In Laymon's Terms

Brian Keen

ECKA KNEW SHE was going to drown. Gasping, she filled her lungs as a wave forced her below.

Above, she saw the legs of the other castaways. She swam toward them. Her head broke the surface.

A TV camera stared back at her.

Ignore it. It doesn’t exist.

The men on the boat glanced at her, impassive.

“Think they’ll give us a ride?”

Jerry treaded water beside her, droplets rolling off his shaved head and chest.

“You know the rules,” she panted. “Initiating contact with the crew means disqualification.”

“I was just kidding! You’re Becka—right?”

She fought to keep from swallowing water as another wave crashed over them.

“Right,” she spat. “I’m sorry. I don’t like the water.”

Shit! Now he knows a weakness he can exploit.

“This?” They drifted farther from the ship. “This is nothing. Hang on to me and I’ll get us both to shore.”

The camera boat raced ahead, lenses trained on Shonette and Marcy.

Becka hesitated.

“Look, that million dollars isn’t going to do you much good if you drown before reaching the island.”

He held out his arm. She paused, and then took it. The muscles were hard, his skin slippery. He propelled them forward with confident strokes.

Ahead, Troy swore as a wave knocked his battered green Jets cap off his head. Arms flailing, he swam after it. The hat floated by Marcy, who plucked it from the water, waving it over her head. Laughing, she shot forward.

“Hey,” he shouted. “You’re playing with your fucking life, sweetheart!”

The camera caught it all. Becka noticed that the guy behind it seemed to linger on Marcy’s breasts.

“She’s certainly got no problem staying afloat. Wonder how much she paid for them?”

“Ha,” Jerry chuckled. “Remember, all of America might hear you say that.”

Her own breasts brushed against his chest. Her nipples were stiff, whether from the water or excitement she didn’t know. Maybe a little bit of both.

Jerry blushed, and then grinned again.

The helicopter roared overhead, shooting aerial footage and ferrying Roland to the island.

The island. It loomed before them, a foreboding volcanic mass of hills and jungle.

“It looks like something out of Jurassic Park,” Becka observed.

“Yeah, but on this island, it ain’t the raptors you gotta watch out for,” said a voice behind them.

They turned in surprise. Antoine’s approach had been silent.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that we gonna be busy enough watching our backs around each other,” he nodded. “We the dinosaurs this time. Everybody’s out to get paid.”

“You were a Marine, right?” Becka asked.

“I was. Twenty-fourth MAU.”

“Maybe we should form an alliance,” Jerry suggested. “Whaddya’ say, yo?”

“Yo? My name is Antoine. Just because I’m black, you think you can talk to me like I’m some kinda thug? Where you from?”

“Los Angeles,” Jerry stammered. “I own a video store.”

“L.A.,” Antoine mused. “I’m from North Carolina, so we ain’t homeboys.”

He thrust past them, parting the water like a knife.

“He seems nice,” Jerry muttered.

Troy was frothing now. Shonette and Heather had joined Marcy in a game of keep-away with his hat. Larry waded toward the beach.

One by one they reached it, sprawling in the sand. Each of them tried to ignore the cameras flitting between them, filming every word. Heather and Marcy stretched, letting the luxuriant sun warm them, while Larry openly leered. Shonette busied herself with some stretches. Antoine stood off to the side. Troy sat on a nearby rock, muttering and twitching.

“What’s wrong?” Becka asked him.

“I need a fucking cigarette,” he snarled in a thick New York accent. “Thirty days of this without a smoke!”

“Why didn’t you just bring some as your luxury item?” Jerry asked.

“They made me pick between my hat and my smokes. I don’t go anywhere without my hat.”

“You’re from New York?”

“No, I’m from Bodega Bay, California. But I grew up in New York. Brackard’s Point, armpit of the fucking world. Left my first wife there and drove to Florida. Left my second wife there and drove to Seattle. Left another bitch there and drove to Bodega Bay. Been there ever since. My hat stayed with me the whole time.”

“Hey,” Heather called. “Here comes Roland!”

