The Sentinel (12 page)

I do a quick headcount. Everyone is here. Alive.

All good.

But Willem is freaked. He heard whatever woke me up and sent me scrambling for my weapon. The shrill scream from my dream repeats. The voice is high-pitched, but the scratchy vibrato mixed in sounds masculine. It’s a man. And he’s coming this way. Or, more likely, is being pursued by a big-ass polar bear.

Willem must have come to a similar conclusion, because he looks from my eyes, to the gun in my hands, to the exit, and gives a nod. He braces himself, ready to spring to action.

The Colonel would’ve like Willem.

I unzip the hatch and suck in a deep breath. I count to three in my head and then lunge out of the tent and raise my gun. I can’t see a thing. The bright sun shining off the endless sheet of white snow blinds me and I don’t see him until he’s nearly inside the Viking shelter. But when I do, I freeze.

It’s Chase.

He looks wild. Insane.

He’s covered in a dark red splash similar to the paint I smashed against the
Bliksem
’s hull. But the liquid covering his face and torso is a few shades darker. This is the real stuff. Chase is covered in blood. And given the amount, I think it’s likely someone else is dead.

And that’s when I see the bloody knife in his hand.

17

Chase’s eyes flash wide when he sees me. But I’m not really sure he recognizes me because he screams again and tries to stop. His feet slip on the fresh snow and it sends him hard to his ass. His glasses are cracked on one side, and the other side is covered in flecks of blood, so it’s possible he can’t see me clearly, but the horror on his face says he’s somewhere else. Not thinking. Like someone who has just witnessed a murder.

Or committed a murder
.

“Chase,” I say in a firm, yet calm voice, “It’s Jane.”

I lower the gun so he can see my face behind it, but I don’t divert my aim too far. It makes little difference. He scrambles away from me, breathing so heavy that spit is flying from his mouth. Or is it rabid froth? Has he gone mad?

“Chase,” I shout at him, lowering the weapon completely.

“Oh my god,” Jenny says, as she steps out of the tent. “Is he okay?”

I ignore her. Chase is almost back to his feet and it’s clear he’s going to run. And as much as I don’t like him—never mind that he’s covered in someone else’s blood—I can’t let him die.

Blood. The sight of it all over him, not knowing where it came from, keeps me from tackling him. I look to Willem and motion toward Chase with my head. He understands the request and shakes his head, no. What a couple of heroes we are; afraid to save someone covered in blood. Of course we’re covered in open scrapes and getting another person’s blood in a wound could be a fatal mistake. Although, we’ll all likely die out here anyway, so what the hell does it matter?

I take a step forward, resolved to subdue Chase, but before I get very far, a flash of red zips past me. It’s Peach. Just as Chase gets his feet under him, she tackles him by the knees and brings him down like some kind of greased pig at a rodeo. Only it’s not grease making him slick. It’s blood.

Jenny rushes to help Peach, catches the struggling Chase by the shoulders and pins him down with ease. He’s only half her size, so there’s no chance he can get up. But he continues to struggle, manic and wild. And the look in his eyes is all fear. He’s not looking for a fight.

The knife says differently. Then again, he hasn’t stabbed anyone yet.

Yet.

And I’m pretty sure neither Jenny, nor Peach, has seen the shiny silver version of the black knife I took from Chase’s survival pack. I step on his wrist, pinning his hand, and the knife, to the ground.

“Hey!” Peach protests. “What the fuck!”

I apply a little pressure and Chase’s hand opens. I bend down and pluck the knife from his fingers, and then hold it up for Peach to see. She hadn’t seen it. I can see the shock in her eyes. But she tries to hide it. She’s holding a grudge, despite the fact that I saved her life. I’m considering calling her Sour Grape from now on, but that will probably just make things worse.

The knife folds down easily. I’m about to slip it in my pants pocket with the other, think better of it, and hand it to Willem, who’s standing beside me now. I crouch down and snap my fingers in Chase’s face. “Chase,” I say. “Snap out of it.”

I’m not being gentle, I know. But anything short of shooting him is probably a mercy compared to the welcome I’d get if our roles were reversed.

His breathing slows.

Jakob and Alvin join the party, looking ready to beat Chase like a baby seal.

But he’s coming around, looking at the faces around him. Then he finally looks me in the eyes.

