Slaughter Beach

by Jones, Benedict

  “I don’t want to see her like that. I want to remember her the way she was.”

  “She’s still alive you prick! Get over here and help us or I swear to God I’ll kill you long before our friend in the jungle.”

  Marshall stared death at Curtis but then put the safety on the Walther and pushed it into the pocket of his shorts. The three men stared down at the girl in the pit and then set to work trying to pull her up and off the stakes. She screamed as they lifted her and when they laid her down she stained the grass red. Curtis was surprised that the stakes hadn’t managed to sever anything vital. The sharpened bamboo had stabbed into her flesh in, perhaps, nine or ten places like shallow knife wounds. Tammy moved in with what remained of the bandages, but it wasn’t the bleeding that worried Curtis – it was the filth that had coated the stakes. Curtis looked out to sea but the dinghy was nowhere to be seen. He looked around watched as Marshall snapped a couple of shots of the pit with his Nikon.

  “What are you doing?”

  Marshall shrugged and pointed the camera at Curtis.

  “Want me to take yours instead.”

  Curtis stared at him until he lowered the camera.

  9.

  Under the shaded canopy of trees Tony struggled with the oars of the boat. He swore and tried to dig the oars into the water but the dinghy seemed to be pushed further into the shadowy jungle. They had heard the shots on the beach but try as he might Tony could not slow the dinghy and it had sped past the sniper. When he had tried to turn into the shore they had ended up on a small river that took them inland. Francesca looked at Tony, eyes big, and Samson tried to pull himself up.

  “Get in to the bank.”

  Tony nodded and tried.

  “I’m not very good with these.”

  “Fuck, man.”

  Samson pushed him away and took over at the oars. He pulled and turned the dinghy towards the bank, fresh red blossoming on the white of his bandaged arm. They came to a stop and they all sat in silence – the jungle shadowy and vast around them, birds called out and insects crawled.

  “Shit. We haven’t got a gun,” muttered Samson.

  Tony listened to the sounds of the forest and looked around.

  “You don’t think he’s anywhere around here do you?”

  Francesca shook her head.

  “We must have moved well past him.”

  Samson managed to pull the knife from his belt and climbed out onto the bank.

  “We need to get the Captain and the others.”

  “I don’t want to go out there. Why don’t we paddle back out to the sea?”

  “You could be right,” replied Samson.

  Before Samson could climb back into the boat he felt something behind him and half-turned as the bayonet bit through his spine. The big sailor screamed and dropped into the dirt, the feeling in his legs already a vague memory. The man who stood behind him was short and Asian, skin kissed dark by the sun, with hair that was greying and receding. He wore a jacket that had once been green but was now a washed-out, weather beaten, grey. Francesca screamed and the man smiled. On the ground Samson flapped around like a landed fish and tried to swing his blade up at the man’s groin. He beat the blade away with his bayoneted rifle and speared Samson’s wrist to the ground. The big man screamed and tried to buck away from the fresh pain. With a twist and a turn the bayonet was removed and the man held it poised for a moment before stabbing it down through Samson’s eye, slicing through brain and skull with a wet crunch.

  Francesca leapt from the dinghy and crashed into the water. It was shallow and she began to wade away towards the opposite bank. The man withdrew the bayonet from Samson’s head and raised the rifle. He slid back the bolt slowly and deliberately and Francesca froze. Tony sat with his hands held up.

  “Franny, stop,” and then turning back to the man on the bank “let’s just talk about this.”

  The man looked at Tony and the photo technician continued to talk.

  “Is that a Japanese army jacket? I know it is. I’ve seen them before when I was in Tokyo. You’ve been here since the war? It’s over you know, the war? Over a long time now the last of you guys walked out of the jungle a couple of years ago.”

  The man continued to watch Tony and listen.

  “We’re not here to try and harm you. Just here for pictures. Please, can you understand me? Do you speak English?”

