“Okay,” Bray said, “so he’s caught in a net, on the outside of the ship, where he spends the night being pummeled and nearly drowned by waves. He survives until morning, and instead of calling for help, or climbing the net, he drops into the water, has the energy to swim to shore, with a killer shark at his heels. Then he runs—runs—onto the shore, along the length of the beach and finally into the jungle. No open wounds. No broken legs. And full of energy. I don’t know if you noticed, but we were in the wheelhouse and knocked down for the count. So how did a little guy like Kam pull that off? And if he was so afraid of the shark, why didn’t he run straight into the jungle?”
Hawkins replayed Bray’s words in his mind. He couldn’t find a single flaw in the man’s reasoning. “Right, right. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Unless he was panicked,” Joliet said. “He would have been delirious when he ran along the beach. Not thinking. And then he saw something that both of you have missed.” She pointed to the edge of the jungle where the footprints led.
Hawkins eyed the brush. It was subtle, but he could see what Joliet had already seen—a break in the overgrowth.
“I don’t see a thing,” Bray said.
Hawkins stepped up to the jungle and placed his hand on a large-leafed tropical plant. “There’s a path,” he said, and then pushed the big leaves aside.
The revealed path was subtle, but present. Like a long, thick snake, the dirt path wound its way around trees, brush, and rocks, leading into the dimly lit jungle. A wash of humidity and earthy scents rolled over them. The place had its own scent, fertile and organic. Living. Hawkins noticed goose bumps rising on the skin of Joliet’s bare arms.
She noted his attention and said, “You feel it, too.”
“Feel what?” Bray asked.
“Nothing,” Hawkins said, stepping back onto the beach. He turned back to the Magellan and removed a small two-way radio from his pocket. He depressed the Talk button. “Captain Drake, this is Hawkins, do you read? Over.”
After a burst of static, Drake’s voice came from the small speaker. “I read you, Hawkins, and I’ve got my eyes on you, as well. Found a trail? Over.”
“Yeah, we’re going to head in after him. Over.”
“Copy that,” Drake replied. “Go find our boy and bring him home. Over and out.”
Hawkins put the radio back in his cargo shorts pocket. He found the captain’s choice of language amusing. Kam was certainly not their “boy,” though it’s possible that Drake did think of the Magellan as home. He’d been captain of the vessel for ten years and spent more time aboard the ship than he did on land.
“You know,” Bray said. “You guys sometimes have this psychic communication thing where you think the same thing—usually something bad—and don’t tell me what it is. It’s kind of annoying.”
As Hawkins turned to Bray, he felt something hard beneath his foot. He glanced down and saw a strangely shaped stone poking out from beneath the sand. He nearly didn’t give it a second thought, but a portion of the sand covering the object slid away. Not away, Hawkins thought. Inside. The shape of the opening left behind was instantly recognizable. He’d seen it before, when he recovered the body of a woman who’d been lost in the woods for three months. She’d been scavenged by wolves, birds, and bugs. She was just bones when they found her, just five hundred feet from a marked trail.
The skull confirmed Hawkins’s suspicions. He bent down, put his finger in the eye socket, and pulled. The skull came free, sand pouring through its various openings, concealing its shape.
“What is that?” Joliet asked.
“Confirmation.” Hawkins turned the skull over so that its blank stare faced at the other two.
Bray jumped back. “Holy shit!”
Joliet gasped, but then quickly took the skull from Hawkins, inspecting every inch.
“This is what we were thinking,” Hawkins said. “We’re not the first people to find this island.”
“It looks like he was bludgeoned,” Joliet said, pointing out the caved-in hole in the top of the skull.
“Yes,” Hawkins said. “She was.”
Somehow the idea that the skull belonged to a woman revolted Joliet. She handed the skull back to Hawkins and wiped her hands on her shorts.
“How can you tell it’s a woman?” Bray asked after taking a few steps back.
“The narrow jaw, chin, and cheekbones. The skull size and lack of a brow line are good indicators, too.” Hawkins turned the skull over in his hands. “The skull is discolored, so she’s been dead for a long time, but there’s no way to say how long. Could be ten years. Could be a hundred. She’s been buried beneath the hot, dry sand, above the waterline, so she’s been well preserved.”
“What’s holding you up? Over,” Drake’s voice said from the two-way radio in Hawkins’s pocket.
Everyone, including Hawkins, jumped at the sound, and he nearly dropped the skull. After fishing out the radio, he pushed the Talk button and replied, “Drake, we found a skull. Over.”
“A skull?”
“She’s old, sir. Nothing to worry about. But we’re not the first people to find this island. Over.”
“Copy that,” Drake said. “Would have been surprised if we had been. Any idea what happened to her? Over.”
“Honestly,” Hawkins said, holding down the button. “Best guess is that she was murdered. Over.”
“Murdered?” Drake said, his voice full of surprise.