18 Walls

  “Ah, I was gonna help but…” Rick raises an eyebrow. “I guess you didn’t need it.”

  The giant is lying on the ground, gasping like an asthmatic walrus.

  “Knee to the solar plexus?”

  “Yeah,” Rick grins. “Raine? Shouldn’t we…”

  “She’s just about done too. Look.”

  She kicks Sam in the stomach, then spins around and elbows him in the side of his head. Unsatisfied, she turns to the other girl, who’s still staring at Sean in bewilderment. With a grunt of indignation, Raine advances upon her, fire in her eyes. The girl hesitates, then comes to a quick decision. She bolts.

  “Is it…is it over?” Sean’s tousled head pops out from underneath a bunch of straw.

  “No thanks to you,” Raine sniffs.

  “I can’t…I mean, I don’t…” he looks decidedly miserable. “I’m sorry.”

  The door to the training room swings open once more. As one, we turn our heads in its direction, expecting the girl to be back with reinforcements. There are none. But what we see is something much worse than any number of reinforcements. Idphor’s found us all right. Together with the four members of Squad 34 lying on the ground in varying degrees of pain. It takes him ten seconds to read the situation and another ten seconds for the anger to cloud over the disbelief in his eyes.

  An hour later, Raine, Rick and I are in the armoury, armed with an assortment of cleaning materials. Sean barely got off the hook owing to our valiant attempt at reasoning with Idphor that he couldn’t have done much fighting if he was buried in a pile of straw targets. As I’m scrubbing the rust off one of the shelves, I feel a light tap on my shoulder. It’s Raine, her eyes fixed on her own shelf.

  “What? You need the bucket?”

  “Thanks,” she mutters to the shelf.

  “Huh?”

  “For trying to intervene. And trying to prevent this.” She gestures at the armoury. “I guess I should’ve controlled myself a little. Next time, don’t bother stepping in. You’ll get yourself in trouble.”

  “I’d rather get in trouble.”

  She stares at me for a long time, almost longer than when Idphor stared at us after finding us in the training room.

  “Just like that,” she sighs wistfully. “You really…”

  “Just like what?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Wait, can we at least talk about…”

  “Ren,” she interrupts.

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t ask.”

  4

  It’s been six months since the lecture about the Savages. Storm clouds have gathered, smothering out the sun. We’ve got approximately four hours before nightfall and one hour before it rains. We’ve also got nothing but one knife per person and no idea where we are other than the fact that we’re surrounded by trees, somewhere between the ninth and tenth walls. Our boundary has been laid out clearly. To our north is our country’s supply line, the one we use to transport troops to war. This and the zones within two kilometres of the walls are our forbidden areas. Everywhere else is fair game. In order to pass, we are expected to survive two weeks in the jungle while navigating to a set of checkpoints Idphor has set for us. Calling for premature help or extraction means failure. And failure means we’ll have to repeat it again in the near future.

  “We need food, shelter and water. Fast,” Rick says, glancing worriedly at the sky.

  “We can collect rainwater,” April offers. “I could probably make some containers before it rains.”

  “We won’t last a week on rainwater alone,” Raine cautions. “We should try and find a stream.”

  “And risk getting caught out in the rain?” Rick objects. “With wet clothes, we’ll be freezing at night.”

  “Deal with it. You’ll die faster without water.”

  They start bickering.

  “Um…guys, we don’t have time for this.” Sean tries to interject.

  They both turn towards him and he shuts up immediately. Help me, he mouths at me. Stifling a smile, I nod quickly.

  “Why don’t we hole up here for today? We can leave at first light tomorrow,” I suggest. “It won’t hurt to stay dry while looking for our water source.”

