Jeremy Robinson - Island 731

“I don’t see a thing,” Bray said.

Hawkins stepped up to the jungle and placed his hand on a large-leafed tropical plant. “There’s a path,” he said, and then pushed the big leaves aside.

The revealed path was subtle, but present. Like a long, thick snake, the dirt path wound its way around trees, brush, and rocks, leading into the dimly lit jungle. A wash of humidity and earthy scents rolled over them. The place had its own scent, fertile and organic. Living. Hawkins noticed goose bumps rising on the skin of Joliet’s bare arms.

She noted his attention and said, “You feel it, too.”

“Feel what?” Bray asked.

“Nothing,” Hawkins said, stepping back onto the beach. He turned back to the Magellan and removed a small two-way radio from his pocket. He depressed the Talk button. “Captain Drake, this is Hawkins, do you read? Over.”

After a burst of static, Drake’s voice came from the small speaker. “I read you, Hawkins, and I’ve got my eyes on you, as well. Found a trail? Over.”

“Yeah, we’re going to head in after him. Over.”

“Copy that,” Drake replied. “Go find our boy and bring him home. Over and out.”

Hawkins put the radio back in his cargo shorts pocket. He found the captain’s choice of language amusing. Kam was certainly not their “boy,” though it’s possible that Drake did think of the Magellan as home. He’d been captain of the vessel for ten years and spent more time aboard the ship than he did on land.

“You know,” Bray said. “You guys sometimes have this psychic communication thing where you think the same thing—usually something bad—and don’t tell me what it is. It’s kind of annoying.”

As Hawkins turned to Bray, he felt something hard beneath his foot. He glanced down and saw a strangely shaped stone poking out from beneath the sand. He nearly didn’t give it a second thought, but a portion of the sand covering the object slid away. Not away , Hawkins thought. Inside. The shape of the opening left behind was instantly recognizable. He’d seen it before, when he recovered the body of a woman who’d been lost in the woods for three months. She’d been scavenged by wolves, birds, and bugs. She was just bones when they found her, just five hundred feet from a marked trail.

The skull confirmed Hawkins’s suspicions. He bent down, put his finger in the eye socket, and pulled. The skull came free, sand pouring through its various openings, concealing its shape.

“What is that?” Joliet asked.

“Confirmation.” Hawkins turned the skull over so that its blank stare faced at the other two.

Bray jumped back. “Holy shit!”

Joliet gasped, but then quickly took the skull from Hawkins, inspecting every inch.

“This is what we were thinking,” Hawkins said. “We’re not the first people to find this island.”

“It looks like he was bludgeoned,” Joliet said, pointing out the caved-in hole in the top of the skull.

“Yes,” Hawkins said. “ She was.”

Somehow the idea that the skull belonged to a woman revolted Joliet. She handed the skull back to Hawkins and wiped her hands on her shorts.

“How can you tell it’s a woman?” Bray asked after taking a few steps back.

“The narrow jaw, chin, and cheekbones. The skull size and lack of a brow line are good indicators, too.” Hawkins turned the skull over in his hands. “The skull is discolored, so she’s been dead for a long time, but there’s no way to say how long. Could be ten years. Could be a hundred. She’s been buried beneath the hot, dry sand, above the waterline, so she’s been well preserved.”

“What’s holding you up? Over,” Drake’s voice said from the two-way radio in Hawkins’s pocket.

Everyone, including Hawkins, jumped at the sound, and he nearly dropped the skull. After fishing out the radio, he pushed the Talk button and replied, “Drake, we found a skull. Over.”

“A skull?”

“She’s old, sir. Nothing to worry about. But we’re not the first people to find this island. Over.”

“Copy that,” Drake said. “Would have been surprised if we had been. Any idea what happened to her? Over.”

“Honestly,” Hawkins said, holding down the button. “Best guess is that she was murdered. Over.”

“Murdered?” Drake said, his voice full of surprise.

Hawkins inspected the caved-in skull. “Yes, sir. Without a doubt. But I think it’s safe to say that this is a mystery to be solved another time. She’s long since dead. Over.”

After a moment, Drake replied. “Agreed. Over.”

“Actually,” Bray said. “I think I’m going to stay behind. See if I can’t uncover more of the body.”

“What?” Joliet said. “Why?”

“Doesn’t seem right just leaving her here,” Bray said, stepping closer and taking the skull for the first time.

“I don’t mean to be micromanaging you all from the ship,” Drake said. “But what’s the holdup? The sun isn’t going to stay in the sky all day. Over.”

Hawkins sighed. “Sir, Bray is requesting to stay behind and exhume the rest of the body. Over.”

After a moment, Drake replied. “Let him stay. The pudgy bastard’s just going to slow you two down. Over.”

Hawkins and Joliet laughed.

Bray bristled and said, “Hey!”

With a shrug, Hawkins said, “He’s right.”

“Assholes,” Bray said, but he couldn’t disguise the thin smile on his face.

Hawkins pushed the Talk button on the radio. “Joliet and I are heading out now. Bray is staying behind. Keep an eye on him. If we’re not back by nightfall, help him get back to the ship without crashing the Zodiac into the side. Over.”

“Copy that, Ranger, good hunting. Out.”

After shaking hands with Bray, Hawkins led the way into the humid jungle. The air was thick with the scent of rot. He knew there was little to fear on the island. Beyond a few bird species, the island would be unpopulated. Even though he’d never admit it, the skull had him spooked. He didn’t believe in ghosts, but had no doubt something awful had happened here. The very air seemed tainted by it. He pushed his irrational fears aside and focused on the mission at hand: Find Kam and get the hell off this island.

Ten feet into the jungle, Kam’s footprints included deep, round heel marks. This was good news because they would catch up to him more quickly if he was walking, but also added one more layer of confusion to the young intern’s disappearance. If he’d entered the jungle in a panicked state, why had he stopped running as soon as he’d no longer been visible? Since then, the footprints revealed a calm, measured gate, which stayed on the muddy path.

This is going to be easy , Hawkins thought. Howie GoodTracks had taught him to notice the minutest aberrations in the natural world. Every scuff, scratch, indentation, or patch of grass bent in the wrong direction told a story. The depth of a footprint in mud could reveal the target’s size, weight, and sex. When tracking people, the gait, or distance between steps, and what part of the foot sank deepest revealed a person’s mind-set—calmly strolling, running flat out, or ambling randomly, like most lost people do. The angle of a bent branch could even hint at the target’s speed and, based on the freshness of the break, when they’d passed through. Skills like these weren’t taught in many schools, and certainly not by people like GoodTracks, who didn’t just know these things, but lived them. With Kam not hiding his path, most of these skills wouldn’t be necessary, but if Kam wandered off the trail, Hawkins would be able to follow him just as easily.

Twenty minutes into their rapid-paced hike, the trail rose up a steep grade. They slowed as they followed the path up, occasionally needing to scale short rock walls. At the top of one such stony rise, Hawkins leaned over the edge and reached his hand down to Joliet.