Castaways

by Brian Keene

  "Ever think about tipping off one of the gossip magazines or celebrity websites? I bet one of those places would pay good money for pictures of some of his shenanigans."

  "No way," Gina said. "I need this job."

  "Yeah, me too."

  "Well, aren't we quite the pair?"

  The ship lurched to starboard suddenly, and Brett's cup of coffee fell to the floor. Gina managed to grab hers before it fell, but the hot liquid splashed out, burning her thumb and index finger.

  "Ouch!"

  "Goddamn it." Brett picked up the crumpled paper cup and tossed it in the overflowing trash can. Then he grabbed a roll of paper towels from the supply closet and mopped up the mess.

  Gina sucked her fingers. "You want what's left of mine?"

  "No, that's okay. I'll go get more. We really do need a coffeepot in here, though. With the amount of money the sponsors are paying for a thirty-second spot, you'd think the network would spring for one."

  The freighter rolled again, tossed by a massive swell. Brett and Gina heard something crash out in the passageway and roll down the hall.

  "Whatever that was," Gina said, "they should have tied it down. Don't people read their memos?"

  "I thought the worst of the storm was supposed to be over. This sure as hell doesn't feel like it."

  "It is," Gina replied. "This is just the last vestiges. I stopped by the weather shack on the way up here. Ivan is supposed to pass over completely in another hour or so. We didn't even get the worst of it. The center was about one hundred miles north of our position."

  "Any damage that you know of?"

  "The Globe Corporation lost an oil rig about two hundred miles to the northwest. And I heard some of the others talking about a distress call from an Indonesian fishing boat. But other than that, I haven't heard anything."

  "Well, I just hope the folks on the island are okay."

  "Yeah." Gina nodded. "I hope so, too. Imagine— risking your life just for a chance to be on television."

  "But to be fair, they didn't know there was going to be a cyclone."

  "Maybe not. But they signed up, didn't they? This show has been on for enough seasons, they should know to expect anything. They give it all up—their families, their home lives, their careers—put everything on hold for a chance to win a million dollars. But it's not about the money, is it? It's about being famous. Being on television. It's the hope that they might get recognized in their hometown or get an offer to pitch cold medicine in a commercial. That's a pretty shallow world view, if you ask me."

  "Wow." Brett was stunned. "I've never heard you talk like that. I had no idea you felt this strongly."

  Gina shrugged. "All I'm saying is, they signed up for the show of their own free will, so they can't complain when the island throws its worst at them. Whatever happens, it's their own fault because they're the ones who put themselves in the situation in the first place."

  Nodding, Brett mulled it over. They sat in silence for a while. The freighter creaked and groaned, rocking back and forth. Gina pulled a Sherrilyn Kenyon paperback out of a desk drawer, turned to a folded-over page, and began reading. Brett returned to his game of solitaire, but he had trouble concentrating on it.

  They waited for the storm to pass.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jerry stared out into the darkness and said, "I think it's starting to let up."

  Becka pressed closer against him. "Do you really think so?"

  "Yeah, I do. It's not raining as hard anymore, and the wind seems to have died down."

  As if in disagreement, they heard a loud crack from the jungle as another tree toppled over. Thunder rumbled overhead almost as an afterthought.

  Jerry ran a hand over his stubbly head. "Or maybe not."

  "This is just the eye passing over," Stefan said.

  Jerry was surprised by the comment. Like the rest of his fellow contestants, he'd assumed that Stefan was asleep. He'd sat through most of the storm with his eyes closed, not moving or speaking, his breathing shallow.

  "Take advantage of the quiet while you can," Stefan continued. "It will begin again soon enough."

  "This ain't the eye," Troy said. "Hurricanes have eyes. This is a fucking cyclone."

  "They are the same thing," Stefan corrected him. "And this is most certainly the eye."

  "The fuck do you know?"

  "Obviously, quite a bit more than you."

  "Jesus fucking Christ, I need a fucking cigarette if I'm gonna be trapped in this shit with you, Stefan."

  Pauline held her hands out in front of her and examined them.

  "Oh," she said through chattering teeth, "my fingers look like prunes."

