The Dark Atoll Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Forward to Book One

  Content Warning

  Turn The Page

  CHAPTER One - Waking up

  CHAPTER Two - Moving Out

  CHAPTER Three - Lana Who?

  CHAPTER Four - OK, I Can Do That

  CHAPTER Five - Acclimatizing

  CHAPTER Six - Socializing

  CHAPTER Seven - War

  CHAPTER Eight - Christie

  CHAPTER Nine - Resurrection

  CHAPTER Ten - Time Travel for Beginners

  CHAPTER Eleven - Sand and Water

  CHAPTER Twelve - Clearing

  CHAPTER Thirteen - Clarity

  CHAPTER Fourteen - Harmony

  CHAPTER Fifteen - Muffling

  CHAPTER Sixteen - Visitors and Neighbors

  CHAPTER Seventeen - Housekeeping

  CHAPTER Eighteen - Tribal War

  CHAPTER Nineteen - Tribal Formation

  CHAPTER Twenty - Tribal Council

  CHAPTER Twenty-One - Becoming Friends

  CHAPTER Twenty-Two - The Haunted Mansion

  CHAPTER Twenty-Three - The Gates of Florinhall

  CHAPTER Twenty-Four - Ariel

  CHAPTER Twenty-Five - Heaven and Hail

  CHAPTER Twenty-Six - Slumber Party Games

  CHAPTER Twenty-Seven - Family Relationships

  CHAPTER Twenty-Eight - Calming and Relaxing

  CHAPTER Twenty-Nine - Loving and Playing

  CHAPTER Thirty - Are We There yet?

  End of Book One

  About the Author

  Other Series by The Author

  The Dark Atoll

  The Castaways: Book 1

  Marilyn Foxworthy

  Copyright © 2019 Marilyn Foxworthy

  All rights reserved.

  My name is Marilyn. I have written before about some of the remarkable men and women of the Jensen Family. This time, it’s a man named Florin and his life as a South Seas castaway with survivors of the cataclysm of 2070. This is the first book of his story.

  I call it “Book 1: The Dark Atoll.”

  Ready?

  But first, before you turn the page, beware of several things that you’ll find on the other side of this door. I warn you now. Here’s what you should know before you decide to read the story of our hero and his wonderful life:

  The story is at times highly sexual. At times, graphically so. It is all consensual. If that isn’t what you want to read, stop right now. Take the book back to the store and get your money back. There’s a lot of sex. Really. I’m not kidding. Some of the books get graphic. You have been warned.

  There’s no sexual humiliation, sexual violence, bondage, or anything like that presented in any erotic way. If that’s what you’re looking for, something darker, this isn’t for you. There’s a lot of sex but it is portrayed as respectful, consensual, and loving. There is probably a harem element where multiple women love the same man.

  The story is a fantasy. It isn’t realistic. The Heroes are good guys. They win. The bad guys lose. Magic and miracles happen. There are allegorical elements to the story if you read it that way.

  The story is revealed to a great extent through dialog. The characters talk a lot. And sometimes they talk as if they are in a play. They have fun with language.

  Allegory alert: If you read the story as intended, many of the people, especially the women related to the primary hero in the story, will actually represent different aspects of the same person. As people, we are complex beings. You will find explanations of the ‘oneness’ of the characters, so keep in mind that what may sound polygamous, may actually be an allegory of one monogamous relationship. Or don’t. You can read it however you want to, but it was written in many respects as an allegory. That doesn’t make it any less fun. It does make it more like “eroticism for philosophers” though.

  The story was written by me, as if our hero had kept journals of his adventures and I just edited and published them. It’s the style I enjoy right now. I was a fan of the great pulp writers like Edgar Rice Burroughs, and I think it influenced the language and style to some extent.

  You may notice frequent references to quoted movie lines, song lyrics, and passages from other books. They may seem obscure. If you find something that one of the characters says to be a bit weird, it’s probably a movie line. You can look it up on the Internet or something if you want to. If you get it, that’s fun.