Roland Thompson stepped out of the helicopter, dressed in a safari outfit, and strolled across the sand toward them.

“Prissy fucker,” Troy muttered, and began to twitch again.

“Hello everyone,” he greeted them in a deep baritone. “Welcome to your new home, where you will compete with your fellow castaways. The last one to leave this island will go home with one million dollars.” Everyone clapped, except for Troy, staring sullenly at the sand.

“I want to congratulate each of you. For this, our seventh Castaway competition, we received over ten thousand entries. You eight were chosen to be our contestants. You’ve met each other already, onboard ship, but for the audience, I’d like to have each of you introduce yourself again. Tell us where you’re from and what you do for a living.”

The camera swooped in on Becka.

“My name is Becka,” she smiled. “And I’m a student at York College of Pennsylvania, where I’m studying to be a graphic designer.”

“I’m Jerry, and I’m a clerk at a video store in Los Angeles, California.”

“I thought you said you owned a video store?” Antoine questioned.

“Well,” Jerry’s ears turned red. “It’s my Uncle’s store. He’s never there so I pretty much run it.”

“So you lied.”

Jerry said nothing. Antoine stared into the camera.

“My name is Antoine. I’m from North Carolina. I own a private security firm.”

“I’m Heather, and I’m a housewife from Lansing, Michigan.”

“I’m Marcy, and I’m here from New York City, where I work as a securities analyst for a development company.”

“I don’t even know what the fuck that means,” Troy said as the camera swung toward him. “But my name’s Troy. I bend wrenches for a living. I live in California, and I need a fucking smoke.”

“I can see already that we’re going to have to bleep you a lot,” Roland commented. The group laughed.

“I’m from Atlanta, Georgia. My name’s Shonette, and I’m a telemarketer.”

They groaned.

“So you’re the person that calls every time my family sits down for dinner,” Heather teased.

“It beats bending wrenches, I can tell you that,” Troy said.

“My name is Larry. I live in Washington D.C.,” he swaggered directly toward the camera. “I’m a lobbyist for the biggest insurance firm in the nation, and I will be the last person left on this island.”

“A lobbyist?” Troy snorted. “Hell, that’s worse than being a fucking telemarketer.”

“And you,” Larry blustered, “will be the first one off the island, wrench-boy.”

“Not if we cook you and eat you, ya yuppie fuck.”

“Well,” Roland broke in, “I can see we’re off to a good start! You’re all familiar with the show, but I want to run over some of the rules again. Initiating direct contact with the camera crew results in immediate disqualification. You can talk to each other and myself, but you may not address the crew, unless they specifically address you first. Even when you’re sleeping, at least one of them will be awake, filming. When their shift is over, the helicopter will ferry them back to the ship. As each of you are voted off the island, you will also return to the ship.

“Every other day, you’ll be given a challenge. It may be physical or mental, and each day the parameters will differ. The winner of that day’s challenge will vote for the person they feel should leave the island. You can compete against each other individually, or form teams of three. In the case of the latter, the winning team will vote on an individual. Once you have three votes, you will be asked to leave immediately.

“When not competing in a challenge, you can stay together, split into groups, or go it alone. I suggest working together at the beginning. Our scouting party only spent a day here, but in that short time they determined that food and water are in abundance. It is up to you, however, to find it.” He paused.

“As a brief historical note, you’ll be the first human beings to spend the night on this island in over one hundred years.”

“Why is that?” Larry asked.

“Caribbean tradition holds that it’s haunted. The natives avoided this island, because their legends taught that the caves here were the mouths of the underworld. They believed it to be infested with demons. And then there’s the legend of the Japanese squadron who disappeared here during World War Two. It’s been the focus of several television documentaries. There’s also the account of the Marcelle, which anchored here in 1905. Legend has it the crew stayed one night and left, swearing never to return.”

“That’s because they weren’t after a million dollars,” Marcy said.

Roland filled them in on a few more rules, then departed back to the ship, leaving behind six camera and sound technicians.

Becka noticed Antoine staring into the jungle.

“What is it? Is something wrong?”

“It’s quiet. No birds, nothing.”

