by C. J. Waller
“Megan?” Janos says. His voice sounds thick. “Can you… can you give me a hand?”
Oh, this just gets better and better.
I look to Marcus, who is resolutely staring at the sea. And he’s supposed to be the survivalist. I take in a couple of quick, deep breaths and face Janos.
“Sorry,” he says. “But I can’t do this alone.”
No… he can’t. And since I’m the only one left who isn’t a pathological wuss or going seriously nuts, I feel like I don't have much of a choice. I stare down at the knife in my hand. It’s quite big. A good four inches: a diving knife, given to me by one of the instructors. “For use in life or death situations,” he said. Well, you don’t get much more life or death than this.
I stand beside Janos and mutter, “Where’s Yuri?”
Janos shakes his head. “I don’t know. I hope far enough away, so he does not have to witness this.”
He kneels down and begins running his knife around Clark’s remaining limbs. He’s used a bit of the stricken dinghy to cover Clark’s face. I’m grateful for that. This is hard enough, without the thought of him staring at us.
I hack off a corner of the rubber to use as a makeshift bag. Using the same technique as before, Janos pulls off Clark’s remaining limbs, one by one, the way a child might pull off the legs of a hapless spider. He goes to hand them to be, but I am too horrified at what I’m seeing to take them.
“Meg…” he says, softly, apologetically. I try to snap out of the hypnotic fugue watching him cut up Clark’s body has put me under.
“Yeah?”
“You… you want to take those over? They will need to be… sliced. To let the, uh, attractant out.”
The attractant. Is that even a word? But I know what he means. Oh, God, yes, I know and the thought turns me cold. I gather up my gruesome burden and zombie-walk back to the edge, where Marcus and Brendan are flailing their ropes around like lunatics.
“This is ridiculous,” Marcus says through gritted teeth. “This is doing nothing – nothing at all.”
“You’re wrong,” Brendan says. He’s speaking quietly, but he may as well have shouted. “Look.”
He pauses for a moment to point to a clear section of water, just out from the headland. At first, I see nothing, but then I catch the unmistakable churning of the waters as something large powers just below the surface.
My mouth dries.
“Do you… think that’s it?” I ask.
Brendan gives me a complicated facial shrug.
He’s right. How would he know? But it’s our best indication that we’ve at least managed to attract something's attention. I wish again that the quality of the light were better, so we could have more of an idea as to what the hell is going on out there. Instead, I stoop down, uncover the slabs of putrefying meat that were once Clark’s arms and legs and begin slicing them up.
The tip of the knife punctures the flesh a little more easily than I am comfortable with. The ensuing cuts don’t bleed as such, but they do… ooze. A rancid congealed mess of black liquid spills over my blade and drips, like treacle, onto the patch of rubber that was once our boat. My stomach churns, and I start counting backwards. Anything to distract me.
Before long, I have a pool of viscous Clark chum, ready to empty into the water. Before I do, I glance over to where Fi is standing. She’s poised, ready to dive. I don’t know if I can really see that, or if my mind is painting the scene for me, but all of a sudden I feel the urge to run over and pull her back to stop her, to tell her no, it isn’t worth it…
“It’s here!” Marcus yells. “Go, Fi!”
He blinks his light, and she’s gone. It’s too late. I’m too late. I fling my rubber sheet out, keep hold of its edge so the chum splatters in the waters below. Janos is gesturing to me, his arms covered in gore. I haul the sheet back, my legs feeling jellified, and he dumps another load of matter. It’s weird. Apart from breathing a little harder than usual, he seems okay, like he’s done this a hundred times before. Me? I’m not so okay. This time, I can’t help myself, and puke up all over the chum. It doesn’t matter. It’ll add to the piquancy of the dish. At least, I hope so.
I don’t say anything, just wipe my mouth and drag the laden sheet back to the cliff edge. The sea is boiling below, as something big – no, scratch that, something gargantuan – writhes at the base of the cliff. I swallow hard, a stinging mix of bile and sweat, and heave the next load into the water. The only thing keeping me going is the thought that this might actually be working.
