Survival Island

by Matt Drabble

  “You can butt out for a start, you bloody big ape!”

  “As far as I can see, he was the only one doing his job right in there,” Quinn responded, feeing an uncontrollable urge to stand up for her childhood friend.

  They walked the rest of the way back to the car in an angry silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

  “How many you think are in there?” Haynes asked them once they were safely inside.

  “No one knows,” Clayton answered. “Could be hundreds.”

  “I’d say 60 tops,” Caleb said as he started the car.

  “60?” Haynes quizzed.

  The constable mused for a moment. “Judging by the windows on the second floor and the size of the vegetation patches out over the back fields. They sell some produce to the town but they need to feed the Order. Add to that the amount of laundry they had hanging out back, I’d guess around 60, there or thereabouts.”

  “Hmm, 60,” Haynes murmured to himself under his breath, and Quinn didn’t like the hardness in his eyes or the ghost of a smile on his lips.

  ----------

  It was several hours later as the sun fell that Ieuan Clark watched the rabbit jump and scamper before it came to a sudden halt. It stood on its hind legs and sniffed the air, looking to catch a scent.

  Ieuan held the bow’s string back in full tension as he waited patiently for his moment. He felt the moment coming and let his breath out slowly before he loosed the arrow.

  His aim was true as always and the rabbit was sent spinning from the impact.

  He stood and carried his kit over to his fallen prey and quickly snapped the animal’s neck with mercy as it bucked and jerked in pain.

  Hunting on the island was a way of life. Fathers passed down the skills to sons as a rite of passage. There were many such traditions still alive today, old skills that would never die inside the small community, skills that had long since been forgotten on the mainland.

  A twig snapped behind him and his hands reached for the bow on instinct. He remained motionless as he listened for further movement but the woods were silent. He was sure that something larger than a rabbit was out there; he could feel it.

  After a few moments, he relented and decided that whatever it had been, it had moved on. He picked up his kill and carried it back to camp.

  Ieuan loved this time of year. He loved the crisp clean air and the cold nights. He had a house in town but he preferred the outdoors to the in.

  The hunting store had been in his family for generations. Most businesses on the island were the same, with fathers handing down stores to sons or occasionally to daughters.

  Once back at his camp, he soon got the fire going. While the flames took hold, he took out his knife and got ready to skin the rabbit. He could never understand the mainlanders’ obsession with packet food; all those chemicals were enough to make anyone sick. He liked to catch and kill his food. It was how man was supposed to live. It was also how nature weeded the weak from the herd.

  Soon he had his pot of seasoned broth bubbling away on the fire ready for the meat. He expertly skinned the rabbit and plopped in chunks of pink flesh before sitting back to watch the sunset.

  His altercation with Cooper yesterday had left a sour taste and he was getting way too old for that kind of hassle. He dreaded to think what might have happened if Caleb hadn’t shown up. Back in the day, he’d have handled someone like Cooper himself, but now, as he looked down at his wrinkled hands, it was as much as he could do to fire an arrow straight.

  He was thinking about his advancing age so much that he didn’t hear the figure approach from behind or the fishing wire being slipped over his head. The strong nylon bit deeply into his throat as it was tightened by a small but sturdy stick being twisted.

  Ieuan kicked and flailed desperately. His boot struck the heavy pot and sent his supper flying across the woodland ground. He was dragged up to his feet and then off them with inhuman strength until he was being hung just a few inches off the ground.

  When he was dead, his killer let his body slip to the floor before snatching up one boot and effortlessly dragging him away, a hunter with its kill.

  ----------

  “So is it always this exciting?” Quinn asked Caleb as they shared a beer at Casey’s.

  “No, sometimes we have a slow night,” he replied as he looked around the half-empty bar.

  She laughed at that and the sound seemed alien to her ears; it had been a long time since she’d felt such an emotion.

  “Well I guess that all went to shit pretty quickly.” She sighed as she rubbed her neck and rolled her head tiredly.