“Maybe the helicopter scared them away?”

“Maybe,” he nodded, “or maybe it really is haunted.”

He grinned.

“It’s kind of weird, isn’t it,” Shonette whispered. “Having them follow us around everywhere?”

Heather glanced back at the two men, one wielding the camera and the other a microphone.

“Yeah, but I guess we’ll get used to it.”

They threaded their way through a tangle of vines, pressing slowly through the foliage in search of fresh water.

“This sucks.” Shonette slapped an insect from her ebony thigh.

“Yeah, but it beats having to lug back firewood. We’ll let the men do that.”

“Girlfriend, I’d let Antoine do a lot more than that!”

The man with the microphone crept closer.

“Jerry isn’t bad either,” Heather mused. “I think he’s got a crush on Becka.”

“That Troy guy is cute, too.”

“Yeah, but in a psycho kind of way. What about that creep Larry?”

“The way that man was staring at Marcy’s chest,” Shonette exclaimed, “you’d think he was gonna attack her right there on the sand!”

“First chance we get, we knock him off the island.”

“So we’re a team then?”

“I’m willing if you are,” Heather offered, sticking out her hand. Shonette took it.

“Just so we remember there can be only one winner,” she reminded Heather.

“Agreed.”

They pressed forward.

“You sure you remember the way back to camp?” Shonette asked. “We’ve gone a few miles.”

Heather didn’t respond. She’d stopped in her tracks, peering into the greenery.

The open mouth of a cave stared back at them.

“So do you have a girlfriend?” Becka asked Jerry, regretting it immediately.

“No,” he replied, and she breathed an inward sigh of relief. “But I’m always on the lookout. Want to hook up?” He winked at her.

“I don’t know you well enough,” she replied coyly, checking to make sure Marcy was out of earshot, “but I would consider an alliance while we’re on this island. It would be nice to have someone to trust.”

“Yes, it would,” Jerry agreed. “But an alliance doesn’t mean you’d be able to trust me. What if we play the game all the way to the end, and it comes down to you or me? What then?”

“Then I’d have to kick your ass and win the million. But don’t worry, I’d give you a loan.”

He laughed, the sound of it echoing through the trees. Becka picked some more berries, placing them on the wide piece of bark she was using as a makeshift basket.

“Found some good ones,” Marcy announced cheerfully. Immediately, the cameras focused on her cleavage. She gave her breasts an extra shake and smiled teasingly. Then she stopped, cocking her ear.

Jerry grew silent, too. Becka tilted her head and listened. The wind rustled softly through the leaves. The surf crashed against the beach. Then, much closer, a droning buzz.

“What is that?” Jerry stepped forward, lashing at a fern with his stick. The cameraman followed.

Marcy sniffed the air, her nose wrinkling.

The ferns parted, revealing a splash of red. Then more. Crimson spattered the leaves and the ground. The carcass of a wild animal, freshly killed, lay strewn in pieces. Flies busied themselves in the rancid meat. The scattered remains made identification impossible. The brown, matted fur was sticky with gore. A hoofed leg had been gnawed on and tossed aside. Scraps of organs and raw flesh lay shriveling in the sun—leftover droppings from whatever had done this. A sour stench, faint but noticeable, hung over the clearing.

Jerry turned his head and puked.

Becka closed her eyes. Cringing, Marcy turned away.

What she saw next made her scream.

“Man, get off your lazy ass! I ain’t lugging this firewood by myself!” The camera crew had followed Antoine into the jungle, and for the moment, Larry and Troy were alone on the beach. Troy stumbled with an armload of driftwood while Larry sprawled in the sand with his eyes closed.

“Please,” Larry frowned, waving a hand in his direction. “Can’t you see I’m thinking?”

“Think about my fucking foot in your ass.”

Larry rolled over onto his stomach, sand clinging to his back.

“Is that any way to talk to the guy that can get you a cigarette?”

“You got some?”

“No, I quit years ago. But I know somebody that does. They brought it as their luxury item.”

“Who?”

“The nigger. Antoine.”

