Survival Island

by Matt Drabble

  “Torvan, what did you do?” Solomon asked warily.

  “I protected us, Father,” Torvan answered, his face creased in surprise at the question. “Is that not my role here? I am not the barrier that stands between us and the darkness?”

  “What darkness?” Solomon asked, mirroring the question that Gwendolyn wanted to ask but dare not.

  “They are all around us, Father!” Torvan exclaimed. “How can you not see them? How can you not feel their presence here? How can you sit in rule over us when you cannot keep us safe?”

  “Torvan, there is no danger here. There is no enemy at the gates,” Solomon tried in a soothing tone.

  “No enemy?” Torvan laughed angrily. “Then what is this?” he demanded while opening the cloth sack now at his feet.

  Gwendolyn screamed out in shock as Torvan exposed the dead body inside. The man was dressed all in black wearing what looked like some kind of military uniform. His face was smeared with a black and green substance, but his eyes were open and stared eternally outwards.

  “What have you done?” Solomon whispered.

  “They came to us at night, an attack in the darkness - a soldier sent to slaughter us in our beds, but I found him,” Torvan said proudly.

  “Who is he?” Gwendolyn asked, speaking for the first time.

  “He is an agent of the darkness,” Torvan answered. “But don’t worry, fair sister, for they shall not harm you, that I guarantee.”

  “Torvan, my son, what have you done to us?” Solomon hissed as he knelt down to check the body, seemingly in a vague hope that the man might still be alive.

  “I have kept us safe, just as the gods decreed,” Torvan replied, standing up to his full height proudly.

  “No, my son. You might have just damned us all instead.”

  ----------

  Dale Clayton slept soundly for what seemed like the first time in years. He had expected his dreams to be filled with pain and regret, but instead, as soon as his head had hit the pillow, he had dozed off soundly.

  By the time that he woke late morning, he felt like a new man, like a free one. He had long lived in his father’s shadow; now it was gone, and he could finally breathe again.

  He still had to give his official statement to Caleb Bowman but he wasn’t unduly concerned. The constable wasn’t renowned for his intelligence, and he fully expected to run rings around the man, just as soon as he had his story straight.

  He made a promise to himself as he ate a hearty breakfast that he would live each day from now on his own terms. He was stronger than he had ever thought and it was high time that the rest of the island found that out.

  Once he’d eaten, he set to work cleaning the office floor. The blood had soaked through several rugs and he took them outside. The floorboards underneath were stained and he set to cleaning them with watered-down bleach and a stiff brush.

  Soon his back ached and his fingers felt raw, but the work was honest and rewarding as the stain started to fade.

  He knew that Constable Bowman would have questions for him - hell, the whole island would - but now he would be able to answer them. There was a power growing in him, planted from seeds sown last night and fed with blood. There was going to be a harvest and a new bloom would finally blossom, devoid of his father’s shade.

  He ran through things in his mind as he worked. The only copy of the document proving that the Niners owned the land was now gone, burnt to ashes. His father’s testimony was now equally gone. As far as the courts would be concerned, the Niners had no legal right to the land and they were essentially illegal squatters. Not, of course, that they would be a problem much longer. Word would already be out that the cultists had murdered his father, and Haider Clayton’s name still meant something on the island. Justice would be demanded and not necessarily the sort dealt out on the mainland.

  He saw clearly that he now had two options. One was to legally evict the Niners and then sell the land to Haynes and his development company. If that failed, then the other was to let the islanders take matters into their own hands. Either way, the Niners’ days were numbered and the age of Dale Clayton was about to begin.

  ----------

  Quinn found Haynes waiting for her when she stepped outside of Caleb’s office and her boss did not look happy.

  “You know, I’m starting to think that you’ve forgotten whom you work for,” the man said without an ounce of humour in his voice.

  “Mr Haynes...,” she started, with no idea how to finish.

  “A word, my dear,” he said as Caleb emerged behind her. “In private?” he continued, gesturing her over.

  “You mind telling me just what the hell you’re doing?” he demanded, keeping his voice low and his expression neutral as Caleb watched on out of earshot.

  “Sir?”

  “Don’t ‘Sir’ me. What are you up to?”

  Quinn knew exactly what the man’s problem was, and she couldn’t see a way out of this that ended with her keeping her job. It was time to choose a side.

  “I can’t let you do this, Sir,” she finally said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I know what you’re trying to do, and while I understand your reasons, you don’t understand these people, or what they’re capable of.”

  “I thought you understood.” He sighed heavily. “I thought we wanted the same thing.”

  “So did I, but the price is just too damn high, Sir - way too high.”

  “Look...,” he started, using his sales pitch voice. It was a good one but it was also one she had heard him use too many times before to be fooled by it. “This is just a development deal, Ashley, but it’s one that can take me to the top of Merlin and I fully intend on taking you with me. Didn’t I always promise you that? Wasn’t that why we came?”

  “But at what cost?”

  “Cost?”

  “Yes, Sir. You’re trying to start a war here.”

  “War?”

