Eternity Key

A Pulp Adventure

Rex cut the sputtering engine, leaving the boat to coast into a break in the mangroves.

“Drop the anchor,” he said to Petersen, the greenhorn on the crew.

“Aye aye, Captain,” replied the lanky young man with sun-blistered ears.

“What did I say about that ‘aye aye’ bullshit?”

“Cap thinks you’ve seen too many movies,” said Jonesy, tossing a line to the kid.

“You’re the only one who went to the pictures when we were in Havana.”

“That doesn’t count. The movie was in Spanish. I don’t speak Spanish. Isn’t that right, Cap?”

“Quiet, you two. Unless you have any bright ideas about where we are.”

“Butch would know,” said Jonesy.

“Yeah, Butch would know,” thought Rex.

But Butch was dead and currently lying in repose beneath a tarpaulin on the foredeck.

They had been hit by a freak storm in the middle of the night while on patrol in the warm Caribbean waters. Not even Butch—the old salt who knew every cove and sandbar from Cancun to Barbados and back up to Miami—had seen it coming.

“I wonder if he saw that cleat coming?” thought the captain grimly. “No, of course not. If he had, his brains would be leaking out of a hole in his forehead instead of the back.”

Another voice called out to Rex from down the hatch behind him. It was Schmidt, his engineer.

“Nothing doing, Rex. The starboard engine is kaput, and the port, as you know, is misfiring on two cylinders. Spark plugs are probably cracked. I’ll check now that we’re stopped. Say, where are we stopped?”

“A sawbuck to whoever figures it out,” said Rex. “Borrow some spark plugs from the starboard engine. If you can’t make one functioning engine from the two broken ones we have, I’ll see you court-martialed.”

Schmidt grinned. He and Rex went way back, almost to the last war.

“Hell, Rex, I can make anything run, given enough time. Do I have much time?”

“No. And I don’t need you to make everything run, just one engine. We can limp into port with one. Once we figure out where we are.”

The kid set the anchor and reported the fact back to Rex.

“Now what, Cap? asked Jonesy.

“Now we figure out where the hell we are. Put the skiff in the water, we’re going to take a look around.”

“Who’s we?”

“You and me, Jonesy. And Butch. Get him loaded on with some provisions and a crate of grenades just in case. And for your own sake, don’t forget a shovel.”

***

The skiff cut low through the water, its wake lapping against the mangroves to one side and diminishing out to nothing in the open sea to the other.

Rex sat perched at the bow. His white hair reflected the brilliant tropical sun, and his steely blue eyes were a match for the barrel of the Thompson automatic that he kept trained on the shoreline. Jonesy steered the craft around a point that opened to a white sand beach that curved like a crescent moon.

“Want me to put in here?”

They had not explored much of the island’s coastline yet, but Rex wanted to bury Butch while they had the chance.

“Yeah, on the far end of the beach. By those tall palms.”

They went ashore and found a good spot on the edge of the tree line.

Rex set Jonesy to the task of digging the grave. He lit two cigarettes and handed one to the crewman.

“I’m going to take a look around. If you hear shooting, come running.”

“Aye, aye, Cap.”

The man saluted.

“Don’t you start.”

Rex shoved a couple of grenades in his satchel, checked the action on his Thomson, and stepped into the dark forest. The heavy canopy choked out the sunlight, and Rex could see the orange glow of his cigarette where it hung smoldering at his lips. He kept his gun at the ready.

He was not sure what kind of trouble he expected. There probably was not anything bigger than an iguana on the island. Maybe there were feral pigs. He would want the gun for that. Nasty little bastards.

But there could be enemies about. That is why he was stationed there in the first place. And not just smugglers; although, they were bad enough.

No, there had been reports of Germans in these waters. They ran their submarines all along the U.S. coast, after all. Maybe last night’s storm had caused them some trouble too.

“Wouldn’t that be something. Shooting it out with a bunch of Krauts in a tropical paradise.”

Rex stepped on a stick that cracked loudly and caused him to realize that he had been walking in total silence for a while: not the sound of a bird or insect.

He paused and scanned his surroundings.

Something moved in his periphery, but when he whipped his head around to look, there was nothing but the broad-leafed undergrowth of the forest.

