Castaways (24 page)

"B-Becka?"

"Yeah, it's me. Don't try to talk, okay? We have 10 be quiet."

Pauline nodded in understanding. The movement made her groan softly. She closed her eyes again.

"How bad does it hurt?" Becka asked.

"Pretty . . . pretty bad. They ..."

"I know. You don't have to say it. I know what happened. They did the same thing with Shonette and me."

"Shonette's alive?"

"Yeah. She's right next door. We're going to get out of here and get some help. Everything's going to be okay now."

Despite the obvious pain it caused her, Pauline shook her head. "No, it isn't. Nothing's ever going to be okay again."

"Yes, it will. We'll get through this. You'll see."

"No, Becka. Y-you don't understand." She licked her cracked and bleeding lips and then continued. "When I was a senior in high school, the guy I went to homecoming with ... he raped me. I swore to myself it would never happen again, but now it has. And as bad as it was back then? This is much worse. They aren't. . .
human.'"

She sobbed quietly and laid her head in Becka's lap. Becka held her, whispering consoling words and trying to soothe both her physical and emotional pains, even though she could do nothing for either. Becka closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall. She suddenly felt exhausted. They stayed that way for a long time, while the animalistic sounds of the feast continued to drift up from below.

"Did you see the statue?" Pauline asked.

Becka opened her eyes. "What statue?"

"Over there, in the corner. It's a little statue of one of those things, carved out of rock. I found a

piece of one earlier, too. It had a squid head but a human body. It was all broken up."

Becka looked where Pauline pointed. Sure enough, there was a small stone effigy of one of their captors. It was about twelve inches high, and though crude, it displayed clear attention to detail and craftsmanship. The rock had been cut in such a way as to depict fur, and even the prominent lower jaw was noticeable. Could one of the tribe members have carved it? That didn't seem possible. The creatures that had attacked them, while intelligent, had seemed bestial.

She leaned back and closed her eyes again, considering the statue's origins. Maybe an earlier generation of creatures had carved the effigy, and maybe that skill was lost on the current tribe members. Maybe they were regressing, rather than evolving.

"Pssst."

Becka's eyes snapped open and Pauline stirred slowly. Both of them looked at the entrance. Shonette stared back at them.

"What the hell is taking you so long?"

"Sorry," Becka apologized. "Pauline's in pretty bad shape. She's been through a lot."

"We all have," Shonette said, sounding more like her old self again. "But like you said, unless we want to be victims, we've got to get going."

"Come on," Becka urged, "try to stand up."

"I can't," Pauline whispered.

"Is anything broken?"

"No."

"Then you have to try. Shonette's right."

"No." Pauline suddenly seemed to find some inner

reserve of strength and conviction. Her tone became adamant. "You two go ahead. I'm just going to close my eyes and wait."

"For what?" Shonette asked.

"To die."

"Bullshit," Shonette said. "We're not leaving here without you, and we're not waiting behind just to pacify your self-pitying ass."

Becka flinched. "Shonette ..."

"Hell, no." Shonette held up her palm, interrupting. "I'm not sitting around here and waiting for those things to come back and discover what you did to their fearless leader. You were the one who wanted to escape in the first place. You gave me a little pep talk back there and got me all gung-ho. Now I'm doing the same for her. That's all. She's wanted to prance around this island and get the boys to do everything for her. Now she's gonna have to do it for herself—and for us."

"You make it sound like—"

"I don't care how it sounds, Becka. I'm sick of this place, and I'm sick of this TV show, and I'm sick of these fucking
things.
I want to see my kids again. I want to live, and goddamn it, more than anything, I want to leave this fucking island. Right now, Pauline is delaying that. She needs to suck it the fuck up."

Becka was too stunned to respond.

"You sound like Troy," Pauline murmured, and then began to giggle. "But you smell better than he does."

After a moment, Becka and Shonette joined her.

The three women hugged each other and chuckled quietly, their bodies shaking with laughter.

"Hey, you hairy mother fucking cocksuckers! Come out and play."

"Wow," Pauline gasped. You really did sound like Troy that time."

"That wasn't me," Shonette said. "Listen!"

The voice sounded muffled, as if echoing from a great distance.

"Come on, you retarded fucking monkeys. What are you—pussies? Come and get some of this, you mongoloid douche bags! Let me show you how we do it in Seattle."

"Oh my God," Becka whispered. "That
is
Troy."

A tremendous disturbance shook the cavern as below them the tribe of creatures roared as one.

Chapter Twenty-two

"Troy," Jerry whispered. "Can I ask you something?" "What?"

"Do you really have 'everything sucks all the time' tattooed on your ass?" "Fuck, yeah."

"You weren't bullshitting me?" "Nope. I really do have it, man." Jerry stopped. Troy halted behind him. "What's up?"

"The tunnel is starting to slope downward. Let's keep going."

Jerry estimated that they'd traveled about thirty or forty yards. Despite Troy's vehement protests, Jerry had turned off the flashlight once they'd entered the confines of the cave. He'd been worried that the creatures would see the beam. Now it was off again. Although he didn't admit it out loud, he wished that he could turn it back on. The air inside the tunnel was fetid and cloying, and the darkness seemed to press at them. Jerry had never been claustrophobic, but in those few minutes, he could easily see how

other people became afflicted with it. He fought to keep his breathing under control. Even though the temperature had dropped again, he was bathed in sweat. In one hand, he clutched his makeshift spear. He let his other hand trail along the rock wall to his right. The cold, damp stone was his only comfort, and a small one at that.

