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Inser De Hölle (Island of Hell)

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The moon glare cast milky-white light on the trees, their big green floppy leaves bending down towards the sand as if in prayer. The darkness made him feel dead. Drifting in and out of consciousness though, he came to the realization that he was alive. Barely alive. He looked around, the bodies making some sort of sick, maniacal sculpture. A small beam of light flickered across the bodies, and he quietly ducked, pretending to be dead. The quiet footsteps got closer, to the point of practically right on him. A sharp pain erupted from his shin, obviously not intended to kill him. He turned, expecting another blow from the damned sock monkeys. What he saw startled him. It happened to be another kid around his age of fifteen. His face, covered in blood. Whether the blood belong to him or not he probably would never know, but they had bigger problems.

“Bist du in Ordnung?” said the boy. Are you ok?

“Um…do you know English?” Mac responded.

“Ich verstehe nicht,” the boy said with a heavy German accent. I don’t understand.

Mac roughly understood that the boy spoke German, based on his accent. He pointed to his face, asking the boy through gestures if he was alright. The boy felt his face and shrugged. Mac thought he knew enough German to maybe communicate with simple words.
“Wir steigen Insel,” Mac tried, not expecting any response but hoping the boy understood. We, get off, island.

The boy nodded signaling the other direction, but also putting his index finger to his lips. Mac understood the universal signal for quiet. Then they heard it. The sound worse than anything you have ever heard. The cry, of the sock monkey. The screeching sound resembled a hawk’s cry, but many pitches higher. They only made that sound for one thing. They had found prey. For those of you unaware, a sock monkey alone is relatively harmless alone. The only problem, they are never alone. They travel with close to sixty together, practically destroying anything in their path. Luckily Mac determined they were far enough off that they had found other survivors. He and this boy crouched low, looking for anything like a boat. But they both knew the side they had ended up on was the opposite side of any boats. They would have to cross the island, which could prove fatal if found by the sock monkeys. But they had to try, and they knew it was their last chance of reaching freedom.

Mac tapped the boy on the shoulder, and motioned for water. He understood, but shook his head. The salt water would only make them thirstier, and make the next trip even harder. No, there would be no drinking or eating until they got off the island. If, they got off the island. But Mac had to hope knowing a bad mindset could prove deadly. As they set off he looked back at the piles of bodies, seeing some of the people he had lived his life with. No family, they had not decided to join him on this quick boat ride. His best friend had died, but Mac had already said his goodbyes through his tears. The German boy understood, making gestures for the fallen friend. But now that that was behind them, they could go. Luckily for them, the island wasn’t overly hilly and should cover them with all of the trees and brush. But would it be enough. Only time would tell for them.

The first day pushed each of them to their limits, three times each of them falling, adding to the collection of cuts they had on their legs and arms. They passed many bodies, each wreaking of decay, covered with bugs and other insects they had never seen. The difference in languages for the boys proved to actually help them, as it kept them quiet. The times they heard the terrible sound, that cry of the sock monkeys, they hit the ground. Sometimes they noises just passed, other times the cries came from the trees right above them. Mac’s heart pounded, knowing any movement between them would be the end of them. But the German boy and himself stayed still, and went through the day undetected. At night, they took watch shifts, trading off every couple of hours. Those were quite possibly the most terrifying hours of Mac’s life, jumping at every noise he heard, always sweeping his head side to side, a move he had read in a book some time ago. As they continued their journey, they figured they had to be getting close to the other side. But this didn’t improve either of their hopes, because they both knew that the other side had more of the beasts than the other side.

As they turned and started up the hill, they heard it. The sound they had feared the past twenty-four hours. They had been found. They looked at each other, Mac noticing the frightened look in the boy’s eyes. Then, they ran. Mac, dodging trees left and right, jumping over any root in the ground. He heard the footsteps behind, and that fueled the adrenaline. He showed no signs of stopping, and neither did the other boy. They emerged from the forest like terrain, back onto sand. They saw the boat, and took off, not caring how many sock monkeys saw them. They were in the open, running for their lives. He and the boy had been running stride for stride, then suddenly, they weren’t.

“Ndihma!” the boy screamed. Help!
Mac didn’t need to guess what that meant. He saw the boy’s ankle, and knew he couldn’t walk, let alone run. With adrenaline helping his every move, he picked up the boy, and carried him on his back. This slowed down the pace dramatically, and the pause had given the sock monkey’s time to catch up. They had to be a hundred yards behind, and gaining quickly. He figured they happened to be about fifty feet from the boat. But with the extra body he wasn’t sure if they could make it. But fueled by adrenaline, he made it. The sock monkeys had gotten close. They jumped in the water after them, but weren’t meant for swimming and quickly drowned. “Little devils deserved it,” thought Mac. But they still had to get going. They had started to throw things, using numbers to lift heavy objects. The boat only had one set of oars, and Mac quickly started rowing. They had made it, on the last boat. Luck, it seemed, was on their side.





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