Authors: Warren Dalzell
“Hang in there, Debbie,” she said in a soothing voice to her barely aware patient. “Tomorrow’s going to be an eventful day. I promise.”
In fact, the day would be eventful because Marcie, having taken stock of their rapidly degrading circumstances, had just made a momentous decision. If help didn’t arrive in some form by early afternoon, she would try to rig some mechanism to haul Debbie up and over the cliff edge. The woman’s condition was worsening. Enduring one more night with no more pain killers, no heat and no food, might prove too much for her. If Marcie couldn’t get Debbie to the beach, and if a rescue party didn’t arrive within a day or two, her newfound friend and mentor would die.
* * *
Jocelyn sat up and rubbed her eyes. It took a moment for her to collect her thoughts and get her bearings. She’d been so tired and her sleep so deep, it took a while for her to remember where she was. As her mind cleared, a sudden mild panic set in. Jack was gone. Looking quickly about, she was ready to shout his name when he catapulted up from below and handed her a stick. “A present for you, Miss Delaney, from your favorite story teller.”
She examined it. It was a straight horsetail stalk. Embedded in the end, and tied tightly with a short length of Marcie’s para-cord, was a short but nasty-looking cycad spike. Jack himself sported a similar-looking spear that lacked the spike. It had instead been carefully sharpened using his pocket knife. “In case we encounter trouble near the river,” he said by way of explanation.
He immediately attended the business of stuffing his pack full of the animal skins they were to carry back to the cliff. Without speaking, Jocelyn touched his shoulder. When he turned, she embraced him and gave him a lingering kiss. “Just to let you know that last night was…that I really meant it.”
Jack didn’t blush. Their relationship was now past that awkward stage. The Jocelyn Delaney who had emerged from her cocoon and spread her new wings over the past three days was the polar opposite of the girl he’d met in New York. This one was smart, insightful, caring, and he liked her—a lot. Needing no further encouragement, he held her close, rubbing her back, running his fingers through her recently cut hair, and gazing soulfully into her wonderful blue eyes. With a heavy sigh, however, he soon let go, picked up her pack and handed it to her. Without a word, Jocelyn nodded and they set off towards the heart of “Eviskar Valley,” as they’d come to call it, heading for the river a scant mile away, a river that stood between them and the high cliff where a badly injured Debbie still lay. Endicott’s engineering skill, in conjunction with their climbing gear were now the only hope of removing the poor woman from her cold, rocky prison and saving her life.
* * *
Ten minutes after Jocelyn and Jack’s departure, a half-naked man clad only in a breechclout and home-made leather shoes, knelt at the base of a large gingko tree. He smiled sadistically as he plucked strands of blonde hair from among the foul-smelling seeds that littered the ground. Looking up he beheld a crudely constructed sleeping platform nestled in the branches, and examination of the soil around the trunk clearly revealed two sets of human footprints. None of this had been here when he’d passed by yesterday afternoon, of that he was certain. With a triumphant nod he grasped the handle of his spear and arose to scan the foliage in the direction of the river. How long had it been since they left? His smile broadened at the thought. Not long, perhaps twenty minutes, he guessed—given the amount of light they’d need to find and follow the trail. If he could double their pace he could likely orchestrate a surprise reunion in one of the glades lying just uphill from the river bank. Loren Endicott broke into a jog and padded swiftly and silently through his Triassic world. Among horsetail and fern, conifer and cycad, the hunter advanced toward his unsuspecting victims.
* * *
With the rising Sun at his back, Spencer trudged slowly uphill. He’d learned through careful observation how to gauge his elevation based upon air temperature. Staying above the clouds made it easier for him to navigate, but because he was still wet from his horrendous stream crossing, the cold air chilled him. He was therefore forced to spend much of his time down low where the air was thick and humid, and the bugs and vegetation a nuisance.
Now, however, he was angling uphill on a foray to look for landmarks. He had to be paralleling the coastline because he was moving among the foothills of the mountains. He also had the Sun more or less behind him which, at this time of day, put him on a northwesterly course, exactly where he wanted to be.
