Island Of The Cryptids

13

Jake was watching the rainwater cascade through the open holes that were once windows into the room where he sat. The water turned the papers into mush, and cleaned off some of the grime from the floor. Frothy bubbles stirred in the mix, the water slowly advancing towards him.

To his right, on the far wall, was a trunk with a shattered lock on it. The bolt was rusted and limply hung, swinging back and forth like a pendulum. He crawled over to it, careful not to accidentally place his hand in the pooled water.

He cracked the trunk open and the hinges groaned. Inside was a collection of papery cobwebs that covered a pile of books with worn leather covers and silky book jackets that were covered in dust. He picked them up, revealing a small compartment that housed three orange cylinders. They were signal flares. He shut the box and began reading.

As a very studious person, the analysis of the reading was quick. He cruised through the ink soaked pages, deciphering the cryptic swirly handwriting of whoever wrote it. From a glance over, the initial impression was that it was some sort of lab report, or a scientific journal. The rain filled the room, and Jake had become so enveloped in the book that he barely noticed the water slither over the toe of his boots. He crawled backwards towards the wall and continued.

On the opposite side of the room, Carlin was inspecting a dirt mound that was littered with rat corpses. The mound was repulsive, and reeked of death and decay and excrement. The slew of rat corpses were almost identical to the one he had smothered with his hand earlier. Their bellies split open on a seam, and there were shrewds of string-like worms tumbling out, as dead as the rats themselves. The rat's fur was streaked back with a brownish grease, and their rotten mouths hung open, a silent scream formed with death.

They all shared the same deathly qualities. Each of their stiff bodies looked the same, and it lead Carlin to believe that they were all infected with some kind of parasite. Misty sat behind him, watching curiously.

"Carlin, why don't we tell a bit about each other?" she asked.

"Why bother?" Carlin responded. "We'll be out of here within the next twelve hours, never to see each other again." Misty frowned, pouting.

"It doesn't have to be that way," she said with a slight hint of lividness in her voice.

"So be it," Carlin said. "I'll tell you something about myself. There's a reason why I didn't want to tell you anything, or hear anything about you. I'm a person that doesn't like being attached to things or people. It holds me back, and creates reasons for me to care. I don't like caring for anybody but myself."

"Isn't that a little selfish?"

"Definitely, yes, but humans are selfish creatures. We choose ourselves or the ones we love over anybody else in any situation."

"I guess so."

Carlin sauntered over to a small shelf that was broken inwards on the corner of the room. He grabbed a board and some small wood shavings that rest around it.

"While I make a fire to warm us up," he explained, "tell me something about you."

"Oh well," Misty said, flustered. "I'm kind of a free spirit. I don't like staying to one job. Besides the waitressing, I did work as a model for some time, and that's about it for the work side of things."

"You don't like commitment, do you?" Carlin said, placing the wood on the ground in a cone shape.

"I suppose you could say that," Misty reluctantly admitted. Carlin pulled a lighter out of his pocket, spun the wheel with a click, and touched the flickering blue flame onto the kindling. The small flame spread across the dry scraps, igniting the wood. The room blushed with an amber glow.