Ernie Lee stomped into the only general store on the Island, shaking off the cold October rain. “Thought the rain would hold off.” He drawled in his Maine accent.
Photo by Mitch Mckee on Unsplash
Truth was, with that silly beard and no mustache, Ernie looked more like a Moose in a flannel shirt than a Mainer. The sleeves of his flannel shirt peeked out of the sleeves of his yellow rain slicker. Drops of rain fell from his slicker on the stained wood floor of the shop.
“Weather does what it wants to.” Carey Beaulac drawled, as he stacked the last cans of soup he had on the shelves. He kept an eye on Ernie. An Island native and not a mainlander, Ernie still was a trifle crooked, and everyone knew it. Tongues still wagged over his shady deal to attempt to file a quit-claim deed on an Islander’s land, just to get his own marina and not have to pay Marina fees. Of course, the deal had been discovered as he was trying to file.
“I need that shipment of rubber bands.” Ernie pulled the hat off of reddish matted hair that looked as if it had never seen a comb in his 40 years. He shook his head at the noise coming from the radio. Ernie had never been a music fan. “Need them for my lobsters.” It sounded like lob-staahs.
“Boat’s overdue.” Cary stepped back behind the counter. “Who’s traps you raiding today, Ernie?”
“Never poached a lobster in my life.” Ernie protested. “I’m an honest lobster-man.”
Cary snorted. “If by that you mean you’ve never been caught, I suppose so.” The wind howled harder, and the rain lashed the windows.
“Boat’s not coming in with that kind of weather.” Ernie mused. “I need them bands.”
“If the boat can’t make it in, you can’t make it out neither.” Cary said, opening a can of chewing tobacco.
Ernie flapped his arms – there was no use talking to Cary when he was in this kind of contrary mood. “Colin Wilson’s family’s been at sea longer than anyone in Maine.” Ernie said, bending to look at some coils of rope.
Cary ignored him. Ernie wasn’t going to buy any rope, not this late in the season. Lobster fishing was over and done with anyway for the year. But Ernie was right about one thing – Colin Wilson was not the kind of boat captain to take risks, but if anyone could get a boat in, it would be him. The common joke around this part of Maine was that if Colin Wilson had been captain of the Titanic, he’d have harvested the iceberg to make ice cubes.
Ruthie Johnson came in, the door blowing out of her grasp. She shut the door with an impatient squawk, trying to keep the cold air out of the store. “Nor’easter.” She pronounced, nodding, confirming her own analysis of the weather and agreeing with herself. Which was a good thing, because someone had to. “You got my mail in, Cary Beaulac?”
“Boat’s overdue.” Cary informed her.
“You’ll have to wait for your welfare check, Ruthie.” Ernie said. Ruthie gave him a withering stare that should have set his hair on fire. She made a face, and moved to look at the shelves, to see what she could buy for dinner.
“Groceries are for Island folk only.” Ernie told her. Ruthie turned her back on him.
“Ernie Lee, you know I’ve lived on this Island for seven years.” She said with some irritation.
“Married onto it. Then drowned your husband, you did.” Ernie made sure he had the low freezer between him and her. He eyed the icepick that was nearby that he knew that Carey used to chisel frozen meats out of the freezer when they’d sat too long.
“Oh, come on now, Ernie, don’t go spreading nasty rumors you know aren’t true!” Cary shouted at him, trying not to spittle anyone with brown juice as he chomped on the cheek full of tobacco.
“Mike Johnson was the best crewman I ever had on my lobster boat.” Ernie said. “Swam like a fish. No way he could drown. Left my boat to go home with a pocketful of pay and never saw him again.”
“You’re a cruel, lying arrogant…” Ruthie began, tears of rage in her face to be blamed yet again for the loss of her husband. “And if he was the best, why didn’t you ever pay him?”
“I paid him fair and square!” Ernie said, his prominent jaw set with defiance. “Nobody can call me a cheat or a thief.”
“Nobody unless they live on this Island, you mean!” Ruthie said, shaking in rage. She was furious that a tear ran down her cheek, and she knew that Ernie saw it. “I’m surprised Officer Gagnon hasn’t arrested you yet!”
