The Island - Part 2 by Michael Stark

Author:Michael Stark
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: apocalylpse, science fiction, horror, postapcalyptic, fiction fantasy epic

Chapter VIII - Bad Things

The little dune buggy had no lights. I drove partly by memory, partly by feeling my way along through darkness so dense and black that even the white sand marking the path appeared as a thin, barely discernible line. Kelly and I had made the trip earlier in just a few minutes. It took almost half an hour on the return. Even then, the quiet lap of water against the shore told me I’d reached the bay before I ever saw Angel’s outline.

She had drifted sideways during the storm and lay with her starboard side grounded against the shore. An outgoing tide would leave her sitting high and dry, which happened to be fine with me. Any other time, I might have backed her out a bit, turned her around and dropped an anchor off the bow to keep her pointed toward the water. A stern line secured to something on the island would not only keep her straightened out and let her take any waves on her bow, but essentially lock the boat in place.

Any other night wouldn’t have a body sitting eighteen inches away from the pilot’s seat. I knew nothing about the man I’d fished out of the water. I didn’t need to. The thought of climbing in next to a cold, wet cadaver made my skin crawl. If Angel sat beached the next morning, the chore of removing the body would be easier. The shape of her bottom would leave the boat canted to one side. Within hours the water would be back and she’d be floating. I had no intention of clambering around the boat in the middle of the night, groping for lines and bumping into a dead man at every turn.

The same design that made Angel a poor choice for the open ocean, left her perfectly at home in shallow waters. Aside from simply being stuck, grounding in coastal waters would leave a bigger sailboat heeled over on its side when the tide ran out. Unable to stand on the deep keels that kept them alive in the ocean, they often ended up laid out horizontal until the incoming tide swept over and swamped them. Angel might lean a little, but she would sit just as easily on the bottom as she sat on the water.

With the storms gone, the night lay calm and still, with nothing but the tick of rain drops filtering through the trees and the muted splash of water against Angel’s side to break the silence. I sat in the dune buggy for a long time, listening to every sound sliding through the darkness. Twice, the lonely cry of a shore bird echoed across the sound. Here and there, a fish jumped out on the water. The swamp hissed and sighed. Mosquitoes fluttered along my arms and face, and whined noisily in my ears. Nothing sounded strange, or even the least bit unnerving.

Not that I needed anything else weird to happen. Daniel’s spooky predictions and the flat tones that delivered them were disturbing enough.

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