  “Did you really expect anything else?”

  “I was hopeful.” She shrugged. “How’s the nose?”

  He touched it gingerly. “I’ll live.”

  “That was one big mother! Torvan, was it?”

  Caleb merely nodded.

  “I guess you’re not used to things like that.”

  “Occasional bar fight, petty theft… you know, that sort of thing. Got a missing man at the minute, Taylor Cole.”

  “Do you need to..., I don’t know, arrange a search party or something?”

  “He’s kind of known as the town drunk. He’ll show up sooner or later. He nicked some booze from Tommy O’Brien’s place. I’m guessing once he sobers up, he’ll roll back into town.”

  A long pause fell over them both. “So…,” they both said at the same time before bursting out laughing.

  “Man, why’s it so weird between us?” she finally asked.

  “Lot of time has passed, I guess. A lot of water under a lot of bridges.” He sighed as he swigged from his beer.

  “You know what I’ve always wondered, ever since I left? Why nothing ever happened between us… you know, in that sort of way.”

  “Hell, we were just kids.”

  “Yeah, but island kids. People grow up faster in Clayton. You know that.”

  Caleb paused, seemingly mulling over the question. “You were my friend,” he finally answered. “My best friend.”

  Another silence grew between them, only this one was pleasant and not at all awkward.

  She opened her mouth to say something else when Caleb’s radio barked into life.

  “Caleb?” the disconnected voice asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Just got a call from Mary Clark. She says Ieuan went out hunting this morning and hasn’t come back yet,” Dottie told him.

  Quinn watched as Caleb’s brow furrowed. “Okay, leave it with me,” he finally replied.

  “Trouble?” Quinn asked.

  “Don’t know. Ieuan’s a big hunter, used to spending all times of the day and night out in the woods, but he’s not a young man anymore. Maybe he had a fall or something. I’d better go and have a poke around.”

  “Need some help?”

  “I can manage,” he answered quizzically, not picking up on her intentions.

  “How about some company then?” She smiled and he got it.

  CHAPTER 5

  Making friends

  Cooper Fox had to balance his desire to yell at Anderson with the desire to keep hidden under the scrubland as they waited for the boat to come ashore.

  The pair of them waited in the hidden shadows for the sign they were looking for.

  “There,” Anderson said, pointing out at the water as a single light beam flashed twice before going dark again.

  They watched and waited as the boat rowed into shore. Two silhouettes climbed out and splashed down into the shallow water before pulling the small wooden boat up onto the pebble beach.

  “HELLO?” a man yelled out, and Cooper winced at the loud sound.

  He rushed out and shushed the man quickly before he could draw any more attention to them.

  “Quiet,” Cooper hissed.

  “Quiet, my ass.” The man laughed in his face. “This isn’t how I usually do business, Mr Fox. You’ve dragged me out to the middle of freaking nowhere in the dead of night. Let
me promise you one thing, Mr Fox, if you’ve wasted my time, I’m going to get back in my boat, row out to the middle of the ocean and drown you.”

  “Hey, no sweat,” Cooper responded quickly and a little nervously. “I promise you, this isn’t a waste of your time. Hell, Mr Morrison, I wouldn’t dare.”

  He watched and waited as the man before him sighed heavily. Calvin Morrison was not a man to be messed with. The reputation of the mainlander was strong and his mention of drowning Cooper was not some idle threat.

  “Look, Mr Morrison, we’ve got the stuff right here. Anderson…,” he hissed to his partner - who was still hiding in the bushes - and flapped his hand, motioning the other man forward.

  Eventually, Anderson emerged nervously and held out the bag.

  Cooper snatched it quickly. “Look, this stuff is unlike anything you’ve ever seen before, I promise you that.”

  “You hillbilly hicks promise a lot of things, Mr Fox, I doubt that you can deliver.”

