Cargo

Anthony massaged his temples as he stood by the stern, looking out at the last remnants of daylight on the ocean.
The weather had been kind on this trip, as it had the first time; gentle and clear, with a fresh breeze that helped to take the edge off of the day’s sun. With the island finally too far away to see, he found the view beautiful; it was one of the only pleasures he’d had on the trip. That and drink.

Anthony squinted, as he always did when he lost that moment of calm. Noticing the quiet ruined the whole goddamn thing. The screams were dull from here, but it was down there, howling. Anthony gripped the bottle of beer in his hand, swigged the contents and threw it into the water, breathing deeply. He heard footsteps behind him and turned slowly, sitting with his thighs against the edge of the boat and his shoulders on the rail above it. Crawley looked at him with fatigued eyes. He had a more youthful face than a man approaching sixty should, despite the brilliant white of his hair and neatly-cropped beard, but since they left the island his eyed betrayed the strain he was feeling. He had a bottle of beer in each hand, and passed one to Anthony without saying a word. He’d only drink a couple a night on the way there, Anthony reflected as he studied the slight pink colouring to Crawley’s eyes. They drank in silence. Anthony relaxed a little as Crawley lit a cigarette, uninterested in the ocean now as full darkness came upon them and only the electrical fittings of the boat kept them illuminated.

‘Two more nights...get into t’harbour between lunchtime and three-ish’

Crawley’s first words all day; they cheered Anthony up, so much so he almost smirked. He breathed deeply, not minding Crawley’s cigarette, and nodded. He raised his hand and scratched his cheek, a habitual motion, the tips of his fingers brushing against the scars. He started pictured the harbour back home, full of people, and imagined them tearing each other limb from limb, screaming in pain. Until then, he’d have to play it cool with Crawley. Play it sane.

‘Don’t think I tell a lie when I say we’d pay a grand each for a good bed in a quiet hotel’

Crawley laughed and nodded. A dry laugh, horse but deep, compounded by a lifetime of smoking.

‘Yep’

A few more moments passed, and Anthony checked his watch. His stomach tightened.

‘I’ll be heading down then...it’s nearly nine o’clock’

‘Yep. Good luck’

As much as Anthony appreciated Crawley’s dry sense of humour, he hated him for that comment. It made him think of Jennifer, and he wanted to cry. As he approached the door to the hold below, the screams and ravings ruined any clear thoughts. He made his way down the stairs slowly, drunker than he’d care to admit. Opening the door was like pulling earplugs out while hugging the speakers at a heavy metal concert. The sound tore into his ears viciously. A directionless noise, writhing in pain, or rage, or ecstasy; screeching and screaming it hurled the empty shells of a former vocabulary at him. As he entered the hold, Harry screamed venom and hate through the gaps in the cage, spittle and blood flinging from half-chewed lips.

The first time he’d heard it, he was woken up by it. On the island, they were a couple of young romantics fresh from university camping only metres from their boat. The beach was long and a deep golden brown, fifty feet wide when the tide was out. They took samples and scrapings of wildlife and fauna in the morning and afternoon, when they weren’t exploring the less intimidating hills and valleys and taking photos of the incredible views. They had wonderful sex every night, and wrote their journals in the morning while eating breakfast. They never ate or drank anything they found on the island, simply because what was growing on it was so strange, but they brought an enormous supply of food and drink. The creatures they’d spotted were simian; they seemed to find the fruit more than enough for their tastes and nothing they’d crossed paths with seemed hostile, but Anthony had a well-maintained rifle and had read enough to know how to work it after a few practice shots. It was eerie, seeing so much undiscovered nature on this one island. They had bottles full of luminous flowers and blue foliage, and what they assumed were fruits. But the ugly, blood-red seeds that covered entire fields and the bark of dozens of trees were the most voluminous substance on the island. They’d watched the animals feed at length, and none of them even touched the seeds. Anthony took several samples one day, taking every precaution, thinking it would make his reputation before he even achieved his masters.

The screams interrupted the memory, and caused his eyes to water as he stepped towards the cage, ready to throw a raw pork loin as soon as he felt he was close enough to not miss. The air was thick and humid, and the stench intolerable. He’d warned Crawley to not get within arm’s reach of the cage, and then told him to make it five feet just to be sure, but Crawley refused to feed Harry anyway; not once. He’d have let the thing starve and die before he fed it, he’d said, refusing to refer to the sailor by name anymore. So Anthony fed him twice a day; enough to keep him alive, little enough to possibly keep him tired.

