Final Scream (5 page)

Noah brushed as much mud as he could off his body and face and started up the slope again. This time he broke the climb into segments—from tree to tree—toward the copse sprouting from the misty ridge like a Mohawk haircut. When he reached the top, he frantically looked for Reese, but there was no sign of her. He studied the menacing praying mantis silhouette, but it still was inert. Reese must have slipped past the monstrous creature somehow, and that knowledge buoyed his spirits. Hopefully, she found a path on the opposite side of the mountain that led down to the beach.

A string of a female’s hair-raising shrieks for help rent the raucous storm.
Reese!
Noah grabbed hold of a tall, thin rock sticking out of the ground like a fang and vaulted the uneven landscape into the copse.
Since the giant praying mantis wasn’t assaulting her, what was? Something he hadn’t seen yet?
He shuddered to imagine what another vicious island creature might look like, but he would see it soon enough.

Noah crept through the foggy stand of trees, keeping his gaze glued to the praying mantis freak in the storm’s dancing light. It stood so still that it could have been a grotesque statue.
Didn’t Reese’s screams stimulate its curiosity to check out the source of the screams? Or was it waiting to assail him?

His cousin Nick’s favorite gripe about mysterious and dangerous situations was there were often too many questions and not enough ready answers. Noah couldn’t agree more.

Another lightning display highlighted Reese’s footprints! They hadn’t been completely washed away yet. What luck! He mopped the raindrops from his eyes with his wrist for the thousandth time and stole to the edge of the ridge, which drew him closer to the mammoth carnivore.

As he neared the lip of the ridge, all hell broke loose! Reese shrieked shrilly again as thundering footfalls shook the copse. The silhouette reacted to the new sounds and slightly shifted its position. Another cloud-to-cloud lightning web brightened and irradiated a charging herd of eight-legged, boar-shaped creatures the size of rhinoceroses. Three spiraling horns poked out of the top of their bony, maroon-skinned heads, and their gaping toothy mouths and leathery forked tongues nearly obscured their whiskered, piggish snouts. The blackness didn’t deter their reckless charge toward the monster mantis, and Noah reasoned their four globular scarlet eyes could see into the pitch night.

He promptly ducked behind a tree trunk barely thick enough to conceal his ribcage. He prayed it was enough to hide him from the charging, reddish purple aberrations. When they raced past him, he sagged forward with relief. Thankfully, the savage carnivores had bigger fish to fry. The mantis emitted an earsplitting bawl as it hunched its stick-thin body into a rigid defensive position, but the charging rhinos overpowered it, and they all disappeared from the mountain crest.

Reese screamed again.

Clutching his Gander Mountain knife, Noah cautiously felt his way tree by tree in the dark until he peered down the opposite side of the mountain. The next lightning fork exposed several broken monster bodies strewn on the boulders below. The vicious rhinos hadn’t gotten to enjoy their dinner after all.

The light faded before he caught sight of Reese. Noah waited impatiently for Mother Nature’s next dazzling light show, and when it came, he spotted Reese halfway down the slope. She was barely visible, because dozens of squirming, bloody white tentacles slithered over her trapped form. That’s when his eyes shifted to the numerous, corpulent cabbage-like plants tethering Reese with their tentacles. The damn bloodsucking plants were feeding off her!

Noah sat in the loose muddy soup, shoved off from the edge, and skidded down the mud. It was similar to sledding—without the exhilaration. It was displaced by raw fear. Countless sucking tentacles reached out as he zipped past the cabbage carnivore plants above Reese, but he slashed them with his knife. At the midway point of the slope, Noah purposely slammed into the cluster of plants feeding off Reese. He sliced the fat tentacles between her and the plants, and then yanked the suckers off her exposed arms, legs, and neck.

When he severed them all, Reese’s limp body tumbled down toward the treacherous beach boulders before he could grab her. He lunged head first toward her, caught her when she temporarily snagged herself on another tentacled plant, and slipped his arm around her waist. Together, they rode the muddy slope down to the raging ocean. Noah steered them away from the deadly rocks, and they landed with a teeth-rattling jolt on a narrow strip of sand. Wave after kamikaze wave crashed and perished on the enormous boulders protecting the island from erosion. The towering, drenching plumes washed the mud and blood off them in minutes. Both sputtered and coughed from the briny cascade as they staggered to a higher position among the boulders, but out of range of the killer tentacles.

They sat in a large crevice between jagged rocks and gasped for air. Noah tore strips from the bottom edge of the T-shirt he’d given Reese earlier and wrapped them around the worst of her wounds. She whimpered as the salt water in the fabric touched and burned the bleeding sucker punctures.

Once he finished his task, Noah and Reese fell into troubled sleeps until the grim gray dawn penetrated their eyelids and awakened them. He inspected her bandaged wounds and was glad to see the nasty looking puckers had shrunk a little. But they still were red raw.
Were they infected?
They certainly looked like it, but he wasn’t sure. After all, he wasn’t a medical doctor. But it wouldn’t hurt to soak them with antiseptic cream and have her swallow some antibiotics. But those supplies were a long way off. On the other side of the island, in Oracle’s rented boat.

