Survival Island

by Matt Drabble

Mary Clark’s sample compared with hers told her several things, but number one on the hit parade was simply the fact that there was something very wrong with Mary.

  Simmons knew in her heart that she would find the same anomalies with the rest of those acting violently in the shelter and more than likely with the Niners too. Something was affecting them, raising adrenaline levels to boiling point, increasing aggression, leading to violent behaviour. With such elevated levels, she’d expect to see delusions, severe paranoia and fear.

  There were two questions now: What was causing it, and how could she stop it?

  These were scientific questions to her, but they were also of great comfort as well. Her friends and neighbours hadn’t simply decided to kill each other. There was a cause here, something real that could be fixed; she just had to find it.

  She double-checked and then triple-checked her test results. She knew that she’d need a much larger subject sample, but for now she had to work with what she had.

  She was concentrating so hard that the man managed to walk up right behind her without her even noticing. It was only blind luck on her part that he stepped on a test tube that she had dropped in her haste, and the crack of broken glass finally registered.

  Simmons turned in surprise at the sudden sound and found herself staring into the crazed eyes of a Niner.

  The man was larger - far larger than she was - and heavier to boot. He wore filthy robes stained now with rain, mud and what she instantly knew to be blood.

  “Easy there, big fella,” she said, easing herself up from the desk. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but you’re sick. Do you understand? There’s something wrong with you, but I can help you. I’m a doctor,” she said, patting her chest.

  The man stared back at her, his expression fixed as though her words weren’t even registering with him which was worrying enough, but worse than that was the ugly-looking scythe he held down by his side in a clenched fist

  Simmons’ mind worked faster than most, a benefit of her chosen profession. She scanned her lab quickly, her eyes flickering around the room, trying to find either a weapon or an answer of another kind.

  She backed away slowly, reluctant to make any sudden moves as if being stalked by a wild animal, which, incidentally, she thought she was.

  There was a drawer in a cabinet behind her that contained several syringes of sedative.

  Fortunately, the ferry hadn’t long brought her supplies over from the mainland in preparation for the upcoming storm. The trouble was that the drawer might as well have been a million miles away. Instinctively, she knew that as soon as she turned her back on the man, he would pounce and she would fall.

  There were several sharp things on the bench in front of her that she could use as a weapon, but no matter what the circumstances were, she didn’t feel capable of inflicting pain on another human being, especially as this man wasn’t evil - he was sick.

  “I can help you,” she continued in a soothing voice as she backed away slowly. “I have medicine for you just over there. I can make it better. I can make you better.”

  The man stayed silent but started to move forwards, matching her slow pace. The scythe stayed at his side for now and for that she was grateful. She didn’t like the dark stains on it one little bit.

  “You’re sick. These feelings that you’re having, they’re just a symptom… like if you sneeze because you have a cold, understand? This anger, this desire to hurt people, it’s all part of it.”

  She inched a couple of steps closer to the cabinet, fighting hard to keep her voice calm and soft to keep lulling the man before her.

  “But I have something that I promise will help you. I know that you don’t really want to hurt anyone. Your people are good people. I know that. I know that you’re good people,” she continued as she moved.

  Her hand slipped behind her now and her fingers brushed against the cabinet. She moved her hand down slowly, desperately trying to remember which drawer contained the sedatives.

  She did a quick mental calculation and prayed that she was right.

  “That’s it,” she soothed. “No need for anger, just sleep. Sleep sounds good right about now, I bet. The way your body has been running hot, I bet you’re exhausted, aren’t you?”

  Her fingers were dexterous enough to knock off the syringe’s cap, and sizing up the man again, she selected a second, just to make sure.

  “A nice long sleep. That sounds good, doesn’t it?” she cooed as she gripped the two syringes with her thumb ready on the plungers.

  “I know that you’re holy people, religious people. You’ve all given yourselves over to serve God.”

  The man was held in her trance-inducing bedside manner voice, right up until she mentioned God; that one word sent a violent charge through him and suddenly the switch flipped.

