Castaways

by Brian Keene

  "I mean it," he continued, trying not to choke. "Get the fuck back!"

  Jerry was certain that they didn't recognize his words, but they clearly understood his intent. Growling, the adults backed off, retreating to a safer distance. Their eyes, however, never left him. The very atmosphere felt malevolent. Could he really blame them? After all, he was the intruder here. He was the one who'd entered their home and was menacing one of their children.

  No, screw that. They started this.

  But for what reasons? To feed, certainly. It was obvious to Jerry that the island's ecosystem could no longer support a tribe of this size. Most of the

  creatures showed signs of being malnourished. And perhaps, to expand their breeding stock and end the mutations that were plaguing their community. Were their methods evil? No. They were primitive and savage and animalistic, but the same could be said of some of mankind's transgressions from its less-than-proud past.

  He pushed the blind creature forward, and it stumbled. Jerry felt a momentary pang of guilt, but he forced the emotion back down and clenched his jaw. He kept the spear point against the child's throat, making an indentation but not piercing the skin.

  "It's going to be okay," Jerry murmured, and then wondered who he was trying to convince— himself or his captive. "Everybody just stay back. I don't want to do this, but you've left me no choice."

  "Jerry?"

  He paused, shocked at hearing another human voice. All around him, the tribe growled softly.

  "Becka?" He risked a glance upward at the ledge, searching for her.

  "I'm here. So are Pauline and Shonette. Jerry, what's happening?"

  "Oh my God! Becka . . . are you okay? What did they—"

  "Never mind that now. What's going on?" "You're rescued."

  The tribe's agitation increased as Jerry and Becka shouted back and forth. A few of the braver ones began to edge closer again. Jerry jerked the sagging hostage upright again and renewed his pressure

  on the spear point. The child's breathing turned into a harsh wheezing, but Jerry didn't release his hold.

  "Get back, goddamn it!"

  "Jerry, what's happening?"

  "There's no time to explain. Just listen to me. Can you guys walk?"

  There was a pause, and then Becka yelled, "I think so."

  "Then get down here. And hurry! I don't know how long I can hold them off. They're pretty angry with me right now."

  Jerry felt himself starting to panic again. He took a deep breath and watched the circling females carefully.

  "This is what we call a Mexican standoff." His voice cracked.

  As if sensing his fear, the tribe grew braver again. They slashed at the air with their claws and gestured menacingly. The mother of his captive snapped her slavering jaws, and stretched an arm toward her child. The mewling toddler reached for her, but Jerry pulled him back.

  "Stay still. It will all be over soon. Hurry up, Becka!"

  If she heard him, she didn't respond. "Becka?"

  His shout boomed across the cavern. The only response was from the creatures. They began to creep forward again, and this time, when Jerry hollered at them to stop, they ignored him.

  * * *

  "Is it really him?" Shonette asked.

  Becka nodded and tried to get Pauline to sit up. "Shonette, help me get her on her feet."

  "Come on, Pauline. The cavalry is here. It's time to go."

  Pauline opened her eyes again, looked at them, then shook her head. She tried to lie down again, but Becka pulled her back up.

  "Pauline," Becka urged. "We have to go. You can't stay here."

  "Yes, I can," she slurred. "You two go ahead. I'm just going to close my eyes and go to sleep for a long time."

  "The hell you are," Shonette said. "Get up. Now!"

  Pauline ignored them both. "When I sleep, I can't feel anything. I don't think. I don't feel. It's nice."

  Jerry's voice echoed up from below, urging Becka to hurry up.

  Becka put Pauline's left arm over her shoulder, and nodded at Shonette to do the same with her right. Shonette did, and together, they lifted the protesting woman up off the floor. They had to support her between them. Pauline was dead weight in their arms. She hung limply, refusing to use her legs.

  Jerry hollered again. "Becka?"

  "Pauline," Becka pleaded, "you have to help us. Jerry can't stay down there forever. We have to get moving. Please?"

  "Will you both leave me alone if I do?"

  "Yes," Shonette snapped. "Hell, yes. If it will get your ass in gear, then I'll promise to never speak to you again. Now let's go."