“…this week.” Cary filled in. “It’s only Friday Ruthie. Ernie should be drunk in public by morning.”
“You stay out of this.” Ernie growled. But he was losing his will to fight, and was trying to think of a way to get Cary to let him take two coils of line for his pots on store credit.
“No credit today.” Cary said, watching as Ernie looked over the lines.
“Aw, c’mon Cary, I’ve got a big haul soaking out there, and I can pay you by tomorrow! I’ve got two restaurants in Bar Harbor goin’ ta pay me top dollar for fresh lobster…”
“And they don’t ask what pots you stole them from.” Ruthie snarled in anger.
The door opened again, chilling everyone with the cold air. Adam Harnois stepped in, looking for all the world like a clean-shaven lumberjack. Following him was Officer Stephen Gagnon and Brooke Michaud. Everyone looked at one another with a nod. They’d noticed that Officer Gagnon seemed to be seen in the company of the newest resident of the Island lately, and Island folk all had their rumor mills busily grinding. Cary couldn’t really understand it, since there was nothing wrong with a single policeman dating a single woman, but Island folk were strange, to say the least.
“Evening, Cary.” Adam said, always seemingly cheerful. “Boat in?”
“Overdue.” Ruthie and Ernie said at the same time, and Cary took the opportunity to spit a mouthful of juice into an old Coke bottle.
“Anyone seen Ralph this evening?” Stephen asked.
“Probably sleeping off a drunk.” Ernie said.
“Which reminds me. If you’re drinking tonight, please stay in until you sleep it off too.” Stephen said. “I don’t want to have to arrest you again.”
“Ralph Heil’s not a drunk.” Ruthie said. She was still furious at being accused of murdering her husband. Again.
“So you say.” Ernie added another barb at her, as he looked over some cans inside a box. “Planning to drown him next, are you Ruthie?”
“Don’t you touch them cans, Ernie.” Cary told him. “They’re special order for Officer Gagnon.”
“In other words, he paid for them already.” Ruthie said. “And them cans is probably your jail chow for your next arrest.”
The door opened again, letting Homer Johnson and Darian Fisher in, both in matching rain slickers. They had their Muck boots and Grunden oil pants on, a sure sign they’d just got in from their boat. “Colin Wilson’s going to have his hands full if he doesn’t get here soon.” Homer said. “Seas are a fright. Took a minute getting tied in to the dock cleats without the boat crushing my hands.”
“Getting dark out.” Stephen observed. “You think Colin’s going to risk a sea like that in the dark?”
“Oh, yeah.” Several agreed at once.
“Colin would row a boat out on a night like this to harpoon Moby Dick, and tow him to shore.” Darian exaggerated. “And go back out to sea.”
There was a burst of static from the radio. A sudden bright, bright burst of light came from the distance. The radio went silent, and a moment later the lights failed. A BOOM rolled in across the water onto the Island, pushing aside the Nor’Easter squall for a brief moment. It felt as if the Island rocked for a second.
There was a burst of voices in the darkness, until Cary was able to get an emergency light on. Pale, frightened faces stared back at him. They could see in the distance a red glow, as if something was on fire in the distance on the mainland. Darkness was trapping them now. Not a single glimmer of lights could be seen from the mainland. In the shadow of the flare and the spreading glow, it looked like a mushroom cloud was rising into the dusk air.
“The bomb.” Ernie said. “The bomb.”
“What are you going on about now, Ernie?” Homer drawled.
“The Reds. They finally dropped the bomb. You heard it, felt it, saw it. Bright flash, boom.” Ernie said. “Probably nuked Bangor.”
“Why would the Russians nuke Bangor?” Adam put his hands on his hips. He almost looked as if he was scolding Ernie.
“Probably wasn’t just Bangor. Probably Washington, New York, Hartford, Boston, Chicago… every major city.” Ernie said.
Panic was beginning to grip everyone. “Horse Feathers.” Darian said. “Horse feathers.”
