Slaughter Beach

by Jones, Benedict

  “Curtis!”

  The shout was close. The laughter fell away from the man’s eyes and he shuffled forward. Curtis back-stepped and shouted.

  “Here!”

  There was a crashing through the bushes. The man lunged and Curtis danced back.

  “You’re fucked now.”

  The man looked at him and Curtis forced a smile, made a pistol with his fingers and pointed it at the man.

  “Bang bang you little fucker.”

  The crashing grew closer and the man took a side step, then another and then ducked into the trees. Marshall and Tammy appeared a moment later, machete in Tammy’s hand while Marshall held the empty .357 and a broken paddle from the raft.

  “Was he here?” asked Tammy.

  Curtis sat down in the dirt and pushed his fists into his eyes. He looked up at her and nodded.

  “There’s a ship.”

  “What?”

  Marshall nodded.

  “Looks like a tanker or something – far out but…”

  Curtis looked towards the mountain top.

  “The beacon.”

  “Is there time to rebuild it?” asked Marshall.

  Curtis nodded.

  “Yes, as long as we can get up there quickly. There’re two flares in my rucksack. Better than nothing.”

  “Will they still work after they got wet?” asked Tammy.

  Curtis smiled.

  “Yeah, they will – waterproof, survival jobs.”

  Marshall laughed.

  “Well, that’s what we’ve got here isn’t it – a survival job?”

  *

  The shame hangs on me like the sign on a hanged criminal. I had him, the yellow haired gaijin, and should have taken his head. I let my pride override my duty. It will not happen again. They are running back for the mountain top, my peak. I have seen the ship as they have and cannot allow them to signal it. I am tired and the wounds ache, those in my soul as well as those in my flesh. I need to rest, to sleep. I would sleep a thousand years if I could and still rise to slay the enemies of my Emperor.

  *

  Sweat poured off them as they climbed and mosquitoes buzzed around them. Curtis tried to keep his eye out for traps and snares but the tiredness clung to him like the ball attached to a cartoon convict’s ankle. Marshall reached out a hand grabbed his shoulder.

  “Are you okay?”

  Curtis shook his head.

  “I have to be, let’s push on.”

  “Let me take point at least.”

  Curtis nodded and Marshall moved ahead.

  Tammy caught up to Curtis and he nodded at Marshall.

  “Maybe the asshole isn’t such an asshole after all…”

  She laughed.

  “And he’s still a fucking good photographer.”

  They continued on, Tammy helping Curtis to stay on his feet while Marshall scouted through the trees ahead. Marshall disappeared from view for a moment.

  “Over here there’s a trail, looks clear.”

  “No!” shouted Don but it was too late. As they ran towards Marshall’s shout they heard the scream.

  “Shit,” swore Curtis as he drew his knife.

  The trail that Marshall had found was obvious and inviting; cut through the jungle and the floor of it a carpet of grass. Marshall lay on the ground ahead of them with his arms outstretched. He screamed again as they got closer. Curtis saw the tripwire stretched across the trail that had knocked Marshall’s feet from under him, as he fell he had put his hands out to break his fall and gone through a carpet of woven grass to land on to more sharpened stakes.

  “Watch the jungle.”

  Tammy nodded and gripped the machete even tighter. Curtis went down on his knees and checked Marshall. The stakes had stabbed all the way through both of his hands and several of them had punctured his forearms. Marshall’s face was a roadmap of pain; contour lines deep in his forehead, roads of agony dripping down his cheeks. As with the trap that had gotten Joelle the stakes were stained brown with filth.

  “Will, I need to get you up off these. We have to get up to the beacon.”

  Marshall bit his lip and nodded. Curtis put his knife away and got in behind Marshall.

  “This is going to hurt, I’m sorry but there’s no other way.”

  Curtis gripped Marshall’s wrists and tried to pull his arms up as carefully as possible. A scream tore from the photographer’s throat. Curtis continued to lift, ignoring the sucking sounds from the wounds. Marshall pushed up with his knees, helping, and finally he was free. The blood that flowed from his wounds was thick and dark. Curtis tore his shirt in two and bound it tightly around Marshall’s hands and arms.

