Castaways

by Brian Keene

  "Let's split up," Jerry said. "Look for anything we can use. Anything."

  Troy knelt and crawled inside the leaning shelter while Jerry searched the outskirts of the camp. He flipped some fallen branches over with his toe and recoiled. A human finger lay in the dirt. The end was bloody and appeared gnawed on. A gold wedding band, still affixed to the finger, glinted in the moonlight.

  "Raul's," he muttered, fighting down his rising bile. "Where's the rest of him?"

  There was a muffled shout from the direction of the shelter. Jerry turned to see Troy emerge from the ruins, cursing. The mechanic was bent low to the ground, studying something.

  "What's wrong?"

  Troy pointed over his shoulder at the shelter. "Come take a look. You ain't gonna believe this fucking shit."

  Curious, Jerry hurried toward him. Troy held up his hand.

  "Careful," he warned. "Watch where you step." "What is it?"

  Troy led him inside the shelter and pointed to the rear corner. There, almost hidden in the shadows, was a deep, man-shaped impression in the mud where Stefan had hidden.

  "Think they found him?" Jerry asked.

  "Nope. There's no blood, and the impression is pretty damned clear. If that Welsh fuck had struggled, I'd think the mud would be more . . . strewn about? You know?"

  Jerry nodded. "Then what were you looking at?"

  "His footprints. The motherfucker got up and walked out of here. I figured that much out. But then I fucking lose them out in the camp. The ground is too torn up to follow them."

  "You think there's a chance he went after the girls?" Jerry's tone was hopeful.

  "Not a fucking chance. This is Stefan we're talking about. That cocksucker is only looking out for himself."

  Jerry glanced around the deserted camp. "Then where is he?"

  "Who knows? Probably fucking hiding somewhere. Forget about him. I hope those things ate his stupid ass. He'll give them a wicked case of indigestion."

  Jerry stepped outside the shelter and cupped his hands over his mouth. He drew in a lungful of air and began yelling.

  "HELLO?"

  His voice echoed.

  "IS THERE—"

  Troy snuck up behind him and clamped a hand over Jerry's mouth, stifling his shouts. Jerry struggled, but Troy hissed in his ear. His breath reeked.

  "The fuck are you doing, man? You want to tell those fucking things where we are?"

  Jerry shook his head.

  "Then shut the fuck up. Now."

  He removed his hand. Jerry spat on the ground.

  "Sorry. I'm just worried about Becka—and the others, too."

  "Well then, let's quit fucking around and go find them. Sooner we do, the sooner we can get the fuck off this island."

  "We need weapons," Jerry said. "Anything to defend ourselves. Maybe we can make some spears like the one Matthew had."

  They searched through the wreckage. Jerry came across Becka's sodden diary, and a lump formed in his throat.

  "We'll find you," he whispered.

  They began gathering sturdier lengths of wood. Troy stumbled across the flashlight Jerry had cast aside. Both were relieved to discover that it still functioned.

  "I wonder why Stefan didn't take this?"

  "Because he's a stupid shit," Troy said.

  "Or maybe he just overlooked it."

  Troy shrugged. "Could be. His loss, our fucking gain."

  Working quickly, they manufactured two crude spears by snapping the longer branches in half, leaving a jagged, pointed edge at one end. Troy found a rectangular, smooth-edged rock. He gripped it in his hand like a knife.

  "Ain't neither one of us motherfucking Mac-Gyver, I guess, but it will have to do."

  "Let's hope so."

  "Here." Troy tossed Jerry the flashlight. "You hold on to this. I'll keep the other spear and the rock. Let's go get your girl."

  "You sure that rock's gonna be enough?"

  "Fuck yeah. I mean, I'd prefer a fucking AK-47, but beggars can't be fucking choosers, you know? Long as I still got my hat, I'm good to fucking go."

  Jerry shook his head. "You are one weird sidekick, dude."

  "Damn straight. Those monkey-looking fucks don't stand a chance against us."

  They searched the camp's perimeter, shining the flashlight beam along the ground, until they found a series of footprints leading away. It was impossible to tell how many of the creatures had passed in that direction, but when they examined the vegetation, they noticed it was crushed and trampled.

