Brandon Enns - Islanders

There was activity in the trees. Not a person, but birds, critters, who knows. The night was suddenly very alive, and she was very aware.

Trevor and Stefan jockeyed for position of lead. Trevor backed off and placed her in the middle, covering her backside.

“You’re concerned about me now?”

“What?”

“Screw you.”

“Whoa, hang on. Erin, tell me what’s going on. Why are you mad at me?”

She wanted to turn around and clock him. “Not now.”

The trees were more abundant. Erin could hear a heavy wind swirling. Was it wind? It pushed at her from all directions simultaneously. Fist clenched and sweaty around the rope grip of the axe, she felt hot breath on her neck, sending a tingle that nestled somewhere in the center of her skull. She couldn’t tell if she had stopped dead in her tracks or if she had burst into a full sprint. A thought came. It was like it was in song. S tay a while. It grabbed hold. The wind accelerated.

When she turned around, Trevor was not there. They were almost out of sight up ahead, fading into the trees and the black. Before she could move her legs to run, a gunshot sounded off causing her to flinch and drop the axe to the ground. She bent over to pick it up. The gunfire was thunderous. Lifting her eyes from the ground, trapped in an awkward crouched position, she heard a scream like no other. It didn’t even sound human. In med school, she had spent time shadowing doctors and nurses as they tended to some fairly damaged patients, injuries generating all kinds of agonized moans and screams. Once she had come across a man with scissors penetrated through his midsection, the tips of his intestines poking out in one spot, the putrid smell of exposed flesh mixing with ammonia. Before succumbing to his own consciousness, the man was snarling like a wild animal, followed by a high-pitched howl that would have best resembled the sound of someone begging for death to come.

She sprinted up ahead and darted right into a small opening before coming to an abrupt stop. There they were, both lying on the ground, blood everywhere. She could hear wet-mouthed ragged breathing. Grabbing Stefan’s flashlight, she lit it up to find that the blood belonged to him. He was even whiter than he was before, bordering on gray. “No,” he growled.

“Are you shot?”

“Some animal trap,” Trevor said.

Erin moved the light to the left, showing bloodied steel teeth with chains throughout.

Before she could tend to Stefan’s wound, Erin was brought to her knees with the fierce sting of those same familiar words. S tay a while. With all the leftover control she had, she lifted her head to look at the others, who were both experiencing similar agony.

“Make it stop!” howled Stefan.

The last thing she remembered was leaning over to hurl. The burning taste of bile erupted out as the words persisted with great force in her mind, forcing her face into her own vomit and sand.

Erin woke up in a bed with a wet towel in her hand. She could hear grunting and wincing sounds next to her, and finally her vision returned with some form of clarity. Battling through a groan was Stefan’s voice. “You okay?” She looked across the bed to see blood everywhere. She shot up and stared at his ghastly face. “I’m okay, really,” he said.

“You don’t look okay. Let me check it.”

“You’re too late, doc. Already numbed, stitched, and gauzed. Trevor went to get me more gauze and bandages though.”

“Shit, I should have checked it. It could get infected.”

“I’m pretty thorough. You might not know this, but I have some experience in the field. Grandfather on my mother’s side. Military physician. Caught some action in World War II. Most old folks don’t like to talk about their time served. Too much trauma. My grandpa, he wouldn’t shut up about it.”

“Did you get a good look at the wound? Those spikes could have hit an artery.”

“It’s all good there. I can’t speak for the calf muscle though.” His blinked hard and a tear pushed out.

“You’re in so much pain,” she said.

“Yeah, the cure is upstairs. If you’re able to help me up, that is.”

She checked their surroundings. They were in Stefan’s room in the basement. The towel in her hand seemed clean, and then she remembered the vomit.

“Don’t worry. You weren’t the only one who heard it,” he said.

“We need to get off this island.”

He looked down at his leg, then back up to her eyes. “Yes, we do.”

Stefan had sworn he was okay, but there was a lot of blood. If they weren’t able to get away soon, that leg could get infected, and he could die, leaving the rest of them stranded. They could have taken the small fishing boat to safety and sent help back for Ashton and Skye, but he couldn’t leave them. It wouldn’t have been right. Send Erin with Stefan to mainland? Can I trust him? No… No, of course I can’t.

As he neared the duplex, he could see a woman up ahead, and she let herself in stealthily, head swiveling to scan behind her as she entered.

Wishing he had a weapon, he twisted the doorknob and inched his way into the entrance, avoiding the first set of lights as he crept forward. He couldn’t hear anyone’s breathing, nor could he hear any movement. He flipped on the light, bracing himself for a surprise. The place was empty.

In the corner of his mind or maybe his ear, he could hear a familiar sound, the same one that had brought them to their knees and pounded inside his mind.

Stay a while.

He opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water, and he could sense there was someone behind him. He jerked to his side. Nothing. He walked cautiously over to the washroom and turned on the tap. Cold water to his face was refreshing. The presence came once more. Stay a while. Lifting his head, he saw a shadow move through the corner of the mirror, gone as fast as it was there.

He stepped into the living room to find nothing again. “Come on,” he called out angrily. Trevor moved back to the bathroom to grab an extra first aid kit from under the sink. He grabbed a bottle of scotch from the liquor cabinet and made his way back toward the entrance. He stopped. Their bedroom door at the end of the hall was closed. It wasn’t closed before. He never closed the door during the day. Trevor set his supplies down on the kitchen table and made the dreaded walk down the hall. “You think you’re good, don’t you? You want me to look crazy, is that it? Want me to think I’m crazy? Good luck with that.” Trevor wiped his forehead on his sleeve. The room was too quiet.

“You’re all going to need a few more IQ points to make me question myself. So keep working at it. It will take you quite a while!” He stopped in front of the door. “The second-rate theatrics are just pissing me off now. Kidnapping, emotional damages, the parade of liability concerns… Keep serving it up on a platter. I suppose the longer you feel like conducting your skit, the angrier I’ll get, and the more fucked you’ll be.”

Trevor exhaled. Whatever he had felt earlier in the woods, it had its grips on him again. The walls were closing in, suffocating him. Reaching for the knob, he was powerless, giving into his unknown desires. The door cracked open and he paused, grimacing before revealing a darkened uncertainty.

Trevor threw the door open, slamming into the wall, causing pages upon pages of newspapers to flutter up into the air, circulating back down toward the floor. On his bed laid hundreds of newspaper articles, each of which had something circled in red in the bottom right corners. Page three of the Times , business insider, although it wasn’t so much business involved in the write-up. Instead, it was a follow up to Trevor’s severe wrongdoings. Throw a pebble, there’s a ripple effect. In this case, drop a bomb, destroy someone.