  “I know that word might sound extreme to you, but you’ve no idea what tensions are bubbling under the surface here. If you set the townies against the Niners, you’ve no idea of the size of the fire you’re playing with.”

  “Don’t you think that you’re being a little... overly emotional? Sure, I might stir up a little trouble, but a war? Don’t be so silly.”

  “People are going to get hurt, Mr Haynes; some may even end up dead, and I can’t be a part of that.”

  Haynes rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly. “I thought that you understood.” He sighed. “I really thought that we were on the same page here. There’s a glass ceiling for both of us at Merlin, Ashley. Surely you see that, right? I thought that you had the balls to break through it like I do.”

  “I’m sorry,” was all she could offer.

  “No, you’re not. But you’re going to be,” he said in a low threatening tone.

  “I’m going to put an end to this, or at least I’m going to try,” she said, determined to take the high road to his implied threats.

  “I liked you, I really did, but I won’t let anyone stand in my way - not these hillbilly hicks, those religious freaks or even you, Ashley. So what if a couple of heads get cracked? If it gets me what I want, then I really don’t care. At the end of the day, this island is going to be part of my future, and you can all get out of the way or else you’re going to get crushed by it.”

  “You really don’t get it, do you,” she stated rather than asked. “There really are no words that I can use, are there? You think that this ends with what? A fist fight? A couple of broken bones? Maybe on the mainland you’d be right, Mr Haynes, but we’re not on the mainland anymore, and islanders don’t play by your rules.”

  “You know what I think? I think that you’re still the little girl who grew up in this godforsaken place and you never really left. Now you’re trying to stop progress with your scary stories about island life. Honestly, I think the scariest thing that’s ever happened here was when your sisters married your brothers and g
ave birth to webbed feet children. This deal will happen whether you like it or not, Miss Quinn. Oh, and one more thing...”

  “I’m fired?”

  “See, you’re really not as dumb as the rest of them. Too bad you weren’t quite smart enough.”

  She watched him walk away, angry that she could never get him to understand her point of view. The island was different from the mainland, and the people here wouldn’t play by mainlander rules. On the surface, the two communities got along fine, but she knew that tensions ran deep here. Islanders held onto grudges like family heirlooms, anger handed down from parent to child through the ages, festering resentments that aged poorly and became more volatile over time.

  “Problem?” Caleb asked as he wandered over.

  “All kinds of them.” She sighed heavily. “He fire you?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Well, I’m not. Well, maybe just a little. Man, I thought I could leave this place behind, I really did,” she said, shaking her head.

  “You can never leave your home behind; it’s in your bones, always will be. Once an islander and all that. But it doesn’t have to be a bad thing. What say we go and try and stop a war?”

  ----------

  Jeremiah Tunstall threw what meagre belongings he had into a handmade cloth knapsack and prepared for his departure, one he had to make without being seen before the storm hit them hard and made any kind of escape off the island impossible.

  Torvan had preached on endlessly about the upcoming war with the islanders and Tunstall could only hope that he’d nodded and agreed enthusiastically enough to save his own neck.

  He was now pretty sure that the man Torvan had killed was something to do with Cooper Fox’s mainland dealer. The man had been wearing military fatigues and had looked professional, but even he hadn’t been able to handle Torvan’s insanity.

  Tunstall knew that if he came clean, then perhaps he could avert the growing crisis between the Order and the town, but his conscience only ran so deep. The best plan he could think of now was to get his stuff and himself off the island before the shit really started to come down.

  Although the Order had little use for timepieces, he knew that the ferry would be docking today and he fully intended to be on it.

  His belongings didn’t add up to much, save for a few mushroom samples and a couple of family keepsakes, so it didn’t take him long to pack.

  If he’d have had his way, he’d have left the second that Torvan had killed the man in the garden shed, but Brother Torvan had kept him under a watchful eye ever since and this had been his first moment alone; he intended to make the most of it.

  Once his pack was full, he slipped back out of his room and into the long empty corridor.

  He made his way quickly along the stone floor, his feet moving swiftly but quietly. The last thing he wanted now was to be discovered and have to come up with excuses on the spot.

  While the main entrance to the monastery wasn’t exactly guarded, it was always manned and people were always milling about. The Order wasn’t a prison, and the people were free to come and go as they pleased, but there would be questions about him leaving with a knapsack, questions that would undoubtedly reach Torvan’s ears too damn quickly.

  He headed out through one of the rear doors onto the grounds and then made his way around the back of the main building towards the storm drains.

  He had used this exit several times when meeting Cooper Fox and his idiot sidekick. He didn’t think that anyone else even knew about the secret entrance-cum-exit and he prayed that was still the case as he intended to use it for the last time.

  As he moved, he guessed that this was the way the dead man had gained access and his slight concern was that Torvan also now knew, but he had no other choice and no other option to leave without being seen.

  He ran quickly through the puddles of filthy water that fell from the cracked pipes. The metal gate at the end was no longer in place and instead it was lifted up to expose a gap. The outside was clearly visible and the daylight was within reach.