“You’re safe, now,” I say. I don’t really know that he wasn’t safe before, but the blood seems to be a good indicator that he wasn’t. That and the all-consuming fear radiating from him like heat off a parking lot in summer.

His body goes slack. Peach lets go of his legs and kneels next to him. Jenny loosens her grip, but never lets go of him.

“Harper?” he finally says.

“In the flesh,” I say, and then inwardly cringe. Not the best choice of words to use with a guy who has no doubt imagined me in the flesh more than once. I’ve also heard some Bible-belt conservatives use the term to describe themselves when their ire is raised, like the flesh itself is evil and corrupting instead of the brain, or soul, controlling it. But I don’t think Chase is a Bible-thumper, so I don’t think that’s really an issue.

“Where am I?” he asks, looking at Willem, and then Jakob.

“We’re at the center of the island,” I say. “You’re safe here.”

“Did you just say
island
?” Peach asks, her voice suddenly frantic.

“Not now, Peach,” I growl.

To her credit, Jenny takes in the information silently, looks at the sky and then lowers her head with a sigh. Doom absorbed, accepted and filed. Peach, on the other hand, is about to explode. She opens her mouth and I shout at her, “Not fucking now, Peach!”

Her mouth clamps shut.

I compose myself by taking a slow breath and twisting my neck to the side, popping a few vertebrae. Feeling a little better, I motion to the three men Chase doesn’t know. “This is Jakob Olavson, captain of the
Bliksem
, his son Willem, and this is Alvin. He likes knives. You two will get along.”

Chase’s fear vanishes and is replaced by anger. “What are you doing with them? They destroyed the
Sentinel
. Killed most of the crew.”

Jakob shakes his head sadly in a way that says, “Poor stupid boy.”

“Chase,” I say, realizing that he might actually be unaware of Captain McAfee’s involvement in the sinking of both vessels. “These three are the only surviving members of the
Bliksem
’s crew.” This news stuns him a little, but he’s still tense. “They had nothing to do with the explosion.”

“Then who do you thi—”

“It was McAfee,” Jenny says.

Chase looks up at her, crossing his eyes as he tries to focus on her upside down. “Bullshit.”

“It’s true,” I say.

He looks to Peach, clearly trusting her over Jenny and me, who’d no doubt be walking the plank right about now if the
Sentinel
hadn’t sunk.

Peach sighs and looks at the snow covered ground. “We have it on video. He knew about the explosion.”

“Remember Mr. Jackson’s countdown?” Jenny adds. “Thirty seconds. It wasn’t an impact he was counting down. It was the explosion.”

“But…he wouldn’t. He—” His eyes lower and flick back and forth like he’s scanning some invisible document. A moment later his forehead pinches tight and he comes to some sort of conclusion. “I was afraid of this,” he admits. “Not something this drastic, mind you, but he hasn’t listened to my advice as much as he used to. Not since Mr. Jackson came aboard.”

“Look, Chase,” I say, “I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt here and assume you knew nothing about the explosion. If you behave, you can join our little band of castaways and make us a true Gilligan seven.” I get serious and lean in closer, “But if I think for a second that you had anything to do with the murders of more than thirty people, I’m going to leave you behind buck ass naked. Understood?”

His face pales beneath the blood stains.

“Good,” I say. “Now tell me what happened.”

“Huh?” He’s lost in thought, probably wondering how long he’d last in the Arctic with no clothes on.

“You’re covered in blood, Chase. What happened?”

He looks down at himself and it’s like he’s seeing the blood for the first time. He frantically wipes it off his hands and asks, “Is it on my face? Is it on my face?”

In fact, it is on his face, but wiping it with his blood-covered gloves is just making it worse, so I lie. “No. You’re face is clean.” I take his glasses off his face, rub snow over them and put them back on. “Good as new, if you ignore the cracks.” I stand and cross my arms. “Now. Talk.”

He looks up at me, some of the fear coming back, but he manages to speak with just a hint of a warble. “After abandoning ship—”

I nearly add an, “And us,” but hold my tongue in a way the Colonel never could manage.

“—we made for the peninsula. But we misjudged the distance and ended up wrecking on the rocks north of here. The Zodiacs are wrecked. There were five of us when we left, Captain McAfee, me, Nick Eagon and Markus Jenkins in one boat. Mr. Jackson rendezvoused with us shortly after.” Chase’s face screws up with anger. “I should have realized then, damnit!”

