Survival Island

by Matt Drabble

  Dimly, he caught the scent of the third figure moving around in the woods beyond him and he snapped back to attention. He wasn’t going to be any use to anyone if he was dead, and right now, his island needed him.

  He took the black automatic pistol from the ground and gingerly wiped the blood splatter from it. The weapon felt slick and alien in his hand, but he gripped it tightly, nevertheless.

  Someone was moving in the bushes now in front of him, and Caleb was all done with subtlety. The dead man on the ground told him that the pistol’s safety was off, and so he fired it several times into the bushes.

  The gunfire was deafening as it echoed around the clearing, but Caleb ignored it.

  “If you’re not dead, then come out with your hands up and come out slowly,” he announced loudly. “If you’re shot, then just lie there and bleed.”

  “EASY, EASY!” a voice called in panic.

  “Cooper?”

  “It’s me! It’s me!” the islander cried out in panic. “Stop bloody shooting!”

  Caleb watched as the man emerged out of the bushes, his hands held high above his head and a look of sheer terror on his face.

  “What the hell are you doing sneaking around in there?” Caleb demanded. “Hang on a minute, where have you been? You were in the back of the car. Let me guess… you skipped out and went to save yourself, leaving me and Quinn for dead.”

  “I was... I was going for help, but I got turned around?”

  “Bullshit, you worm.”

  “Where’s Quinn?” Cooper asked, looking around.

  “They took her.”

  “Well, I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Don’t be sorry, Cooper, because you’re going to help me get her back.”

  “Hang on a minute here, Caleb; that’s not my job!”

  “Well consider yourself deputised,” Caleb responded in a tone that invited no further discussion on the matter.

  ----------

  Quinn was kept out in front to lead the way, only it wasn’t a way that she wanted to be heading in.

  “Look, you have to listen to me,” she tried again, pressing hard. “It’s not safe.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Killer monks. You’ve told us all this,” Morrison scoffed.

  “It’s the truth!”

  “I’m sure it is.” Morrison laughed, but shoved her harder in the back as she slowed down. “Just keep moving before I decide to put a bullet in your head and find us another guide on this shithole.”

  She could tell that they didn’t believe her, and she couldn’t blame them for that. She herself found it hard to believe , even now.

  As she hiked the trail towards the monastery, her mind was constantly whirring with ideas as to how to break away from them. This Morrison guy wouldn’t tell her what they wanted with the Niners, but judging by his men, it couldn’t be anything good, and the last thing she wanted was to be caught in the middle of it.

  She was using the trail that ran along the cliff edge. Somewhere in her mind, she was hoping that Morrison and his men might lose their footing at some point. Even islanders made mistakes out this way, and these men were no islanders.

  She was fighting hard to keep the dark thoughts from overwhelming her completely. Her estranged father was dead - murdered - and that had all kinds of connotations that she couldn’t deal with yet.

  Caleb, on the other hand, might still be alive, but she had no way of knowing. Her childhood friend had been everything to her at one point, but that had been a lifetime ago.

  She had returned to her childhood home. It was a place that she’d sworn she would never return to, and yet she’d thrown out her principles for the promise of a promotion at work. What had begun as a land development deal had now somehow morphed into bloody fight for survival.

  It was enough to make her head spin if she let it. But right now, her island needed her, and she was no good to anyone if she was dead. Instead, she kept on trudging along the trail towards the home of the enemy, leading one invading force to meet a home-grown one.

  ----------

  CHAPTER 20

  Into the lion’s den

  Haynes followed Anderson out of the town hall without being noticed and together they headed for the docks.

  He had come to Clayton for a dream, a chance to get what was coming to him, but all he wanted to do now was to get the hell out of this nightmare and fast.

  Anderson led the way along the flooded track that passed for a street on this shitty island. All the while, Haynes was watching the corners for homicidal monks ready to run out and lop off his head.

  He’d always been good at compartmentalising the problems around him. It was a talent that had served him well in the business world, and right now, he was using it to save his own life.

  Get to the docks, find a boat, then have Anderson pilot it to the mainland. At the back of his mind, the deal for the monastery’s land was still bubbling, especially if the Niners were removed from the equation, but that came later.

  Anderson moved quickly, if a little skittishly, but right now Haynes couldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. There wasn’t exactly a glut of volunteers looking to help him.

  The man had talked almost continuously about some woman that he thought he was going to win over. It took a while before the man actually mentioned her name.

  “Wait a minute!” Haynes exclaimed. “Ashley Quinn?”

  “You know her?”

  “Of course, you moron! Who do you think brought her back here?”

  “Then you could put in a good word for me!” Anderson said excitedly.

  “Sure,” Haynes replied, nodding enthusiastically. “Get me back to the mainland and I promise you I can seal the deal for you.”

  They continued on, moving as quickly as they could through the scattered debris. Most of the buildings here weren’t built to withstand a battering such as the storm had brought and all were showing the signs of a fierce battle, one they had barely survived.

