The Island

By David Mayer

Illa, an untamable pirate captain, seeks answers about her father's disappearance on a mysterious island.

Conflicted between love and hatred, she seeks something not even she can understand. She sets off on a journey to an desolate island covered in mysteries and terror.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BadPress
• Release date: Nov 9, 2023
• ISBN: 9781667448978

Book preview

The Island

By David Ferreira Mayer

Translated by Guilherme Machado Meira

I

ILLA

Illa brought the wine bottle to her mouth. She let the liquid drip down the corner of her lips, neck, and puddle above her swollen stomach. It soaked into the ruffle of her blouse, turning the dried blood on her skin and clothes a deeper red.

This did not bother her.

She was too absorbed with hearing the moans coming from below her feet. From below the floorboards of her cabin.

She took another sip, and it was as bitter as the suffering of the man buried somewhere in the bowels of the ship. She once again cast her sight through the window, towards the setting sun.

Knocks at the door pulled her out of her trance. She shook her head and adjusted one of her dreadlocks over her shoulder. She sank into the chair and looked up at the door.

Come in.

A stocky man stepped inside and closed the door. He was big. With bulky arms covered in poorly made tattoos and cracked scars. He scratched the handkerchief tied to his smooth head and narrowed his eyes, trying to decipher the feminine figure sat on the other side of the table, hidden between shadows and the setting sun on her back. Her red eyes were two beasts staring at him, hidden behind unwashed braided hair.

We'll be there tomorrow at dawn, if we're lucky.

The woman did not answer. The ship swayed a little. Someone moaned.

Kill me... I can't take it anymore...

Finally, silence came.

I thought you'd like to know, said the man, unable to avert his eyes.

She raised the bottle grasped in her hand, both a sign of understanding and a farewell. The man nodded and turned back to the door. He opened it and closed it without taking a single step. He leaned his forehead against the door, trying to decide what to do, and stared again at her impatient eyes, now hazy and soaked in wine.

You mustn't stay on that island with that scoundrel. Just kill him and we'll sail off as pirates. That's what your father would want you to do.

Illa smiled and sat upright.

Bonny... I appreciate the suggestion, but for as long as I'm the filthy captain of this ship, I'm the one in charge. Not just of the ship, but of our lives, mine and all of yours. And if even my father couldn't give me direction and sense, it's not a first mate like yourself who'll do it.

But...

The bottle exploded on the wall next to Bonny. He brought both hands to his face. Startled, he moved away from the shards of glass and the red liquid spreading through the cabin.

I don't care about your arguments or anyone else's here in this shit! I am Illa Priston, captain of the King Cobra, and if someone doesn't come challenge me and take my post, you must obey me without question! We've had this conversation a hundred times. If you had let this go, even Big John would be alive right now. But no! You had to insist and keep nagging non-stop, both behind my back and in front of me. My decision is final!

After screaming, her chest huffed up and down at an unsteady pace. She slammed her fingers covered in pearl rings on the table and stood up. She walked past a frightened Bonny and slammed the door shut, leaving him alone in the cabin.

Outside, a wailing wind swept through the deck and the dissatisfied men awaiting the return of the first mate. They were disappointed. They rolled their eyes, picked at their fingernails, carved the wood of the ship with their knifes. No one had the courage to face her head-on. The last one who tried, Big John, became shark food.

Illa went down the stairs. She passed by another group of men who stared suspiciously at each other from their hammocks. She stepped even deeper into the bowels of the ship. Shrouded in darkness, she felt around for a candle and lit it, dimly lighting the room. She opened an old, creaking door. The odor punched her in the stomach, and she struggled to keep the wine in place.

She took a few tentative steps forwards. The stench of feces and rotten flesh gripped her with filthy, horrifying fingers. She glanced at the being in front of her...

Not without a hint of pity.

Not without a hint of disgust.

Not without