  Reluctantly, Raine nods and April scrambles off. It’s not just water we have to worry about. Hunger is a constant companion in the military. No matter how small of an eater you are, once the days of military training take their toll, you’ll be shovelling down food in no time. We’re given approximately 15 minutes for each meal, which, honestly speaking, is barely enough. After the first few meals, I hardly even bother to taste or know what I’m eating any more. Anything more than rice, chicken and broccoli is a blessing. But under our current circumstances, I would give anything for our boring, repetitive meals. Out here, hunger is more than a companion. It’s a persistent and deadly stalker. And so is thirst. With the insidiously approaching storm on our tails, we hurriedly pull together a makeshift lean-to against an overhanging branch of a tree and hunker down to wait it out.

  Within minutes, the storm is upon us and the hastily weaved roof of our shelter begins leaking.

  “This shit isn’t working out!” Raine yells.

  She’s furious. The maddened howling of the wind forces her to raise her voice just to make herself heard.

  “We can’t go in this weather,” Rick reasons.

  “Tell me what the hell is the point of having a shelter if we’re getting wet anyway,” she explodes. “We might as well save ourselves some time and get moving.”

  It’s getting pretty bad. By the look on his face, I can tell that Rick is seconds away from springing that winning smile of his, which, when used on Raine, will probably earn him nothing but a fist to the nose. And so, for the second time today, I step between the two.

  “I’ll go cut up the weaving on half of the shelter and use it to fill in the holes in our roof.” I say. “We’ll just have to squeeze a little.”

  “Is that your guilt speaking?” Raine asks pointedly.

  “Maybe,” I shrug. “Call it whatever you want. But it’s the best choice we have now.”

  She mulls over it, lets out a lugubrious sigh and ushers me towards the entrance of the shelter, a look of exasperation plastered over her features.

  “I’ll help,” Sean volunteers as I step out into the rain.

  “Me too,” April says, but Sean stops her.

  “If that many of us are going to go, we might as well ditch the shelter,” he points out.

  By the time we’re done, Sean and I are soaked to the bone while the others are huddled together under the cramped but waterproof leftovers of our shelter. We squeeze in beside them, shivering as the malevolent wind whips up a frenzied cascade of icy raindrops around us. It would have been beautiful if we weren’t freezing. As I press closer into the shelter, I feel a jab on my arm.

  “You’re touching me,” Raine says.

  “So?”

  “Can you not? You’re cold.”

  “So are you,” I reply. “In more ways than one.”

  Contrary to what I expect, she doesn’t get angry. Doesn’t even look bothered.

  “Get stuffed,” she sniffs. “I hope this passes soon.”

  It does. An hour and a half later, the rain peters to a halt and the sky clears. The dark, heavy clouds dissipate into wispy white globules, trailing across the sky like alabaster tadpoles. We strike our shelter, scatter the remnants and prepare to move. April collects her water catchment devices, which are fashioned out of bamboo. I think it’s safe to say that she’s good with her hands, just not with anything combat-related.

  Thanks to the rain, our water-related problems have been temporarily ameliorated. We take a short drink and leave, heading downhill in hopes of finding a more secure source of water. A stream of some sort would also provide an increased chance of obtaining food.

  The hike through the jungle is more laborious than we had expected. With Raine in front and Rick bringing up the rear, we hack th
rough tangle after tangle of vines, creepers and plants. Spikes. Hairs. Milky sap. The vegetation has it all. It’s as though the entire jungle is out to get us. It’s a couple of hours before we arrive at our very first checkpoint. It’s a benchmark, nothing more than a small bronze plate embedded into a waist-high stone monolith. I don’t know who thought it was a good idea to plant twenty-two of these in the jungle and get soldiers to find them like some sort of twisted Easter egg hunt. It’s almost impossible to navigate in here.

  Eventually, the sound of running water reaches my ears. I’m about to run towards it when something stops me. Ahead, Raine tenses. She feels it too. A presence. Something large is nearby.

  “Is something wrong?” Rick asks furtively.

  He’s seen enough to know that when two people freeze simultaneously without prior discussion, something is very wrong. I hold a finger to my lips. Then, as quickly as it appeared, the presence vanishes. I blink in confusion. Whatever it had been, it was large. And large things don’t usually move that quickly.

