"Yeah, but what the h.e.l.l is on the other side? Wish them screws would have lent us a piece or two."

Howard reluctantly pressed the b.u.t.ton and the door swiftly slid to the side out of sight. They stepped into a large room that appeared to be some sort of laboratory.

"Holee shee-it," Carl muttered.

Broken gla.s.s, equipment, and instruments were scattered everywhere. Large cages lined the side of the room. They carefully stepped through the debris and looked into each one. The first two were empty but the third cage held something.

"G.o.dd.a.m.n, what is that thing?" Carl asked.

Howard had no answer so he just stared at the creature inside. It had obviously been dead for quite some time. The torso was about the size of a full grown pig, its skin grey and shriveled. Four thick and stubby legs pointed to the ceiling. Ma.s.sive dull claws protruded from its flat feet. Howard bent over and pointed his flashlight at its face. Empty eye sockets, the eyeb.a.l.l.s undoubtedly rotted away long ago, stared back at him. They were the size of billiard b.a.l.l.s.

"Howie, come take a look at this one." Carl pointed his light into the cage next to him. It held something that looked similar to a c.o.c.kroach, only it was as big as a tortoise. Another cage held a carca.s.s of something that wasn't as tolerable to decay as the other two creatures. All that remained was a heap of bones and fur in the corner of the cage. "Maybe they were like us. Some sort of prison ship, ya know?"

"I dunno." Howard studied the rest of the room with his flashlight. "Looks to me like they were specimens or something." Shattered tanks on the other side of the room held strange skeletons of aquatic creatures.

"Bell, O'Donell, what the h.e.l.l is going on in there, dammit?"

Howard jumped at the radio squawking in his hand. "Uh, nothing Sergeant. We're just looking around. Everything is okay, so far."

"Well hurry up, we're freezing out here."

"Poor baby," said Carl. "Come on, man. "Let's see what's behind this door. Stinks in here."

They left the lab and walked deeper into the craft. Off of the main hallway they found several rooms that appeared to be sleeping quarters and a storeroom full of containers smashed open and in shambles. At the end of the hall they walked through the open door to the bridge, finally confirming the fact that it was some sort of craft.

Two bodies were still strapped to the c.o.c.kpit seats. A third body was sprawled on the floor under a heap of broken computer equipment. The control panels and windows in front of the pilots were crushed from the impact of the crash.

They carefully crept closer to the bodies for a closer look. They were the size of an average person and wore uniforms and gloves made of a strange material. Both wore helmets with clear face shields. Howard aimed his light on one of their faces and saw the mummified skull behind the clear plastic. It had a narrow face with large eyes, no nose, and a small mouth.

Carl touched the helmet of the body closest to him. The head crumbled from the torso and tumbled to the floor.

"Jesus," he muttered. "Poor b.a.s.t.a.r.ds."

"Bell!"

"Yeah. We're here," he said into the radio. "I guess it's safe to come in now."

"We're on our way."

"What do you make of it?" Carl asked.

"I don't know. This thing must have crashed a long time ago. It probably got buried when the volcano erupted."

"Yeah," Carl said absently. "You know, maybe this is our ticket out of this h.e.l.l hole. s.h.i.t, they can't keep a prison camp on an island with a crashed s.p.a.ce ship. This place will be crawling with scientists and reporters. They'll have to move us somewhere else."

Howard could hear the enthusiastic discussion of the guards down the hall. "Come on, we better go."

A search of the rest of the craft didn't explain much more. They found more equipment and storage but many of the other doors in the ship were locked or broken and they were unable to get past them. When Cottrell was satisfied, they headed back to camp to report the findings to the warden. Howard and Carl returned to their barracks to tell their story to the curious bunkmates.

11.

It waited a long time to make sure the strange ones were finally gone. After years of sleep, the lights and noises stirred it. It slowly uncurled beneath the pile of debris and left the corner of the room. It moved slowly on unsteady legs, stiff and sore from the long hibernation.

It slowly crept to the open door and peered out into the dark tunnel, sniffing the cold air. Such strange smells. Smells of flesh. Sleep had made it weak, but soon it would find strength again. Soon it would be time to hunt.

12.

Dr. Gordon sat in front of the warden's desk, nervously puffing on his cigarette. The warden entered the office and sat down. He took his gla.s.ses off and rubbed his face.

"How bad is it? No bulls.h.i.t." He looked exhausted.

"I honestly can't say," said Gordon. "I've never seen anything this bad. We lost twelve more this morning and a few in the infirmary probably won't last through the rest of the day. Nothing I've tried has worked."

"And you don't have any idea what it is yet?"