  They shuffled toward the edge of the stone ledge,

  still supporting most of Pauline's weight. She limped along between them, her head hung low, her chin brushing against her bloodied chest.

  A tumultuous cry rang out from below. It sounded like the creatures were growing more agitated. Becka heard Jerry's voice beneath their growls and snarls. It had gone up several octaves. He sounded terrified.

  "Jerry! We're coming."

  "Hurry. They're getting worked up again."

  They hurried to the edge of the ledge and peered over the side. Jerry was near the main tunnel. He held a young creature in front of him as a hostage. Most of the tribe was gone, leaving only the females, children, and a few of the infirm behind. The angry mothers had closed ranks around him on three sides, and were inching closer.

  "Over there." Shonette pointed to a rickety-looking ladder poking up over the lip of the ledge.

  They hurried over to it. The ladder's base was positioned in a pile of rocks.

  "That doesn't look very sturdy," Shonette said.

  "It's either that or jump," Becka pointed out. "But how are we going to get through them all? Jerry's on the other side."

  Shonette let go of Pauline, and she sagged lower.

  "Stand up," Shonette told her. "You've got to do your part now."

  "What are you doing?" Becka asked.

  "Just hang on."

  She ran back across the ledge and disappeared into the alcove. When she returned, Shonette was dragging the body of the chieftain.

  "We put him between us, just like we did with Pauline. If they think he's our hostage, they'll let us pass."

  "That will never work," Becka said. "One look, and they'll see that I bashed his head in."

  "That doesn't prove he's dead. And if we get Pauline to walk directly in front of us, that will help block the view."

  Realizing that she didn't have any better ideas and that there was no time to argue in any case, Becka nodded her head in agreement and then started down the ladder. When she reached the rock pile, she glanced over at the tribe. They hadn't noticed her descent—they were all preoccupied with Jerry and his captive. She motioned at Shonette to hurry.

  Grunting, Shonette grabbed the corpse by its ankles and lowered it over the side. Becka almost toppled over, but managed to secure it. Then Shonette clambered down to the floor as well. They readjusted the dead creature between them, then motioned at Pauline to come down. Pauline shook her head.

  "Pauline," Becka pleaded. "Come on!"

  Whimpering, she eased out over the ledge and lowered herself over the side. Then, moving slowly, she began her descent. When she'd joined the others, they made her stand in front of them.

  "Okay," Shonette whispered. "Just stay right in front of us and don't panic. We stick to this wall here and put our backs to it. Go straight toward Jerry and don't stop for anything. If it looks like they've caught on that their fearless leader is dead, then toss him to the side and run. Everybody understand?"

  Becka nodded. Pauline just blinked sleepily.

  "Pauline, do you understand?"

  "Yeah. Walk in front. Stick to the wall."

  "Right," Shonette said. "Let's go."

  They started forward. The corpse weighed a lot more than Pauline had, and Becka and Shonette struggled in exertion. The leader stank, and they breathed through their mouths t
o avoid coughing. They'd managed to traverse half the cavern's length before the tribe noticed them. The outcry became even more frenzied when they saw their elder slumped over between the women. Becka snuck a glance at Jerry. His eyes were wide, and his expression was shocked. But beneath that, he seemed relieved to see her. His gaze strayed to her nudity. Then he quickly looked away.

  "What are you doing?" he called.

  "Stay there," Becka yelled. "Keep them off us just a few seconds more."

  Half the tribe turned and came toward them. The other half remained where they were, creeping up on Jerry and his hostage.

  "We're doing good," Shonette muttered. "Just a little bit more to go. Just a—"

  With a sudden cry, Pauline bolted for the open tunnel, abandoning them. She cut right through the middle of the startled creatures.

  "Oh shit." Shonette slipped out from underneath the corpse. "Run, Becka! Run."

  Jerry echoed her sentiments and began backing toward the exit. Shonette and Becka dashed toward him, trying to keep the wall to their backs. Several of the creatures rushed to their fallen leader and

  wailed over his corpse. More of them raced after the fleeing culprits. A bloated, pregnant female with one good eye, who stood near the sputtering fire, snatched a rock from the ground and flung it at Pauline. It struck her in the back of the head and she stumbled. Another creature flung itself onto her back, crushing her to the floor.