  Cooper wanted to stand his ground at the slight to his island, but Morrison wasn’t the only man before him. Another man stood by motionlessly, a large slab of beef who was obviously not here for his conversational skills.

  “Look, Mr Morrison, this stuff is pure. It’s grown by monks, for God’s sake - holy shit from the holy land. You’ve never seen anything better. This shit is going to revolutionise your business. Those mainlanders won’t be able to get enough of this shit.”

  Morrison looked down at the outstretched bag before motioning for his associate to step forward. The silent rock stepped forward and took the bag. He retreated a few steps before taking out one of the small dried mushrooms.

  “Careful, now,” Anderson warned, speaking for the first time in a small anxious voice. “Just a little bit.”

  The silent bodyguard looked to his boss. Morrison nodded and the man nibbled a small bite. For a moment nothing happened, and Cooper felt Morrison’s temper slip a notch, then the bodyguard started to sway on his feet.

  “Rollins?” Morrison asked, but the bodyguard suddenly pitched forward and landed face-first onto the pebble beach.

  The three of them all moved in, encircling the fallen man.

  “Is he dead?” Anderson whispered.

  As if to answer them, Rollins started to laugh. Even with his face buried, the laughter roared out of him, rolling up from his toes until it burst out of his face with an eerie echo.

  “Well, now...,” Morrison started, “I’ve witnessed that man shovel all types of stuff down his gullet, but I’ve never so much as seen him drunk.”

  “Damn, I told you!” Cooper yelled out in triumph, grabbing Morrison’s sleeve and shaking the man. “Sorry,” he said quickly when he realised what he’d done. “But I did tell you. This shit is going to explode.”

  Cooper hopped around from one foot to the other, his excitement knowing no bounds.

  “Where did you say you got this from?” Morrison asked as he picked up the bag and sniffed the contents.

  Cooper opened his mouth to speak but a rare flash of intellect made its presence known. “My connection,” he answered, not wanting to share that information.

  “But you did say monks?”

  “Look, Mr Morrison, this is my deal, okay? I bring you the shit and you sell it; you only have to deal with me.”

  He waited while Morrison seemed to be deciding, knowing that the drug dealer would no doubt screw him over if given half a chance.

  “Okay, Mr Fox,” Morrison finally said. “I’ll take your little bag of samples and I’ll have them checked out thoroughly.”

  “Checked out?”

  “I don’t sell anything that’s dangerous, Mr Fox. It’s simply not good business to kill off your customer base. Now, if you’ll be so kind,” he said, nodding towards his bodyguard who was giggling and gurgling with his face still buried in the beach. “Put him in the boat.”

  ----------

  Quinn changed into a pair of sturdy hiking boots and grabbed a thick jacket and a powerful flashlight before meeting Caleb back downstairs.

  They drove out into the woodlands before he pulled over at Widow’s Peak. The spot was a popular landmark on the island and was so named as some time ago when sailors died at sea, their widows would come here and hurl themselves off into the oblivion below.

  The spot also marked the furthest point into the island to which you could drive before having to resort to continuing on foot.

  Caleb climbed out of the Jeep and walked over to the start of the trail. Quinn watched as the big man knelt down and took a soil sample before thoughtfully rubbing the dirt between his fingers.

  “He came this way,” he called back to her as she approached. “I’d say around 4pm this afternoon.”

  “Holy crap, you can tell that?” she said, impressed.

  “No, I’m just yanking your chain.” He grinned. “Mary told me what time he left and where he was going when I called her.”

  Quinn laughed and nudged him playfully with her knee. “Idiot.” She couldn’t help but smile.

  He led the way and didn’t miss a step as he headed through the bush. It took her a while but soon her balance started to return and she found the hike a little easier.

  “How you doing?” he called back.

  “Once an islander,” she replied. “How far in do you think he went?”

  “Ieuan favoured the east side, normally hunting up around Bell’s Clearing; that’d be my first guess. There’s a storm coming and he wouldn’t want to be out here when it hits, so I guess he wouldn’t go in too far.”