Gently clutching her hand, he told her about the supplies on the docked boat.

“But what about the island we saw last night? Aren’t we going to swim over there?” Reese asked weakly.

“You wouldn’t make it in your condition,” he said softly. “First we get you the antibiotics, then we swim to the island.”

She wasn’t aware the carnivorous plants had not only drained a lot of her blood, but had sapped her energy as well. During their trek to the other side of Terror Island, her body would rapidly deplete what little strength was held in reserve and leave her enervated.

Noah lifted her to her feet, and they warily made their way between the putrid monster corpses toward the island’s southern tip. His curiosity got the best of him, and he paused to examine one of the battered rhino creatures. Birds had picked at its meat just after daybreak, and the frayed, bloody purple meat dangled like ragged laundry from its massive skeleton.

He quickly backed away from the grisly carcass. Even in death, it gave him the creeps.

Noah wordlessly assisted Reese along the treacherous rocky shoreline because she didn’t appear to have enough stamina left to hold a conversation. So that left him a lot of time to think. To worry.
Would their journey be in vain? Would the antibiotic supplies still be on the boat?

He tried to push those nagging concerns out of his mind but failed.

There were only two possible responses to those irksome trepidations.

Yes
, and Reese was saved and perhaps they escaped this horrible island on the boat.

No
, and …
game over
.

Nick phoned Crow at their NNC headquarters back in Ohio and repeated the Mercedes and Camaro’s license plate numbers for
Geronimo
to trace. Gabriella pulled away from their parking spot and headed for Oracle’s Network offices as Crow promised to text him the owners’ personal information as soon as possible. Nick disconnected the call, leaned back in the generous seat, and visualized himself wearing a light gray suit, dark gray shirt, no tie, and gray leather slip-ons. Within seconds, he was clothed in the imagined outfit. This skill was yet another one of his innate mystic abilities, thanks to the plethora of strange genes his father had stirred into his alien and human DNA soup.

“You look much better,” Gabriella smiled. “And we’re on time.”

He threw his head back and laughed. It felt good to let his hair down, if only for a few moments. Gabriella emailed him the Wentworth appointment particulars earlier, so he revisited the information on his Apple computer watch. “You’re right. We have an hour to spare.”

She glanced at him at one of the frequent red lights between the hospital and the Oracle Network offices. “Okay, Nick, fill me in on your plan
and
where I fit in.”

He quickly outlined his scheme, emphasizing that timing was critical for her role.

Gabriella listened carefully on the trip to the Oracle Studios Torrance, California, corporate office and nodded when he finished. Nick was impressed by the modernistic architecture of the studio’s white stucco offices as they pulled into the parking lot and stopped near the entrance. The afternoon sun reflected off the four stories of tinted mirrored glass, but his awe was short-lived. His focus reverted to Noah and Natalie’s plights. Somehow, he thought, the sudden Terror Island communications breakdown and Natalie’s transformation into the murderous Wicker person were connected, and he believed Margaret Wentworth could clear up some or all of that mystery.

Nick clenched his teeth after kissing Gabriella and exiting the SUV. He straightened his suitcoat. Oh yes, there was one other thing he wanted to clear up.
What in hell was
Oracle hiding by refusing to release the Final Scream—Terror Island video?

Nick watched Gabriella drive off, and his lips tightened to a taut line. If Geronimo discovered the Mercedes driver who picked up Natalie behind the hospital was an Oracle employee, Maggie Wentworth would wish she had never been born when he finished with her. Sending the two cops to Alaska had been child’s play compared to what he could do to the Oracle president.

The expansive open lobby was comfortably cool and well-appointed with expensive paintings, replicas of ancient statues, leather furniture, and grass green carpeting that projected the feel of walking in a meadow. Nick approached the guard station, introduced himself and the purpose of his visit, and signed the guest register. One of the two guards phoned Wentworth’s secretary to announce Nick’s arrival, while the other insisted Nick empty his pockets before walking through the metal detector.

When he checked out fine, the man gave him a stick-on name badge and pointed toward the mirrored elevator doors fifty feet behind the guard station. One of the elevator doors slid aside, and Nick walked inside and pressed the fourth floor button. Wentworth’s aloof secretary escorted him into her boss’ office without uttering a single word. She shut the door behind him, and Nick glanced around the over-the-top extravagant interior before acknowledging the president’s presence.
Who was she trying to impress with such gaudy furnishings?
Certainly not anyone with
genuine
taste.

Margaret “Maggie” Wentworth stood, stepped forward, and firmly pumped his hand. Nick immediately pegged her as one of those corn-cob-up-the-ass administrators with an ego the size of Los Angeles.

“Maggie Wentworth,” she offered coolly. She wore a black pant suit, frilly white blouse, and high-heeled pumps.

