A Dark Grave, Page 2

laugh at a dead body.

  I glance around quickly, wondering if the person who killed him is around somewhere, but the only footsteps I see are ours.

  “No footsteps,” Conn says, echoing my thoughts. “More than likely the body was dumped somewhere else and washed up here.”

  I nod. “We should stay alert, just in case,” I say.

  I stand, brushing the sand from my hands. I glance over to the woods and see a shadow pass through the fog. Shuddering, I think of all the superstitious bullshit regarding ghosts.

  “They say if a body isn’t buried properly the soul walks around haunting the place it died because it can’t find peace,” Conn says.

  A chill runs over my skin, making goose bumps pop up all over, but I say, “That’s crap. When people die, they just die. They don’t come back to haunt other people, especially some stupid island.”

  I glance down at the body. “But we’d better find a spot to bury him. Doesn’t seem right to just leave him out here.”

  And that’s the only reason. Because it’s the right thing to do, not because of some stupid ghost story.

  Conn makes a face, but helps me drag the body closer to the trees. We have only our hands for shovels and the sandy beach is much easier to dig in, so we don’t go farther into the forest.

  We quickly dig a shallow grave and cover him with sand. Conn disappears for a second, returning with a somewhat large and unusually shaped rock that we use as a grave marker.

  We stand quietly for a minute, paying our respects to a boy we never met. I think how glad I am that I didn’t bring Tristan.

  Ever since Dad died, I’ve been responsible for him, and the family, taking over where Dad left off. Tristan had been just a baby. I’d helped feed him, change his diapers, learn his alphabet, shoot his first rifle. I was even there with mom for his first day of school.

  I would never admit it, but seeing him sit in that little bitty classroom, the same one with the same teacher I had, made me a little teary. Maybe it was because he was growing up or, more than likely, because my dad would never get to see it and I had to stand in his stead. Tristan had never really known our dad; he’s always looked up to me. And it was hard enough on me to see the body; I can’t imagine what it would have done to him. Especially if the killer is still on the island somewhere.

  The thought makes me grip tighter to my rifle and take one more glance around. Even though it’s obvious Conn and I are the only humans alive on this island, I can’t shake the feeling we’re being watched.

  Feeling a little creeped out, Conn and I silently grab our gear and make our way into the foggy forest.

  Despite how promising the wooded area looked, we’ve spent all day hunting without so much as a rabbit to our name. It’s not that there aren’t animals; there’s a ton, but each time we get close to one, they seem to just…disappear in the fog. As if they were never there in the first place -- not even any tracks to prove we saw anything at all.

  If it wasn’t for Connor seeing them too, I would wonder if I was delusional.

  We cross the island several times setting traps. I’m not going home empty-handed. I refuse to. We’ll catch them one way or another.

  We eat lunch on the far side of the island, where the forest ends in a sudden drop off at a set of cliffs that overlook the ocean. The fog has settled over the water far below.

  Where is all this fog coming from? Is the ground temp and the air temp that different?

  The spot between my shoulder blades itches and I turn to look around. I’ve got the feeling we’re being watched again.

  Connor does a whole body shudder and looks away from the forest to me.

  “I didn’t really believe the stories about this place, but I’m seriously reconsidering. Maybe we should just get out of here.” I don’t say anything and he sighs. “My father says he came here as a kid. He and his friends wanted to stay here all night, and whoever was still here at dawn would prove how much of a man he really was.”

  “So? Did he win?”

  He looks up and meets my eyes. “None of them made it all night. And one didn’t come back at all. He just disappeared.”

  He gives me this look, and I lift an eyebrow. “They lost him?”

  “Dad said he was with them when they went to sleep, but they heard noises, like people talking, and when they woke up, he wasn’t anywhere to be found. They looked for him, but when they heard this horrible scream, like someone was being torn apart, they panicked and ran.” He looks down. “They came back the next day with a bunch of adults, including some hunters and the kids’ parents. They couldn’t find him or the camping gear they’d left. I always thought he was making it up. But this place,” he moves his hands to gesture to our sitting place, “is almost exactly as he described it.”

