“Get up.”
The words were coming from nowhere, Grace couldn’t feel anything.
“Get up.”
It was like she was blind, or in a cave, so pitch black light could never enter its doors.
“Get up.”
And why were those words so eerie? They were in a constant beat, a metronomic rhythm.
“Get up.”
A rumble came from the surrounding darkness.
“Get up.”
The voice twisted into the rumble at the end of each phrase.
“Get up.”
Two bright eyes came from the blackness. They glowed in a haunting amber, like a flashlight was bringing alight a specter.
“Get up.”
A skull slowly appeared from the shadows. It was bare, without flesh, except for the eyes, floating limply in the orbits of the skull. Intertwining, skinless pulsating muscles formed a malnourished neck connected to the back of the head, the neck disappearing into the black.
“Get up.”
The skull spoke with the words as the rumble turned monstrous. The phrase became more aggressive with each repetition.
“Get up!”
It became louder, like someone was shouting, no, roaring!
“Get up!”
Its lower jaw bone gaped limply, bloody saliva starting to drip into the black from inside its skeletal maw.
“Get up, Bennet.”
When Grace awakened, she heard those demanding words. The brief dream she just experienced was forgotten as quickly as it appeared. The words had come from somewhere near her, but they were also left forgotten. It was an understatement to say she was still delirious, and she had no idea how long she’d been knocked out. It could have been hours, could have been minutes, she had no clue. Her head wasn’t helping, it was splitting with pain, feeling like someone was beating a thousand timpanis with every throb. At the moment Grace couldn’t tell whether the headache was from the fall or the hangover, but then again, she wasn’t too acute when she woke up. Her eyes stung, any movement was like tiny knives poking her retinas. It took her a moment to fully open her eyes because of that headache, damn was it bad!
After she opened her eyes, it didn’t help that she still saw nothing. It was a struggle to sit up, and in many gradual movements, she was sitting upright. Grace was wide awake at this point, her eyes still closed due to the headache’s pounding being felt in them as well. Each thump brought her just that much closer to hurling until she violently reared forward and vomited on the floor. The pile reeked of rancid beer, she nearly considered hurling again just at the putrid scent. She was glad of the complete darkness, at least then she couldn’t also see the mess on the carpet, or what appeared like carpet. Her eyes slightly adjusted to the lack of light, and the moonlight from the window across the room helped just a bit, even if the ivy-covered oak tree still blocked some of it.
“Wait a…” The dryness of her throat stopped her from saying anything else, but it didn’t stop her sudden perception of the fact the window led into her backyard. It couldn’t have not been her yard, only it would have a dead tree covered in that much ivy or grass that looked that unkempt.
A terrible pang from the headache paused her thoughts and caused her to attempt to cradle her head, leaning back into the sofa to cushion the migraine. But her hands did not move, they still were behind her back, clasping each other. She was so distracted by the pain in her head, that the pain stinging around her wrists and ankles was deadened. She tried wriggling her hands out, then again, and then one more time. None was of any use and at that point, Grace’s heart started to beat faster when the best explanation was zip-ties or duck tape. She desperately tried to remember the moments before everything went pitch black, to try and retrace how she got here to dodge the worst yet increasingly likely answer.
The bartender was the earliest, and she remembered him. Or at least his voice, his face was a blur. Blinking memories of the ride back home were there, maybe some brief recollection of someone at the bar, but everything else from when she started drinking was blank. The last moment she could recall before she lost consciousness was the feeling of grass on her skin—that, and the two words that were left unheard seconds before.
“Finally, she’s up.”
The sound of the voice spooked Grace, and her focus shot in the general direction of the kitchen. Heavy footsteps pounded the room’s hardwood floor with every step, followed by a man's oversized silhouette drifting from one end of the room to the other, reaching the opening into the living room in a few steps. Her eyes followed once she saw and focused on him. The staved-off panic started flooding her mind as he approached, and he only paused at the opening. He stood in the space for what Grace perceived as an eternity, each second she wanted to say something to him. The question ‘Who are you?’ was lingering on the tip of her tongue, waiting to be asked but was never said.
The man was the one to break the silence, moving his hand to where the living room’s light switch was.
“Nice to finally meet you, Bennet.” He flipped on the lights, basically blinding her and revealing the man’s total figure.
