Free The Island - Part 2 (Fallen Earth) by Michael Stark Page A

put my hand against the deck. Although the porch was covered, most of it had been soaked by strong winds driving the rain in at a slant. It took a while, but I finally found a dry spot near the very back where the porch ran up under the windows.
    Instantly, I knew that would be my bed for the night. I also knew I’d be going back to Angel. Both bunks had sleeping bags spread out across them. Dad had also stored a couple of emergency blankets in one of the forward lockers. I remembered seeing the sleeping bags while talking to the woman from Silver Lake.
    In her rush to get out, Elsie evidently hadn’t planned on spending the night. She and Daniel would need bedding as much as I did. The buggy still had enough charge to run the half mile, pick up the gear, and carry me back to the station . The thought triggered another idea. I’d need to grab the windmill while I was there. I had no idea how long it would take to recharge the batteries on the dune buggy, nor if the blades would even turn with the breeze so light. Even so, the buggy was our only form of transportation. Any power generated overnight would be welcome come daylight.
    The thought of climbing aboard with Zachary lying in the cockpit had me hesitant even with the decision made. I’d never been skittish or one who believed in ghosts. But the image of his eyes, vacant and staring, and his mouth stretched wide in a silent scream wouldn’t leave my mind. I had no idea whether the expressions were natural for that type of death or not. I just knew, deep down, that the picture ingrained in my memory gave me the willies.
    Years before, I’d watched a diabetic friend give himself a shot in the stomach. He had grinned when I winced, and then dared me to do it myself.
    “It’s easy,” he had said, “just pinch up a roll of fat and stick it in.”
    I’d been at the right age, at that point in life when eating my own excrement would have been easier and less humiliating than backing down from a dare. I’d done it, but not before sitting there for a couple of minutes, sweating, moving the needle close to my skin before pulling it back, knowing it would sting like a bee when I shoved it in, knowing I was going to, but trying to work up the nerve to actually do it.
    I felt the same way looking at the buggy.
    “What the hell is wrong with you, William?” I asked out loud. “You’re forty-two years old, too old to be scared of the dark.”
    The door opened. Daniel stepped out amid a shower of golden light. He pulled the door closed behind him. Darkness sliced back across the porch.
    He stood silently, facing me even though I couldn’t make out his features.
    “Jesus,” I whispered, too low for him to hear. “This is all I need.”
    “Hello, Daniel.” I said louder after gathering my breath.
    “Hello, Mr. William. You shouldn’t go to the boat.”
    Chills ran up my spine.
    “What makes you think I’m going to Angel ?”
    I could barely make him out in the dim light from the window behind me. He stood unnaturally straight, and still.
    He shrugged and thought for a moment.
    “If you go back, you will shoot him.”
    I rose from the floor of the porch.
    “Who?”
    “The man who died today,” he said quietly.
    “You say some of the strangest things, Daniel.” I told him. “Why would I shoot him? He’s dead. I’m not going back for him. I’m going because our sleeping bags are there, because we need them tonight.”
    Daniel sighed.
    “He is waiting, Mr. William.”
    I stood there, staring at his outline. The door opened again. This time Elsie emerged. She reached out and pulled the boy toward her.
    “Go back inside, Daniel. It’s chilly out here. I don’t want you catching cold.”
    She waited until he turned and walked back through the door. Then she moved toward me.
    “You leave him alone. You hear me? There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s as good a boy as you’ll find.”
    “I didn’t say anything was wrong with him,” I protested. “But