“Dude, not only are you a lazy fuck, you’re a racist, too?”

Larry ignored the question.

“Antoine brought along a pack of Marlboros as his luxury item. Make a deal with me, and I’ll get you one.”

“What kinda deal?”

“You have to give me your word that you won’t vote against me, should you be given the opportunity.”

Troy flung a piece of driftwood into the ocean, then whirled on him. Calmly, Larry rose to his feet.

“You know,” the wiry mechanic spat, pointing a dirty fingernail at him, “we get guys like you in the shop all the time. Bring their BMW in for an oil change and expect to have it done in five minutes. Want us to drop what we’re doing and focus only on their car.”

“I drive a Lexus, actually.”

“That ain’t my point!”

“Well then, please do make your point.”

“Guy like you comes in last week with a cracked engine block. Wanted me to fix it. Told him I couldn’t. He gets indignant with me, wants to know why not. Know what I told him?”

“Something profound, I’m sure.”

“I told him ‘that fucking fucker is fucking fucked’.”

“And your point is?”

“So are you, you Lexus driving piece of shit.”

Larry’s face grew red and he took a step towards him. Troy did not back down.

“That’s not gonna be enough firewood,” said Antoine, stepping out of the treeline. He hefted a bundle of long, straight sticks.

Larry leaned close to Troy’s ear.

“Keep in mind what you need to do if you want that cigarette,” he snarled, then stepped away. “What do you have there, my friend?” he smiled at Antoine.

“Weapons.”

“Weapons,” the lobbyist stared at him blankly. “For what?”

“Hunting. Fishing.” He paused, sitting down on a rock. “Protection.”

“So how do you plan on manufacturing these weapons?”

Antoine grinned and reached into his boot, pulling forth a knife. Larry gasped as if he had pulled a rabbit from a hat.

“With this,” Antoine told them, letting the setting sun play off the blade. “This was my luxury item.”

“You are so fucking dead, man,” Troy told Larry. “Cigarettes my ass!”

Marcy’s scream exploded from the jungle.

Immediately, Antoine, Troy, and the two crewmen dashed toward the trees. Larry lagged behind.

The soundman grabbed his radio from his belt, and barked into it as they ran.

“Team Two, this is Three! Do you copy?”

There was a pause, and then came a breathless reply.

“Copy Team Three. We’re okay. I repeat, we’re okay. One of the contestants got a little spooked.”

“Roger that,” the soundman said. “Thought we might have had an injury. Should we stand down?”

“No, get them up here.” Even through the speaker, it sounded odd. “You might want to get this on camera—get their reactions. Looks like the survey team might have screwed up.”

“Say again, Two?”

There was a longer pause.

“We’re not alone on this island.”

“See,” Shonette told Heather, “the tunnel is narrow for the first six feet. Then it opens up wide enough for us to stand.”

“I’m still not crazy about going in there.”

“You worried about snakes and bugs?”

Heather knelt down beside her and poked her head inside the crevasse. “Shonette, I’ve got three boys at home. I’m used to snakes and bugs and worse. But it’s dark in there, and we can’t see what we’re getting into.” The cameraman stepped forward, the light mounted on his camera shining brightly. He said nothing, merely waited to see what they’d do next.

“See, now we got us a light,” Shonette said. “It’ll be nightfall soon. Let’s just check it out quick, and then we’ll head back to camp. Maybe there’s a spring inside or something.”

“I don’t know.” Heather shook her head doubtfully. “I still don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“I thought we were partners,” Shonette pouted. “You’re not gonna wimp out on me, are you?”

“Alright, let’s go in.” Heather sighed with reluctance. “Just promise me we’ll head back before it gets dark.”

They crawled inside, followed by the two crewmen.

Outside the cave, the shadows grew longer.

Night was approaching.

The jungle held its breath.

“What the hell is it?” Jerry asked.

“I think that’s obvious,” Larry sneered.

In the mud was a single footprint. It was human in shape, having five toes and a heel, but that was where all similarities ended. It was twice as long as any man’s foot, and at the tip of each toe there was a long impression that designated a claw or talon.