  In an instant, a dozen females and children had joined the fray, biting and slashing and pulling. Pauline's screams reached a frenzied peak, and then became one long, drawn-out moan. They tore her limb from limb, pulling her arms from their sockets and tossing severed fingers and her internal organs into the air with savage abandon. Her blood coated their fur, and their claws dripped with gore.

  Becka and Shonette reached Jerry's side, but six more creatures were right behind them. Jerry spun the blind child around and shoved him forward. Crying out, the toddler tumbled to the cavern's floor. Jerry, Shonette, and Becka raced for the exit.

  "Here!" Jerry handed Becka the flashlight.

  "What are you—"

  "Run, goddamn it! Don't worry about me. I'm right behind you. But I'm the only one with a weapon."

  They fled down the tunnel. The flashlight beam bounced off the walls. Becka was in the lead, followed by Shonette. Jerry brought up the rear.

  Howling furiously, the tribe members plunged into the darkness after them.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Troy exploded from the jungle and ran out onto a high cliff. Panting, he took shelter behind a large boulder near the edge of the precipice and paused to catch his breath. His chest heaved. The sea sprawled below him like a black velvety blanket. The rippling water had a soothing effect. Far out on the horizon, he saw the blinking lights of the freighter. Closer to shore, the moon reflected off the waves. Then he realized that it wasn't moonlight, but lights of a different kind. He turned his attention upward, and spotted the chopper bulleting toward the beach. Spotlights swiveled, pouring over the land and sea below.

  "Shit! It's about fucking time. Now all I gotta do is make it down there."

  Behind him, the sounds of pursuit had finally faded. Troy had led the cryptids on a frantic chase across the island, killing three more of them in the process and injuring several others. He hadn't come out of the running battle unscathed. There were four deep gashes on his back where one of the creatures had raked him with its talons, and a

  matching set on the calf of his left leg. He'd been poked by branches and jabbed with thorns, had tumbled down a hillside and fallen into a ravine, gashed his knee open on a sharp fragment of volcanic rock, gotten jabbed in the cheek by something in the dark, and wrenched his back (which had pained him intermittently since he'd originally injured it in an auto shop three years earlier). Both of his ears still rang from the constant barrage of roaring cries he'd been subjected to for the last half hour. The wounds on his back and leg cut swaths through his tattoos, and that hurt him in ways the pain couldn't.

  Through it all, he'd somehow managed to hold on to his hat.

  Troy listened to the waves crashing below and the birds shrieking at one another above, and beneath it all, the rhythmic thrum of the helicopter's rotors. Exhausted as he was, he could have happily stayed there, hunched behind the boulder and clinging to the cliff's edge all night long. Instead, he grabbed some broad leaves from a nearby bush and dabbed at his wounds. His blood hadn't clotted yet, but at least the flow had turned into a trickle. He turned his head, trying to peer over his shoulder at the gashes in his back, but the movement brought a fresh burst of agony. Moaning, Troy gritted his teeth and closed his eyes until the pain had passed. He wondered how he'd ever get the tattoos fixed. Could an artist put fresh ink over scar tissue?

  He struggled to his feet again and studied the tree line. Nothing moved. Either the creatures were hiding, waiting for him to come out, or they'd given up the chase and returned to their den. He sniffed the

  air and found no trace of their repugnant stench. Chances were good that they'd gone back to the cave. If so, he hoped that he'd bought Jerry enough time to rescue the others and get the hell out of there.

  Wincing, Troy limped along the edge of the cliff and searched for a way down to the beach. The helicopter had passed from sight, and although he could still hear the rumbling of the rotors and the high-pitched whine of the hydraulics, it sounded like the craft was powering down, which probably meant that it had landed. All he had to do was get there before they left again.

  Or before the cryptids got them, too.

  He readjusted his grip on the spear and sighed. His rock knife had been lost during the chase, after he'd used it to knock out the teeth of an attacking monster.

  "All in all," he groaned, "I wish I were back in fucking Seattle. A million dollars ain't worth this shit. Hope you got your girl, Jerry."

