The Island: Part 4

By Michael R Stark

Stranded on Portsmouth Island, William Hill struggled to survive even as The Fever raced across the world leaving a scattered wasteland of the dead and dying in its wake. The news brought stories of storms and riots, of people starving while the government promised food.

Two weeks before, life had made sense. The outlook hadn’t been bright, but he understood it. Faced with dwindling supplies and a disease so virulent some wondered if humanity might be facing its own extinction, William figured he had enough to worry about.

Then he found the message, scrawled in blood and written personally for him. The chilling words left him wondering whether or not he’d live long to see the next sunrise.

Not even a fool could mistake the intent, not when the evil knew his name and watched from shadows.

“COME GET YOU WEE LEE UM”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael R Stark
• Release date: Jul 29, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476211985

Michael R Stark

Trying to figure out when I started writing is like trying to decide when I started walking. The stories have always been there, rummaging around in my mind. Some went on paper. Most didn’t. I wrote my first novel when I was 22. Thankfully, I left it to the dustbin of history where it shall always remain.Imagine the grin, yes, it was that bad.As for influences on my latest story, The Island, that one has been up there banging away in my head for a long time. Parts of it were told at bedtime. Though honestly, those who heard the parts wouldn't recognize them in the story. By the time we get to the second book in this series, they will find some recognizable moments. They'll also probably be upset that the adventure turned into something of a horror story.Ahh, well, most of them are old enough now to read it for what it is.I grew up in North Carolina, which is why part of the story is set there. I’ve been to exotic parts of the world, many countries, and most states. None of them I know as well as the one I called home for most of my life. It makes it easy to write about it, and the people in it.I hope you enjoy the stories.MS

Book preview

The Island

Part 4

by

Michael Stark

SMASHWORDS EDITION

PUBLISHED BY: Michael Stark on Smashwords

The Island - Part 4

Copyright © 2012 by Michael Stark

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced without the author’s written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

Forward:

This is Part 4 of The Island. If you’ve not read the earlier parts, go grab them first.

If you can’t find them, come visit me at http://www.michael-stark.com/ for a list of places where you can read them free.

MS

Chapter XVI - Preparations

We buried him at the little cemetery next to Zachary. The two mounds of freshly turned earth looked out of place amid the tottering old gravestones. I stood next to Elsie while Keith and Devon covered the body, trying to decide what I’d missed.

Everything looked as right as we could make it. The people spread out in a loose semi-circle stood hushed and still. Jessie had even dug up enough black to dress for the occasion.

A warm breeze slipped through the trees. Across the ground, splotches of sunlight and shadow played tag in rhythm with the swaying branches. Where the underbrush thinned, snatches of a sparkling turquoise-blue ocean glinted in the distance. Leaves rustled overhead. Even the slightest surge in the wind sent scores of them wafting toward the earth in lazy showers of red and gold.

Gabriel had picked a fine day to die. Autumn had dressed the world in the most vibrant shades as if commemorating his passing. The simple act of lifting my eyes left me feeling like I’d not only found the end of a rainbow, but had stepped inside of it. As pretty as it was, the sight of fall in all its glory stood as a harbinger of things to come. When the leaves were gone, the cold would come and winter would seize the island in its icy grip. Life would grow tougher and leaner. We would too. If we didn’t, we’d be digging more graves.

Elsie had even given the man a short and surprisingly eloquent send-off, despite the fact that she seemed as jittery as the others. I doubt many funerals had guests watching the tree line or jumping occasionally at shadows, but not many had the cause of death listed as Killed by Monster either.

I stood as silent as the rest, trying to focus on the ceremony, but wrestling with the odd feeling that an answer lay in front of me if I could only figure out the question. While the rest seemed appropriately solemn, I grew increasingly frustrated, like I had all the parts to a Rebus puzzle, but couldn’t quite put them in the right order.

The group broke apart on the way back with the younger folks trudging ahead while I stayed back with Elsie.

You looked awfully preoccupied, she noted on the way back to the station.

Daniel loped along a few feet away, his face empty. I still didn’t know how to take him, and couldn’t decide if he was more demon child or simple prognosticator. Even though I’d dreamed it, the image of his head swiveling around on his body wouldn’t leave my mind. He’d done nothing evil. Yet simply standing next to him could raise the hair on my arms. In some ways, I felt sorry for him. Everyone at the station avoided him as best they could. Watching the others skirt their way around the boy reminded me of people poking through tall weeds where a snake had just disappeared. They did it gingerly and nervously.

I pulled my eyes away from him.

I was, I said to Elsie. I’m going down to the southern end of the island. I counted nine people on the beach the day we passed. There’s at least six or seven more in between.

Not today. It’s too late, she said without breaking her stride.

