Atlantic Pyramid

by Michelle E Lowe

  “Coming through the junkyard, I’m sure you noticed the octopuses,” Travis remarked.

  I remembered the heaving octopuses lounging on the sailboat. “A few.”

  “Scary, eh? But they’re harmless. You can actually go up and pet them.”

  “The first one I came across didn’t seem very friendly.”

  “Aye, they tend to get nervous, especially when they’re pregnant. But the only thing deadly about them is if you eat them. They’re poisonous.”

  “Which sucks,” Marissa grumbled. “’Cause they’re easy to kill.”

  “Dat’s why dere ain’t too many of ’em left. People used to kill ’em for fun.”

  “How is it that people trapped here can live forever?” I asked.

  “We don’t know,” Marissa said, maintaining her steady stride. “All we have are theories.”

  “Such as what, aliens? Atlantis?”

  “How did you know?” Travis inquired.

  “I read Limbo of the Lost when I was in high school.” I waved my hand at his confusion and added, “Sorry, that was way after your time.”

  “I’d like to see what the world is like today. What it has become in the last two hundred plus years. We’ve had updates from new arrivals, but I’d like to see it with me own eyes.”

  “When was the last time anyone other than me arrived?”

  “Some young bloke named Gibbons,” Travis answered. “He arrived with his girlfriend on his father’s yacht last year. He’d snuck the yacht out while his dad was away.”

  “And he acts like he’s cock of the walk,” Marissa added.

  “Aye, that he does,” Travis agreed. “He’s a real wanker, that one.”

  “What about people?” I asked. “Are there any humans native to the island?”

  “If there were, I’d hate to meet them,” Marissa replied. “I can only imagine what they’d be like.”

  “Dere ain’t no people ’ere but us, mon,” Khenan added.

  Chapter Six

  We continued for a while longer before signs of human habitation appeared.

  “Home sweet home,” Travis said in a less than enthusiastic tone. “Heath, lad, welcome to North Village.”

  His attitude was downright melancholy, which brought my own mood down a few notches. Then he threw an arm around me and said, “Aw, it’s not all that bad. Think of it as a permanent getaway from everything you hate on the outside.”

  My spirits fell when I realized I’d never enjoy the things I loved again.

  About a hundred yards from the village, tucked away behind a few palm trees, was a square stone and mortar building with five slim windows and a flat roof. “What’s that?”

  “That’s our jail,” Travis said dismissively.

  “Oh,” I replied, not wanting to press. As we moved on, I saw at least three hundred round stone huts, some perched on the island’s steep hillside, with many just twenty paces from the shoreline. Each was fifteen feet tall and thirty feet wide, with pointed roofs and two windows in front. Narrow spaces between them had stairs leading to the beach. A wharf wide enough to drive a tank on stood on six-foot columns. It ended at the steep hillside, where it turned into stairs. Piers branched off from the wharf, all lined with huts.

  The mountainside huts were of the same design as the ones on shore. The only difference was the width of the walkways, which were narrower and had railings. Four paths branched off from a set of stairs leading up the hillside, one above the other. The highest path was the shortest, the bottom the longest. Huts lined one side of the walkway against the mountain, overlooking the beach. Above them was a larger hut partially hidden by trees.

  “Does your leader live up there?” I asked.

  Khenan looked to where I pointed and shook his head. “Nah, mon, no one’s really in charge around ‘ere.”

  “So, who lives in that hut at the top?”

  “No worries, mon, you’ll meet ’er soon enough.”

  “Hey!” Marissa shouted to a group of people standing by the ocean with fishing rods. A few waved half-heartedly before returning their attention to the water.

  “Who are they?”

  “Folks who got caught here on their way to the fishing grounds,” she replied.

  “Is a sad story, fer sure,” Khenan added. “All dey do, day in and day out, is stand out dere an’ fish.”

  “Do they ever catch anything?”

  “Not much.”

  “Then why do they do it?”

  Khenan shrugged. “No one really knows. It’s just da way it is.”