  Francesca stood in the shallows, frozen in place, watching the exchange between the two men. They watched as the man lay down his rifle on the bank. Tony smiled.

  “Thank you. That’s it, let’s be calm and talk. Let’s just talk some more.”

  Tony half stood in the dinghy. The man turned away.

  “Wait…” said Tony.

  The man turned, drawing the katana as he came. The blade rose high above them and Tony had a moment to admire the unblemished steel before it descended in an arc towards him.

  “No!”

  The blade took him through the top of his head and cut down, bone and flesh butter beneath the sword, until in hit Tony’s pelvic bone. The two halves of him began to peel away from each other like a split banana. Tony was no longer able to scream but Francesca screamed for both of them. The man withdrew the blade and hacked Tony off at the knees, bone and sinew giving little resistance to the razor sharp folded steel. After Tony fell the man looked down at Francesca for a moment and then marched down into the river to get her.

  10.

  Joelle had lost consciousness not long after Tammy had finished bandaging her up. She lay on the sand with the other women crowded around her. Joelle’s golden skin had lost its colour and she was as grey as gruel. She murmured in fevered dream.

  “We need to get her to help.”

  Heidi looked at Nubia and nodded.

  “How in the hell are we going to do that?” threw in Marshall from where he sat.

  Curtis and Benjy were hacking down branches from the trees at the edge of the jungle while Carmine kept watch. Tammy broke away from the others and approached Curtis.

  “What are we going to do, Don?”

  Curtis gestured at the branches.

  “Going to try and rig up a stretcher for her. Then we head for the higher ground, try to reach the peak by nightfall and get a fire lit.”

  “What about the dinghy?”

  Curtis shrugged.

  “They must’ve been caught by the tide. Samson should get them turned around. They’ll be back.”

  “What if they’re not?”

  “Then I’ll have to go and look for them. How is she?”

  “Not good. She lost a lot of blood.”

  “She’ll survive that but if those wounds get infected the shock could kill her.”

  “What kind of person makes something like that pit?”

  Curtis looked away.

  “Saw ones like it in Vietnam. I think people have been coming up with ways to hurt each other since the Garden of Eden, this isn’t anything new.”

  They used large leaves and a couple of rain ponchos to make up the body of the stretcher, lashing them to the branches they had cut. Carmine walked back.

  “Not seeing anything out there, Captain.”

  “Well he’s out there somewhere. I’m just glad his rifle jammed up when it did.”

  Marshall finally got up from the sand.

  “So we’ll drag her on that?” he gestured at the stretcher and Curtis nodded.

  They gathered up their kit and got Joelle moved onto the stretcher. Curtis looked out to sea but saw nothing of the dinghy. He sighed

  “Benjy, you reckon you can lead them towards the mountain?”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “Guess I’ll have to go and look for them.”

  “Leave them, they’ll catch up,” said Marshall.

  “I can’t do that, Mr Marshall. Samson’s hurt and they haven’t got a gun with them. They’ll need help and to be told we’re heading up the mountain.”

  “You’re taking your
gun?”

  “Of course.”

  Marshall nodded.

  “Then I guess we’d better hope the pistols keep us safe.”

  “I’ll catch you up as soon as I can.”

  Tammy walked over.

  “Want me to come with you, Don?”

  Curtis smiled.

  “Best you stay with the others. I can move faster alone.”

  She nodded and reached out to squeeze his hand.

  “Be careful.”

  “Always,” he replied.

  11.

  Beneath the dark canopy Francesca stumbled along a path that was about a foot wide. A length of twine was tied around her throat and was held by the man like he was walking a Poodle in the park. The katana was back in its scabbard and he had the rifle slung over his shoulder. Francesca’s foot slipped on a mossy rock and she stumbled. Feeling the lead slacken she threw herself off to the side of the path and yanked the twine from the man’s hand. She plunged into the bushes and began to run. Branches lashed at her flesh as she ran down the slope. The ground grew steeper and rocks lurked beneath the shrubbery. One of the rocks caught her toe and spilled her over. She hit the ground hard and rolled further down until she felt nothing but air beneath her.

