THE LOST COLONY ADVENTURES of HIDEAWAY ISLAND

“Wait…no, don’t do that!”

Seething, icy layers of dread sunk deeper into the pit of my stomach, plopping right next to my resolution. A lurching, retching motion swayed my insides, turning my head as I felt my stomach spin again—was it, no, it couldn’t be. Yesterday was bad enough, I had woken up in a smelly cesspit of a barge—a ship, a place I had only ever read about and trust me when I say—it wasn’t what dreams were made of—and this morning—same thing. I could taste the unwashed smells of a thousand men before I even opened my eyes.

“No, no, no, no, no…”

“No, no, no…”

“Sir…if you must be sick, please turn the other way,” a brash, annoyed voice hissed from my left. My eyes flew open—the sight of a lone dirt covered, sweat-stained man—his beard crudely shaved sat cross-legged beside me.

“What? Where am I, where are we?” I whispered, turning to look around.

“From what I can gather we’re about part way through the mid-Atlantic…on a ship…isn’t it obvious. I swear—the sea has made us all mad. You’ve been on this ship for months—don’t you remember?”

I paused, my eyes scrunched into my brows—“no, not really—I don’t remember, last thing I recall is waking up here.”

“Well, likely story, I’m sure we all feel the same way, night-after-night, day-after-day with nothing to do but pace the bunk as it rocks in the most unrelenting of fashions,” the man paused, pointing at the inward sloping floor where dozens of men lie— some pacing aimlessly, some talking to themselves while others sat deeply involved in a game of cards. Some—lucky ones had already passed out from illness or too-much drink.

“The luckier ones die and are tossed over…I mean…at least all our waste topples off, trickling out the side…” the man continued, a broad, beaming smile plastered across his face as I watched what I had originally thought was murky, brackish water float back up through the sides—the muck collecting on beams of wood leaving a filthy putrid residue in its wake.

“It cleans itself—the ship, and we’re mighty lucky for that.” The man stopped to give me a pitted apple. “It’s all we have, so you have to make it last…”

“Suit yourself,” I whispered, biting into the salty, soft apple. The pungent taste of sweetness hit my taste buds as the apple disintegrated in my mouth before I could even swallow.

“They keep a barrel of them soaking in fresh salt water as to keep them better preserved. From what I reckon we have a week left…give or take…”

A sour chuckle came from the shadows behind me—“don’t let him scare you my boy…no one has died on this ship…he’s just running out of any excitement, the anticipation’s more likely to kill you than anything else. My names John and that cantankerous fellow there is Phillip…I don’t think we’ve met, what is your name?” John asked his hand outstretched.

“I…I’m Thomas…Thomas Wade,” not sure of what else to say, or how far I should take it. Nonetheless I shook his hand, lucky to have made some friends. I was still surprised they hadn’t realized I was new—I thought back to how I would have ended up here—likely popping up in the middle of the night while they were fast asleep—but surely on a ship this size someone would have seen me appear out of thin air?

John continued—“Captain already made the announcement—we will be arriving stateside by tomorrow morning. You only have one more night of this hell before the next phase begin…,”

I paused, unsure if I really wanted to know—“what next phase?”

Phillip continued, interrupting—“well, we will be arriving at the new installment, a place called Roanoke.”

“Roanoke?” I paused, wracking my brain but couldn’t quite recall why that name sounded so familiar—“WAIT…what is the date, today’s date,”—the words tumbled out of my mouth in a glue-like fashion.

“It’s Fifteen-Eighty-Seven…” Phillip remarked, a bewildered look on his face.

“You really are mad…aren’t-cha…”

The blood drained from my face as clammy sweat dotted my spine and I felt my stomach turn again.

Sensing my urge to upchuck the already soured apple—Phillip jumped in, practically shoving his hand in my face. “But…have no worries, we’re the second colony to land, they’ve already had one successful trip, we’re just going in to keep things afloat if you know what I mean. I mean look around, there’s already signs of success—there’s ready-made families, and look—even a pregnant woman to boot. We’re on the right path and haven’t even landed.”

His words weren’t much comfort as my stomach sank further into the desperate pits of my belly. What had I done to deserve this? As day turned into night I lie looking up through the creaks in the wooden slats above, my brain turning the words over and over and over until I felt myself edging on the verge of crazy.

“Do you sleep with your eyes open,” Phillips whispers cut above the moonlight.

“No…” I whispered back, startled from my thoughts.

“You two better get some sleep,” John hissed; the sounds of him rustling from his even darker corner could be heard over the choppy waves. I felt like a lone cork bobbing in the mysterious sea of life, alone and scared—even more confused as to what this life or my former meant.