  When we reached the end of the wharf, we climbed some steps to where a pale elderly man sat on a patio chair reading Naked Lunch. Chickens pecked at the ground around him.

  “Hey, Carlton,” Marissa said, “isn’t that the hundredth time you’ve read that book?”

  Without looking up, Carlton said, “And I’m still trying to make sense of it, Miss Agnew.” He shifted his eyes up to me as I climbed the steps behind Khenan. “Newcomer?”

  It was a simple question but I didn’t know how to answer it. The term sounded like what prison inmates called new arrivals. The irony didn’t escape me. It was exactly how I felt.

  “Yeah,” I said gloomily.

  Carlton went back to his book. “Welcome to the world beyond.”

  I didn’t know what to make of that, but I had other things on my mind.

  Every hut had distinctive features. Some windowsills and doors were painted different colors but were badly chipped. Lawn furniture sat on piers and back porches, where wind chimes and shells hung from the eaves. Potted flowers and vegetables made up gardens. In a way, the village was like a tropical vacation hotspot, a place to escape the pressures of life. But in reality, the village was home to people who couldn’t go back to their lives.

  Sitting on a bent lawn chair was an obese man. He was shirtless, showing off his large, saggy breasts. It didn’t bother me. I’d seen plenty of unhealthy physiques at the beach.

  He turned his head toward us and raised a meaty arm. “Hey there, did you find out where that flare came from?”

  “Sure did,” Travis said, pointing at me. “It was this bloke.”

  I waved and said hi just as an overweight woman came out of the hut carrying a flower pot.

  “This is my wife,” the man said as she bent over to place the pot on a short table. “Look at that big ass. She got that from her mother. Our daughter inherited it, too, poor thing.”

  The woman turned to her husband and pointed to his chest. “That may be, but she inherited her tits from you.”

  “Ignore those two,” Marissa said, continuing on. “They’re a couple of idiots.”

  “Do you get a lot of high tides?” I asked, referring to the wharves six-foot columns back on the shore.

  “Nah, mon, dere’s no tide ‘ere. If dere was, da ’ouses would rest on poles, yeah?”

  “Every house has a crawl space,” Travis said, which surprised me. “You know, some place to put things.”

  “If there’s no tide, why have the columns?” I asked.

  “To protect us from the stingrays,” Marissa replied.

  “Stingrays?”

  “They come outta the ocean at night,” Travis said. “They hide beneath the sand and creep toward their prey, till they get close enough to stab with their tail. Their sting paralyzes their victim, letting them wrap their tail around an arm or leg and drag their prey into the ocean. No one even knows it’s happened ’cause they eat every last bit of you, bones and all. So stay off the beach at night.”

  “Does that happen a lot?”

  “Unfortunately, yes,” Marissa said.

  “The plus side, though,” Travis added, “is that they’re fun to kill and they taste marvelous.”

  The village was full of people doing all sorts of things—playing Frisbee or volleyball on the beach, doing maintenance on their homes or cooking on small grills, while chickens and goats roamed the pier freely. We approached an old woman in a p
each dress sweeping her doormat.

  “Hello, Mrs. Truk,” Marissa said.

  The old woman raised her head and smiled. “Oh, hello, um, what was your name again?”

  “Marissa.”

  “Oh, right, I’ll remember it the next time. I promise.” When the woman saw me, she added, “Oh my, you’re a handsome young thing. Would you like to come inside for some tea?”

  Khenan grabbed my arm and pulled me away. “Just got ’ere, Mrs. Truk. We need to show ’im around first.”

  The old woman’s smile faded for a moment but then quickly returned. “Oh, well, how about you, young man? Care for some tea?”

  Khenan gave her a contrived smile and waved as he pulled on my arm. “Nah, tanks, Mrs. Truk. Got tings to do.”

  Again she seemed disappointed, but her eyes brightened as she asked Travis, “And what about—”

  “Sorry, love,” he said, cutting her off and hurrying by, “loads to do today.”

  “Well, don’t be strangers now,” she called as we rushed away. “Come by and see me anytime.”

