Eviskar Island (22 page)

              “Yes, I suppose I owe you an explanation.  Young man,” he bent down and patted Spencer on the shoulder, “I hate to do this, but I mustn’t allow any of you to return to civilization to tell of this mysterious world.  You see, a thousand years ago, give or take, there were other visitors to this island, and like you and me they discovered its secrets.  That archeological site up the coast?” he waved dismissively, “it’s really nothing, a few huts and an old fishing village.  I do believe the reason for its existence was merely to lead the curious away from the beach and low ridge that you and your colleagues stumbled upon as a route to the island's interior.”

              Endicott thrust his left wrist up close to Spencer’s face.  It bore the bracelet Jocelyn had uncovered back at the hut.  “This is Viking gold, my young friend, and it represents but one piece among the thousands that have been cached in several places within this prehistoric world.

              “Well,” Endicott stood and stretched, “I’m afraid I must be off.  It’s time to stage what promises to be a nasty ambush of your friends.  I’m afraid there’s no other way.  I would have clubbed all of you to death last night but for the watchful eye of that bitch, Jocelyn—stayed up the entire night she did.  I daresay she might have dozed off if she hadn’t stumbled, literally, upon the bracelet.  Ah well, in a few hours none of that will matter.”  He scrambled several feet up the slope of the ravine before turning to address his victim one final time.  “As a budding paleontologist, there may be some consolation in knowing the scientific name for the beasts which will soon devour your remains.  ‘Cynognathus’ is the technical term.  It’s a bit bland in comparison to ‘lizard wolf,’ don’t you think?  And for what it’s worth, I don’t believe you’ll suffer much.  On several occasions, having watched them make a kill, I was impressed with how calmly their prey succumbed.  I do believe they’re somewhat venomous, their saliva must contain some sort of powerful anesthetic.”  With those final words, Endicott disappeared over the edge of the ravine.

              Spencer lay still against a moss-covered rock.  The air was calm and humid, the only sounds he heard were the gurgling of the little stream and the desperate beating of his own heart.  He pulled against the thongs that bound his hands, but Endicott had tied them so tightly he couldn’t move his wrists at all.  Similarly, the Doctor had lashed his legs together from just below the knees down to his ankles.  In the back of Spencer’s mind, beneath the numbing fear, he knew that in order to survive he had to extricate himself as quickly as possible from this macabre dining place of the lizard wolves.  His efforts to move, however, were decidedly unsuccessful.  So securely had he been trussed, he couldn’t so much as roll over.

              Spencer began yelling for help.  He pleaded for someone to come and cut his bonds.  He cried out to his parents in English, in French, in Mohawk.  He conjured up desperate hopes that searchers or rescuers might be looking in his vicinity for him and his lost colleagues.  He called out to Charlie, his friend with the hot dog stand, the man who knew him so well, who always rendered such sage advice whenever Spencer had a problem.  What counsel would the old man have for him now?  Finally, he called out to Jack and Jocelyn.  If either of them were suspicious of Endicott’s motives, maybe they had circled back to check on him.

              But all of his entreaties went unanswered.  Abruptly Spencer stopped yelling and began to whimper.  Who was he kidding?  No one was coming to help him.  He began to cry softly.

              It was between sobs that he first heard it: a chorus of short, high-pitched grunts.  They were approaching quickly up the ravine.  Spencer stopped crying as panic overwhelmed him.  He launched into a superhuman effort to break the leather straps that immobilized his hands, but it was for naught.  The thongs simply grew tighter, cutting into his skin.  A horrified look crossed his face as the foliage below him rustled and the first animal broke into the ravine.

XII.

              Jack stopped abruptly.

              “What’s the matter?” Jocelyn asked.  She plopped down onto a fallen tree and took a large swig from her water bottle, then soaked her bandana before replacing it around her neck.  Grateful for the break, she relaxed and looked up at her companion.  He was standing exactly where he’d stopped, a look of serious concern on his face.