The mist was thinning up ahead, not much further to go. He would rest there and eat something, but not linger too long. A dreadful thought had come to mind in the last hour or so, one that he blamed himself for not having considered much earlier. That Endicott was after Jack and Jocelyn was obvious. The bastard had smugly revealed his evil plans before leaving Spencer to become brunch for a pack of hungry lizard wolves. But what about after that? If Endicott killed Jack and Jocelyn, a thought Spencer refused to dwell upon, he would then make a beeline for Marcie and Debbie. Spencer had to get to them first. The two women would be sitting ducks the moment they turned their backs on the charming professor. That wasn’t going to happen. Spencer picked up his pace, pushing the thought of fatigue from his mind as he powered uphill.
Soon the sky began to lighten. Instead of dark, slate-grey it was the color of toilet paper, at least the cheap bargain brand his mother bought. “When you consider what we be usin’ it for, I don’t be spendin’ the good money,” she would say jokingly. The thought of his mom brought a smile to his face and further strengthened his determined mood. Up higher the clouds turned to wisps and blue sky beckoned.
When he finally stopped, Spencer took a long, well-deserved drink and looked around him. To the south lay the valley, socked-in by cloud. The view was surreal, making him feel like he was in an aircraft, crossing miles above terra firma. Somewhere within that atmospheric soup, Jack, Jocelyn and the malevolent Dr. Endicott were destined to meet in a deadly denouement. Spencer forced himself to look away. He agonized over his inability to help his friends, to warn them of the peril posed by their traitorous “savior.” There was always the possibility, he thought optimistically, that they had enough of a head start. But so what if they reached the cliff ahead of their foe? The professor would still have the element of surprise; Jocelyn and Jack still considered him a decent man. All four of his colleagues would be sitting ducks. Spencer
had
to get to the cliff first.
He awoke from his reverie, resigned to be on his way, when he spotted it. Between two towering mountain peaks, a low spot, like the crossbar of a football goal, lay in the distance. The longer he stared, the more excited he got. It had to be the ridge. No other breaks existed in the mountains flanking the eastern part of the island, at least they hadn’t seen any from the boat or on Debbie’s topo map.
The intervening terrain was rugged. Steep-sided basalt in the highlands gave way to lush, dense vegetation down low. How far was the ridge? Spencer paused to estimate the distance. He looked back the way he’d come and tried to correlate what he’d just been through with what lay ahead. Three or four miles he finally concluded, but that was as the crow flies. Depending upon what he encountered, it might be hours before he arrived. Hefting his pack and a sharp stick he’d picked up as a weapon, Spencer once again hit the road.
* * *
“I have to stop, Jack.”
“We’re almost at the river.”
“I know, but I have to visit the little girl’s room. Thinking about the river, well, it has a stimulating effect on my bladder.”
Jack smiled and moved ahead to give her some privacy. They were at the edge of a glade not a hundred yards from a significant source of rushing water. It was probably the nearest of the three tributaries they’d crossed the day before. That meant the crossing point should be just to the south.
The soft rustling of foliage off to his right caught Jack’s attention. It was probably Jocelyn returning from her break, but in this world full of dangers one never knew. “Jossy, is that you?” he enquired. When she didn’t answer, Jack gripped the spear he’d made that morning and went on high alert.
Expecting the worst, Jack watched as the thicket parted, and then he uttered a huge sigh of relief. “Hey, Doc, I thought you and Spence were taking the other…” Something was wrong. Why would Doc Endicott want to throw a stick at him? Realization came just in the nick of time. Jumping quickly to his left Jack watched in horror as the point of Endicott’s spear passed within an inch of his neck. Not knowing how to react, he stood stupefied, like a deer caught in headlights, trying to fathom what was happening.
Sensing bewilderment in his victim, Endicott pressed the attack. He sprinted straight at the young man. Powerful legs propelled his stocky two hundred pound frame, kicking up sand, closing the gap between them in a matter of seconds. Jack’s eyes bulged when the professor pulled a long knife from a sheath, and his confusion turned to dread as Endicott screamed and dove for him.
