Survival Island

by Matt Drabble

  The islanders were arguing amongst themselves; voices were raised and tempers too.

  “SETTLE DOWN!” Haynes yelled out to the gathered crowd when they didn’t listen to Dale Clayton.

  The town mayor looked uncomfortable as he struggled to gain control over his own people.

  “Yes, let’s all settle down now,” Clayton said as the crowd listened to the newcomer. “We’re not going to get anywhere if you all just keep talking over each other.”

  “We’re not going to get anywhere with you in charge,” someone yelled out of the crowd to a ripple of laughter.

  Clayton resisted the urge to demand who’d spoken, knowing he would sound like a headmaster addressing a classroom.

  “Look, what are you going to do about the Niners?” Cooper Fox demanded as he stood up to a chorus of approval. “I mean, isn’t that the only question here?” he asked the crowd, rather than the stage, as he turned to face them.

  “We’re here to discuss what’s best for the island, what’s best for all of us,” Clayton announced.

  “Bullshit!” one man yelled, standing up. “You owned the lumber mill - you never worked there!”

  Clayton shielded his eyes against the glowing lights of the stage. Kelvin Moore was one of his employees, although he supposed that should be ‘ex’ employees.

  “Look, Kelvin, these are tough times for all of us,” Clayton said, trying to placate the man and the rising tide around him.

  “Not for you,” Cooper Fox added. “People like you never suffer, Mr Mayor. You sit up there on the hill in your big house with money in the bank. You don’t know what it’s like to work for a living!”

  That got a bigger cheer still.

  “I’m sorry, Cooper, I must have missed the part where you got an honest job,” Caleb called out from the back of the room, and that comment got a laugh.

  “You’re just the same as him, Constable,” Cooper sneered back. “You don’t work at the mill. You’ve got your nice cushy paycheque, so you’ve got no horse in this race.”

  “That’s right,” Kelvin Moore agreed. “He ran the mill into the ground,” he said, jerking a thumb towards Clayton. “And the rest of our town is going to follow unless we do something.”

  “People, please! This is going to get us nowhere,” a new woman spoke up.

  Dr Marion Simmons was a well-respected woman in the town and the crowd’s natural instinct was to listen to her.

  “We have to face the facts. The lumber mill was never going to last forever.”

  “Especially with him running it,” Kelvin added unhelpfully.

  “No matter who was running it,” Simmons continued. “The point is that we all have to turn to the future and decide just what we are going to do with it.”

  “I say we kick those religious nut jobs out of the old monastery,” Cooper yelled to a chorus of nodding agreement. “They’re the only ones standing in our way of saving our homes.”

  “They’ve got no right being up there,” Anderson joined in dutifully, playing the part of the sidekick.

  “Damn right,” Cooper agreed. “And I know that some of you think that they’re some kind of harmless religious types - people of faith who wouldn’t hurt a fly - but let me tell you, one of the Niners attacked and damn near killed me today!”

  Caleb opened his mouth to tell the crowd that Cooper had deserved it, but he could immediately tell that no one was going to listen.

  “This land belongs to us,” Kelvin yelled out, and several of his lumber mill friends bellowed in agreement. “These are our homes at stake here! Our lives! OUR ISLAND! AND I SAY WE TAKE IT BACK!”

  Haynes stood up now and walked to the front of the stage.

  “I came here with a plan,” he began, and heads turned towards him. “I was under the impression that talks were a little more advanced than they turned out to be,” he said, dropping Clayton in the mire in the eyes of his people. “But perhaps I should leave. I had hoped to offer this town, you people, a bright new future, one that would help you all. I envisaged a whole development of Clayton, of the whole island. I thought that I could bring you jobs, money, stability, but perhaps this isn’t the right place after all.”

  This last comment drew a wail of protests.

  “I can stay a couple more days until I have to return to the mainland. If we could salvage something, then maybe we can still work something out. I suppose that I should leave you to your discussions,” he said, before walking off stage.

  The voices in the crowd grew ever louder now as panic set in. Those who had crippling debts and their hearts set on being saved were the ones yelling the loudest. Anger grew until it filled the room and threatened to spill outside.

  At the back of the room, Caleb was unsure as to what to do. The crowd had turned uglier than even he’d feared, and right now, he was glad that the monastery was on the other side of the island and the Niners were far out of reach.

  “I don’t like this,” he said to Quinn, having to yell to make himself heard.

  “Me neither,” she agreed nervously.

  Looking around she could see now that the verbal arguments were staring to turn physical with some pushing and shoving starting to accentuate people’s strong views.

  “Maybe you should get out of here,” Caleb told her.

  “Do I look like some kind of wallflower?”

  “No, but I was thinking that you could get the doc out of here,” he said, pointing to Dr Simmons who was throwing herself into harm’s way.

  Quinn headed down the aisle and grabbed hold of the doc. Simmons was trying to separate two men who were wrestling on the ground.

  Caleb strode purposefully and snatched up the collar of Kelvin, who was shoving Tommy O’Brien around. He threw the logger backwards with one hand and turned to offer him a hard glare when the man looked to come back for more.

