Chapter One
“Still no word from officials after the city of Manchester was placed on lockdown following a chemical leak from Aeon Dynamic’s nearby facility, though inside sources have suggested that the affected area could be widened.”
–Marilyn Moore. Boston, Massachusetts. 8 Hours After.
* * *
Was there anyone out there?
Distant clouds grew darker by the moment, waves beat against Purgatory’s shore with a rising urgency, and the stink of sweat was thick in the air as the last strands of twine were secured in place.
This was a depressing thought. A bloody miserable one, at that. Liam wouldn’t allow himself to think it often, but now that his final preparations were coming together, the bastard had once again wormed its way into his mind, and not even an approaching typhoon could uproot it.
He grit his teeth and kept working. Oh sure, the usual concessions could always be made. Rescue was coming, they’d just been delayed. Communications had gone down before the crash after all, and there was no telling just how far off course he’d been. This part of the world wasn’t tied to shipping lanes, so it was no surprise that boats did not frequent them by chance. That was all logical, and irrefutable, and not just some set of false hopes.
But then the oppressive weight of Liam’s time here always crushed against his resolve, again and again. Sure, he’d lost his radio during the crash, but the GPS-linked transponder would have told rescuers exactly where to come, had they been out there. Half the world had been watching flight when it had first left Santa Monica. Someone should have come. It just wasn’t realistic to think otherwise.
No matter how hard he tried, the cancerous and unyielding anchor of doubt always made its way back in, leaving him with the simplest of all explanations. Nobody’s coming for you because there are no people left. A straightforward, clean, and wholly cruel answer to all his questions, and one that he lacked the necessary human support to disprove. Other than his old canteen, he had no companionship whatsoever, and Thirsty wasn’t much of a talker.
So it was that Liam Fenix had been trapped on this island he called “Purgatory” for well over a decade, though who was counting?
He took a gulp of water, his eyes focused on the growing storm. Though the sky was clear above his head, the same could not be said for the horizon. A grey wall had furrowed itself out there some hours before, leaving a darkened trail that bordered black in its wake. Now that the beast had marched this close to Purgatory, Liam could see the telltale sign of rain leeching light from the clouds through whitened streaks before spilling into the world beneath. Waves continued to batter against the shore as if to escape from the typhoon itself.
But as he studied the clouds anew and considered their pace, he wiped the beads of sweat from his brow and leaned back. Patience, Liam. There was still time to do this right, and he could not afford to make errors by burning himself out. Not if he planned to survive the day.
“Gonna be a long one today, eh Thirsty?” Liam said to his canteen, his breath evening out. “Yeah. Me and you are going on our biggest adventure yet. One that they’ll be talking about for the ages. If we make it.
“Not gonna lie to you, mate. The odds here are steeper than we’re used to, and we might not be getting out of this without a few scratches.” He sighed. “But we’ve got no choice, yeah? This storm’s closing in by the second, and if we don’t leg it, we’ll be stuck for another year. You don’t want to stay here for another year, do you?”
Liam let the silence hang a moment, twisting his canteen around. Thirsty was a military-style plastic green canteen, with a little smilie face and motto that read “Life is good” on the side. How long had Liam owned Thirsty? Since before the show, that was for sure, though it wasn’t until Purgatory that he’d begun to make conversation with him.
Of course, Liam was no nutter, and know that Thirsty was an inanimate object, but old habits died hard, and he’d been talking to inanimate objects for longer than he could remember. Hell, he’d once made a decent living doing just that. Speaking aloud was also good for morale. Something desperately needed at a time like this.
Liam took another swallow. The dregs of his drinking water clung to the roof of his mouth, reminding him of the irony of his predicament. He had been forced into this spot after an intense drought, and had prayed daily for the arrival of an early monsoon season. But now that plans had changed and arrangements could not be undone, how he wished for nothing other than to have the rains be delayed another day.
“Best we get what’s left, mate,” Liam decided before marching back to camp.