  Well, ready? Our story starts on a gloomy morning the tropics…

  CHAPTER One - Waking up

  There was something out there. I could hear it. There, beyond the beach, behind the tree-line. Off to my left, out of sight. I was still on the beach, just beyond the waterline. There wasn’t much surf, just a rolling wash of seawater that came about 15 feet up the shallow slope of the sand. I was about 10 feet farther up.

  I crawled here a few minutes ago. I had heard the rustling almost immediately; as soon as I had become conscious again.

  I didn’t know how long I’d been lying there, apparently washed up by a higher tide sometime earlier. My clothes were still wet, so I must not have been laying here more than a few hours. I hadn’t woken up coughing, so it didn’t seem that I had drowned. The life-jacket seemed to have kept me above water.

  I was on my knees, scanning the tree-line for movement, and listening…and trying to get my bearings. I had been awake for just a few minutes. The sun was up but barely. It might be nine in the morning, still half-daylight at this latitude. Of course, we almost never saw the sun because of the ash clouds but they were getting better every year.

  It had been 18 years since the cataclysm.

  Let me think. If the cataclysm had taught us anything, and if my dad and grandpa, ‘Pops’, had taught me anything, it was to be careful and think things through. Move with determination when necessary but calm your fears and get a clear picture of your situation and options before making decisions when possible.

  I wasn’t in immediate danger as far as I could tell. My only injury seemed to be a really painful but minor head-wound where I had been hit.

  We had left the compound on Tahiti early yesterday. Or was it the day before? I guess it didn’t matter. I guess I didn’t know for sure what day it was. I didn’t have a watch; we didn’t have much use for them. When you don’t have appointments, and no train to catch, precise times aren’t that important.

  The boat was one of Pops own design. It wasn’t fast. It was meant for long distance travel under harsh conditions. We expected to have to weather at least a few hurricanes before we reached the mainland of the United States and made our way up the Columbia river to the residence there. Pops gave me the job of finding out what had happened to my cousin Joshua and delivering some very special passengers. There was me, the four sisters, and Clark and Irene, my uncle and aunt. No crew except for us. I knew the boat and the way it was built I could navigate it by myself.

  I had intended to travel with just the sisters, but Aunt Irene hated the islands and wanted to go back to what she thought of as her home. For some reason, she expected to find the resort and the town just like she had left it. She was delusional. I might not have said that last week but after what happened, I would have a lot more to say if there had been anyone to listen to me.

  Yeah, I was the Captain of the boat, but I wasn’t the only one who knew how to operate it and point it at where we were going. Irene knew how to run it as well. In the months working up to our departure, Irene had studied and trained harder than I had ever seen her. She was brilliant when she wanted to be. Not exactly creative but detailed and dedicated. Since the trip might take us several years, she insisted on being familiar with every detail, even to the point of learning the possibl
e mechanical repairs that might be necessary. And she drove my uncle as hard as she drove herself to learn every aspect of our mission.

  What I couldn’t figure out was how she and Clark thought that they could survive a two-year journey at sea in relative isolation, eating mostly fish. Irene was used to demanding that others do her work for her. How did she imagine that she would handle a trip like this with just me, Clark, and the four sisters? She didn’t even like any of us. My plan was to stay on a different end of the boat as much as possible.

  The thing was, the sisters weren’t even awake. Pops had them in emergency survival pods and they’d stay that way for the entire trip, unless plans changed. As far as company, it was me, Clark, and Irene, and nothing but the Pacific Ocean. Not even a non-organic.

  That was OK with me. I was kind of a loner anyway. That’s why I was the one to make the trip. I would look forward to seeing Joshua when we arrived, and it would be great to get to know him but the prospect of a few years at sea didn’t bother me at all. Of course, we were only assuming that Joshua would still be there.

  Pops said he would be. Pops had made it back there about 13 years ago; about five years after the cataclysm. Joshua was in a pod, too. The non-organics were still functioning though.

