The Island

by Derek Gunn

  He had decided at that stage that he could not risk being so incapacitated, even if it meant that he increased the risk to his own health. He plucked a number of bandages from a nearby table and applied them as best he could to the injuries on his arm and his side. The bleeding had almost stopped in his arm anyway but his side still seeped continuously so he tied off the bandage tightly with part of his shirt and then eased his way upstairs and out on to the deck. He had convinced himself that Sinclair would not have been able to do much more for him and was far too busy anyway by the time he had crossed to the jolly boat.

  Now, as his head swam, he was not so sure that he had made the right choice. His loss of blood and the growing heat of the morning were already taking their toll. He saw Fowler despatch a crewman to remain with him and smiled to himself; his first lieutenant was getting more like a mother hen every day.

  Lieutenant Peter Fowler reached the residence a good ten yards ahead of his men. He rushed into the foyer and blinked repeatedly as the sudden darkness of the interior left him momentarily blinded. He heard a second scream and ran towards the sound, drawing his sword on the way.

  The first thing that struck him was the stench. There was a small stairs at the end of the hall that led downwards and Fowler could smell something as far away as twenty feet. The smell was sweet at first, almost too sweet, so that it quickly became oppressive as he drew closer. He had experienced it before in the lower decks of any ship that had been involved in battle. The familiar waft of sweat, freshly spilt blood and excrement assailed his senses but this time there was something else that pervaded the air. He wasn’t sure what it was but it reminded him of the time he had opened a barrel of rotten meat and he faltered slightly as he continued down the stairs and saw the first body.

  The crewman was bent double on the stairs. His back had been shattered and folded backwards so that the rear of his head touched his heels. The man’s face was contorted with such agony that Fowler stopped and glanced around nervously. The clatter of footsteps at the top of the stairs signalled the arrival of his search party and wrenched him from his reverie. He took a deep breath as he tried to steel himself to continue and then, more slowly, made his way down the remaining steps.

  The second body lay at the end of the stairs in a large pool of blood. He thought at first that this body had also been folded back but then he noticed the ragged tear along his neck and saw the poor soul’s head a few feet further on.

  He heard a curse behind him as the others arrived and saw the carnage. Above them, and set into the ceiling in the hall, a skylight flooded the residence with sunlight but barely pushed back the murkiness in the basement. The light illuminated the stairs well enough but only spilled out to a small area around the stairwell and left the majority of the basement cloaked in darkness. He could hear a commotion within the impenetrable gloom as men cursed, feet shuffled and swords clashed against stone but he couldn’t discern what was happening. There was no way they could fight in such conditions.

  ‘Men!’ he shouted into the darkness and paled as another body was thrown contemptuously at his feet. This time the man was still alive but his torso had been gutted and his hands clutched weakly at his organs as he tried vainly to push them back into place. The man looked imploringly at him and Fowler felt bile rise in his throat.

  ‘Retreat to the light,’ he ordered. At first his voice only croaked the order but then he steadied himself and shouted the order again with renewed strength. He peered into the dark of the basement but couldn’t see anything beyond pale shadows. Finally, four men began to stumble back towards him. My God, he thought, I sent ten men up here with Mister Warren and the second lieutenant. Are they all dead?

  Fowler immediately motioned for his men to take care of the ragged party and he gripped the shoulder of the man who secured the rear. The man snapped around in terror at his touch and Fowler almost recoiled himself as he saw the terrified, haunted look in Lieutenant Winfield’s eyes.

  ‘Are there any more behind you?’ he asked of the man but Winfield merely looked at him blankly. He was about to question the second lieutenant further when he heard a deep chuckling in the darkness.

  ‘Are you coming in to play, Lieutenant?’ the voice was mocking in tone and seemed to come from everywhere at once as it echoed faintly in the enclosed room. Fowler had no idea how large the basement was, or even how it was designed.