  "All of our fingers do," Becka said. "But I don't think you'll be getting a manicure anytime soon."

  Pauline rolled her eyes and looked away.

  Jeff disentangled himself from the others and walked to the damaged shelter's entrance. He ran a hand through his wet, jet-black hair and peered up at the sky. Then he turned back to the group.

  "You know, I think Jerry might be right. You guys can all hear me now, correct?"

  They nodded.

  "Yeah," Raul said. "So?"

  "Earlier, we were sitting on top of each other and we couldn't hear shit. We had to shout into each other's ears."

  "You're mistaken, I'm afraid." Stefan stood and stretched. "I'm quite certain this is just a temporary lull. The rest of the storm system will return soon enough."

  Troy stirred. "If we're lucky, when it does, maybe it'll fucking take you with it."

  Stefan grinned. "You should follow my example and reserve your energy, wrench-bender."

  "Oh yeah? Why's that, asshole?"

  "Because you're going to need it."

  Pauline frowned. "Why don't you guys save the conflict for the cameras?"

  "Maybe we're practicing," Troy said. "Or maybe I just don't like the fucker."

  Raul walked over and joined Jeff at the entrance. "You're right. The rain is slowing. Look at it. It's just drizzling now. Eye of the storm or not, we should take advantage of it. Maybe we can get the fire started again."

  "I doubt it," Jerry said. "Everything is soaked."

  "Well," Raul insisted, "we should still do something."

  "Like what?" Jeff asked.

  "I don't know. Fix this leaky-ass roof, for one thing. Or go out and find the others."

  "I agree," Jerry said. "I'm worried about them. Sal and Richard, especially. They were right on the beach when this thing hit. And Stuart hasn't come back yet, either."

  "Maybe he found the others," Becka said, "and they're all together. They'd have been better off staying put than trying to make it back here. Especially if any of them are hurt."

  "All the more reason to try and find them," Jerry said.

  "I wouldn't, if I were you." "Why not, Stefan?"

  "Because when the storm returns—and it most assuredly will—then you'll be trapped out there, as well."

  "Yeah," Pauline agreed. "Or what if they make it

  back while you guys are gone, and then Ivan starts again? Then we'll just have to worry about you guys."

  Raul glanced back out at the jungle. "Well, y'all can stay here if you want, but I'm going to make an attempt. It's the right thing to do. If it was me out there, I'd want somebody to find me. Anybody want to go along?"

  "I'll go," Jeff said.

  Troy stood and readjusted his cap. "Fuck it. I'll tag along. Anything beats the hell out of sitting here with Stefan."

  Stefan blew him a kiss and sat down again. Troy returned the gesture by giving him the finger.

  "I'll stay here," Pauline said. "I'm already wet enough."

  Jerry wondered if she'd meant the statement as more of her sexual double entendres. If so, nobody took the bait. They were too preoccupied.

  He nudged Becka with his arm. "Will you be okay here for a little bit?"

  She smiled. "I'll be fine. Go ahead. Raul's right. It's sweet of you to ask, though. Just com
e back safe, okay?"

  "I promise."

  And then, quite unexpectedly, she leaned closer and gave him a brief kiss on the cheek. It happened so quickly that Jerry had to convince himself that it hadn't been his imagination. Her lips were soft and warm, and her breath tickled his ear. When she pulled away, he felt the kiss lingering. It was the only part of his body that felt clean.

  "H-hey," he stammered.

  Becka blushed, and quickly turned away. "Just for luck," she murmured. "And to thank you."

  "For what?"

  She stared into his eyes. "For watching out for me—taking care of me. It means a lot. Until this morning, I thought I was strong. Then, during that challenge, I started to have doubts, and I almost gave up. It's been a long day, and I don't know how I would have gotten through it without you. You make me feel safe, and I know nothing will happen as long as you're here."

  Jerry opened his mouth to respond, but a warbling, drawn-out wail cut him off.

  "What the fuck was that?" Troy shouted.

  "Quiet," Jeff said. "Listen."

  The long howl continued and was answered by another. Then both faded and silence returned. The rain was just a quiet patter now. Even the thunder had ceased.