              “We took a wrong turn,” he replied.  Extending his fist at arm’s length, he did his navigation thing and nodded to himself.  “Yep, we’re too far south.  Darn it!  I should have been paying closer attention.  We should have veered to the west over an hour ago.  If we want to cross the river at the head of the lake, we have to turn back.”

              She looked around and sighed.  “I think you’re right.  This terrain is strange.  We certainly didn’t come through here yesterday.”  She looked at him and sensed bitter disappointment.  “Hey, it’s not your fault.  I should have been more attentive as well.”

              Jack shrugged by way of assent.  “We may as well head back.  Who knows what we’ll encounter if we cross this valley this far downstream.  Doc Endicott said the archosaurs live down south, and we’re on our way there.  Let’s just go back and swing west once we get to familiar territory.”

              They hoisted their packs and plodded back the way they had come.  Both were hot and exhausted, and the enthusiasm of the morning had long since worn off.  It was a long way back and the only way to get there was to keep moving regardless of the fatigue that had set in.

              After an hour of slogging through fern fields, conifer forests and circumnavigating one large cycad grove, Jack spoke.  “My navigational error really cost us, Jossy.”  He was bitter and angry.  Jocelyn had never seen him upset like this.  “What with that late start we got, we’re not going to make it to the river by nightfall.”  He turned to face her.  “And that,” he added emphatically, “means we won’t get to Debbie and Marcie until late tomorrow.  And THAT means,” he continued, “Debbie won’t make it to the beach until the day after tomorrow.”  Tears of frustration moistened his eyes.  “That poor woman.  She’s so badly hurt and I’ve singlehandedly prolonged her suffering.”

              The strain of being away from Debbie, of not having yet rendered any real help to her, was having a profound effect on Jack.  Jocelyn felt it too, but not nearly to the same extent.  In her mind they’d done all they could, but Jack’s sense of responsibility evidently ran much deeper.  He was really upset.

              Acting on impulse, Jocelyn put her arms around him and held him close.  The bold move surprised Jack.  Anxiety abruptly replaced frustration, and he stood stock still, not knowing how to react.  Jocelyn held on, pressing her head against his chest.  Soon he responded.  At first he gently patted her shoulders, then he relaxed and returned the embrace, hugging her tightly and stroking her hair.  They stood that way for some time, neither wanting to let go, both considering the awkward moment when they would separate and be forced to admit to the attraction each had for the other.

              They finally drew apart.  She was smiling.  Her gaze was soft and understanding.  Jack blushed deeply, but forced himself to look her in the eye.   “Thanks, Jossy,” he murmured, “I don’t know why I got so worked up, but…thanks.”

              “She grinned, “We’d best be going.”

              “Yes,” he admitted, “we still have a long way to go.”

*  *  *

              From a dense clump of ferns the first animal appeared.  It moved quickly towards Spencer, coming up the incline of the gulch with its head down and urgency in its demeanor.  And it wasn’t a lizard wolf.  It was a creature he’d never seen before, but there was, nonetheless, something familiar about it.  As the distance closed, Spencer made out a human-like face hidden behind extensive facial hair.  It moved with a hobbled gait, an extreme limp, but it moved quickly and was promptly by his side.  Brandishing a knife, the “bearded ape” worked quickly to free his legs, whereupon it grunted, “Come,” and helped to propel him out of the dangerous ditch.  No sooner had they left when three fearsome lizard wolves, salivating in anticipation of an easy meal, sniffed their way to the spot where Spencer had lain.

              At the top of the embankment, Spencer collapsed.  A combination of shocks to his system had caused his brain to shut down; he blacked out from sensory overload.

              Everyone has limits to the extent of psychological trauma he can endure, and Spencer couldn’t take any more.  The intense fear he’d just experienced, coupled with the helpless feeling of being bound hand and foot, the betrayal of the man he’d come to admire so much, and the blow to his head, had simply been too much. 

