Eviskar Island (27 page)

When he felt the moment was right, Spencer gave the shirt one last backswing and then launched it onto the bank, twenty yards upstream from where he stood.  The lizard wolves squealed in unison and took off after it.  Stumbling over one another, they pounced on it and commenced to tear it apart in a feeding frenzy.

With his adversaries now otherwise occupied, Spencer calmly waded from the stream and climbed into the tall pine.  “Chumps,” he chided once he was out of danger.  A backward glance at the predators showed one of them licking the rock of all remaining blood trace while the others sniffed the air around them, apparently wondering where the rest of their meal had gone.

Spencer immediately refocused on the problem of crossing the stream.  His plan was simple, really.  He would fix a rope to the pine on the other side, tie the near end to this tree, and then, hanging by his hands and knees, inch his way across.  If he could slant the rope, he might even turn it into a zip line—slide down like a contestant on some dumb reality show.  Piece of cake.  At least it had been a piece of cake in his mind while he stood in the stream dealing with lizard wolves.  Now, reality sunk in.  He looked down at the raging river below.  Who was he kidding?  This truly was a river, not a stream.  There was no doubt he had to go
over
this river, not
through
it.  But it was wide, almost twice the width of the one he’d crossed earlier that morning.  He had a long way to go.

Beneath him, the three lizard wolves had returned and were now circling the base of his tree.  From listening to Endicott he knew how persistent they were.  As long as his scent was in the air, they’d hang around.  This was it then.  Climbing down wasn’t an option.  He was committed to his plan.

Imagining a rope bridge across the river was one thing, constructing it in such a way that it could bear his weight, and doing it from one side of the river while sitting half-way up a tree, was something else.  How was he going to project the end of the rope into the other tree and anchor it there?  He needed an arrow, one with a barbed point that would embed in the trunk.  Fat chance.  He hadn’t exactly come equipped with Ninja tools.

Spencer tied one end of his length of para-cord to the shaft of his spear.  The para-cord wasn’t long enough to span the river, so he then attached a segment of braided leather rope to it.  “We’ll need the rope to help extract Debbie from that ledge,” he remembered Endicott saying moments before the man had attacked him.  The thought filled Spencer with bitterness and reminded him of the plight of his friends.

With an angry yell, he launched his spear across the river only to watch it fall into the raging waters.  He reeled it back in and climbed higher into his own tree.  Carefully coiling the rope into his non-throwing hand, he again hurled the spear on an upward trajectory towards the opposite bank.  This time the ballistic projectile found its mark, penetrating the upper branches of the tree before cascading down through them.  Spencer cautiously retrieved the rope until the spear caught crosswise between a stout branch and the tree’s trunk.  He hauled back mightily once the slack was gone, but the spear wouldn’t budge.  It had caught fast.  Step one complete.  Elation came over him when Spencer realized his plan was working—only to be dashed to bits when reality again set in.  The rope was too short.  Not enough remained at his end to properly anchor it to any part of the tree he was sitting in.

“Oh crap!” he moaned.  At the sound of his voice the lizard wolves started grunting in earnest.  “Ah shut up!” was all he could think to say.

Spencer leaned against the tree and rubbed his eyes.  He was exhausted.  The thought of surviving both the attack by Endicott and his harrowing stream crossing, only to be undermined by a rope that was five feet too short, was almost too much to bear.  Suddenly he looked up.  “That’s it!” he exclaimed.  The grunting from below again intensified, but he barely noticed.  “The rope’s too short.  In fact, I hope it’s real short.”  The solution to his dilemma was simple: he’d simply swing across…like Tarzan.

Now the issue became: is the rope too
long
?  The last thing he wanted was to end up like one of those Darwin Award-winning bungee jumpers who used ropes longer than the heights of their platforms.  Spencer contemplated the length of his rope versus the height at which his spear had become lodged in the other tree.  It was close, but he’d make it.  Even if the rope were to stretch, he figured it would barely be short enough.  “I just hope my knots hold,” he worried as he readied himself.  He wrapped the rope tightly around one hand so that it wouldn’t slip.  He’d watched rodeo riders do that on TV; it seemed like a good idea.  Then, he took several deep breaths, let out an ear-splitting yell, and launched himself from the tree.