The first feature she noticed was his eyes, pinching into wrinkles at their edge and placed above cushioned eyebags. They were a cobalt blue, and the only bright or somewhat alluring feature on the guy. Wrinkles dragged his mouth down to a constant frown, and unkempt stubble spread across his chin to his top lip. The wrinkles on his forehead and around the ice eyes were akin to a bulldog, not helped by two exaggerated folds adding to his permanent scowl. A worn blue sports coat wrapped his prominent figure, covered in little holes and scratches. It contrasted with a clean white dress shirt he wore underneath and a navy silken tie with ribbon-like patterns the color of rotten grapes. Next to him, he held an old wooden chair from Grace’s kitchen.
The man made eye contact, which caused her to look away and down to the floor swiftly. The sound of muffled marching traveled across the room, carrying one of the old chairs from the kitchen with him, towering over her increasingly like a skyscraper. He dropped it across from her and promptly sat down with the sound of wood starting to splinter. Grace waited for him to be the one to again, as she stared at the floor and he watched expectedly at her.
“I apologize for this condition we put you in - it was just a precaution. But, for the time being, you will stay in the constraints.”
Grace turned up to him, a bit surprised at this, and a bit confused at his half-apology.
“I want to get this out of the way, just to ease your qualms. No, this is not a burglary, you are not kidnapped, and we won’t harm you. This ‘house call’ is of necessity rather than malice.”
He paused, giving Grace another bland, expectant glance. She sat up a bit, adding to the vertigo, and muttered “It’d help that if you gave me your name.”
“Very well then.” He leaned back into the chair, causing more creaks. “My name is not important, but I’d prefer ‘Mr. Furgen,’ if you’d be so kind. And though you don’t know me, you’d be astonished at how much I know you.”
“Great, so you’re the stalker I didn’t know I had,” she sighed exhaustively.
The old man appeared slightly annoyed at the jab, “I’m not some creep, so get that out of your head.”
“Well, then what are you?” Her retort was easily found. It seemed he had also found one, but hesitated.
“That, I cannot tell you. Or at least not yet. For now, I’m going to have my companion ask you a few questions.”
More footsteps started behind Grace, only lighter, from where a small hallway led to the front door and upstairs. When she turned to face the sound, another person appeared in the room. He was noticeably young, she guessed he was in his late twenties, and in the same attire as Furgen with some slight differences. The blazer was of a lighter color, and newer, complimented by a gray dress shirt underneath, lacking a tie. His beard was much better kept than his colleague’s, growing from dark curly twists tipped with a light brown. The new man’s eyes were brown and rich, like coffee, and starkly contrasted with Furgen’s eyes of blue ice.
“This is Mr. Barnett, who will take over for the time being.”
Furgen pushed himself up from the chair and the two met each other in the middle of the living room, the former turning the other away from Grace. The two whispered, but any words spoken were globbed together in a mess of incomprehensible sound. Their exchange lasted for only a second, after which Furgen moved upstairs and Barnett replaced his companion in the chair, setting down a pull-string bag against the chair.
“Again, I’m sorry for needing to do…” he pointed to the restraints, “that. This whole thing shouldn’t be more than another few minutes - that is if you cooperate.”
Unlike Furgen, who spoke in an accent she thought of as the ‘default’ British accent, Barnett sounded like he came from the Midwest.
“Let’s get started.” He took out a piece of paper on a clipboard with writing on one side from the bag, now starting to slouch off the leg slowly. Along with the paper, and after rooting around the bag, he also pulled out a blue pen.
“Are you drunk or on drugs right now?”
Grace bit her tongue, and rather than complying, she met his question with another. “What happens if I don’t cooperate?”
He shifted his gaze without moving his head, and stated, “I believe this answers the question well.” Once again, Barnett leaned down into the bag, in a separate pocket on the pack's exterior. All became silent when out of that pocket he pulled out a small handgun, held by the bottom of the grip with two fingers like it was unsanitary, unfit even to be touched.
The world had paused, and she only stared at the weapon. Once he placed it back in the pocket, he said, “With hope, we won’t have to see it again, let alone me aiming it. So let’s try this again.”
Radio static was buzzing through Grace’s mind, sobering her more so to the situation she was in. She was forced to look back up to him while weighing her options, and possibly how to escape the situation unharmed. “Are you currently drunk or on any form of mind-altering drug?”
“Uh… no no, I’m not, currently. I’ve only got a hangover,” she mumbled, quivering at first but then regaining an illusion of calm. Barnett idly ticked a box on the paper and swiftly asked his next question.
“Are you in any way s-” The sound of an ‘s’ gradually ended his sentence, and he ticked off another box after a second further down.
