Everyone's Dead But Us (18 page)

Scott asked, “Do we try to get back up to the pathless track above?”

Ahead of us a wave receded leaving puddles, but a definite, clear way. I thought I saw the far side that rose above the pounding surf.

“If the tide is coming in we might not be able to get back either. We came across some pretty narrow spots.”

Scott pointed. “It doesn’t seem that far across.” Another wave rushed forward. It seemed to be higher and stronger than the last. The tide or random chance?

“We can’t stay here,” I said.

The wave receded and the far side was clear of water.

Scott said, “Let’s wait for one more. If the tide is coming in, we can’t wait much longer.”

We waited for one more wave. Perhaps not as high as the last. As it receded, we dashed forward. I felt the water tugging at my legs, but I kept my balance. We’d gone about ten feet when I realized the far side, where the path rose, was not a path up to dry land. We were in the low middle of a
Sex and
A new wave was coming. We ran.

I couldn’t remember the intricacies of the island’s path. It wasn’t a familiar running path through a friendly woods. I wasn’t sure if we’d make it or not.

We struggled up the slight rise, but we couldn’t stay there. We’d be swept away. We dashed pell-mell down, across, and toward the last rise of the
Sex and
If it was a continuously undulating
Sex and
we were dead.

Scott was ahead of me. The wave caught us full force before we reached the far side. I saw that the path about ten feet from me was above the waves. It might as well have been ten million feet. I felt myself being lifted toward the cliff face. I had to fight off being slammed against it. Then the water was receding, taking me with it.

I swam with all my might. I had no purchase on land. I felt the water sucking me away. I flailed and kicked. What flashed in my mind was that I loved Scott. I might lose him. I might die in the sea in the next few moments.

I flailed again. I felt Scott’s hand grab me. He pulled against the tide. The water receded. I was flat on my stomach kicking toward land.

Scott had one arm wrapped around the last rocky outcropping. He pulled me to him. We had to scramble more before the next wave hit. We rushed—five, ten feet. I felt the next wave rushing in, but my feet touched land. The path began to rise. We fled upward.

At the top we held each other. I felt Scott’s wet face and bristly five o’clock shadow. We huddled together. I told him I loved him. He held me and told me he loved me. And that was enough. I’d never been more exhausted. We stayed in each other’s arms for moments of blissful eternity.

But it was still pouring rain, and we were both totally soaked. What had escaped dampening from the rain under my slicker was now soaked as well. My wallet and its contents were gone. Getting a new driver’s license when we got back would be a luxury compared to all this. The flashlight was dead. My gun was gone. So was his. We were alive but not by much.

In the midst of the rain I turned, pitched the flashlight as far as I could into the sea, and raged against the sea, and the spray, and the waves, and the storm. They didn’t seem to much care, but I felt better for a few seconds of bellowing self-pitying words of fury.

We had to go forward. We marched on the path toward the cavern. At intervals spray from the crashing waves still pummeled us. None came as close as our brush with the deep. Just before we got to the turn for the cavern, we leapt across a sharp declivity. A wave smashed into the rocks. It knocked us both into the opposite cliff face. Wordlessly we pressed on. Lightning was all we had to see by. We used our hands to feel the wet rock on our right as we struggled forward. The cavern entrance was on a slight rise beyond the path.

We inched forward. “We should have found it by now,” I muttered.

Scott said, “I think I feel it.” In the blackness I felt his presence more than saw him. Then he was gone.

“Where are you?”

“I’m in,” he said. A hand grabbed my right arm. He pulled me to him.

We headed to the rear out of the wind and rain.

I glanced at the luminous readout on my watch. I said, “It’s going to be midnight in just a few hours.”

“Happy New Year?” he said.

I wasn’t a big party hat kind of guy but I’d give a great deal for a dry one right now.

I said, “I hate to begin a year with dead bodies piling up around us.”

“They aren’t around us. We’re just close to a lot of them. Sure, we’ve got bodies plopping into our path, so to speak, but we’ve dealt with this kind of thing before.”

“Not this many kerplops.”

I glanced around the outcropping back at the entrance to the cavern. I heard dripping. The smoke hole faced away from the prevailing winds of the storm, but moisture had managed to collect around or above it and was making its way to the lip and falling in at regular intervals. A small pool was forming near the back of the cavern. All our blankets, pillows, and paraphernalia from earlier were still here. Certainly none of the staff would have had an opportunity to come and clean. Scott still had his matches from earlier, but they were soaking wet. Even if they weren’t, we dared not risk a light for fear that the glow would escape and hostile eyes might espy our location.

“At least it’s not raining in here,” I said.

“Give it time,” Scott said. “Everything that could go wrong has gone wrong.”