“Radio’s on batteries, isn’t it?” Ernie said. “Hear anything?”
They looked around, fear in their faces.
“Storm’s bad enough that we wouldn’t hear the radio.” Homer said, uncertain.
“We were hearing that racket just fine till the bomb went off.” Ernie said.
Darian looked at his cell phone. “I… have no service.” He said. He was beginning to panic. Everyone looked at their phones, and Cary tried to dial out on his. He finally put away his phone, uncertainty in his face.
“Everything’s changed now.” Ernie said. “We may be the only living people for a hundred miles around. And it’ll take a week for the mainland to be safe from the radiation.”
“Hold on, now.” Stephen said.
“Now, you hold on there, Mr. Police Officer.” Ernie said. “I’m sober right now, so I don’t have to listen to you.” There was a metal grating sound, and Ernie was hefting something.
“You put that shovel down, Ernie.” Cary ordered.
“All I know is, boat didn’t come in.” Ernie said. “Bad storm out. No fishing for a day, maybe longer. And the shelves are empty.”
“What are you saying, Ernie?” Ruthie couldn’t believe what she was hearing from the crusty old lobster bandit.
“Eight or nine of us on the Island.” Ernie said. “Not enough supplies for all of us. Only enough supplies in this here store to keep two people alive for a week.” They could see in the dim light that he was hefting the shovel.
“He’s gone mad.” Homer said. “He’s lost it.”
“Have I?” Ernie laughed, an ugly sound. “There’s no boat. You heard the boom. You felt it. Saw the fires on the mainland. There’s never going to be another boat. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not ever.” He was backed up against the door, holding the shovel. “Nine full time Islanders here, and enough food for two. And I’m not going to starve. Not Ernie Lee.” He opened the door, and was out in the storm. “So while you panic and kill each other, I’m going in hiding. When you all are done, I’ll come out and survive. I wouldn’t stay too long in a group, and make it easier on someone big and strong to kill you.” The door shut, as Ernie stepped out of sight in the storm.
“He’s gone mad.” Homer said, fear in his voice. He stepped over to Darian, but Darian whipped out a knife.
“You stay back, Homer.” He said, fear in his voice. “Think I don’t know that trick?”
Stephen held up his hands. “This has gone on too long. Darian, put that knife down.”
“You’re gonna have to shoot me, Stephen. No lights, no cell phone, no radio. He’s right, and I’m not dying either.” Darian told him. He was backing to the door, too.
Adam Harnois moved forward, wrapping his arms around Darian in a bear hug.
“Hold on, there, Darian, don’t panic.” Adam went silent, and his eyes went wide in the dim light from the storm. He staggered back, and they saw the blood coming from his right side, where Darian had stabbed him. Darian turned and jabbed the blade at Adam repeatedly, until Adam sank to his knees, a ghastly groan coming from him as he pitched forward. Stephen pulled his gun, but Darian turned and ran out of the store.
Adam was down on the floor in the midst of a large red pool, as Stephen rolled him over. Adam opened his mouth, a gurgling sound coming out. Bloody froth was on his lips, as he began to convulse. Adam stopped moving after a few minutes.
Stephen stood. He headed to the door. “Cover him with something. I’ve got to go find Darian.” He was out in the storm, the door slamming behind him,
“He killed him.” Ruthie said, panicking. “Stabbed him to death. Horrible.”
“I didn’t think it was like that.” Brooke said. “Stabbing him again and again”
“I’ll find him.” Homer said. He headed out into the storm.
* * * * * * *
The rain felt as though a thousand icy needles were piercing his skin. Homer could feel his hands cold, and starting to go numb. He ran forward, trying to see in the driving rain and wind. His eyes were trying to close to avoid the punishing cold rain. He charged towards the Marina, knowing Darian would be hiding on the boat. Homer ran onto his boat, seeing Stephen step out of the cabin.
“Not in there?” He asked. Stephen shook his head. They booth ran forward in the rain, trying to make their way into the only street on the Island, the twisting one that led to a hundred summer cabins, the ones the tourists would rent, and the regulars would live in during summer months.