  But that was all pretty much ancient history now. Ever since last night. Or the night before. Last night, I was standing at the bow of the boat, watching the last of the dim sunlight disappear. It was going to be dark. The moon didn’t show much these days.

  Irene came up and stood beside me and said, “So, out there is Rangiroa?”

  There was something strange about the question. She knew as well as I exactly where we should be and where our course was taking us. Yeah, the island atoll of Rangiroa and its neighbors was just in front of us. We’d be passing them overnight. There was something weird in her voice.

  She sighed and said, “Yeah,” and then I felt something hit me in the back of the head and I passed out.

  I woke up on the beach here, listening for something out there, beyond the tree-line.

  We always wore thin life-jackets on the boat. The sea was rough, and storms could come up at any moment. And the storms could be violent. The boat was built to survive a complete roll-over and even up to fourteen hours completely submerged. There was always a danger of being banged up and the jackets were as much body-armor as they were flotation devices. Whatever Irene had hit me with would have knocked me unconscious, or at least stunned me, even if I had been wearing the lightweight helmet that went with the jacket; but I wasn’t wearing it. The weather was supposed to be moderate for the next few days.

  The sounds that I could hear out there in the trees was mostly a rustling in the plants. Whatever was making the noise was big. It wasn’t a rat or whatever was analogous to a raccoon here. It had to be more the size of a large pig, or maybe a small bear. I’d learned to hunt, once the storms had settled down to where we could go out again.

  The bunker we had lived in was tight. Storm-proof. We’d lived indoors for the first two years. After that, we went out when we had to. Pops and my dad had three years warning, and they had spared no expense in building us a good chance of survival. It was rough. Nobody was used to hardship. Our lives had been pretty carefree. Hell, we were pretty much the richest family on the planet.

  That didn’t mean that we were some kind of wastrels or idle-rich. My Pops was a very generous man and spent his time helping people, not amassing wealth. He probably spent over sixty percent of his fortune in those last three years trying to keep as many people safe as he could. And he didn’t put up with fools and I wasn’t raised to be a rich-kid poltroon.

  The only one who fit any description that could be applied to the selfish and greedy was my aunt. Uncle Clark was whipped. I’m sorry to say it but he was. At least I thought so.

  The thing in the trees was wounded. I could hear it grunt and squeal now and then. Maybe it wasn’t a threat for now. Not unless I made myself a threat to it.

  I kept my eye on the trees as I took stock of my situation. It was morning, maybe three hours until noon. Still twilight, not that it would get very light today. If the weather was better, and the winds had been strong, maybe we would have some sunlight but not today. It wasn’t cold though. Maybe 72. In the old days it would have been 84 or even 90. But that’s one reason that we were in the south Pacific, not the Pacific Northwest. It would be below freezing there, especially at this time of year. I’d get the boat into the Columbia river in July, maybe a year and a half from now.

  No, I guess I wouldn’t. I wasn’t on the boat. I’d be here a year and a half from now. There wasn’t going to be a rescue party. If I was right, Pops would never hear from Irene again and wouldn’t even know what happened to any of us. Not unless Joshua was OK and found a way to contact him. If that happened, maybe they would look for me but unless Irene told them where to look, there’d be no chance. And Irene would lie. Who knew what story she’d make up, but even if Clark knew the truth, he wouldn’t contradict her unless he had finally had enough and was ready to dump her. I was on my own.

  It was funny how quickly I adapted to this. It’s what I had been taught. Live in the real-world. The world in my head could be anything it wanted to be. I could plan to do whatever I wanted and to track down Irene and have my revenge and build a radio out of coconuts and set a signal fire to attract the attention of orbiting friendly aliens who were desperately searching for a nice earth-boy to take back to their home planet to breed with them but that wasn’t the real-world.

