Undead Island

by Hideyuki Kikuchi

  “It’s Meg.”

  “Meg,” Cowboy said.

  “I agree. That’s what I’m gonna do. You hang in there, Wesley,” she said, clinging to his arm with a look of sincerity on her face, causing the young lawman’s expression to stiffen.

  It took Wesley a whole second to work up a smile. In his present state, that undoubtedly seemed like an eternity. He lightly slapped his own cheeks a few times in succession. Then he took a deep breath and exhaled. As he gazed at the other two, he looked a little tougher than before.

  “Then as sheriff, let me give you an order. From here on out, you’re to do whatever I tell you. I won’t stand for any back talk. We clear on that?”

  “Yes, sir!” Meg replied, raising her right hand and elbowing Cowboy. He said nothing, but raised his right hand too.

  “Good enough. Let’s go, then.”

  Wesley turned his back to the two of them.

  A mountain loomed before them. In its side there yawned a black maw five yards wide. It was a stony tunnel. From the skill with which the rock had been cut and fit together, it was clear it hadn’t been the work of human hands. This was undoubtedly a Noble project. A road, also paved in cut stone, connected to the path the trio had taken through the forest, as well as running up either side of the mountain.

  “I don’t get it,” Meg said, cocking her head to one side as her rubber boots became accustomed to the road.

  “Don’t get what?” Wesley inquired.

  “Why the Nobility do the things they do. They could fly the skies with ease, yet the harbor was filled with boats for crossing the very seas that give ’em so much trouble. There are even vessels that go underwater. And then there’s this road and the tunnel. Even after putting a perfectly good road plumb through the middle of the mountain, they still threw in those alternate routes.”

  “It’s a phenomenon called ‘Noble Wastefulness,’” said Cowboy.

  “I think I’ve heard of that. What is it?”

  “It seems they have this tech called ‘tele-something-or-other’ that could break a person down to itty-bitty pieces and send ’em to the moon in a split second. Still, they say about five thousand years ago the Nobility constructed a pathway from this one spot on Earth up to the moon.”

  Cowboy closed his mouth. This was due to the fact that Meg and Wesley had both let theirs drop open. He waited a little while, but as their mouths remained open, he continued in a rough tone, “It ain’t around now, though. See, the aliens wrecked it during the OSB wars. Still, it’s called a perfect example of the whole ‘Noble Wastefulness’ phenomenon.”

  “That certainly is a waste,” Meg acknowledged with a nod. When she glanced up at him again, with a look of sudden discovery she said, “Now that you mention it, this old poet who came to our village a long time ago said something. According to him, the Nobility lived for their destruction. Or is that not the same thing? It’s just, that’s what came to me right now.”

  “Well, if it were just a matter of squandering resources they’d have noticed at some point and put a stop to it. This was intentional wastefulness which would probably lead to their destruction. They loved their roads and carriages even though they could fly through the skies, and I don’t think that was just due to their tendency for nostalgia. Somewhere deep down, the Nobility probably had some dark impulse they didn’t even know about.”

  Meg nodded. A strange sense of solidarity enveloped the two of them.

  “At any rate, let’s get moving. No dawdling, you two!” Wesley shouted somewhat irritably, having already started walking toward the tunnel. Perhaps he could sense something.

  II

  It was Wesley who remarked, “This is odd.”

  Having thought the same thing for a while now, Meg nodded agreement in her heart of hearts.

  Though they’d been walking for a good three hours, there was no sign of the exit. Worse yet, it didn’t really feel like they’d been walking—or rather, that they’d gained any ground. It almost felt as if they were walking on a treadmill moving in the opposite direction at exactly the same speed. When they turned around, however, the entrance they’d used had long since vanished. Still, they managed to continue walking because the walls, which seemed to be made of ordinary stone, gave off a pale blue glow.

  Could it be we’ll be stuck in this tunnel forever?

  No sooner had that foolish worry sprouted in Meg’s mind than Wesley exclaimed, “Let’s take a rest,” and crumpled to the floor.

