Sunset Island

“Wake up, Sal. There’s an island ahead. We’re saved.”

I forced my eyes open and tried to focus on the horizon in the direction that Billy was pointing. “Nothing there,” I croaked.

The next thing I remember was emerging from a deep sleep in a different environment. There was no longer the slow rolling motion of the boat plodding through the waves, no creaking of the boons and gaffs, and no throbbing of the generator as the pump struggled to keep down the water level in the bilge. Instead, there was a stillness and silence that seem just as menacing as the dangers we had faced on the open sea.

I appeared to be in a tent, but I had no idea how I had got there. We had been at sea for about two months. What had started out as a fairy tale journey of a lifetime had quickly descended into the nightmare from hell.

Things had started to go wrong within hours of leaving Hawaii. I tried the radio and it didn’t work. Billy refused to turn back, saying that radio silence meant that we were sailing like real adventurers, like the first Europeans to chart the Pacific Ocean, men who spent years with little or no contact of the outside world.

Foolishly, after a joint on the deck, I agreed with him.

I heard voices coming closer, then the tent opened and Billy stuck his head inside.

“We’ve got visitors, why don’t you come out and meet them?” he said.

“Visitors?” I asked him. ”Where are we?”

“We’re safe now, and we’re in paradise,” he replied. “Come out and meet our new neighbours.”

As I dragged myself out of the tent, a petite woman, who was standing behind a tall, rugged-looking man, gasped and put a hand to her mouth. The man stepped forward and helped me to my feet.

“Mr and Mrs Brogan, let me officially introduce you to the Fosters. I’m Ted Foster and this is Sal, my wife.”

I looked at Billy, thinking I had misheard, but the look he gave me told me that I had not.

“I’m Jeff and this is Maureen,” said the man, still holding me. “Ted didn’t tell us that you were as bad as this.”

I didn’t answer. I just let the man guide me to a canvass chair.

Bill turned to me. “The Brogans are berthed on the other side of the lagoon. They have a fabulous ketch equipped with all the latest equipment. They even have a two-way radio, and they communicate with a guy in Hawaii every Saturday night.”

“Yeah, we’re pretty well equipped,” said the man, “and we have quite a pharmacy, too. If you need anything, just let us know. In the meantime, you need some rest. We’ll come back later.”

As Billy waved them off, it struck me that the woman had not said a word. In fact, she had hovered behind the man the whole time.

“What the hell are you up to, Billy?” I screamed as soon as the couple had vanished.

“The name’s Ted from now on, and don’t forget it,” he snarled. “That Brogan guy is a busybody, so be careful what you say.”

His mood suddenly changed. “There’s a bath on the island, let’s go and jump in.”

I didn’t feel like bathing until I saw myself in Billy’s shaving mirror. My hair was caked with salt and dust and my face and shoulders were scorched. I was in a mess; so I meekly followed Billy along the trail until we came to a clearing in which there was a bunker left over from the Pacific War, and it had a bathtub on the roof.

“You can see their boat from here,” he said, guiding me to the edge of the roof when I climbed out of the tub. “They’ve even got a generator which he found in one of the deserted military buildings at the other side of the island.”

“I bet they were surprised when they saw you.”

“Sure were. And they didn’t look all that glad to see me. He asked a pile of tricky questions and made a snide remark about my tattoos.”

We went back to our campsite and I started preparing the evening meal.

“Shit,” said Billy when he saw the Brogans advancing up the path towards us. “What do they want now?”

“Hello again.” Jeff Brogan approached carrying two large fish. “We went out fishing this afternoon and caught quite a few, so we thought you might like mullet for dinner.”

“And I made some coconut milk ice-cream that does good for a desert,” said Mrs Brogan in a voice that seemed squeezed from her.”

“That’s very nice of you,” said Billy, “but you don’t need to worry too much about us in future. I’m quite a fisherman myself.”

“Well, it’ll get you started,” said Jeff Brogan. “By the way, I went round by your boat on the way back from fishing I noticed that the name is missing.”

I glanced at Billy quickly.

“Yeah,” he said, “we hit some heavy weather on the way down here and the name must have fallen off.”

“Fallen off? Wasn’t it painted on?”

“Originally, of course, but we changed the name when we bought it, and rather than paint the new name on the side, I designed a shield and hung it over the bow.”