  “It’ll have to do till we reach the peak.”

  Marshall gasped.

  “Never. Felt. Pain quite like this.”

  “It’s a shitter, isn’t it?” replied Curtis “you just have to bite it down and try and remember a time when it didn’t hurt.”

  Marshall nodded.

  *

  They carried Marshall between them, Tammy and Curtis, keeping his hands raised to try and slow the flow of blood from the wounds. After twenty minutes Curtis was ready to drop. They laid Marshall down and Curtis looked at Tammy.

  “You’ll have to go on.”

  “What? Don, no.”

  “Yes. It’s the only way. He shouldn’t be moved and I’m running on empty.”

  Curtis pointed to his rucksack which Tammy wore.

  “The flares are in there,” Curtis passed across his lighter “take that for the beacon. You get it lit then you light the flares and try to signal the ship. Do it as long as you can and then get back down here.”

  “What about him?” she said pointing at the jungle.

  Curtis shrugged.

  “If he comes he comes. I’ll have to try and deal with him.”

  Tammy looked unsure.

  “You have to go, Tammy. That ship is the only hope for any of us.”

  “Okay,” she took a deep breath and looked Curtis in the eye “I want to get out of here, want us to get out of here.”

  Curtis gave her a weary smile and then kissed her.

  25.

  “Wish we had a smoke each?”

  A grunt in response.

  “Couple of cold beers.”

  Marshall laughed this time and it was a horrible sound. Curtis continued to sharpen the tip of the long branch he had found in the bushes. He had propped Marshall up against a tree. Curtis risked a look at the makeshift bandages around Marshall’s arm. The blood was soaking through them.

  “Thirsty?”

  A weak nod and Curtis put the canteen up to Marshall’s lips and gave him the last of the water.

  “Shit, we’re going to need more water. I’m going to see if there’s a stream nearby.”

  “Urrrrgn. Don’t. Please, don’t leave me.”

  “I’m not going far, Will. We need the water or we aren’t going to last long.”

  Marshall didn’t have the strength to argue and he sagged back against the trunk of the tree. Taking the makeshift spear with him Curtis stepped into the bushes and moved forward on his guard.

  *

  Tammy moved slowly and carefully, jogging where she could but her eyes always on the lookout for anything that seemed out of place. She tried to watch like she had seen Curtis do when they moved up the trail before. The concentration of it was draining and she wondered how Don had managed to keep it up for so long. She stopped for a moment and drank from her canteen, wiping the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand.

  After she had clipped the canteen back to her belt Tammy took off at a quicker pace. She threw looks up at the peak. When she tripped on the vine tied between two trees she had to bite back a scream. She pulled away from where she almost landed, fearing another stake pit, and stayed low on the ground for almost a minute expecting a tree trunk to fall on her or spears to fire out from some hidden trap. Nothing happened and slowly her breath slowed and she climbe
d up onto one knee. She followed the vine over which she had tripped. It led into a thick bush. She pulled back the leaves and once more her breath became rapid and ragged, the sweat between the V of her breasts turning cold; a grenade had been bound to the tree, the pin was out of it. She waited for it to explode and tear her to shreds but it did nothing except remain impotent. A dud, she realised and got back to her feet. She headed off once again into the trees, moving more carefully now. When she had gone another fifty yards she felt and heard the low thump of an explosion. Her heart pounded like a death drum and bile rose in her throat. She spat the yellow mess into the dirt and pushed on.

  *

  The sound of the distant explosion snapped Curtis’ head up. He had been filling the canteen in a small spring.

  “Tammy!” he cursed himself for being weak and letting her head off alone.

  Something caught his eye as he turned; amongst the trees a pile of stones and logs that didn’t look natural despite the foliage draped over it. He re-attached the canteen to his belt, took up his spear and approached the small structure like a caveman heading into the cave of a great bear. The stones and logs had been placed over a dug-out pit about half a meter in depth. Inside was a blanket, an old munitions box and, to Curtis’ surprise, a rifle that he recognised. He picked up the Arisaka that was missing its bolt and forced out the stripper clip. There were four rounds left in it.