“Which house?” Homer shouted, trying to be heard over the loud wind, which was beginning to sound more like a hurricane. Stephen looked around, shaking his head. It truly was a hundred to one. And Darian could keep avoiding them with ease.
It was a lethal cat and mouse game.
“”Sweet jumping Christmas.” Homer said, stopping.
Stephen looked at him, unsure. “What?”
“Ralph. If Darian really thinks we just got nuked, then he’ll go kill Ralph to make sure there’s one less.” Homer said.
“This of course assumes that Ernie is wrong.” Stephen said.
“What?” Homer stood there with his mouth open.
“I tried my radio.” Stephen said. “No answer from the mainland.”
They stared at one another, trying to decide what that meant.
Only enough supplies for two.
“Let’s check on Ralph.” Stephen said. Homer nodded.
They set out together, towards the east end of the Island, where the rain was much worse.
But Homer kept his distance from Stephen. He’s got a gun. And one down so far. Seven more to go.
They banged on the door. “Ralph!” Stephen hammered on the door. He looked back at Homer. “We’re going to have to try banging on the windows.”
Homer hung back, keeping his distance. “Sure.” He said. “You first.”
Stephen looked at him. His hand was resting on his pistol.
“Homer, you’re being a fool.” He said, his voice level. Homer stood facing him, several feet away.
“You said it yourself. Nobody’s answering the radio. Lights on the mainland are off. Darian’s already killed a man, and you’ve got your hand on your gun.”
“Of course.” Stephen said. “Because you’ve got the same look in your face Darian had.”
It was out now. They didn’t trust each other.
“One man down.” Homer said. “And you’ve got a gun.”
“I’m saying it one time.” Stephen said. “Keep your distance.”
It was an impasse. Homer began to back away. “Think you’re so special, because you don’t have to fish for a living.” Homer said. “Divorced man in my fifties, bent over and old before my time from the seas. I’ll die alone, I know. But I’m not dying tonight. I’m going to live.”
“Homer…” Stephen said. But Homer backed into the storm, and was around the corner of the house before Stephen could do anything. Stephen shook his head, and moved around the house, banging on the windows.
He rounded the corner, and stopped.
The back door was swinging open in the storm. Stephen pulled out his flashlight, and moved inside. He saw Ralph, lying on the sofa. Blood was splattered everywhere. Stephen turned off the flashlight, and stepped back out. He moved back towards the west, heading to the general store.
As he walked, he realized Brooke was at the store, protected only by Cary Beaulac and Ruthie Wilson. Against a man with a knife, and another with a shovel, and who knows what kind of weapon Homer had.
His walk turned into a run.
* * * * *
Homer stepped out of the darkness, carrying a hook from his lobster gear in his hand. He moved towards his boat. “Darian!” He shouted. “Darian!” Only the howl of the storm answered him. He felt the fear in his throat, and moved forward. “Darian! Enough supplies for two! You and I can help each other!” He bawled. He got on the boat, knowing Darian would be near. He grabbed the door to the cabin and opened it, jumping back, hook slashing.
There was nobody in the cabin.
Homer turned, lurching with fear, anticipating Darian being behind him. He ran forward, and saw it.
The car skidded as it lurched around the corner, tires skidding on the wet cobblestone road. Homer screamed as the car roared forward.
The sound was sickening, as Homer’s body went under the car. The car skidded, and slammed into a rock wall supporting the hill against the fury of the storm.
Darian heard the sound of the car horn, and realized he’d blacked out for a minute. He was trapped inside the car, the air bag deflated in front of him. His forehead was bleeding, and he knew he’d hit something. He tried using his left arm, but it wouldn’t move. As the pain awoke as well, he realized he couldn’t move either. The steering wheel held him in place against the seat.
Liquid poured down on him, and he saw Ernie standing on the hood of the car, a can of old gas was in his hands. The water in it had made it bad for engines.
But it would still burn.
Ernie leaned in through the broken windshield. “Five left.” He said. “Five.” He lit a match, and stuck it into a book of matches. They flared up, and he tossed them onto Darian.