Spencer rode an emotional roller coaster during his brief swing across the river.  At first his heart nearly stopped as the surging water seemed to rush up to meet him.  His fear quickly vanished when the rope went taut and he arced gracefully over the chasm, soaring over both salivating lizard wolves and treacherous watercourse.  That euphoria was again replaced with dread when he realized just how fast he was approaching his destination.

Spencer hurtled straight towards the lower branches of the pine and there was nothing he could do to slow down.  In the last instant before impact he turned his back to the tree and buried his face in his armpit.

Cruunch!  He slammed into the dense branches.  Many of them broke, cushioning the impact and slowing him down, but the sharp, broken ends punctured and tore at his flesh, inflicting a multitude of cuts and bruises.  Once he’d stopped, Spencer just hung for a moment, breathing hard.

He’d done it.  A quick self-assessment suggested he’d made it across relatively unscathed.  Pain radiated from every part of his naked torso where the skin had been slashed, but no bones were broken; of that he was certain.

Gathering his strength, Spencer then climbed the tree to retrieve his spear.  He coiled the rope and stuffed it back into his pack.  High-pitched grunts from the far bank could barely be heard above the roar of the river.  Spencer glanced in their direction and couldn’t help but smile.  The lizard wolves’ attention was directed up into the tree on the other side.  They’d be there for hours, he knew, until the few remaining molecules of his scent finally evaporated into the warm, humid mist of the jungle.

A quiet calm came over the young man from Brooklyn.  A deep sense of satisfaction and accomplishment settled in as he realized that the last major geographic obstacle that lay between him and the cliff was now behind him.  Barring further mishap, he would be talking to Marcie in a matter of hours.

* * *

              Endicott stopped and warily eyed his opponents.  He hadn’t expected them to make a stand, but here they were; this would be it. Both eyed him warily.  Unfortunately he’d lost the element of surprise.  That would make his job somewhat more difficult.   Nonetheless, he would prevail.  For the past year his life had consisted of one great difficulty after another, and he had, without exception, found solutions to all of his problems.  Facing these two inexperienced foes wouldn’t tax him greatly.

Jocelyn was standing slightly to his left, in front of a rock outcrop.  Jack waited, weapon poised, off to his right.  “A commendable strategy,” he thought with a modicum of admiration.  “They hope to attack from different directions, make me fight along two fronts.  Well, I can remedy that.”  He slowly maneuvered to his right along the fringe of the clearing until Jack was positioned between him and Jocelyn.  He smiled in satisfaction as his adversaries allowed him to “stack” them in this way.  Only Jack now posed an immediate threat.  Jocelyn would have to go around her partner to intervene.

              His attention shifted to their weaponry.  Both wielded short spears that were no match against his.  Jack’s, in particular, was nothing more than a flimsy sharpened stick, something he himself would be embarrassed to carry.  He scoffed at what he saw; neither presented much of a threat.  “You’ve selected a good place to die,” he sneered.

              “Perhaps,” Jocelyn shot back, “but we’re not gonna make it easy for you.  We aren’t sitting ducks like poor Spencer.  Tell me, Endicott, how do you deal with the shame of killing an unsuspecting child, someone who admired and looked up to you?  What a cowardly thing to do.”

              Endicott’s eyes flashed in anger, but he maintained his composure.  In a moment Jocelyn would pay for those ugly, hateful words.  She was likely goading him into an ill-advised attack.  He had to maintain discipline, strike out at Jack when the moment was right.  Once his male adversary was out of the way Jocelyn would pose no threat.  “Spencer was an unfortunate casualty,” he replied, “and for what it’s worth, I didn’t actually kill him.  I merely incapacitated him and let Nature take it from there.”

