AUTHOR'S NOTE: I am sorry that this update comes later than I promised; the school work has been insane, and I'm afraid I cannot promise anymore that I will update once a week. However, I am NOT abandoning this story, and I will do my best to update it as often as I possibly can.
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Chapter 8: Mayday!
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"Alright. The game ends now."
If Eric hadn't been in full panic mode already, Cole's words would have pushed him deep into it. But as he was, he couldn't register any increase in his heart rate, or any further difficulties in his breathing. Which was a good thing really; if his heart beat any faster, it would burst right out of his chest, and thud thud thud into the jungle, never to be seen again. As for his breathing, he had pretty much hyperventilated ever since meeting the thugs to the present moment. It couldn't really get any worse, except if his lungs decided to stop drawing air all together.
Which right now looks quite likely.
Cole and Jin were standing in front of them, their postures almost relaxed. The men knew they were in control, they had the power, not to mention the handguns. Eric couldn't help it; his eyes strayed to the black pistol Cole had tucked into his waistband. He had never seen a gun before - not in real life anyway.
"There's two things I can't stand." Cole was speaking again, and Eric pulled his gaze quickly away from the gun. "People touching my things, and people lying to me."
Taylor's grip on his hand tightened, and he felt an uncomfortable sensation of pain climbing from his palm towards his shoulder. Cautiously, he tried to loosen her hold, but in vain.
"Congratulations; you have managed to do both." Cole's voice was cold, his face a hard stone, where ripples of emotion -anger, disgust, fury- rose to the surface and then drowned again in a matter of seconds.
There were several sharp intakes of breath all around Eric, but otherwise they all stayed quiet. How could one respond to a dangerous criminal maniac, who had just stated that they had lied to him and touched his things? Yes sir, we certainly did, but really, we didn't mean any harm?
Jin, true to his earlier behaviour, remained silent and passive; as if the ongoing drama had no effect on him.
"Well, don't you have anything to add to this riveting conversation?" Cole's eyes sought each of them one by one, his stare demanding answers.
Eric felt a sudden need to be invisible.
"We already said we were sorry." Nathan was the first and the only one to open his mouth. Of course it's the boy scout who comes to the rescue.
"Where do you think you are? Preschool?" Cole's voice was raising in volume. "That I will send you to brood into a corner if you are naughty?"
Lex started sobbing. A horrible foreboding crashed into Eric's mind. The man couldn't be furious just because they had found the drugs. Either Cole had realised that Melissa and Jackson were also on the island or…
"Trust me, I will do much more than make you cry."
"Then what do you want?" Daley sounded upset, almost angry. "We'll do anything, just don't-"
"I want my money!" The shout was fierce and despite the circumstances, quite unexpected. It was the first time that Cole's voice lost its controlled tone, and they all startled, and Eric found that his heart could, after all, beat a little faster still.
Oh no. Oh no no no no.
"Now…" Cole seemed to get his temper under control once more, continuing with an almost soft voice. "Just give me the money, and then this can all end."
"But we don't have any money." Nathan was quick to answer, puzzlement competing with fear.
Eric had not forgotten the money. His secret treasure, buried in a shallow grave. He was not stupid either. In the plane, when he had had more than enough time to connect the dots, he had realised that the money in all likelihood belonged to the men. But to his astonishment and relief, at that time, Cole had only spoken of the drugs; the man hadn't even hinted towards any secret money stash. And Eric had not volunteered that information. He had prayed that by some miracle, the issue would not be raised at all, that maybe the thugs didn't even know about the money. True to their luck, he had not gotten his miracle.
"You have my money." Cole was clearly irritated; his voice low and dangerous.
What should I do? Tell - but how - I can't - what if - !
Eric's mind was in disarray, his frantic thoughts scattering and clashing with each other. He was painfully aware of the others around him; Lex's crying, Daley's shuddering breath, Nathan's rigid form, Taylor's death grip on his hand. They had no idea what was going on.
"We don't - please, we don't know about any money." Daley's words were desperate.
I can't - I can't - God, I can't -
A silence, thick with sick fear, settled over the camp. Cole seemed to measure their every move, calculate their expressions, his narrow eyes trying to read their thoughts.
Please believe please believe please leave -
"If this is how you want to play this - then lets play." The man took a step towards them, taking the pistol into his hand.
Oh God.
Cole pointed the gun towards Lex casually; the nonchalant movement more intimidating than any threatening action could have ever been.
"I will shoot the kid first. And then I will start shooting the rest of you, until I get my money."
For a small moment, they all seemed to be shell-shocked; unable to understand, to move their limbs or lips. A weird bubble of silence, deadening every sound in the nightmarish, unfathomable scene.
And then the bubble exploded, and the world was crashing around them with terrible speed, their noises shattering the air all at once, ear-splitting and heartrending.
"Don't!" Anguish. "Please!" Pleading. "Stop!" Outrage. "You can't!" Desperation.
"I swear we don't know about any money. I swear-"
"Please, you can't, he's just a kid, you can't-"
"We'll give you anything-"
"Anything!"
"Please don't."
Their pleading didn't move Cole; unwavering, the man continued to point the weapon at Lex and Daley, who had pushed her brother behind her. "Time is running out."
Eric opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Nothing. His throat was dry; the mere act of breathing taking all his strength and concentration.
Time is running out. There is no time. Say something!
"He has done nothing to you. He's the most sweetest…he's my brother - he has done nothing to you." Daley's outcry was just a terrified sob.
"Then you better end this now - my patience is spent."
End this - end this now!
"I don't know - I'm sorry but I don't-"
"I have your money!" When the words finally found their way out of Eric's mouth, his voice was trembling with fear and anger.
All eyes turned to watch him.
