feet were fast approaching.
“This way!” hissed Tommy, pointing to the water.
But I knew where we were. “No! this way!” I cried as I started to shove my way through the snarled roots. Overhead, the din of snapping branches and strained breathing grew louder. I stopped. The pitch-black cave entrance yawned before me. From it drifted the remembered odour, which had grown to a putrid, cloying, nostril clenching stench.
“No! Not in there!” hissed Tommy. “Our chances will be better in the water.”
The running footsteps stopped. “Where did they go?” a harsh voice rang out.
“Too late, Tommy.” I knocked the brittle roots aside, stooped down and plunged into the blinding darkness. Tommy stood silently for another second, then followed me in.
The smell was unbelievable. Even through clenched nostrils, I could smell the rancid odor of decay. I wasn’t sure how much further into the blinding depths I wanted to go. Outside, feet thudded on the wet sand.
“You wanted it, you might as well go all the way,” whispered Tommy.
“Do you think the bear or whatever is gone?” I feebly asked.
“Bear? Sure. He’d be letting us know by now, if he weren’t,” was the reply, mixed with a brittle laugh.
I dropped down onto all fours and crawled into the dank darkness of the cave. At my heels, Tommy did likewise. I crawled a few more feet to ensure we were well away from the entrance and stopped. The stench was unbearable.
“God, this is awful,” I whispered.
From behind me came a low singsong murmuring.
“Are you crazy, Tommy? They’ll hear us,” I hissed.
The chanting stopped, then continued barely above the sound of my panting.
I tried to peer through the gloom, but saw only a wall of pitch black. Outside, I heard the dull thump of someone else landing on the sand.
“Do you see or hear them?” shouted someone outside. Tommy and I inched further into the cave.
“No, I don’t hear a thing,” was the reply almost at the cave entrance. “They must be hidin’. I’ll look around here. You check the shore.”
I crawled further inside. The abominable odour crowded out all other senses. At this point, I felt more than saw the cave widen, but in the impenetrable black it was impossible to tell. I could no longer see even the faint outline of Tommy’s bent form behind me. From the depths of the cave came the intermittent tapping of dripping water.
I ran my hand along the ground in front of me. The earth felt damp and cold, but clear of any barriers. I inched deeper into the putrid tunnel. The stench permeated every pore in my body. It was as if I’d become the smell. I stopped, almost gagging. I wasn’t sure if I could go any further. Tommy hissed at me to continue on.
I moved my hand forward, but instead of feeling hard firm ground, I touched something soft and pliant, like a piece of clammy rubber. Startled, I jerked my hand away, then curious to know what it was, swept my hand back over the ground directly in front of me.
Encountering only damp earth, I thought my imagination had overreacted, but then my hand brushed over something soft and fibrous that moved with my touch. Steeling myself, I followed the shifting tendrils until I felt the cold and clammy object once again. I ran my quivering fingers lightly over the surface, which felt smooth and round, like boiled sausage.
Abruptly the texture changed to a rough fabric. For a moment I stopped, then with bated breath, I moved my fingers along the fabric until I felt a strange stiffness. And then something slimy crawled onto my hand. “Yuuuk!” I screamed and reared backwards.
A bright light suddenly shone into my eyes. “Who’s there!” came a harsh cry from behind the light. “Don’t move!”
I looked away from the blinding dazzle, back towards the interior of the cave. On the ground a short distance from my knees lay long tendrils of black hair, bloated fingers of an outstretched hand, and a writhing jumble of blue and gleaming yellow pierced by broken sticks of white.
“Oh, my God! It’s Mooti!” Tommy groaned. And I vomited.
TWENTY-EIGHT
We were a chastened group of would-be warriors who sat on the cold hard rocks of the beach, waiting for the police. Tommy remained inside the cave with his mother’s body, or what was left of it.
I tried to block out the last dreadful image of my friend — and failed. Her body had probably lain there rotting since my first visit to the beach more than two weeks ago. More than enough time for the animals to feast.
It looked as if I’d failed her again. Not once, but twice, I’d noticed this stench of decay; when I’d first discovered the isolated beach and later with Eric. Both times, instead of investigating the cave, I’d turned away. If I’d only had the smarts to question the smell’s source, I would have discovered Marie’s body sooner and prevented this final insult. I looked to where Eric stood at the edge of the lake and wondered if he was thinking the same.
He was here along with several others from our raiding party. On hearing my horrified screams, they’d quickly joined us. The moment Eric realized what had happened, he cleared us from the cave. Her death was clearly questionable, and he was the only one with sense enough to recognize the need to preserve whatever evidence might still remain. The rest of us were too dazed to do more than meekly follow his orders.
He sent John-Joe for the police and told the rest of us to stay put. The waiting group included the men who’d ambushed us. Not surprisingly, they were Charlie Cardinal and his groupies.
It appeared Gareth had warned Charlie to be on the lookout for trespassers. But the island was large and his men few, so whether it was coincidence they were in the pine forest at the time we began spiking or whether it was because of prior knowledge, Charlie wasn’t saying, nor was Eric asking. For the moment, the battle between them was on hold.
We waited in the growing dawn, each person immersed in his or her own thoughts, some trying to wipe off the black war paint, others just staring into the empty cold lake. No one was feeling particularly triumphant. An unspoken truce had settled. The reserve was a small community. All had known Marie. Everyone had liked her.
I found myself sitting next to Charlie on a large flat rock within sight of the ruined crosses of Two Face Sky and Summer Wind. At this point, I didn’t care whether he was the guy in yellow. After Marie’s tragic death, my scrimmages seemed trivial. We both stared across at the far shore and watched the rising sun’s light creep down the night-shrouded hillside. From behind us drifted the same singsong murmurs Tommy had chanted when we’d entered the cave.
Curious, I asked, “What is Tommy chanting?”
“The traditional chant of the dead,” Charlie replied, and closing his eyes, joined Tommy in the chant.
While I sat absorbing the hypnotic rhythm, I contemplated the troubling implications of what he’d just told me. However, not wishing to interrupt, I waited until Charlie stopped, to ask my question. “Don’t you find it curious that Tommy began chanting before we knew his mother’s body was