  I shake my head. “It is really freaky here, but I came to do a job and I will finish it. No ghosts—real or imagined—are going to scare me away.”

  He nods, as if he expected that answer. “Well then, we should check those traps.”

  For the next several hours, we work without talking, but I have to admit, Conn’s story has shaken me. I wish he’d never told me, because now I keep checking over my shoulder. The feeling of being watched is growing stronger.

  We still come up empty. The traps have been sprung, but not one holds an animal. I really, really don’t want to go back empty-handed, but I don’t see that I have much of a choice. We’re losing the sun and, given Conn’s story, I’m not staying here past dark.

  Besides, a rainstorm is coming—I can hear the rumble of thunder in the distance--and we didn’t bring anything with us to keep us dry and sheltered.

  Lightning flashes, followed a few seconds later by a huge thunder crack, which shakes the air around us, causing me to jump. Without any warning, the heavens open, unleashing freezing rain.

  “Damn it!” I yell.

  “We need to find shelter,” Conn yells over the roar of the rain. “We’ll never make it back across now. We need to get away from the trees!”

  I nod. Trying to get across that slip of ocean would be a death sentence, as is standing under nature’s lightning rods, but I’ve no clue where to go. We never came across anything that could even remotely be shelter.

  Except…

  “Maybe the cliffs have something,” I shout back.

  Thunder crashes again, and this time we both jump. We run toward the cliffs.

  Too late I realize how slick the ground has become. I try stopping before the steep downward drop but slide. Instead of falling onto my ass, I fall forward -- over the edge of the cliff.

  Before I can even yell, I’m hitting something. Hard. Pain erupts in my right shoulder, making stars flash behind my eyes seconds before my head follows suit and I black out.

  When I wake, the rain is still pouring, but I’m not in it and I have no idea where I am.

  I try pushing myself up, but an intense pain in my right arm makes me collapse. I blink in and out of consciousness.

  When the world stops spinning, I blink open my eyes again and see Conn leaning over me, his flashlight reflecting light onto his face. He looks relieved.

  Using my left hand to take his, I let him pull me to a sitting position, but wobble a little as the room spins and my head pounds.

  “Where am I? How did I get here?”

  “In a cave I found. You fell onto a ledge and when I finally managed to slide down to you, you were unconscious. I couldn’t drag you up by myself, so I dragged you in here.”

  I nod, then hiss when the movement makes my head pound even more.

  “I guess,” I say, when the pain ebbs, “that this place is as good as any to wait out the storm.” At least it’s dry. “How long was I out?”

  “I have no idea. My watch broke when I slid down the cliff and it’s still raining, so I can’t see the moon or stars. It’s been at least a few hours. I was starting to get worried.” He gives me a sideways look. “You sure you’re okay to wait
?”

  I give him a crooked smile. “Unless you can turn into a bird and fly me out of here, I’m pretty sure we don’t have a choice.”

  We sit quietly for a few minutes as the wind howls and lightning flashes outside the cave. Conn leans against the wall, his hat covering his eyes, so it’s difficult to tell if he’s sleeping or not. I take an inventory of all my injuries. It appears to be mostly scrapes and cuts. Some of the cuts are fairly long and deep, covered in dried mud. I’ll need to clean them before they get infected; they look pretty nasty already. And considering how much my arm hurts to just move it, it’s possible I have a broken arm.

  While those are bad, it’s nothing that’s going to kill me right this minute.

  However, if it gets much colder in here, I’ll end up freezing to death. I didn’t survive falling off a cliff just to die from the cold. Besides, the flashlights won’t last very long, we’ll need something for light soon.

  I shove myself to my feet and look for anything to start a fire.

  Conn looks up and I say, “Fire wood,” in response to his questioning look.

  He nods again and pushes himself to his feet without speaking.

  That’s Conn’s best quality. He doesn’t have to talk just to hear his own voice. Unlike my brother.

  Which reminds me again how glad I am Tristan didn’t come. There’s no way he’d have been able to help me. I’d probably still be bleeding on that ledge. And he’d have probably fallen off and broken his neck trying to help me.

  We spend the next few minutes gathering every stray thing we think