Beside me, Brendan and Marcus are flapping their ropes around as if St Vitus is in town. I peer back down, back down into the rolling blackness of the churning water below. No matter how hard I try, I can’t make out the beast’s true form; a glimpse of mottled hide here, the tip of a massive paddle there. Then, the creature bursts out of the water, its jaws open, ready to snap up anything in it’s path, including me as I lean over more, slipping, tumbling, down into the red-black maw fringe with a battery of stalactite teeth…
I jerk back, my heart making a bid for escape through my ribs. I can’t speak. I can’t move. All I can do is stand and stare stupidly at the thing that has returned to the depths.
“Fucking hell…” someone manages to whisper. I don’t know who it is. It could have been me.
“Meg! Meg!”
A voice, heavily accented, cuts through the hypnotic terror the beast below has put me under.
“It’s huge,” I whisper, and jerk around. “Huge.”
I glance at the other two, and discover them both staring down, their eyes huge, their mouths slack.
“What did you say it might be?” Marcus manages to whisper.
“Pliosaur,” I manage back.
“Fuck.”
“Yeah.”
“Meg!” It's Janos again, sounding even more desperate. “We need to keep it busy.”
Finally, I gather enough of my wits to drag the remains of the dinghy back so he can fill them with the last of Clark’s earthly remains. This time, I’m not sick. I don’t even feel faintly nauseous. I’m too terrified for that.
“That’s it,” Janos says. “That’s all we’ve got. It’d better be enough. Are you okay?”
I don't say anything. I can't.
This time, he helps me drag it back. Just as we approach the edge, both Marcus and Brendan let out dismayed shouts.
“No! Fuck… No! You… no, come on… Fi! Fi! Warn her! It’s coming! IT’S COMING!”
Both Janos and I freeze. The rubber sheet splats to the floor, spilling its gruesome cargo.
What do they mean, it’s coming? Janos breaks free first and runs to the edge.
“It’s gone,” he whispers.
I’m right behind him. And he’s correct. The water, once a mass of churning foam, is calming. It has gone.
There is a final slapping sound as one of the ropes slides off and into the water. Brendan’s. Marcus has thankfully hauled his in, but no one even thinks about congratulating him. We’re all racing over to the other side of the headland, praying Fi had enough time to reach the shallows on the other side – the shallows where the monster can’t follow. With something that almost approaches eagerness, I scan the opposite bank, looking for the tell-tale sign of her oblong headlamp.
There is nothing.
No light. No headlamp. No Fi.
I can’t focus. I jerk my head around, searching, frantic, looking for something – anything – that indicates Fi is still out there, still our beacon of hope.
My heart leaps when I see a thin beam of light bobbing just above the surface. She hasn't got far to go now – fifty yards, if that. Go, Fi! Go! You can make it-
My elation freezes in its tracks. Just behind her, water swirls and the faint outline of something huge breaks the surface. It slides back down, quickly, deadly. We're going mental now, screaming, crying, begging her to move it, to get to the shallows, but we all know it is too late.
The pliosaur bursts from the wa
ter with a ferocity that stuns us all to silence. Fi is lost in a maelstrom of foam and mottled flesh. The only hint that she is there is her headlamp, which whips back and forth with frightening speed. She doesn't even get to scream before the pliosaur thumps back into the water, sending a wave rolling back towards us, like a final 'fuck you'.
It's gone. They've gone. She's gone. There's nothing left, apart from a rolling mass of water about fifty yards from the opposite shore.
Chapter Eight
We don’t speak. We can’t speak. All we can do is stare. Stare and despair.
Fi is gone. There’s no other way of putting it. I think back to my split-second glimpse of that massive, crocodilian maw bursting out of the water to snatch the last earthly remains of Clark.
If only I hadn't paused. If only I’d managed to get the next load in. Maybe that would’ve given her the final few seconds she needed. If I'd been quicker. If only I’d-
Something heavy and foul smelling encircles my shoulders. Instinctively, I pull away, but it doesn't let me go. I look up. Janos is still staring out, over the water, his mouth fixed in a grim line. If it wasn't for the hint of moisture gathered at the corners of his eyes, I would have said he was angry.
