32. The Possibility of Hope
The Possibility of Hope
Onyx
The trees parted, revealing a sight that seemed impossible in this wild landscape.
An opulent chateau stood before us, its grandeur was an insane variance to the rugged island terrain that surrounded it.
Imposing and tall, the massive chateau stood, white and reaching toward the sky. It must have been three levels and had all these ornate carvings and gilded windows like it had been plucked from a European countryside and dropped in the middle of the island.
Two stone lions guarded the entrance.
A large gold metal door was several feet behind them.
On both sides of the second level, there were large balconies adorned with elaborate wrought-iron railings overlooking a garden and the wild island beyond.
I checked the garden and almost drooled.
It was a true garden—not wild in any way. The ground was carpeted with lush greenery, and amidst it all were vibrant patches of vegetables, each one thriving as if they’d been carefully tended to by some invisible hand.
I remained next to Havoc, and whispered, “Oh. My. God.”
His stomach growled.
Nestled in the rich, dark soil were rows of plump, ripe tomatoes, their skins glistening a deep, inviting red.
Nearby, sturdy green stalks of corn stretched upward, their golden tassels swaying gently in the breeze.
Clusters of bright orange carrots peeked out from the earth. Near that was a patch of deep green zucchini that lay beside a sprawling mass of cucumber vines.
The sheer variety was overwhelming. There were beans twining around makeshift supports of old tree branches, plump and ready to be picked. I spotted clusters of peas, their pods filled to bursting with sweet green pearls. Even a few cabbages sat nestled among the other vegetables.
“Like. . .this is fucking good.” I spotted bell peppers too, in shades of red, yellow, and green, hanging from their bushes like nature’s own jewels.
Further along, leafy greens—spinach, kale, and lettuce—flourished in thick, vibrant clusters, their leaves fresh and crisp with moisture.
Havoc widened his eyes. “I thought I smelled things growing on the island but this is. . .incredible.”
I nodded, barely able to tear my gaze away from the sheer abundance laid out before us. “We have everything here—food, water, shelter, but even more, the owner of that house. . .has a way off of here.”
“Perhaps.”
I began to walk forward.
“Careful.” He stopped me. “I smell death even more.”
I parted my lips. “Shit. I forgot that part once I saw the vegetables and fruit.”
“However, there’s also chickens, goats, and I think pigs or. . .cows. For some reason, I always mix them up.”
“How can you mix up pigs and cows. I feel like pigs would be stinkier.”
“Are you questioning the skill of my nose?”
I snickered. “No. Sorry.”
“Either way. I won’t have to kill your pet doe. We have other animals to kill.”
“Unless they are cute-looking.”
He groaned.
I kept the gun by my side. “And the death? Where do you think it is?”
“I smell it near the livestock and it’s maybe. . .in the house too. Yeah. I’m sure of it.”
“But do you smell anything else like cologne, perfume, or any indicator that there are people in there?”
“I don’t smell that. Not one scent of people.”
“Are you sure, Havoc?”
“That chateau is huge and the garden is well-kept.”
Havoc’s expression grew serious as he stared at the chateau, his eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to pierce through the walls with his gaze alone.
I could see the gears turning in his mind, trying to make sense of what his sharp senses were telling him.
“I don’t smell anyone in there,” he repeated, his voice firm. “No people. Not a single one.”
I looked back.
He sighed. “Humans have a distinct scent. Every person carries their own unique mix of smells, but there are some things that are always there, no matter what.”
“Like what?”
“Men, for example. Their scent is usually stronger, more musky. It’s a mix of sweat, testosterone, and whatever else they’ve been around—sometimes it’s the outdoors, sometimes smoke, food, or even oil if they’ve been working with machines. But there’s always this underlying note that’s unmistakable.”
“Okay. And you don’t smell that at all?”
“Not really.”
“Not really?”
“I smell it, but with death. Lots of death.”
I trembled.
“Women have a more subtle scent, usually. It’s still there, still distinct, but it’s often mixed with something sweeter. It could be the natural oils in their skin, the lotion or perfume they wear, or even the shampoo in their hair. But like men, there’s always that base human scent underneath it all. A little lighter, maybe, but just as recognizable.”
“No scent of women either?”
“None at all.”
I found myself fascinated by the idea that he could pick up on all these different layers of scent, that he could distinguish between them so easily. “What about children?”
“Children are different. . .” His gaze darkened. “They have a fresher scent, almost pure. It’s like the smell of new life—innocent, untainted by the world. You can often smell a hint of milk, soap, or whatever snacks they’ve been eating. But again, there’s that core scent that tells you it’s a human, just younger, more innocent.”
“And you don’t smell any of that here?”
“Well. . .” He turned his head to the right side of the chateau where it was just bare land and these odd colored rocks each in piles. It must have been thirty of them. Each pile seemed to serve as a marker for something, maybe it was distance or an indicator of what lay beneath the rocks.
He pointed at them. “I smell children over there, but dead ones.”
Tension gathered in my shoulders. “Then, those are graves?”
“I believe so.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“If we do find someone here, put your gun on them. I wouldn’t trust the person.”
“Got it.” My heart pounded.
“The plan is simple.”
I listened.
“We remain next to each other with our weapons ready. We knock on the door. No one comes, then we get in. Then, we slowly check the house together.”
“And if we end up finding someone?”
“We don’t greet them. Not a hello. Or nice to see you. Or even can you help me. We knock them out, get the rope, tie them up, and wait until they become conscious to answer our questions.”
“Got it.”
“As far as I’m concerned, Onyx, every adult here is guilty until proven innocent.”
I nodded.
Havoc knew this part of the world. He’d dealt with people like this, and I would trust him until we were off this damned island.
Havoc looked at me. “Are you ready to check it out?”
“Yes.”
“Stay close to me.”
“You too.”
“I don’t want to lose you.”
“That would never happen. As you said when we were in the raft, ‘We’re the most dangerous things right now in this ocean. Remember that. Feel the strength of those words in your chest.’”
He grinned.
“Now. . .we’re the most dangerous beings on this island.”
He nodded. “Remember that. Feel the strength of those words in your chest.”
And then to my shock, he kissed me.
Our mouths met in a clash of urgency and desperation. His lips were hard and insistent against mine, and I responded in kind, winding one arm around his neck and drawing him closer.
There was no time for softness or sentiment; each moment we spent here was one that could reveal our presence to a possible enemy—one that could lead to our downfall.
When he finally tore himself away from me, his eyes were dark and full of a savage intensity that left me breathless. “Let's go.”
I cleared my throat. “Okay.”