  "The storm didn't do that," Troy said. "Looks like we found a fucking trail."

  Jerry didn't respond. Gripping the flashlight in one hand and the spear in the other, he followed in their wake. Troy followed along behind him. As they walked, Jerry's thoughts turned to Becka's unexpected kiss.

  You make me feel safe, she'd said, and I know nothing will happen as long as you're here.

  "Hold on, Becka," Jerry whispered. "We're coming to get you. Just hang on."

  Chapter Eighteen

  Becka awoke to whimpering cries, and she wondered for a moment if they were hers. They sounded odd, garbled and muted, as if they were echoing off something. She tried to speak, but her tongue and mouth were dry. Groaning, Becka touched her face and winced. A sharp jolt of pain ran through her body. Her muscles ached, and her face felt hot and swollen. Her cheek and lips were puffy.

  Memories came rushing back to her. During the trek through the darkness, she'd tried to escape several times, and their abductors had beaten her for it. She vividly remembered one of the creatures savagely backhanding her while Pauline simply watched, hanging limply over one of their shoulders. Becka had shouted at her to help—to join her and fight back, but Pauline had closed her eyes and turned her head away as Becka was pummeled into unconsciousness.

  Her thoughts turned to Jerry. She hoped he was okay.

  Becka lay still, closed her eyes, and waited for the pain to subside to a tolerable level again. One by

  one, her senses slowly returned. She was lying on her back on a hard, bumpy surface. Stone, judging by the texture. The cries—whoever they belonged to—increased in pitch and intensity. She tuned them out and listened instead to the other sounds— grunts, snuffling, growls, and a sort of rapid-fire series of rumbles that resembled a crude form of speech. She also heard the unmistakable crackle of flames and the small pops of damp wood on a fire. Beneath these were the wet, smacking sounds of feasting.

  She sniffed the air and gagged. It was a heady, noxious mix of wood smoke, mildew, dampness, and the horrible, fetid stench of her captors. Their reek seemed more powerful now than it had at the camp, as if it had permeated her surroundings.

  She opened her eyes carefully. Immediately, they began to water and sting. Doing her best to ignore it, she glanced around and saw that she was in a cave. It was dark, but a flickering glow chased the shadows into the nooks and crannies. As far as she could tell, none of the creatures was nearby. She carefully raised her head a bit and looked around.

  She was lying in an open alcove connected to a large antechamber. Several tunnels led off from the cavernous space. Some sloped downward, twisting and coiling deeper into the earth. Others traveled upward, presumably toward the surface. Stalactites and stalagmites—she couldn't remember which one was which—dotted the underground landscape. Some of them were nothing more than broken stumps, apparently snapped off during some past struggle or upheaval. Others looked thousands of years old. A

  few of the walls were decorated with some kind of drawings, but she couldn't make out what they depicted. The roof of the chamber was at least twenty feet high, and at the center, it peaked into a small natural chimney. She stared at the aperture, hoping for a glimpse of the moon or the stars, but saw only blackness. Smoke drifted through the hole. She followed the smoke back down. In the center of the cavern was a large stone pit. A fire burned inside it, fed regularly from a stack of nearby firewood. Her abductors sat around the fire.

  She count
ed thirty-two of the creatures and assumed that there were more she couldn't see, perhaps elsewhere in the caverns. Their stink was pervasive. They filled the chamber, young and old, male and female, weak and strong, participating in some sort of feast. The females sat apart from the males. One creature in particular seemed to hold a place of honor. It sat closest to the crackling blaze, and the flames cast flickering reflections off the silver fur that covered its lean body. Its chest was crisscrossed with pale, ragged scars. The rest of the tribe members deferred to the elder in their gestures and their proximity to him. They brought him his food and did not meet his eyes.

  She noticed that many of the younger creatures had obvious birth defects—stunted limbs, malformed eyes or ears, bulbous snouts, or misshapen hands and heads. Becka felt a momentary pang of pity for them. The emotion vanished a moment later when she realized what they were eating. At first, Becka's mind refused to accept what she was seeing. But then she recognized the tattered scraps

  of clothing—and the tattered scraps of faces, and bit her lip to keep from screaming.