* * *
His shelter came into view first. The plane had bounded off the beach during the crash and landed into the trees nearby, where it had lost both wings. Its fuselage had then flipped before stopping, which was fortunate, given the circumstances. Though it had been trashed beyond repair in the process, the brunt of its final impact went to the empennage and not the cockpit. It was a bloody miracle that Liam had survived with no worse than a sprained ankle and dislocated shoulder. He’d long since recovered from both and taken the wreck as sustainable shelter.
Smoke still hissed from last night’s fire, doing well to keep the flies away from his tannery as his latest pigskin patch cured. The sun cast a long shade onto his workshop, where he’d crafted all the tools he’d needed over the years. Knives and hammers, shears and firestarters, spears and bows. It was a shame that he’d have to abandon most of it soon.
His rations were looking good at least, as Liam had accrued a hefty haul of yellowtails and bluefin tuna, tossed them in the smoker, and salted them into jerky. With a supplemental supply of coconuts, yucca, and the last of the pineapples, his diet wouldn’t be hurting for quite some time. The snares were still empty, but he hadn’t had high hopes that a pigeon of piglet would get too bold. This drought had killed most of them off.
Liam ascended his makeshift ladder, up from the base of the fuselage and into the cliff he’d renovated. The wood cracked and moaned with each step, but it still had some life left in it. Hopefully enough to survive the day.
Liam grimaced as he examined the network of hollowed-out coconuts that he fashioned his cistern. Not near enough. He had twelve total, each linked to a crude pipe network of bamboo shoots that filled first when it rained before overflowing into a nearby pool. The coconut shells’ insulation kept water from evaporating while reducing bacteria growth, and because of the way he’d landscaped the cliffside, any rainwater eventually worked its way down to him. But it had not rained in weeks, and so the pool had drained first, followed by the shells, one by one. By now, he only had three days’ worth of water, provided he consolidated them together.
A gust of chilled air cut through the camp, reminding Liam of the urgency of this crisis. It will have to do. He quickly scooped up what he could, funneled it all together, and made for the ladder. He’d have to remember to collect as much rainwater as possible as soon as he got the chance. There was still plenty of time to accomplish both goals.
But the moment his foot hit the ladder again, a rung finally snapped. Liam instinctively reached for the cliffside, but both his hands were full. His heart skipped a beat as his body drifted powerlessly through the air.
And then his head struck the ground.
* * *
Promise me, Liam, Nelly said. Promise you’ll be back.
Of course, love, Liam said. Always have, and always will.
Promise me, she repeated. Promise me.
Liam realized that he was alone in the plane, and Nelly was far away. The throttle screamed in his hands as the fuselage quaked. A trail of smoke spilled from one side where the flap had dislodged. Liam fought against the turbulence, but the wing’s rotary engine was coughing up sparks and wasn’t long for this world.
Promise me, Nelly repeated. Promise you’ll come back home.
I’m coming, Nelly! Liam screamed below his oxygen mask, but the plane’s radio antenna must’ve been nicked when the flap went, and she could not hear him. I’ll make it home. Just you wait!
He flipped the emergency brakes and retracted the other flap a beat. There was no way he’d have a clear landing, but if he could keep himself stable long enough, he could at least limp his way south to Hawaii.
Promise me. Don’t leave us.
Warning lights flashed across the cockpit and the fuselage moaned under the added strain, but Liam kept his arms locked and eyes on the horizon.
I won’t lose you! He roared.
But then Purgatory rose in front. Its twin hills stood above the beach like two dark eyes, pulling him in. Liam resisted as hard as any human could, but the throttle had a mind of its own, and the plane had found the one piece of solid land in sight.
Liam gasped. No, you bastard! Not here. It can’t be here!
Promise me, Liam. Promise you’ll be back home.
The sand rushed forth. It rolled to either side like arms, ready to embrace him. Faster and faster, longer and wider. The beach prostrated itself into a runway, even as the rest of the sea turned sharp and jagged.
Promise me, Liam. Promise me.
Oh, God, he cried. I’m sorry, Nelly. I’m so, so sorry.
He stopped struggling. The plane was going down. There was no choice. If he was to survive another day, it would have to be here.