Anthony was close enough now to have Harry’s attention. The filthy arms were thrusting from the bars of the cage towards Anthony, not reaching for the meat he thought anxiously, and he threw it between two of the bars, turning away before he witnessed the feeding. He’d watched it once and vomited, quickly learning his lesson. On the first day he gave Harry a piece of lamb on the bone, and Harry bit it so hard that two of his teeth split from their roots and he carried on chewing. Instead, Anthony tried to think positive; this was the one time of the day where the screaming stopped. The sounds were unpleasant, sure, but Anthony now had five minutes where he could grab what he needed from the hold and take it up to the bridge in relative peace. He grabbed food and bottled water from their chiller, and this time a bottle of vodka rather than a crate of beer, and hauled it outside. Opening the door he almost screamed himself as Crawley stood opposite him, leaning on the doorframe.

‘We never really talked about Harry’s share, did we boss?’

Anthony stared dumb for a moment, before tutting and walking past Crawley to the bridge. Crawley followed, but not before shutting the door to the hold.

‘See you’ve got this grant to go to that island again, right? And you were given a chunk of money to hire a couple of lads and head out. So now that there’s one less, I HAVE to assume-‘

‘Crawley, you’ll be paid what we agreed. And we’ll discuss it when we get back, after that nice long sleep we talked about’

‘Listen, I just think we should both take half instead of you giving them a third back. Or are you gonna keep the third for yourself? When I’m the one who does all the work on this boat, getting us home safe-’

‘Crawley I paid for you and Harry. And the boat hire. There wasn’t a grant; I paid for this thing myself’

Crawley squinted at Anthony, a frustration quickly emerging then dissolving.

‘Well that’s crap, isn’t it? Why’d you lie to us?’

‘I assumed you’d ask less questions, which thankfully you did. Basically I had to get back to that island, and I needed experienced lads to get me there and back. No offence, but I thought that with a science department paying the bill you’d give less of a shit’

‘And now you’ve got the one less man to pay’

‘WHAT is your point?!’

‘Our point, Anthony, is that you have no proof of what happened on your trip. You went away on a private holiday with Miss Lewis and returned almost two weeks early, alone. You’re being investigated by the police, correct?’

Anthony sat down in the plush leather chair, staring over a monstrously over-sized desk at the two scientists opposite him. They’d taught him and Jennifer for all three years of their degree, and helped them raise funds for their trip to the yet-to-be-researched island; their support was more than he’d ever received from his family. Now, his sunburnt arms itched, but his rising temper was distracting him from the urge to scratch them. The office was extravagant, with mahogany book-cases filled with books too expensive to open and read. Outside the open window behind them, the sunshine lit the university campus beautifully. This meeting was his last hope before having to go on his own, and he’d passed the point of being as charming and convincing as possible. He was now begging.

‘The police are keeping tabs on me yes, and you can imagine how much trouble I’m going to be in if I can’t prove what happened’

‘But you won’t TELL us what happened, Anthony’

Anthony’s temper flared. He leaned over the desk and almost roared at this scholar who he once considered a father figure. Later, he felt grateful that in such a rage he’d forgotten about the knife tucked into his belt. He had it for emergencies, but his temper was unmanageable since he’d returned home, dehydrated and dangerously fatigued.

‘I need you to go over there, and witness it yourself. I’ve told you the location, I’ve told you about the research I have, and about the seeds. You just need to bring some test subjects with you. Maybe a monkey, or a pig, or a fucking elephant...’

‘Anthony, you’re getting yourself nowhere’

Anthony slammed his fists on the desk, his blood boiling.

‘So after everything I’ve helped you out with at the university, and everything we’ve done together, you’re stranding me? With my fiancé gone and the police on my back? I’m not asking you to give me anything, or to do anything illegal. Just go over there and see what I’ve seen’

‘Look, it’s just-‘

‘You’re not a friend, Richard. You’re a TRAITOR’

Anthony spun and strode out of the room without another word. He swiped his arm across a shelf and drove a collection of vases onto the floor, smashing loudly. He knew then that they wouldn’t help him, and they’d never speak to him again. They might even speak to the police themselves. He knew that he was their only possible suspect in Jennifer’s disappearance, and although the officer in charge suspected him, they were dragging their heels when it came to travelling abroad and investigating the island. His solicitor was as cynical as the police; probably think he killed her, to be honest. But his friends at the university, they were the last straw. If they wouldn’t help him prove what had happened, nobody would. So he’d bring the proof to them. He’d unleash what he went through on everyone. He’d never get away with it, and probably wouldn’t even survive, but fuck them. He’d watch them fall.

‘Boss...’