  It took Curtis a couple of minutes to free the jam. He replaced the bolt that he still had in his pocket, and put back in the feeder clip. He made a quick search of the dug-out but found no more ammunition. Hurling aside the sharpened stick he headed back for Marshall with the rifle cradled in his arms.

  *

  Marshall heard the explosion and looked up in the direction that Tammy had taken. He looked down at his ruined hands. Don’t think about it, he told himself, there’s a ship. We’re going to get out of here. A rustling in the bushes made him look up.

  “Don?”

  His look turned to fear as he watched the small man step carefully out of the bushes. He looked at the katana in his hands and tried to get up. The man approached and shook his head. Marshall stopped trying to get up. The blade of the sword touched the nape of his neck and pushed his head forward.

  Marshall stared at the dirt.

  “I don’t want to die.”

  He risked a look sideways but the man’s face was like stone. Marshall thought about the others and the nature of their deaths, the butchery that had been inflicted upon them. I’d rather it was clean. Marshall leaned forward and offered his neck.

  “Fuck you, you slant eyed bastard – do it!”

  The man’s face stayed impassive. Marshall looked away and then stared again at the dirt. He watched a worm moving in the earth and had time to see one tear drip onto the flesh of the creature before the blade fell.

  *

  As Marshall’s head bounced away from the rest of him Curtis stepped out from the bushes.

  “Shit!”

  He brought the rifle to his shoulder and aimed at the central mass of the man – right between the buttons of his worn jacket. The man looked up and Curtis fired. The bullet hit him in the chest and knocked him down. Curtis worked the bolt and aimed again but the man was up and scuttling for the bushes like a crab.

  “Not this time.”

  Curtis set off in pursuit.

  26.

  The shot echoed up to Tammy as she passed the ruins. She looked back trying to decide who could be firing. She knew that all Don and Will had was the empty revolver. She stood for a moment undecided about whether to continue up to the peak or head back down and try to help. The beacon had to be relit. It had to if they were to stand any chance of getting off the island. She turned and moved past the ruins. With the machete she hacked down branches, saplings and anything she could drag behind her. She remembered what Curtis had said when they first lit the beacon and stuffed handfuls of leaves into her pockets. And then she was out onto the black soil and dark volcanic rock.

  The remains of the beacon were where they had left them. Tammy piled the branches and twigs atop the charred remains of their signal fire. She stuffed leaves where she could and then turned the wheel on the Ronson. She blew gently on the flame and waited till it took before lighting up another section. When it was alight she looked it and realised how small it was in the vastness. Their only hope was the smoke. She ran back down to the jungle, falling in her haste, and grabbed up more leaves from the ground which she placed on the fire. Once the smoke was pouring up she cracked one of the flares and stood in front of the beacon waving the red flame towards the far ship.

  *

  His quarry was fast but Curtis followed steadily in the man’s wake confident that the Japanese would avoid his own traps. Curtis ducked low beneath a vine-covered branch and saw the man ahead. He smiled and moved off to the left. He watched a gap between two trees and as soon as the man moved into it he fired. Curtis couldn’t be sure if his shot had been true or not. He moved forward to check and pulled himself to a halt. Beyond the trees lay a wide clearing filled with knee high grass. There were a couple of trees in the centre of the clearing, the only cover except for the grass itself.

  Bringing the rifle up Curtis looked over the iron sights and tracked, looking for movement. He saw nothing. He switched position to where he could see the trees from another angle – there it was, a flash of the uniform jacket that the man wore, faded green-grey. Two shots left, Curtis slipped into the grass like a swimmer into a warm sea and ducked below the surface. He bellied forwards as gently as he could so as not to show his position with the sway of the grass, the rifle cradled across the crooks of his elbows.

