Castaways (20 page)

of clothing—and the tattered scraps of faces, and bit her lip to keep from screaming.

The remains of Ryan, Matthew, Sal, Richard, Jeff, Raul, and Stuart lay in a jumbled, bloodied heap of limbs, torsos, and innards. As she watched, the creatures reached into the pile, tearing off pieces of meat, and then squatted or sat next to their companions and began to eat. The fire was apparently just for heat or light because they consumed the flesh raw. Becka gagged. Hands and feet were gnawed like chicken legs, stripped of their meat and tossed aside. Bones were cracked open, the marrow sucked out by eager, slurping mouths. Brains were scooped like caviar, oozing from hairy fists. A sallow, deformed male licked the gooey remnants from his elongated fingers. Eyeballs were tossed into the air and caught like popcorn to the amusement of others. Hearts were eaten like apples. Floppy livers and kidneys were gobbled down with delight. A pair of young creatures fought over a length of intestines like they were links of sausages. The squabble ended only when the gory, glistening prize snapped in half, sending both of them tumbling to the floor of the cave and showering them with gore. Their mother hooted with laughter and then buried her snout into a ragged piece of flesh from someone's rump.

Blood filled Becka's mouth as her teeth clamped down harder on her bottom lip, but she barely noticed. The feasting sounds grew louder, and she could no longer hold back. The cry started deep down inside her and bubbled slowly to the surface as she backed away.

"Sshhh," a voice whispered from the darkness behind her. "Don't make a sound. Don't even breathe loud. Momma will be home soon."

"Sh-Shonette? Oh my God! Is that you? Are you okay?"

Even as she asked, Becka knew that her fellow contestant was far from okay. She could tell from the woman's voice. From the shadows came a confused sigh.

"Eat your breakfast. They've forgotten about us for the time being. D-don't remind them . . . that we're here."

"Shonette? It's me, Becka. Is that you?"

There was a pause. "Yeah, it's me. Crawl b-back here, Becka, but d-do it slow. Don't attract their . . . attention."

Becka crab-walked slowly backward, keeping her eyes fixed on the carnage in the main chamber. Her back pressed up against the cavern wall, and she turned her head to the left. There, hidden in the shadows behind a particularly large boulder, was Shonette. She was naked and bleeding from dozens of scratches. Most of the wounds were shallow, but one looked deep and ugly, and was already puffy from the first signs of infection. Shonette cowered against the wall, her hands clenching her hair tightly. She didn't even seem to notice. Her wide eyes glistened.

"Shonette ..." Becka slid closer and put an arm around her. She noticed that Shonette's pupils were dilated. The back of her head looked swollen, and her hair was matted with blood. More blood glistened on the cavern floor between her legs. Shonette

shuddered and flinched as Becka touched her, but she didn't move away.

"Are you okay?" Becka asked. "Are you hurt?"

«j
 
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"It's okay. Just talk to me."

"My head. I hurt my head . . . somehow."

"What's going on? What did they do to you?"

Shonette nodded out at the cavern. "The . .. the same thing they're doing to Pauline right now."

"Pauline? Is she okay? Where—"

The whimpers returned, then suddenly transformed into a rising shriek. The cry was cut short by the sound of flesh striking flesh—a hard, smacking blow.

"They raped me," Shonette said quietly, as if she were discussing something as trivial as the weather or what to watch on television. Her tone became calm. Placid. "They raped me, and now they're raping her. I guess you'll be next."

Becka opened her mouth to reply, but her mounting fears had stolen away her voice. All that came out was a short, strangled sob.

"They go easier on you if you just stay quiet and don't move," Shonette said. "Ain't like the men back home. These things seem to like it when the woman just lies there like a wet dishrag. Wish I'd known before they started on me. You keep it in mind when your turn comes. Stay still, and don't fight. Oh, and hold your breath. They're pretty goddamned ripe. My guess is that they aren't big on showers or baths. That storm certainly doesn't seem to have washed them off any. Maybe we can ask

Roland to give us some soap and shampoo as a prize for the next challenge."

She giggled softly, and the sound of it terrified Becka even worse than the scenes in the cavern below.

Pauline cried out again, and Becka cringed at the sound of the blow. It was followed with a roar, and then a series of grunts and panting noises. Becka closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and thought of Jerry.

Please be okay,
she prayed.
Please come get us . . .

Groaning, Shonette stirred next to her. A thin line of drool dripped from the corner of her bruised and bloodied lips.

"Anybody else make it?" she asked.

"I don't know," Becka said. "Jerry and Troy—I think they may have gotten away."

"Good for them. Maybe they'll get help."

"Maybe," Becka agreed. She felt a sinking feeling in her stomach.

They left me,
she thought.
They ran away and let these things take me back here. How would they even find us now?

"What about Stefan? I didn't see him out there on the smorgasbord pile."

Becka frowned. She didn't remember Shonette being this callous or indifferent before. She wondered just how mentally stable her fellow contestant was after her ordeal.

"I don't know what happened to Stefan," she said. "What about Roberta? She never made it back to camp. Have you seen her?"

Still pulling her hair, Shonette shook her head. "No, she's not here. Maybe she escaped."

"Or maybe they killed her."

"If so, then she's the lucky one. She wins the contest, as far as I'm concerned. Fuck being the last one on the island."

Shonette giggled again, and Becka fought back tears.

Out of sight, the panting sounds increased. Each time Pauline cried out, it was answered with another blow. Eventually, she fell silent. The growls and grunts turned to animalistic moans of pleasure.

"Oh God," Becka whispered. "What are they doing to her?"

"I told you. You want specifics? Just use your imagination."

"Where is she? Are you sure it's Pauline? I don't see them out there."

