Island Of The Cryptids

1

The island below was a vibrant green, jubilant in life, with towering jungle treetops bearing poofy fans of leaves that quivered as the plane flew by above. The canopy rocked, the sound of lively branches snapping under pressure and tumbling through the fingers of the other branches onto the ground could be heard underneath the roar of the jet engines.

The plane dipped out of the sky, flying precariously close to the parting treetops. They reached up, threatening to nip and claw at the underbelly of the plane as it descended. The plane was a small passenger jet, colored a solid white with a dark blue stripe banded around the center of the cylindrical cabin. Square windows lined the area above, and the small wings formed knives out of the small body of the plane, curving up jaggedly at the ends. The plane was sharp and sleek, arrowing across the island.

The thick jungle faded into an overgrown field of tall grass, which shook as the plane came down, extending its landing gears to meet the runway that sat in the center of the field. The engines whistled as the plane touched down, thundering along the gravel strip, shaking violently as the jet screeched to a slow stop. The trees settled as the plane silently inched along the runway, crawling forward to a complete halt in front of a small rundown building.

The hum of the engine died down, replaced now by the bleating chirping of the crickets from all over the island and the distant rumbling of thunder. Gray clouds swirled in turmoil above, painting the sky a dark hue. The cotton ball puffs of cloud obstructed the entire sky, reigning supreme in all of their gigantic splendor. The plane door shook as a lock was jimmied open, then with a metallic scraping sound, the cabin door swung open, confined by its hinges, and thumped to the ground. A man wearing a pilot's uniform stepped out, his tie and thinning white hair flapping in the wind. A woman followed, trying to yell over the wicked howling of the wind.

"I don't understand why we had to land on this shithole, mister. This place is disgusting. When are we gonna get back to the mainland?" she called. The pilot quickly turned around, now standing on the runway, a bitter look on his face.

"Listen lady," he began. "I tried my absolute best to not get us caught up in a bigger mess. Right now, we're just lucky we even found a place to land."

The woman stood on the runway now, standing with her arms akimbo in her white button up shirt. She had a blue scarf tied around her neck, and it blew in front of her along with her curly brown hair. Her skin was an olive brown, and her eyes were bright and playful. Faded blue jeans hugged her legs tight, and she wore brown laced boots. A crew of six other people descended the stairs, grasping the rubber railing with white knuckles as they came down to the runway.

"What bigger mess could we have gotten into?" the woman asked.

"Did you not look out the window?" the pilot snapped in a matter-of-fact tone. "Those clouds are ferocious, they'd rip us to shreds if we got any closer." The congregation gathered around the frustrated old pilot.

"Why didn't we fly around then?" asked a man. He had messy black hair and a pinched face. His skin was slightly tanned, and he was tall. He wore a blue flannel shirt and cargo shorts.

"Low on fuel," the pilot explained. "We had enough to complete the journey back home, but if I took a fifty mile detour to outmaneuver a storm, we would've been soaking wet when we landed."

"It's that big?" another man chimed in. He wore a hefty beige trench-coat that draped down to just above his knees. His hair was matted down and black, and he had a scruffy stubble on his chin. His voice was coarse and demanding.

"Twenty mile radar was covered with red dots. It's a big one, that's for sure," said the co-pilot. He was tall, slender, and very fit. His muscles showed through the tight cloth of the white pilot uniform. His skin was tan and his face was well shaved and smooth. He had bags under his eyes, and they seemed to sag back into his head. Besides that, he looked young and energetic.

The group also consisted of three other people. A Mexican man with squirrely black hair and a pair of horn rimmed glasses that rest upon his large nose and oval shaped head. A woman with long, shimmering blonde hair and a gorgeous body, toned thighs and diamond-like blue eyes. And a handsome man with flowing dirty blonde hair, a muscular build, and wore wire framed glasses and a Hawaiian flower print button up and khakis.

"Alright folks," said the pilot. "Since I assume none of you were paying attention during the pre-flight regime, I am Captain Phillip Boddecker, and this is my co-pilot, Chris Tucker. We're most likely gonna be cooped up here for a while, so feel free to explore."

"Just make sure you're back by nightfall," Tucker admonished. "We're probably gonna spend the night in the plane. If necessary, we have a car in the cargo bed of the plane. It's a small electric, but don't make me come looking for you."

"What kind of a private jet has an electric car in the back?" asked the man with the dirty blond hair.

"What's your name, son?" asked Philip.

"Hadden," he said. Philip nodded.

"Well Hadden, we keep the car back there for situations exactly like this. This jet comes with enough room in the trunk to fit one, and the thing is practically a feather on wheels, it weighs so little."

"Does this happen often?" asked the Mexican man. "Oh, and my name is Manuel." Tucker shook his head.

"Not often, but often enough for us to consider it a necessity. I've never had to land here before, so I wouldn't go too far. It doesn't seem like much is civilized here."

The group wheeled around, each trying to get a glimpse of their surroundings. Nothing showed except for the silhouettes of the quivering treetops and the bleak sky that complemented it. Right off the side of the runway was a small dip, then it climbed back up to a slanted terrace that was covered with loose soil and wrist thick vines that snaked from the trees. The leaves turned upwards, basking in the cold gaze of the clouds, awaiting the rain that was about to pour down.

"So why don't we introduce ourselves?" Tucker said. He spoke in a very energetic and upbeat tone, it practically encouraged everyone else to start speaking.

"I'm Kaeli," the woman who had first complained said. She was now sitting on the steps of the plane, resting her head in her hands.

"I'm Carlin," said the man donned in the trench coat.

"My name is Jake," said the man wearing the flannel.

"Misty," said the blonde woman. Tucker clapped his hands together.

"Excellent!" he said. "Now, I think it's going to rain soon, and it doesn't look like there's much here, so we should get back on the plane and-"

"You're scared, aren't you Tucker?" said Carlin. Tucker looked puzzled.

"Excuse me?"

"You're scared of this island, aren't you? You want us to get back on this plane, and not explore, because there's nothing here, right?" Tucker nodded.

"But wait-"

"No, you're too scared to notice that there's a dirt road, right over there."

The group's attention was averted to a small dirt road which lead off the runway. It was trodden and muddy, speckled with pebbles, and lead off deep into the jungle.

"So," Carlin continued. "Shall we explore?"