After what felt like an eternity sunlight peeped in, lighting the open space like a lantern; the sound of calm waves battering against the sides, lulling us closer to the shoreline.

“We can head up to the top now,” John started, sandwiching me between himself and Phillip as the hatches opened above. Blinding sun met us as the smell of fresh saltwater filled my nostrils. We must have been half-a-football stadium away from the smallest beached land-masses I’d ever seen. I couldn’t imagine people having lived here—the brush of overgrown forest was visible down the coast line for miles and miles—as far as the eyes could see. Only cleared paths were where the makeshift colony had settled some years prior cut into the wilderness. There wasn’t much there and this worried me. It was so primitive but anything was better than being stuck on that ship for one-more day.

“Why isn’t the ship coming closer?” I called out, the deafening roar of wind knocking into us all as we rappelled down the side of the splintering ship—most of the women and children as well as the elderly and invalid were being lowered in the smaller boats as we splashed boot first into the icy waters.

“The ship has to head back for rations, to get more supplies. We will hold the fort down until they return…” John’s voice trailed off into the breeze. I felt myself pause but it was no matter—for being such a blisteringly warm day the waters were a welcoming sight. I plunged head first at the first chance to rinse myself off. Others did the same, following suit as personal effects, food and equipment was lowered down to float alongside us or be carried onto the beach.

I watched as the ship—as it barely stopped before turning back to the empty seas. The skies were the calmest I’d ever seen them, no hint of clouds or brewing waters in sight and while I’d never seen such natural beauty in all my twenty-three years—all that would change once we stepped foot onto the beach, a different feeling took over. I wouldn’t describe it as a calm feeling—there was a hint of suffocation, of desperation, of fear. I could feel hundreds of eyes watching us, but no one could be seen; hairs stood up on the back of my neck as I swatted at a few pesky mosquitos—stopping to look back. The ship was slowly heading against the waves—towards what felt like salvation, and I felt the sickening desire to run after it, to stow myself away once more in its putrid bowels and head back to safety, to another life, a different life—a life all these people would soon wish they hadn’t had.

“What’s wrong Thomas…can’t have any regrets now…” John mused, thumping his large hand against my back in a reassuring manner. “We’ve got to check things out, to make sure everything’s good before we can hunker down and start cooking.

Hordes of women gathered in the middle of the beach—sorting through clothes and pots and pans, beginning to start the day. I watched as a few remnants of bobbling apples disappeared in the waves as a handful of tiny pigs ran around chasing after them along the shore. Groups of men, the strongest of the group set out in varying directions as they gathered what food items and wood they could for fire kindling, some hurrying after the bigger of the tiny creatures. It was proving to be a long day already and it hadn’t even begun.

Off in the distance the whistling whirl signaled a familiar change in the air, I smelled rain—go-figure. I couldn’t believe I was standing somewhere on the east coast of the world as I knew it some five-hundred years before. I couldn’t believe it. I had often dreamed of what this day would feel like and yet, here I was, unsure of exactly at what point in time I must have landed—go-figure. Just my luck to be in a place of such isolation; we’d surely have to prepare quickly if we were going to survive the night. Who knew when—or if—that ship would be back and to top it off, bits and pieces of history were starting to come back—I just couldn’t remember if it was good or bad.

Time trickled by; drafts of heavy winds picked up—lifting the tops of trees, howling viciously against their trunks. Hours passed slowly, I kept reaching for my pockets and looking at my empty wrist for the time. There was nothing. A stick in the sand and a few errant shadows told me it was nearing the three-o’clock hour, but as for the day or anything else more solid, I was unsure. My clothes—still damp dried stiffly against my skin as salt water began being replaced with sticky sweat. I wasn’t used to this sort of life; I never thought I was cut out for it. All my years in boy scouts—the badges earned tent camping and white water rafting must’ve accounted for something, right? I looked around; decades of unused skills flooded back in my mind as my body moved instinctively knotting palm-fronds together to cover cracks in the wooden roofs—was this survival? Did my body override my mind in a time of dire need or was I just simply going through the motions?

The sun began to cloud; furious pools of dark, black clouds rolled in blanketing us as crackling bolts of lightning rippled threateningly across the water. I along with twenty or so others shielded ourselves in the ramshackled cabins nearby, candles lit in the middle to keep some semblance of normalcy as we sheltered down for the night.