“Never heard of anything like that before. What’s your boat called?”

“The Magic Weed.”

“Odd name, said Brogan. “Where are you registered, Hawaii?”

“Yeah,” answered Billy. “Thanks for the fish. Sal will grill it, then we’ll come around tomorrow and tell you what it tasted like.”

Jeff Brogan looked disappointed to be given such a sudden brush off, especially after they had brought us our dinner, but his wife seemed almost relieved.

After they had gone, I turned to Billy and said, “We should of at least invited them to eat with us.”

“If they had wanted to eat with us, they would have brought more than two fish,” he said.

“Well, anyway, we should reciprocate somehow. I’ll bake them some bread tomorrow.”

“Keep your distance,” he said. “The more contact we have with them, the more they will get to know about us. It’s a good job I scraped the name off the boat this morning.”

The next day I got up early and started baking bread. Billy went fishing but came back empty handed.

“I hooked two big ones but the line snapped,” he cursed. “I’ll try again this evening.”

Later in the afternoon I managed to persuade him to take me to the Brogan’s camp so that I could deliver the bread.

Their campsite was almost palatial. Underneath a large canvass they had set up a kitchen, a living room and a bedroom; each area separated from the others by screens made of palm fronds. They even had a four-poster bed, compete with a mosquito net, that brogan had made himself.

I saw the look of envy in Billy’s eyes while they were showing us around. He showed a special interest in Brogan’s workshop.

We stayed with the Brogan’s for about three hours, during which they served home-brewed ice-cold beers followed by coconut milk punch with a selection of hors d’oeuves to match those served in a first class restaurant anywhere in the world.

“I saw you in the lagoon fishing today. Did you learn anything?” said Brogan, handing another glass of punch to Billy.

“What do I need to learn about fishing? said Billy tartly. “Fish are the same the world over. I just threw my line in and pulled out a two-pound mullet.”

“Congratulations!” said Brogan, “You must be the first person who has ever caught a fish in that lagoon.”

Billy jumped up. “Are you calling me a liar?”
Brogan looked surprised. His wife jumped up and ran into the kitchen area.

“I didn’t say that,” said Brogan.

“You implied it.”

“Young man, that’s some weight you are carrying around on your shoulders,” said Brogan. “And, unfortunately, it isn’t all grey matter. What did you come to this island for? You can’t run away from yourself; so who are you running from?”

That did it. Billy jumped up, threw his glass down and stormed out of the Brogan’s camp. I offered an apology as I followed him, but Brogan just shook his head.

The last thing Billy said before turning in was, “That old bastard thinks he knows it all; I should have smacked him on the nose.”

The alcohol worked like a sedative on Billy. No sooner had he dropped onto the mattress than he was asleep. I, on the other hand, could not get the events of the day out of my mind, and it was hours before I eventually dropped off.

I awoke with a start. “Come on lazybones,” cried Billy, as he splashed my faced again with water from the cup he was holding. “It’s almost noon. We should pay the Brogan’s a visit and thank them for yesterday.”

“Billy, do you remember how the evening ended?” I asked.

“Of course I do,” he replied. “I have to apologize about that.”

In the two years I had known him, it was the first time I had heard him offer to apologize for anything. Nevertheless, I was relieved to hear that he was going to make his peace with Jeff Brogan. I got up and quickly got dressed.

As soon as we reached their camp, I knew that something was wrong. It was just after noon but there was no sign of the Brogans. I went into the kitchen and noticed the breakfast dishes still on the table, crawling with giant ants. That was strange. Maureen had told me that she always washed the dishes immediately after they had eaten to avoid attracting the ants. They were not in the living quarters or bedroom either.

“They must be out fishing,” said Billy. “Let’s go to the lagoon; that’s where they must be.”

When I saw the dingy floating upside down just off the shore I knew that the Brogans were dead, and I knew who was responsible.

“They must have drowned or been eaten by sharks”
“No, Billy, they would never have come fishing here. You heard what he said about the lagoon. Besides, I can’t see how the dinghy could have capsized, the water is just too tranquil.”

“Well, what do you think happened to them? Do you think they flew off the island leaving everything here for us?”

Billy decided to get our dinghy and retrieve theirs, but I wanted to go back to the Bogan’s camp.