  He threaded his way carefully along the edge, sticking close to cover in case any of the beasts emerged from the jungle. He still wasn't entirely convinced that they'd given up the hunt altogether.

  Troy's stomach grumbled. Clutching it, he tried to remember how long it had been since he'd eaten. Well before the storm, at least. Breakfast had been rice and a few scraps of dried fish, washed down with flat-tasting boiled water. He'd had nothing since then. Upon realizing that, he suddenly felt famished. Dawn was just a few hours away. All he had to do was make it to the landing zone, get

  on board the helicopter and in a few hours, he could be eating blueberry pancakes with maple syrup and big, long strips of crispy fucking bacon on board the network's freighter.

  And then top it off with a cigarette.

  He reached a section of cliff where the sheer drop faded. The ground sloped gradually downward. It looked like water had rushed through here at some point, piling debris along the cliff side. Large boulders, dirt, dead trees and other flotsam and jetsam provided a definitive, if treacherous, path down to the beach. Troy studied it carefully. The landslide was his quickest bet. He didn't know how much farther he'd have to walk to find an easier descent— if one even existed. His thoughts turned again to Jerry and Becka. He hoped that they were okay.

  Moving carefully, he started down the slope. Soil and pebbles slid out from beneath his feet and rustled in the darkness. The angle hurt his back, but Troy kept going. Better a bad back than ending up as dinner for one of those things. A steady breeze battered him. He looked down once and felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. Growing dizzy, he leaned backward and grabbed onto a jutting rock.

  "Jesus fucking Christ, that's a long way to fucking fall."

  He navigated around deadfalls and jumbled boulders, slipping several times in the loose dirt but maintaining his balance. Each time he did, Troy bit his lip to keep from crying out. He grabbed a jutting branch to support himself, and invoked the wrath of a mother seabird protecting her nest. She darted forward, angrily pecking at his hand.

  "Knock it off, goddamn it! I ain't gon
na hurt you or your babies."

  Squawking, the bird jabbed at him again. This time, she drew blood. Troy yanked his hand away and dropped his spear. It tumbled down the slope, crashing far below. The bird shrieked louder.

  "Oww, bitch! Stop it. Get the fuck off of me."

  His curses were answered by a low growl from above. With one mournful cry, the frantic bird took flight, abandoning her eggs. On top of the cliff, the growl changed to a yipping bark. Slowly, Troy looked up. There, at the top of the slope, silhouetted in the moonlight, was a lone cryptid. Grinning, it started down the hill and stalked toward him in broad, loping strides. Troy backed away as the beast crept forward. It stepped into the light again, and he could see that it was a mutant. A pale, pronged penis dangled between its legs. Troy guessed the organ was probably useless. The moonlight cast a sickly pallor over it. The thing's dark hair was matted with dirt and insects, but there were also patches on its body where the hair had fallen out. In the bare spots, misshapen lumps pushed out from beneath its skin. Tumors of some kind, Troy guessed.

  "Your prick looks like one of those split sausages you get at the fucking diner for breakfast. I bet you have trouble keeping your old lady around, huh? How the fuck do you even get it up?"

  The beast stopped, snarling at him in confusion— and perhaps, just a twinge of fear. Troy had learned quickly enough that if he hid his apprehension and confronted them directly, the creatures were slow to act. Years of being the biggest predator on the island

  had left them ill equipped to confront prey who talked back. Still growling, the cryptid raised its snout and sniffed the air.

  "The fuck are you looking at, you broke-dick motherfucker? Get the fuck back up that hill before I do to you what I did to your fucking buddies."

  The thing hooted in response.

  A mosquito buzzed in Troy's ear, but he ignored it, refusing to turn his gaze away from his antagonist. They stared at each other, neither one of them blinking, engaged in a primal game of chicken. The creature's chest heaved. Troy's back ached. Dislodged gravel and debris continued to slide past them both. Troy took another step backward, and his foe matched him with one simultaneous step forward. They repeated the process again and again. The wind increased, howling up the cliff side, ruffling the beast's fur, and battering against Troy's back. He weaved unsteadily and then, before he could act, the wind tore his hat from his head and sent it hurtling back up the mound.