“It was a question asking if you were stressed. Probably doesn’t need asking.” Glancing from Grace to the paper, and back to Grace, he asked his third question, “Are you, in any way, suffering from a mental health condition that may impair judgment or day-to-day life?”
“I don’t think so, no.” Grace knew this was untrue, or at least she suspected it to be untrue. The man only raised his brow and made a ‘hm’ sound, before ticking another box.
“How many more questions are there?”
“There’s only…” he yawned, but quickly resumed, “a few questions. That one got me to the halfway point. But, anyway… what’s your history with the territory of Avetoro?”
The rain. The glass. The eyes. All came to her in a second when she heard its name and left just as fast. She heaved several heavy breaths, and cold sweat trickled gently down her forehead. Barnett’s light footsteps were heard again, coming from behind her, before he showed up again to her left. It had been three minutes, yet it felt like mere seconds.
“I checked with Charles, and I can’t leave it out. Just say something brief, it’ll do.”
“I–” she immediately paused, “- was on a survey trip to the island the week of the hurricane.”
Returning to his seat, he grabbed the clipboard, left it on the chair, and adjusted himself, instantly continuing.
“When on… the island, did you see anything unusual? For example, any strange organisms?”
Grace hesitated, remembering the weird ratite thing and… it. She ignored the lingering thought, and answered, “Yes, there was.”
He raised his head slightly to peer at her, he asked a follow-up question, “How many? Can you maybe describe it? Anything significant.”
“Just a ratite-looking bird with a long tail and arms.”
He glanced at her without moving his head. “What’s a ratite?”
She sighed, and replied, “Emus, ostriches, cassowary, those kinds of birds.” Barnett made an ‘oh!’ motion and scribbled the description on the paper. He clicked the pen and refocused on Grace for the last question.
“Are you in contact with other people on the return boat? Maybe anyone else on the survey trip?”
Before she answered, Grace stopped herself to consider the question. She was suspicious and guessed why he had asked it in the first place. Why would it be valuable, unless I’m the only one? That revelation brought her to lie, in the better interest of Dani.
“I am not, I haven’t talked to one since it happened.” Barnett sighed, checking the clipboard one last time, and swapped it with a pager from the bag. “Gotta say, I’m not shocked. I don’t know why I thought you’d actually tell the truth, but, I guess I tricked myself.”
The thunderous footsteps of Furgen stopped any confusion from manifesting, as they started their way across the ceiling towards the steps, all until he strode back into the living room. His companion rose from the chair and they met in the middle of the room, continuing their silent discussion.
“So, just some clarification,” interrupted Grace, and both turned their vulturine glares toward her, slightly catching her off guard. “You still haven’t told me why you’re here. And why’d you think I was lying?”
“Well uh-” Furgen interrupted his associate, remaining unemotional in his tone.
“It is because you are. This house call has already been longer than I’d like, so we might as well get to the point. We don’t think you were lying, we know you were lying. Y’see, about a week or so ago, we also visited someone we believe you know. What was her name, Noah?”
“Dr. Danielle Davis, said the same thing. But it only took a brief look to find the calls between you two.”
“That’s correct, and since we wanted to be better prepared for you, we’ve already done a little investigating on you.”
Grace was dumbfounded, wordless from the surprise of the whole thing, but he continued while meticulously striding around the room.
“I’ve got to say, the thing was much easier than I thought. The only two people you’ve spent extensive contact with are Ms. Davis and your sibling, and since one’s an officer and we’ve already met the other, it makes the whole process much faster. But, this is all redundant. You want to know why we’re here, am I not wrong?”
Before she could speak a word he kept talking, skipping over her attempted answer to his rhetoric question.
“Well, we’re here because our association has received a rather… hmm, what’s the word, compelling client. They’re paying us to make a recovery trip to the island.”
“What kind of recovery trip?” Grace felt a twinge of assurance in the exclamation, but her captor mostly ignored it, only pausing to give another leer towards her.
“It is regarding the missing individuals, since you insist. I’m sure you are familiar, Ms. Bennet.” Every word was laced with contempt, only loosening when he continued with his initial explanation. “This recovery trip will take place over two weeks, if everything goes as expected, and you will be returned once our business is complete. Speaking of completed business…”
His words veered off as he checked his watch, getting an inconvenienced look on his face.
“It’s getting too late, and we’ve already overstayed our welcome. After all, we still need to find one more.” Furgen said this to Barnett, who entered the hallway without glancing at Grace as she heard her front door open and shut. Furgen stood in the center of the room for a moment, staring towards the dimly lit kitchen, though not at it. This stillness did not last long, as he entered the room, returning with a pair of scissors. He placed these on the opposite cushion of Grace's, lowering himself to her eye level. The ice eyes were nearly unnatural, certainly unnerving, and meeting her vision.