  The dark night offered anonymity, and Haynes felt most comfortable sticking to the shadows.

  “What was that?” Anderson asked as he stopped up ahead.

  Haynes pulled up alongside him, his breath hitching painfully in a stitch in his side. He listened intently as he stood beside the other man. There was a soft banging coming from somewhere off to the side.

  “I can’t hear anything,” Haynes lied.

  “There... Listen.”

  This time, there was a faint cry for help, so quiet it was almost inaudible, and Haynes couldn’t deny it - at least not to himself.

  “I can’t hear anything, Anderson. Look, we’re wasting time.”

  “Someone might be in trouble.”

  “And what? You’re going to help, is that it? What if someone is in trouble, Anderson? What, exactly, are you going to do about it? What if someone’s being attacked right now by one of those nutters? You going to ride into the rescue, is that it? Besides, what about Miss Quinn? How are you going to help her if you stop to help anyone else?”

  Anderson dropped his gaze.

  “Look, you’re a coward,” Haynes continued gently. “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with that. You want to know the definition of a hero? Someone who leaves a trail of dead bodies. Heroes never pay the price, Anderson; it’s the people around them.”

  “But... Quinn wouldn’t like me leaving people in trouble.”

  “Look, you want to help, then get me to the docks and then get me to the mainland; that’s how you help her, Anderson. We get to the mainland and then bring back people who can help, clear?”

  To his credit, the islander held his ground for a moment longer, but only for a moment, then he continued on his way.

  They covered the rest of the ground quickly, and fortunately, came across no one as they moved through town. His biggest concern now was picking up stragglers and then finding a small boat.

  “There,” Anderson said, pointing down the slope towards the docks.

  The area was bl
ack with no power or life showing, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing; no life meant no Niners or at least so he hoped.

  ----------

  Dale took his newfound confidence and led his team on their mission. Sam Cartwright, Tommy O’Brien and a couple of others came with him, no doubt drawn by his leadership in the absence of any other.

  Tim Duke (who no one called Duke, no matter how many times he asked) and Monty Carmichael made up their merry band. The two men had worked at the Clayton mill, but Dale knew little more about them than their names despite the years they’d worked for him.

  The sixth member of the party, of course, was his father. Haider Clayton had, in reality, never looked better. The man was wearing a new suit, and when Dale saw him for the first time again as they set out, his father was proudly raising his eyebrows and nodding down to showcase his new outfit.

  In truth, he was happy to see the man again and didn’t mind him tagging along. Now that he was becoming the sort of leader his father had told him he’d never be, it was good to rub his face in it.

  The six of them headed up to his father’s cabin. He knew that he should be concerned about the possibilities of the Niners still being about, but strangely he felt calm. He had a brand new attitude and he had a plan, one to save his island and restore his family’s name.

  “Are you sure about this?” Tommy O’Brien asked nervously.

  “Trust me,” Dale replied with a smile.

  “Maybe we should go back and find Caleb?” Sam Cartwright asked.

  “Trust me,” Dale reiterated.

  “I don’t think much of your army,” his father scoffed from his side. “A bunch of old women, if you ask me.”

  “I didn’t ask you,” Dale snapped out loud.

  “Sorry?” Tommy quizzed.

  “We’re going to end the Niners and take back what is rightfully ours,” Dale announced to everyone. “They started this war and I’m now going to finish it… we’re going to finish it,” he quickly amended. “This is our island, this is our time, and we’re not going to sit back and allow them to force us out, not while there’s a breath left in our bodies!”

  “Stirring stuff.” Clayton Senior clapped, and Dale had to work hard not to react.

  It was tiring stuff to have an invisible playmate at his side, one that could cause him to look crazy in front of the people he was supposed to be leading.

  The hike up to the cabin took a while but they hurried double time and covered the distance quickly.

  Dale was infused with a purpose and found himself almost glad of the spreading death and mayhem, for it gave him the opportunity to stake his claim.

  The hunting cabin had sat empty for a long time, ever since his father’s health had started to fail. Dale himself had never had any love for hunting. The great outdoors was wet, cold and depressing as far as he was concerned. Not to mention the fact that he had a weak stomach when it came to blood.

  He supposed he might have cured himself of that problem when he’d murdered his father. Perhaps old dogs could learn new tricks after all.

  Although the approach was pitch-black and full of hiding places, Dale pressed on regardless. His was a kind of holy mission now - he was sure of it. He would reset the island and balance the scales again. It was his birthright as a Clayton and he was just glad that his father would be at his side to see it happen.

  The cabin door was unlocked and Dale entered first. He was immediately hit by an almost overpowering aroma of his father. The scent brought back many memories and none of them were good.

  His father’s approach to parenting had been very much a rigid one, full of cold discipline. Dale had once been sent out into the woods in the dead of winter with instructions that he was not to return to the warmth of the cabin without having made his first kill.

  He’d wandered the woods for hours in the middle of the night, worried that he was going to freeze to death. Just as he was starting to feel weak in the freezing cold, he’d stumbled across a dying fox.