              Jocelyn thought about what Spencer must have gone through.  Had he been conscious and aware of what was going to happen to him?  She couldn’t imagine the horror he must have experienced in his final moments.  Endicott was even more of a monster than she’d earlier believed.  “You sadistic turd,” she snarled.

              Endicott feigned indifference to her comment and then rushed quickly at Jack, yelling at the top of his voice as he did so.

              Once again the Doctor caught Jack off guard.  The young man moved to one side, dodging the spear point but stumbling to the ground.  Endicott moved to finish him, and would have gored his hapless victim if not for the screaming attack by Jocelyn.

              He wheeled around to fend off Jocelyn’s assault.  Alas, despite the fervor with which she charged, the young woman was hopelessly outmatched.  Endicott’s size, experience and skill enabled him to knock her spear aside with as little effort as if he were swatting a fly.  He grabbed her by the hair and viciously yanked her to the ground.  A split second later she was completely immobilized with the point of Endicott’s spear pressing against her throat.

              Jack scrambled to his feet, but one look from Endicott made him stop dead in his tracks.  A twist of the Doctor’s wrist would end Jocelyn’s life.  The contest was over.  Endicott had won.

              “Hurt her and I swear you won’t make it out of this place alive,” Jack threatened.

              Endicott laughed.  “Chivalrous poppycock.  It’s now time you both met the same fate as your younger colleague.”

Jocelyn’s heart was beating so fast she felt it might explode.  She was inches, moments from death.  The adrenaline rush was almost overwhelming, the urge to flee nearly uncontrollable, but one false move and she knew her life would end.  She fought to control her emotions and to think logically.  “I’ve got to make him talk,” she decided.  “I have to make him settle down, buy us some time.”

              “I still can’t fathom why you’re doing this,” she said, “but I bet it has something to do with that bracelet I found.”

              “It does indeed, my suspicious young insomniac.  Although it didn’t really matter that you found it last night.  The decision to kill you all was made the moment we first met.  You see, any information you might reveal about this Triassic jungle land would, of course, cause hoards to descend upon it.”  He sighed, “I simply cannot permit that.”

              “There are other artifacts around aren’t there?” Jack offered.

              “Heavens yes.  The two of you are most perceptive.”  Jocelyn’s plan was working.  The man’s grip on her hair had lessened, he was noticeably more relaxed.

              She had to keep it going.  She asked, “Just what
have
you found, Doctor.  Why is it important enough to kill for?”

              Endicott considered the question.  “Well now, lest you think I’m not a civilized man, I suppose an explanation is in order.  Killing is such distasteful business; to justify it requires an extreme reason.  Allow me, therefore, to enlighten you as to why you must perish in this dreary world.

              “From my research over the past year I’ve been able to paste together the fascinating history of this island.  As you already know, its geologic legacy dates back hundreds of millions of years, to a time when cataclysmic events nearly extinguished all life on Earth.  The remaining biological ashes included what you’ve experienced in your limited travails in this land, the progenitors of everything from dinosaurs to mammals to flowering plants, all fighting for ecological supremacy within the confines of this isolated, geothermally-heated singularity.

              “Of course, revealing to the world the existence of this fascinating prehistoric land would have been a crowning achievement for any scientist.  My reputation as an explorer and discoverer would have brought me fame and high academic standing.”

              “But it wouldn’t bring you wealth,” Jocelyn interjected.  “That bracelet isn’t the only gold artifact you’ve found.”

              “Ah, you’ve hit the proverbial ‘nail on the head.’  You see, more than a thousand years ago there were others who visited this place, and they didn’t come just to live in misery twenty miles or so up the coast where those ignorant archeologists are now blissfully pulling scraps of charcoal from the ground,” he said with disdain.  “Men penetrated into the interior of the island and used it as a sort of bank vault, if you will.  They left three large caches of Viking plunder here, two of which I have discovered.  Until I find the third, which according to record is the largest, I cannot allow anyone to know of its existence.”