  “Not looking too sharp there, Sheriff,” Cowboy told the huffing and puffing young man in a judgmental tone. “But then, there just seems to be no freaking end to this. It’s draining, both physically and mentally.”

  On seeing the way the bounty hunter propped his left hand against the wall, Meg grew twice as anxious. If that was the state the two men were in, all she could do was keep on plugging.

  “I don’t know anything about the interior of the island, but I have heard how large it’s supposed to be,” the girl said. “The rough estimate is about forty-two square miles. Think of a circle less than seven and a half miles in diameter. If we were going at a rate of two and a half miles per hour, hell, we should already be off the island by this point!”

  “Maybe it runs clean to the far end of the island,” Wesley said, looking up at Meg. Though his voice was steady, it was immediately clear he was pushing himself. It was on account of those teeth. The towel around his shoulder was stained deep red. And even now the little monster that no longer had a brain or a heart was drinking his blood in accordance with the will of the Nobility.

  “The island’s mostly flat,” Meg countered. “The only mountains on it are on the southern coast. I doubt this tunnel is even six miles long.”

  “But it’s not like we can turn back at this point. We got no choice but to push on.”

  Meg nodded. It was a moot discussion. Indeed, they had no choice but to keep going.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked.

  “I’m good,” Wesley said, getting to his feet.

  “It’s rough not having anything to eat or drink, though. We’ve gotta get out of here, and soon.”

  Cowboy’s casual remark once again ignited Meg’s fears. We’ve gotta get out of here. But what if we can’t? We’ll end up starving to death in this tunnel.

  As if to banish her fears, Meg started to walk point for the party.

  “What in the—?!” she exclaimed, halting after she’d gone about ten paces.

  Up ahead there lay what looked to be a human figure.

  “Who is it?”

  “Lancer,” Cowboy replied, his rifle over his shoulder.

  Meg strained her eyes. His short spear lay atop his stomach. She finally realized where the bounty hunter had gotten his name. The girl was about to step forward when Cowboy stopped her by saying, “Lancer, can you hear me?”

  There was no response. He asked again, and then a third time—all to the same result.

  “All right, then.”

  A roar echoed down the tunnel. Sparks leapt right by Lancer’s head.

  Amid the echoes, the face that’d been pointed toward the ceiling slowly turned in the trio’s direction. It was indeed the short-spear specialist.

  “Recognize me, Lancer? It’s me, Cowboy.”

  The man’s elongated face nodded.

  “You bastards ran off on us. I don’t know what happened in here, but it seems like you’ve really been through the wringer. Serves you right, too!”

  Lancer raised his right hand and beckoned to the other man. He then pointed to his throat, and opened and closed his mouth repeatedly. He couldn’t speak.

  The other three exchanged looks. Could he be trusted? They were dealing with the Nobility here, so there was no telling what might’ve happened to Lancer.

  “Let’s go. And keep your gun on him just like you’ve got it now.”

  And saying that, Wesley stepped forward.

  When he was within fifteen feet, Wesley halted and as
ked, “Can you talk?”

  “After a fashion,” came the reply in the wasted tone of a centenarian.

  “What happened?”

  “We went through the forest while you folks were gone and ended up here. Then it was into the tunnel. But no matter how far we walked, we couldn’t see the exit. That asshole Bo got pissed off and said he was gonna turn back. So we told him to do whatever the hell he liked, he took off on his own, and the rest of us kept going. And then—”

  Meg let out a small cry.

  Something white drifted up ahead.

  “—the fog rolled in,” Lancer murmured faintly.

  “Watch yourselves. Either keep within arm’s reach of one another, or call out to keep track of everyone’s location. Stick together,” said Cowboy.

  Meg braced the harpoon in her right hand for action, and used her left to hold onto Wesley’s arm.

  Their surroundings were bleached white.

  “We started walking through the fog,” Lancer continued in a tone that sounded gloomy.