              When he awoke, the “cave man” was staring down at him.  Spencer’s hands were free and he found himself lying in Endicott’s hut, sprawled upon the Doctor’s straw bed.  His rescuer poked and prodded him, looking for signs of injury.  Apparently satisfied with his examination, the man ushered him to the door and pointed to the north.  “You go…uh…mountain.  No here safe.  Mountain…der.”

              Spencer began to ask questions, but the man cut him off.  He was agitated and apprehensive, anxious to be on his way.  He handed Spencer a crudely made knife and a spear, and again pointed to the northern hills.  “You go now.  Safe at mountain.”  Giving Spencer a reassuring pat on the shoulder, the bearded savior hobbled away to the south, towards the river valley, along the route taken by Jack and Jocelyn earlier that morning.

*  *  *

              Spencer was alone but he was no longer frightened.  He had experienced fear, real fear, only minutes earlier, and the incident had somehow hardened him.  A feeling of intense resolve now consumed him.  He knew he was lucky to be alive, and, dammit, he was going to stay that way.  But remaining here at Endicott’s place would lower his chances considerably.  Mr. “cave man” had indicated that safety lay in the mountains, so he’d follow the man’s advice and head that way.

              His mind was functioning cogently now.  Already he’d formulated a plan.  A route along mountain slopes to the north and west would ultimately bring him back to Debbie and Marcie.  If he encountered obstacles, he’d drop in elevation until he’d cleared them and then continue his trek upslope.  That should keep him clear of most predators and out of the steamy, humid jungle below.

              Taking off his blood-soaked shirt, Spencer tied it around his waist.  He then tucked the knife into his belt, grabbed his spear and jogged in the direction indicated by the mysterious fellow who’d saved his life.  Along the way, Spencer wondered about the man, who he was and why he’d appeared when he did.  How long had he been in this God-forsaken place?  Where had he learned the few English words he’d spoken?  And where the heck was he off to and why did he leave in such a hurry?  “The answers don’t really matter right now,” Spencer reasoned.  He was quite certain the two of them would meet again, and he sincerely hoped that when they did, it would be under less stressful circumstances.

*  *  *

              Long shadows stretched across the trail in front of the two tired students.  The reddish tint to the Sun warned Jack just how low it was in the sky and how little time they had before it would slip behind the distant hills.

              “We should be near the crossing point now,” Jack said with confidence.  “Like I predicted earlier, we don’t have enough daylight left to ford the stream today.  What do you say we look for a place to camp?”

              Jocelyn didn’t need any encouragement to stop.  She was exhausted.  They instinctively began meandering uphill, away from the river where wildlife would be expected to congregate at this late hour.  There would be no comfortable shelter to stay in like Endicott’s hut.  A tall tree with strong, level branches upon which to construct a crude platform would be the best, most hospitable abode they could reasonably hope for.  On a nearby hill, a solitary large tree stood apart from the rest.  Majestic in stature, it seemed to beckon the two weary travelers.  Jack headed straight for it.

              “Okay, Ms. Botanist, here’s a specimen for you.  It looks like an oak.  Even I know that’s out of place in this world.  I wonder how it got here?  Whoa,” he said as he neared the trunk, “it smells like someone lost his lunch.  We can’t sleep in this guy; he stinks.”

              Jocelyn wasn’t listening.  She stooped to pick up something from the ground, sniffed it, wrinkled her nose, and then became absorbed in the study of the tree’s leaves.  Knowing better than to interrupt her when she was in “plant examination” mode, Jack waited for her to speak.

              “It’s incredible,” she remarked.

              “Told ya,” Jack said with pride.  “The headlines will read: ‘Malinowski finds oak tree in gymnosperm world.’  I even remembered the term ‘gymnosperm,’” he beamed.  “You may now applaud if you wish.”

              Jocelyn smiled.  Jack was back to his carefree self.  She liked that.  “Sorry to disappoint you my fine phytogenetically-astute friend, but this is no oak.”

