Jordan brought the yacht into shallow waters, grimacing at the feeling of hitting something unexpected. He killed the engine and didn’t bother dropping anchor. He didn’t mention it to Beita, who was too excited to notice, but he planned to leave the boat adrift from the start. They’d find another way off the island.

Nueva Tabarca lay before them, a strip of land lost to the tides. Before them, just a bit offshore at the sharpest edge, were grey-white stone walls. Beyond that was difficult to see but only due to the length of the island. As far as terrain went, the whole thing was almost uniformly flat. The only variance was roving bushes and greenery. He knew from research the docks were on the far side of the island, where the inhabitants clustered together.

He glanced over the side briefly at what the ship bumped into.

“Jordan, it’s beautiful!”

He turned to look at Beita, her smile brighter than the fading sunlight. He picked her up by the waist, letting her sit on his shoulder.

“Sure is.”

He didn’t want her to see what he found. Against the boat were bloated bodies, washing up along the shallow shores. Three that he saw, maybe more. Their clothes looked torn, but he couldn’t be certain why. No need to check them, wherever there were bodies more were sure to be found.

“Hang on.”

He went down the opposite side, certain that there weren’t any there only because she hadn’t screamed yet. Sinking to his hips in water, he trudged forward and let Beita off at the hill. The boat thankfully hid the dead as she scurried up. He was still taking his time, not wanting her to know something was off yet. She’d have to deal with whatever waited soon enough.

“Hey, there are people here!”

He sighed, hurrying his pace. He didn’t know how she climbed up the slick rocks as easily as she did, but he was never the most agile. Arriving with her, he saw the group she was pointing out. It was no wonder they missed them from the boat.

A group of five, on hands and knees, at the tip of the island. He would have thought them dead as well if not for the noise that they slowly picked up. Fervent chanting in Spanish, reminding him of a prayer. He was fluent enough in Spanish that, as they approached, he could make out the words.

“Forgive this sinner who has let the Devil enter our soul.”

Beita frowned, looking back at the cross embedded in the rocks at the outcrop. Jordan hadn’t noticed it at the time, overlooking the religious iconography. It was plain, metal and silver. He couldn’t help but think of his mother’s necklace. The group was bowing before it.

“Leave them be,” he put a hand on her shoulder, nudging her forward.

“What if they know something?”

Jordan eyed the group. Two men and three women, wearing heavy clothing despite the heat of the day not yet dissipating. One of the women was old, skin looking cracked in the dimming light. Her face was nearly embedded in the rocky ground. He could swear he saw a black liquid pooling there. Her hands were visible, trembling as she laid them palm first on the ground. Her fingers were destroyed, nails gone.

“We shouldn’t bother them.”

Beita shrugged. “I guess they look preoccupied. They must be religious here.”

“It’s Spain, Beita. Everyone’s religious.”

The two continued past the worshipers. He was certain they didn’t even realize they were there, his main reason to avoid them. Whatever was at the heart of the problem lay onward. The wall came up fast from there, past a podium that had been torn from its post. Red roofed buildings were within, but the enclosure was narrow. They walked along the side at the edge of the island. The purpose of this place was made clear as they reached the front.

“It’s a cemetery,” she said, staring at the red painted iron gate. She shivered. “I hate graveyards.”

“They’re peaceful,” he said. “Places of rest are rare.”

He eyed the gate. There were scratches in the red paint, gouges, like wild animals tried to claw their way in. Animals or people, he mused. The wall wasn’t so high, they could have climbed. But looking past the gate, the interior was untouched. He wasn’t sure what it meant.

“If I asked you,” he started, staring ahead at the expanse of land before them. “To stay at the boat. Would you?”

“No way. I came all this way; I’m not staying put.” Her reply was immediate. “This can’t be worse than anything else we’ve seen, right?”

It was expected.

“I suppose not.” Better to keep her close.

Ahead of them, finally visible from the front of the graveyard, was what looked to be a defunct light tower. Beyond that, at the furthest side of the island, the docks could be seen along with the congregation of white stone buildings. It was quite a walk, the daylight completely gone as they made their trek. She never complained, a serious expression on her face.

Outside of the ocean, nothing was moving. The murmurs of the worshipers fell away and even the water seemed to quiet. He’d planned to go directly to the residential area, but the lighthouse was unavoidable with how narrow the island was. Still, he was inclined to walk past it.