“Not by a long shot. We haven’t had an earthquake or a volcanic eruption.”

“We’re in the right part of the world.”

There was nothing to eat. At the moment nothing seemed appetizing. I just wanted to be in my own home far away from here. It was dark, and it was going to be dark for a long time. I took off my poncho and stepped around the outcropping and shook the rain off. I took Scott’s and shook it out as well.

“We staying here all night?” he asked.

“I don’t have a better idea. We could go back to the inhabited portions of the island, but I don’t relish following either path in the total dark. Without the storm, okay. Without the killer, I’d give it whirl. Not now. Presumably, nobody knows where we are.”

“They might think we’ve been killed.”

“That might actually be good, but nobody’s seen us topple off a cliff. Even if we were the killer’s target, we still have no idea why.”

We took off our wet clothes, wrung them out, and placed them on rocky outcroppings to dry. We arranged the blankets under the ponchos and around ourselves as best we could. We settled onto the floor with our backs against the cavern wall. Some of the pillows we used as cushions against the stone floor, others we propped around us to help keep out the cold. We huddled together under the mound.

When we were about as comfortable as we were going to get, Scott asked, “Who’s killing all these people and why?”

“Money?” I opined. “There is all that artwork.”

“But whose are those actually? And besides, they all have plenty of cash.”

“Somebody always wants more.”

“So the acquisitive impulse strikes again?”

“It’s very human.”

“I know it’s human, but it doesn’t seem to explain enough in this case.”

“Okay,” I said. “I gave it whirl. You try.”

“What the hell is the Israeli agent doing here?” Scott asked. “Maybe Craveté was actually right about something. Maybe there were terrorist threats and he is part of their protection.”

“Not a hell of a lot of protection.”

“He’s an inadequate agent. They can’t all be gems.”

Scott said, “Maybe these people pissed somebody off.”

“Good, but who? And you’ve got an awful lot of different people dead. They come from different countries and have different backgrounds. And there’s a lot of innocent people dead. All the hired help and the guards don’t strike me as good material for revenge. And they busted up a chunk of the island. What for? The Atrium and a third of the castle are history.”

“Okay, if it’s not revenge and it’s not money, what is it?”

“True believers?” I said.

“Anticapitalists run amok?” he asked. “The religious right destroying an enclave of hedonism?”

“Well, there’re lots of fanatics in the world.”

“An antigay conspiracy,” he said. “It’s not enough to pass amendments in the U.S., the senators have directed the CIA to attack us here?”

“As conspiracy theories go,” I said, “that one sounds a little weak.”

A number of gay people had begun fleeing the United States after the Republicans pushed for the antigay marriage amendment in the Senate. Further driving them out was their dismay over the tacit approval of even more people who thought that though it might not be okay for the United States Constitution to embody discrimination, it was certainly okay for various state constitutions to embody discrimination. Those who left said basically, that any gay person who supported the Republicans was the same as a Jew supporting the Nazi party in Germany in the 1930s. They said they were leaving before the rounding up could begin. They said that the Jews should have started leaving in the early thirties before it was too late.

I said, “With luck the killer might think we’re still armed and extreme care or an ambush would be necessary.”

He said, “I hope so.”

Scott snuggled closer to me. I felt him shiver.

“How’s your head?” I asked.

“It hurts like hell. I’ve got a New Year’s Eve hangover without any of the booze.” Neither of us indulged much in alcohol, maybe a beer or two at my sister’s family barbecue every summer, but not much more than that. Chocolate, on the other hand, was an addiction for both of us.

I said, “We’ve got to try and get some sleep. I don’t think the killer knows where we are. I am exhausted. We didn’t sleep last night. We’ve been moving all day.”

“We’re not going to figure this out,” he said. “Not without more information.” I felt his cheek next to mine. “We should try to sleep.”

I’d begun to shiver as well. I snuggled closer to Scott. I didn’t know if I’d ever feel dry or warm again. I didn’t think I could possibly fall asleep. The storm raged outside, but we weren’t in it. The surf pounded, but we only had to listen to its dim echoes. And Scott was breathing softly, and that was a comfort. “I love you,” he murmured.

I found that I could sleep after all. I fell asleep listening to the raindrops plunking on the cement floor behind us.

It was the waking that was the problem.

It must have been near dawn when I awakened. Dim light leaked into our refuge. The smoke hole had an aura of deeply shadowed gray about it. I felt every lump or fissure of every rock, stone, or pebble underneath me. I remembered waking during the night in darkness and feeling Scott near me and taking some comfort from that. I must have tossed and turned. I might have had worse nights’ sleep, but I couldn’t remember when. I shivered in the predawn. I glanced at my watch. Just after seven. Scott’s arm was around me. I had to piss. I reached toward my not-as-wet-as-they-were clothes. I’d have given a great deal for a warm fluffy towel straight from the drier. I touched damp and shivery instead.