Elsie, the people out in the open don’t stand a chance. I can’t just let them die, I argued. Besides, I want to check on the cabins on the other side. We may be able to move down there and save ourselves a lot of work.

I said not today, Hill William, she said sharply.

I shot her a cautious glance. She stared straight ahead, her face tight. Elsie had drawn her gray hair back in a bun for the funeral. If she’d had a floor-length linen dress and a pair of boots, she would have looked like Granny Clampett stomping along beside me.

Gabriel’s suicide had shocked everyone. Elsie seemed to have taken it worse than the rest. I hadn’t helped the situation when I described the visit to Ocracoke. The stunned expressions had started at disbelief, ventured over into denial, and then migrated toward horror when they realized what he meant by growing claws. Life grew more complicated with each passing day. We didn’t just have to scrounge for food and worry about a disease. Survival had taken on a whole new meaning. Famine and disease might eventually kill us all if we lived long enough to die a natural death. Increasingly, it seemed we had better odds of serving as dinner.

Stress ate at everyone. I could see it in their faces. Elsie had seemed impassive through much of it, weathering the news and the events better than most. Even so, the constant threat of something hungry lurking behind the next bush had to be taking a toll on the old woman.

The time seemed good to change the topic.

How’s the water supply?

She shook her head.

Not good. The barrel is down to a half. We need rain.

How about food?

She sighed. Better now. I had Keith and Tyler go down and get the other sack along with the chickens. Charlie threw in a lot of basics: beans, flour, rice, and canned goods. We can stretch another ten days on what we have.

The old woman looked up at me.

It won’t be fine eatin’ though. Charlie was old-school. These youngsters ain’t going to like the country cookin’ as much as you and me.

And don’t go givin Keith any jobs, she said in a stubborn tone. I got him buildin’ me a chicken coop.

Damn it, Elsie, will you pick one personality out of your schizophrenic line-up and stick with it? I asked, only half-joking. I could never predict what might come out of her mouth. One moment she enunciated her words with the finest. The next she sounded like a comedian poking fun at Southern dialects.

She pulled up short and looked over her glasses. What are you talking about, Hill William?

There you go again, I said in exasperation. The last two sentences out of your mouth sound like they came from different people. One is an English teacher. The other is a farm girl.

She threw her head back and laughed.

The real me is the farm girl, she finally said. The other one is who I learned to be.

I looked at her expectantly.

I bought out the General Merchandise when I moved back to Atlantic, she said. Before that, I had a boss. I didn’t need him thinking I was dumb because of my accent.

Did you really work for the FBI?

I really did, Hill William. They said I was a natural.

A natural at what?

She studied me for a moment. People. Now if you’re through, let’s get back and get some food on the table. I’m hungry and I’m tired.

Lunch turned out to be canned meat on rough bread. Elsie whipped up both from one of the sacks that Charlie had sent. The drink of choice turned out to be instant tea, a lukewarm abomination in which little tea could be found. The concoction mostly tasted like lemon juice stirred into dirty water. I cringed at the flavor and glanced back toward the kitchen. A can of dry powder sat on the corner of the bar. Fever or not, if I made it off the island, I had a lawsuit to file. They could hire all the high-dollar lawyers they wanted. Once they’d finished explaining that the insult they had fostered upon both consumers and tea-pickers actually tasted good, I’d pass out samples.

Hell, I wouldn’t even need a lawyer, just a pickup truck full of pitchforks and torches.

Elsie brought me out of the revenge-laced fantasy when she flicked on the radio. I looked up to a table full of glum faces. We sat by as the Three Dog Night extolled the virtues of traveling to Shambala, a place the world needed, but didn’t look as if it would visit any time soon. The dry and distinctive rattle of shuffling papers filled the airwaves when the music died away. After a few moments of static, followed by the newscaster whispering to someone in the background, Elton John painted a lonely picture of Norma Jean flickering like a candle in the wind.

Uncertain looks slid around the table, a few of them tinged with fear. I knew how they felt. Every time we turned on the radio, what jumped out painted a scene of death and horror that no one could have foreseen. Yet, Christine had also become our rock in many ways, the one spot in our day that offered certainty and the last tie to a life it seemed we would never see again. Her clear, calm voice brought a sense of order to the chaos and offered a glimpse back to days when my biggest worries revolved around paying bills and trying to decide which restaurant would get my dinner dollar.

I picked up my sandwich and headed for the stairs. Elsie frowned at me when I rose. I had no answers for the questioning look on her face or for anything else. When voices came back they would either dole out more gloom and more doom or give me a whole new

Reviews for The Island

[sunnydrk · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I always love a good "end of the world" book. While the Island was intriguing, I found it to be ho hum and without a strong plotline. That being said, I am still interested to see where it goes and will read the next book in the series.