“Just keep going,” I say. “I’m more interested in how you came to look like Charles Mason after brunch.”

Jenny groans. The others look at me like I’m the one covered in blood. “Sorry. Sick sense of humor, I know.” I turn to Chase. “Continue.”

“By the time we reached the shore, Jenkins was gone. We don’t know when we lost him. But the sea was rough and we were moving fast…I don’t know—”

That Chase was getting choked up over the loss of a man scored him bonus points. It means he cares about people, too, not just whales. “We found a cave and hid inside. In the morning, Mr. Jackson and Captain McAfee went to check out where we were. I stayed with Eagon. He had a broken arm. Maybe some broken ribs. Jackson and the Captain never came back, so Eagon and I spent a second night in the cave. Everything was fine when we fell asleep. But when I woke up, he was…he was screaming. I’ve never heard someone scream like that before. Like his voice was being forced out of him by something physical. There was a loud crunch, and I felt something. It was…warm. Wet. When I stumbled out of the cave, I saw the blood covering me clearly. Then I heard something scraping toward me. I thought it was Eagon. I called to him.”

Chase pulls his knees up close and hugs them tight. I don’t know many grown men who can pull their knees up tight like that, but even if they could, they probably wouldn’t. It makes him look like a sad little schoolgirl. Someone to be pitied. And as he finishes his story, I do pity him.

“I heard breathing, too. Wet. Deep. I wanted to run, but I couldn’t. I wanted to. I just couldn’t. Like my legs were gone.” He looks up at me, his eyes pleading me to believe what he’s about to say. “It was his head. Someone threw Eagon’s head at me.” He shakes his head back and forth, as though disbelieving it himself, but keeps his gaze on me. “Harper, I don’t think we’re alone.”

18

“It’s the polar bear,” Jenny says to Peach. “Has to be.” Jenny paces, occasionally offering a theory. But Peach just stares at the snow, clutching herself.

Willem, Jakob and Alvin whisper to one another, their conversation private, but their body language easy to read. They’re on edge, disturbed by Chase’s presence, and his story.

I’m crouching in a corner of the stone foundation with Chase, who is leaning back against the wall, eating half a protein bar and drinking a quarter of a water bottle. Our meager supplies are dwindling faster with each addition to our band of survivors.

Chase tips the bottle up and chugs a little too fast. I take it, tip it down and remove it from his hands. “Slow down, Aquaman.”

“Sorry,” he says. “I haven’t had anything to eat or drink since we arrived.”

“You could have melted snow. Or Ice,” I point out.

He looks at all of the snow around us. “Good point. Is…there really a polar bear on the island?”

“We’ve run into it twice.” I twist the bottle cap back on the bottle and put it in Chase’s survival backpack. He sees the bag, and twitches his lips. He’s probably not sure if he should claim ownership. I make up his mind for him. “We know this belongs to you—
belonged
to you. It belongs to all of us now.”

He grins and motions to the cloak gathered around me. “Looks better on you, than me, anyway.”

I think he’s about to hit on me again, so I steer the conversation back to the bear. Somehow talking about a man-eating bear is less offensive to me than the idea of a romantic encounter with Chase. “Do you think what you saw could have been a bear?”

He leans his head back against the cold stone behind him. “I didn’t see anything. Just Eagon’s head…”

There’s a really big, “but,” implied by his tone. I say it for him. “But?”

He speaks softly. “I left out a detail. I—I wasn’t sure about what I saw. Or if you would believe me.”

“And now?”

“I remember it clearly, and you’re being…fair.”

Damn straight I am. “So what is it?”

“Eagon’s head,” he says. “It had been cracked open. His…brain was missing.”

My crouch turns into a cross-legged sit when this news staggers me. “Missing?”

“I don’t think it was a bear,” Chase says. “Bears don’t throw heads. And they don’t eat brains. Not first, anyway.” He picks up some snow and rubs it between his gloved hands, rubbing away the dried blood. “There
is
blood on my face, right? You lied to calm me down?”

I nod, still too stunned to talk.

He removes his gloves, picks up fresh snow, lets it melt some and scrubs his face with the slush. The blood comes away, turning the snow next to him red. “You’d make a good captain,” he says. “You’re a natural leader. You know how to handle a gun, too. Did your father teach you?”