  ‘Fetch some torches,’ he shouted at the man closest to him and then continued to scan the darkness as his mind worked furiously to formulate a plan. Suddenly, a head flew lazily towards him from the gloom. It landed with a dull thud some feet away and rolled towards him leaving a trail of blood behind it. When it finally came to rest Fowler was shocked to recognise the pale features of their young third lieutenant.

  ‘The boy was particularly sweet,’ he heard the voice emanate from the darkness again. ‘Have you anymore like him?’

  Fowler moved to launch himself at the disembodied voice but then a firm hand on his shoulder held him back.

  ‘Steady, Peter,’ Butler whispered breathlessly beside him as he drew level. ‘He is baiting you. Bosun!’ the captain turned to the large man at the foot of the stairs. ‘Send one of your men down to the launch for a grapple hook.’

  ‘But, sir,’ Fowler tensed at first and then, slowly, felt his tension ease as his captain’s calm seemed to reassure him.

  ‘Line the men up inside the light along the stairs, Mister Fowler,’ Butler seemed amazingly composed in such chaos and Fowler wondered briefly if he would ever be ready for his own command. He shook himself and then began to organise the men as instructed though they seemed reluctant to move as laughter once again drifted from the darkness. It seemed to echo within the enclosed space and Fowler couldn’t really blame the men for their reluctance to move. For a moment he feared they would actually disobey his order as they stood looking nervously into the gloom. The darkness seemed to end abruptly, like a solid barrier, where it met the light and Fowler found himself reluctant to approach it. He took a deep breath as he prepared to move forward but then the captain himself moved to the edge of the light and stood there defiantly against the horror within. The men seemed to take strength from their captain and began to shuffle into place, their eyes downcast as if ashamed for their early reticence.

  Suddenly there was a flurry of movement and the captain moved deftly to the side and swiped his sword in a cutting arc from left to right. Something flew through the air and then the captain fluidly returned to his original stance. How can he remain so calm?

  Jesus! That was too close. Captain Thomas Butler felt the tremor in his hands and the shake in his knees but he forced himself to calmly return his sword to a point in front of his face. He hadn’t actually seen the attack coming but had sensed something and had acted purely on instinct.

  Now, as he stood in front of his men, he could feel the adrenaline pumping through him. His ears pounded with the thunder of its flow and his muscles shuddered as they were saturated with its energy. It was all he could do to remain in place. He became aware of a strange odour and glanced down to see two mottled fingers begin to burn in the sunlight. The grey flesh crackled and peeled where the light touched them.

  ‘You left something behind,’ he injected as much sarcasm into his voice as he could. Before the creature could respond the crewman arrived with two lighted torches and a second man tumbled down the stairs behind him with the grapple held tightly to him.

  ‘Throw them in, lad,’ Butler ordered, ‘good and deep now.’ He watched as the wood tumbled end over end lighting alternate parts of the room with each revolution. He caught a glimpse of a figure as it cringed away from the flames, although he was fairly certain that its fear was more to do with the torch’s illuminating properties than any actual pain that the flames might cause.

  The figure was caked in dirt and blood. Its hair was matted and hung in limp clumps around its shoulders. At one stage it had been a man but Butler had no idea what it had
become now. The light from the torches flickered and alternately illuminated and cast into shadow the creature’s features. Butler caught a glimpse of wild eyes and then they seemed to disappear as the flame stuttered. Its mouth and chin were red with blood and he caught a brief glimpse of sharp teeth before the flame again cast the figure into shadow.

  ‘Aim!’ he heard Fowler shout the order behind him and jumped as the muskets roared in the enclosed area. He saw the figure thrown back against the wall as the shots ripped at its flesh and sent the figure tumbling to the dirt floor.

  ‘Grapple!’ he ordered, barely able to keep his voice calm as the creature began to rise again. My God, he thought, At least ten rounds hit him. What are we dealing with?