I allow him to embrace me, but it does nothing to ease my sense of utter helplessness. I feel hollow. Dead inside. Our one, last hope has truly gone.
We stand motionless for what feels like an age. A snort breaks the moment, followed a giggle from my left.
Yuri.
I’d forgotten about him
“It swam up behind her, like a shark, and engulfed her whole,” he says, holding his fist to his mouth. If anything, he looks even wilder now than he did before. “It got her. Like the dark. Like everything. It is their agent, their angel, their emissary…”
“Shut up,” Janos says. He doesn’t yell, but his message is clear. Shut up – or else.
“Whose emissary?” Brendan asks.
I could punch him. What the hell is he thinking? The last thing we need is to encourage the nutcase. Yuri grins and starts up that hyena-like laugh of his, and I find myself wanting to push him over the cliff.
“Them. Those who lie in the slumber, in between, in the spaces between spaces. They are still there, you know.” He crashes forward, his movements jerky, his full attention upon Brendan. “They showed me. They showed me it all. Everything. What has happened, what will happen, and everything in between. Everything. Everything.”
“For God’s sake, don’t encourage him!” Marcus snaps. Even by our standards, he is looking haggard. When Yuri grins at him and jabbers something inhuman, Marcus springs to his feet and marches over to him. Before any of us can stop him, he winds back his fist and punches Yuri squarely in the face.
That mobilises us. We all spring as one to pull Marcus back, because we know if we don’t, he’ll keep punching until there’s nothing left. We know, because we feel the same way.
By the time we haul Marcus away, Yuri’s nose is a bloodied mess. Not that it seems to bother him. He wipes the blood away and then spends a good five minutes staring at it, rubbing it between his fingers and smearing it over his knuckles.
I’m not too ashamed to admit that I’m wondering if it might be in our best interests to put an end to Yuri and his ramblings once and for all. But that makes me as bad – no, worse – than him, because he can’t help being a nutter, whereas I have at least a shred of sanity, of reasoning, left inside me. At least, I think I do. I’m beginning to wonder. I mean, come on, I’m considering putting an obviously ill man out of his misery in front of multiple witnesses, so maybe I’m not so sane after all.
I close my eyes and take a deep, cleansing breath. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.
“Megan? Are you okay?”
The question is tentative, as if the person asking is worried about something. I open my eyes and find everyone, minus Yuri, is watching me owlishly. I try to smile, but it falters on my lips. Why are they looking at me like that?
“You were… muttering,” Marcus says. He looks apologetic. I don’t know why.
“I was?”
“Yeah. Just a little bit.”
“Oh.”
I don’t know what else to say.
Neither do the others, given that’s where they drop it. Note to self – no more muttering. Even if I wasn’t aware I was doing it.
“So, what now?” I ask, in an attempt at taking some initiative and at wiping the sympathetic looks off their faces.
Marcus looks away and Janos shakes his head. Brendan, rather worryingly, stares out to sea, imitating Yuri who has by now lost interest in his own blood.
“Come on, guys, we have to think of something-” I start, but Marcus interrupts me.
“What, like Fi did? You saw that thing. It… it… it ate her.”
Thanks for reminding me, Marcus. Like I needed it. But instead of snapping back, I go for reasonable.
“I know. Her plan failed. So we have to come up with another one.”
“Another one? Okay… so we’re stuck on an island with no supplies apart from one length of rope, thanks to Brendan’s inability to keep hold of his, some diving knives, the remains of a shredded, gore-covered dinghy and a resident nutcase who is GOING TO STOP FUCKING GIGGLING, OR I WILL STOP HIM!”
Yuri pauses his snorting as some kind of self-preservation instinct kicks in. He looks forlornly at us, and sinks to the floor, where he curls himself up into a ball. I exchange a look with Janos. We don’t need to say anything. Forget Brendan. Hell, forget Yuri. We’re going to have to watch Marcus from now on.
