Jeremy Robinson - Island 731

“I hear water,” Joliet said, stepping up next to Hawkins.

Hawkins hadn’t heard anything, but focused on his ears anyway. And then he heard it. A faint, monotone static. “Sounds like a river.”

“On an island?” Bray asked.

“It’s not common,” Joliet said. “But I think some volcanic islands have fresh water springs. And Mark did see a body of water separated from the ocean. Could just be overflow from the storm.”

Drake pushed past them. “It’s going to take months to find anyone if you all keep stopping to discuss the island and its critters. Best way to find the answers is to keep moving.” He continued down the path with his fire ax perched on his shoulder.

The man had a point. No one argued. Hawkins motioned for the others to follow them and he took up the rear. He was going to suggest the position change anyway. If the bell really was a deterrent, an attack would come from behind. And if that happened, he wanted to respond quickly with the rifle.

They walked for ten minutes. The static hiss became a roar. The air grew cooler. And the darkness of the jungle gave way to sunlight pouring through the open canopy above the river.

After passing through a field of waist-high ferns, the moist earth path gave way to gray sand. The ten-foot-long beach was hemmed in by lush plants that grew along the banks of a narrow but fast-moving river. But the most dramatic feature of the river was a waterfall emptying into the river from a forty-foot cliff to their left. A rainbow arced through the mist that clung to their skin and saturated their clothes. A series of vertical ridges covered the dark gray cliff face. They looked unnatural, almost manmade—like incredibly tall, square organ pipes—but Hawkins had seen volcanic formations like this before. Plants clung to every ledge, lavishing in the combination of mist and bright sunlight.

Pi, however, was on edge. The goat stopped several feet short of the water. Her thighs rippled with tension as though ready to spring away. The goat seemed fearless on land, but it definitely didn’t like the water.

Or whatever it thought might be in the water.

“Stay back from the river,” Hawkins said quickly.

Bray and Joliet jumped back quickly. Drake responded less slowly, but stepped back and readied his ax.

Pi’s large belly bounced as she sniffed the air. Her eyes remained locked on the water.

“What’s that?” Joliet asked. She had a hand over her eyes, blocking out the sun as she looked up toward the top of the waterfall. “Is that a rock?”

Hawkins followed her eyes up. At first he couldn’t see anything, but then he saw an aberration between the mist and the jungle at the top of the cliff. The gray coloration looked lighter than the stone of the cliff, and far smoother. They’d already seen something similar. “Another pillbox.”

He was going to suggest they check it out, but Pi gave a bleat and started through the water. He thought the goat would have to swim across, but it never sank more than knee deep. Hawkins edged up to the water’s edge. To his left, the waterfall basin was dark, turbulent, and coated in mist. Anything could be down there and he’d never know it. To his right, the river flowed smooth and fast, five feet deep, but clear. But directly ahead, a smooth gray surface cut across the river. “Looks like a concrete bridge. The water must be high from the storm. It’s covered by a few inches of water.”

Hawkins took a step onto the concrete. It felt solid beneath his feet, but he could feel the tug of fast-moving water on his lower legs. He made his way across and then waved for the others to follow. Bray and Joliet quickly joined him on the other side. Drake took one last look around and started across.

When Drake reached the halfway mark, Pi, who had continued along the path into the jungle on the other side, began bleating. The rapid-fire, high-pitched staccato call from the goat sounded like nothing Hawkins had ever heard before, but apparently Bray had.

“It’s a warning call!” Bray shouted. “The goats on the farm did that when a fox or coyote came near. Get out of the water!”

Drake heeded the warning and focused on crossing the remainder of the river. To his credit, he didn’t panic or move too fast. A misstep would send him into the water.

Joliet stabbed a finger to the river beyond Drake. “Oh my God, what is that?”

Hawkins saw an impossibly large shape slipping through the water. It glided toward Drake with little effort. He took aim with his rifle, but didn’t fire.

“Shoot it!” Bray shouted.

Drake turned to look and slowed as he did.

“Shoot!” Bray repeated.

“Bullets don’t penetrate water,” Hawkins said in a stern voice. “Have to wait for it to surface. Captain, move your ass!”

With a burst of speed, the shape closed in.

Drake discarded his previous caution and ran through the shin-deep water.

Tracking the creature’s swift passage through the water, Hawkins could see it would reach Drake before he made it to the shore. Seeing just one option available to him, Hawkins lowered the rifle—

—and dropped it to the ground.

As the rifle fell to the ground at Hawkins’s feet, he twisted around and snatched the speargun from Joliet’s hand. She had already begun to take aim, but he couldn’t risk her missing the shot. Unlike the rifle, there would only be time to get off a single shot. They had replacement spears, but reloading was time consuming and cumbersome. And while he could squeeze off ten shots with the rifle in just as many seconds, water did a remarkable job stopping bullets. The speargun, on the other hand, was designed to slip through water with ease.

Looking down the length of the speargun, Hawkins took aim at the submerged creature surging toward Drake. Only a few feet separated the pair.

He fired.

With a puff of compressed air, the spear shot away. The three-foot-long metal rod passed beneath Drake’s arm as he ran. It found the water a fraction of a second later and pierced the surface like no bullet could. There was a snapping sound as the sharp tip of the spear struck the creature’s midsection—and ricocheted away toward the opposite bank.

Realizing that neither spear nor bullet would stop the creature in time, Hawkins discarded the weapon and lunged toward Drake. He reached out his hands, intending to yank Drake forward and hopefully out of reach.

He glanced down and saw the large shape in the water had stopped moving forward. But then a reptilian snout broke the surface. Green-skin-rimmed nostrils snapped open as the creature took a breath. Hawkins felt Drake’s fingers reach his and began wrapping his hands around the other man’s wrists.

Water exploded as the creature rose up and revealed itself. A crocodile. He wasn’t sure exactly what species of croc, but it was easily eighteen feet long and would have no trouble devouring a man. Hawkins saw the long mouth lined with thumb-size teeth snap open. But still, the apex predator didn’t move in to strike.

Is it just trying to scare us out of its territory?

The question was just a flash in his mind, answered nearly at the same moment he thought it. The flesh at the back of the croc’s throat, where its tongue should have been, expanded. Rolls of undulating muscle unfurled in a flash. At first, Hawkins thought the croc was regurgitating a meal, but then he saw it move. Two long, squid tentacles unfurled from the croc’s mouth, slipping out of cavities at the back of its mouth. As they emerged, the limbs began twisting and shaking like wounded snakes. At the center of the throat, Hawkins saw that where the croc’s esophagus should be there was a beak. Loud clicks came from the croc’s mouth as the beak repeatedly opened and snapped closed.