The gasoline on his clothes lit up, and Darian screamed as he began to burn. He struggled to get up, but he was pinned in place. Ernie dumped the rest of the gasoline on him, and jumped back off the car, as Darian’s head caught fire. The high pitched screams kept going and going, as the smell of burning rubber rose up. Ernie walked away and the car flared up, the flames reaching the gas tank, turning the car into a bright orange fireball.
The screaming stopped as Ernie walked into the rain.
* * * * * * *
Stephen moved inside the store, gun down at his side. He sighed in relief as he saw them. “Homer’s out there. Doesn’t trust me.” Stephen said. “Ralph’s dead.”
“Who killed him?” Ruthie asked, beginning to panic.
“Darian, or Ernie. Don’t know.” Stephen said. “But Brooke and I are going to the police station for safety. You want to come with us, you’re welcome to.”
“Go outside, so Ernie can kill me?” Ruthie asked. “Or so you can kill me without any witnesses?”
“Not you too?” Stephen asked, wearily.
Brooke held up her hands. “You can trust Stephen!” Brooke said. “He’s a police officer.”
“I trust nobody right now.” Ruthie said. “I’m the only one here without any ties to the Island, as I was reminded earlier. I’m not a Gagnon or a Michaud, an Ouellette or a Beaulac. I’m a Sullivan, and I married Mike Johnson, and that’s my tie to the Island. Ad I’ve got no security now.” She was backing to the door.
“It doesn’t matter if you’re not born here, or not from family here.” Brooke said. “You’re Island folk now.”
“No.” Ruthie said. “My husband’s gone. And you’ve got a man,and he’s got a gun. Only enough supplies for two. Well, you’re not killing me!” She backed out, and turned, running.
Ruthie ran and ran, struggling to breathe in the cold, wet and rain. She ran out onto the dock, trying to put distance between her and Stephen. She ran, her feet slipping on the wet wood. She dashed past the corner where the burning car was, and ran along the sea wall so nobody could jump her. She ran towards the next corner, intending to cut the corner and dash off to one of the cottages.
Something smashed into her face, and she fell back. Hands grabbed her and lifted her…
…and she was dropping, landing in the sea. The water was deep here. The storm waters banged her against the sea wall, knocking her again. Her jaw and head hurt immensely.
Ruthie screamed, arms clawing. She saw Ernie standing there, holding the shovel.
The surf was dragging her out deeper, waves washing over her. It was taking all of her strength just to stay on the surface.
“How’s it feel?” He shouted. “How’s it feel to drown in the sea, the way you killed yer husband?”
The water closed over her head, and the water was drawing her back from the sea.
“I didn’t kill my…” She shouted, voice distorted by her broken jaw. She choked on a mouthful of sea water. “Please, Ernie!” She screamed.
“Drown! Drown!” He shouted, waving the shovel. “Maybe you’ll float next to your husband!”
“I didn’t kill…” She sobbed. She was kicking and thrashing, but getting tired. The waves were strong, strong. The water was leeching strength from her. “Ernie, please! Don’t kill me! I didn’t kill my husband!”
“I know!” Ernie shouted. “I killed yer husband! Caught me cheating him out of his pay! So I smacked him in the head and threw him overboard!” He laughed as she sank beneath the waves. The waves continued to roll and break over where she’d gone under. He couldn’t see her now. Ernie laughed, feeling the warmth of the whiskey he’d been drinking all day. He lurched, heading back to the store. Two left to kill.
* * * * * * *
“Let’s go.” Stephen said. Cary looked at him, undecided.
“Police Station’s the safest place.” Stephen told him. Cary shook his head.
“You go. I can’t leave my store.” He said. “I’ve got a surprise waiting for Ernie when he tries to come in here.”
“Ernie’s going to kill you, Cary Beaulac.” Stephen told him.
“If he does, it’ll buy you both enough time to get safe.” Cary said quietly. “You two deserve a chance. Go get safe, and avenge me.”
Stephen nodded, and he looked out into the storm. The storm was getting more furious.