  “It’s gone now, whatever that was,” I say, tapping Raine lightly on the shoulder. “We should carry on now.”

  “Cautiously,” she adds.

  We creep the last couple of metres through the jungle and arrive at a clearing. A creek flows through, fed by tiny tributaries. The water is pristine, gurgling merrily as it winds its way down the treacherous terrain. Luck is on our side. There are miniature glass shrimps on the creek bed, waving their immaculate little claws as they scurry from moss-covered rock to moss-covered rock. The shrimps are an especially good sign. It means that the water is fine to drink. It also means food, however miniscule.

  “Ren.”

  Raine is pointing at something. I follow her gaze and my breath catches in my throat. There, on the opposite side of the creek, is a footprint. It was made so recently that the water from the creek is still seeping in even as we stare, unsure of what to do next. Upon closer inspection, I see five distinct toes. There’s no doubt about it. It’s a human footprint. Someone was here just moments ago. But who? And why?

  Before my muddled mind can cough up an explanation, something else catches my eye. Claw marks. A set of eight grotesque scratches spanning the width of a small tree. The sap from the tree hasn’t even solidified yet. Raine notices it too. And by the look on her face, she’s just as clueless as the rest of us. There’s a gasp from behind me as April hastily crosses the creek. She gently runs her hand down the claw marks, a brooding frown creasing her forehead.

  “Wolverine,” she says softly.

  “What the hell is a wolverine doing here?” Rick wonders. “And with a human, no less.”

  “There’s more,” April continues, her eyes scanning the woods beyond the creek. “There are at least eight other trees with similar markings.”

  “Well, maybe someone took his pet wolverine for a walk,” Rick suggests unhelpfully. “None of our concern, right?”

  “I hate to say this, but he’s right,” Raine nods. “It’s not our problem. We’ll just ignore it for now. Don’t forget, we still have over a week to survive out here.”

  I’m about to reply when a loud crashing echoes through the woods. Slightly farther down the creek, a grove of plants parts and a massive monitor lizard thunders through. It sees us but doesn’t hesitate, plunging into the creek. Quick as a flash, Raine flings her knife at it. A direct hit to the throat. Mine strikes less than a second later, entering the lizard’s left eye and exiting from the lower jaw. It comes to an abrupt halt, a crimson tinge gradually spreading into the creek.

  “Dinner,” Raine says with a satisfied smile.

  It’s a good thing the lizard appeared, but I can’t shake the unsettling feeling of unease in my gut. The way it ran and dived into the creek, it was definitely spooked. Something had frightened it. Something which was more threatening than a group of five human beings. And monitor lizards aren’t exactly pushovers either. Especially not one of that size.

  “Let’s go,” Rick picks up the monitor lizard. “We should find a better place to camp.”

  No argument there. As tired as we are, no one wants to risk camping on wolverine territory. We move downstream until the sun starts to dip beyond the horizon before setting up a shelter and making a fire. As the night creeps up on us, we huddle closer to the fire, seeking both warmth and security from the rosy glow of the flames. In the pitch darkness of the night, surrounded by a cacophony of eerie noises, it’s easy to get paranoid. Every snap of a twig heralds a monster and every falling leaf, an aberration. With nothing much to do, we arrange the shifts for our sentry duties. April and I are the first. In the flickering light of the fire, the scars on her face seem more prominent than ever.

  “Wondering how I got these?” she asks, gesturing to her face.

  “No,” I say, looking away quickly. “More along the lines of how you knew the claw marks were from a wolverine.”

  “I spent lots of time in the woods where I used to live,” she explains softly. “I guess I learnt over time.”

  “So those scars came from then?”

  “You were wondering after all,” she smiles.

  Her smile slips.

  “I didn’t get them from any wild animal.”

  “Sorry,” I mutter. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

  “My father was an alcoholic,” she says, waving away my apology. “Sometimes, it makes me wonder why we’re trying to fight something else when our own people are hurting each other.”