The second engine finally gave, and the plane began to stall, but Purgatory stood as it always had. Ready to grab him. Ready to save him. Ready to imprison him.
* * *
Liam awoke with a groan. The world was grey and blurry, and his head was on fire. He started to stroke his scalp, but thought better of it halfway through. This pain was too much.
At least the air was cool. A powerful but steady breeze washed over him. Liam breathed deep, his thoughts coming back together. When was the last time he’d escaped from the oppressive heat of the sun? It was a godsend to feel such a strong, chill wind on his skin again…
Until he remembered the source.
Liam lurched straight up and took in his world once again. The clear, blue sky had been replaced by a pale, darkened roof. The roar of water against rock echoed from the shoreline, even this far away. And everywhere he looked, the trees were bent inland, struggling against the torrent that was only just beginning to press against them. How long had he been out!?
A crack eclipsed the sound of the wind, and Liam was powerless to watch as one of the palms tipped over. The stump dislodged itself from the top of the cliffside and tumbled through his cistern before crashing directly into the valley below. Planks and dust exploded out where it struck his campsite.
Most people weren’t well versed on the nuances of naturalist living. Their idea of it had been romanticized by popular culture. They’d think of a heavily muscled man, his shirt sweaty yet somehow never dirty, always sprinting through the trees, spear brandished as he stalked some new prey. One day, he’d be cave diving. The next, he’d be fighting sharks in a reef. The next, he’d be climbing a mountain for some essential purpose. Every day an adventure, every hour a battle of life or death. With all modern amenities gone, what else could life be but a savage war against a chaotic and unforgiving world?
But the truth was quite droll. Whether it was his time or his energy, Liam had to spend each efficiently, lest his circumstances turn bleak. Why run when he could walk? Why scale a cliff when he could go around? The destination was the same, but the path was less demanding. In the end, Liam spent most of his days simply walking from one place to another as he strategized what else was needed to stay alive.
That’s what it all came down to. Sustainability. Death stalked the unwary differently than people imagined. It wasn’t about getting mauled by a tiger or being buried in a landslide. Any seasoned survivalist had already developed countermeasures against those risks within the first few days of isolation. No, death was a slower burn. It’d come from that cough that wouldn’t quite go away, or that summer heat that was a bit too intense, or those weeks where game was a little too scarce, or perhaps, some combination of each.
So to see a tree crash right in the middle of camp as a tsunami of bad weather closed in… It was hard to put into words just how completely fucked Liam was right about now.
He jumped to his feet and rushed through the camp, gathering what little he could salvage. Rain began to fall. At first a mere couple drops splashed against his face, but it wasn’t long before the typhoon struck in full force. His old pilot suit became drenched within moments.
This was bad. Very, very bad. He had lost too much time unconscious, and there was no way for this to end in any manner close to how he’d envisioned. Hell, even under the best of conditions, this plan of his was equal parts reckless and bold. The kind of plot that screamed against every fiber of his being.
But now that the weather had turned? It was damned near suicidal!
Liam gathered the last of his supplies, rushed back to the beach, and gazed upon his final hope. Two drums of bamboo shoots laid wrapped above a landing of smooth stone, angled into the sea. A double-layered slate of wood sat atop the main deck, breaking only for a wooden rudder that cut below, and a matching mast that towered above. Its sail was woven from a mix of scavenged nylon and cured pigskin, and would have more than enough strength to capture the wind once it was unfurled. Even the main deck had ample room for storage, shelter, and a firepit, all without compromising the greater design. The total construction must have weighed more than two tons, taken the better part of a year to rebuild after last year’s catastrophe, and had cost more calories and grit than he could count.
As escape rafts went, Liam had done quite well for himself.
He rubbed the water from his eyes and gave Thirsty a pat. “Come on, come on. Now or never, mate. We’ve got to get going if we’re to survive this.”
He paused in spite of himself. Survive. A word that had once meant so much to him. It was his livelihood. His identity. He’d gotten so many things accomplished utilizing its every nuance, ever since those first days of his youth where he’d look out the window of his family’s home in Bristol and stare into the trees.
