Castaways (18 page)

"I'll be back, Becka," he shouted. "Just hang on. I'll be back!"

As he ran into the darkness, Jerry was certain that he heard the creatures laughing, mocking his promise to her. The sound was malevolent—and intelligent.

Then the jungle swallowed him whole.

Chapter Seventeen

Stefan waited, hiding in the mud with his eyes squeezed tightly shut, not moving and barely breathing. His nose itched, but he dared not scratch it. His eyes watered. He lay there and listened to Becka's terrified screams as she was dragged away. He heard Jerry's anguished shouts over his inability to help her. He eavesdropped on Troy's insistence that they flee. He heard Jeff's final, low, drawn-out death rattle. Throughout all of this, he did not move. Stefan listened to the curious growls and snuffling sounds as the things—mutant chimpanzees were what he thought they resembled—examined their kills. He suppressed a shudder at the wet, smacking sounds and little grunts of satisfaction as they ate.

He stayed quiet, remaining motionless until long after the sounds had faded. Even then, he was cautious. He opened one eye, just a slit, and then the other, waiting for his vision to adjust again. The camp remained deathly still. Even the storm seemed muted now. When he was certain that there were no more of the creatures in his proximity, he lifted his head and peered around.

The base camp was deserted. Even the corpses were gone, apparently carried off by the attackers. All that remained of them, as far as he could tell, were scattered puddles of bloody rainwater, a few scraps of clothing, and a single shoe. He didn't know who it had belonged to.

Stefan wiped the grime and muck from his eyes, nose, and ears. Then he found a relatively clean pool of water and washed his hands, arms, hair, and face, scrubbing vigorously. Finally, he rinsed his mouth and spat. Looking around the empty camp, he realized that visibility had improved slightly. The darkness didn't seem quite as oppressive anymore. He glanced up at the sky and glimpsed a few dim stars peeking out from between the thick cloud cover. The moon, while partially concealed, was visible again.

Perhaps he'd been wrong. Perhaps the storm was indeed passing, after all. The rain had certainly lessened. It was now just a light mist, seeming to hover in the air rather than fall from the sky. If Ivan was indeed moving on, then there was a possibility that a rescue party would be arriving soon. Stefan hoped that Stuart had the presence of mind to radio the ship with his satellite phone, but even if he hadn't, the network would surely send somebody to investigate their welfare as soon as it was safe to fly again. The helicopter would have to land near the circle of protection, so Stefan decided to head there. The area would also provide a strategic bonus. It was located between the beach and a broad clearing. If he positioned himself there, he'd have a clear view of the jungle, and anything that came out of it to attack him would have to cross the open clearing to

do so, giving him ample warning and time to mount a defense.

He rubbed his cold arms, trying to get the blood flowing again. Still keeping his ears attuned to the jungle in case one of the creatures returned, Stefan searched through the debris for anything useful. Anything that would help him survive the trek from here to the beach. He came up empty-handed. The concurrent assault from Tropical Cyclone Ivan and the monkey-things had turned the camp into nothing more than a jumbled pile of broken branches, downed trees, and congealing muck. The fire was extinguished, and the fire pit's stones were scattered and lost. All their gear was gone or damaged, as was their meager food stores.

"Bloody hell. Not even a grain of rice left."

He found a bloodstained scrap of Raul's shirt, and used it to wipe more dirt from his face. Then he frowned.

"Well, I suppose that wasn't very smart, now was it? Cleaning away mud with a soiled piece of linen? I need to get my wits about me."

Stefan headed for the path to the beach. He walked slowly, his senses carefully attuned to his surroundings, alert for the slightest noise or movement. He had no way of knowing how many of the creatures lived on the island, but he guessed their overall numbers must be small. Judging from what they'd done to his fellow contestants' corpses, they were carnivorous—possibly omnivorous. But if meat was a staple of their diet, Stefan doubted there was enough wild game here to allow a large number of the creatures to thrive. The ones that had attacked

the camp, while fierce and strong, had looked underfed and scraggly. Still, whether the island's population was a dozen or a hundred, Stefan intended to avoid them if at all possible. No matter how many they had in their ranks, he was still outnumbered.