  He ran at her quickly, too quickly for her to get out of the way. He reached out with a meaty hand and grabbed her around the throat hard enough to cut off her breathing.

  He slammed her back into the tall cabinet, and dimly, she heard the glass in the doors break as he pushed her through them. Shards tore her back in several places. She was lifted up off the ground and her feet jerked in midair, kicking backwards and sending a myriad of bottles and equipment flying.

  The Niner lifted her up even higher now and unconsciousness closed in fast. His grip was iron around her throat and breathing was impossible.

  Her arms shook through shock and fear, and as her fingers trembled dimly, she heard the syringes rattle together and she remembered that she was still holding them. Using what little strength she had left, she lifted her arm with a Herculean effort and jammed the needles down hard into the Niner’s shoulder, pressing the plungers down in unison. All she could do at this point was to pray that the dosage was enough.

  Her eyes started to close and the world went black around her. She felt herself slipping away, but suddenly, the man’s grip loosened ever so slightly which renewed her fight.

  The syringes were empty but the needles were still sharp. She pulled them out before jabbing them down into the Niner’s hand over and over again, making tiny bloody stab marks.

  The man started to fade now and his grip relaxed. She slipped from his grasp and back onto the floor again. Coughing and spluttering violently, she pushed him away and the man staggered backwards.

  Her throat felt red raw and it was hard to chug down mouthfuls of oxygen. She watched her attempted murderer stagger and then fall to his knees, and despite his evil intent, she now only felt a doctor’s concern for his well-being.

  She moved towards him but kept a watchful eye and a safe distance as he crumbled. She stayed just out of reach, not wanting to get caught in his grasp again. His eyes glazed over now with the drugs instead of whatever else had been affecting him, and there was the briefest moment of human confusion there before he passed out completely and fell forwards onto his face.

  Simmons watched him carefully for a full minute and only moved close enough to touch him once his large chest started to heave up and down slowly and deeply.

  She had wanted another sample for testing but could have done without the life and death struggle.

  “All right, my friend,” she said, grunting as she picked up his feet and started to drag him towards the lab table. “Time for some answers and maybe a little hope.”

  CHAPTER 26

  Revelations

  Caleb felt like crap. His whole body hurt and there was barely a square inch of flesh that didn’t ache. His only consolation was that Torvan looked worse.

  The second he’d seen the man emerge, he’d panicked and forced Quinn to flee, but a part of him had sent her away so that she wouldn’t see what he intended to do in the name of retribution.

  The huge Niner leader stumbled out of the catacomb tunnel and forced his way through the narrow opening, seemingly through sheer force of will.

  Caleb had his back to the slope that led down to the outskirts of town. Behind Torvan w
as the catacomb’s hidden entrance, and behind that was a sheer cliff drop down to the ocean which crashed against the rocks below.

  How the man was even standing was a miracle in itself. His large round head was a mask of blood and ugly swelling. One eye was shut completely, and through his gaping mouth, Caleb could see that the man had lost several teeth, leaving blood dripping from his jaws.

  Torvan shuffled towards him, dragging his left leg behind; his right arm hung at his side. His robes were torn in multiple places and blood was seeping through from a dozen different wounds. Caleb could only hope that none were minor.

  “You look like I feel,” Caleb jested as he circled away from the larger man.

  Torvan tried to speak but his words came out garbled and unintelligible.

  “No long-winded speeches?” Caleb asked coldly. “I always had the impression that you loved to hear the sound of your own voice, Torvan - preaching from the pulpit about your gods?”

  Torvan grunted and stumbled towards him, lashing out with his one good arm, but Caleb ducked out of the way of the clumsy blow easily.

  “This what you’ve got left?” Caleb demanded, his voice raised and angry.

  The rage was building up in him, draining more of the energy that he had left. All he could see right now was the Niner brutally murdering Gwendolyn, a woman who had only ever wanted to help her people and put an end to Torvan’s madness. This maniac had crushed her poor head to pulp in his bare hands like an egg and Caleb had been powerless to stop him.