As I began to pull myself up and while still reaching, I looked toward the cavern entrance. I saw a shadow. I froze. My heart began to pound. A man? A trick of the light? I’d never been in the cavern at dawn. We hadn’t set a watch. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! If it was the killer, I’d have a very short time to wallow in the guilt of our stupidity at not setting a watch. Was the movement that caused the shadow what had wakened me? No voice came out of the gloom. Perhaps it was just a shadow. It remained motionless. Was I going to be killed because of an overwhelming, paralytic fear? Not while I drew breath. I would do what I could to save Scott and myself. I looked at him. Scott can sleep through just about anything. As soundlessly as possible, I eased over to the cavern wall. The shadow did not move. I crept more carefully than I had ever done before. Inching my way to the entrance, I found myself holding my breath. Only the rain and the distant surf disturbed the silence. No thunder and lightning. The storm might be ending. Naked as I was, I got to the turn that led to the entrance. It felt like an eternity before I moved my eye so I could peer out.

A rocky outcropping. A simple shadow. A nothing. Safe again for the moment. I lowered my head. I was cold. I scooted back to get my clothes. Damp as they were, I threw them on.

Not setting a watch. Were we exhausted emotionally and physically? Certainly. But it had been stupid. A mistake. Perhaps not our first one since we found Henry Tudor’s body. We were alive and safe. For the moment.

I eased my way back toward the front of the cavern. The surf pounded. The rain poured. The usual. I stepped around the last sheltering rock outcropping. Waterfalls cascaded from the lip of the entrance. If it wasn’t a mostly flat rocky island, there would have been massive flooding. I no longer saw gusts of horizontal rain. The wind was down. I stepped the last several feet to the entrance.

Blake Klimpton lay three feet beyond the threshold.

I leapt back into the cavern. I watched from behind the outcropping. I didn’t see the chest rise and fall. He wouldn’t be quarterbacking any more games. Rain pelted the wrestling singlet he wore. It was totally soaked. I hurried back to Scott. He was just waking up. I announced, “There’s a dead body in the doorway.”

Scott looked at me. He wakes up slowly. “You sure?” His voice was thick with sleep.

“I didn’t do an autopsy.”

I got a nasty look for that crack.

I said, “It’s Blake Klimpton. I didn’t see him breathing. He’s soaking wet.”

He pulled his damp clothes on. We both shrugged into our ponchos then we both crept to the opening. Scott gazed on the presumed corpse.

Scott said, “The killer was here.” A thrum of fear hummed through his hushed voice.

I said, “Did he know we were in here? Is this a message?”

“We don’t know why he’s killing. What message would he have to give us, except be afraid, be very afraid? I’m way past very afraid. If I was into that kind of thing, I’d be ready for a mad blind panic.”

I felt Scott’s body shivering. Outside the warmth of the inner cavern and without the covering of the blankets, meager as they had been, it was cold. And there was a dead body not more than ten feet from us and a killer had been close enough to commit murder sometime in the night.

I put my arm around him. A few moments later, he whispered, “We didn’t set a watch.”

“I know.”

“We could be dead.”

“Yep. We screwed up.”

He lowered his head. “I’ve never been so scared,” he whispered. “I’ve never been so frightened.” His shivering increased. In the darkness I held him until I felt his body become calm.

I said, “We were exhausted. We made a mistake. We’re alive. We can get through this.” He nodded. I said, “We’ve got to look at the body.”

He said, “Why? What difference would it make if we knew how Klimpton died?”

“We’d know what questions to ask the next person.”

“Why? Are you expecting to find someone actually alive on this island?”

“Well, yeah.”

“I think we’ll be lucky to survive. I don’t hold out much hope for anybody. Until this storm stops we are at the mercy of whoever has planned these murders.”

“We’ve got to figure out who and why. We’ve got to take preventative steps.”

“We thought we’d be safe here. We weren’t. Hiding didn’t work all that well. All the running around we’ve done since we found Henry Tudor’s body hasn’t done us much good.”

“Maybe the killer didn’t know we were in the cavern.”

“Why drag a body all the way out here if not for some purpose? It’s not easy toting around a corpse.”

“It’s an aesthetically pleasing spot for a corpse?”

“There’s a tortured title if I ever heard one.”

“The killer is into corpse art and this is his entry in a ‘corpse placement’ competition?”

“Is this much humor appropriate?”

“It’s better than running along the cliffs screaming at the top of our lungs. Nobody’s going to come to help us if we remain calm. Nobody’s going to come to help us if we panic. Panic might feel good for a little while, but I think calm is going to be a bigger help.”

