body back and he lay likewise covered.

  “An SOS, we need to send an SOS,” said Marshall.

  Curtis looked at him for a moment before he spoke.

  “Samson would have done that before he got clear. But round here they aren’t that quick. Could be tomorrow at least before they get to us.”

  “So we have to wait here on the beach?” asked Joelle.

  Curtis nodded.

  “We stay here and don’t go near the trees.”

  Joelle threw a look at Heidi who sat alone, a throw around her shoulders. Carmine went over and sat next to her. He started talking and she stopped shaking and listened. Curtis and Tony carried Samson from the dinghy and put him down on the sand. The Captain stripped the pistol belt from him and offered it to Tony.

  “Don’t have a clue. I could put it on but I’d be next to useless.”

  Curtis walked over to Carmine.

  “You know how to use this?”

  “I might be a fruit but I’m an Italian from Brooklyn – of course I know how to use it. Give it here,” he strapped the gun belt on and sighed “dirty green army surplus, not really my colour but it’ll have to do.”

  Curtis went back to Samson and lifted his head.

  “You did put out the distress call didn’t you?”

  “Wasn’t time, boss.”

  Curtis looked up at the sky.

  “So no one knows we’re out here?”

  Samson bit back a wave of pain from his ruined arm and nodded.

  “Shit,” said Curtis, “Marshall!”

  Marshall walked over, pistol pointed at the sand and a bottle of Johnny Walker in his other hand.

  “He didn’t get a chance to get an SOS out.”

  Marshall looked blank.

  “No one’s coming for us.”

  “They’ll have to. They will. I’m William Marshall.”

  Curtis stared at him and wondered when he’d realise that help wasn’t coming but Marshall simply shook his head and took a hit off his bottle.

  *

  They are on my island forever now that I have taken their boat.

  I came across two of the interlopers and took one’s head –there are many more to come. I watch them moving around trying to secure the perimeter that I have already penetrated. I know how this game will play out. I have had the longest time to think about every movement that my opponents can make and I know them all. Let them try.

  8.

  Curtis was down on one knee thinking. Marshall had been pacing back and forth but now sat on the sand, the night’s booze and cocaine catching up with him. He wore a Nikon around his neck like a giant medallion. He looked over at Curtis and then spoke.

  “So what’s the plan?”

  “Plan?”

  “I’m presuming you’ve got a plan.”

  Curtis shrugged.

  “At the minute all I’ve got are some thoughts.”

  “Let’s hear them,” asked Joelle.

  Curtis looked up at her and nodded.

  “The way I see it if there’s someone else on the island that means they’ve got a means to get off it - a boat, something. We can try and find it. Failing that we light a bloody big fire on top of the mountain and hope someone sees it.”

  The others had gathered around, except Samson who lay resting in one of the tents. There were nods of agreement.

  “How long will the food last?” asked Carmine.

  Curtis weighed it up.

  “A couple of days if we’re careful. We’ll need to find some fresh water, look for fruit if we can.”

  “What about our friend out in the jungle?” asked Marshall.

  Curtis shrugged.

  “Not much we can do except keep watch. We’ve got three guns, not a lot of ammo but it’ll have to do. We don’t even know how many of them there are.”

  Benjy gripped his machete tighter and stared out at the green of the jungle. The others had begun to arm themselves; Curtis had the M1, Marshall and Carmine pistols, Nubia had picked up another machete and Joelle held a piece of firewood like a club.

  “We have to do something,” said Tammy.

  Curtis nodded.

  “Maybe we need to get out and look for the boat whoever is on the island is using.”

  “What about that?” asked Marshall.

  Curtis turned and saw that he was pointing to the dinghy.

  “What about it?”

  “Could someone go for help?”

  “Help? Man, it would take a week to get back – if you didn’t get lost.”

  But the dinghy had set Curtis to thinking.

  “We can use it though. If we put the supplies and a couple of people in it then the boat can follow us around the shoreline while we look for whoever’s here. If we haven’t found anything by nightfall then we camp on the beach and head for the high ground tomorrow to get a beacon lit.”