"They're right around the corner," Shonette said. "There's another little hole in the wall, just like this one, right next to us. They've got her in there."

"Stay here."

"Where are you going?"

"I can't just sit here and listen to her being raped. We've got to do something. Just stay put."

Becka crawled forward on her hands and knees, clenching her teeth as sharp, jagged rocks pressed against her skin. Shonette reached for her, protesting, but Becka ignored her frightened pleas. She felt compelled to see, even though she didn't want to. Her stomach roiled at the very idea of witnessing what was going on in the next alcove. Still, she crept on, determined to do something about it if she

could. She was damned if she was going to end up like Shonette, with her mind snapped, babbling at the cavern walls. She couldn't let Pauline end up like that either if she could help it.

She reached the end of the outcropping and flattened herself against the cave floor, hoping the creatures in the main cavern were too engrossed in their celebration to notice her. The sounds of Pauline's assault grew louder. Holding her breath, Becka peered around the corner.

And wept.

Pauline lay on her back. Her clothes had been torn off and tossed aside. One of the creatures writhed atop her, thrusting in and out and punctuating each stroke with a gasp. Its black tongue lolled from its mouth and thin strands of saliva dripped onto her breasts. Two more creatures crouched on each side of the helpless woman, holding her legs apart. Another straddled her head, forcing her shoulders to the floor. All three were erect. Becka gaped in horror at their swollen, hairy shafts. Each was covered with rugged contours and bulging black veins, and the tips glistened with slimy pre-cum. The repulsive organs bobbed and swayed in the air. The largest of the creatures grinned lasciviously as the one between Pauline's legs moaned and shuddered. Its hairy buttocks quivered as it surrendered to the throes of orgasm. It withdrew a second later, stroking its blood-slicked member, and then collapsed against Pauline and lay still.

Grunting, another of the monsters pulled its sated companion aside and took his place. The space between Pauline's legs was in ruins. In the moment

before the next creature entered Pauline, Becka caught a glimpse of her face. It was expressionless. Her eyes stared at some far off point in the cavern ceiling. Pauline had left the building.

Becka began to hyperventilate. Tears streamed down her face. She scurried back to Shonette's corner and curled up tightly next to her. If Shonette noticed, she didn't acknowledge it. She mumbled something about Fruity Pebbles and seemed to be talking to someone who wasn't there. Becka turned to her and noticed that Shonette was crying, too.

Becka thought again of Jerry. She listened to the sounds of rape and feasting and tried to decide which was worse. She prayed that they would kill her. When that didn't happen, she asked God to do it first. She begged to have a heart attack, an aneurism, to slip into a sudden coma—anything that would help her escape. When those prayers also went unanswered, she cried harder. God wasn't coming to save her. Neither was Jerry. Unlike the game, there was no circle of protection she could take shelter in.

Around the corner, the noises stopped. She heard talons clicking against the stone. A shadow loomed at the entrance to their alcove. Then another. And another.

Somehow the three monsters' laughter was the worst sound of all.

Becka's sobs turned into screams as the creatures approached.

Chapter Nineteen

Jerry and Troy pushed on through the forest, shoving the greenery aside and carefully following the trail left behind by the cryptids. Once they knew what to look for, it was easy to spot the signs of passage, even in the dark. Dozens of footprints were splattered through the mud, and the creatures had snapped branches and trodden on lilies and ferns during their retreat. Occasionally, they found a splash of blood, stark against a leaf, or a tuft of brown fur clinging to a vine. The two men walked single file and proceeded in silence, communicating only in gestures and grunts. Jerry shined the flashlight on the ground in front of them, occasionally probing the soil with the tip of his spear. Troy gripped his own spear and his makeshift stone knife. Both were scared and tired, but both were also experiencing a second wind, brought on by adrenaline and concern for Becka and the others. When a low-hanging branch snatched Troy's hat from his head, he didn't even bother to curse as he retrieved it.

The storm slowly abated, and now a thin layer of mist rose from the ground as the temperature

started to warm again. Jerry hoped that the fog didn't grow too thick, lest they miss the trail and go in the wrong direction. Thunder rumbled occasionally, but it was distant now and fading.

Troy signaled a pause and both men leaned against a broad, gnarled tree trunk that had withstood the pummeling storm, and caught their breath.

Jerry freed a pebble from his shoe. "At least the bugs aren't back yet."

"Fucking little bloodsuckers." Troy panted. "I wonder what time it is? I'm fucking beat."

"I don't know. But it feels late. Hopefully, the sun will come up soon."

"Think that'll help our situation?"

"Not necessarily. But it will warm things up again, at least. And by then, help should arrive."

"By then, it might be too fucking late."

"You're not helping things, Troy. Talk like that— it's useless. We've got to stay positive, for Becka, at least."

"Positive? Dude, I'm the most positive son of a bitch on this island. I'm positive that everything sucks all the time. That's my motto. Hell, I've got it tattooed on my ass—
everything sucks all the time.
And let me tell you, man, I'm positive that this fucking sucks worst of all, and I'm positive we're gonna die."

"Thank you. That's very helpful. You have any more positive vibes to add to the situation?"

Troy shrugged. "It is what it fucking is."

"You were all for this a while ago!"

"What the fuck do I know? I'm just a guy who bends wrenches for a fucking living. But I've been

thinking about it as we go along, and this ain't nothing but a suicide mission, man. We're better off getting the fuck out of here."

"I'm not leaving without Becka."

"And if she's dead? What then?"

Jerry didn't respond.

Troy sighed. "Look, dude, no offense, but maybe we should consider our other options while we still can. Even if she is alive, you ain't gonna do much against these things with a fucking bamboo spear."

"You did okay with your club."