  Swirling white mist swallowed his form, then the trio.

  Meg listened intently. She had great confidence in her hearing. When waiting for her prey on calm seas, she had to be able to hear the sound of a fin breaking the surface or catch the splash of a leaping fish. She’d hear a pebble fall if it were within fifty yards of her.

  “And after we’d walked plenty, from up ahead . . .”

  Sound vibrated against her eardrums. Not just one. Countless little sounds—footfalls.

  “. . . they closed on us. Many, so many . . . Closing on us fast . . . So fast, you’d think they’d been waiting for us . . .”

  Lancer must’ve still been there. And he continued speaking.

  “There’s a ton of ’em coming!”

  By the time Meg’s words reached her two companions, so had the sound of the footsteps.

  Wesley drew his gun and shouted into the depths of the white fog, “Halt! I’m a sheriff. Halt, or I’ll shoot!”

  The footsteps didn’t stop. To the contrary—they broke into a run!

  “Here they come!”

  “Run for it!” Wesley exclaimed, turning around. Grabbing Meg’s left hand, he dashed forward. He could sense Cowboy right beside them and hear his footfalls.

  “We ended up getting separated,” Lancer continued. He just went on and on. “I fought them, and stabbed a few to death. And then I dropped. Not that I was wounded. Out of hunger.”

  Meg suddenly noticed something. Where was Lancer’s voice coming from? Right by her ear. It couldn’t be that he was following her, could it?

  Suddenly, there was a great weight on the girl’s back. A hoarse voice whispered in her ear, “I’m hungry. Give me something. Some hot blood!”

  Her whole body trembled. “Nooo!” Meg screamed, but cold breath fell on the nape of her neck.

  Next—a gunshot rang out. The weight on Meg’s back jerked hard to the right, then vanished.

  “You okay?!”

  The smell of gunpowder came from the same direction as Wesley’s voice.

  “I’m fine—but Lancer’s become one of the Nobility.”

  “I know. The fog broke for a second, and I saw his face. He was sporting fangs.”

  “I sure am,” Lancer said, his voice falling down at them from overhead.

  Meg’s ears alone caught the sound of something knifing through the air. Not that she realized it was a spear. The horizontal slash she made with her harpoon was purely out of reflex. The clang of them coming together was rather light, but there was the sound of something heavy hitting the road not far off.

  “Take that!” the girl exclaimed, thrusting out with the harpoon with all her might. Even before she heard the cry of pain she felt it make contact. And she heard the sound of someone falling after she’d run another fifteen or twenty feet.

  The footsteps were still following them.

  They must’ve run at least a hundred yards already. Suddenly Meg’s feet tangled. Staggering, she let go of Wesley’s arm.

  “Wesley!”

  “Over here,” a voice called off to her right. The way it seemed a hundred yards off made Meg’s hair stand on end.

  It was a second later that the voice became a scream. The unmistakable sound of a body being pierced had come from Wesley’s position. There was a beastly cry from the lawman as the sound of his footfalls grew chaotic. The thud of his fall echoed, and the sight of the end of the spear that was stuck in him somewhere skimmed briefly across the girl’s retinas.

  “Wesley, where are you?!” Meg cried, but the very instant she started to her right she was enveloped by a bluish darkness.

  It must’ve been evening. Meg was standing in a forest—though the distance between the trees was so great, it might’ve been more accurate to call it some woods.

  Meg looked up. The moon was out.

  “How in the world? What am I doing out here? And Wesley . . . ?”

  She turned around, but there was just more of the woods. Both the tunnel and Wesley had vanished completely. No, there could be no doubt they were even now locked in deadly battle back in that world of white mist. It was Meg who’d vanished.

  “That short spear . . . He was more than a hundred yards away . . . So, that’s Lancer’s power, is it?”

  There was no one there to answer her. The world continued to shout at Meg, You’re on your own. Try to make it through alone.

  III

  “Dad, what do I do?”