  The remains of Ryan, Matthew, Sal, Richard, Jeff, Raul, and Stuart lay in a jumbled, bloodied heap of limbs, torsos, and innards. As she watched, the creatures reached into the pile, tearing off pieces of meat, and then squatted or sat next to their companions and began to eat. The fire was apparently just for heat or light because they consumed the flesh raw. Becka gagged. Hands and feet were gnawed like chicken legs, stripped of their meat and tossed aside. Bones were cracked open, the marrow sucked out by eager, slurping mouths. Brains were scooped like caviar, oozing from hairy fists. A sallow, deformed male licked the gooey remnants from his elongated fingers. Eyeballs were tossed into the air and caught like popcorn to the amusement of others. Hearts were eaten like apples. Floppy livers and kidneys were gobbled down with delight. A pair of young creatures fought over a length of intestines like they were links of sausages. The squabble ended only when the gory, glistening prize snapped in half, sending both of them tumbling to the floor of the cave and showering them with gore. Their mother hooted with laughter and then buried her snout into a ragged piece of flesh from someone's rump.

  Blood filled Becka's mouth as her teeth clamped down harder on her bottom lip, but she barely noticed. The feasting sounds grew louder, and she could no longer hold back. The cry started deep down inside her and bubbled slowly to the surface as she backed away.

  "Sshhh," a voice whispered from the darkness behind her. "Don't make a sound. Don't even breathe loud. Momma will be home soon."

  "Sh-Shonette? Oh my God! Is that you? Are you okay?"

  Even as she asked, Becka knew that her fellow contestant was far from okay. She could tell from the woman's voice. From the shadows came a confused sigh.

  "Eat your breakfast. They've forgotten about us for the time being. D-don't remind them . . . that we're here."

  "Shonette? It's me, Becka. Is that you?"

  There was a pause. "Yeah, it's me. Crawl b-back here, Becka, but d-do it slow. Don't attract their . . . attention."

  Becka crab-walked slowly backward, keeping her eyes fixed on the carnage in the main chamber. Her back pressed up against the cavern wall, and she turned her head to the left. There, hidden in the shadows behind a particularly large boulder, was Shonette. She was naked and bleeding from dozens of scratches. Most of the wounds were shallow, but one looked deep and ugly, and was already puffy from the first signs of infection. Shonette cowered against the wall, her hands clenching her hair tightly. She didn't even seem to notice. Her wide eyes glistened.

  "Shonette ..." Becka slid closer and put an arm around her. She noticed that Shonette's pupils were dilated. The back of her head looked swollen, and her hair was matted with blood. More blood glistened on the cavern floor between her legs. Shonette

  shuddered and flinched as Becka touched her, but she didn't move away.

  "Are you okay?" Becka asked. "Are you hurt?"

  «j »

  "It's okay. Just talk to me."

  "My head. I hurt my head . . . somehow."

  "What's going on? What did they do to you?"

  Shonette nodded out at the cavern. "The . .. the same thing they're doing to Pauline right now."

  "Pauline? Is she okay? Where—"

  The whimpers returned, then suddenly transformed into a rising shriek. The cry was cut short by the sound of flesh striking flesh—a hard, smacking blow.

  "They raped me," Shonette said quietly, as if she were discussing something as trivial as the weather or what to watch on television. Her tone became calm. Placid. "They raped me, and now they're raping her. I guess you'll be next."

  Becka opened her mouth to reply, but her mounting fears had stolen away her voice. All that came out was a short, strangled sob.

  "They go easier on you if you just stay quiet and don't move," Shonette said. "Ain't like the men back home. These things seem to like it when the woman just lies there like a wet dishrag. Wish I'd known before they started on me. You keep it in mind when your turn comes. Stay still, and don't fight. Oh, and hold your breath. They're pretty goddamned ripe. My guess is that they aren't big on showers or baths. That storm certainly doesn't seem to have washed them off any. Maybe we can ask

  Roland to give us some soap and shampoo as a prize for the next challenge."