  “OUT!” Caleb ordered, and Kelvin dutifully retreated.

  Quinn watched as her childhood friend set about breaking up fights. He had come a long way from the somewhat shy and sensitive boy she’d once known. Now he was a rolling tank, and woe betide anyone who got in his way.

  Doc Simmons was proving to be a handful as Quinn tried to pull the older woman away. Despite the woman having to be in her mid-sixties by now, Quinn had to work hard to drag her up the aisle and away from the mayhem.

  She left Caleb to his job and found herself worrying about his welfare and, for a brief – confusing - flash, admiring the athletic way he moved under the tight beige uniform.

  ----------

  Haynes made sure that he was outside long before the fists started flying.

  All in all he was pretty pleased with how the night had unfolded. He’d have preferred a little more direct talk about the Niners and what should be done about them, but he also knew that seeds had been planted.

  “Psst!” someone hissed to him from the shadows.

  He turned towards the voice and found a man motioning him over.

  “Ah, Mr Fox, well done,” Haynes said as he pulled out an envelope from his jacket. “As we agreed,” he said, handing over the cash.

  “And mine?” Kelvin Moore asked greedily.

  “You too, Mr Moore,” Haynes said, handing over a second envelope. “You both performed quite excellently, and trust me, there could be more where that came from.”

  “How much more?” Kelvin enquired.

  “That, gentlemen, depends on how far you are prepared to go,” Haynes answered cryptically. “Shall we retire and talk further?”

  ----------

  “Easy, Doc,” Quinn said as she tried to calm Dr Simmons down.

  “Idiots, bloody idiots - the lot of them! Acting like a bunch of children; they all need their heads knocking together.”

  “Well, you’re not going to be doing it tonight, Doc. Let’s get you home.”

  “Screw home. I need a drink.”

  “Well alright then, Doc. Lead the way.”

  They headed off towards Casey’s
before the doc seemed to have second thoughts and then led Quinn away from Main Street.

  “I got booze at my place,” the doc said. “Besides, those hicks will be at Casey’s soon enough getting loaded, and then it’ll all kick off again.”

  “For someone who was born here, Doc, you don’t exactly speak well of our locals.”

  “The idiots in that room do not represent me, Miss Quinn. You should know better than that.”

  “Hey, I left a long time ago.”

  “But you’re still an islander. I left to go to medical school and see the world, but we all end up back here.”

  “This is just a flying visit,” Quinn quickly protested.

  “That’s exactly what I said, some 30 years ago when I came back to tend to my father. Once an islander, always an islander.”

  Quinn followed in the woman’s wake back to her cabin with those depressing words ringing in her ears.

  “Besides, there must be something here for you.” The doc grinned, and Quinn had a second flash of Caleb which was as equally confusing as the first.

  CHAPTER 8

  Lighting the fuse

  Grady Rollins pulled the boat up onto the shore and hid it amongst the thick undergrowth.

  There appeared to be zero security on the island, just as Morrison had assured him. The small harbour seemed to be unmanned at night, but he wasn’t going to take any chances. He hadn’t kept his ass out of prison this long by being careless.

  Life with the drug dealer normally consisted of hanging around in the background looking menacing, but his boss seemed to have bigger ideas for him.

  The testing on the mushroom that Morrison had bought from the islanders had been potent enough for the weaselly chemist that they used to start having palpitations. Morrison quickly saw the potential in the drug far beyond selling a handful at a time to college kids.

  The chemist had told Morrison that the mushrooms could be distilled into a liquid form far more intoxicating and, more importantly, addictive than anything else he sold.

  As such, Rollins had been dispatched to the island to get a larger sample and, preferably, the monk who’d been growing it or at least his recipe.

  He headed inland, feeling secure in the shadows as he ducked into the heavy woodland.

  The island was sparsely populated and he figured it would be simple to make his way unseen towards the monastery. He would have liked to have gotten closer to the building but the large stone building was backed onto the edge of a steep cliff. This meant that he had to approach head on and make his way through the surrounding landscape.

  He passed several log cabins on his hike but only an occasional one had a flickering light in the windows. Apparently, islanders retired early, thus making his journey easier.

  Rollins had served in the army before moving up to the Special Forces Division. He had never possessed a patriotic spirit, but instead, he merely recognised his own talents and put them to good use.

  The army had taught him the skills to complement his natural size and power. These were skills that he saw as a valuable asset, and once his time was served, he set about cashing in.

  Mercenary life had suited him well. Travelling the world for large paycheques was a pleasant experience for him. He got to use his skills and indulge his appetite for violence, all the while getting wealthy in the process.

  An unfortunate incident in Nigeria, however, had cleaned him out when he made the mistake of stepping outside of his comfort zone by trying to invest in a gold mine.

  The whole thing had turned out to be a giant scam orchestrated by a partner who he had trusted. They had been working for a local warlord, and when the mine idea had been floated, Rollins had leapt at the chance to get out of the trenches and to start giving orders instead of taking them.

  He had taken out many of those who had stolen from him, including his employer, but while he’d taken his share of blood, he hadn’t been able to recover his money.