Sounds echoed down the tunnel toward them, bouncing off the rough walls—grunts and hooting, punctuated with the occasional growl, or worse, a horrid, garbled version of laughter.

"Jesus," Troy whispered. "Listen to that shit. What do you think they're doing?"

"I don't know," Jerry said. "Celebrating, maybe? Feasting? Mating? Doing some kind of war dance to their island gods? How should I know, dude?"

"Because you're the fucking expert and shit."

"I'm not an expert. I told you—it's just a hobby of mine."

"Well, you fucking know more than I do." "All I know is that they've got Becka, and thinking about it makes me sick to my stomach." "We'll find her, man."

Jerry didn't respond. He was afraid that if he did, his voice might crack.

They tiptoed on, heading deeper into the earth. A faint hint of wood smoke hung in the tunnel, but not as much as either of them had imagined there would be. The bumpy terrain rose and fell, and they had to feel their way along, arms outstretched. At times, the roof stretched high above their heads. In other sections, they had to duck down to make it through. They didn't find any branching passages

until they came to a sudden sharp turn in the path. At that point, Jerry's hand left the wall and dangled into open space. He leaned forward, feeling around, but the sides of the tunnel were gone.

"I'm going to click the light on for a second," he whispered. "Watch your eyes. I don't want to mess up your night vision."

"What night vision? I can't see shit."

"Even so, look away."

Jerry turned on the flashlight, carefully keeping the beam pointed at the ground. Then he trailed it up and over the walls. He paused when he saw some dark lines that didn't appear to be natural. Moving closer, he focused the light on them, revealing a primitive cave drawing. The lines formed a sort of crude maze. At the center of the labyrinth was a dark, squiggly mass with two oval-shaped eyes peering out of it. The drawing made him feel uneasy, but he didn't know why.

"What the fuck is that?"

"I don't know," Jerry whispered. "I mean, obviously, it's cave art, but I don't know what it's supposed to represent."

There were more pictures. One showed a group of cryptids fighting what looked like a tribe of Neanderthals. Another showed several creatures that had heads like swine but bodies like humans. They seemed to be coming out of an underground tunnel similar to the one he and Troy were standing in now.

Jerry continued examining the cave. Sure enough, the tunnel branched off at this section. A second, narrower path led away from them, apparently

heading back up toward the surface. Troy ventured into the split, looked around, then ducked back out again.

"It's a dead fucking end," he reported, removing his hat and smoothing his hair. "Goes up about twelve feet and then ends in a tiny little fissure. Not big enough for those fucking things to squeeze through. Might have been an exit at some point, but not anymore. Looks like it caved in. There's boulders and shit blocking it."

"So if we can't go that way, then neither did Becka."

"Looks that way." Troy put his hat on again.

Jerry turned the light off once more and they stood silently, waiting for their eyes to readjust. The muffled sounds continued drifting toward them, seeming to pour from the rock itself. It was hard to determine how close they were. The creatures could be right around the corner or a mile away. Jerry's pulse sped up when he heard harsh, ragged breathing. He tensed, preparing to run, but then he realized that it was his own. In that moment, he felt exhausted and weak, and thought he might pass out. The flashlight seemed to weigh a hundred pounds, and it was all he could do just to remain upright.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," Jerry whispered. "I'm just a little freaked out. Need to catch my breath."

"What's the plan?" Troy asked.

"I don't know, other than to just keep going on and try to find the girls."

"I've been thinking about that," Troy said. "Sounds to me like there's an awful fucking lot of

those things between us and the girls. I mean, maybe the cave fucks with the sounds and all, but if that noise is any indication, there's a lot more than we thought. Maybe more than we can fucking handle. We're a couple of fucking badasses and all, but I don't know about this."

Jerry sighed. "Listen, Troy. I'm exhausted and cold and feel like I've just gone twelve rounds with Mike Tyson. And more importantly, I'm fucking worried sick about Becka. My stomach hurts, I'm so scared. I don't have a plan. I'm not the kind of guy who comes up with plans."

"You had a plan to outwit Stefan."

"That's different. This isn't reality television anymore. This is real life. So, if you've got a suggestion, feel free to jump in anytime. Can you think of something else?"

"Actually, yeah. I can."

"Well, then I would love to hear it."

Troy put his hands on Jerry's shoulders and turned him toward the side tunnel. Then he pushed him forward into the darkness.

"Hey!"

"Listen," Troy whispered. "Go hide in that fissure. Squeeze yourself as far back in there as you can—just don't get fucking stuck."

"Why?"

"Just fucking trust me, okay? I've got a plan."

"Okay." Although he was secretly doubtful, Jerry was too tired to argue about it or question the mechanic any further. "Watch your eyes. I'm turning on the light again."

Using the flashlight, he made his way into the

branching tunnel and crawled over a mound of loose rubble and debris until he'd reached the top. Sure enough, there was a narrow fissure at the end, barely wide enough for him to stick an arm through, let alone crawl through. He turned the flashlight off again and got positioned.

"You good?" Troy called. "All settled in and shit?"

"I'm all set. And we've wasted enough time. Whatever you're going to do, do it already." "Okay."

Troy was silent for a moment, and Jerry wondered if he'd left. Maybe he'd been waiting to abandon Jerry and had just needed the opportunity. After all, Troy had no loyalties to Jerry or Becka or anyone else. They weren't lifelong friends. They were contestants on a television show. They barely knew each other. Jerry shook his head. What did he really know about Troy? That his brother had been involved in a bank robbery. That he cursed more than any human being Jerry had ever met. That was all. How could he really trust him? Jerry was about to turn the flashlight on and make sure he was there, when suddenly, Troy shouted at the top of his lungs.