The Island by Michael R Stark

Author:Michael R Stark
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: 'horror, science fiction, dragons, monsters, apocalylpse, fiction fantasy epic, postapcalyptic'
Publisher: Michael R Stark

Chapter XXVI - Decisions

I needed to see Elsie first. I found her in the main room with the rest, huddled around the table with a kerosene lamp burning in the middle. Keith had played electrical wizard with the lighting. One of the flashlight beams blazed toward the ceiling where it scattered, reflecting a dome of soft light toward the floor. I stared at the setup, amazed at how that simple act provided so much illumination.

She looked up when I walked in. I pointed to the back door.

“We just smoked, Hill William,” she said with a frown.

I headed for the kitchen without responding, dug out the whiskey, and walked out the door by myself. About two ounces of Johnny Walker later, the old woman stepped out and pulled her shawl tight around her shoulders. The wrap proved to be the only piece of clothing she wore that belonged to her. The dark blue sweatpants belonged to Jessie. The flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, came from Joshua’s belongings. I sighed at the thought of how far we’d fallen. It wasn’t enough that we had to scavenge off people we didn’t know. We scavenged off our own dead.

She pulled out a cigarette and offered the pack to me. I shook my head. Elsie looked confused. “Why are we out here then?”

“I need Daniel,” I said without preamble. “Gorgol is lying.”

She lit the cigarette and eased down on the crate beside me. “I say this all the time, but you know how young he is. That thing in there will tear him to shreds.”

“And he will die if I don’t use him,” I said brutally. The time for debate had ended. We stood at a crossroads and both highways sucked. Our choice of bus drivers fell into the dismal category. The Grim Reaper leered from one door. Gorgol grinned from the driver’s seat of the other. I needed to neutralize his knowledge and his abilities somehow. I didn’t know how many lies he’d told, but I knew the big one.

Gorgol wasn’t dying. He was getting better. By the time I left him in the little room, he’d spoke in almost normal tones and shoved himself up on one elbow. The rate he seemed to be healing astounded me. The simple act of moving him would’ve killed anyone else, at least anyone human.

I couldn’t imagine too many scenarios where one suffered a crash landing, lost a gallon or two of blood, and then lay on a couch threatening his rescuer either.

Yet, truth lay in his words somewhere, and it revolved around me. Daniel told me that I would father the next Keeper. While I had no idea what a Keeper might be, Gorgol did and if fear lay anywhere, it squatted right in the middle of what could be. Another thought centered on my grand-pappy forty times removed killing one of his kind. If he could and I was that close in genetic terms, then I might be able to render the same moment of finality.

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