  He risked a glance over the grass. Closer to the trees now. He could see the hunched back, blood on the jacket. He bellied his way closer moving like a cautious snake closing in on its prey. Curtis expected the man to move, to run, to break for the trees but he remained where we was crouched amongst the trees. After checking the sights on the rifle Curtis stood and aimed straight at the back of the jacket. He fired once and quickly chambered the next round. Something was wrong. The bullet hadn’t struck the way it should. Curtis fired again, knowing it was his last round. Again the strange flapping of the jacket and it was then Curtis realised his mistake – there was nothing in the jacket except for a couple of branches tied into a cross with a piece of vine.

  The ground erupted next to Curtis as the man came out of hiding beneath his grass rug. The katana flashed and it bit into Curtis – straight into his gut. He screamed and batted the man across the face with the rifle barrel. The man turned and twisted the blade and Curtis screamed. The blade cut through flesh and Curtis heard the ripping as he was opened up. He bit down on the pain and with a roar lashed the rifle barrel once again across the man’s face.

  “Gonna kill you, bastard!”

  The Japanese fell away and Curtis made to move in on him with the empty rifle. The pain he felt as he moved made stars burst before his eyes and his legs sway. He looked down; too much red, purple and brown of his intestines showing, a rainbow of hurt.

  “Ah, shit, shit…”

  Curtis stumbled away. The man looked up with blood smeared around his mouth from a broken nose. He watched as Curtis dropped the rifle and grasped his hands to his torn stomach. The man followed for a moment considering whether to take Curtis’ head but when he saw the amount of blood that trailed from him he left him and walked back and collected the rifle, his rifle. The gaijin would die in his own time

  *

  Tammy waved the flare until the lactic acid burned in her shoulder and elbow, she switched arms and continued. Dusk was beginning to darken the sky and she hoped that it would help to carry the light of the beacon and the flare. She watched the tiny shape on the horizon until the dark obscured it from her.

  She tossed the remnants of the flare to burn itself out in the dirt. The second flare stayed in the backpack. There was nothing else to do but head back down and find Don
. She heard the grunting and then the heavy breaths coming from the dark towards the ruin. The machete was in her hand in a second. She held it two-handed and waited by the light of the fire.

  It took moments for her to realise that it was Don shambling towards her. She threw her hand up to her mouth. She could see from the way he walked and held his hands tight to his stomach that something was badly wrong.

  “Oh, Don. What has he done to you?”

  He took a hand away from his gut and held it up, stumbled a few more steps and then his legs turned to rubber and he dropped into the dirt. She ran to him and pushed his hands away from his stomach. The torn flesh and ruined insides made her look away. Instead she looked at his face. So pale that it seemed luminescent.

  “Baby, baby what happened?”

  “Nearly got him. I’m sorry.”

  Curtis coughed and blood spilled over his lip. She stroked his hair.

  “Will?”

  “Dead, bastard cut his head off. Did the ship turn?”

  “I can’t tell.”

  A gurgle sounded from Curtis’ throat. He coughed and then spoke again.

  “I’m sorry. Sorry I couldn’t have killed him, sorry I won’t get to see how we would’ve turned out.”

  “It would have been good, Don. We would have been so good.”

  He smiled and his teeth were stained red.

  “It would. I know it. Spent my whole life waiting for you and now I’m gone.”

  “No. Don, no you have to stay with me – don’t leave me on my own, please.”

  “Can’t, baby. You get down to the beach, the ship’s coming I know it. I’m sorry. So sorry. Going now.”

  “No, no you’re not. We are getting off this island and you’re coming back to California with me. I want you to meet my parents, tell them about Vietnam so they know what it was like for my brother. I want you with me when I fall asleep and for you to still be there when I wake up. There’s so much I want to show you and for you to show me. You can’t go, Don. Not yet, please.”

  But Curtis was silent, still. Tammy stared down at him and then leaned in and kissed his still warm lips. She felt the wet on her cheeks and tried to sniff back her tears. She laid him carefully back down on the ground and reached for the machete. Her hand closed on the hard handle and her eyes grew harder still.