“Hopefully the ship missed the weather; it seemed to come in from the east, maybe she got lucky…” John called out from his place at a makeshift table. At least we’d had enough time to eat a solid meal—to fill our bellies before Mother Nature took over. “We will have to move inland if the water starts to rise,” a man’s voice called out over the fray—“the waves are really picking up out there, these walls won’t hold much if the wind goes.”

The familiar feeling of dread hung heavy on my shoulders, I knew couldn’t change history no matter how hard I tried. I wasn’t even sure if I’d live long enough to make it back, to report what I’d seen, what had happened. How could I change history, rewrite it, make it better?

I couldn’t be the only living person, the sole survivor? That didn’t make sense, how would I get back, where would I go? What would happen to me now?

I must’ve fallen asleep—a deep, sound, peaceful, sleep though my dreams were much less peaceful, they were filled with things of nightmares, of terror, and to make things worse— when I awoke there weren’t many people around. Ripped clothes, downed foliage, and remnants of luggage lie scattered about; it was a haunting sight. Very few signs of life remained aside from the eerie chirping of birds high overhead. It was as though nothing bad had happened—and who knows—maybe nothing had. I pinched myself—I had to be dreaming.

“We have to make a boat of some sort—a small vessel.” The words came out, not making much sense—“here, start taking apart the structures,” I ordered, looking around, only a handful of people remained. After some discussion it became clear some had left, moving inland while others had likely been swept away. It was a solid miracle I had been left uninjured.

“You, over there—start collecting any loose boards; we have to start while everything is calm. If we are going to survive we need to get a move on…” A few men in the back stalled. John and Phillip started towards them—“we have to survive, we’ve only been here a day and look what’s already happened…”

“Our best bet is to leave—we have to move inland, if I remember correctly there should be a mass of land further that way,” I paused, pointing through the tree line, “we’re on an Island…an Island, we have to leave if we want to survive, we absolutely have to…”

The thoughts seeped fleetingly into my mind as I used spare strips of sheet to secure what I could—enough to corral a makeshift raft. Maybe the ship never intended on coming back for us—it was such a needle in a haystack for them to think they could find us again on such a plain looking island. What were the odds of them coming back—it left everything stacked against us, the remaining settlers—the weather, the lack of supplies, and sickness just to name a few of the immediate pressing concerns and besides, a few stragglers were opting to stay behind. That couldn’t be good, they would last a week at most.

John had stolen a map off of one of the ship-mates that remained on board—it was crudely drawn and didn’t make much sense but from the looks of it if we could survive the short trip by raft over to the mainland, we would need to secure whatever rations we could for the journey. It would be much easier with only a handful of us—four men and three women.

“By the looks of it we will be heading into Native territory if we go to the mainland—we would have to tread lightly,” John whispered as the three of us looked over the map, each focused on a different area. “I think it better that we head towards the Croatian Islands…” John mused, pointing to a much more distant mass of land scattered down the coastline.

“That’s too far,” I whispered, not wanting to frighten the other passengers. I don’t think we can make it on this,” I paused pointing at the narrow raft made of tied logs and spare boards. “We definitely need to find another route, a much shorter route at least until we can muster up something better…more secure.”

“Tom’s right,” one of the women added, pointing to a divot in the map, a hunched inlet near the edge of the mainland on the opposite side of the island than originally discussed.

“That’s too far north,” a second woman mused, her disdain readily apparent. “That’s too far, we won’t make it…”

“I agree, if we’re going to go anywhere it doesn’t make sense to go out of the way…Besides, the water will be much choppier,” Phillip added, concern riddling his face; we were all concerned—scared—and for good reason.

I made the final call, giving a running start as I steered our raft into the crisp foam—deep waves launching our small raft skyward. It would be a battle just to survive the short journey. “Not too much longer now, stay focused, paddle and hold tight,” I heard my voice shout nervously over the salty spray. It was a much easier task said than done. I could feel bits of the raft starting to come undone in the center as we held tighter and paddled harder but it was a losing battle.

“Steady, don’t panic, it will float if we all hold tight, just paddle with your legs and steer straight on towards the tree line, just look to the trees, keep her steady, balanced…” my voice was raspy by the time we crashed into the reedy shoreline. It was a small miracle we’d made it. I sat to rest as three of the woman and one of the men started heading inland.

“We should really stick together.” I yelled after as the last of them disappeared into the trees.

“Thomas, let them go. We will rest for a bit before heading out, can’t stop too long after night falls. The land out here is much more dangerous than the water will be. I reckon the three of us can fare much better on a raft, their dresses weren’t cut out for submersion…and besides, I don’t want to be in the water much longer than we have to, our skin might come off.”

