Forbidden Island

by Jeremy Robinson

  The three men waited in silence. Even Winston had been caught up in the idea of life everlasting, and he didn’t look thrilled by Talia’s rebuttal.

  “I’ve lived with tribes like this before. I’ve seen their rituals. I’ve communed with spirits. I’ve seen things…I’ve felt things, that you wouldn’t believe. But none of it was real. The tribal people didn’t have the scientific knowledge to understand their experiences, but I did then, and still do now. And I’ve been on enough trips to know when my mind is being screwed with.”

  “Trips?” Mahdi asked. “How does travel—”

  “Drug trips,” Rowan says. “She’s saying that all of this is…” He turned to Talia. “What? A hallucination?”

  “I haven’t taken any drugs,” Winston said. “And I sure as shit would know if I’d been roofied.”

  “It’s the smoke,” Talia said. “Every time we’ve seen or experienced something strange, the smoke has been present. Even in the rain. That fragrant smell is ever present.”

  Not down here, Rowan thought. If Talia was right, perhaps that’s why the cave felt so oppressive. Maybe they were coming down from a high now that they were free of the smoke? Their bodies could be craving more. It also explained the lack of inhibitions, and why he was now feeling a little too naked in his underwear. The fading effects were triggering his shame.

  “But we’re all seeing the same thing,” Mahdi asked.

  “Only you saw the Flaming Sword text,” Talia pointed out. “And it just happened to be a text you could read.”

  “Emmei saw—”

  “Emmei is dead,” Talia said. “We don’t know what he saw.”

  “And the Cherub?” Rowan asked. He didn’t see how they could all see something like that. “Is it a mass hallucination?”

  “When people are hallucinating, they’re in a very impressionable state. The Cherub could simply be a Sentinelese man in costume.”

  “But his height?” Mahdi said.

  “Stilts,” Talia said. “The eyes could be painted. The point is, we could be seeing what they want us to see. They’ve had more than enough time to perfect the technique. We can’t trust anything we see. The Sentinelese are just people, but if we’re smelling that smoke, they’ll be whatever they, and our cultural understanding of what we’re seeing, tells us they are.”

  She pointed from Mahdi, to Rowan, and then to herself. “All three of us were brought up being taught the Eden story. It’s not a big mental leap for our imaginations to make the connection. You might have even consciously thought of this place as ‘an Eden.’”

  Rowan raised his hand, feeling a little ashamed for connecting these same dots earlier, and for presenting the Eden theory at all. “I did.”

  It had all felt so right, and it made sense of what they’d experienced, even if it didn’t make sense to the modern mind. The part of him that still enjoyed those old Bible stories wanted the island to be Eden, but grown-up Rowan, free from the smoke’s hallucinogenic effects, knew it wasn’t. “What about the healing?”

  Talia shrugged. “Maybe the smoke has a coagulant effect? Our bodies are covered in the stuff. It’s in our blood. It could be dulling the pain, too. I might be on the scientific fringe, but I still believe in science, and all of this can be explained without jumping on the supernatural short bus.”

  “Okay, I’ve heard enough,” Winston said. “Never thought the jungle queen would be the rational one, but here we are. How about we get back to forming a plan?”

  “Already have one, but you’re not going to like it.” Talia frowned. “None of us will.”

  39

  While the others argued about when to leave the cave, Mahdi stepped deeper into it. Winston’s large, wet shirt had been torn into four lengths of fabric. Talia’s plan was simple. The wet cloth would protect them from the smoke’s hallucinogenic properties and allow them to see the Sentinelese for who they really were. If they could do that, and make it to the beach, perhaps they could survive. It wasn’t really a plan. More of a tactic. But everyone agreed it was better than waiting to rot in the cave.

  Winston had been reluctant to give up his shirt, but he couldn’t deny it made sense. When he removed the shirt, it became clear that it wasn’t his fat belly, long stretch marks, or copious amount of hair for which he was ashamed. It was the tattoo covering the large canvas that was his back: a Viking shield maiden with angel wings, riding a griffin. Not only did the image mix mythologies, but also amazing artistic skill with poor taste. Aside from her shield, the woman was naked and in the throes of passion, one hand lowered to her crotch. Everyone agreed that when they made their escape, Winston would go last, so the image on his back wouldn’t distract those behind him.

  Mahdi squinted into the darkness. The light streaming down through the root gaps overhead wasn’t quite enough to see by. He waited for his eyes to adjust and moved deeper. The others were fifty feet behind him, but it felt like he was stepping through a portal to another world.

  The air chilled, sending a shiver through his body.

  A deep sense of wrongness burrowed into his gut.

  It’s just a cave, he told himself, and then he stopped. A withered, twisted tree stood before him. It grew up into the ceiling, its coiled, witch-finger branches merging with the roots system above. The blackened tree wasn’t just dead. It radiated death.

  But it was just a tree. He crouched by its trunk. It looked burned. He reached out and touched his finger to the bark. Part of him expected an electric shock or a supernatural explosion, but it was just the charred remains of some ancient fire. Free of the smoke’s effects, old trees were just old trees.

