Jase & the Deadliest Hunt (10 page)

ON THIS NIGHT
 
—
your third evening on the island
 
—none of you see Count VanderVelde. But he left you a short and cryptic note.

Congrats on bagging the golden duck. Testy little fellas, aren’t they? I bet you’ve never brought home a duck that color, have you?

Tomorrow you will be hunting in the cave. To make your life (and mine) easier, you’ll only have three weapons to pick from this time: the crossbow, shotgun, and sword. Choose wisely.

You live to see another day.

Sleep tight!

Count VanderVelde

You’re just glad he didn’t say anything about not letting the bedbugs bite. Who knows what kind of bedbugs this island would have.

Before heading to bed, you talk in private with Willie. The boys have already gone to their rooms.

“Is it just me, or does this trip feel a bit strange?”

“You mean the gigantic boars and golden ducks?” Willie asks. “Yeah, they were strange.”

“Well, yeah. But weren’t you expecting something even more . . . exotic?”

“I don’t know. I just hope the count comes back to take us off this island. I’d hate to be stranded here.” Willie laughs, but you’re left with the thought, and it’s not a good one.

What if that actually did happen?

What if you were all left alone on this island? You don’t have any Internet or cell service. You haven’t been in touch with your wife for the last few days.

Maybe this is a prison.

Maybe the world will never hear from you again.

“Hey, you got that look on your face,” Willie says.

“What look?”

“The kind when you have all those ideas rumbling around in your head.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Go get some sleep,” Willie says.

You go to bed, but sleep doesn’t come.

You try and try, but you keep hearing scratching sounds.

I’m imagining that.

They seem to be coming from everywhere. Your bed. The ceiling above you. The walls around you. The floor underneath you. You can’t help thinking about bedbugs again.

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

Every time you get out of bed and turn on the lights, the noise stops. You examine your pillow and mattress, as well as the walls and floor, but nothing is there. The scratching starts again as soon as you flip the light switch.

Yeah, you don’t sleep well. But tomorrow is a new day.

A brand-new day for a new hunt.

Heading to the cave.

Only one question remains: Which weapon will you choose this time?

If you pick the crossbow,
go here
.

If you pick the shotgun,
go here
.

If you pick the sword,
go here
.

If you try to leave the island because you’re worried,
go here
.

THE SECOND TIME
the candles go out in the living room isn’t because the wind blasts open the doors.

No. Something inside the room blows them out.

You’ve been waiting on the couch for the count to return. You’re almost asleep when you hear the puff of air and everything goes dark.

“What’s happening?” you ask, wiping your eyes. “Willie? Cole? John Luke?”

“Something’s in here with us,” Willie says in a low, soft tone.

“Where are you, Cole?”

“Over here.”

“I’m here too,” John Luke adds.

Your eyes are adjusting to the dark, but not fast enough. A streak of lightning glows through the window. The whole lodge seems to shake as the wind howls.

“Let me try to find the matches again,” John Luke says.

You hear movement, then a jolting, breaking sound. Something crumples to the floor.

“John Luke?” Willie shouts.

There’s more movement, more shuffling, more breaking.

Now you’re up and trying to help somehow.

You find the matches and light a candle. It stays lit long enough for you to see what’s happening.

There are cougars in the room. Except these cougars are standing.

Really? Come on.

Then one of them with white hair like Winchester’s launches itself at you.

The candle goes out, and so does everything else.

The wind howls outside.

You can’t see the moon above, but you’re betting it’s a full one.

THE END

Start over.

Read “Let the Good Times Roll: A Note from John Luke Robertson.”

YOU STAND ON THE BEACH
as rising waves crash onto shore. The wind picks up as the sun goes down. You hold your katana high and wait for the monster to raise its ugly head again.

You are the only one left.

It’s taken your group out one by one.

The relentless, soul-sucking beast.

A creature of the dark, with a heart residing in the night.

First it forced John Luke to go back to the lodge, his ankle twisted after getting stuck in a two-foot-deep hole.

Then it bit Cole on not one ankle but both. Wretched, deep bites. He too needed to return to the lodge for treatment and pain medicine.

The sickly, terrible animal.

You don’t even want to remember what it did to Willie. How it attached itself to his face, laughing all the while.