  He stepped into range now with his fists balled and assuming a boxer’s stance. He jabbed out hard with a straight left, connecting with Torvan’s nose. Judging by the way it squished under the punch, it was already broken and the bigger man grunted in pain which brought a small cruel smile to Caleb’s lips.

  Throwing aimed punches now he jabbed out again and again, each blow striking home as Torvan stumbled around him, unable to duck out of the way fast enough.

  Soon, Caleb’s knuckles were bloody as he flicked out jabs and crosses with evil intent. Each blow that landed was another strike for the victims, and he had no intention of stopping anytime soon. He planned to beat this monster to death, slowly and painfully as rightful retribution.

  He threw hard and increasingly harder punches now as his rage rose exponentially. He stepped in closer and closer, his knuckles smeared and aching as he pounded against a helpless opponent.

  “Every life you took, every family you destroyed,” Caleb said, punctuating each word with a stiff punch as Torvan continued to stagger under the blows.

  “For my people. For my town. For her,” he said, forcing Torvan back towards the cliff edge until his feet were perilously close to going over.

  Caleb stepped in close enough now to grab the man by the front of his bloodstained robe. Torvan teetered on the edge, his huge body swaying as his eyes rolled back in his head.

  “I might be a man of the law, but I’m an islander first,” Caleb hissed in close. “And you’re about to have an accident. Let’s see your gods save you now.”

  “Oh, but they will,” Torvan said, suddenly speaking clearly, and Caleb knew that he’d been had.

  While the Niner was clearly injured severely, he wasn’t as bad as he’d let on. The man’s movement was limited, which was why he’d chosen to exaggerate his injuries and allow Caleb to punch himself out.

  Caleb knew then that if he’d run the second that Torvan had appeared, he’d surely have escaped this shuffling wreck, but his sense of vengeance had been too great and now it would cost him his life.

  “The gods flow through me, you maggot,” Torvan sneered. “Did you really think that such power could be extinguished by the likes of you?”

  Now that they were so close, Torvan swung his one good fist, and while the blow was poorly aimed, the contact with Caleb’s temple made him see stars and he sank to his knees.

  He struggled as his own exhaustion took a firm hold; between the fall and then his relentless pounding on Torvan, he had nothing left. The only play he had left was to keep the Niner busy long enough for Quinn to get far enough away.

  Torvan grabbed him by the shirt and yanked him to his feet with his ears still ringing. The much larger man spun them both around so that it was now Caleb dangling over the edge of the cliff. While it was clear that Torvan was unable to fight like he once had, he still had more than enough juice left in the tank for this ending.

  Caleb struck out with everything he had left, but it wasn’t anywhere near enough. His arms fell uselessly by his sides as all strength ran from them, and he sagged against the larger man’s chest.

  “Well? What are you waiting for?” Caleb gasped.

  “Just savouring the moment,” Torvan answered as he continued to hold Caleb’s slumped form over the cliff edge, his heels now dangling out into thin air.

  “You won’t win,” Caleb managed. “You can’t.”

  “I want you to know what’s going to happen to your town, to your people, you insect. I’m going to kill them all. I’m going to use their miserable lives for the one purpose that they are fit for. I’m going to shed their blood in the name of the Nine Gods, Constable, and I’m going to enjoy their screams while I do it, especially those of your little whore.”

  Caleb found enough energy somewhere down deep to take one last swing at Torvan, but the man absorbed the blow without blinking.

  “Good for you.” Torvan grinned though a mouth of bloody broken teeth. “I do so admire your spirit, Constable.”

  “You’re insane,” Caleb said as he sagged back against the Niner’s chest.

  “Oh no, my friend. I am reborn anew from the fires of my once great home. You people have set me free to take my message to a much wider audience now - somewhere off this tiny patch of land and into the greater world; after, of course, I gut your whore.”