If it wasn’t for the sound of soft sobbing. He turned his head, Beita already catching the noise, spotting a half-opened entrance. He tensed, Beita rushing ahead of him, the crying sounding distinctly child-like. He relaxed as she flung the door open. She was going to do what she felt was best, after all.

“Anyone in here?” She didn’t enter the building, at least.

“Remember Beita,” he was going to say something before a voice called back interrupting him.

“Hello?”

It was a childish voice, soft and hoarse. Beita beamed.

“We’re here to help! Come out!”

Jordan’s expression settled on neutral as his companion stepped back to join him. A young girl emerged from the darkness, maybe a year older than Beita appeared. Her complexion was sun-kissed, she had dark hair drawn back into two ponytails, wearing coveralls and she was barefoot. That wasn’t what he registered first, however. What caught his eye instantly was that her mouth was covered in scratches, deep ones.

“I don’t know you,” she said, though it sounded closer to a question. She had next to no accent.

“I’d imagine not! We just got here! Hi, I’m Beita!” She moved to the girl with her hand extended.

The girl shrunk back. Jordan put a hand on Beita’s shoulder, gently coaxing her to do the same.

He looked past her, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. It was empty within.

She stuttered and shook, looking all the world like a rabbit about to run for its burrow. Finally, she looked back at the pair.

“I’m Lucia. Everyone’s gone mad.” She glanced around. “We must hide.”

She ushered them into the darkened building, lighting a lantern she hid behind the door. The room was stone, barren of niceties. A flight of stairs could be seen at the corner, though the lighthouse was stubby compared to others he was used to.

“What happened? Why are you here?” Beita asked, walking around the room.

He remained at the door, watching the two.

“A few days ago, a ball of fire fell into the water outside of my home. My papa, Felix, is a fisherman. He and some others went to see what it was. He came back and everyone was going crazy. He brought me here and told me to stay. I haven’t seen him since,” Lucia said. She sat next to the lantern, tears welling up.

“But since you’re here, that means you have a boat, right?”

“Yeah!” Beita smiled. “We can take you away from here. We haven’t run into any crazy people so they might not know we’re even here. We could sneak back and take you to the mainland.”

“That’d be fantastic!” Lucia clasped her hands together.

“Where is Felix?”

His question caught Lucia off guard.

“He headed towards town,” she said. “He said he was going to try to make it to the church, regroup with any survivors, and then head for the docks.”

“He didn’t leave the island,” Beita said. “There haven’t been any vessels coming or going since.”

“Church?”

“Yes. The Church of Saint Peter and Saint Paul. It’s ancient. The crazy were flocking around it.”

Beita gasped. “Like those at the shore! Praying to that cross. They must have been affected.”

“We need to get help!” Lucia looked panicked. “Maybe they can still be saved. If we get people here soon enough, maybe they can be rescued too!”

“No.”

“No?” The girls echoed unwittingly.

“We’re going to town,” he said.

Lucia’s face flushed. “No! We need to leave!”

Reluctantly, Beita shook her head. “Jordan is right. If there are more survivors like you, we need to get to them. Our boat isn’t very fast so we’d only get one shot. Right Jordan?”

Jordan nodded. Crossing over to Lucia, he picked up the lantern.

“Come along.”

Confusion crossed her face. “Why? We can wait here for you. It's dangerous out there.”

“Keeping you close keeps you safe.”

“Is that why you’re here? Keeping me safe? Answer that!” She stood up, hands on her hips. “I’ve survived by doing what I was told! Hiding in this lighthouse where those monsters won’t come get me. What makes you think staying with you would be better?”

Their eyes locked for just a moment.

“I kill monsters.”

***

Beita laughed, twirling around Lucia.

“Just wait, we’ll get your dad and save everyone!”

The fact that there were so many people still alive was great. She didn’t know what was going on with the worshipers, but they clearly didn’t attack Lucia. The town ahead looked relatively tranquil, no fires, no signs of destruction. Something wasn’t normal, but it wasn’t the disaster she feared.

“I wish I could believe that,” Lucia said.

They were almost done crossing the barren width of the isle. Still no sign of life but Beita figured they must be waiting at the church. Jordan walked behind the two a few paces, taking his time. His expression was passive, arms freely moving at his sides.

“If some horrible nasty came from space, it’d have wrecked this whole town,” she said. “Trust me! We’ve fought some ugly things!”