Gordon snuffed out his smoke and shook his head. "The symptoms don't relate to any infection I'm aware of. Cholera, Smallpox, Ebola, even the plague. Matt, this is serious. I need help. Two of my trustees are sick and the quarantine just isn't working."

"We still can't get through to the mainland. My communications man says there was one h.e.l.l of a storm at the relay station in Santa Cruz. That would explain the lousy weather we've been having."

"What about the next supply ship?" asked the doctor.

"It's not due for over a month."

"I don't even know if there'll be anybody left by then. Every man that's shown symptoms so far has died. Every one."

"Do what you can for now," said the warden. "We'll keep trying the radio and I'm sure we're bound to get through any minute now. If there's anything else I can do in the meantime just let me know."

The doctor sighed and got to his feet. "What I need is a proper hospital and staff to help."

"Close the door on your way out, please."

Gordon left the room and the warden opened his bottom desk drawer. He took out the satellite phone and absently ran his finger over the keys. The bit about the storm in Santa Cruz wasn't a lie, just a fortunate coincidence. n.o.body in the camp knew about the satellite phone besides him. All he had to do was press a few b.u.t.tons and he could be connected to Washington in seconds.

He put the phone back in the drawer and locked it. Up until the discovery in the mine, things had been going extremely well. His contacts in Buenos Aires were buying all the platinum he could send them and still asked for more. After months of meticulous planning he had it all worked out. The supply ship captains gladly accepted their bribes, his guards all got their piece, and the camp supplied a bountiful supply of slave labor. Best of all, the warden's accounts in the Caymans continued to grow and his retirement was so close he could almost taste it. All because of that beautiful rock priced at eighteen hundred dollars an ounce.

He could easily alert the press and take full credit for the s.p.a.ce craft discovery, however it would raise far too many questions. He could also make a call for help and get the sick men airlifted out. Again, too many questions.

Eventually, the warden decided to wait it out and hope for the best. Despite the doctor's grim a.s.sessment, he felt optimistic the quarantine would eventually hold and work in the mine would continue. He had come too far to consider otherwise.

When the platinum vein went dry he would blow the tunnel and collapse the mine, burying the s.p.a.ce craft for good. A flying saucer might be one of the most important discoveries in history, but in the end, Warden Scott decided his own financial independence was a higher priority.

13.

As more men grew sick, Howard and Carl's celebrity status as the men who searched the ship quickly faded. The mining stopped so the men had no work duties during the day and they stayed in the barracks. At first, it was dismissed as a bad outbreak of the flu, but when men weren't returning from the infirmary, the inmates got concerned and rumors spread like wildfire.

The symptoms started out like a bad cold accompanied by frequent nose bleeds. After a day or so of fever and congestion, the patient took a considerable turn for the worse. His neck grew dark and swollen and his coughs more thick and moist. His high fever drove him into a state of delirium as his bowels and bladder betrayed him, followed by coughing out generous amounts of blood and phlegm. A day or two later, the hemorrhaging began and the victim drown in his own blood-filled lungs.

In just barely over a week, the farm fell into a state of anarchy. The disease made no distinctions between inmates and guards. Both sides grew sick and died.

The scared and sick inmates stormed the infirmary in vain for help they wouldn't receive. They were turned back by beatings and shootings from the guards. As the number of guards diminished from the sickness, a group of rebels tried to take over one of the guardhouses. They managed to kill the two weakened officers inside, but the whole building was riddled with bullets from one of the gun towers. Twelve men were instantly slaughtered. The guard who pulled the trigger in the tower put the barrel of his sidearm in his mouth barely an hour later. He felt sick that morning and when his nose started bleeding he knew it was only a matter of time before he experienced a miserable and painful death.

As a final blow to the men who thought they might actually make it, a fire started in the mess hall. The building burned to the ground along with the camp's food and water supply.

Even the mighty Warden Scott and Sergeant Cottrell fell to the mysterious disease. Deeming themselves as the two most important men on the island, they abandoned their men and responsibilities and barricaded themselves in the warden's office. All seemed well until Cottrell started showing symptoms. Scott panicked and ran from his office with the satellite phone. His internal debate was over, he'd call for help and worry about the consequences later. But before he could even turn the phone on, Scott was greeted by a mob of inmates in the yard. The warden was spared from the disease. He was beaten to death instead.

As for Howard, he felt completely fine except for being hungry, cold, and scared out of his mind. When things started to get bad, Carl made a suggestion. Hide out in the s.p.a.ceship. It was actually a good idea and Howard was surprised that Carl had thought of it. The barracks weren't safe anymore and the ship just might have been their best bet.