In addition to the monsters, he also intended to avoid his fellow contestants, should he come across any who were still alive. Stefan calculated silently, counting them off on his fingers as he walked through the darkness, picking his way through the downed trees and flattened vegetation that covered the trail. Raul and Jeff were most obviously dead. He'd seen that for himself. Pauline and Becka had been abducted; for what purpose he couldn't be sure, but they were certainly out of the picture. Jerry and Troy had fled in the other direction. Either the creatures had caught up with them, or the two had escaped. Stefan had no way of knowing for sure, but decided to count them as living until he knew otherwise. As for the rest—Richard, Sal, Shonette, Roberta, Ryan, Matthew, and the three missing crew members— they, too, were an unknown quantity. There were too many variables to determine their fate successfully. They could have been injured in the storm or cowering in some makeshift shelter or additional victims of the marauders.

Ideally, they were all dead. That would be unfortunate, of course. He wasn't a monster, after all. He'd feel sympathetic toward their families. But if the rest of the contestants were deceased, then he would automatically win the prize. After all, he'd be the last person left on the island—alive, at least. Stefan didn't know whether there was a legal precedent

for that, but once he made it back to the mainland and threatened to go to the media with everything that had happened, he was positive that the network could be convinced to accommodate him generously for everything that had occurred.

He grinned, white-capped teeth flashing in the darkness. Perhaps he'd forgo the prize payout and seek his fortune through litigation instead. After all, his pain and suffering were worth a lot more than a mere million dollars. Indeed, if he kept his head and his wits about him and made it off this island alive, he'd be wealthy beyond his wildest dreams. One million dollars would seem paltry in comparison to what he could potentially gain from the network.

In the throes of avarice, Stefan crept on, hoping with all his might that his boasts had been fruitful and that he was, in fact, the last person left on the island.

Jerry and Troy dashed through the jungle, half blind from the rain and their own fears. Troy slew another of the monsters with his club, beating its head and stomach and shoulders until it collapsed to the ground, and then hammering it until its skull caved in and its brain was wet, scattered pulp. He would have continued smashing it had Jerry not shoved him onward. As they ran, they heard the creatures crashing through the foliage behind them, but eventually, the sounds of pursuit had faded. Troy slipped in the mud and tumbled down a slope, losing his club. He frantically searched for it, but the weapon was gone. Uninjured, they ran on.

Despite their terror, the exhausted men eventually took shelter beneath the broad roots of a tree growing out of an embankment along a creek bed. Although the stream had risen higher because of the rain, the flood hadn't reached the roots. The gnarled lengths formed a sort of cave that cut deep into the soil of the bank. They crawled inside and huddled together in the darkness, waiting.

"Are they gone?"

"Fucked if I know," Troy whispered. "I ain't sticking my head out to see." "Well, neither am I."

Troy took his hat off and wrung it out. "I don't hear anything. Maybe they gave up."

"Or maybe they're just waiting for us to come out. Besides, how can you hear anything with all this water rushing by?"

"I've got good ears."

Jerry clenched his jaws and slammed his fist into the dirt.

"Take it easy," Troy said. "We'll get out of here eventually."

"That's not soon enough. We need to get out of here
now.
Those things have got Becka. Every minute we stay here, she gets farther away. Who . . . who knows what they might be doing to her?"

"You think I'm not worried about that, too? Jesus fucking Christ, Jerry. You and her are about the only people in this goddamned show that I like. But we ain't gonna do her any good running off half-fucking-cocked. We need to be careful. We're smarter than those fucking things—whatever they are.

"Cryptids," Jerry muttered.

"Who shot who in the what?"

