Read Online Sacrifice Island by Kristin Dearborn - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kristin Dearborn
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wounds bleed a lot . She couldn’t stop taking pictures.
“Jem, enough,” Alex said behind her. She couldn’t stop, though. She documented every angle of the kill. The moment she stopped, she had to check in with reality. Click, click, click.
“Come on. Put it down.”
She whimpered.
Alex reached out and pulled the camera down, careful not to touch her white fingers. She took one more crazy shot, depicting sand and lines of motion, and Alex’s shoe.
“Maybe a rock crushed his head,” Alex said. She turned to the dark windows of the dormitory. They both knew nothing crushed Feng’s head.
It appeared something, something with a sizable maw—lion or baboon, something big, had taken a single bite of the boy’s head, it crunched through skull and obliterated nose, eye, ear, and the whole back of the skull. The brain seemed notably absent.
“Ghosts don’t do this,” Jemma said.
“It’s like a zombie movie.”
Jemma kept her eyes everywhere but on what they’d found.
“What’s that?” Alex asked.
Jemma flinched, her muscles tightening, as she prepared for the hungry beast to appear.
“Come look.”
No no no! But she went. Alex pointed to Feng’s biceps. Though they were swollen from the heat, she could see a clear bruise. A handprint. As though someone with small, strong hands took Feng by the upper arms. Shaking him. Reprimanding him?
Or holding him to bite off his head.
“Must be premortem.”
She agreed. “It wouldn’t have bruised otherwise.”
“Maybe the sister? Bitching at him? And that’s why he ran off?”
Jemma raised the camera and snapped a few more photos, focusing on Feng’s bronze-colored arms.
“Maybe,” Alex said. He leaned in close. “Let’s get out of here. No point in putting up any more audio gear. Cops will trigger it. I gotta find Karen. Head back to the boat.”
As she walked back to the dock, Jemma swapped the camera’s memory card with an empty one. Jemma watched the patchy sun on the water from the concrete next to the Lucky Daze . She heard Karen and Alex before she saw them. Karen sounded scared. Good.
They boarded the motorboat, and Karen turned over the engine, startling a flock of black birds from a tree.
The sound of the motor and the roaring of the wind made conversation on the trip back to the resort impossible. Jemma fingered the memory card in her pocket, thinking about what she’d seen, and what it meant.
Karen deposited them in hip-deep water. She apologized and told Alex she’d see him later. She waved good-bye to Jemma and motored off. They slogged to shore with the gear they hadn’t set up. Jemma’s soaking skirt clung to her body. She couldn’t imagine women who found this much exposure beautiful. Karen had probably never seen violence like that before. Jemma felt worldly and wise. Panting, they plopped onto the cases in the sand.
“That’s not a ghost,” Jemma said, out of Karen’s earshot.
“No shit. I’ll get the tickets squared away, we can be back in New York by dinner tomorrow.”
“No!” Jemma whirled on him. “We can’t go.”
Alex stared at her.
“Something killed him. I want to know what. And we’ve left our gear on the island.”
“To hell with the gear. Did you see that kid? Something tore off half his face. I don’t want that to happen to,” Alex paused, and Jemma felt 90% sure he would say you , but instead he said “us.”
“There’s a killer out there, and if we mess around, he could get us.”
“He or it?”
“He.”
“Or she?” Jemma remembered the smell of the perfume. “How can you be so sure?” she asked. It hadn’t left anything behind, a human killer would have left passion, or joy, or anger…something. The air surrounding the Chinese boy tasted stale and flat, like a glass of water left on the nightstand overnight. It tasted like nothing.
“It was the same person who put the bearcat on your door.”
He was right. A nervous person. She’d been able to taste that when
“Jem, enough,” Alex said behind her. She couldn’t stop, though. She documented every angle of the kill. The moment she stopped, she had to check in with reality. Click, click, click.
“Come on. Put it down.”
She whimpered.
Alex reached out and pulled the camera down, careful not to touch her white fingers. She took one more crazy shot, depicting sand and lines of motion, and Alex’s shoe.
“Maybe a rock crushed his head,” Alex said. She turned to the dark windows of the dormitory. They both knew nothing crushed Feng’s head.
It appeared something, something with a sizable maw—lion or baboon, something big, had taken a single bite of the boy’s head, it crunched through skull and obliterated nose, eye, ear, and the whole back of the skull. The brain seemed notably absent.
“Ghosts don’t do this,” Jemma said.
“It’s like a zombie movie.”
Jemma kept her eyes everywhere but on what they’d found.
“What’s that?” Alex asked.
Jemma flinched, her muscles tightening, as she prepared for the hungry beast to appear.
“Come look.”
No no no! But she went. Alex pointed to Feng’s biceps. Though they were swollen from the heat, she could see a clear bruise. A handprint. As though someone with small, strong hands took Feng by the upper arms. Shaking him. Reprimanding him?
Or holding him to bite off his head.
“Must be premortem.”
She agreed. “It wouldn’t have bruised otherwise.”
“Maybe the sister? Bitching at him? And that’s why he ran off?”
Jemma raised the camera and snapped a few more photos, focusing on Feng’s bronze-colored arms.
“Maybe,” Alex said. He leaned in close. “Let’s get out of here. No point in putting up any more audio gear. Cops will trigger it. I gotta find Karen. Head back to the boat.”
As she walked back to the dock, Jemma swapped the camera’s memory card with an empty one. Jemma watched the patchy sun on the water from the concrete next to the Lucky Daze . She heard Karen and Alex before she saw them. Karen sounded scared. Good.
They boarded the motorboat, and Karen turned over the engine, startling a flock of black birds from a tree.
The sound of the motor and the roaring of the wind made conversation on the trip back to the resort impossible. Jemma fingered the memory card in her pocket, thinking about what she’d seen, and what it meant.
Karen deposited them in hip-deep water. She apologized and told Alex she’d see him later. She waved good-bye to Jemma and motored off. They slogged to shore with the gear they hadn’t set up. Jemma’s soaking skirt clung to her body. She couldn’t imagine women who found this much exposure beautiful. Karen had probably never seen violence like that before. Jemma felt worldly and wise. Panting, they plopped onto the cases in the sand.
“That’s not a ghost,” Jemma said, out of Karen’s earshot.
“No shit. I’ll get the tickets squared away, we can be back in New York by dinner tomorrow.”
“No!” Jemma whirled on him. “We can’t go.”
Alex stared at her.
“Something killed him. I want to know what. And we’ve left our gear on the island.”
“To hell with the gear. Did you see that kid? Something tore off half his face. I don’t want that to happen to,” Alex paused, and Jemma felt 90% sure he would say you , but instead he said “us.”
“There’s a killer out there, and if we mess around, he could get us.”
“He or it?”
“He.”
“Or she?” Jemma remembered the smell of the perfume. “How can you be so sure?” she asked. It hadn’t left anything behind, a human killer would have left passion, or joy, or anger…something. The air surrounding the Chinese boy tasted stale and flat, like a glass of water left on the nightstand overnight. It tasted like nothing.
“It was the same person who put the bearcat on your door.”
He was right. A nervous person. She’d been able to taste that when
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