Scott said, “But somebody was trying to scare us? Why bother? Why not just kill us?”

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe he thought we were still armed. Until our ammunition ran out, we could hold off a siege. If we had any ammo.”

“Or guns,” I added.

I looked out at the rain and then at the corpse. I knew it was futile, but we had to make a final check to see if Klimpton was alive. I approached the corpse carefully. Scott stayed back a few steps.

I thought the wrestling singlet was a singularly inappropriate costume for such cold weather. He had on gym shoes and white sox. The singlet, as all singlets I’d ever seen, not that I’d noticed, bulged obscenely at the crotch. The rain had further tightened the garment to his body. Enough details were readily apparent to qualify for “corpse porn.” It was gross.

I had to examine him partly in the rain. I didn’t see the wound until I turned him over. He had a bullet hole in the side of his head away from us. Blood was still seeping and being washed away by the rain. We wouldn’t have heard a distant shot. Or maybe the shot disturbed my sleep and led to my eventual awakening.

I scuttled back. “Bullet hole. Still bleeding.”

“We didn’t hear anything.”

“You mean I didn’t. You never wake up.” This is true. Scott could sleep through the Last Trumpet.

“Some of the others had bullet holes.”

“The shot might have come from far away. Maybe he was trying to take refuge in the cavern just like we were. Or maybe he got shot somewhere else and managed to stagger here.”

“A shot to the head?”

“It would depend on what part of the brain got damaged. Death is seldom as fast as it is portrayed in the movies and on television.”

“Why come here?”

“It would be out of the rain. It’s unlikely anyone could sneak up on you. It might be safe. Maybe he saw us come in here.”

“This is really creepy” Scott said. “Why is he wearing the singlet?”

“No idea.”

We heard footsteps approaching the cavern. We stepped back into the shadows. The steps seemed slow and deliberate despite the pouring rain. The figure was muffled inside a gray poncho, hooded sweatshirt, ski mask, and wide-brimmed hat. The person looked to be about average height. He wore jeans. I couldn’t tell who it was. The person walked directly up to the corpse. He stooped down and turned it over until he saw the bullet hole. I heard a grunt, of satisfaction? I neither saw nor heard a startled or violent reaction. Then he took the corpse and began rolling it the few feet to the edge of the cliff. It was not an easy task, and whoever it was had to get on his knees, roll the dead body, move closer again, and repeat the procedure.

“We’re trapped in here,” I whispered. “If he knows we’re here or suspects or even decides to just check it out, we have no exit.”

“We can’t just take off running.”

“We may have to.”

Scott said, “But he must assume we’re still armed. Only we know we aren’t.”

“They blew up a castle. This cavern is made of solid rock, but I’m guessing getting crushed by one hell of a lot of stone would not be a plus, and they’ve got all the rest of the guns. Or while it could be damp, all they’d have to do is sit out there and we’d starve.”

“We’ve got water. The storm has got to end. Help will come.”

“The rich can get away with anything.”

“I don’t believe that,” Scott said.

Sometimes he was wonderfully naive and it was charming. This was not one of those moments.

I said, “We’re stuck with some awful choices. Staying or leaving could get us killed.”

“Are we sure the killer knows we’re here?”

“I don’t know.” And the uncertainty was almost worse than the actual danger.

The corpse roller had the body halfway to the cliff. He paused in his work. He didn’t seem tremendously hurried, or afraid of being interrupted. Was everyone else on the island dead? Was everyone else on the island in league with this killer? Was he just cleaning up some mess? For that matter, why move the corpse? He got to the edge of the cliff, and with a final shove from the killer, the corpse disappeared from view.

“Jesus Christ,” Scott said.

The killer rose to his feet and began walking back toward us. I hefted one of the rocks from around the long dead fire. Scott did the same. I let him take the most advantageous spot for throwing. He was a major league pitcher. If one of us was going to hit something, it was most likely going to be him.

I whispered, “I could throw first and distract him.”

But my words must have been a shade too loud, or maybe he caught our movement. The killer looked to the opening behind which we hid. It was far dimmer in the cavern than out, but we might have given ourselves away. Scott didn’t hesitate. He stepped out, cocked his arm, and threw. Scott can heave a fastball at nearly one hundred miles an hour. Even without warming up, the rock took off at high speed. As the projectile flew, the killer began to raise his gun. The rock arrived a second later. Perhaps he never saw it. Scott’s rock banged him just above his left eyebrow. He staggered to his knees. I tossed my rock. It hit him in his midsection. I heard an “oof.” The gun swung wildly in our direction. He began firing.

We dashed out the entrance of the cavern. Unfortunately, Scott and I turned in different directions.