  Francesca fell ten feet or so and landed heavily on rocks which lay below. The pain was instant and burned white-hot through her. She screamed instinctively. She looked down and saw her knee twisted at an unnatural angle. She screamed again and continued to until the man appeared above her. He stared down at her for a moment and then climbed down the rocks with the dexterity of a mountain goat. He stood over her. No point taking her further but she could still be of use.

  *

  Down in the jungle Curtis heard the screams. He moved carefully forward watching for any surprises that might have been left for him. In his mind he wasn’t sure whether he was on the island or back in the jungles of Phuoc Toy but then it didn’t matter, not really. All that mattered was to play the game – stay alive no matter what the cost. Curtis swapped out the half-empty clip from the M1 and replaced it with a full one. He had no tape to try and fashion a jungle clip like they had back in Vietnam. Thirty eight rounds left but the Captain knew that that was nothing, it could be gone in a three minute fire-fight.

  He came across the river and saw the deflated dinghy floating in it. A long slash ran along the side of the little boat. Checking the slash Curtis could see that it looked too clean to be caused by the boat getting caught up on rocks. He brought the carbine up to his shoulder and moved forward carefully. He followed the river back towards the sea and soon came across what he had hoped not to find; a pair of corpses. He looked at what remained of Tony in the shallows. Looking away from the split open cadaver he checked Samson, saw his one whole eye glassy and staring up at the canopy.

  “Shit!”

  Curtis looked around. He could feel the rage rising but knew that the emotion was useless to him and pushed it away. He would kill the man who had done this, like he had killed men before. Looking down at his dead friend he vowed it and then tried to make sense of the mess of footprints. He could see the tracks leading down into the shallows of the river and guessed that Francesca had been in the water. Checking both banks he found no other footprints. He looked at the river and smiled.

  “Clever little fucker, aren’t you.”

  He stepped into the river and began to walk upstream his own tracks as hidden by the water as those of the man he pursued.

  *

  The main body of the group was moving slowly. Benjy was leading them while Tammy and Carmine dragged the stretcher. Nubia and Heidi moved on the flanks, watching the bushes, and Marshall brought up the rear. There was no track to speak of but Benjy tried to keep them moving where the brush was at its thinnest. Marshall changed his grip on the Walther and moved past the stretcher so that he was level with Benjy.

  “How much further?”

  The young sailor looked at the photographer.

  “Hours yet, boss.”

  “We’ll have to rest. They can’t carry her much longer.”

  Benjy looked around before nodding.

  “Okay. Let’s take a break.”

  Marshall smiled and gestured at the others to take a rest. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and offered them to Benjy who took one happily. Marshall lit him with his silver Ronson.

  “You think the Captain will be back?”

  Benjy grinned.

  “Course he will. Shit, you don’t know Captain Curtis.”

  “No?”

  “Nah, fella from over in Port Robinson tried to get him once.”

  “Get him?”

  “Reckoned the Captain had nicked one of his jobs, lying bastard. Anyway he came looking and caught the Captain on his own. Bastard had two mates with him and they all had knives.”

  Benjy paused and took a deep toke on his cigarette.

  “And?”

  “And? Captain Curtis fucked them up. Before he came up here he was army, saw some bad shit. Cool head like you don’t see on many men. Nah, my money’s on the Captain – he’ll be back.”

  Marshall nodded and filed the words away. He looked around and saw the others still sitting. Carmine held his canteen to his mouth but then moved it away and upended it. A single drop fell from it.

  “Going to need water soon.”

  Benjy looked around.

  “We’ll keep on for the mountain. Probably run across a spring or something on the way.”