  The poor animal had been caught in a trap and looked like it had gnawed its own paw off in order to escape.

  He remembered the horrible mewing that the creature had been letting out as it lay dying in the snow - a sound of infinite pain and fear - but even then, Dale had been unable to put it out of its misery. Instead, he’d simply sat and waited until it had finally given up the fight and died in agonising pain.

  He’d carried the corpse back to his father, a limp saggy bag of bones. It had somehow served as a testament to masculinity in his father’s eyes. It was the only time he could remember his father being proud of him.

  “You sure this is safe?” Tommy asked nervously as Dale walked inside.

  “You’ve got to start trusting me,” Dale replied over his shoulder. “You all do.”

  Most of the houses and cabins on the island spent their lives unlocked. It had never really occurred to anyone to lock a door; anyone, that was, except his father.

  There was a large sturdy-looking padlock on the basement door to which Dale was heading - one designed to keep others out and to keep secrets in.

  “I don’t think anyone’s been here in a long time,” Sam Cartwright mused aloud, looking around the cabin.

  “He keeps it down here,” Dale said, ignoring the statement and heading towards the door that led into the basement. “Monty, Tim: you guys stay out front and keep a lookout. Sam, Tommy: you two head out through there,” he said, pointing to the kitchen area and the rear door. “All of you keep your eyes peeled, okay?”

  With his sentries posted, Dale unlocked the door and headed down into the basement and into the heart of his father.

  “It’s been a while,” Haider Clayton said as they descended the stairs together.

  “You never let me come down here,” Dale replied, no longer having to keep the conversation internal.

  “It was private.”

  “Why? What did you keep down here? What did you do down here?”

  “How am I supposed to know? You do remember that I’m just a figment, right?” his father asked him. “I can’t know what he knew and what you didn’t, right?”

  “I suppose so,” Dale admitted and shrugged.

  “So what do you think he kept down here?”

  “Torture chamber… kiddie porn… who knows with you… him… whatever.” Dale shrugged.

  There was no power here without the generator but there was a flashlight on the wall which Dale took and switched on.

  The powerful beam lit the area and Dale could see the racks of shelving adorning the walls. There were various boxes stacked high but none were labelled with anything other than two-letter combinations.

  He pulled one out at random and started to leaf through the contents. There were sheets of papers inside and a cursory glance told him that these were financial in nature.

  A quick scan through the box and the ones under it brought no real surprises. Apparently, his father had owned far more of the town than he’d ever realised.

  There were hand-signed agreements with multiple islanders. His father had been loaning money out left, right and centre and there seemed to be very few people who weren’t in his pocket.

  Casey Parker had taken out a large loan on the bar but instead of paying it back in monies, she had signed over a 30% share of the business.

  Tommy O’Brien’s general store was actually owned outright by Haider Clayton. The side notes written in his father’s hand told Dale that Tommy had a gambling problem and had gotten himself into serious trouble. As a result, Haider had bought out the store and Tommy was only the manager now.

  Page after page of his father’s papers told the same tale over and over again. His father was a man who saw weakness in others and exploited it with an expert eye.

  As well as the disgust that he felt for a man who would take such advantage of his neighbours, Dale also felt a surge of excitement about the true size of his inheritance. Everyone had owed his father, but now they all owed
him.

  Financial papers weren’t the only source of his father’s power over the town. As Dale started to root through other boxes, he found secrets of a more intimate nature.

  His father’s information stockpile ran through the islanders’ private lives.

  Dr Simmons had apparently given birth to a daughter when she’d been in her twenties and studying on the mainland. She had given the child up for adoption before returning home.

  It turned out that Pearl Christian, the island’s busiest busybody, had been his father’s secret mistress for many years. Dale assumed that the cafe owner must have gained her often inexplicable insights into her neighbours from his father’s own lips.

  Sam Cartwright and Bernard Hale had been in a homosexual relationship that they’d thought they’d kept secret, but they’d thought wrong. His father had exploited their love in order to blackmail Bernard into smuggling various illegal items onto the island.

  There were several affairs, abortions, lies and secrets spread throughout the island. Upon reading page after page, Dale couldn’t help but feel that only the worst of the islanders was stored down here.

  There was a large trunk set against the back wall and Dale turned his attention to it.

  The steamer trunk looked to be handmade and was around 10 feet long, 4 feet wide and at least 4 feet deep.

  He took his father’s key ring, one that he had taken from the man’s desk the night he’d murdered him, and set about finding the right key to open the trunk.

  “Quite the haul you’ve got down here,” he said to his father.

  “Always be prepared, that was my motto,” the man replied with a wide grin.

  “Wasn’t that the Boy Scouts’ motto?”

  “I don’t know, I’m not really here, remember.”

  With that they both shared a laugh, one that Dale was dimly aware sounded a little hysterical.

  He opened the trunk and found what he was looking for. He counted out 8 bundled sticks of dynamite, a whole roll of wire and an ancient-looking plunger device.