  The real-world was that I had a pair of sturdy lightweight boots, a jumpsuit that zipped up the front, a T-Shirt, a pair of underwear, my safety vest, and that was it. No flashlight, no real knife, no backpack, no food, and no fresh water. The vest had a small emergency kit in the pocket. It was minimal. I knew that it was everything that would fit in a three-by-five-by-one-quarter-inch package: a small needle and thread for sewing up cuts, a few thin bandages, a small amount of antibiotic ointment, some antiseptic wipes, a small flat folding knife with a two-inch blade, a straw with built-in filtration and desalination, and a ten-foot length of para-cord. There might be a few other tiny items, but I didn’t remember what they were. The kit was so minimal that I never really paid that much attention. It was part of the kit, but I never expected to have to use it. If I ever got in trouble, there wasn’t going to be enough in there to really do me much good. Except for where I was now.

  The most important thing right away would be the water-straw. It wouldn’t produce much water very quickly but if I was patient, I’d survive. And I was patient, and I did intend to survive.

  Out beyond the beach was something big and presumably dangerous, and hopefully edible, and I was going to need a weapon. Oh, right, the kit had a steel fire starter. I’d need to cook any meat I was able to get. Wait, there was something else. Pops made us carry a seed package. He said that we didn’t know what would happen to the world and though it would never be necessary, he had us all carry what he called our “Adam and Eve Package.” They were entirely symbolic, but Pops was a philosophical man and by having that reminder sewn into all of our clothes, usually in a cuff or pocket, he said that we would keep “The Hope of The Garden” with us, no matter what. Well, this might qualify as a “no matter what” moment. If this wasn’t an emergency, nothing ever would be.

  Yeah, I might be here long enough to grow food. The only thing that would get in the way was being killed. I certainly wouldn’t be building a raft and setting off for home. It was only a few hundred miles, though. Well, maybe it would be possible someday; if the weather settled a decade or two from now. Anyway, given what I was wearing, there were probably at least four of the little “garden starters” hidden in my clothes. None of us ever expected to use them as anything but luck charms.

  The thing making noise wasn’t going anywhere. The first thing for me to do was to get my shoes off. My clothes would dry on my body, but the shoes wouldn’t. It wouldn’t have been nece
ssary if it had only been a few hours; the insides would still be dry. Unfortunately, I had been in the water at least twelve hours, and possibly longer. I needed to get my feet dry. The boots would dry in an hour or so because of the way that they were made.

  I moved farther up the beach, away from the water. I could see the debris line indicating the normal high-water mark and I moved beyond that to a place with some larger driftwood logs. It would be a good place for a fire. I didn’t need a fire yet. The spot was closer to the trees, and anything in them but the noises were off to my left, not directly in front of me; and they didn’t seem to be moving. Not in the last few minutes, anyway.

  I pulled off my shoes and socks and set them aside. There wasn’t any sunlight but there was drier air. I kind of wanted to take off my jumpsuit and air dry it more as well, but I thought that I should leave it on as long as there was some possibility of danger. I wanted to be dry though. OK, I’d take off my clothes and let them dry for a bit. The vest was about an inch thick and it would be good to get it off my skin for a while.

  My suit and shirt and underwear were synthetic, not an absorbent cotton or anything like that. We didn’t sweat much, even this close to the equator. Our clothes were designed for protection, versatility, and comfort in moderate weather. They were designed with as much thought to their function as any military or space mission equipment would have been.

  Nothing had moved on the beach or in the trees, except for the rustling and animal noise but that wasn’t moving any closer, so I wasn’t overly worried about that. I sat on one of the logs and stretched, keeping my eye on the tree-line. Until now I had stayed low to the ground, moving slowly and trying not to draw attention to myself. I think that it was the inevitable effect of having been thrown off my boat with the intention of killing me.

  I wasn’t by nature especially distrustful. The last 18 years had been hard enough but there was no reason to instantly suspect trouble. The only people that I knew where my own family. That was my moms and dad, my grandfather and grandmothers, my uncle and aunt, and the three-dozen people that we had contact with on the neighboring island. The neighbors owed Pops their lives, and they treated us like family.