"They're cryptids. It's a term for unknown creatures—animals that haven't yet been discovered. Lake creatures. North American hominids. Things like that."

"Lake creatures? You talking about the Loch Ness Monster?"

"No. I'm talking about science and biology. Why is it so hard for people to accept that maybe some of the lakes in Scotland have an unknown species of giant eel or that the Pacific Northwest has an undiscovered ape of some kind?"

Troy shrugged. "Don't matter to me, man. You forget, I saw those things, too. They looked like monkeys, sure, but they weren't, were they?"

"No, they weren't. At least, not exactly. It's hard to say. Everything happened so quickly, and it was dark. I was more worried about Becka and not really paying attention. But if I had to guess, I'd say they were some sort of missing link—not really human, but not really a primate either."

"Look, Jerry, no offense—but how would you know? You're a video-store clerk."

"It's a hobby of mine."

"Okay. Everybody needs a hobby. Mine's X-box and PlayStation."

Despite his desperation, Jerry smiled. "Those are also hobbies of mine."

"I knew there was a reason I liked you."

"I've noticed something, Troy."

"What?"

"You're not cursing as much. Why is that?"

Troy glanced away, watching water drip from the tree roots.

"Because I'm fucking scared, man. I've never been so fucking scared in my life. There, you fucking happy, motherfucker?"

"I'm scared, too," Jerry admitted. "But it's nice to have the old Troy back."

"Fucking A. So you really think those things are some kind of missing link?"

"I don't know. But remember when we first got here, they told us all those legends about the island? The natives believed that it was inhabited by a race of short, hairy people who lived in the caves. Our attackers were short and hairy. We've been here how long and we never saw any of them? Not even a footprint or a tuft of hair or at least some droppings? That tells me they may have been hiding in the caves."

"Why?"

"Because the caves are the one place none of us have been to yet. I don't even know where they are. Do you?"

Troy shook his head. "Somewhere in the middle of the island. That's all I know. I've been a little too preoccupied with the fucking game to go explor-ing."

"Well, this whole region is full of similar stories. There are folktales on the Indonesian island of Flo-res about a race of shy little people. Some researchers call them South Seas leprechauns. They were supposed to live in caves, too. Up until a few years ago, most people dismissed these reports as bullshit, but all legends have some basis in fact, and

some Australian and Indonesian anthropologists found proof that they were real."

"They fucking found leprechauns?" Troy leaned back and chortled with laughter.

Jerry's ears turned red. "In a cave on Flores, they discovered the fossilized remains of a tribe of tiny humans. They found seven different skeletons, ranging in height from three to four feet. The media nicknamed them Hobbits, because everybody had
Lord of the Rings
fever at the time."

"Those movies kicked fucking ass. You ever see his earlier stuff?
Dead Alive
and
Meet the Peebles}
That's some sick fucking shit, man. I loved them both. That second one was like the Muppets on goddamned crack."

"Yeah, I saw them. I work in a video store, remember? Damn kids keep stealing our copies. We can't keep them in stock."

"So these things were where Peter Jackson got the idea for the Hobbits?"

"Tolkien," Jerry corrected him, "and probably not. They weren't actually Hobbits. That was just the nickname the scientists gave them, so the media would actually pay attention to the story. What they actually were was an evolutionary offshoot of human beings."

"Those things that attacked us weren't fucking human, man."

"Don't be so sure. The fossils on Flores were shorter versions of Homo sapiens, just like the Pygmies in Africa. They existed side by side with the Neanderthals, and probably evolved from Homo erectus."

Troy snickered. "Homo erectus? You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"Settle down, Beavis. The point is, these things were hanging around on Flores while modern humans were inhabiting the mainland. You've got to wonder where they came from. These islands don't have a lot of natural wildlife, aside from all the birds and reptiles. They sprang up from volcanoes, mostly, far away from other, bigger land masses. So it's not like these things could have migrated. The only wild mammals in this region are the ones brought over by ships."