  "What the hell was that?" Troy asked again.

  "I don't know," Jeff admitted.

  "It's the producers," Raul said. "They're playing some kind of joke on us. We're already spooked from the storm. They figure this is a good opportunity to fuck with us a little bit more."

  "No," Jerry said, "that doesn't make sense. If they were playing a practical joke, they'd want it on film. Where are the cameras?"

  "Okay," Raul said. "Then if it wasn't them, what was it?"

  "I think you're right that it's somebody screwing around. I just don't think it's the crew."

  Raul frowned. "Richard or Sal?" "Maybe. Or Ryan or one of the girls. Maybe even Matthew."

  Pauline laughed. "You know, until now, I'd completely forgotten about him."

  "That's why he's a wily competitor," Stefan mused. "He stays in the background. Don't we all wish Troy would do the same?"

  The wiry mechanic spun around and stomped toward the Welshman.

  "That's it, fuck-stain. Fuck the cameras, fuck the contest, and fuck you. You and me are going a round."

  Stefan climbed wearily to his feet. "I think you need a reminder."

  "And I think Raul and the others need to know; what you fucking said when they were gone."

  Stefan arched an eyebrow. "Are you certain you; want to do that?"

  Raul turned. "What's he talking about, Stefan?"

  Troy grinned victoriously. "This afternoon, while you guys were off getting firewood, your buddy here—"

  The howl started again, closer this time. It was answered by several others.

  "Okay," Becka gasped. "Maybe we should all just stay here until the others get back or help arrives."

  "Look ..."

  Jeff pointed into the darkness. The others turned in that direction. A pair of yellow eyes stared back at them. The eyes blinked, and then returned. Then another pair appeared. And another. Then six more. Then a dozen.

  In the murky blackness, something growled.

  "What the fuck?" Troy yelled.

  Pauline shrieked. Raul and Jeff backed slowly away from the opening as the eyes drew closer and the growling increased.

  "What is that stench?" Stefan murmured.

  Jerry dove for the back of the shelter and scrambled through their meager belongings in the darkness. Everything was wet, and it was hard to find anything. His hand closed around the familiar hard plastic casing of a flashlight. He wondered where it had come from, and then remembered that Vaughn, a contestant who had previously been exiled, had brought one as his luxury item. Apparently, he'd forgotten to take it with him, and it had lain here all this time, buried in the back of the shelter. Jerry clicked it on and shined the powerful beam into the darkness.

  And froze.

  A dozen figures—maybe more—filled the base camp. Most of them were short, standing around four feet in height, with a few reaching almost five feet. They were bipedal, and each was covered with thick, curly hair that varied from chestnut to black. Their heads were shaped like small melons, their ears pointed, and their furrowed brows sloped noticeably. The most prominent facial feature was their thick lower jaws, which seemed almost oversized in comparison to the rest of their face. By contrast, their feet were tiny, with fat, round heels and long toes that ended in claws. Their hands had the same characteristics, and on each, five long fingers were equipped with curved, black talons. A few of

  them had noticeable deformities—extra fingers, stunted limbs, or misshapen noses.

  In the instant before they attacked, Jerry thought to himself that he was looking at a race of cryptids— an unidentified species of primate or maybe a missing link. The island's legends came rushing back to him, and the amateur cryptozoologist in Jerry was fascinated, even though he wanted to flee. He shined the light directly into the glaring eyes of one of the creatures, and it reared back, flashing a row of teeth that Mother Nature had clearly designed for eating meat.

  "Shut it off," Jeff ordered. "Shut it off before they—"

  The apelike things attacked. They sprang forward as one, charging the ruined shelter. The contestants scattered. Jeff and Raul ran out of the entrance and dodged left and right. Pauline dashed after them. Becka and Troy retreated to the rear of the shelter, cowering next to Jerry. Stefan crouched low and held his ground.

  "Turn that fucking flashlight off," Troy whispered.

  Jerry complied. It didn't matter anyway. At that moment, the clouds opened up in the wake of the departing storm, and thin, pale moonlight shone down upon the postcyclone devastation, and the carnage that followed.