Once again Jack’s reflexes barely saved his life. He successfully dodged the thrust of the blade, but the big man’s shoulder delivered a glancing blow as both fell sprawling into the sand.
Endicott immediately sprang to his feet. Leaping onto Jack’s prone form he swung the knife downward. Jack hit his arm, deflecting the blow. He managed to grab the hand with the knife in both of his own and pull it to one side. The professor responded by savagely hitting Jack with his other hand and then grabbing him by the throat.
The pressure was unbearable. Jack’s windpipe was in a vise; he couldn’t breathe in or out. His eyeballs felt as though they would pop from his face and he drifted towards unconsciousness. Nonetheless, he gamely held on. To relent was to die, but he was losing strength fast.
“Don’t struggle, Jack,” the Doctor said. A contorted smile formed on his countenance as he squeezed his victim’s neck even harder. “A clean cut will make you bleed out faster. It will make things considerably less painful.”
Jack’s ability to resist was failing. He thrashed his legs and tried to dig his fingernails into Endicott’s hand, but he was just too weak. His attacker sensed the end was near and laughed sadistically. This athletic young man posed the only true threat to the secret of Eviskar Island. The three women who remained of this ill-fated group would be easily subdued. Within seconds he would slit Jack’s throat and his principal adversary would be gone.
Whap! Endicott pitched to the ground when the haft of Jocelyn’s spear smashed into his head just above the right ear. The young woman had heard the struggle and run from the bushes to aid her friend. She immediately moved to where Jack lay gasping for air and holding his neck.
Jack was now breathing, sucking small amounts of air, glorious air, into his starved lungs. But his head was spinning; he was disoriented. His brain had been deprived of oxygen long enough that he’d nearly blacked out. He was now in the foggy world of those who’ve fainted and fight to reenter reality.
“Jack, get up! Come on, Jack!” Jocelyn was trying to pull him to his feet.
It was taking too long. Jack simply wasn’t coherent enough to stand. He needed time, time to recover.
Out of the corner of her eye Jocelyn noticed that Endicott, although dazed, was beginning to stir. That was unacceptable. Running to the Doctor, who had now risen to his knees and was trying to get to his feet, Jocelyn kicked savagely at him with her size nine Reebok CrossFit Nano 2.0 Lite TR cross-trainers. One smartly delivered blow caught him across his left cheek and spun him to the ground. Moving in for the coup-de-grace, Jocelyn aimed for his groin and delivered a mighty kick that would have settled the issue once and for all. Unfortunately, her aim was poor. Her right big toe, the same one she’d stubbed on the rock in Endicott’s hut, rammed smack into the professor’s knee. “Ow! Son-of-a-bitch,” she yelped, grabbing the pained appendage.
If the situation hadn’t been so dire, a disinterested party viewing the scene from afar would have found humor in the strange, absurd sight: a young woman hopping around on one leg burning the ears of surrounding prehistoric beasts with a string of obscenities while two men writhed in the nearby sand.
Jake responded first. Shaking his head to clear the remaining cobwebs, he slowly stood and picked up the spears he and Jocelyn had dropped. Jocelyn hobbled over to him and they embraced. Their respite didn’t last long, however. Jack was still attempting to breathe normally, but kept clearing his throat, coughing and massaging his neck. He was about to try to speak when Jocelyn stiffened and pointed. “Jack, look!”
Endicott was on his hands and knees and moving quickly to where his spear had landed after narrowly missing an uncomprehending Jack.
“Run!” Jack gasped. His voice was little more than a hoarse whisper. Clinging to one another for support, she limped and he staggered towards a dense horsetail patch, one that stood in the direction of the river. For several minutes they pushed onward, stumbling over logs snd swatting away branches covered with dew that slapped them as they passed. Brambles scratched and clawed at their faces and clothing, seemingly trying to delay their escape. Soon, patches of fern gave way to dense forest and the sandy soil turned to thin, watery mud. Suddenly they were in a swamp.