One of the technicians drew away from the group, whispering nervously into his radio.

Antoine noticed his agitation. “We’ve got problems, ya’ll.”

“Let me see this thing,” Troy demanded, elbowing his way through the huddle. “What’s the big deal about—”

He froze, and then scurried backward.

“Oh shit!”

“What is it?” Becka asked. “Troy?”

“Look at the fucking size of that thing!”

Eyes wide, he turned to run. Antoine reached out and seized his arm. The second cameraman paused, unsure of what was occurring but continuing to film. The one on the radio faced the group.

“Folks, I just spoke with Roland, who spoke with the network. The game will continue. This is a temperate zone, and it’s been subject to a lot of rain recently. Obviously, this is the track of some wild animal, distorted by the weather patterns and the drying mud. No further discussion. We are back in game, starting now.”

Troy yanked his arm free and turned on the cameraman. “Ask Roland and the executives how much crack they smoked today.”

The other contestants gasped.

“You know the rules! That’s grounds for immediate forfeit.”

“Man, fuck you and fuck the game! Have you seen tracks like these before?”

The cave smelled fetid. Shonette and Heather crept forward, past several branching tunnels. The two crewmen shuffled along behind.

“Can we leave now?” Heather whispered. “There’s nothing in here.”

“Why are you whispering?”

“I don’t know,” Heather replied, nudging her with an elbow. “Seriously, we need to get back. If you want to explore it more, we can come back tomorrow.”

“Maybe I’ll bring Antoine with us.”

“See,” Heather accused with a grin. “I knew you wanted this for a love nest!”

Their giggles echoed off the cavern walls—

—and continued after they’d stopped. A soft, dry laughter seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.

The cameraman turned the light back the way they had come. “What the he—”

The throaty laughter turned into a brittle hiss.

There was someone behind them. Several someones.

The light flashed on something white and slick, with skin like the belly of a dead fish. A snouted, brown-haired face scowled, then opened its mouth and snarled.

The girls screamed, scrambling backward. The cameraman watched through the lens as a powerful hand swiped downward. He noted in amazed detachment the black, curved talons on each finger as they swung toward him, and then he knew no more.

The camera shattered against the stone floor. The light went out, plunging them into darkness.

The thing pounced.

“This has got to be part of the show,” Larry scoffed. “Think about it. They scare us and film our reactions. Makes for great drama back home.”

“That’s no special effect!” Troy pointed to the muddy print.

“So what,” Marcy exclaimed, “you think it’s Bigfoot?”

“I don’t know what the hell it is,” he admitted, “but I don’t like the looks of that footprint. Claws like that could rip us apart.”

A soft whimper escaped Becka’s throat. Jerry put his arm around her. “It’s okay.” He squeezed her waist. “Larry’s right. The whole thing is a hoax. This is just some new twist on the game. Anything for ratings.”

A savage, screaming howl answered him from deep within the jungle. “Then what the fuck was that?” Troy shouted.

“Look,” the lead cameraman said, all pretense of playing the game put aside. “Let’s all go back to the beach, find the other players, and I’ll radio back to the ship and see what they say.”

“Permission to speak?” Antoine asked him.

“Go ahead. The game is halted.”

“Can you radio the crew that went out with Heather and Shonette? I think we’d all feel better knowing they’re okay.”

“Sure,” he nodded, pulling the radio off his belt. “Team One, this is Three. Do you copy?”

There was a shrill burst of static, then a grunting sound.

His brow furrowed. “Team One, I didn’t get that. Say again.”

Heather’s scream ripped through the speaker, followed by a wet, slapping sound.

“OH GOD! OH GOD, IT HURTS! SOMEBODY HELP US! PLEASE HELP MEEE—” Her scream turned into a high, keening wail that cut off abruptly. This was followed by a barking growl.

The radio went dead.

Another howl erupted from the trees, followed by several more. Something crashed through the foliage toward them.

“Everybody back to the beach!” the lead cameraman screamed.