“And don’t think I’m ignorant enough to ignore your sibling. If you decide to tell him or any other person, call anyone, or even breathe a single clue of this, any of this, to anyone.” His piercing eyes met hers, inches from Grace’s face. “He will be dead before you know it.”
The large man rose to his feet again, following his companion out the door, only to stop in front of it.
“One more thing. Tomorrow, there will be a black sedan arriving at exactly seven o’clock. You do not need to pack any bags. If you’re not already present for pick-up outside when they arrive, then my men will give you a little wake-up call. Have a good night, Bennet.”
The door opened and shut, slammed this time, and the house returned to its quiet state. Grace was left feeling numb, something she hadn’t felt in years. The encounter was running on repeat in his mind, and Furgen’s departing warning was the loudest of everything. Minutes were spent with her sitting on the couch, staring at the floor, processing what had just happened. The event had only been less than twenty minutes but she perceived it as hours long.
The scissors lying next to her were edging gradually towards her, from the slump in the cushion, until they stopped gently once they reached her hip. The little motion made her jump, but when she saw what hit her, she instantly remembered how to get out of the restraints. Ignoring the scissors, she hobbled to her feet, barely staying upright without falling. She lowered herself, almost falling again, and raised her hands before bashing them against her back. The searing pain of the ties was still firmly grabbing at her wrists, so she repeated the action. The sound of plastic breaking brought some relief to Grace, as she massaged her stinging wrists. The zip tie was close to leaving them bloody, and the marks were especially purple and bruised.
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She hopped back to the couch to grab the scissors and cut the restraints on her legs. They didn’t hurt as much as her wrists, but a slight twinge of pain was there.
The atmosphere was tranquil, once she freed herself, and she was able to actually breathe for the first time in what seemed like hours. Finally, god that headache is killing me.
Grace’s concerns were quickly shoved to the back of her throbbing head, yet still sneaking back to the forefront as she went to soothe the hangover. After maneuvering through her mostly-pitch black kitchen and slamming her knee into a cabinet in the process, she found the fridge and took out a half-full sports drink bottle. She returned to the couch, stepping over the reeking puddle, and sitting on the opposite end.
She swigged down gulps between the silence of her comprehending what had just occurred, and planning what she should do next. More to wage her options.
“If I run, we’re dead. If I go to the cops or the FBI, we’re dead,” she murmured, voicing her thoughts quietly, “So either I go to the island or we both die.”
Grace let out another, loud sigh. Guess I need to start making preparations
Pulling out her phone, she started dialing, first to an all-night carpet-cleaning service. Then to her boss, taking out her saved-up vacation days for a ‘family emergency.’ Finally, she dialed Chris. It rang for a minute before finally being picked up right before it went to voicemail.
“Ughh, hello?” His voice was groggy, and he definitely just woke up.
“Chris, it’s me. I need a favor if you can do it.” Grace tried to sound calm, amid the franc
A deep yawn comes through, “What can I do?”
“I need you to take care of Ginger for a bit.”
“Sure, why’d you need me to?” His words were dragged out through another yawn.
“I’m going away for two weeks, and… I trust you.”
He chuckled, “Thanks sis, it was great talking to you.”
She grinned a bit, and responded, “Same here. See you soon.”
As soon as he hung up, she went to work, grabbing a backpack and packing necessities. Spare clothes, books to read in her spare time, and assorted hygiene necessities; were all tossed into the backpack. The cleaners showed up in the middle of her preparations, and took care of the mess on the carpet, to Grace’s relief. As she finished up, she nabbed a spare sketchbook lying around to add to the pack. It was small and black with a cloth cover and a good hundred or so pages, only the first few pages were used. Grace added it to the bag, along with a few pencils and erasers, and checked the time once she was done.
It was four twenty-six, and it had already started to get light out. When she came to her bedroom, it was almost exactly how it was left, save for her dog lying spread out over its dog bed. She went into the attached bathroom, took a few ibuprofen pills, and caught a glance of herself in the mirror. To say simply she looked terrible was an understatement. It physically looked like she was hungover; the already large dark circles under her eyes were pronounced, her dyed brunette hair was scattered and frizzled, and she still reeked.
