CHAPTER TWELVE
Dex had decided the best way to search the island would be to walk around the entire coastline, even though there were no trails that skirted the coast, aside from the one on the northwest side. This meant a lot of bushwalking, which in inclement weather and without proper equipment would be difficult to do.
We started off with the remaining campsites that sat inland from the ones we were staying at. On a normal, sunny day the little clearing would have been an ideal spot for a small group. There were three gravel sites, two picnic tables and a grassy, mossy bottom.
But on this day, it looked like the creepiest place to be, let alone camp. The picnic tables seemed rotted through and covered with black slime and moss. The grass beneath our feet was saturated and sinking, and all around us were clumps of piled rocks. We knew those were graves. It amazed me that people could actually be camping beside the sad, makeshift tombstones and not know about it. Or perhaps not even care.
After the campsite we headed inland for a bit. There was a small bog with year–round groundwater that used to be the only source of water for the lepers. I guess Dex and I were lucky in the fact that we were able to collect the deluge of rainwater that was falling every other hour; otherwise we’d probably have to drink the bog water. With the drooping, brown weeds that sprouted from the dingy murk and the broken, hanging grey limbs that surrounded it like a cage, the bog seemed like the kind of place where you were more likely to drink poison than water.
We were glad to get out of there and back onto the coast again, even though navigating was becoming more and more challenging the further we hiked away from the campsite. I had my stupid knife I had to contend with while I was struggling to break through the salal bushes. At first I tried slashing through like it was a machete and I was on some jungle expedition, but after a few futile attempts and one sharp cut to my finger, I gave up on that.
When we weren’t dealing with tangled undergrowth, we were out in the open, climbing over large boulders and rocks that made up the craggy shoreline. With my lack of balance and agility, plus the knife in my hand, I was definitely slowing us up.
Dex stopped on top of one boulder that was covered in reddish moss and bird shit and gave me an impatient look.
“Are you going to make it?” he asked. His tone said he wouldn’t care either way.
I narrowed my eyes at him and waved the knife. “You try this with a knife in your hand.”
He sat down on the rock and held his hand out for the knife. I gave it to him and he grabbed my hand and helped pull me up, the slickness of the rain–soaked rocks falling away from my straining boots.
Once on top of the rock, I lay there for a minute and let the rain fall on my face, taking in a deep breath. I was soaked to the bone, freezing cold and absolutely miserable. We had only been on the move for about a half an hour and with the thick fog settled just a few yards off shore, it was hard to tell what direction we were facing. Any sign of the nearby Sidney Island, or even the closer Little D’Arcy, was obscured. It was disorienting.
What sucked the most was that I couldn’t just give up and go back to the campsite. We had to keep going.
Dex moved over and peered down at me, his head blocking the rain from my eyes. It made a pleasant pitter patter sound on the back of his hood.
“Catch your breath. Then we’ll keep going. I don’t want it to get dark while we’re out here.”
I nodded and breathed in deeply. We did have flashlights with us, but he was right. There was no way I wanted to be in the forest during nightfall, looking for people who may or may not be waiting for us.
He got to his feet and grabbed hold of my hand. He started to pull me up as my Docs slid around a bit. Just as I got to my feet in an awkward, hunched–over manner, his left foot shot out from under him and he went flying over backwards off of the rock.
I screamed and reached for him as he went but I fell too, only onto my stomach, still on the rock.
“Dex!” I cried and pulled myself forward and peered over the edge of the rock face. He had fallen about eight feet and was lying below the other side, looking all bent up and battered. Fuck, I hope he hasn’t broken anything, I thought wildly. If he had, we were screwed to high heaven.
He groaned and looked up at me. “I’m OK.”
“How? Are you sure?”
He nodded then stopped himself. He held his head. “Ow.”
“You’re not OK, oh shit.”
I carefully pulled my body around so I was facing the other way and tried to let myself drop to the rocky ground beside him as carefully as possible.
“Wait!” he screamed.
I paused, hanging off of the boulder, feet dangling, my arms barely gripping the slippery surface.
“Move to your left more.”
I sidled over to the left as much as I could and then my hands and arms gave away.
I landed on my feet but immediately fell backward and pointy, crusty rocks went into my ass, elbows and back.
Now it was my turn to swear my head off and moan. Why was I so clumsy all the time?
I looked at Dex, who was staring at the space right beside me. The hunting knife was there and for some reason it was lodged in the ground with the sharp blade facing straight up. Had he not told me to move to the left I would have landed right on top of it.
I shivered, feeling nauseous at the close call.
“You OK?” he grunted, trying to sit up.
“I came down here to ask you that.” I looked at my hands, which were lightly scratched with blood and dirt but nothing seemed too gruesome.
“We’ve both been worse,” he said and moved to get up. He paused and lowered his head a bit, dark eyes fixated on something at the base of the boulder.
“What is it?” I asked, trying to see.
He got to his feet slowly, trying to hide the wincing, and took a few steps before squatting in front of the rock, where a small depression made a short and shallow, dark cave. He reached in, his disappearing hands out of my view.
When he brought them out, in them was a very old, dripping shoe. A man’s shoe, quite small, brown and decrepit. We exchanged a curious glance. I guess finding a shoe wasn’t that strange but...
He turned it over in his hands.
His eyes bugged out and he gasped in outright horror, dropping the shoe in disgust and stumbling backward away from it in a wild panic.
Instinctively I jumped up, scrambling to get to my feet and stumbled over to where he was. I grabbed onto his coat.
His hands were at his mouth, looking like he was about to vomit.
“What?! What is it?” I cried, not wanting to go any closer to it.
He closed his eyes and tried to compose himself. I put my arm around him to let him know I was there. After a few breaths he opened them, shaking his head very slowly, eyes focused on the shoe in horrid disbelief, skin transparently pale. The stubble on his cheeks stood out like dark cacti on a white sand beach.
“There’s a foot in that shoe,” he said blankly.
“Excuse me?” My hands flew up to my mouth as well. He had to have been kidding.
“There’s a human foot in that shoe.”