“Our skin…” I looked down, I was already pruning.

“I’m sure someone left behind made some sort of note? I don’t know.” Phillip whispered, despair dripping from his voice as he looked back to the comfort of the island. The truth was I knew—at least if history served me right—that there’d been a couple of carvings left behind, but how accurate they were was to be determined. At this point I wasn’t even sure we would make it out of here alive. Maybe I changed the course of history by even being here? I pushed those fears out of my mind as best I could, there wasn’t much I could do about that now.

Night began to form, we had little to survive on but what could be caught by hand. There weren’t any pigs or squirrels or birds around, no small fish—just frogs and other assorted finds; it wasn’t promising. Off in the distance we could see the tiny flames of a fire roaring off the coast of the island we left behind.

“Can’t go back now…” John mumbled, for the first time his voice cracked with the fear we had all felt at one point or another. We’d finally tied the raft together as best we could before launching her back into the calm waters. The three of us sharing looks of unspoken bravery as we used all our might to secure more broken logs; we tested the raft in shallow water, daring to tread out further and further towards the long smattering of islands to our east. The skies became darker, fading into a glowing midnight blue. The moon lit the path as the sounds of lapping waters lulled us to sleep; by the time I awoke I wasn’t sure how long had passed. I was lying headlong on a beached log, completely alone and unsure of where I was or what had happened to Phillip and John. Spare logs floated down, catching in the marshy grass all down the shoreline. There were no other hint of land to be seen—I looked out on towards the coast line—to where the sun would rise and fall—no trees or mountains or clouds anywhere.

Would they leave me out here to rot? To have my eyes pecked out by sea-gulls, or my toes bitten by stray pigs? Surely not, we’d been through so much already—but then the smell of something filled the air—meat, cooked meat maybe? I couldn’t be quite sure. I quickly gathered my bearings—slinking off into the woods—following the smells of simmering goodness as it led me down a narrow pathway. Whoever it was cooking meant there were people here, maybe John and Phillip had found food?

It was an unlikely thought but I know it's the first thing I would have done. I quietly walked through the woods, maneuvering my waterlogged boots as best I could. I neared to where I smelled food, a primal smell of unseasoned meats cooking over a fire. I began to fear the worst, maybe it was a deer or a rabbit, a small pig or a boar. I wasn't even sure what sort of animals were in these types of places, hell, I didn't even know how to be sure when one was fully cooked. I began to panic—unsure of how I would survive on my own. It hadn't even crossed my mind that I could be food.

Nearing the pit I became oddly aware there weren't many places one could go on this plot of land. It would seem I'd managed to maroon myself on an island of unknown size and shape—I crept closer still, it would seem I stumbled upon a hidden gem, but who's?

The sounds of leaves rustled from nearby—too late—before I knew it I was face-to-face with several oddly familiar looking people.

"Thomas! You came back!!"

"You barely look recognizable...we almost killed you"

"Came back?" I whispered—a blank look on my face.

"Yes, to Wade's Island silly, your Island?" one of the women whispered, pointing above my head. "We've only been living here ten-years or so... you don't remember? You've been here much longer..."

I looked around, sure enough, high above me were the unmistakable sights of tree-houses—there must have been dozens of them—large and small all connected by branched bridges, all very similar to ones I built with my parents and siblings back home...wherever that was.

"But what about Roanoke?" I queried—my eyes peeled to the horizon.

"Roanoke?" one of the younger women replied curiously. "We've never heard of..."

"Oh that place," another answered, "isn't that something you wrote about in one of your stories? You were the only known survivor—or so you say. But, same with us—what would you have done if another ship hadn't crashed? You're very lucky, you'd be all alone if..."

"Yeah," I whispered, "or dead..." The woman continued ignoring my sarcasm—"and what a shame that'd be, at least you have the story to pass along, besides, few who've braved leaving the island must have told it. Ours is much less heroic."

It wasn't the same though, no one could tell it exactly like I could, though—details were a bit fuzzy now, it had clearly been years. I must've hit my head much, much, much harder than I thought.

A woman came up, wrapping her arms around me, her warm lips settling on my cheek. "Darling—you went looking for the island. It's been years, it's probably long gone now...don't you think it's time to move on..."

The familiar sound of thunder cracked overhead—"see ,she curses us still," I whispered as I ran my fingers along a carved stone hidden deep in my pocket—if anyone knew I'd found the desecrated shell they'd surely kill me. All that was left was a few carvings and a crudely painted stone; likely grave-markers for someone like me to find.