Anthony belched, and slowly opened his eyes. He panicked at the cold, and where he was, before catching up with his surroundings. He and Crawley slept outside now, and it wasn’t easy to get used to. He didn’t remember going to sleep but he was on his bedroll. Crawley took the bow since Anthony usually fell asleep first, in a drunken heap, while sat against the stern. This morning he was in the bridge, his head resting against a pile of clothes.

‘Sorry to wake you boss, but I need to steer for a while, make sure we keep on course; the wind’s picked up today’

Anthony nodded and lifted himself up, wincing as the empty vodka bottle slid off his knees and clanged against the floor without breaking.

‘Polished that off, did you?’

‘Probably. Been downstairs?’

‘No. I opened the door briefly though, to see if it’d wake you up. It didn’t’

Anthony grimaced a smile, and sat down out of the way.

‘Been wanting to ask, boss...’

‘Crawley, don’t bring up the money again, please...’

‘No, no, it’s not that. I just wanted to ask, I mean I didn’t know the kid so I’m not bitter or anything...’

Crawley paused for what seemed like an age, as Anthony realised it was the first morning he hadn’t seen him with a cigarette in his mouth. Maybe he ran out.

‘What happened to Harry?’

‘What?’

‘Yeah. At first I assumed it was some sort of poisoning, you know, that was why you were visiting that island in the first place, right? But, how can poisoning do that to a man?’

‘I think it’s best to assume it’s not Harry anymore’

‘But a man’s mind just turns inside out? And in the space of a few hours, no less?’

Anthony stood up and changed into fresher clothes; he was fairly certain he’d pissed himself in his sleep.

‘It’s gruesome, there’s no doubt about it’

‘He screams and shouts twenty four hours a day! He’s down there now ranting to the walls, Ant! How do you know there isn’t some of what poisoned him on the boat?’

‘If there was, we’d have gone the same way, don’t you think?’

Crawley stepped closer to Anthony and spoke abruptly; his usual humoured face was a scowl.

‘i don’t want you to tell me...that you brought him onto this boat not knowing we wouldn’t catch something off him’

‘No, Crawley, I didn’t. I was being light-hearted’

‘About a man’s death?!’

‘Well he isn’t really dead, per se’

‘Stop taking the piss! You’re half fucking batshit! You went onto the island with a pig and a sheep, and came back carrying Harry on your shoulders and locking him in the CAGE! Were you attacked?’

‘No, we weren’t attacked. The point of the visit was to feed the seeds...the seeds are what’s poisonous, by the way. We were to feed the seeds to the livestock, and video them turning feral. Or insane. Or dead. I’m not sure if cattle can go insane, but I just needed something on video. The reason we were so long is that we were simply waiting for a reaction. Harry started asking me about the seeds, so...I told him they cause euphoria. I told him I wanted footage of the effect to show to university classes. Told him that me and my fiancé took them last time we came, but that I didn’t ideally want to show a human taking them in case something bad happened and it looked inhumane, but since we weren’t getting anything from the animals, I suggested he take them. When he passed out, I carried him back and put him in the cage in case he woke up...different’

‘You prick’

‘What?’

‘You knew they’d turn him into a MONSTER, and you told him to take some?’

‘No, I asked him if he wanted to. I know I lied, but I had my reasons. Plus what makes you think I knew what’d happen?’

‘Reasons my arse!  And if you had no idea what’d happen, where’s your fiancé this time? Didn’t she didn’t fancy seeing the place again?’

Anthony’s fist curled into a tight ball, but he breathed deep.

‘Not quite’

Crawley mumbled as he dismissed Anthony with a curt wave. Anthony didn’t mind; they were a day and a half from home now, and it couldn’t come fast enough. Crawley’s anger was growing. Not as much as it will tomorrow, thought Anthony, swallowing a laugh. For now, though, he was going to have to go downstairs for a moment, and face the screams again. Face Harry, who was probably hungry already.

There were never any words from the cage. No half-formed phrases, or emphasis, or change in tone to the sounds. A primal roar, as if the extremes of every emotion were all being experienced at once. Anthony stared at Harry’s eyes, and his own rage grew. He couldn’t listen to the screaming, roaring thing without thinking of Jennifer.