  After killing his charge, he’d had to flee the country without a penny in his pocket, and with a small army looking for his head after his revenge spree.

  Returning home, he’d found himself ostracised from the mercenary community. His peers weren’t interested in the reasons for his killing spree, and he was blacklisted. Potential employers didn’t like the idea of hiring a man who’d killed his previous boss.

  Broke and unable to work, he’d taken a job with a local drug dealer. Providing security for a man like Morrison was far below his abilities, but he was a beggar and couldn’t be a chooser - for now, at least.

  He’d been scouting Morrison’s operation now for some time and had the whole thing locked down; it was only a matter of time before he made a move and took over.

  The deal with the islanders was the perfect opportunity, a new business venture set to far outweigh anything that Morrison had done before, and now it was going to belong to Rollins; he just had to take it.

  The monastery loomed up in front of him now and he could see no telltale lights in any of the windows. Apparently, the monks shared the same early bedtimes as the rest of the island.

  Unfortunately, such was the age of the building, there had been no plans of the place anywhere online. He was going to have to wing it, but he wasn’t unduly concerned.

  The huge stone walls surrounded the main building, but no one had felt the need to place any kind of extra security. There were no motion lights set up or even guards posted anywhere, and he felt confident in a stealthy approach.

  He crossed the ground quickly, emerging from the woodland and sprinting across the open space between.

  His back hit the outer wall and he started to edge his way around the barrier, looking for a weak spot to enter.

  He soon came to the rear of the property and found that although the stone walls were just as high, they weren’t as well maintained and as a result, some of the stonework was crumbling which was a good sign for him.

  There was a pipe protruding out of the walls with a metal fence above it. He could immediately see that the metal was rusting away judging by the colour. The excess water from the pipes had worked into the body of the railings and rotted them through in several places.

  He quickly eased the metal railings up, making a gap big enough for him to slide under.

  The tunnel stank and it was quickly clear that this was a sewage outlet, but he’d been in fouler places before and pressed forwards.

  He didn’t bother using a flashlight as old habits died hard, and despite the perceived lack of security, he didn’t want to take any unnecessary chances.

  The tunnel led deeper into the complex and he soon found himself underneath the main building. There were several manhole covers overhead, but he was sure that what he was after would be out back somewhere in the grounds.

  Soon the tunnel opened up, and by this time, he’d calculated that he should be clear of the monastery. He climbed up a ladder and eased open a manhole cover.

  He waited several minutes, his ears attuning to the open air above, listening intently for any signs of movement. Once he was sure that he could neither hear nor feel another presence, he emerged out into the cold night.

  The grounds were empty and he looked around at the fields full of a bountiful harvest. There were rows and rows of vegetables growing all around him but what he was after would be covered and kept in the dark.

  He was sure that whoever was growing the mushrooms would not be doing so with the full knowledge of the rest of their religious order. The two idiot islanders on the beach whom he’d met with Morrison had seemed to indicate that their inside man was a crook just like the rest of them.

  He scanned the fields until he saw what he was looking for. There was an old shed way down at the bottom of the fields, one that looked perfectly innocent to the naked eye. Over the years while working for criminals, he had picked up their scent and that shed felt right to him.

  Rollins kept low as he made his way down through the field, using the tall veget
ation as cover. Even though he was sure that he was unobserved, his instincts were still to act as though he was.

  There was a padlock on the outside door. It was flimsy enough for him to break without any trouble but still he took a small leather pouch from his pocket and took out a silver slither of metal and picked the lock.

  He eased himself inside the rickety outbuilding and closed the door behind him. He checked for any windows and found none. He also inspected the wooden walls and found them sealed enough to not emit any light to the outside before he switched on the shoulder-mounted flashlight.

  The inside of the shed was full of seedlings and baby plants. He made his way down through the aisles, carefully inspecting the greenery but finding nothing of illegal origins.

  There was a door at the back and he made his way to it. This lock looked far sturdier than the outer one, and he knew immediately that this was what he was looking for.

  Though the lock was better, it still took him less than a minute to open it. As soon as the door was open, he was hit with a pungent smell and he knew instantly that this was his prize.

  There was a large dug bed covering the floor, and when he shone his flashlight down, the beam hit hundreds of glinting grey mushroom heads poking out of the earth.

  There were dozens of washing lines hanging from the ceiling and dried powdery mushrooms were suspended from them.

  The haul was decent but not on the sort of scale that he knew Morrison was looking for. This amount would net a pretty profit, but without the gardener’s green thumb, it would be a onetime deal. He needed the man, or at least his knowledge, to go into mass production.

  His own plan to take out Morrison and then take over relied on finding the farmer and extracting his expertise. The trouble was that there was a whole monastery to search and he had no idea where to start.

  A sound from outside startled him back to the present and he cursed himself for letting his guard drop.

  The front door to the outbuilding opened and a huge silhouette blocked his only means of escape.

  Rollins crouched down and pulled the door to the secret room gently shut. He had no qualms about his ability to dish out violence in order to secure his getaway, but the noise might attract unwanted attention and this was supposed to be a stealth mission.