  Tunstall reached the end of the tunnel and pushed his bag through the gap. He reached out to move the gate either up further or all the way out, but he found it wedged firmly in place. The gap under it was no more than a foot, but he was a skinny man and felt he could slide under.

  Lying on his back, he inched his way along until his head poked out in the day beyond the darkness. He shimmied along on his back like a worm sliding out under the metal bars. His head and shoulders were now through and he was working on the rest of his torso when he found he was stuck.

  He started to thrash around in panic and only succeeded in trapping himself more firmly. His head and shoulders were poking outside while the rest of him was still inside the tunnel. The metal fence panel was wedged now firmly against his upper chest, the railings digging into his skin and pinning him painfully in place.

  His first thought was to cry out for help, but his sense of self-preservation was strong and he didn’t want to be discovered mid-escape.

  The base of the railings started to cut into him as he pushed ever harder in order to free himself. His shirt rucked up, further complicating matters as it wrapped around the railing post base. He tried to go backwards but only succeeded in pinning himself tighter.

  Panic was really taking hold now and he started to wonder how long it would take him to die trapped down here alone. How long would it take for a man to starve to death, or even what animals or vermin might come looking for a nibble once the sun set?

  Finally he opened his mouth to scream for help when a long shadow fell over his exposed head, blocking the sun.

  “Hello?” he whimpered, fearing the worst.

  “Hello, Brother,” Torvan answered. “You appear to be stuck.”

  “I was..., I was...,” Tunstall tried but he couldn’t think of a good lie, not one to fool the hulking brute currently standing over him.

  The only hope he had was that Torvan didn’t know he was fleeing. He’d thrown his knapsack out through the tunnel and he prayed that it was hidden from view somewhere in the undergrowth.

  “You were leaving us,” Torvan said as he lifted the bag up into Tunstall’s view, robbing him of his last hope.

  “I..., I was...,” Tunstall tried again, but fear and pain were stealing his mind from him and he couldn’t think clearly.

  “You were running from the fight, Brother - a deserter, if you will. Do you know what the gods would have me do with deserters?”

  “Brother, please,” Tunstall pleaded as he started to squirm again, this time for his very life.

  “The gods do not look too kindly on those who would flee the cause, I can assure you, Brother. The war is upon us and everyone has a part to play, even you.”

  “Please, Torvan, let me go. I can help you, whatever you need.”

  “Our gods are the truest kind,” Torvan continued as though Tunstall hadn’t spoken, “the oldest kind. They do not require songs to be sung in their name; they don’t require the mindless praise of huddled masses, Brother, oh no. They require a true showing of our faith, and let me tell you that when we offer up to them what is rightfully theirs, they shall bestow upon the righteous the power to serve in their name.”

  Tunstall forced himself backwards another inch. His teeth gritted against the pain as his flesh ripped open and his shirt started to fill with blood.

  “That’s right, Brother.” Torvan smiled as he sniffed the air. “The gods require blood in their offerings, but unfortunately that won’t be quite enough.”

  Tunstall started to bellow for help, his voice echoing off the tunnel walls, but no one was coming to save him.

  Torvan reached up and took hold of the wedged railings. His powerful hands gripped tightly as he started to pull. Metal screeched as it was pulled through concrete and forced downwards. Tunstall matched the shrieking metal with his own screams as the railings were forced downwards and into his chest. Torva
n exhibited crushing strength as he pulled the railings downwards and then into Tunstall’s chest, driving the metal poles through flesh and then cracking through bone.

  “I OFFER THIS BLOOD SACRIFICE IN THE NAME OF THE CHOSEN ORDER OF THE NINE DIVINES!” Torvan roared as Tunstall’s screams faded to a choking gurgle.

  “Now give me the power to serve in your name,” Torvan whispered as his body shook with the influx of those he served.

  He could feel their pleasure and he knew that he was right, that he’d always been right and his father wrong. Their gods didn’t want praising, they didn’t want their servants down on their knees begging. The Nine Gods wanted blood and they wanted an ocean of it.

  His father was misguided in his beliefs and always had been, but Torvan knew the path of the righteous and he was determined to walk it, alone if necessary. This land was to be their proving ground and only those strong enough to serve the gods would be spared the war ahead.

  He would build an army to cleanse this land of the non-believers and plant a new harvest bathed in blood sacrifice and woe betide those who would stand in his way - father or stranger, all would fall.

  CHAPTER 12

  Final straw

  Dale Clayton headed into town bright and early. He walked with an almost skip to his steps and several times he had to remind himself that his father had just died; correction - his father had just been murdered.

  “Is it true?” a voice demanded and he turned to face it.

  “Pearl,” he said, greeting the local business owner.

  “Is it true?” she demanded a second time.

  “I’m afraid so,” he said as sadly as he could muster.

  “And it was a Niner? You’re sure of it?”

  “Yes,” he stated firmly. “I saw it.”

  “But you couldn’t stop it?”

  The question both threw and annoyed him in equal measure. His new day and rebirth apparently hadn’t made the local news, and there were going to be a lot of people he was going to have to re-educate.

  “Where’s Caleb?”

  “Our fair constable and the young lady went over to see Dr Simmons.”