Island Of The Cryptids

41

The island of Isla Juneau sparkled in the hot morning sun. Through the placid morning cut the sounds of helicopter blades slicing at the air, whooping with each rotation. The beige mass soared through the air, booming with noise and droning over everything on the island.

Inside sat a man donned in a suede tuxedo and wore a vibrant red tie. The side door of the helicopter hung open, and the man's suit and tie flapped in the wind. His mousy hair flailed around, and he kept his hand over his eyes to block out the rays of the rising sun.

He was a stocky man, about age thirty. He had a stubble growing on his chin, and his hair was wind tamed and raven black. On the bridge of his nose sat wire framed glasses, and they were untarnished and pristine. His name was Michael Brocki. The hairs on his hands stood up as the helicopter descended onto the island.

Directly below them was a runway. On it, a parked white passenger jet.

"Air traffic control lost connection with this flight last night," a soldier said. He was wearing a facial mask, and his voice was robotic because of the respirator. "Radars tracked it here. They must have landed to avoid the storm."

"It was their only option," another one chimed.

"Did they have any idea what they were getting into?" Brocki asked.

"No sir. I don't believe any of them had any reason to. This place is just supposed to be legend."

"My question is," Brocki said, "Is how they got past the blockade."

"Probably a kink in the system, our bad." Brocki looked at the soldier with persecution.

"A kink in the system, yeah. We let how many people die because of a kink in the system? No way this mistake is going to go without punishment. We'll probably get terminated."

Brocki worked with the United States Military Sciences. He was new to his job as project advisor of the Contagion H2-Z3 initiative. He didn't want to make any mistakes at all, especially with such a high scale project. This mistake was huge. It could cost him his job. More importantly, human life.

"Touchdown in five."

The helicopter rumbled to a stop on the runway, and the soldiers stormed out. Brocki shielded his eyes from the blinding sun as he stepped out onto the gravel. He walked over to the back of the plane, the clambered up the ramp followed by attentive soldiers.

They pointed their assault rifles at the open door of the cabin. Dust motes floated in the honey colored haze of the morning sun. Blood streaked the metal. It was congealed and black, and streaked outwards onto the gravel.

Brocki opened the door and entered the cabin. Lying down on the floor of the cockpit was a man.

Brocki approached the man with caution. As he ran over, the man looked up at him.

"It's too late," the man whispered in a hoarse voice laden with weakness. His chest heaved up and down, and Brocki could hear his rib cage rattle. He was bloodied and broken, and bandages covered almost every limb on his body. An empty gun magazine and pistol lay next to him.

"My name is Michael Brocki, and I am with the Coast Guard," he lied. "What happened here?"

"It doesn't matter now," the man whispered. He was dying. "They're all gone or dead by now."

"Who's they?"

"The others. They went out onto the island looking for something. A nest, I think. I know they're not coming back. They all died."

"What attacked you?" Brocki pestered.

"Something evil," the man said. "Something that should never have existed." Brocki looked down on him with sad, sympathetic eyes.

"Alright sir, I must tell you that this island is under military quarantine and is in a hazard area. We can get you medical attention soon-"

"No," the man murmured. "I can't. I used to think that I would want to live in a situation like this, you know? But after all that I've been through tonight, I just want my mommy and daddy." The man's voice was shaky. Tears formed in his eyes. "But I can't even have that. I imposed this onto myself."

Brocki looked at the nametag that rest on the floor next to the man, with a smiling picture of his face and his name. It was Chris Tucker.

"Chris, by United States law we have to offer medical attention to any wounded persons in a quarantine zone," he explained. Tucker just stared up at the ceiling.

"The light is getting closer," he whispered. "They're coming to take me away."

"Stay with us Chris, we're gonna help you-"

"You can't run from this," Tucker said, smiling. He leaned his head back, lolling to the side, still staring up.

"They're here..." he whispered, and Chris Tucker went into the light.