  She giggled softly, and the sound of it terrified Becka even worse than the scenes in the cavern below.

  Pauline cried out again, and Becka cringed at the sound of the blow. It was followed with a roar, and then a series of grunts and panting noises. Becka closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and thought of Jerry.

  Please be okay, she prayed. Please come get us . . .

  Groaning, Shonette stirred next to her. A thin line of drool dripped from the corner of her bruised and bloodied lips.

  "Anybody else make it?" she asked.

  "I don't know," Becka said. "Jerry and Troy—I think they may have gotten away."

  "Good for them. Maybe they'll get help."

  "Maybe," Becka agreed. She felt a sinking feeling in her stomach.

  They left me, she thought. They ran away and let these things take me back here. How would they even find us now?

  "What about Stefan? I didn't see him out there on the smorgasbord pile."

  Becka frowned. She didn't remember Shonette being this callous or indifferent before. She wondered just how mentally stable her fellow contestant was after her ordeal.

  "I don't know what happened to Stefan," she said. "What about Roberta? She never made it back to camp. Have you seen her?"

  Still pulling her hair, Shonette shook her head. "No, she's not here. Maybe she escaped."

  "Or maybe they killed her."

  "If so, then she's the lucky one. She wins the contest, as far as I'm concerned. Fuck being the last one on the island."

  Shonette giggled again, and Becka fought back tears.

  Out of sight, the panting sounds increased. Each time Pauline cried out, it was answered with another blow. Eventually, she fell silent. The growls and grunts turned to animalistic moans of pleasure.

  "Oh God," Becka whispered. "What are they doing to her?"

  "I told you. You want specifics? Just use your imagination."

  "Where is she? Are you sure it's Pauline? I don't see them out there."

  "They're right around the corner," Shonette said. "There's another little hole in the wall, just like this one, right next to us. They've got her in there."

  "Stay here."

  "Where are you going?"

  "I can't just sit here and listen to her being raped. We've got to do something. Just stay put."

  Becka crawled forward on her hands and knees, clenching her teeth as sharp, jagged rocks pressed against her skin. Shonette reached for her, protesting, but Becka ignored her frightened pleas. She felt compelled to see, even though she didn't want to. Her stomach roiled at the very idea of witnessing what was going on in the next alcove. Still, she crept on, determined to do somethin
g about it if she

  could. She was damned if she was going to end up like Shonette, with her mind snapped, babbling at the cavern walls. She couldn't let Pauline end up like that either if she could help it.

  She reached the end of the outcropping and flattened herself against the cave floor, hoping the creatures in the main cavern were too engrossed in their celebration to notice her. The sounds of Pauline's assault grew louder. Holding her breath, Becka peered around the corner.

  And wept.

  Pauline lay on her back. Her clothes had been torn off and tossed aside. One of the creatures writhed atop her, thrusting in and out and punctuating each stroke with a gasp. Its black tongue lolled from its mouth and thin strands of saliva dripped onto her breasts. Two more creatures crouched on each side of the helpless woman, holding her legs apart. Another straddled her head, forcing her shoulders to the floor. All three were erect. Becka gaped in horror at their swollen, hairy shafts. Each was covered with rugged contours and bulging black veins, and the tips glistened with slimy pre-cum. The repulsive organs bobbed and swayed in the air. The largest of the creatures grinned lasciviously as the one between Pauline's legs moaned and shuddered. Its hairy buttocks quivered as it surrendered to the throes of orgasm. It withdrew a second later, stroking its blood-slicked member, and then collapsed against Pauline and lay still.

  Grunting, another of the monsters pulled its sated companion aside and took his place. The space between Pauline's legs was in ruins. In the moment

  before the next creature entered Pauline, Becka caught a glimpse of her face. It was expressionless. Her eyes stared at some far off point in the cavern ceiling. Pauline had left the building.

  Becka began to hyperventilate. Tears streamed down her face. She scurried back to Shonette's corner and curled up tightly next to her. If Shonette noticed, she didn't acknowledge it. She mumbled something about Fruity Pebbles and seemed to be talking to someone who wasn't there. Becka turned to her and noticed that Shonette was crying, too.