14. The Ghosts of the Island
The Ghosts of the Island
Onyx
Why didn’t he just give me the bag? Did he intend to overpower me? Or was he nervous that I would use the weapons against him?
Each possibility was a thread in a web of doubt and fear, but I couldn't afford to dwell on it. We needed food and shelter, and we needed them now.
Light rain started to fall again, softly landing on my skin.
Havoc stalked off toward a line of trees. “I’m going to see if those are actually coconuts. I hope to God so.”
“You want me to hold the bag for you?”
“No.” He didn’t even glance back at me. “I’ll need it.”
Fuck face.
But I knew better than to pick a fight with Havoc now. Not when our survival was on the line.
I’ll kick your ass later.
He disappeared into the line of trees, leaving me alone in the soft pitter patter of rain.
I shivered as a chilling breeze blew through my soaked body suit.
Okay. He’s possibly getting us food. How can I help us too?
I scanned what looked to be an abandoned beach with no sign of human life. The sand was bright white in the moonlight, scattered with driftwood and debris. Broken shells and seaweed littered the shore.
I spotted something further away.
What’s that?
I headed in the object’s direction, and after five minutes at a rushed pace I realized it was the remains of a small boat that lay tilted in the sand.
Alright. This is interesting.
I approached the boat, lowered myself to the sand, and peered under it.
The sight that greeted me made my stomach twist.
What the hell? No. That can’t be it.
Lifting the edge of the boat, I uncovered a large skeleton, its bony fingers still gripping a rusted gun.
Please let there be bullets in it.
I still wasn’t sure if I could trust Havoc or not.
I need a weapon. This could be helpful.
However, when I lifted the gun, the metal had been so weak and brittle that the barrel crumbled in my hands, telling me it had been left to rot for a long time, likely months, given the extent of the corrosion.
Goddamn it.
That left a big question.
How long has this boat been out here?
The rate at which a gun could corrode on a beach probably depended on several factors—the material of the gun, environmental conditions like humidity, salt exposure, and temperature.
And even if ocean water had spilled over the weapon a lot. Most modern guns were made from a combination of steel and polymer. Steel parts rusted and corroded faster than polymer parts. Saltwater accelerated the corrosion process significantly.
Plus, being subject to constant movement by tides could physically wear it down and breakdown the gun more quickly.
I considered all of that and made an educated guess.
This body and gun has definitely been out here for at least four months, but probably more.
This meant that my hopes of others being on the island might be super low. Clearly someone would have come to get rid of this months ago.
Damn it.
I tried not to let any of my guesses get me down as I looked some more under the boat.
Oh no.
Behind the large skeleton, three smaller ones lay huddled together, their bones telling a silent, tragic story.
I lifted the boat up higher and stepped in closer.
Rusted handcuffs encircled their bony wrists, still binding their small hands behind their backs, even in their deaths.
The realization hit me hard.
These were children. Captured but. . .for what?
My stomach churned with revulsion and sorrow.
I looked back at the adult skeleton that had been holding the rusted gun.
What kind of monster were you, to have three handcuffed kids and holding a gun? Were you some sort of pervert?
I gritted my teeth and fought back the rising bile in my throat.
Then, something else caught my eye.
A cooler lay partially buried in the sand and right next to the boat.
Okay. Don’t get too excited.
I put the boat down and went over to the cooler.
There might not be anything in it, and this has been out here for a long time.
But it was worth a shot.
I dragged the cooler out from under the sand, its exterior flaky with old paint and rust.
Next, I cautiously opened it.
To my surprise, there was food, or what used to be food. Now it was just a heap of rotting, unidentifiable mush. Plastic containers bulged and swelled from the pressure of dark black decomposed food with specks of white and green fuzz. Some of the stuff appeared hard and solid.
Ick.
There were other things too. Once colorful packages of something was now dull and faded.
Disgusting.
The pungent smell made me retch.
There was no way we could eat this.
But then when I moved the rotted food away, I spotted seven water bottles and three beers inside.
Alright. Maybe the water is still good.
Commercially bottled water was designed to have a long shelf life.
I checked to make sure the seals were undamaged.
They were.
Whew.
My spirits lifted.
We at least have some drinking water.
I lifted one bottle after the other out of the cooled box and lined them up on the sand, counting each one like they were prized gifts.