  They talked as they walked. Somehow it seemed easier to do so when they were moving, largely in the dark and in single file so they weren’t looking into each other’s faces. By the time that they reached their destination some hour and a half later, their conversation seemed more natural and easy flowing.

  “There.” Caleb used his flashlight to point to a tent and headed towards it.

  The camp was deserted and Caleb moved to the dug fire pit.

  “Cold,” he announced as he checked the ashes.

  Quinn poked her head inside the tent. “His stuff’s still here,” she said as she spotted a bunch of clothing and equipment.

  “IEUAN!” Caleb boomed out with his hands cupped to his mouth.

  “Caleb,” she said, calling him over. “Look.”

  She shone her flashlight down, pointing it towards a patch of grass that was stained with red.

  This time, when Caleb knelt down to check, he wasn’t joking around. He ran the sticky red substance between his fingers before sniffing it.

  “Rabbit... At least, I think it is,” he said, sniffing it a second time.

  “Where is he, Caleb?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, standing up again. “Maybe he wandered off somewhere.”

  “But you’re worried, aren’t you,” she stated rather than asked.

  He didn’t need to reply to tell her that she was right.

  ----------

  Haynes sat in his room drinking from a bottle of vodka that he’d procured from Casey downstairs in the bar.

  He’d spread out a raft of papers on the bed and was going carefully through various facts and figures when the phone on the bedside table rang.

  He wasn’t surprised to not be getting a signal on his mobile out here and snatched the antiquated phone up.

  “Hello?” he yelled to the faded disconnected voice on the other end of the line.

  “How are things progressing?” James Merlin asked.

  The boss/owner’s son was a royal pain in the ass. Handed the keys to the kingdom as he stepped over those far more deserving of the crown, James was far removed from his father’s guiding hand.

  “WELL?” James yelled impatiently.

  “Fine,” Haynes lied.

  There was no way that he was going to tell James the truth, especially when the truth sucked right now.

  “When can I expect closure?” James demanded.

  “S
orry... can’t... you... call later,” Haynes said, pretending that the phone signal was breaking up.

  He hung up and slammed the phone down into its cradle. This inbred town wasn’t going to fuck with his plans, not when it was his ticket to get out from under James Merlin’s thumb. If he could seal this deal, then he would be able to write his own ticket. That was a prize worth lying, cheating and stealing for.

  He sat back on the bed and started to firm up a plan, one that had started to brew on the way back from the monastery.

  ----------

  Brother Jeremiah Tunstall surveyed his crops and was pleased with the results. The monastery gardens were a large expanse in the grounds and had, in reality, grown into a small farm.

  He fed the brothers and sisters and provided a trading source between the Order and the town. The position had been handed down to him by his father and his father before him.

  Unbeknownst to the Order, they shared many a commonality with Clayton, with important positions being kept in one family.

  The trouble was that he had absolutely no interest in his position within the Order or even in the Order itself.

  Jeremiah longed for an escape. He longed for a life outside these narrow boundaries and he desperately wanted to see the whole world. There were no explicit rules on brothers or sisters leaving - they were not prisoners - but to his knowledge, no one had ever left. He found it hard to believe that no one had ever wanted to.

  Time was slipping by now and Jeremiah was already past 30. With Torvan guarding the door and taking an ever more important role with Solomon’s advancing years, it was now or never. Solomon couldn’t be Father forever, and everyone was more than a little nervous about Torvan’s inevitable ascension.

  He strolled slowly around the fields, bending and checking on his crops randomly, but really he was just making sure that he wasn’t being observed.

  He was a handsome man with a healthy outdoor glow and a toned physique to match. His long blonde hair was tied back with a piece of ribbon and he knew that the world would welcome him with open arms. He just needed a stake to start with.

  Once he was sure that he was away from prying eyes, he headed out towards the far edge of their land.

  At the bottom of the furthest field there was a large handmade wooden barn.