“I should definitely shower,” she mumbled, voicing the thought aloud. The alcohol stench still lingered on Grace, so it was the best choice to get some time for hygiene in. After undressing and tossing her stench-ridden clothes into her hamper, where they’ll be for the next two weeks, she stepped in. Her shower always took an annoyingly lengthy period to warm, but it gave her more time to consider what to pack in terms of clothing. With a slight twitch from the water pouring on her, she took as swift a shower as possible. The streams of water were like pouring rain, the mere couple of drops brought her back to that night; so in the two years after Avetoro, she has learned the shorter the shower the better.
Following the brief yet refreshing shower, Grace got dressed for the trip ahead. She picked out a stone-blue t-shirt from her closet, wearing it under a relatively old dark indigo hooded vest she used to wear while hiking. It’d been a minute since she’d worn it, and it was a touch tight around her waist, but it was still a good pick for the extremely showery island. To pair with them, she picked a pair of khaki-colored cargo shorts and some beaten boots from the last trip to Avetoro. The outfit was thrown together in less than five minutes, still leaving a hefty amount of time before Furgen’s ‘wake-up call’ would arrive.
So, this is it. Finally going back to the hellhole. It's been an almost nebulous concept until then, she hadn’t considered it at all, and for good reason. The creature that haunts her memory pops up in a flash whenever she imagines something as insignificant as a songbird from the island.
Rain. Lightning. Teeth.
And the perpetuating prophecy became true, and the night came and went again. Grace’s head cleared when she was on the bed, her large dog in front of her, and sweat drops the size of ammunition ebbing down her forehead. She sighed, and it only felt like one small crumb of stress falling off of her. Her dane’s heterochromatic eyes stared at her lovingly, lowering its head gently onto the mattress. Grace reached over and scratched along her dog’s head to its flopped-down ears, gently soothing the dog which in turn soothed her. Tranquility glazed over her like a coastal tide coming in, as she put her mind off of the island. However, a different lingering thought dropped into the forefront of her thinking.
Chris would wake up soon, not only to find an empty house but get suspicious at the late-night phone call if he could recollect it at all.
That I don’t think will happen, he’s the definition of reliable when it comes to remembering that kind of information, she thought, chuckling slightly.
Grace rose to her feet from the bed and descended to her kitchen, the rugged boots thumping down wooden steps and on the hardwood floor of her hallway. She entered her kitchen and fished a sheet of lined-loose-leaf paper from a drawer in the counter, as well as a pen. At her small wooden table at the outer wall of the kitchen, just next to the entrance to her living room, she wrote out a note for her brother:
Chris,
If you find this, and I hope you do to whatever god there is, it means that you didn’t forget that call and you listened. I’ve been taken hostage captive? as a guide for a dangerous group of people to that island. You know which one. The highest figure I know of is some Furgen guy, and he broke into my house that night and told me that, even in indirect contact like this, he'd kill you and many other people in my life. I’m so sorry for dragging you into this, especially since we’d only just gotten back in contact, but you’re the closest person in my life who could assist with this. Furgen said we’d be back in two weeks, so if I’m not… I don’t want to assume. But I can assume that whoever he is, whatever his motive is, you’ll be the one to figure it out.
I love you, and thank you,
Grace
By the time Grace was done writing, stray tears were dripping down her cheeks. One landed right onto the ‘love you’ part at the bottom. She peered over her shoulder to a clock ticking on the wall, reading five o’clock. Her face shifted into a tired look. Not like she’d gotten zero sleep, though she didn’t, but more of a ‘you can’t be serious’ look. Glancing around, she found there was nothing to be done, nothing that would require her to do anyway.
Well, she thought, sitting down on the couch, no harm in a small nap.
She gingerly sat on one of the pillows on the couch and attempted to get some shut-eye.
Now, a normal person would take this opportunity, go to sleep, and wake up to that thing Furgen mentioned. Instead, for Grace, she spent two hours shifting and shuffling in her living room just to get a minute of sleep. But, it never came, and eventually, the sun shone through the branches of the long-dead tree in her yard and a window directly into her eyes. The dove nesting outside the bedroom window woke up and started cooing, gathering food from the yard. Grace pulled herself up from her slightly groggy state, shifting away from the amber-colored light shining from the window. With a glance, she rechecked the clock, reading six fifty-one.
“It’s time,” she said, dejected, and went upstairs to grab the backpack stuffed with necessities for the next few days. A watch was an extra item, as in the extremely likely case that electronics are confiscated, being able to get the time would be resourceful. The note was still left on the kitchen table, waiting for Chris to find it, and she went out the door to wait for Furgen’s forces to arrive, lowering herself down onto the step of her porch.