“Ain’t no way,” he muttered.

Rex followed his own footprints back to the beach, walking double time.

He broke through the fronds and into the harsh sunlight to find the beach deserted.

“Where the hell is Jonesy?”

Butch still lay on the ground; the tarp that covered him rustled in the breeze. Beside him was the grave, half dug, but Jonesy and the boat were gone.

“Damn! Why would he just take off like that?”

Rex looked around for signs. Their supplies were gone too. So was the shovel. Jonesy took the time to pack up, but couldn’t be bothered to give him a sign? He could have at least fired a warning shot. Was it mutiny? Simple desertion? Or had something else happened?

Rex caught a glimpse of crimson that was completely out of place in the blue, green, and white that surrounded him. It was inside the incomplete grave: a single drop of blood.

Rex scanned for tracks. The sand was disturbed, but he saw only their own boot prints.

“There’s no way someone could have gotten Jonesy in that boat without leaving some trace. If someone snatched him, they went into the trees.”

Looking up at the sun, Rex reckoned the time.

“It’s barely noon.”

Whether or not Jonesy left on his own volition, Rex was on his own. Schmidt would not think to start looking for them until dusk, and by then it would be too dark to bother. He had to tough it out until morning.

In the off chance that Jonesy was taking a joy ride, Rex wrote a note and shoved it in Butch’s shirt pocket.

“Back soon. Stay put, you son of a bitch.”

Back in the forest, Rex felt the same unease as before. Like someone was watching him from just beyond the edge of his own vision.

It was hot, and the lack of breeze was stifling. His khaki shirt clung to him, soaked through with sweat.

“Should have stayed on the beach.”

Sunlight filtered through the bush ahead. Rex figured he must be nearing the other side of the island.

He stepped to the edge of the water and looked out over a lagoon, glass smooth and electric blue. Then he saw it.

On the other side of the lagoon stood a squat fort built of brick and stone, and from within its ramparts streamed smoke.

“What on earth?”

A twig snapped behind him, followed by a flurry of heavy footsteps. Rex turned to see a blur of skin and the polished sheen of a wood just before it made contact with his head and closed his eyes.

***

Rex awoke to the terrifying sensation of being immersed in water. In that lingering moment between dream and wakefulness, he thought that he had fallen overboard; lost to the swell. But he opened his eyes to see that he was on terra firma, and a man holding a dripping canvas bucket was standing over him.

The man was in military trousers, but only a dirty undershirt covered his chest. His head was topped with the white-peaked cap of a Uboat captain, and it was cocked back to let off excess heat. He reached down and smacked Rex about the face and head.

“Wake up,” he said in heavily accented English.

He said something in German to someone standing behind Rex, and then Rex was jerked up into a sitting position. Every part of Rex that was not numb from lying on the hard ground ached painfully, his head most of all.

“Where is your ship?” asked the German captain.

Rex wanted to spit at the man, but his mouth was bone dry. The best he could do was get his swollen tongue to squeeze out a few words between parched lips.

“Go to hell.”

The captain laughed and looked around at his assembled men as they joined in. There were about a dozen of them, mostly enlisted men, but at least one officer wearing a plaid shirt.

“You are American. It is as I thought. So, tell me, where is your ship.”

“What ship?”

“The one that brought you to this island, of course. Unless you expect me to believe that you swam here like a wasserman. How do you say it? Water man?”

“Merman.”

“Haha, yes.”

Rex looked around the camp. He had expected to be within the secure walls of the old Spanish fortress he had seen, but they were in the thick of the dark jungle, up against a low limestone outcropping.

“Strange,” he thought. Then he remembered Jonesy. They must have snatched him while he was digging the grave by the beach.

“What have you done with my friend?”

“What friend? Do you speak of a shipmate? Perhaps he is there. Tell me where it is and we will help you find him.”

“You know damn well what I’m talking about. You Shanghaied him on the beach this morning. Where is he?” Rex called out. “Jonesy?! Jonesy, are you here?”

The German gave Rex a hard slap to the face.

“Silence!”

There was murmuring in the ranks. It seemed to Rex that more than just the captain could understand English. He also got the impression that they did not have Jonesy, that they never had him to begin with.

