Island Of The Cryptids

7

Philip Boddecker was unspooling a hose from the back of the small jet towards the fuel tanker that sat behind the crumbling shack. The runway was almost nearly dark now, and each crunching step on the gravel echoed into the near silence of the jungle. Not even the crickets spoke anymore. The only sounds left were the occasional bang of thunder.

Philip rounded the corner of the shack to find Tucker grasping for the hose. He lobbed it to Tucker, who snatched it midair and then tugged it to get it to reach the nozzle of the tanker. He carefully and quickly screwed it on, the hose creaking as it attached.

"Is it hooked up to the tank?" Tucker asked Philip.

"I got it plugged in. Just turn the handle and then we're set."

Tucker nodded and grabbed onto a shoehorn shaped handle that was coated with a blackish rust, then forcefully yanked it. A squealing sound emitted from the valve, then replaced by the steady gurgling of jet fuel channeling through the industrial hose. The hose widened as the gas coursed through it, along the runway then up to the jet.

"That should fill it up," Philip commented.

"Do you think the storm will pass by sunrise?" Tucker asked.

"It's debatable," Philip replied. "But we should keep a watch on the radar just in case it does pass. I don't wanna miss our window." Tucker mustered a grunt of agreement as they walked back to the plane.

They climbed the stairs leading to the inside of the plane, then turned right through a small doorway into the cockpit. Various dials, switches, and lights surrounded them. Two screens sat in between the two steering handles, one of which was blank, the other was a black backdrop with a panning green beam that rotated on a circular axis. It was the radar. Red and green blotches surrounded the screen, covering it, signifying the rain. The captain flipped a switch and the monitor removed all of the splotches, and replaced them by a pinging radar.

"I didn't know we had motion trackers on this thing," Tucker said in astonishment.

"Well, we do. Not sure if it's much use, but it's fun to play with."

The two men sat down, basking in the warmth and light of the cabin. They stared down the runway into the dark, which was now spilling over the landscape like ink onto a canvas. Thunder cracked above, and a single stray droplet of water splashed onto the windshield. Its frayed particles dashed across the screen, streaking down the glass.

"We should call everybody in," said Tucker, and Philip nodded in agreement. He got up and went to the stairs, where he cupped his hands around his mouth.

"EVERYBODY, GET YOUR ASSES BACK HERE, NOW!" he screamed, his voice firm and loud. Nobody responded. Nothing even moved. The jungle seemed to stand still, vacant of all life. Thunder boomed an ominous crash.

"Do you think we have to get the car out now?" asked Tucker. Phillip cursed a vulgar slew of words.

"Yes, we have to get them back here right now. They're gonna get swamped in this weather! I am not taking liability for any of them getting hurt, you understand?"

"I do," Tucker nervously replied. He rejected the idea of going out into the jungle. He didn't want to. Knowing what he did, nobody would. Some sort of bird wailed a guttural hoot from the forest. Tucker swallowed.

"Help me get it running," he said. Tucker and Philip walked around the back of the plane, and using a remote control on a keychain, Philip dropped the back hatch of the jet. Down came a ramp, a polished metal frame attached to the hatch of the plane. Inside the cargo bay was a small platform that held a camouflage painted Ford Explorer. The car itself wasn't a Ford Explorer, but it shared the same make. It had a much lower chassis, tires with whiskery tracks, and a more stocky frame.

Other things in the bay included rows of tools for repairs, rain tarps, the passenger's luggage, emergency flares and a flare gun, a satellite radio, and other emergency supplies. Tucker walked around to the front of the car.

"Push with me," he instructed, and the men wheeled the car off the platform, and onto the runway. Raindrops were now falling very slightly.

"This rain is gonna come down in buckets sooner or later," Philip said.

"Yeah, I'll move fast," Tucker replied. Philip tossed him the keys. Tucker unlocked the driver's door of the Explorer and got in. The inside smelled like bleach, freshly cleaned. The seats were a fuzzy black and gray print with a mesh netting in the center of the chair. The dashboard was made out of a faux wood material, polished and clean. Tucker stuck the key into the ignition, and the car came to life with an electric hum. The head lights blared out in cone shaped beams, and the dashboard lit up a panel of buttons illuminated by neon blue lights. Tucker held down a switch to lower the window.

"Stay inside, and keep the door open," Tucker said. "I'll get as many of them as I can."

"Good luck," Philip told him. Tucker raised the window again as he accelerated the car towards the mud pathway.