After nine minutes had passed, a black sedan turned around the street corner a few houses down and edged to a stop in front of Grace’s small home. Right on schedule.
A man dressed in business attire stepped out of the passenger side door, looking directly at her. He had additional sunglasses and a baseball cap, hiding his identity more.
“Ms. Bennet I assume, right?”
Grace only nodded, and he opened the backseat door. The car, other than the driver, had two other people inside. One was a woman, dressed in military attire, appearing more like a soldier rather than a bodyguard, sitting in the very back. In front of her, and on the driver’s side of the car, sat a strangely familiar face to Grace. The bald man was in streetwear, a navy v-neck with similar khaki cargo shorts, holding a beat-up duffel bag. But Grace had a weird feeling about him, again like she’d seen him before.
She stepped into the car, sat down, and threw her bag in front of her seat. The suited man got back into the front passenger seat, in front of Grace, and the car set off too well, she didn’t know. Houses, schools, and businesses passed, and the sedan soon left Towson, starting down the highway.
“Would Charles let us put some music on? I know he’s supervising us, but letting us listen to something wouldn’t be the worst idea, right?”
The driver shrugged, keeping his full focus on the road. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t want us. Talk about a buzzkill. Kath, you’re the one he’s listening through, ask him if we can.”
The second guard in the back spoke up. “He’s heard you, and he’s open to it, just don’t make it too loud. He wants to be able to hear our ‘guests’ discussions.”
Neither Grace nor her fellow ‘guest’ had any intention of conversing, let alone making a sound to disturb the others in the car. The first bodyguard leaned over the console, selecting a radio station of rock music, the first song swiftly beginning to play with an electric guitar riff. This was met with a groan from the driver. “Andre, you know you’re the only one who likes this, right?”
The guard, Andre, also sighed and switched it instead to a station of instrumental jazz music. Soon the bass sounds of a saxophone solo replaced the guitar, the front screen reading ‘Moanin’.’ The drive continued, now the silence being filled with bebop tunes and blues.
* * *
“Mr. Furgen, if you’d allow me to, I’d like a private word with Andre and Ivan.” The second guard asked this at a point around the half-hour mark into the journey to god-knows-where, and when Grace glanced over her shoulder to check who she was saying it to, she saw something like a police radio to her mouth. She’d only noticed then, but the guard was also wearing a headset. In a moment, she heard “Okay,” and the sound of the radio being turned off.
“So, Mr. Leid and Ms. Bennet, what caused Charles to bring you here?”
Both were unwilling to speak up and sensing this, the guard held up the deactivated radio and reassured them. Grace was the first to say anything, “And I raise the same question to you. Why are you wrapped up in this business?”
She returned the question with a shrug, “used to work on the island. I know my around any structures possibly left over after the hurricane.”
Though Grace was confused by the answer, she presented it to the driver and the first guard as well.
“Well,” the driver started, “we were already working for Charles and this was a much more interesting job than what he usually assigns us out to.”
“Which is…?”
“Security work. Moving people, and equipment, probably my wildest experience was driving a giraffe from Tennessee to the Bronx. But getting to go to a virtually uninhabited Bahamian island for work? That’s something we couldn’t pass up on!”
The female guard winced a little in the back, but she was left unnoticed. Instead, she circled back to the original question she asked Grace, who was still facing forward and away from the guard.
“I just went on a survey trip to assess life on the island. Then the hurricane hit, and I quit my job for one not as dangerous.”
“I don’t know why I’m here, I’ve never worked for Mr. Furgen or been to that island.” Grace darted her head to the man and reexamined him as soon as he spoke. His attire was similar to hers, in that ‘hiking style’ outfit, but his voice immediately made her realize who he was.
“You… do you work at a bar in Towson? Lucky Nights?”
The man’s cheeks were flustered, as he stuttered to respond, “Uh, y-yeah, I do. I also remember you from last night, but I didn’t want to say anything because, well,” he points to the gun holstered on the guard’s belt, “obvious reasons. Plus I didn’t think that you’d remember me. You were pretty drunk.”
Her thoughts were mild, but the nagging thought in her mind was why he was here. She still had no clue about the night before, maybe the briefest memory of some drunk guy, but nothing of him. As much as she wanted to continue the conversation, that continuation would be in private rather than in the company of three armed mercenaries.
“True,” a slight pause, “Your name is Matthew right-”
“Quiet. We’re almost there.”