              “What?”

              “It’s a ginkgo tree.”

              “Hey, I’ve heard of that.  Ginkgo balboa.  It’s a vitamin supplement or aphrodisiac or something.  They advertise it on TV.”

              “Ginkgoes are an ancient variety of non-flowering plant.  The only surviving member in the modern world is
Ginkgo
Biloba
.  This one’s different, though, similar, but different.  Like those horsetails we’ve seen all over the island, this plant has been extinct for over a hundred million years.”

              “As fascinating as all that is, let’s move to the pine grove over there.  I’m tired.”

              “We can stay here.  Look at the branches in this ginkgo.  It’s the perfect place to sleep.”

              “Maybe you can stand the smell, but I can’t.  The smell of puke makes me want to do the same.”

              “I agree, but the smell is down here, Jack.”  She picked up a handful of soil.  “See there?”  She held several small objects up to his nose.  He wretched and turned away.  “The rotting seeds, the ones on the ground, are what stink.  Butyric acid is produced as they decompose.  Once we’re higher up we won’t smell it.”

              Jocelyn was right.  About fifteen feet off the ground three large branches extending horizontally from the trunk, served as joists upon which Jack constructed another crude sleeping platform.  In the growing darkness, he began to search their surroundings for strong sticks and branches.  Once he’d gathered an armload, he’d pass them up to Jocelyn and then scramble up to supervise their placement.  She marveled at the ease with which he ascended the tree following each successful foray.  He climbed as easily as if he were walking down the street.  In almost no time they had a comfortable place to rest, a solid platform of wood covered with soft cynodont hide.

              “I swear, you must be part monkey,” Jocelyn said once they were settled.  “You’re so athletic.  What sports do you do?”

              “In addition to climbing you mean?  None, really.”  Delving into his pack he produced two cynodont sandwiches.  After offering one to a grateful Jocelyn, he continued, “Actually, I’m surprised that your feminine intuition didn’t peg me as the captain of the swim team.”

              “Do you have to make a joke about everything?  You’re an enigma to me, Jack.  Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re the most unusual guy I’ve ever met, and,” she added in a low voice, “apparently you didn’t hear me on the trail earlier today when I told you that you’re not exactly, entirely without a modicum of acceptable assets in the area of physical appearance…as it were.”

              “Huh?”

              “Gee, Jack, do I really have to spell it out for you?  I think you’re attractive, Okay?”

              Jack was at a loss for words.  He stopped chewing his dinner and stared.

              She let out a deep breath.  “Now that I’ve made a complete fool of myself, I’ll leave you to your dinner.  I’ll eat mine as well.”  She took a big bite of her meal and turned her back to him.

              “I’m really attracted to you too, Jocelyn.”

              “Oh, right.”  She once again faced him.  There was pain in her expression and sorrow in her voice.  As they’d plodded through the afternoon heat, the young woman from Corpus Christi had become reflective.  She’d found herself thinking more and more about Jack, and about how different he was from her friends back home.  “How could you possibly harbor any feelings for someone like me?  I’m an argumentative, unsupportive, mean-spirited, self-centered bitch.  And you know what?  I’m the unhappiest person alive because I hate myself.  I despise the way I’ve behaved towards people on this trip, I despise the way I’ve acted in school, and I’m a real lemon picker when it comes to choosing friends.”

              Jack smiled.  “I wouldn’t call you ‘unsupportive.’”

              She laughed.  “What you lack in tact, Mr. Malinowski, you make up for in humor and honesty.  I guess that’s what I like about you.”

              “You know, if you don’t like who you are, then change, Jossy.  One of my dad’s favorite expressions is: ‘Today is the first day of the rest of your life.’  He’s always throwing out phrases like that.  He thinks he’s quite the philosopher.  But if you think about it, that saying makes a lot of sense.  People change.  I’ve seen it many times.  If you don’t like who you’ve become, make this the first day of the rest of your existence.”