  “What the hell was that about?” I asked as Khenan pulled me along. “Why are we running away like a bunch of thieves?”

  Marissa giggled but Khenan shot her a look. “Dat wasn’t funny, woman.”

  “It was to me,” Marissa said, barely able to stifle her laughter.

  “Bloody hell! Why did you have to draw attention to us like that?”

  “Oh, stop it, you two,” she growled. “Just having a little fun.”

  “Who was that old woman?”

  “Mrs. Truk …” She was unable to continue as another fit of laughter washed over her.

  Khenan shook his head, but Travis tried to explain. “There isn’t anything wrong with her. Well, not harmful or anything like that. It’s just that, um, to put it delicately, she has a taste for…er, younger men.”

  “She’s a sex addict!” Marissa blurted. “She’ll take on any young male who’s willing.”

  My eyes widened as I looked back at the sweet-looking old woman still waving at us from her porch.

  “She’s been like that since her prime,” Travis added. “She claims to have eight illegitimate children. I tell you, it’s funny to see people looking older than me when I’m a couple hundred years older than them.”

  “I’m glad that hasn’t happened to me,” Marissa said.

  “You wait.”

  “What’s with the goats and chickens?” I asked. “Where did they come from?”

  “They’re livestock from ships,” Travis replied. “People keep most of the goats as pets.”

  I thought it was odd that sailors would keep animals as pets when they’d originally intended to eat them. “Why haven’t they been eaten?”

  No one answered my question but they all gave me strange glances. Finally, Travis said, “We don’t kill the outside animals. We trade for meat—things like wild pig and seafood.”

  “Wild pig? You mean boar?”

  “Kind of, but a lot tamer,” Marissa said. “Once they’re captured, it doesn’t take long for them to adjust to captivity. And they breed like rabbits.”

  As we traveled along the wharf, people approached to ask questions. What did you come in? Plane or boat? What’s your name? When did you get here? I answered their questions as more people gathered around, feeling a little like a celebrity harassed by the paparazzi.

  “Bugger off!” Travis finally shouted. “He’ll tell you everything at tonight’s Welcoming.”

  That satisfied the crowd and they stood watching as we moved on. Marissa left us to go inside a hut, but Travis, Khenan, and I headed for the long staircase leading up the mountain.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “Dere’s a vacant hut on da fourth level,” Khenan said, pointing to a hut one row down from the top. “Dat’ll be your place. It has a nice view.”

  “Why isn’t anyone living in it now?”

  The men glanced at each other. “Might as well tell ’im. He’s gonna find out once we get up dere.”

  “Tell me what?”

  Travis sighed deeply. “It’s because of Tommy Pine.”

  We passed a red-haired man wearing cargo shorts and sunglasses, holding a tanning mirror to his chest. He sat in a patio chair, resting his skinny pink legs on a wooden crate. He bolted upright at the mention of Tommy Pine.

  “You’re taking him to ole’ Tommy’s place, are ya now?” he asked with an Irish brogue. Khenan and Travis didn’t answer, but the Irishman laughed anyway.

  “Shut it, Paddy,” Travis snapped. “It’s not bloody funny.”

  “Oh, yes, it is. Once he sees what you’re trying to pawn off on ‘im, he’ll punch ya square in the kisser!”

  “Make yerself useful and get to da tavern an’ start making whisky fer tonight.”

  Paddy continued chuckling as he got up and moved to the edge of the wharf, leaping down to the sandy beach.

  “Bloody idiot,” Travis said. “I love him like a brother but he’s a handful sometimes. He owns Miller’s Tavern on the far end of the village. Well, inherited it, I ought to say.”

  “When did he get here? The same time as you?”

  “Nah, he emigrated from Ireland during the potato famine after losing his family. He went to New York but decided it wasn’t the place for him. He made his way to Florida, which was insane at the time ’cause the place was overrun with Indians. One morning, he went out fishing and his boat went too far, and, well, here he is.”

