The Island - Part 2 (Fallen Earth) by Michael Stark

gunwale. Across on the other side of the cockpit, Zachary lay where I’d left him, still wrapped securely in the plastic tarp. I pushed down hard on the edge of the boat to make sure she wouldn’t suddenly find water and scoot out from under me when I tried to swing myself up and in. The fiberglass remained steady and strong no matter how hard I shoved.
    At a dock, I could have stepped down and into the cockpit. With her hull grounded on the sand, boarding meant either leaping inside with the gunwale under my hand, or climbing aboard. Given her slick sides, and few handholds, the word climb translated into scrambling up and flopping over into the seat. Dad had a ladder tucked back underneath the cockpit that slung over the side and offered a more graceful entry. The fact that it remained stored under the seats inside didn’t expand my options any.
    I jumped.
    My feet cleared the gunwale by at least a foot. Even I was impressed.
    Angel shook, but didn’t rock, confirming the fact that she was thoroughly grounded. I stood in the cockpit for a moment, staring down at the crumpled tarp, knowing what lay beneath, and honestly, not wanting to turn my back on it. Just the thought stirred the unsettling image of Daniel framed in the doorway.
    I swallowed to calm my nerves. I gotta tell you. When you’re looking down at the very thing some creepy kid said would come after you, turning your back on it is the last thing the survival instinct wants to do. The brain doesn’t just warn, it screams NO! with a back-clenching jerk of jittery nerves clamoring for you to get the hell away. Just the idea of turning around triggers an intuitive projection of how it would feel to be run down by something fierce , and hungry, something with huge teeth and long sharp claws.
    The movie makers know it too. They know exactly how the thought of being ambushed and eaten alive strikes an internal chord. Find a horror movie, and inside it will be some idiot who wants to visit the haunted house even after two or three other people met a grisly death. Everyone knows he’s an idiot, but no one can stop watching.
    When he finds the monster and turns to runs, they all know he’s got seconds to live and the end won’t be pretty.
    The same thought struck me as I stood in the cockpit looking down at the body. I could have come in the light of day. I could have had others with me. But no, I’d come on the darkest night I’d ever seen, to the place I’d just been warned about. I decided right then and there if life suddenly turned good and the disease burned itself out, I was going to Hollywood. I had a future in the horror industry as the gonna-die-dumbass.
    I finally turned, even though every nerve in my body screamed for me to jump back out and make for the station as fast as the little buggy could carry me. Instead, I stepped down into the confined space of the cabin, and felt along the inside bulkhead for the switchbox I knew hung from the wall. When my finger ran into the hard wooden box, I felt for the top switch, counted down and flicked the third knob.
    Light flooded the cabin instantly. Just as instantly, relief washed through my body. The second most common way people die in scary flicks is to suddenly become aware of the fact that only inches in front of them the same hungry beast waited with claws bared and mouth drooling with anticipation. The light killed that notion. The cabin lay as empty and disheveled as it had all afternoon.
    Sweat trickled down my face even though the night air had grown cooler. Emboldened by the light, I snatched up the sleeping bags and rolled them into a giant wad. Leaning over, I dug under the starboard bunk and pulled out both blankets my father had kept stored there. A drawer under the sink held a spare flashlight. I grabbed that too, thinking a little light would make the trip back a lot quicker. Gold flashed from the shelf above the sink. I leaned in for a closer look and saw the pack of cigarettes Elsie had