And yet, now that very same word had become his prison, because if there was one thing that was anathema to survivalism above all else, it was risk, and there was no greater risk than swapping a tenuous but established struggle for one that was unknown entirely. To escape now would be to jeopardize not just everything he had done to survive on this island, but to hurl himself into exponentially worse odds and hope for the best. All for this naive dream of his.
It’s not just a dream, Liam reminded himself. It was Nelly. It was Lilith. His wife and his daughter. They were real. They were his. And he’d abandoned them.
But not anymore. Liam fought against the torrent as he loaded the last of his supplies. Sure, his mind rebelled against the stupidity of the act, but his heart fought twice as hard. He’d been sucking the narcotic of complacency for too long. It was time to fight.
The shore was steep, waves were smashing below, and the stone had been carved to match, but his raft was still anchored in place by a single set of logs, lodged at just the right angle and altitude to keep static friction from being overcome on its own. The second they were pulled however, gravity would take control, and there would be no going back.
Promise me, Nelly had said. Liam had been a young man when he’d left, only in his thirties, with still so much life in front of him. He threw Thirsty and his coconuts into the bin he’d fashioned to keep them from spilling. Promise me. He’d told her that he’d be back, and had meant it with every fiber of his being. What little food he’d scavenged came next, shoved inside the raft’s shelter to keep the wind from tearing them away. Promise me. Liam had never expected it to take this long, and truly believed that someone would have come for him. The linens were stored next, along with his tools. There was no telling how long he’d be stuck at sea. Promise me. So long as he was alive, there was still a chance to be saved, and to have sacrificed himself on some stupid escape plan would have guaranteed nothing more than an unfulfilled promise. Promise me. He thrust in his weapons last – a set of spears, a bow, and his last dozen arrows. If this was to be his end, then he would go down swinging. Promise me.
The typhoon exploded in front, but Liam was beaming back like a Viking rushing for Valhalla.
“Well, Thirsty,” he cheered. “Let’s get ourselves back home!”
He yanked the anchor free.
The raft screamed as it scraped against the stone and gained speed. It tumbled into the sea. Liam braced against the mast, his heart racing. As wood struck water, the entire raft quaked before rocketing through the reef.
Liam rushed for his oars. He wouldn’t have much time before the unstable tide forced him back into the rocks. Seawater rained from above, he gasped with each breath, and no matter how hard he pushed against the storm’s chaos, he seemed to gain little purchase. His face reddened, and his heart thumped against the wind. The raft moaned against the assault, from above as well as below.
This would not last. His raft was sound enough to survive against the initial assault, but it was already beginning to crack in some places, and if he did not clear shallow water soon, it would break apart altogether. It had not been built to handle the level of strain it would face as soon as it got trapped against the reef.
The reef! Liam remembered. He lunged his oar low and grinned when it struck something solid. The intensity of this storm could be worked to his advantage, as the depth of these exaggerated swells were lower than ever. Low enough to anchor his oar into the reef below for added strength.
Liam changed tactics, and timed his thrusts against the beat of the waves. Little by little, second by second, the battled turned in his favor. With each swell that struck supplemented by the advantage his oar gave him, the undercurrent bought him a few feet more. Soon his oar missed the reef altogether, but by then, Liam looked up and realized that Purgatory was farther away than he had ever seen it. Had he won?
There was no time to waste. With a final pull against the mast, the sail unfolded. The hand-made fabric hissed but once before catching the typhoon’s gusts. It quaked as Liam adjusted the angle, but it did not tear loose. The raft launched further into the sea where it would not break. There the tide took control again as he hit an offshore channel.
He laughed. It started as a giggle, but grew into a roar as the sheer stupidity of his fears became undone. He was Liam Fucking Fenix, and if there was one thing that he’d learned to do over the course of his interesting life, it was to stare the natural kingdom in the eyes and force it to submit to his will. Not even a storm of this magnitude could stop him!
As Purgatory’s shores disappeared into the haze of falling rain and the raft rocked against the waves, Liam had only one thought left.
Wherever you are… Whatever has happened to you… I’m coming for you, Nelly.
You and Lilith both.
