Brandon Enns - Islanders

Erin staggered to the side. She backed up to the kitchen, next to Bruce’s beloved espresso machine.

Stefan sat comfortably in Bruce’s recliner, sipping from an apple juice box. He remained seated, seemingly enjoying her reaction. He was dead. She had witnessed it. “You’re…” she stammered.

“And yet here I am.” He turned his attention to Trevor. “You look funny, cousin. Something is off with you.” He wagged his finger emphatically.

Erin was stirring, holding onto the counter for balance.

“Don’t get up!” shouted Trevor. “Stay where you are and start talking.”

“As you wish… Well, needless to say, you’ve all been part of something very special. A tradition actually. One that takes place only once a generation, this being my first, obviously. You’ve all been chosen based on what they like to call your unrighteous sins. A little too biblical and dramatic for my taste. I’d prefer utter fucking selfishness, stemming from greed, or what they would call gluttony. Moreover, they’ve never been able to find that soul that could be purified by their hands. They’ve yet to find a single soul they even desired to save… But then you came along, Erin. You in all your shameful glory… I still think it’s because you have that girl-next-door quality, but who am I to argue the merits of age-old spirits.”

He waited for Erin to reply, but her brain wasn’t computing.

Stefan proceeded in a less relaxed position, leaning forward in his chair, feet tucked in. “You’ve been chosen. You’re special. I honestly did see it from the very beginning. Can he say the same?” He gestured at Trevor.

Trevor snapped. “You don’t know a thing about us. You’re just a spoiled little rat turned cult. I don’t give a shit about all this garbage. I know what you are. You think you intimidate me? You think you scare me? You are an ant at my feet, and I’ve been gracious enough to not step on you. So fuck you and your hocus-pocus. You can’t have her. She’s going home and I’m burying you with the rest of them.”

Stefan smiled, then bowed his head and closed his eyes. He lifted his head back up, cheeks flushed, his smile bridged on the left as he shook his head. “I can respect that. But you’re a realist, Trevor. Which normally would suggest your prior comment to be true, but you know neither of you are going anywhere. That is the real truth that you know in your heart. Soon you will be sand and bone like the rest. We all die anyway. Consider us a cleanup crew.”

“I saw what you wanted me to see, you manipulative piece of shit.”

Stefan ignored him. “Erin, you can be with me. I think you’d learn to love me. I get better with time, or so I’ve been told.”

“Don’t listen to him,” said Trevor.

“He’s upset,” said Stefan. “Erin, I think you’re amazing.”

Trevor extended a hand to Erin. “Just hand me the gun.” She stepped toward Stefan and the cabin shook. Trevor’s mouth jutted open and he fell to the ground. Shot in the back between the shoulder blades. Her scream was nothing but a pathetic croak. Bruce’s came booming up the steps and over top of Trevor, who was trying to say something. After a panicked breath, his head smacked into the floor.

“I killed you,” Erin muttered.

Stefan rose to his feet to join Bruce. They blocked Trevor’s body, and she tried to look around them. “Get away from him!” she cried. “Get away from him!”

“It’s time for the ceremony now. We must go.”

“No! Stay back! Get away from me!”

“You should shoot me,” Bruce said. “Come on, shoot me again. I think it’d be good for you. Shoot me. Once more for the crowd! Come on, Erin! A little more gusto this time!”

Her gun was shaking violently, feeling heavy in her hand.

“Human instinct. Hesitation. How can you expect to survive? Shoot me.” She couldn’t. “Shoot me!”

She pulled the trigger, then turned to Stefan and squeezed once more. He had a smile on his face before he was hit. Both crumpled to the ground, the cabin now filled with bodies.

Erin gulped for air. Trevor was gone. She shook and cried, her lips inches away from his. The cabin was silent, and then they rose. Stefan, then Bruce.

Stefan was over the moon with excitement. “That was brilliant, Erin! Are you having fun? Because I’m having fun. I can’t believe you pulled the trigger on me. You are outside your mind right now, and I love it.”

“What…”

“Fake bullets. Fake blood. I thought you had maybe figured it out back at my place when you tried to dress my wound.”

Erin’s eyes lit up as she looked down at Trevor, a glimmer of hope that he was alive.

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry. That, unfortunately, was real. He’s dead.”

Her heart plummeted. “I’ll kill you.”

“You will?” Stefan moved in close and she pivoted and socked him with a hard right to the mouth. He staggered back with his hand to his bloodied lips. She stepped in and stroked him once more in the face. Her knuckles cracked and shifted in her hand.

The burly arms of Bruce wrapped around her and pulled her to her feet as she kicked, scratched, screamed, and bit, doing anything to separate herself from him.

Bruce was so strong. “Give her the drugs!” Bruce yelled at Stefan. Stefan reached into his pocket and pulled out a small syringe. She tried. It wasn’t enough. It took mere seconds for the drugs to sink in, making her feel increasingly tired the more she tried to fight it. Urine dribbled down her legs and her heart slowed.

Erin was in her garden back in New York. The dark soil in her hands was moist, the air was crisp. A worm wriggled at her feet. She looked up at her old apartment building, tattered and worn, but it had enough character that she always thought of it as a person. The sun was catching the corner of her eye, blinding her, and she smiled. The warm rays and cool breeze balanced. Erin looked back down at the dirt and then to her neighbor Wei, a lovely elderly Chinese woman that would cook for her every Thursday. Sometimes they’d clock out their Monday’s with a shot of baiju. The stuff would burn the hair off a girl’s legs, but it was a tradition she cherished. They’d shared many laughs. Her English was spotty at best, but they were able to converse with relative ease once they’d gotten to know one another.

She pondered what she was going to cook for herself that evening. Maybe she’d use up some of the vegetables still in her fridge. Make a stir-fry with orange teriyaki. Her stomach gurgled at the thought, but her mouth did not salivate as a horrible smell suddenly attached to her nose. It smelled like ammonia.

Erin’s head bobbed up from the scent. A tiny bag of smelling salts was raised up to her nose.

Her mouth was dry, lips cracked, and she tasted blood. She wanted so badly to go back home, to her garden. She missed Wei. But instead, she was about to be sacrificed like some animal, apparently destined to live out her own hell on an unknown island off the coast of Belize.

“Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey,” Stefan said joyously. “Quick little power nap for our girl. Our star girl… Sorry, I gave you a little too much, had to use those nasty salts to get your motor running. We don’t have a ton of time, Erin. The sun is coming up.”

She groaned. Everything ached. She spit on his shoes and he laughed uproariously. “I love it.”

Her wrists had been bound with duct tape and she was sitting upright on the couch. When she turned to her left, she cried out. Trevor was there. His chest rose and fell. He was alive.

Bruce was in the middle of applying the salts to Trevor’s nose. He was tied up as well. “Trevor. Trevor look at me.” She turned to Stefan. “He needs medical attention. Please!” Not a worry in the world registered on his arrogant face. “Trevor.” His eyes finally opened as his eyes squinted and his head bobbed around, saliva dangling to the floor. “Look at me. You’re gonna be okay.” Back to Stefan. “Get him help!”