The U-boat captain composed himself and spoke.

“Where are my manners? I wouldn’t expect a man to talk when he must be dying of thirst.”

He ordered water brought over, and a young fresh-faced sailor produced a canteen that he pressed to Rex’ lips.

The water tasted amazing. The best he had ever had. Not only did it eradicate his thirst, but it seemed to lessen the ache in his bound wrists.

“Thanks,” he said with surprise-tinged reservation.

The captain nodded.

“Perhaps you would like something a little stronger?”

“Maybe another time.”

The captain barked an order, and Rex was dragged over to the rocks and left.

The German sailors dispersed and went back to their duties, while the officers stood apart and conversed in hushed tones.

As twilight drew near a sailor was sent to bring Rex some food. He was young with a smooth boyish face and only the hint of a mustache after a few days of not shaving. The sailor looked around nervously as he held a bit of dry rations up to Rex’ mouth.

He leaned in and whispered.

“This man of yours. He goes missing?”

“That’s right. What did you do to him?”

“Nothing. He has not been here. My friend goes missing as well. Werner. He goes out for the firewood and does not come back. He is not the only one. I must go.”

“Wait, I…”

“I must go.”

The young man stood and shuffled away.

“What the hell is going on around here,” thought Rex.

Something was fishy alright. Missing men. That Spanish fort with the smoke. It did not add up.

Darkness fell slowly, then all at once. Rex was left alone where he sat, hands and feet bound, while the mosquitoes did their best to drain all the blood from his body.

The Germans built a large fire, and the men who were not on watch huddled close around it. They had no need for the heat but seemed to crave the light that illuminated their small clearing in the jungle.

“They’re scared.”

Finally, the German captain approached Rex and squatted down beside him.

“Now, American, it is time you told me where your ship is and the strength of the crew.”

“I think you’ve got bigger problems than any crew I may or may not have, Mack. We didn’t take your men. And if you didn’t take mine, then there’s someone else out there making trouble for the both of us.”

“How do you know about this?”

“It doesn’t matter, don’t you understand?”

There was urgency in Rex’s voice, and concern in the German’s eyes.

“What do you propose? Are we not at war?”

“I propose a temporary truce until we know what we’re dealing with. Then we can go back to killing each other. Did you check out the old fort on the other side of the lagoon?”

“No, it appeared deserted, and with the tide in it was not possible to reach it.”

“Well, I saw smoke coming from inside earlier today. And if that wasn’t you, then it was someone else. You need to go in there and check it out. I can go get my guys and scout it from the water.”

“So, you do have a boat.”

“Of course I have a fucking boat, Fritz.”

The German scowled.

“There is wisdom in what you say, but letting you go is quite out of the question. We will go at first light, when the tide is out.”

He left.

Rex was tired, but he did not sleep. Between his bindings and the insects, there was little chance he would be able to. But it was his sense of unease that kept him awake.

As the night crept into the small hours, the light of the fire dwindled. Exhausted sailors snored where they slept on the ground.

Rex’s eyelids grew heavy, but lightness returned as a shadow darted across a distant tree trunk.

He shook his head and focused.

Nothing.

Then there was a grunt and a strangled cry.

Was it one of the sentries?

Someone shouted in German and then opened up with a submachine gun.

The muzzle flash illuminated a stretch of forest at the perimeter and the dozen men rushing in from that direction.

In that instant, the camp sprang to life. The startled sailors fired in all directions.

Wasting no time, Rex worked to loosen the ropes that bound his wrists and ankles. He rubbed the ropes against the one of the rocks where he sat. Meanwhile, the shooting continued. From the darkness, arrows, stones, and darts flew into the camp. The German sailors screamed as they were hit. An arrow clattered off the rocks near Rex’s head. He sawed at the ropes faster.

The gunfire was dying out. Rex looked up to see most of the sailors lying unmoving on the ground.

Suddenly, a man was standing over him.

His legs were bare and dark in the firelight. He wore a brief loincloth and several bracelets and trinkets around his neck and wrists. But Rex was puzzled to see that the man had light brown hair, a full beard, and piercing green eyes.

The strange man raised a polished club high over his head and brought it down swiftly on Rex.

READ THE EXCITING CONCLUSION HERE