  He moved aside as the crewman swung the grapple in a tight circle and then launched the metal tool towards the creature. The grapple shot passed the figure, carrying its line behind it and for a moment Butler despaired, but then he saw the large crewman tug violently on the rope and the boarding tool shot back and lodged itself into the creature’s back.

  Butler could see one spike tear through the creature’s shoulder and burst out through its front. The creature pulled back against the rope as it recovered and the crewman was wrenched towards the darkness.

  ‘Quickly now,’ Butler shouted, ‘we need more on the line.’ The men rushed forward. Some grabbed the man’s legs and others jumped at the rope itself. ‘You men,’ Butler shouted at the men watching eagerly on the stairs, ‘move back and make room.’

  The men gripping the rope grunted and cursed but, slowly, their sheer weight began to tell as they began to ease backwards. The creature spat and cursed at the men and wrenched violently at the grapple in his shoulder, as if he were trying to rip it from his flesh, but the pull on the rope made it impossible for him to get a grip. The men continued to pull, those at the end of the line now working their way up the stairs, and the creature was dragged towards the stairwell.

  As the creature crossed the line where the sunlight shone its weak illumination the flesh began to split and blacken. Bone appeared where the tissue shimmered and began to drip and sizzle as it fell to the floor. The creature screamed and its pitch grated on the men until, mercifully, its throat ruptured and a torrent of blood burst from its mouth. It writhed violently, bucking dementedly as if being shaken by a giant. But soon its movements began to grow weaker as more of its putrid flesh shrivelled and fell away.

  Butler heard a man retch as the smell of burnt flesh filled the room. Another man threw up and the acrid smell of the vomit caused Butler’s own stomach to lurch. He replaced his sword and felt his body waver as the adrenaline deserted him. He feared he would fall but then he felt Fowler’s supporting arm grip his own.

  ‘There, sir. I have you.’ Fowler’s voice was low so that only Butler could hear and he let himself be led up the stairs and outside where he sucked in great mouthfuls of clean air. His side throbbed painfully and his head swam dangerously but he forced himself to focus.

  ‘Well, that’s one down, Peter,’ Butler straightened his posture as he sat on a nearby barrel and waited for the dizziness to pass.

  ‘Sir,’ he heard Fowler begin, ‘will you not let the doctor see …’

  ‘There is no time, Peter, and let that be an end to it,’ he snapped as he looked directly at his first lieutenant with a scowl that brooked no argument. He could see the concern and hurt in the younger man’s face but he was angrier at himself for showing such weakness.

  ‘Now,’ he forced his tone to soften as he eased himself to his feet. ‘We must plan for the others.’

  He could see the emotions run across Fowler’s face as he tried to balance duty with friendship but, finally, his training took precedence and he sighed as he replied. ‘How many of these creatures do you think we are dealing with, Captain?’

  Butler noticed the use of his rank rather than the usual ‘sir’ and nodded. He knew he was being unfair, in fact he would sharply reprimand any man under his own command for doing exactly what he was doing, but the situation was just too important. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Fowler to handle the search, it was more than that. Something seemed to be drawing him to the island. Something he couldn’t explain convinced him that he should be here.

  He wasn’t vain enough to think that he was pivotal to the mission itself but he had long ago come to terms with the fact that sometimes he was guided towards a certain course of action. This guidance had garnered him a reputation over the years as a wild card, an officer who would not always obey the exact wording of his orders but, in his own unique style, still manage to complete their objectives. He had learned to trust his hunches and ignore the derision that his unique actions had elicited.

  He did, however, worry that his men and his officers would suffer detrimentally from his reputation but each time he had proposed Fowler for promotion to his own command, it had been the Lieutenant himself who had refused the commission.

  ‘I really don’t know, Peter,’ Butler shook himself from his reverie. ‘I do know that Sir John had a detachment of 12 marines. He would also have had a staff of at least ten others to run his house. There are thirty huts in the village below and, if we assume at least two people per hut, then we could be looking at eighty or so.’