  Caleb closed his eyes and felt the end draw in close. He had failed to protect his people and his town. His position as constable might have seemed laughable to the mainlanders, but it was one that he took seriously. The islanders’ lives had been in his hands and he had failed them. Blood had been spilled, their land was soaked in it, and his own hands had to share part of the blame.

  “Okay,” he wheezed, knowing that there was no more time.

  “Excuse me?” Torvan grinned.

  “I... said... okay,” Caleb said, and summoned the fraction of strength he had left.

  It wasn’t much. His whole body felt on the verge of simply crawling off to the woodlands and dying like a dog who knows its time is up. But he thought of Quinn, the only true friend he had ever known and possibly the only great love he could have ever known.

  With everything he had left, he gripped onto Torvan’s robe and took a step backwards off the cliff, pulling the man-mountain with him, and then they were falling towards the jagged rocks and crashing into the ocean several hundred feet below.

  ----------

  Quinn felt someone carrying her almost before she fully woke up as his shoulder jabbed up and down into her stomach.

  Her first thought was that it was a Niner and she started to fight his grip on her.

  “Ow!” a man’s voice whined as she dug her fingernails hard into his neck. “Whatcha do that for?”

  He’d let go of her now and she fell from his shoulder onto the ground with a sickening thud that jarred her injured leg and sent shockwaves of pain through her body.

  “Get away from me,” she snarled, trying to sound as threatening as possible.

  “Bloody walk yourself then,” the man replied sulkily.

  His voice was weak and whiny, nothing like the men from the monastery whom she’d faced down.

  “Anderson?” she exclaimed as she started to focus her vision.

  Anderson Jennings rubbed his neck sulkily, and then she noticed the blood on his head.

  “Oh, shit. Did I do that?” she asked, concerned.

  “Huh?” he replied, before touching a finger to the dried blood. “Oh,
no; someone did that down by the harbour.”

  “What were you doing down there?” she asked, confused. “The last time I saw you, it was with Cooper Fox and the rest of his posse, heading up to the Niners.”

  “I..., ran away,” he said in a quiet voice. “I’m not much good in a fight.”

  “The harbour?” she prompted.

  “Oh, your friend Mr...”

  “Haynes?”

  “Yeah, that’s him. He wanted me to take him off the island if we could find a boat.”

  “Just the two of you?”

  Anderson nodded in reply.

  “That cowardly shit,” she said, although she was unsurprised. “Where’s he now?” she asked, looking around and seeing that Anderson was alone.

  “Like the others.”

  “Dead?”

  Again he nodded.

  “Niners?”

  “Suppose so. Someone clumped me on the head real hard. I’m guessing they thought I was dead too. I can’t fight, but I can play dead pretty good.”

  “More than one way to survive this madness,” she said, sympathising with him.”Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

  “Not when there’s plenty of others to do it.” He smiled sadly.

  “Caleb!” she suddenly exclaimed.

  “Caleb?”

  “Shit. Where is he?” she demanded, looking around and trying to pinpoint where they were.

  “He was with me... Oh god! Torvan!” she exclaimed, suddenly remembering, wondering why she couldn’t focus right.

  “That big bugger?”

  “We were..., up high,” she said, jerking her head from side to side, trying to keep a coherent thought. “Where did you find me? How long ago?” she insisted, grabbing hold of the skinny man.

  “Ow! Let go. I found you back there somewhere. You were alone. I didn’t see Caleb with you or that big Niner, but if he’s following you, then we have to get away from here… hide.”

  “I can’t hide, Anderson. I have to find Caleb,” she said, almost begging as her legs threatened to go out from under her.

  “And do what?”

  Quinn felt paralysed by both fear and anger. Her head felt thick and foggy and it was hard to think straight. Her jean leg was now soaked through with blood as the wound had obviously opened up again. Maybe it was the blood loss or the blow to the head she’d taken when she’d fallen down the hill, but everything was starting to spin.