He gulped. "I - I know where the money is. Please, just stop this."
Cole barked a small laugh. "Well, isn't this interesting!"
Lex still cried. Taylor released her hand from Eric's, and the sudden emptiness, the lack of pressure and warmth, was deafening.
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Once, when Jackson had been eight years old, he had thought he was going to die.
He had been sent to get something to eat from the grocery store near by, his mother in no shape to go herself (too tired and depressed and drunk as usual), and he had took the crumpled bills, stuffed them deep into his pockets, and said he would be right back.
Knowing all too well about the dangers of late night shopping, he had been careful, making himself as small and insignificant as he possibly could. It worked the six blocks it took him to walk to the store, but failed in the last street he had to cross. A group of menacing shadows had disentangled themselves from the basketball field, wanting to have some fun. They were between him and the bright lights of the store.
He had turned around and run. Faster and harder than he had ever run, his small legs trying desperately to stay ahead of the bigger boys. They had yelped and cheered each other on. They were too fast; he had known he couldn't outrun them for long.
Eventually, they caught up with him, but not before he had managed to squeeze himself into a small ventilator shaft in some dark, dirty alley, crawling as far back as he could get, and then curling into a small ball.
They were too big and couldn't follow him. Instead, they taunted him, told him what they would do to him, laughed when they beat the shaft with a metal pole, making the claustrophobic space thunder and shudder.
Jackson had been sure that he was going to die.
Of course, he hadn't. Eventually, the bullies had became bored and had left, but he hadn't come out for the longest of times, afraid that they were just waiting for him around the corner.
Finally, he hadn't been able to listen to the scuffling of the rats in the dark anymore; he had plunged out and run without looking back the whole way home.
His mother had been asleep, and in the morning, Jackson had gotten to the store and back, and made them breakfast, before she ever woke.
He had been so tired then, and God, he was so tired now. And maybe this time, he really was going to die.
It felt like he had fought the waves forever; he had stood on the beach, so far behind him now, a lifetime ago. There was only the dark sea, all around him, and he couldn't let himself think that he had somehow missed the boat, had swam into the wrong direction, towards the open sea, he couldn't, because then it would be all over.
Jackson tried to concentrate on each stroke of his aching hands, to force himself to move his arms and legs in the cold water. When he had first stepped into the ocean, the chilling water had been like an electric shock; it still made his bare skin tingle and shudder.
Shouldn't I be numb by now?
He had found a frail rhythm, letting the waves swing him from their crests to their very bottom, and up again, up and down, the water spilling over his head, forcing itself into his mouth. Every time he was tossed through a wave, he feared he would be pulled so deep under the water that he couldn't find his way to the surface anymore. His lungs, desperate for air, would be filled with water; he would sink to the deep, to the impenetrable darkness, forever lost.
There was no one chasing him now, but the whole sea, and he felt so tired, ready to stop the struggle so he could rest, just for awhile. But he couldn't; stopping now would meant failure and death and Melissa alone in the beach.
I'll be damned if I give up now. Not when rescue was so near. Not when he had said he would, that he could do this. Not when he had promised.
Another wave hit him, the heavy mass of water slamming into him with a force of a moving car, plunging him under the surface. It was so dark, and for a moment he couldn't tell which way was up and down. His lungs burned. Jackson kicked with his feet, beat the water with his hands, trying to drag himself up, somewhere where there was air.
Up - up - up -
And finally, the cool air flowed into him painfully, and he was high up, and there was a dark shape in front of him that was swaying and reaching into the surrounding darkness.
God - the boat.
The sight itself gave his exhausted body a boost of new energy, and with each stroke the distance between him and the ship became less and less, and he felt the hope that had left him come back, making him believe I will survive this.
The sea carried him straight to his goal, almost crushing him against the side of the fishing boat. He floated beside it, trying to find a way to get into the deck, away from the surging waves.
He was ready to panic -if he couldn't get to the deck, he would drown, he would be crushed against the bulk of the ship - when his eyes caught the rope ladder, swinging against the side of the boat.
Later, Jackson couldn't recall how he had managed to haul himself up the ladder. He could remember the sharp pain in his hands, how the skin in his palms had rubbed against the rope, drawing blood. How he had hanged there, between the sea and the ship, for a long moment, terrified that he would lose his hold and plummet back to the ocean, certain he couldn't drag himself up the second time.
Later, he could only remember how good it had felt, the hard metal of the deck, under him, so solid and real. He could have sobbed from relief; maybe he did.
He lay there for a moment, trying to get his breathing and his surging feelings under control. The wind bit into his skin, and he was shaking uncontrollably.
Jackson forced himself to move, and grabbing the railing, made his way towards the bridge. He stumbled on the slippery deck, his feet uncertain and weak, but finally he reached the front of the ship, and after probing in the dark, he found the door handle to the bridge and turned it with a silent prayer.
He staggered inside, the door slamming shut with a bang after him. It was strangely quiet in the cabin, the wind and the sea shut outside the small space. The bridge was dark, save for the small flickering lights in the control board, giving him enough light to separate the different shapes from each other.
He stepped around the helm and stood in front of the control board, his heart thundering in his chest. To his luck, the radio was easy enough to distinguish from all the other hardware, but he couldn't help wishing that Lex would be there.
I can't fuck this up now.
He took a deep breath.
Please. I won't ask anything else, ever.
He picked up the radio receiver and fumbled the controls.
Please - this has to work.
He listened to the familiar static, plunging on.
"Mayday! Mayday! Is anyone there? Mayday!"
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What did you thought? Please review all your ideas, suggestions and opinions to me; they can be very helpful.
What Cole is going to do to Eric? Is help on the way? Find out in the next chapter!