  I started to ask more about this Tommy Pine but Travis cut me off. “It’s best if we just show you, lad. If you don’t want the place, you can bunk with me till we find somethin’ else for you.”

  It was unnerving that no one wanted to talk about Tommy Pine, but I maintained the patience they requested. As we climbed the stairs, I noticed the mosquitoes didn’t bite anymore. We passed a few first row residents standing outside their huts, staring at us.

  Travis and Khenan led me to the fourth walkway and a hut on the far right end. “Dis be da place, mon,” Khenan said as he opened the door. When I hesitated, he assured me, “It’s awright. Da inside is perfectly fine.”

  I held my breath and stepped into the hut. It was nearly pitch black inside. Travis followed me in and took a match from a jar on top of a single table, lighting a candle. Other than the table, the place was empty. No furniture, no pictures, just an open space. It was the size of a small studio apartment—ten times smaller than my home in Miami.

  Even though I lived alone, I had enough room in my one-story home for an entire family. It was a three-bedroom ranch with a wraparound porch and a two-car garage. To see the ocean, all I had to do was step out onto my back porch. Granted, I rented the house, but it wasn’t just a place to sleep at night—it was home.

  As I looked around the one-room hut, my heart fell. Khenan patted my shoulder. “Don’t look so grim, mon. Once ya fix it up da way ya like, it’ll grow on ya.”

  “And over here is the loo,” Travis said, opening a small door.

  I peeked inside. The room was merely a stall, no more than five feet wide, with a wooden toilet seat on a crate. “Where does it all go?”

  “Every hut on the hill has a steel pipe running down into the nearest hole in the ground.”

  “Hole?”

  “Yeah, mon, da hillside is riddled wit holes we been using to dispose of waste fer centuries now.”

  “What about the people living on shore?”

  “They have the same kind of loo but no pipes. They go in a bucket and then dispose of it properly. For those who find that too undignified, there are male and female stalls near the village against the mountainside.”

  “What about bathing?”

  “There’s a waterfall that drops off the ledge of the mountain and makes for a perfect shower.”

  “Fer dose of us who bathe,” Khenan said with a sly smile.

  “Yeah, well, lots of people take showers. Not me, per se, since I don’t give a toss anymore. I
f ever.”

  “What about fresh water?”

  “It rains plenty, so there are no worries about that.”

  Again, I scanned the room. So far, I saw nothing suspicious or creepy. “All right, what’s the catch?”

  Khenan sighed heavily. “Come dis way.”

  I followed him out the back door and onto a small wooden porch near the steep slope. Four plastic buckets filled with rainwater sat near the door. Healthy green foliage and large red and purple flowers grew along the stone wall four feet from the back porch, nurtured by the humidity.

  “Look down dere,” Khenan said, standing by the rail.

  I leaned over the railing and instantly wished I hadn’t. Lying about fifteen feet below, in a narrow crack, was the body of what I presumed to be the previous occupant, Tommy Pine.

  Travis came up beside me and shook his head. “Bloody shame, it was.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “It was an accident.”

  I’d hoped the catch to the house was a leaky roof or infestation of some kind. What I got was a mangled corpse.

  Chapter Seven

  Tommy Pine had been standing on the railing, trying to pick a flower, when he’d slipped and fell. According to Travis, Tommy had been a jerk, but that didn’t change the fact that his body now lay below the hut.

  “Can’t the body be moved?”

  “Nah, mon,” Khenan said. “Ya can’t mess wit da dead.”

  What’s up with the dead?

  “No worries, lad,” Travis said, giving me a slap on the back. “He won’t smell up the place. He’ll just lie there and make no fuss, as long as you leave him be.”

  I was about to ask why when someone called out in a German accent, “Knock, knock.”

  “Oi, Dominic,” Travis greeted when a man stepped into the hut.

  Dominic joined us on the back porch. He was about my height, with strong facial features and large dark eyes.

  “You my potential neighbor?” He extended his hand. “Dominic Flank. I live next door.”

  “Heath Sharp,” I said, shaking his hand, which felt like a vise.