It had happened so quickly. Maybe two hours after they fell asleep. After they’d climaxed together, in the tent rather than the beach, she’d leaned over to one of the bottles containing the seeds and said she wanted to see what they tasted like. It could add something to the report, she’d insisted. They were drunk, too, so he only half-interestedly told her she shouldn’t. He was more obsessed with falling asleep, as he usually was at that point of the evening. She wet her little finger and dabbed it in the jar, collecting a few on the tip. Touching them onto her tongue, her face screwed up and she spat outside the tent, retching and comparing it to the smell of a clogged up drain. They laughed and had a glass of red wine for her tastebuds, then fell asleep with her head on his chest. He woke up to a punch in the face. The pain was dull, and a second and third blow followed and blurred his senses. He panicked, and grabbed whoever was straddling him to roll on top before sliding himself out of the tent. He did so, feverishly looking left and right to see where Jennifer was, before hearing her scream. She was inside the tent, and struggling. He grabbed the thickest looking utensil from their barbeque with one hand and lifted open the cover to the tent. He saw Jennifer’s leg first and pulled, her screams breaking his heart and making him want to cry; to murder whoever was in there with her, rage and fear together causing his pulse to roar. He pulled her out in a fluid motion, her screams stinging his ears. Once she was safely out and away from the tent, he turned back but it now remained still. His confusion was multiplied as Jennifer’s arm flew around his neck and started strangling him. He tried to say her name, to convince her it was him, but her strong grip on his neck and wailing screams in his ear stopped him from being at all audible. He reached back to grip her shoulders and flung her over his back, onto the sand, terrified of hurting her. There, he held her down and began to speak.

‘Jennifer, please calm down, it’s me! It’s me!’

She spat in his face. A mixture of saliva and blood stung his eyes. She dragged one of her arms loose and dragged her nails across his cheek, causing him to lose his grip on her other hand. He backed up and watched her slowly bring herself up onto her feet, grunting or screaming the whole time. She lunged at him and he slammed his palm into her chest to keep her away, terrified of her at that moment. She roared at him, blood trickling down from her lips and nose. Had he even hit her face? He didn’t think he had. She grabbed a steak knife from the barbeque and ran at him, and Anthony swung at her hand with a sickening crack. She still held the knife, but when she raised her hand her fingers lost control and she thrust empty-handed, Anthony dodging the swing. She reached at the ground and grabbed sand, then grabbed again, and again before finding a rock. Despair filled Anthony’s head. Her body wobbled as she reached and grabbed, her grace and balance gone. She stood with the rock, larger than her hand but gripped with a worrying strength. Rather than throw it, she ran towards him and swung for his head. In his panic, Anthony swung for her own head, instinctively and with immediate regret. He made clean contact and she fell down, slumping unnaturally in a way that made him immediately wail. She’d stopped screaming, and rather than a comfort it terrified him. He grabbed her wrist and felt for a pulse, but there was none. He felt no rise in her chest, or heard anything from her throat. He performed chest compressions and rescue breaths, but she never moved again. He cried for hours in an endless torment, her beautiful face in his arms covered in her own blood. He cried until he passed out.

Anthony stared into the eyes of Harry, barely noticing the screaming. He’d been down there for almost an hour in his own thoughts. He walked to their alcohol supply and necked a sizable amount of gin, before opening a can of beer. Underneath his suitcase, which now contained very few clean clothes, he had a secure briefcase. He unlocked it and pulled out a handgun. A thirty-eight millimetre, the seller had told him it was. Small and effective. He’d demanded the opportunity to fire some practice rounds; he didn’t hit anything further than five metres away with it, but it fired, and that was enough for him.

Anthony stuffed the gun into his underpants and picked up a crate of beer. He left Harry alone, screaming and wailing, roaring and spitting; he didn’t even feed him. He climbed onto the deck and enjoyed the fresh air.

He sat on the wooden decking, back against the stern, and drank. He embraced sleep with open arms; by the time he woke up, they’d be nearly home. I’m like a child at Christmas, he thought, before letting out a bark of a laugh that was completely devoid of joy.

‘Boss’

Anthony woke up with a grunt, and immediately groaned loudly. He felt horrific. He groaned some more when he tried to stand up. Crawley helped him, and led him to the bridge.

‘You fell asleep in the sun, you idiot. I couldn’t move you so I threw a blanket over you, you sweaty bastard’

‘How close are we?’

‘Boss, just relax first, I’ll get you a bottle of water’

‘Crawley! How close are we?’

Crawley winced as Anthony spoke, looking at his pale face and twisted expression with more than a little revulsion.

‘We’re doing well; I think we’ll be at the harbour in about an four hours’

Anthony smiled, and his bottom lip cracked. He scowled at the pain and prodded at it with his fingers, before dropping his arms out of exhaustion. He can’t be tired now. It was going to go perfectly. It had to.

‘Get your rest, boss. Be damned if I’m carrying you to that hotel, eh?’

Crawley flashed a smile at Anthony, as if to try make Anthony relax and cheer up. Anthony sat back down, belched and closed his eyes. He’d wait two hours, and then make his move. See how close they were, and make his move.