There were seven bottles in all—seven days’ worth of water if we rationed it right.
However, if those are actually coconuts that Havoc gets from the trees then we don’t have to ration this water for that long.
I put my view on the three beers. The idea of celebrating with a cold beer on this godforsaken island was absurd, but it somehow gave me a semblance of normality amidst the hopeless scene around me.
I returned to the first water bottle, uncapped it, and took a hesitant sniff.
It smells fine.
I took a sip.
Okay.
The water was hot, yet I was pretty sure it was drinkable.
Fuck it. Only one thing left to do.
I chugged down half of it in one go, resisting the urge to gulp it all. Warm liquid coursed down my parched throat, rejuvenating my battered soul.
Alright. We’re going to fucking live.
I put the top back on the bottle to save the rest of the water for Havoc. While he still selfishly held that bag, he was getting us coconuts.
I wasn’t sure how this partnership would go, but I would do my best to work with him as long as he made everything fair.
Okay. What should I do with the rest of this stuff?
Even though everything had been rotting, the boat was in decent shape. Not that I ever wanted to see a fucking boat again or go out on that ocean, but. . .
This could be used for shelter in some way.
Even though I barely had the strength to do so, I would have to drag this boat back to our raft and see what I could do with the both of them.
For now it was only a light rain, but it could just as easily shift into a heavy storm.
First, I have to get rid of these bodies.
I turned my attention back to the grim scene—the three small, handcuffed skeletons behind the adult one.
Sick bastard. Nothing good could came from this situation.
And it was probably stupid of me to think this way, but I felt like the children deserved a proper resting place.
Okay. Let’s get to work.
Using a piece of driftwood, I dug a shallow grave in the soft sand. It wasn’t that deep or wide, but it was the best I could do while exhausted and dehydrated.
So fucking sad.
The first child, I gently lifted the bones. A lump formed in my throat. “I’m so sorry this happened to you. Rest in peace.”
I placed the bones into the grave and returned for the second.
As I gathered the small skeleton, tears blurred my vision, surprising me because I thought I would be too dehydrated to even cry.
“You didn’t deserve this. May you find peace.” I laid the second child’s skeleton beside the first, and moved to the third.
My heart ached as I held the fragile bones. “I’m sorry.”
With all three children laid to rest, I pushed sand over them and created a small mound.
Then, I got that same driftwood I’d used to shovel with and stuck it into the mound like it was a tombstone.
There we go.
I stood there for a moment, the rain mixing with my few tears.
This world is capable of so much cruelty. Why?
Next, I looked at the adult skeleton and scowled. “You don’t deserve a grave, piece of shit.”
Angry, I kicked the bones toward the ocean, hoping that by the morning the waves would carry them away.
May you never rest in peace, sick bastard.
Feeling somewhat better, I returned my view to the small mound and driftwood that marked the children's grave.
The image of their small, bound skeletons would probably haunt me like other terrible things from my past did.
A chill ran down my spine, and I wondered if the sadness and anger of their untimely deaths had left an imprint on this island.
What if they had become ghosts, trapped here forever?
Spirits bound to this deserted place. Their cries for justice and peace echoing through the trees and across the shore.
None of that brought me any comfort.
In fact, the very thought made my skin crawl.
Were they watching me now, the ghosts?
Those tiny restless souls?
I’m losing my mind.
Still, the world was full of mysteries, and the afterlife was no exception.
I remembered the tales my grandmother used to tell me, stories passed down through my family’s generations about spirits that roamed the earth, seeking closure, seeking peace. If these children had died in such a cruel and unjust way, wouldn't they have every reason to linger?
Their souls unable to rest?
A pang of sorrow for them hit me as well as a surge of anger toward the adult whose skeleton I had kicked into the ocean. That monster had deserved far worse than a watery grave. He had deserved to be haunted by the very children he had tormented.
But, what about me?
I looked at the grave.
Will this island be the place where I die?
One day in the future, would another person get shipwrecked here, find my bones, and dig me a grave too, wondering about what might have happened to my skeletal soul?
A sudden rustle sounded from the trees behind me.
My heart skipped a beat.
What is that?
I spun around, only to find Havoc standing there, with two cut-open coconuts in his hands. And. . .he didn’t look like he’d just walked up. Instead. . .it seemed like he’d been there for a while.
I tensed.
How long had he been quietly watching me?