  After a few minutes they climbed to their feet and pushed on into the green hell. Benjy held on tightly to his machete, occasionally swinging it to clear some stubborn vines or bush. When they had been walking for another quarter of an hour Benjy stopped. He thought that he could hear something in the jungle ahead. He held up his hand to stop the group. Leaning forward he strained to hear and discern the sound. Unable to work out what the sound was Benjy put his hand up again and gestured for them to keep moving. A few minutes later they stepped into a clearing and Benjy saw the source of the sound; Francesca was hanging upside down from a tree, her feet tied to it with vines, she was a mass of red and it looked as though she had simply burst out of her own skin. Benjy looked closer and could see that her skin had been sliced away until all that remained was the red mass of exposed tissue. Flies buzzed around the hanging form.

  “Jesus!” he looked away.

  Marshall stared. He took in the blood, the hacked flesh and the gag in her mouth. But worse than the sight was the sound. Even through the gag they could hear her, mewling like a dying animal that needed to be put out of its misery.

  “Cut her down,” muttered Marshall.

  Benjy forced himself to look at the hanging woman and then moved towards her with his machete. He reached past her ruined flesh and grabbed at the vines. He saw the wire a moment after he should have. The wire pulled the pin from the grenade that had been pushed deep between the cheeks of Francesca’s arse. Benjy looked at the brass head of the grenade sticking out of her and he sighed.

  “Fuck sake.”

  The grenade went off and as well as blowing Francesca apart the shrapnel punched into Benjy’s head and hurled him to the floor. Marshall stumbled back. He was covered in pieces of Francesca. He held the gun up and pointed it out into the trees all the while trying to compute exactly what had gone wrong in his life that had put him in the place he now found himself. But even in that moment as the shock rescinded Marshall looked towards what was left of Francesca. He lowered the Walther and raised the lens of his camera.

  12.

  The low thump of an explosion from somewhere off to his left made Curtis’ ears prick up. He stopped and listened. The noise had sent a flock of birds racing up into the blue sky. Curtis waited but heard nothing further except for the sounds of the jungle. He moved to the riverbank and snatched a quick drink from his canteen before pushing on. A minute or two later he found where they had left the river. The tracks showed bare feet followed by bare feet, both se
ts small.

  Curtis followed the tracks, nothing on his mind but moving forward carefully and closing in on the man who had already caused so much destruction. He watched for wires and freshly moved earth as he stepped through the undergrowth. Curtis found himself whispering to a God he had not tried to speak to in a long time and he hoped for an answer this time; an answer or a sign, anything, to show that he was doing the right thing. But as before, when he had whispered into the void after he watched friends die, there was nothing.

  *

  They are nothing, mere cattle before a wolf. I kill them as I choose and already I have reduced their numbers by six. I can smell the death on the seventh, the one they drag with them. Their path is obvious – they are headed for the high ground. Headed for my mountain. They will die before they reach the peak. It is my duty that they do not get further and I will always do my duty.

  *

  After he wiped the sick away from his mouth Marshall looked at what was left of his little band; Heidi, Nubia, Carmine, Tammy and Joelle unconscious on the stretcher.

  “What do we do, Will?” asked Carmine.

  Marshall shrugged.

  “Where the fuck is Curtis?”

  “He won’t be back,” said Heidi.

  Tammy threw her a look.

  “Yes, he will. He’ll be back with the others.”

  “The others are dead too,” snapped the blonde woman “all dead. Just like we’re going to be if we don’t fucking do something.”

  Marshall looked up.

  “Oh no. No. I’m not dying here,” he looked up at the mountain, “we stick with the plan and push for the top. Get a beacon lit and wait for help. Once we have the high ground we’ll have an advantage. Carmine, you help me and we’ll pull the stretcher double time.”

  Carmine nodded and stripped off his gun belt.

  “Any of you dolls know how to use this?”

  Nubia and Tammy shook their heads but Heidi stepped forward and took the pistol, strapping it on to her waist.

  “I did some shooting growing up in the Tyrol. It has been a long time but if that bastard comes at us I will get him.”