  Two of the creatures pounced on Raul, crushing him to the ground with their weight. The others glimpsed a flurry of arms and legs—both human and otherwise. Then Raul screamed, lost beneath the pile-on like a quarterback in a particularly ghoulish game of football.

  Jeff's retreat was cut short as one of the monsters leaped in front of him. The thing clacked its claws together in defiance, and Jeff backed away from it— right into the arms of another. It grabbed him in a bear hug, pinning his arms to his sides. Jeff was short—almost the same height as his attacker. He slammed his head backward, smashing his captor's nose. The beast grunted, but held firm. As Jeff struggled helplessly, its companion strode forward and raked its claws across his abdomen, slicing through shirt and skin. Jeff threw his head back and cried out in agony. The veins stood out in his neck. The creature slashed again, and Jeff's eyes went wide with pain as his intestines slipped from the wound in ropey, purplish white strands and began coiling at his feet.

  That's my intestines, he thought. Oh my God, that's my fucking guts!

  He head butted his captor again, and this time, successfully broke free. He stumbled away from them with his guts unwinding behind him, as if they were a leash. The creatures seized the glistening strands and tugged. Jeff fell to the ground face-first. He squirmed in the mud, slipping from consciousness as he succumbed to shock. A second later, Raul's torso was tossed atop Jeff's limp form. Raul's head, arms, and legs were scattered across the camp. He'd been pulled apart while alive.

  Shrieking, clawing at her cheeks in frenzied panic, Pauline tried to run the other way, but three of the creatures surrounded her. She screamed as they closed in, grasping and tearing at her clothing. Jerry was alarmed to see that all three were sexually

  aroused. They each sported bulbous, bobbing erections. Becka must have noticed it, too, because she grabbed his arm and squeezed. Her fingernails dug into his skin, drawing blood.

  "Oh no," she whispered. "Oh God no, please no . . ."

  Pauline's clothing was torn away, revealing her naked body. One of the things licked its lips with a black, glistening tongue. When she screamed again, it backhanded her savagely. Pauline slumped forward, and one of the other beasts
caught her before she could fall. It slung her over its shoulder and bounded toward the jungle.

  Jerry glanced at Stefan. The man had flattened himself out on the ground and was pulling mud overtop himself in an attempt at camouflage.

  "Come on," Jerry urged the others. "Out the back. Quickly."

  He turned and pushed through the leaves and branches that formed the shelter's rear wall. Troy followed him, crawling along through the mud on his hands and knees. They stopped when they got outside.

  "Becka," Jerry whispered, holding out his hand. "Come on. Hurry."

  She stared straight ahead. "Pauline . . ."

  "Never mind her," Troy said. "Just hurry the fuck up, before they spot us."

  As if he'd willed it to happen, the attackers turned their attention to the shelter. Roaring, they charged forward. Becka turned and scrambled out the exit, but then stopped, screaming.

  "They've got my legs! Jerry, help me!"

  Dropping the flashlight, he grabbed her hands and pulled. "Hold on."

  "Don't let go," she begged. "Don't let go." "I won't."

  "They're clawing me," she sobbed. "Oh God, it hurts!"

  "Troy, give me a hand! Troy?"

  Jerry risked a glance over his shoulder. The mechanic had vanished.

  "Troy! Goddamn you, help us."

  "Don't let go," Becka pleaded again. "Not like Pauline. I don't want to be like Pauline."

  Her wet, muddy hands started to slip from his grasp. Jerry dug his feet into the mud and tugged harder. He bellowed for Troy, but there was no answer.

  "Jerry?"

  He heard the terror in Becka's voice. Their eyes met, and then, suddenly, she was yanked from his grasp and pulled through the opening.

  "Jerrrrrryyyyyy ..."

  "No! Becka? I'm coming! Hang on . . ."

  He scrambled forward, but a furry snout erupted from the wall and snarled at him. Jerry skittered backward. At that moment, he heard footsteps pounding behind him. Troy dashed past him and smacked the creature in the face with a thick length of wood. Blood flew from its snout, and a long, half-rotten incisor landed in the mud. Moaning, the creature retreated back into the shelter.