“Cary, don’t be a fool.” Brooke said. “If you stay here, Ernie will get you.”
Cary shook his head. “You two go. I owe Ernie this much. I know he’s a lying, cheating, murdering fool. And tonight, I’m going to make sure he gets his own.” He patted his stomach, and Stephen saw he had something under his shirt. “Go.”
Stephen took Brooke by the arm. “We’re out of time.” He said. They ran out into the storm. Stephen had his gun out and pointing, as they ran down past the smoldering car. They saw Homer’s body in the street. “Keep going.” Stephen told her. They ran.
“Someone’s in the water.” Brooke said, her voice trembling.
“Face up or down?” Stephen asked.
“Down.”
“Keep going.” He said. There was a scream behind them, and several gun shots.
“Run.” Stephen said.
They ran, feet slipping, sliding, as they made it towards the police station. The sound of a truck engine racing made them burst into a sprint, desperate, lungs crying out for air, feet slipping on wet cobblestone.
Stephen grabbed the police station door, and pulled on it. He shoved Brooke inside,
An arm grabbed Brooke, pulling her close. Ernie had his arm around her neck, the other pointing a pistol at Stephen.
“How you gonna shoot me, with your girl in front of me?” Ernie grinned.
“Ernie, you’re going to pay for this.” Stephen said.
“Oh, no.” Ernie grinned. “I won this. Me, I’m not starving. Only supplies enough for two.”
“You know, I’m going to shoot you.” Stephen said. His gun was pointed right at Ernie.
Ernie shifted so that Brooke was in front of him as a shield.
“What ya gonna do now, cop?” Ernie hissed. “Arrest me for being a drunk?”
Brooke slowly was pulling her arm up inside the sleeve of her coat. Stephen saw it, and stepped to the side slowly. His gun remained pointed at Ernie’s face.
“I’m going to put cuffs on you, put you in a cell, and see that you’re tried for seven murders.” Stephen said.
“How you gonna stop me?” Ernie asked. “Because only two can leave here.”
“You’re right.” Stephen said.
Brooke’s arm dropped out of the sleeve, the ice pick clutched in her hand. She stabbed Ernie in the groin, then in the stomach as she broke free. Ernie roared, the gun in his hand drifting down to point at the floor. She dodged to the side.
Stephen fired. Ernie staggered back, and Stephen shot twice more. Ernie dropped to the ground, and rolled over. The gun dropped from his fingers.
Stephen shot once more, then kicked Ernie’s gun away.
“We’re safe.” He said to Brooke. She looked at him shaking, and dropped the ice pick.
“Is there anyone else?” She asked fearfully.
“We’re the last ones alive.” Stephen said.
Brooke began to cry, and Stephen hugged her.
“For how long?” She asked. Stephen kept holding her, trying to think of an answer.
* * * * * * *
The red glow on the horizon was gone.
“Crazy.” The fireman said. “Hit the transformer, and everything went. Police dispatch down, radio station down, Cell tower out, all of the town out.” He said.
The cop looked inside at the smoking body. “Car must have blown up when the transformer blew.
“Who was it.” The fireman asked.
“Josiah Brown.” The cop said. “I know his car anywhere. Second best boat captain in Maine.” He sighed. “But a classic DUI fatality.”
“Man.” The fireman said. “Looked like an atomic bomb went off when the transformer blew. Must have scared the willies out of the Island people.”
The cop looked up. “I’m sure Stephen Gagnon has his hands full.” He said.
* * * * * * *
Colin Wilson wheezed as he sat in the bed, thermometer in his mouth. His wife fretted. She hated to see a strong, confident man like Colin laid out with the flu. He looked at her, and she took the thermometer out of his mouth.
“Ninety nine.” She said.
“I have to go. The Island people are going to panic without their supplies.” He said.
“No worries.” She soothed him. “I called Josiah Brown to deliver the shipment to the Island.”
Colin lay back, and the lights flickered, and came back on. His wife blew out the candle.
“That’s a relief.” He said. “I bet they thought it was the end of the world”
Copyright 2017 Nicholas Reicher – All Rights Reserved