  She grabs a branch and tosses it into the fire, which crackles greedily in response. Even with the shadows flickering across the ground, I can see her hand trembling. Some things just can’t be forgotten. She reaches for another branch but doesn’t throw it into the fire. Instead, she brings it down sharply across her knee, snapping it cleanly in two. I get the feeling I shouldn’t have asked about her scars. So I change the topic.

  “What’s your take on the claw marks?”

  “Unnatural,” she replies immediately. “Too large and too high above the ground.”

  Then, almost like an afterthought, she adds, “Oh, by the way, just a quick fun fact, wolverines don’t come this far into the tropics.”

  That’s a sobering statement. It’s one thing to know that a dangerous predator is on the prowl but quite another to know that it isn’t even supposed to be here.

  “So, we’re screwed?”

  “I don’t know,” she sighs. “Let’s just hope it’s nothing to worry about. An escaped animal or something.”

  Thankfully, we make it through the night. Tired and jittery, but, more important, unharmed. Beep. Beep. The strange, alien sound emanates from Rick’s forearm. There’s a small screen with a strap attached to it. That’s where we receive our instructions from Idphor. Raine cranes her neck over his shoulder and studies the screen.

  “Shit. Trust that asshole to spring shit like this on us. It’s fifty-six bloody kilometres south from here.”

  “What?”

  “Our extraction point,” Raine explains. “We have twelve days to get there.”

  “We’ll have to abandon the creek at some point.” April bites her lip, her eyebrows furrowed with worry. “It’s only a matter of time.”

  “Cross that bridge when it comes,” Raine says. “For now, we should follow it as closely as possible.”

  The little creek widens as we hike downstream, merging with another to form a river. We spend nine days sticking to its banks like limpets on a rock, living off it for food and water. Our meals depend on animal traps and wooden fish hooks attached to hand-woven line. A couple of times, we encounter slightly more dangerous species of wildlife such as crocodiles and wild boars. Each time, Raine seems to relish the challenge of bringing them down. Fortunately, the meat they provide is well worth the effort it takes to slaughter them. Roasted crocodile actually tastes pretty good too, if you can ignore the coating of ash on it. Those are good days. On bad days, we find ourselves scavenging for whatever we
can get our hands on. Insects, primarily. And if we can’t start a fire, we eat them as they are. To avoid such days as much as possible, we make ourselves bows, arrows and spears from fallen branches and vines. This, I think, is the aim of the entire two weeks in the jungle. To force us to enable ourselves by utilising the environment.

  On the tenth day after we received the location of our extraction point, we take all the water we can carry from the river and separate from its banks. It now feels strange walking without the river chugging along by my side. Our water-related concerns are back too. As always, Raine marches in front. She seems to want to get to the extraction point as quickly as possible, even though we’re ahead of schedule. I should be next, but I’m helping Sean at the back. The 12 days in the jungle have taken their toll on him. Although his mop of unruly hair still covers most of his face, the dark rings around his eyes are unmistakable. That aside, he looks drained. There’s one thing I’ve noticed about him, though. The guy never quits. He’s never once asked for a break. Maybe it’s due to the fear of incurring Raine’s wrath but even so, he’s got some serious willpower. Despite looking like a zombie, he plods on silently anyway.

  “Ren.” Raine’s voice interrupts my thoughts. “Come here for a moment.”

  I realise they’ve come to a momentary halt. She, April and Rick are squinting in one direction. As I approach, she lifts a hand and points.

  “What the heck is that?”

  For a moment, I can’t see anything. It’s just a mess of green. Then, something moves. It’s far away, too far for me to make out any details. But it’s clearly bipedal with a number of appendages sprouting from its back.

  “I don’t know.”

  “It’s a Savage, I’m telling you,” Rick whispers excitedly. “There’s nothing else in here that resembles that.”

  “What the hell are you so happy for?” Raine hisses. “We don’t even have guns.”

  “We should go,” I say slowly. “Before anything happens, we need to get out of here.”

  They stare at me as if I just insulted their great ancestors.

  “Don’t you want to know what it is?”