 “Nick Bellamy,” he replied and eased himself into one of the two plush burgundy chairs fronting her whitewashed wood desk. He noted an array of switches, speakers, and security monitors built in the desk’s surface. One of them displayed a full view of the parking lot, and he was glad that Gabriella drove away. The last thing he wanted was to arouse her suspicion.

The fortyish Oracle CEO had a tall, graceful frame with wide, rounded shoulders. Her lips were firm and thin, her cheeks high and pink, and her round hazel eyes sharp and assessing. Wentworth’s tapered jaw, oblong face, and stony expression reminded him of Cruella de Vil from the movie
101 Dalmatians
. A wealth of auburn hair streaked with ruby highlights tumbled over her shoulders as she returned to her high-backed leather desk chair.

“So what can I do for you, Mr. Bellamy?” she demanded, coming straight to the point.

“First of all, call me Nick. And to answer your question, I believe my secretary spelled out why I’m here. I need to gather as much information as possible for the president’s inquiry concerning your doomed reality show,
Final Scream—Terror Island
.”

It took several tries before she cleared an obstinate frog from her throat. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you any more than I’ve already told the press, except we finally established contact with our Terror Island crew an hour ago, and they’ve repaired the technical issues,” she said evenly.

Nick leaned forward and swept a few stray hairs from his crinkled forehead. “Nice try, Ms. Wentworth, but you’re lying through your teeth,” he argued. “My government sources updated me minutes before I entered your parking lot, and there has definitely been
no
contact with Terror Island by anyone, much less your studios, since the night the communications were severed. President Hanover and I want to know what’s really going on here, and don’t try lying again, or you’ll find yourself in a federal lock-up before you can call your lawyer.”

She shifted awkwardly in her chair. “I am
not
lying about the crew contacting us,” she argued, standing abruptly and gesturing toward the door. “Our meeting is over. Good day.”

Nick stood. “It’s over when I say it’s over.” On cue, his drop-dead gorgeous fiancée materialized out of thin air beside him. Her stern, translucent indigo gaze was fixed on Wentworth’s amazed countenance.

Gabriella pecked Nick lightly on the lips. “How’s this for timing?” she asked him.

“Perfect, as always.”

She glanced at Wentworth again. “I suppose she’s been lying to you, like you expected.”

Nick threw his head back and laughed. “I’m afraid so. I hate being right so often, but scumbags are so predictable.”

Maggie glanced at Nick. “Who the hell is this woman?”

Gabriella answered for him. “I’m your worst nightmare if you don’t start telling us the truth.”

Maggie Wentworth reached for the security call toggle on the desk, but the entire bank of switches vanished before she could flick it. She yanked her hand away like there was a poisonous viper on her desk. “How … how did you do that?” she demanded, although her tone was anything but hostile now.

“Gabriella’s the name.” The witch leaned on the side of the table and glared at the network president. “Don’t try summoning help again. It’s useless.”

Wentworth propped her elbows on the desk blotter and cradled her chin with her hands. “I don’t give a shit what kind of magic mumbo-jumbo you claim to have, this is my office, and I call the shots here! As I said before, this meeting is over. Now get out, both of you!” she shrieked.

Gabriella pumped her shoulders at Nick, who shrugged in return.

Gabriella waved her hands in front of Wentworth’s angry face. “Have it your way, sister.”

The president’s pant suit vanished, exposing her expensive black bra and panties. Wentworth leaped out of her chair and awkwardly tried to conceal her bra and panties with her hands and arms. She opened her mouth to protest, but three tan and green moths fluttered out instead of words. Her eyes bulged, and she moved her hand from her bra to her closed mouth. She stormed around the desk toward Gabriella, but when she was a yard from her target, Wentworth’s progress slowed, as if she were mired in quicksand. Nick’s forearm smothered his smile—he was absolutely enjoying Gabriella’s tortuous performance.

“If I were you, I’d reconsider adjourning our meeting,” Nick advised her. “Gabriella’s spells can be permanent, you know? The choice is yours.”

Wentworth wilted, and her face reflected defeat. She looked down and gawked at her orange webbed feet. She waddled back to her chair and plopped down into it. She grunted what sounded like a question, but only dozens of moths emerged again.

Gabriella waved her hands again, temporarily removing the spell.

The network president tentatively moved her mouth to speak, and this time she spoke words, not moths. “You’ve convinced me. I’ll cooperate with you both. Please, sit down.”

Once Gabriella and Nick complied, she added, “I’ll tell you everything I know, but you two can’t repeat it to
anyone
. As far as the outside world is concerned, we never even met today. Agreed?”

“Why the need for secrecy?” Nick asked before approving her stipulations.

Wentworth swiveled her chair toward the wall of glass behind the desk and hunkered down in her chair. “Because if a certain person learns I told you what actually happened on Terror Island that evening, I’m dead.”

She shivered. “Or
worse
than dead.”