He nodded, answering her interrupted question, and all five of them stayed silent in the ten minutes it took for them to arrive at their destination: an airport, the most crowded one in Maryland.
The driver steered away from the front of the airport, taking a route instead that led around to the long-term lots. He parked it near the back of the lot, near other identical cars. Grace had only now noticed, but the car had a longer and thicker antenna, easily reaching four feet. The guards up front, including the driver, exited simultaneously and opened the doors for Grace and Matthew. Both removed themselves from the sedan, the guard in the back following suit.
“Follow us,” the second guard stated, “And don’t run.”
As if I’d try, Grace thought as she looked directly at the pistol on his hip.
The two were led by the front passenger, while the driver and the rear guard were behind them. He brought them to a chain link gate at the very corner of the lot, facing the runway, where he approached an intercom attached to an empty gatekeeper’s building. Whatever he said, Grace didn’t hear, but the gate soon after slid to the side. They continued past it towards a side building next to the runway.
It was a strange feeling, walking on one. The runway felt like any asphalt road, just a lot wider, but planes were only a few yards away and the giant tire marks made it especially weird. The group was moved towards a row of buildings at the very edge of the runway, like a line of warehouses. The general look of the buildings was typical, with a brownish-grey brick on the bottom half and off-white siding on the top half. The roofs looked metallic, corrugated, and smoldering in the early summer sun. Grace and Matt were being led towards the closest building, which differed from the rest in that it was both shorter and flat-topped.
Upon entering, the small crowd of people inside hushed themselves and glanced at the door, then to the man in the middle of the room, Furgen. The attire he had on was comparable to the previous nights, only this time he was missing the sport coat and wearing a wine-colored dress shirt, paired with a similarly colored tie. His expression was the same as last night: emotionless. It wasn’t the most unsettling part of the whole situation Grace found herself in, but it was still kind of creepy.
“You’re late.” His gaze was fixed on the driver, his tone demeaned onto his lackey.
“I apologize, Mr. Furgen. Traffic wasn’t the best.” The guard held himself in a posture reminiscent of a soldier in boot camp, stiff as if a drill sergeant was screaming in his face. A single drop of sweat ebbed its way down the nape of his neck.
Grace took the chance to scan the faces around the room. There were about thirty people in the center, a waiting area, though most were standing. Most people were also in similar equipment to the guard behind them. A Kevlar vest, pistols in holsters, helmets with cameras, and a tropical camo pattern adorning it all. The best word she could find to describe them was soldiers, ready for some sort of combat, but it’s been clear to her since the drive that these were mercenaries, probably being paid a heavy enough sum to go to the hellish island. The people sitting down, however, were in something like the driver: suits and baseball caps, like agents. There was one person, however, not wearing any of the two uniforms. Dani sat between two of the guards on a waiting bench, looking uncomfortable yet still displaying a tiny grin on her face.
The last time Grace saw her in person, it was about two months after the island. The first thing she noticed about her was Dani’s change in haircut, which were box braids brought back into a ponytail, with some strands tucked behind her left ear. She also looked a lot more tired, the shadows under her eyes weren’t as pronounced as Grace’s, but they were still visible enough. A dark violet bomber jacket was wrapped around her form, complimenting her similarly colored glasses. Her eyes were welcoming with a deep brown hue, literally framed by amethyst-colored glasses. The guards sitting next to her had turned to each other, starting to make silent small talk and talking over Dani.
“Bring Mr. Leid to a changing room, but no weapons. Not yet.”
The two guards, the driver, and the front seat guard nod to Furgen and bring Matthew to a back room behind the crowd.
“And as for Ms. Bennet, sit her next to Ms. Davis. Butcher, Agosti, let her sit.”
The two guards immediately broke their chat and leaped into statuesque standing beside the bench, glancing back and forth between Furgen and Grace. She complied without a guard forcing her, and she placed herself next to Dani, returning her small smile as she did.
“We’ll leave in a half hour. Young, you and your subordinates start loading any other resources onto the plane. Barnett, take another round of attendance. Make sure everyone has joined us.” Furgen pulled himself away, in the same direction that Matthew was led. The room instantly started bustling, with many of the mercenaries moving out another door across the room, facing the runways. Once everything had calmed down, there were only about five Kevlar guards and an agent left in the room, including the two at the women’s bench.
“So… how’d you get here?” asked one of the mercenaries, the one called ‘Butcher.’
Dani and Grace looked at each other and back. “To who?”
“Well, really to both of you. I got here yesterday and I only know that you’re here both to act as guides around the island. I want to know why.”