  There was no dissent to Curtis’ suggestion so he nodded and looked around at the group.

  “Tony, you and Francesca take Samson in the dinghy with the supplies and the rest of us will move along the shore.”

  Nods and they loaded up the dinghy. Samson tried to argue but he was pale and Curtis ordered him into the dinghy.

  “Got to have one real sailor with the landlubbers, eh?”

  Samson forced a weak smile.

  “Alright, Captain, I’ll try to keep them out of trouble.”

  *

  With the dinghy out beyond the breaks, following them, Curtis took point and led the group off along the beach.

  “Keep your eyes peeled, watch the trees and look out for signs of anyone being about – footprints, anything.”

  Out on the left Carmine walked and watched the jungle, he left the pistol in its holster but kept the flap unbuttoned. Marshall brought up the rear, gun in hand. Benjy padded up next to Curtis.

  “Think we’ll find anything, Captain?”

  Curtis shrugged.

  “Stands to reason there’ll be a boat.”

  “I’m not worried about that, I’m worrying we’ll find whoever did for Gil when we find their boat.”

  “Well there’re enough of us.”

  Benjy looked back at the rest of the bunch.

  “I hate to say it, Captain, but this lot look more likely to hurt themselves than anyone we come across.”

  “What’s the alternative?”

  “I could take the boat and go for help. Rather be on the open sea than here. Place is fuckin’ cursed.”

  “Cursed?”

  “Yeah. That’s the way me grandmother told it.”

  “Cursed how?”

  “Bad shit happened here. People always going missing. In the end the village just closed up and they all shipped off.”

  “The village, of course. You think they might have left any boats?”

  “Be rotted to shit by now. Houses might still be there though.”

  “You know where it is?”

  Benjy shook his head.

  “Nah, but if we’re walking the beach I reckon we’ll run across it.”

  Curtis was about to nod when a shot rang out.

  “Shit,” Curtis ducked down to one knee and looked down the beach.

  The rest of the group scattered, Joelle diving for the tall grass at the edge of the trees. Benjy ducked down next to the Captain. About two hundred yards down the beach was a pile of driftwood and other flotsam. Curtis watched the pile and saw the flash before he heard the second shot. Marshall stood in a crouched, two-handed shooting stance – the type they teach at expensive LA shooting ranges. He fired once and then again.

  “Save your ammo,” shouted Curtis as he sighted in his carbine. He took a breath and then let it out in a long stream.

  “Go on, Captain. Get the bastard.”

  Curtis blanked out Benjy, the glare of the sun, the scream from the e
dge of the trees and the fact that there was someone shooting at him. A squeeze of the trigger and Curtis put a three round burst into the driftwood. Chunks of wood were blasted off. Curtis watched a figure rise and saw the rifle pointed down the beach straight at him. He waited for the shot but none came. The figure fumbled with the rifle and Curtis smiled.

  “Stoppage!”

  He lined up the M1 and snapped off a single shot. The figure ducked and ran for the trees. Curtis stood and fired another three round burst. The shots chased the figure into the trees but none struck home.

  “Don!”

  Curtis turned at Tammy’s call and jogged over to where she stood. He wondered what she was looking at but then looked down and saw the shallow pit. Joelle lay in the pit, moaning in agony. The pit was lined with short, sharpened bamboo stakes and Joelle had leapt straight onto them as she dived for cover in the grass. Curtis ducked down and caught a whiff of shit. He looked closely at the stakes and saw that the tips were stained brown.

  “Ah, Jesus.”

  Joelle moaned again.

  “What do we do?” asked Tammy.

  “You still got the medical kit?”

  Tammy nodded.

  “Well we have to get her off those stakes but when we do she’s going to bleed like a stuck pig. When we get her up you put every bit of antiseptic in that kit on her wounds. Benjy!”

  “Captain?”

  “You take this,” he passed him the M1 “and watch the trees in case he comes back. Carmine, Marshall – you’ll have to help me.”

  Carmine stepped up and looked into the pit. He shook his head and then holstered the .357. Marshall stayed back.

  “I can’t.”

  “C’mon, man. She needs you.”

  Marshall shook his head.