Gollitok: A Horror Novel by Andrew Najberg & Wicked House Publishing

Author:Andrew Najberg & Wicked House Publishing [Najberg, Andrew & Publishing, Wicked House]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Wicked House Publishing
Published: 2023-11-23T16:00:00+00:00

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Chapter 15

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Warrant Officer, Lighthouse, Fresnel Lens

The blood trail curves and meanders due to the channels of the shore rocks. I’m amazed that he is still mobile, though his pace is admittedly tortured. I watch my path carefully. The rocks are covered in urchins, mussel shells, and numerous black jellyfish, left by the receding tide. Behind me, Yost’s breath is ragged through her respirator. Perhaps she has broken a rib. She will need to rest soon. She will need attention when we get back to camp.

I consider drawing my firearm, but both the man’s swollen and bloodied hands are visible as he pulls himself along. I catch a glimpse of an insignia on his arm that I believe indicates his ship rank as warrant officer. Though we’ve done nothing to conceal our arrival, he seems insensible to us, and blood coats his visible cheek. The man is not wearing a respirator or protective gear of any kind. Neither had the woman in the cell, nor had any of the bodies above. Had their precautions been taken by whoever had killed them or had they simply not believed they needed any? I instinctively reach up to my own respirator. A buffeting gust blows open my peacoat like a parachute.

Yost glides forward, suddenly graceful despite her injury. Her trajectory curves in a sweeping arc that spirals toward the man, her own weapon in hand and trained to fire. When she arrives beside the man, he has still not responded to her presence. The lieutenant cannot easily bend over, so she taps his ribs with the toe of her boot.

The man continues his path unabated. Does he hope to make it to the lighthouse? Or some destination of which I’m not aware, such as a vessel? Perhaps he meant to drown himself in the water. If the latter, the poor man must curse this low tide.

Yost looks about to nudge the man again, but I hold my hand up and crouch on the rocks beside him. I don’t know what to say. I almost don’t want to trouble him.

“Who has done this to you?” I ask.

The man continues his attempted crawl.

“Was it one of your crew?” I ask.

The man’s breath rattles. His fingers clench and unclench on the stones. I want to roll him over to better examine his injuries, but while I’ve broken protocol to assist Yost, I have no connection to this man who breathes the island air unfiltered.

“What happened to your people?” I press.

The man wobbles, and the spring leaves his arms. His body sags to the rocks.

“Water,” he gasps, his eyes straining to focus on me. My hearing hasn’t fully returned so it is the movement of his lips I most recognize.

I shake my head and hold my empty hands up. I have nothing to offer and can think of no reason why he should tell me anything I might find of use.

So, I ask, “Is there someone I can tell that you have died?”

“Everyone I know… dead on… the bluff,” he says with some effort.

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