The branches parted and a massive, hairy creature lunged forth. It looked like a mutant ape; its body was covered in thick brown hair, except for the belly and chest, which were white and hairless. It was snouted like a pig, and the beady eyes looked all too human, flashing with malevolent intelligence. It sprang onto the lead cameraman’s back, and he collapsed under its weight.

Troy ran. Jerry seized Becka’s hand and pulled her along. The three remaining crewmen split up, equipment forgotten. One ran with the contestants. The other two held their ground.

“GO!” Antoine screamed, shoving Larry and Marcy, who stood frozen, watching the cameraman being torn asunder by one of the raving monsters. Its sharp claws shredded his clothes and flesh. The creature growled in wicked delight and pulled forth a gray, ropy prize from his abdomen. It began to eat.

The bushes rustled as five more sprang forth.

Larry shoved Marcy out of the way and dashed into the jungle. She fell to the ground, unmoving.

Antoine put himself between her and the advancing creatures, and drew his knife.

“C’mon, you ugly muthas!”

The first thing ignored his taunts, its snout buried deep inside its victim’s chest.

The others bore down upon them.

“Home Base, Home Base do you copy?”

Branches whipped at them as they fled.

“Where the fuck is the beach?” Troy shouted.

“Keep going straight,” Jerry panted, clinging to Becka’s hand.

“Home Base, this is Two. Answer me, god damn it!”

“Craig, what is your malfunction,” Roland’s voice chastised him. “You know better than to speak that wa—”

“With all due respect, Mr. Thompson, shut up! This island is hostile! Repeat, this island is hostile! We’ve got dead and injured and we need to evacuate! Meet us at the drop zone in ten minutes!”

“What do you—”

“NOW!”

A creature crashed out of the greenery directly in front of them. With a hideous roar, it swiped out with one clawed hand, catching the cameraman in the face. His cheek and scalp were flayed open, revealing his teeth and skull. Screaming, he dropped to the ground. The beast attacked, tearing and slashing.

Troy, Jerry and Becka ran, the sounds of pursuit getting closer.

Jerry ducked under a branch, pulling Becka along with him. He spied the beach, and farther out, the ship. The helicopter rose from the flight deck, floodlights burning in the darkness.

Becka caught the branch with her chin and winced in pain as it drew a red welt across her cheek. She ducked and it snapped back, knocking Troy’s hat off.

“My hat!”

“Forget about it,” Jerry urged. “They’re coming!”

Troy scrambled after his cap, just as one of the creatures jumped forward.

Antoine quickly felt for a pulse, relieved that Marcy was alive.

The monsters tore through them. They pounced upon the first cameraman, ripping his arms from their sockets with a wrench, and then used them to club the second.

Antoine charged the fifth one, thrusting upward with the knife. The blade sank into the slick flesh of its belly, and the beast grunted in surprise. Its foul breath blasted his face. Warm, sticky blood ran over his knuckles. He jerked the knife free and stabbed again, feeling the blade go deep. The creature shuddered, then collapsed. A long, pink tongue rolled out of its mouth, then it lay still.

The others stopped ravaging their kills, and glared at him with yellow eyes. Slowly, they circled him.

The biggest of the four moaned. Antoine glanced at its waist.

The creature was erect. Its penis, staggering in size and covered with rugged contours and bulging black veins, bobbed in the air.

Something slammed into him from behind, knocking him to the ground. A great weight pressed his shoulders down, crushing him. Black nails clenched his hair, yanking his head up. His shorts were torn away in one swipe. Talons pierced his skin, holding him down as something long and oily and hard pressed against his tightly clenched buttocks, and rammed between them.

Marcy woke to Antoine’s screams.

She watched helplessly as a beast raped Antoine from behind. Another drew its penis to his up-stretched face. She stared in disbelief as the creature thrust forward, plunging its member into Antoine’s eye. It grunted, shoved, and then sank it to the hilt as the membrane in his eye socket burst. Antoine jerked, arms flailing wildly, then lay still. Both creatures continued thrusting.

They spasmed in orgasm, and then withdrew, leaving a gaping ruin at both ends. Still hard, they stroked their blood-slicked members, and fell upon her.