“I’m not sure I believe you.”

“You’ll see. We’re good at this. Though, you said people went crazy, right? Did they start attacking each other?”

“No, not like that. All at once people started acting weird. The same. But they were doing weird things.”

“What kind of things?”

“I don’t know! Stop asking me!”

The sudden shout caught her off guard. Beita stared at the girl, stepping back.

“It’s been days since I’ve done,” Lucia stopped, face red, fists balled up. “Anything. Eat, sleep, drink, I’m tired and I’m exhausted, and I can’t stand all this happy, chipper noise! I don’t want to be out here, I don’t want to go back, I don’t want you people on my island, I just want to go home! I want things back how they were!”

Beita winced. “Sorry.” Her voice was so quiet that she wasn’t even sure she spoke aloud.

Lucia was trembling, glaring at the smaller girl. Beita felt herself wither. A heavy hand landed on her shoulder, stopping her from shrinking back. She looked up to see Jordan staring down at the other girl. His expression wasn’t much different, but something about it seemed heavier.

“You can’t go home again.”

Lucia stopped, confused. “What? That’s where we’re going. You’re dragging me there right now!”

He looked over the horizon. “It’s something I was told.”

The girl stared at him for a moment before bursting into laughter. Beita wasn’t sure if she should.

“For a tough guy, you’re sure awkward,” she said. “You’re both ridiculous. I can’t even be upset at you!”

With a laugh she ran ahead. Beita felt the urge to chase after her, the upbeat energy infectious. She looked back to Jordan again who was standing still, staring at the night sky.

“Are you okay? What were you trying to say?”

“Don’t worry. Keep up with her.”

Beita half smiled before rushing to catch the islander. Jordan always had problems expressing himself, articulating his thoughts. He wasn’t comfortable talking at length. She never knew why, or if there even was a why. He was Jordan, that was all.

The night sky was beautiful, stars bright and the ocean vast. A proper beach was up ahead on the opposite side of the inhabited portion, beautiful sand leading to what was assuredly manmade constructs. She could only see so much of it as they were diverting to the right where the docks were.

Lucia grinned back at her, missing the lumps on the ground. She tripped, landing hard on her side. Beita, gasping, stopped to help her up. Looking over the larger girl, she didn’t see any new injuries.

“What was that?”

She turned away from Lucia, trying to discern what was laying on the ground in the pitch black of night.

Then two men stood up.

Beita fell back, eyes wide. The way they moved was unnatural. They made no effort to get up in a normal fashion, instead it was like their legs seized the ground and rose their bodies up in one motion. The men stared at her with dark eyes, features indiscernible in the shadow.

“Are you okay?” she managed to ask, fear biting at her tongue. “Do you need help?”

A glint of light revealed to her that one of them held a knife. Jordan appeared behind him.

The man moved faster than Beita could believe possible for a human. His actions looked automatic, muscles snapping without hesitation. She screamed as the knife plunged into Jordan’s neck, just above his collarbone. Crimson flowed.

In response Jordan smashed the lantern across the dark figure’s head, oil-fueled flames exploding over them. Still the man did not scream, not even hissing in pain as they fell to the ground burning. The other man moved, just as inhuman as the first.

Jordan was faster, already swinging a silvered axe into his face. The blade bit into the middle of his head, splitting his nose. He didn’t relent, bringing his weight into the blow and driving it deeper. The dark figure staggered back, bone fragments flying. Beita, flinching, couldn’t help but notice that they did not bleed. Some black fluid briefly sprayed, but that was all. Jordan did not relent, bringing up his foot to kick them in the chest to the ground.

They tried to grab at him, but he was much larger, able to pin them with his foot where they couldn’t easily reach. Taking the axe handle and wresting it free, he flipped the tool around and bashed the blunt end into his head. With each downward strike, the struggle of the man lessened.

Beita couldn’t watch how many times he did, only hearing his grunts and the dull, wet noise that followed. Gagging, she tried to ignore it. Out of the corner of her vision the burning man rose, his head still aflame. The man turned to Beita, and with the newfound light she could see that he had no eyes. Instead, a thick, brown material filled the sockets, looking like muscle.

And then a knife embedded itself into the back of his neck, his body seizing up before dropping completely. Jordan stood over the body, having returned the knife stabbed into him. The body shuddered as he brought his foot up over its head. Grey eyes turned to Beita briefly.

“Look away.”