"We can probably close the door behind us and lay low for a while," Howard said. "We don't have any food, though."

"The h.e.l.l with food, those screws are crazy. I seen one of them start to shoot everybody, sick or not. I think it's just a matter of time before they come in here and start blasting."

"Wot are you blokes planning?" Reg the shoe thief sat down on Carl's bunk. "I'll tag along too, eh?"

"p.i.s.s off," said Carl. "You can stay here and rot as far as I'm concerned."

"Come on mate, no hard feelings. You boys can trust me."

"Take it easy Carl," said Howard. "You feeling okay, Reg?"

"Never better. I reckon you fellas can use a man like me."

"Okay." Howard looked around and lowered his voice. "We're going to hide out in the ship for a while until things blow over."

"For christsake, Howie." Carl fumed. "Don't you remember what this little p.r.i.c.k tried to do to you? What the h.e.l.l you telling him for?"

"Settle down, red neck." Reg jabbed his finger at Carl's chest. "Let the boys with a proper brain discuss business over here."

Carl raised his fist and Reg flinched, practically hiding behind Howard.

"Dammit, guys, knock it off," said Howard. "We have enough to worry about without this stupid bickering. Reg, can we trust you or not?"

"No problem, mate. Like I said before, you boys can use a guy like me."

"Yeah, whatever. And you know Carl will beat the s.h.i.t out of you again if you're lying, right?"

Carl smiled and cracked his knuckles.

"All right then, we make a break for it tonight after it gets dark."

They slipped out of the barracks once it was dark enough to cover their movement and found the mine unguarded. The man in charge of keeping curious inmates away from the ship no doubt left his post long ago to go die somewhere else. They closed the door behind them and took refuge in the crew's quarters where they were somewhat comfortable. The faint power supply of the ship kept the interior lit and at least they were warm.

They waited for two uneventful and boring days. n.o.body came looking for them. Eventually their empty stomachs and parched throats took their toll and the three men carefully walked to the end of the tunnel.

They strained their eyes and ears at the buildings of the farm nearly a quarter of a mile away. A few thin trails of smoke rose from different parts of the camp. They couldn't make out any other movement or sounds.

"What do you think, Howie?"

"Well, we can't stay here much longer, that's for sure," replied Howard.

"I'm starving for real, that's what's for sure," Reg added. "I say we creep in real quiet and have a look about."

They walked back and found the camp mostly in ruins. Bodies were everywhere. Some of the buildings were burned and destroyed. Most of the dead were covered in blood from their hemorrhaging lungs. Carl found the warden with most of his face caved in and let out an obnoxious laugh that irritated Howard.

They checked all of the barracks and didn't find one survivor.

"Jesus Mary," muttered Reg. "Can we be the only ones left?"

14.

Howard, Carl, and Reg approached the guard house. The door was locked so Carl picked up a shotgun from one of the dead guards in the yard and used the b.u.t.t to smash the doork.n.o.b to pieces. The door appeared to be barricaded with furniture from the other side and it took all three of them to finally push it open.

The building was empty except for four guards who locked themselves in before they got sick and died. Besides the mess of the bodies, it was heaven. The three inmates ran from room to room laughing and giggling like kids at Christmas. They marveled at all the luxuries they had been without for far too long. Central heat with a thermostat set at a toasty seventy degrees. A huge fireplace and stacks of firewood. Real beds with mattresses, pillows, and blankets. A shower with hot water. A kitchen and pantry packed with food. Beer, whisky, music, videos, cigarettes, p.o.r.n, real clothes - it was almost too much to bear.

For the next several hours they basked in all of it. They took hot showers and dressed in clean guard uniforms. They stuffed themselves silly with as much food as they could hold and then ate some more. They weren't even bothered by the corpses scattered about the building. After the excitement died down they simply dragged them out the door and into the frigid night they vowed never to return to.

"I tell ya fellas, this is the life," Carl said. He had his feet up on the table, hands on his belly, and a cigarette hanging from his mouth. A cowboy hat he borrowed from a dead guard sat low on his head, almost covering his eyes. "If I'm gonna get sick at least I'll be able to do it in style and with a smile on my face."

"I don't think that's going to happen," Howard said. He found a pipe and some tobacco and lazily puffed away. "I think it's obvious the three of us have somehow been spared by the disease. None of us have shown any symptoms at all."

"Yeah well, ain't we the lucky ones then," Reg said.

"Yes sir," Carl said dreamily. "We are sittin' as pretty as posies."

"For a week or two anyhow. Then I reckon they'll put a bullet in our heads and nuke the b.l.o.o.d.y place off the map."