  There were footprints at the base of the tree. Two sets. One larger than the other. The ground was as dry as the tree here. The prints were old. He followed them around the tree, but stopped short of pursuing them deeper into the hollow.

  “Mahdi,” Talia whispered. She stood beneath the beams of dull light, easy to see. “Where are you?”

  “Here,” he replied, moving back the way he’d come. “There is a tree.”

  “Great,” Talia said. “A tree on an island covered in trees. Good job.”

  He smiled at her sarcasm. “This tree is special.”

  “We decided to leave before dark,” she said. “That means now.”

  “If Ambani isn’t already looking for us, we’ll need to survive the night. That will be easier if we’re hard to see.” Mahdi held out his finger, revealing the streak of ash.

  Talia looked around Mahdi, eyed the tree, and then snapped her fingers at Rowan and Winston, who were hovering near the entrance. The two men appeared to be getting along fine. Neither had lingered on the fact that Winston had planned, and tried, to kill them all, and Mahdi was thankful for that, because he had played a part. They were professionals. Survivors. But Mahdi had little doubt that once they were free of the island, one of the two men would kill the other…and then perhaps Mahdi.

  As Rowan and Winston approached, Mahdi returned to the tree and snapped off several branches. They were dry and brittle despite the moisture in the air, the tree’s charcoal form resistant to decay. He returned with four large chunks and handed them out. “For your skin.”

  “I don’t think the natives have any concept of racism,” Winston said, “But they might not appreciate us going all black face.”

  Mahdi replied, “It’s to—”

  “I know what it’s for, Mahd-man.” Winston began rubbing the charcoal on his arm. “It was a joke.”

  Ten minutes later, they were all coated in a layer of dry black.

  “Won’t this just wash off in the rain?” Rowan asked, looking down at himself.

  “Charcoal stains skin,” Talia said. “You’ll need a lot of soap and water to get it off, and even then, you’ll probably have to wait for your outer skin layers to be replaced before you return to your pasty white self again.”

  Rowan’s smile came and went with the quickness of the lightning flashing overhead, sending strobe
s of light through the holes in the ceiling. “Let’s go.”

  They headed toward the overgrown entrance, wet cloths tied around their mouths and noses. Rowan and Winston were both unarmed, and both insisted they could manage. Talia had her blowgun and two remaining darts. And Mahdi carried the spring-loaded knife, still stained with Rowan’s blood. It wasn’t an impressive arsenal, but it would have to be enough.

  When Rowan parted the grass, revealing the jungle beyond, they all knew it wasn’t nearly enough.

  Instead of seeing a green jungle, all they could see were Sentinelese. Women stood beside their grown children, holding the babies, some of whom were nursing. The women with free hands held arrows. Then there were the men, wielding bows, arrows, and spears, all of them thrusting their genitals. The air was clouded with swirling smoke, lit like a dance party by the flashing lightning cutting through the canopy gaps.

  They knew we were here, Mahdi thought. They’ve just been waiting for us.

  Rowan let the grass fall back in place and turned around, shock in his eyes. “Shit.”

  “On the plus side,” Winston said, “with all that smoke, they’ve got to be tripping balls.”

  “High or sober, we can’t fight our way past all of them,” Rowan said.

  “We’ve got them bottlenecked,” Winston said. “Let them come to us. We’ll take them out, one at a time as they come in.”

  “There had to be more than a hundred of them out there.” Talia inserted one of her last two darts into her blowgun. “I think they’ll stop sending people in, and maybe you haven’t noticed, but they’ve been waiting, and still are waiting, for us to come out. They’re primitive, not stupid.”

  “Maybe the cave is sacred or something?” Winston asked.

  “Or…” Talia’s struggle to remain calm was etched on her face. “They’re just not stupid.”

  While they argued, Mahdi wandered back into the cave. He inspected the roots overhead. He might be able to cut through the roots with the knife, but it would take a long time, maybe days, and he’d only be able to reach them if he was standing on someone’s shoulders. He turned to the darkness beyond, where the charred tree remained locked in time. Maybe there is another way out, he thought, and then he spoke the words aloud.

  “What?” Talia asked, still standing guard by the entrance with Rowan and Winston.

  “Maybe there is another way out.” He pointed into the darkness. “There are footprints by the tree. Old footprints. They head in the opposite direction.”

  “For all we know they died at the back of the cave,” Winston said. “If we leave the bottleneck, there won’t be anything to stop all of them from coming in.”

  “Except that they’re not even trying,” Rowan said.

  Winston threw up his hands. “That could change.”

  “There are no footprints approaching the tree from this side of the cave,” Mahdi pointed out. “They come and go from the other end.”

  Talia struck out for the tree. “Good enough for me.”

  Mahdi followed.

  “Have fun with the bottleneck idea,” Rowan said and fell in line.

  Talia paused by the tree to inspect the barely visible footprints. She crouch-walked like an ape, finding the approaching path, and then the path leading away. “A man and a woman. They walked in. Hurried out, like they were afraid.”