She prayed they would kill her. Prayers unanswered, she slipped from consciousness again.

Larry exploded from the jungle and ran out onto the cliff. A mile away, he spotted the chopper bulleting toward the beach.

“Shit!”

He waved his arms frantically.

“Hey! Hey, over here!”

His calls were answered by a growl. He turned as a lone monster stalked towards him.

“Oh God,” he whimpered. “Hey, over here! Help me!”

He backed towards the edge, and the beast crept forward. He could see that it was a female. Pale, round breasts dangled in the moonlight. The dark hair sprouting from between its legs was matted with dirt and insects all the way up to its filthy navel.

The creature emitted an unpleasant, musky odor. Larry cringed as he breathed it in. Despite his fear, he was amazed to find himself growing hard. Each breath brought more arousal.

His erection strained at his zipper.

A deep purring issuing from her throat, the she-thing straddled him.

Larry screamed.

The creature held Troy’s hat in one clawed hand, its black snout crinkling in curiosity.

“GIMME BACK MY FUCKING HAT!’’

“Troy,” Becka screamed. “What are you doing?”

“He’s crazy,” Jerry stammered. “He’s snapped. Come on, let’s go!”

“Troy, the chopper’s coming!”

“I ain’t leaving without my hat.”

Hefting a football-sized rock, Troy faced the creature. With a rough, throaty chuckle, it stepped toward him, still clutching the hat.

Troy swung the rock, aiming for its face. He missed as it sprang backward.

“Get the hell out of here,” Troy shouted. “I’m gonna show this fucker how we do it in Brackard’s Point!”

They ran. The jungle gave way to sun-bleached sand.

The helicopter’s lights bathed the beach in an eerie false light. The whirling blades kicked up a swirling cloud of sand.

“Over here!” Roland’s amplified voice called to them over the bullhorn. “This way!”

He jumped from the chopper, head ducked low, brandishing a rifle. “What’s happening? Where are the others?”

“They’re dead,” Jerry gasped. “Those things got them.”

“Things?”

Ignoring him, Becka and Jerry clambered into the helicopter.

“What things? What are you talking about?”

“I think they mean those things, Mr. Thompson,” the pilot hollered, pointing toward the jungle.

An army of beasts flooded from the jungle and dashed toward their location. Roland scrambled aboard, and the chopper began to rise.

At that moment, from a point closer to them, a lone figure emerged from the brush, one hand waving frantically and the other holding a battered green Jets hat tightly to his head.

“Troy!” Becka screamed.

The beasts raced toward him. His mouth opened wide, his screams lost beneath the roar of the helicopter’s blades.

“C’mon,” Jerry shouted, leaning forward. “You can do it!”

Roland raised the rifle’s scope to his eye, set the stock firmly, and squeezed the trigger. The closest beast fell to the sand.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuck me!” Troy shrieked and grabbed for Jerry’s outstretched hand. Screaming, he climbed aboard as the chopper rose into the air. His shirt was shredded and bloody. A ragged furrow had been gouged in his side, and scratches and bite marks covered his arms.

Furious, the monsters howled into the sky, gnashing their teeth and shaking their fists. One of them wielded a human arm, waving it like a flag.

Becka buried her face in Jerry’s chest.

“My God.” Roland stared at the scene below. “If the media gets a hold of this before the network has had a chance to put a spin on it—I’ve got some calls to make!” He fumbled for his cell phone.

Troy sprang forward, grabbed it from him, and flung it out the window.

“Game over!”

The helicopter soared through the night, leaving the island bathed again in darkness.

Larry watched the ship, laughing as it vanished over the horizon.

The female writhed above him, shuddering as their hips pounded together. Her teeth sank deep into the meat of his shoulder. Suddenly, she disengaged herself, his penis sliding out of her with a wet smack. She knelt before him on all fours, looking back at him expectantly.

“I win,” he cackled as he thrust himself into her. Tears coursed down his cheeks. “I win! I’m the last one left on the island!”

The female screamed in orgasm, and Larry’s scream of madness sounded much like her own.