The guard moved to sit down across from the two women, on a separate waiting bench across from them, and positioned himself in a more relaxed manner. Really, in a more trusting manner.
“Well,” Grace started, “We were both a part of the same survey team on the island. We went to observe the wildlife and see if there were any separate populations of species we already know.”
“For example, when I was there I managed to find a healthy group of White Cay iguana.” Dani noticed he was a bit perplexed. “It’s a pretty threatened lizard found only in one place, at least it was before I found it.”
He started nodding slowly. “That kind of makes sense, on the whole ‘why you’re guides,’ but it’s still weird you’re both here if you only went there once. There has to be some other reason, right?”
Grace noticed the other five guards had tuned into the discussion. They all were rubbernecking to some sort of capacity, the only one who seemed genuinely interested was the one ‘Butcher’ was talking to, ‘Agosti.’
“That’s right, there is. Who here has already been to Avetoro.”
To Grace’s surprise and relief, all but ‘Butcher’ raised their hands. Dani hummed next to her, and Grace answered his question.
“Because we’ve all seen something there, right? Some deformed-looking emu or a weird bird, something along those lines? Maybe something even weirder?”
Silence across the room, with now ‘Butcher’ studying around the room. Two men with expressions of deep thought, another two of shock, and one with sheer terror painting his face. Grace glanced over to Dani, who was just as captivated by her friend's questioning of their captors. ‘Agosti’ stood up from leaning on the bench ‘Butcher’ was seated at, and tapped him on the shoulder, gesturing to the two women.
“Men, go help the others load the plane. We need to be out of here in the next hour.”
The four of them all looked confused but quickly rushed out to the runway once ‘Agosti’ not-so-calmly insisted on it. When they left, there were only four of them. Grace, Dani, ‘Butcher,’ and ‘Agosti.’ The latter looked to the same hallway before leaning to Grace’s ear.
“I’m Enzo, this is Adam, and you can trust us. Maybe the guy who came with you, too, but I’ll try for one of us to be the guards for you two. Then it’ll be less suspicious.”
A familiar, muffled sound of stomping boots instantly hushed him, followed by the sound of a door creakily opening. The mercenary straightened himself instantly, as did his partner, as Furgen walked in. The two agents trailed behind him, and behind them was Matthew, now wearing the same attire as the mercenaries. The noticeable difference was his lack of a weapon, though nonetheless the empty holster for one is still located on his hip. Furgen said nothing when he entered, only eyeing Enzo and Adam. The movement of them talked for him, obvious even to Grace, that it was time to move the last people out of this lobby.
And that assumption was correct. Dani and Grace stood up and gestured to go outside. It hadn’t been long since Grace was brought in, barely ten minutes, but the daylight outside had increased twofold since then. The energy of the group was immense, weaving through each other as schooling fish weave through themselves. They were bringing large wooden crates, boxes upon boxes, and even some vehicles to a massive cargo plane parked near a hanger. The plane had a militarized appearance, in a dark, dull navy blue paint and an American flag on its flank. Grace couldn’t describe the feeling of minuteness she felt standing next to the plane. Its wings were enormous, spanning the entire width of the runway, the engines attached dormant yet power still emanated from them. The back of the plane was receiving all the resources, with a ramp leading to the cabin.
The women were led into the cabin, which proved to be quite the opposite of their expectations. The interior was seemingly cut in two, with the dividing wall having small windows between the two rooms. They could only assume the other room was where the equipment was being stored. The side they were in was the passenger section, with some extra side rooms for things like restrooms and pantries, though Grace was a bit confused to see a small bar with a small collection of spirits and liquors. It smelled off inside the space, almost like mold but better described as something with an ‘old smell.’ Some of the seats were torn, exposing the foam stuffing, and the painted metal on the walls was slowly corroding away.
At the main dividing wall of the room, in front of one of the small windows, Grace and Dani were seated. From the window, they could easily see into the cargo room and how it was nearly full. There were at least five ATVs and an off-road vehicle, surrounded on all sides by wooden crates of varying sizes and the people securing them to the ground. The amount of materials was a little surprising, though, with so much that only a few glimpses of the outside were visible.
“This will be where you’ll be seated for the flight to New Providence.” Enzo was in front of them, and Adam had sat down next to Grace. “You’ll only be allowed to get up for the restroom and such, and even then me or Adam will have to escort you. Understood?”
The two nodded.
“Good. Now,” he sat in a row in front of them, “We can talk.”