“You come with me,” he said. “It’s safer if we stick together.”

“There’s nobody else on the island,” I said. “Where’s the danger?”

“They thought they were safe,” he said. “Now they are dead. From now on, until we leave this island, we go everywhere together.”

After we had retrieved their dinghy, we went back to their camp and Billy immediately helped himself to a cold beer.

Noticing my look of disapproval, he shrugged his shoulders. “It won’t do them any good now, and there is no point in wasting it. I’m sure they would have wanted it this way.”

He then went over to the old, but still functioning military freezer Brogan had salvaged and said, “I think we’ll have roast chicken for dinner.”

“I’m not touching anything that belongs to them,” I said.

“It’s ours now,” he said. “That’s the law of the sea. Haven’t you heard, finders keepers?” Then he took another beer.

I couldn’t bear to watch him plunder the provisions of people I was certain he had slaughtered, so I got up and ran away from the Brogan’s camp.

I knew that he had killed the Brogan’s not only to prevent Jeff asking more questions about him and, possibly, using his radio to probe even further into his background, but also to get his hands on their boat and belongings. I knew that he had served time for armed robbery when he was younger and that he was wanted by the Drug Enforcement Agency. Now he had added murder to his resume.

I was the only one who knew what had taken place on Sunset Island. In fact, I was the only one who even knew Billy had been there at all. That put my life in jeopardy.

As soon as light came, I started to take precautions. First of all, I boarded our boat to get Billy’s pistol. It was missing; so was his Bowie knife. But I found a carving knife and got off the boat as quickly as possible.

From the undergrowth where I lay hiding, I saw Billy staggering along the beach. It was comforting to know that he would not be able to see me through the lush undergrowth, and I was sure that he would not try searching for me until he sobered up. That would give me an outside chance of getting out to sea in our boat and, hopefully, being rescued by another ship But I had reckoned without Billy’s criminal instinct.

As soon as he discovered I was not at the camp, he went straight to our boat. I watched in disbelief as he emptied a gasoline canister over the deck and threw a lighted cigarette onto the boat as he jumped off. Within minutes the boat was gone. There was only one way left for me to get off the island, and Billy stood between me and the Brogan’s boat.

He did not waste much time searching for me. Instead, he torched our camp and staggered back to the Brogan’s. I stayed where I was until I felt sure that he would not come back, then I went to see what I could salvage from the charred remains of our camp. There was nothing I could use, so I went back to my hiding place and lay down.

I awoke to find myself covered with ants, and they were biting all over. Slapping myself and brushing them off had no effect. More just kept coming. Eventually, I broke out of my hideout and ran down to the beach and into the sea, forgetting the warnings the Brogans had given me about the sharks.

I was only three metres away from the shore when I saw the six-foot predator moving at me with its snout open in anticipation. The water was only knee deep, too shallow, I thought, for the shark to attack me, but I was not prepared to take a chance. I jumped up and threw myself at the shore.

When I stopped shaking, I decided to go round to the other side of the island, keeping close to the vegetation so that I could find cover quickly if necessary. When it was no longer possible to keep to the shore because the jungle came right down to the sea, I forced my way through the vegetation until I came to a path, which led to a clearing around some bunkers.

The Brogans had talked about all the equipment and tools that had been left over from the war, so I raced to the nearest bunker. The door was hanging loosely on its hinges; so all I had to do was push it gently and it swung open. Sunlight streaked in from behind me and flashed on the bloodied body of Maureen Brogan. The stench was overpowering, so I slammed the door shut, turned and ran. I just made it back to the beach before I collapsed.

“Can you hear me, miss?” I thought I was dreaming. “Are you OK?”

Three men, two of them in uniform, stood over me, while another was trying to give me a drink of water.

“Who are you?”
“You’re safe now,” said one of the men. “We’re U.S. marshals and we came here because Jeff Brogan called Hawaii on Friday, a day earlier than usual, and told his friend that he was worried about two strangers. He gave a pretty good description, so we were able to check our records and we only had one white guy on our wanted list with Polynesian tattoos. The rest was easy.

“Where is he?” I asked.

“Chained to a tree near where we found him. When he sobers up, he’s in for a surprise. Naturally, we are going to have to ask you some questions, but they can wait until you get cleaned up.