‘BOSS!’

Anthony’s eyes flicked open, his heart racing. Crawley had never spoken so loud before. He stood up and walked forward to see Crawley on the bridge, his hand waving.

‘We can see the bay! Thirty minutes!’

Anthony’s stomach knotted itself. It was time. He’d almost fucking missed it! He feigned a smile and nodded, heading up to the bridge. Crawley was drinking a bottle of beer – which would soon join the four empties slumped next to his feet, Anthony noticed – without a care in the world anymore. Anthony changed his shirt, giving him a chance to stand behind Crawley. He slowly slipped a hand into his pants and gripped the gun. He pulled it out and stared at the back of Crawley’s head. One strong whack should be enough; floor him, drag him downstairs and slump him next to the cage. Anthony arched his hand back and swung the gun into Crawley’s skull. The sailor grunted and slumped down slowly, his hand reaching for his head and an ineligible mutter coming from his mouth. Anthony hit him again, just as hard for good measure, then stuck the gun back into his underwear and grabbed Crawley’s biceps from behind, dragging him down the few steps to the deck then down towards the hold.

The screaming seemed to increase as he dragged Crawley inside. The speed of it, the tempo of it, the pitch...something had become more intense. Harry hadn’t said or recognised a single word since the change, but the sight of suggested violence seemed to be the first thing other than food he’d acknowledged. Anthony let go of Crawley two metres from the cage. He walked around and grabbed his legs, and tried to push the semi-conscious Crawley forward from a safe distance. It was painfully slow going. The floor was grimy and resistant, and after a solid minute of pushing as hard as he could, Crawley was barely within Harry’s reach. Anthony pulled the body back a metre or so, a new idea having popped into his mind. He lifted Crawley up onto his shoulder and held him by the waist. Crawley turned his head slightly and muttered what may have been profanity. Anthony didn’t pay it any attention. He strode forward to the cage, Crawley now a human shield he hoped would be gripped welcomingly by Harry. He went as fast as he could, slamming Crawley into the cage and backing up as soon as he felt the contact. He’d let go instantly, but Crawley didn’t even slide to the floor; Harry already had him in his grip, and was biting his nose off. Anthony grimaced, but stared intently. Crawley let out a muffled scream. Anthony pulled the gun out and held it securely in his hand. He reached over to the chiller and pulled out a pack of bacon, ripping the contents out. He stepped forward several feet and threw the bacon into the cage. Harry, always short of focus, spun and grabbed the meat, chewing it feverishly. In this moment, Anthony dashed to Crawley’s body, slumped against the cage, and dragged him by the legs until he was out of Harry’s reach. Anthony stood above Crawley half a metre away, pointing the gun at his head and waiting. All he needed to see was the change. It had to work. Harry was his revenge incarnate; his proof that he wasn’t a killer. Harry was his gift to the world now that he’d lost everything without a second thought. Crawley shuddered, his consciousness returning .He looked up at Anthony confused.

‘Boss...you fu-’

‘I’m really sorry, Crawley. It’s nothing personal, but I had to know Harry was contagious’

Crawley stared at him, confused. Anthony waited impatiently for him to die. He had to die. Harry had finished the bacon and was now watching them both, screaming his throat raw. An eternity passed. Crawley spoke only a few more intelligible words before he went quiet. He laid still, chest not moving. Anthony’s hoped were high; Crawley hadn’t lost much blood, so the physical contact with Harry had done something. Either he was poisonous, or he was contagious. It was so close now. Turn, Crawley. Get up and scream.

Crawley convulsed. Harry screamed louder. Crawley breathed, a horrible sound, and began to wail. His head flicked from side to side, as his wailing and panting became a roar. Anthony’s stomach clenched so hard it felt as if it would rip itself apart. Crawley turned to him. The sailor lunged to bring himself to his feet, and Anthony fired the gun once, spraying Crawley’s brains across the floor and into the cage. Harry dropped down and scooped as much as he could into his hands, swallowing it greedily. Anthony laughed as he winced, and walked to the door to go back up top, closing the door securely. The boat was creeping to the harbour, less than twenty feet away. He stood silently, watching the harbour rock ever closer towards him. He waved to a man close by and shouted over, asking for a hand tying up. Once it bumped the hard, old wood he leapt below as the stranger grabbed rope and made a knot. Anthony took one last deep breath of fresh air in, and walked into the hold, leaving the door open. They’d hear the screams, but it didn’t matter. He stared at Harry, the man he barely knew. His pride and joy. His revenge. His vengeance. He aimed his gun at the lock of the cage and fired, shattering it. He held the gun to his own temple and as the cage door swung open, he fired again.