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The Island Part Twelve
The night of reckoning has finally arrived
In less than a few minutes we reached the beachhead and the chapel for ancient mariners and lost souls. I briefly wondered how many of those who perished on the nearby rocks found solace in heaven and how many had the misfortune to run up against Mister Bitter Almonds. A cool breeze blew in off the Atlantic Ocean. I secretly hoped it was not an ill wind. In less than a minute Kell had the rusty, decrepit padlocked door open and we went inside.
Inside was sparse, to say the least. A simple altar, two small pews, a crucifix and a font full of holy water.
Kell took his martial arts weapon and the grenades out of the bag and secreted them inside his protective jacket. However, not before superstitiously dipping them in the font of holy water.
“ You never know what you might run up against around here on a night like this. Every little helps, huh,” he said grinning.
“ Ok, let’s go. You tuck in behind me and keep your ears open for anything untoward behind us.”
The figurehead museum was but a five-minute walk down a little-used dirt track, a track Kell seemed to know well, much to my relief.
The idea that Bitter Almonds might not actually be human did occur to me more than once. Maybe he…