Oh yes, the brute laughs and laughs.

The possessed pariah protecting its turf on the beach.

Willie cried like a baby while screaming for you to get the thing off his beard. There was a point where you couldn’t tell the difference between the thing and Willie’s beard. It was a truly terrible sight.

You checked Willie out after you managed to knock the gopher away, and he simply had some scratches on his face. No big deal. He was being overdramatic.

But now it’s only you and the monster.

You know it will be nighttime soon. The creature (and its foul stench) will go back to the hole it came from, and you’ll miss your chance.

Hopefully you’re not going to let that happen.

I’ve come seeking revenge.

I’ve come for payback.

I will avenge my family.

You stand still, peering here and there. The holes on the beach are clearly visible even in the twilight. You have all been busy today. Not only fighting the foul creature of the night but also digging and trying to find him.

“Come on out,” you call.

It’s time for the final showdown.

Then suddenly a head appears out of the ground, a whole fifty yards from you. Here it comes. The evil, awful thing. The horrific monster.

It’s a gopher.

And it’s approaching you.

It’s running now.

Getting ready to attack.

You hold the sword, totally prepared, and then you think of Willie screaming as the thing launched itself at his face.

Closer now . . .

Your hands are shaking.

Your sword is poised to strike.

And then . . .

You ditch the sword and scram.

You’re not about to have that thing chewing on your head.

I’m no Evander Holyfield, and that gopher’s not Mike Tyson.

You’re not taking any chunks.

I mean
chances
. Not
chunks
.

You run and don’t look back. If you look back, the thing might sail through the air and start nibbling.

No.

No.

You were the last Robertson standing.

And you bolted.

But that’s because this is no ordinary gopher.

This is no ordinary island.

And this is no story Willie will ever hear.
Jase running away from a gopher? Jase who?

Tomorrow you’ll be heading back home. Back to ordinary. Back to normal.

Thank goodness.

THE END

Start over.

Read “Let the Good Times Roll: A Note from John Luke Robertson.”

“CONGRATULATIONS, GENTLEMEN.
The boar’s head will make a terrific trophy once it’s stuffed and mounted.”

It’s now evening, after the sun has slipped away and the wind has turned warm instead of hot. The table is set for another feast, and Count VanderVelde has made his entrance. You thought the count would probably be gone for the rest of the week, and you haven’t decided if this is a pleasant surprise or not.

“I’m not sure I really want to see that thing again,” you tell him. “I’d say it was already a bit overstuffed.”

“What
was
that, anyway?” Willie asks.

“Feisty suckers, aren’t they?” the count says.

“So explain this to me
 
—
when
does an animal bleed purple?” You need to be clear on this point. “I mean
 
—we’re not color-blind, right? Is it something special for this island?”

The host picks up a piece of fruit from his plate and devours it. “You’ll find lots of strange things on this island the longer you stay here. By the way
 
—you have to try the strawberries. They’re impeccable.”

“Great,” you say.

“How is purple blood possible?”

“John Luke, please,” Willie says, shaking his head.

But you nod at your nephew with approval. The count never really answered the question. Willie obviously doesn’t want to appear rude in front of the master of ceremonies. You, on the other hand, aren’t so worried about that and continue John Luke’s line of questioning.

“So when you grow the hogs to look like
that
, does it mean their blood turns a certain color? Is it some DNA thing? Is this island like Jurassic Park?”

“Everybody knows truth is stranger than fiction,” Count VanderVelde says.

You’re beginning to get used to how he doesn’t answer a single question you ask.

“I bet you’re not going to tell me where we’re heading tomorrow, are you?”

The pork on your plate doesn’t look particularly appetizing. You’re not quite sure why.

“I will give you a clue. It involves water.”

“Either the beach or the river,” Cole says.

“Freshwater,” the count adds. “You’ll need to let me know which weapon you’d like to use.”

“We can use any, right?” Willie asks. “Including the dagger again if we want?”

“Yes. I’m feeling generous tonight.”

Which weapon will you take to the river tomorrow?

The crossbow?
Go here
.

The shotgun?
Go here
.

The rifle?
Go here
.

The sword?
Go here
.

The dagger?
Go here
.

The cowbell?
Go here
.