“I know… I know,” I say. “It looks pretty hopeless, but there must be something. There must be. We can’t just… give in.”
“Oh no? We can’t? Well, that’s great, isn’t it? Little Miss Optimism here is going to invent some kind of magic radio out of mussel shells and algae. What are you planning on doing, Janos? How about you, Brendan? You up for conquering Cold Fusion whilst we’re at it-”
“Marcus, there is no need to be like that,” Janos says.
“No need? No. Need?” Marcus explodes. “We are fucking doomed. Forget me ever seeing my wife again. Forget my kids. Forget ever being called Daddy again whilst they… whilst they…”
Marcus’s voice dissolves into hiccups as tears stream unchecked down his face. It takes me a moment to realise I’m crying, too. Great big sobs, undisciplined and heart breaking rack his body as he mourns for his lost life, his lost family. I drift towards him, unaware I’m even walking, to try to comfort him, but he shoves me away. I stumble backwards, back to Janos, whose eyes are also red and watery. He blinks furiously as Marcus crumples to the floor.
“Come. There is nothing we can do for him. Give him is dignity, at least.”
I allow Janos to draw me away.
“We’re screwed, aren’t we?” I mumble. I can’t raise the energy to speak in any other way. “He’s right, isn’t he?”
Janos pinches the bridge of his nose. He has a good nose for a man, strong and long. I can’t help notice the way his jaw clenches, defining it even more for a moment under his growth of messy beard. He’d look much better clean-shaven. Well… maybe not completely. A bit of stubble would enhance his rakish smile, the one he gives you when he thinks you’ve said something funny, which isn’t often-
“Megan, I don’t know what to suggest,” he says, breaking the odd spell he cast over me. I mentally shake myself, ashamed that I’d even noticed these things whilst in this situation. What's wrong with me? We both look – and smell – terrible, and here I was, wondering what it might be like to explore that jaw and discover the lips that framed his seldom seen smile…
I wipe my mouth with my hand in an attempt at hiding my sudden discomfort. Maybe this was it. Maybe I really was on my way to doing a Full Yuri.
The water ripples again and something the rough size and shape of a sail breaks the surface.
A flipper.
It’s as if the pliosaur knows our predicament and
is flipping us off. Anger wells up inside me, smothering the confusing feelings of before.
“Fucker,” I hiss.
“I know,” says Janos. “If only we could convince it to leave. It’s so… frustrating to be so close, yet so far.”
So close, yet so far. Yep. That just about nails it.
***
We sit and mechanically choke down some raw shellfish. None of us feels much like eating, but we don’t have much choice. It’s either eat or die. It’s that simple.
We’re going to go back to the tower. Janos suggested it. It’s going to be hard going, considering we only have one rope left now (and no one knows what to do with Yuri… but, then again, it’s rapidly getting to the point where no one cares, either), but exploring the possibilities of that place is literally all we have now. You never know – maybe those tunnels might lead somewhere, away from this damned island and to a place where we might just be able to seek help.
Marcus is worryingly quiet. Ever since his breakdown, he’s gone into himself. I don’t like it. He might be a pain in the arse, but that’s him – he’s loud, he’s rude and he’s abrasive. One thing he’s not is quiet. He says nothing when we dump the shells back in the shallows and collect water for desalination. There’s silence when we enter the tower and set up the rope. It’s like he’s given up. Defeat now defines him.
As predicted, getting down the single rope is more of a struggle, but it’s not impossible. Without a word, Marcus goes first, then me, then Brendan, and finally Janos. We leave Yuri outside – not that he’d enter the tower anyway. He baulked at going near it, and ran off when we entered. I don’t know where he is, and quite frankly, I don’t care.
Brendan takes the lead with obscene glee. He’s all for it. Exploring this place is his everything now. He chatters on, speculating about its purpose and about who might have built it (aliens, naturally) and I wonder how on earth anyone ever took him seriously enough to award him his PhD.
Down we go, and with each step, my mood blackens.