  ‘My God,’ the first lieutenant paled.

  ‘That is, of course, the worst case. We have already accounted for fifteen on the ship, our original host in the residence and our friend in the basement. We also suspect that not all of them would be as powerful as the creature in the basement. The ones on the boat, though, were predominantly house staff and marines judging by their clothes.’

  Fowler nodded, ‘Yes, I only noticed four of them wearing island clothes.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Butler enthused, pleased with the man’s observations. ‘So, either the majority of the villagers were not a part of whatever ritual or foul deed that has occurred or they were not suitable or not trusted enough to be included. Either way,’ Butler continued with a more positive tone, ‘it reduces the overall number greatly.’

  ‘It just seems so hopeless, sir. I mean just one of them killed six men in the basement. How …’

  ‘Do not lose heart, Peter.’ Butler rested his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. ‘Those men tried to fight the creature in his element; we must force the others to engage us where we are stronger. Now …’

  A marine stumbled towards them but saluted smartly despite his obvious distress.

  ‘Sir,’ the man began breathlessly, ‘we’ve found something you should see.’

  ‘Lead on,’ Butler replied and motioned for Fowler to follow as he hurried after the marine.

  Chapter 7

  The marine led them out the gate and then turned immediately left and continued around the side of the complex that was closest to the forest. Trees had been hacked away and undergrowth ripped up and pushed back to make room for the walls of the complex but the forest was already beginning to recover. A canopy had begun to grow outward towards the wall and it afforded the small party a modicum of shade as they picked their way over the uneven ground.

  ‘It’s just up here, sir,’ the marine glanced back as he walked and then nearly stumbled over an exposed root. ‘The Boson found it.’

  Finally, they came to a small clearing that protruded further into the forest. The damage here was more recent and Butler could still see the sap on the trees where they had been cut. They followed the marine further into the forest until the small path opened out into a clearing.

  Patrick Maguire was a big man and Butler had no trouble locating him as he approached the small group.

  ‘We reckon they were going to build another structure, sir, maybe a barracks for the soldiers,’ the Boson knuckled his forehead as the captain arrived and then indicated the excavations. The clearing was approximately twenty feet in diameter and a large mound of earth was pilled up to the side of a deep hole. Butler could see that four wooden beams had been planted firmly at each corner of the
hole. It did indeed look like they had begun to build the foundations of another building.

  There were tools still strewn around the clearing as if the men had merely left for a short break.

  ‘There’s a small tunnel at the other side, sir,’ the Boson prompted the captain and Butler followed the man around the hole to get a better view. As he circled the excavation he could see a small hole on the far side. It was just big enough for a large man to squeeze through and seemed to lead into an inky, almost liquid, blackness.

  ‘Has anyone gone in yet,’ Butler asked and the Maguire shook his head.

  ‘No, sir, we thought it best you see it first.’

  ‘Quite right,’ Butler agreed and studied the tunnel. It seemed a simple order to instruct one of the men to crawl through but something nagged at him. Something had happened on this island to spawn the creatures they had seen and, until they knew what it was, he was unwilling to venture into anything new without due care. ‘Let’s get a torch down there and see if we can see inside before we brave entry, eh.’

  A crewman disappeared at a run and Butler eased himself down into the hole. There were marks in the earth around the hole where numerous footprints had flattened the clay but, cutting deeply into these, were two tracks that led from the entrance of the tunnel all the way over to the edge of the hole itself. There was further scoring along the side of the hole where something had been dragged up onto the perimeter.

  ‘They definitely took something from the tunnel,’ he mused out loud and looked up as the crewman returned with a flaming torch in his grasp. He noted with approval that the Boson took the torch from the man and eased himself into the hole. Butler himself was never one to ask the men under his command to do anything that he would not be prepared to do himself and he was gratified to see that the Boson seemed to be like-minded.