  Meg thought back on her father. The same father who’d taught her all she needed to know about life on the seas. His lessons had to apply to more than just out on the water.

  Make sure you’re safe. This was the first thing that flashed into her head. Once you know you’re safe, then don’t think about anything. Not hope, not despair. Forget everything. If you can’t do that, you might as well give up. Then, calm down. Next—

  She didn’t know whether she was safe or not. However, she didn’t seem to be in danger. With that assessment, Meg lay down on the grass. She had a good view of the moon. The wind swept by at a soothing pace.

  Smells nice, the girl thought.

  Somewhere, the breeze had brushed through flowers in bloom.

  Suddenly she felt at ease. There was no point screaming or crying about it. If she wanted to live, she’d have to go it alone.

  I’m not giving up, Dad, she thought. But I’m gonna rest now. I’m tired.

  Meg closed her eyes. She quickly fell asleep.

  The girl opened her eyes. Fatigue still lay in the marrow of her bones, but she felt better than earlier. The moon glowed more intensely, and the darkness was deeper.

  “A little over an hour, I guess,” she said, referring to how long she’d been asleep.

  When you were out at sea, you had to read your environment to know how much time had passed. If you couldn’t read the sky due to inclement weather, you had only your five senses to rely on. Meg had been going out fishing with the boys since she was little, and her father had drilled the importance of that internal clock into the girl.

  “Okay, next.”

  Her right hand naturally came to rest on her abdomen. She was terribly hungry. And thirsty as well.

  “You have to get to where there are other people. That’s the ticket.”

  Her eyes grew sharp. The girl realized she might dine on the sorts of monstrous creatures she was likely to encounter in her travels.

  “Toward that end . . .”

  Her determined face swept all around her.

  Meg went over to one tree and snapped off its lowest branch. Panting for breath, she grunted, “Not exactly easy on an empty stomach!”

  Drawing the knife tucked through her belt, she began to whittle a point at the end of the three-foot branch. The blade was as sharp as always. It was a first-class knife purchased from an itinerant merchant out of the Capital. Her father had always said, Use only the best for the things your life depends on, even if it means you’ve gotta sell your house
to get ’em.

  For half an hour she worked out in the moonlight. Easy to grip and easy to throw—when it came to the tools of her trade, Meg didn’t cut any corners.

  In no time, she exclaimed, “Yes!” and pumped a fist at the moon as if in challenge, but she brought it back down again immediately.

  Clutching three handcrafted wooden harpoons, Meg slumped to the ground. Her stomach rumbled feebly.

  “Oh hell. I’m so hungry!”

  She was just thinking how pathetic she sounded when the grass in front of her swayed. It was a sign something was approaching.

  “Already?”

  She hadn’t expected to put her harpoons to use so quickly, but no sooner had she hauled back with her right hand to hurl one than a figure stepped from the darkness.

  “Meg,” a voice called to her—and the girl jumped to her feet.

  “Toma?! Is that you?!” she cried out, surprise and joy churning in her heart. She lowered her harpoon.

  Somewhere in her mind, a voice told her to wait.

  “Meg.”

  The figure was now close enough that she could clearly make out his face. There was no mistaking him. It was Toma. Meg’s boyfriend. The nineteen-year-old boy who swore he’d live his whole life in that village.

  “Great. I’m so happy you’re okay. Say, Toma, where’s everybody else?”

  “They’re safe,” Toma replied in his usual, somewhat rapid, tone. “Some of them escaped, and they’re with me.”

  “Does that include my family?”

  “No, your folks didn’t get away. Your mom was in such a state of shock she couldn’t stand. Bass is taking care of her.”

  “Where are they?!”

  “Inside one of the Nobility’s facilities.”

  “And just where is that?”

  “By the northern cape.”

  “I see. And the rest of your group?”

  “They’re hiding nearby. Come with me.”

  “Okay,” Meg replied, and she was just about to head over to her boyfriend when she suddenly halted. Furrowing her brow, she asked Toma, “Tell me, just how did you know I was out here?”