Ex-Isle by Peter Clines (electronic reader TXT) 📕

Danielle. A few moments in she coughed, a jarringly loud sound, winced, and grabbed at her side with her claw-hand. She wound up her silent speech by giving Danielle the finger. Then she limped off toward the main building.

Danielle had known John Smith, the man who’d somehow copied his consciousness into Christian’s body, erasing her mind in the process. Danielle had dated him. Slept with him. Lived with him.

She recognized the eyes in Christian’s face. They were a different shape and color, but still…they were John Smith’s eyes.

“I’ll make sure these two know not to try something like that again,” Kennedy said.

“Fuck that,” said Earlobe. “You know who she is.”

Kennedy whipped a finger into the man’s face. “Private, did I give you permission to speak?” she barked.

He stiffened. “No, First Sergeant,” he said.

But his eyes followed Smith up the path as he spoke.

ST. GEORGE WOKE up to the pounding sound of drums.

Madelyn scooted on her knees to the front of the raft and thumped on the inflated tubes there, too. She threw open the flaps of the tent and let in the morning sunshine. “We’re out in the ocean,” she called over her shoulder. “I think this is a lifeboat.”

He stretched. “Is it?”

She leaned out and splashed at the water, then squinted up at the sky. “Were we in a shipwreck or was it just a really wild party?”

“D’you remember anything?”

She dropped back inside the tent and blinked a few times. She crawled back to her bag and journals. Her eyes closed and her brow furrowed. “Flying with you and Zzzap,” she said. “A big fire.” She shook her head and opened her eyes. “That’s it.”

“The fire was a couple of days ago.”

“Oh.”

“Quiet,” muttered Barry without opening his eyes. “Some of us are still using the waterbed to sleep.”

St. George prodded him. “Come on. We’ve still got a lot of flying to do today.”

“I don’t,” Barry said, throwing a robe-wrapped arm across his face. “I can be there in less than an hour. Why can’t I sleep in?”

“Get up.”

“But mommmmmmmmm…”

Madelyn chewed on another strip of jerky while she read through the journal pages. “We’re going to an island made up of boats?”

St. George bit off a chunk of an oatmeal bar and nodded.

She skimmed through a few more pages. When she was done, she closed the notebook and picked up the other one. It was smaller and more dog-eared. She opened it to the first page and began reading.

Barry wolfed down his third oatmeal bar, reached over, and pulled a piece of jerky from the Ziploc next to Madelyn. She slapped his hand. He smiled and waved the strip of dried meat at her.

They finished breakfast while Madelyn refreshed her memories. Then she and St. George pulled their harnesses back on while Barry worked himself out of the robe. Madelyn turned her back while she repacked the bags.

Barry crawled to the tent entrance and wiggled out of his sweatpants. “Whoa,” he said. “Sea air’s a little brisk in the morning.”

St. George lifted his friend by the armpits and held him out over the water. “You ready?”

He nodded. “Frak, yeah. Throw me before I freeze.”

St. George bent his arms and hurled Barry up into the air. The black man soared into the morning sky, flailed a bit as he began to arc back down toward the water, and then exploded in a blast of light. A wave of heat rippled out through the air and over the life raft.

That’s better, said Zzzap. Good night’s sleep, some food. I don’t know about you guys, but I’m ready to go explore a mysterious man-made island.

St. George slung the red gym bag over his shoulder. Madelyn ate one last piece of jerky and shoved the Ziploc into a thigh pocket. She glanced around the tent. “So we’re just going to leave this out here? Seems kind of…I don’t know, wasteful.”

The batteries in the flashlight sparkle, said Zzzap, pointing at where his eyes would be. It’ll drift, yeah, but I should be able to spot it on the way back.

St. George crouched in the entrance in front of Madelyn. “Seatbelts on.”

She wound the strap through his harness and grabbed his shoulders. “Ready.”

“Then here we go.” He focused on the spot between his shoulder blades, just above where the D-ring sat, and launched himself into the air. Madelyn hollered as they shot up sixty, eighty, a hundred feet into the air and then leveled off.

Okay, said Zzzap. He pointed west and a bit south. That way.

It was late afternoon when Zzzap came rushing back from his latest scout-ahead and gave them a thumbs-up. They slowed to talk. About another sixty miles, said the gleaming wraith.

“Just over the horizon?” asked Madelyn.

Maybe another twenty minutes, half an hour. He looked at St. George. Pretty sure they saw me this time.

“How sure?”

Ummm, well they were pointing and shouting and waving things.

St. George nodded. “Okay, then.” He leaned forward and pushed through the air again.

Twenty-five minutes later the first shapes appeared on the horizon. They slowed to a halt in the air. He glanced at Zzzap. “That it?”

Yep. Any further ideas on how you want to do this?

St. George looked at the form in the distance. It was a blocky bulge sticking out of the sea. “Let’s not go too crazy,” he said. “Maybe once around the whole thing, figure out a place to land, and see what they say. Sound good?”

Works for me.

“And me,” said Madelyn.

He glanced back at her. “If anything goes bad, just stay low, okay?”

“Bad like people shooting at us?”

“That was what I was going for, yeah.”

They headed forward again. The shape on the horizon looked like a real island for a few minutes as it grew in size and detail. Then the lines and angles of it became clear. When they were still about two miles away, St. George pushed himself higher into the air, almost two hundred feet up. He wanted a good view