Blood and Bone: A Smattering of Unease Read Free

storm. The morning sun hung suspended above the placid South Pacific waters, a bright yellow ball still low enough to spread dawn’s hues of orange and pink throughout the vast oceanic sky.
    As he lowered the binoculars, he caught a brief glimpse of something on the sand, something he had missed in his early morning travels on the beach.
    He picked up a chunk of mango from his breakfast plate and popped it into his mouth, savoring the sweet, cold fruit while he pondered this new thing that had come to rest on his beach. Arms, legs, a head . . . it was human. A rather limp one.
    He set the binocs down on his tray and sipped his coffee.
    He supposed he would have to investigate further. There was no one else to whom he could delegate that task. The lack of “helper humans” on his island demonstrated that people weren’t on his favorite species list. His island was fully automated, and his bots performed their tasks well.
    Troy reluctantly left his deck to get his tablet and drone. He sent the drone down to the beach, where it took video and basic vitals.
    The human flotsam proved to be a young man, about 30 years of age, long-limbed, tan, shaggy sun-bleached hair. The drone registered his heartbeat as well as his breathing.
    Damn! The fact that the castaway was still alive meant that Troy would now have to deal with him. He briefly thought about leaving him on the beach until he got up and found the house on his own, or until tropical storm Rae had her way with him. He pushed the thought away. Karma was a coldhearted bitch, as he well knew; it wouldn’t do to rack up bad karma. It shouldn’t matter to him now, as old as he was, but for some reason, it did.
    He took the elevator down and drove the buggy out to the boardwalk. He didn’t own a bot capable of retrieving a human from the beach. He knew that if the flotsam had any serious injuries, he would be screwed, because all Troy could do was bend at the waist and haul the body into the buggy by his arms and the back of his shirt.
    It took about ten minutes to get the lanky body haphazardly into the buggy so that it wouldn’t slide out again on the fifty-yard drive back to the house. Troy had plenty of upper body strength to go around, and handling the castaway’s body was like handling that of a really big fish – except that he had never handled a 6-foot, 190-lb fish before, and he’d always had a line to reel in.
    He sat for a few moments after dragging the body into the buggy, panting and sweating, letting his heart rate calm. He tried to reach and rub the sharp new knot in the middle of his back. As he did, he looked over and studied the intruder’s face. He hadn’t gotten a good look at the younger man during his earlier exertions. Now, Troy felt a sense of déjà vu at the sight of the broad, tanned face and snub nose.
    He shook the feeling off. The stranger was too young for him to know or to have known during his previous life in the States.
    At the top of the elevator, he maneuvered the dead weight into one of his extra chairs and used his remote to guide it into his “guest” room, where, once again, Troy was faced with heavy lifting. Cursing and muttering under his breath, he managed to get the torso, then legs, entirely onto the guest bed.
    The space between Troy’s shoulder blades complained sharply, and he knew his lower back would have its revenge on him by morning. He’d be lucky if he didn’t end up lying flat in his bed for a week from the abuse he was heaping on his body . . . or at least, what was left of it.
    He clumsily stripped off the stranger’s sodden clothing, which were worn threadbare and bleached nearly transparent from days spent in salt water and exposure to the relentless Pacific sun.
    He didn’t bother trying to dress him; he just left some of his largest, oldest shorts and a t-shirt at the foot of the bed.
    He checked vitals again using the MedScan, which provided a clearer analysis of his conditions than the drone had.