  “Probably because this is a nightmare tree,” Winston said, stepping beneath the branches. “Now let’s find out where the footprints lead before they try to bum-rush us.”

  Talia led the way, crouched down, hands gliding over the footprints. She stopped when it was nearly too dark to see her. She reached out to Rowan. “Take my hand. We’re operating blind from here out.” She looked back to Mahdi and Winston. “Same to both of you.”

  Mahdi took Rowan’s hand and reached back for Winston, who said, “Kinky,” and then held on.

  They moved through the darkness, squatting low like a centipede. There were no sounds of pursuit, but Mahdi wasn’t sure there would be. He could feel the footprints beneath him as they moved. They felt chaotic and confused, the spread between them widening as the people’s hurried walk had become a run.

  Mahdi bumped into Rowan, who had stopped, and was then bowled over by Winston.

  “Shh,” Talia whispered. “Up ahead.”

  The faintest spear of light cut through the air ahead of them, in part because it was small, but also because the light outside was already dull. How much time had passed in the dark? How long before the sunrise?

  They moved slower at first, and then as a patchwork of small holes appeared directly ahead, they hurried. Able to see again, they separated and approached a thin, but overgrown wall of roots, too congested to squeeze through.

  “The roots must have grown over the entrance after these people left,” Rowan said.

  “Unless the cave wasn’t here at all.” Talia tugged on the roots. “They’re dead.”

  Mahdi held his knife out. “We can cut through.”

  “Will take too long.” Winston stood up. Gripped the roots in his hands. Gave them a pull. “I can get us through. But it’s going to be loud.”

  A rumble of thunder peeled across the sky above.

  “Just time it right,” Rowan said, peeking through the gaps. “I don’t see anyone out there, but we’re going to have to run like hell. We’re only a few hundred feet from the Sentinelese, and they could have patrols.”

  Winston leaned forward, a football defenseman waiting for the snap. “Just tell me when.”

  Lighting flashed.

  “Now!” Rowan said.

  Winston charged and threw himself at the wall of roots. Thunder thumped through the sky, merging with the crack of old wood and the wet splat of Winston landing in mud on the far side. What it failed to conceal was his shout of surprise when the muddy ground, gravity, and a steep grade conspired to propel him downhill.

  “Let’s go!” Rowan said, tightening his facemask. He slid down the hill after Winston.

  Talia and Mahdi exited together, glancing downhill. It was just a fifteen foot drop before the angle became gentle. A layer of smoke lay below, held down by the storm’s wind and humidity. They fixed their masks, slid down together and were helped up by the two soot-and-mud-covered men at the bottom.

  The smoke was thick enough to sting Mahdi’s eyes, but he had yet to smell it through the saturated fabric.

  “Just keep moving downhill and we’ll reach the ocean.”

  A shadow in the corner of Mahdi’s eye tugged his attention, back and up. He stumbled back and would have fallen if not for Rowan’s quick hands.

  “Mahdi, watch your—”

  “I don’t think the masks are working.” Mahdi’s gaze remained locked on the hilltop from which they’d emerged. The others followed his eyes and tensed as one.

  Standing above the ragged hole torn by Winston, was the Cherub, watching them through dozens of unblinking eyes, each of them making eye contact with one of the four of them. Its massive body, both muscular and emaciated, twitched with energy. The broad chest swelled with each deep breath, hissing out between clenched teeth, louder than the rain. The spines on its back spread wide, like an insect threat display. Loose skin hung from the spines, like molting flesh, but Mahdi suspected it would soon be stretched wide, granting the creature the ability to fly.

  It’s not real, he told himself. It’s a hallucination.

  And then the Sentinelese joined the monster, standing on either side of it, adding their own unblinking eyes to the power of the creature’s. They were real. All of them.

  An infant shrieked, its mouth wide, revealing teeth where there should have been none. The mother cupped her baby in one hand, cocked it back and then let it fly, shrieking all the way.

  “Run!” Rowan shouted, and it was the Sentinelese who obeyed first. Arrows and spears flew, while warriors, women, children, and babies either ran or were thrown toward them. Behind them all, the Cherub raised its arms to the sky, w
here lightning cut through the clouds, and even more children scurried down the trees.

  40

  Ten seconds after shouting, ‘Run,’ Rowan was frustrated by his inability to do so. His slowness wasn’t from a lack of effort, or a shortage of heart-pounding adrenaline. It was caused by the thick jungle, which seemed in league with the Sentinelese. Branches scratched his arms. Large leaves obscured his view and slapped his face. Twisting roots stumbled him. Pain was progress’s price, but he was willing to pay it. To tarry was death.

  “I thought these things were going to protect us from the smoke,” Winston complained, pulling the fabric away from his face while barreling through a short palm, uprooting it.

  “We’re soaking wet,” Talia said. She was leading the group now, moving in and around the foliage rather than charging through it. “It’s sticking to our bodies. Whatever the active chemical is, it’s breaking through the skin barrier to reach the bloodstream. Short of a biohazard suit, nothing can be done about it.” She ducked under a low hanging branch that Winston crashed through a moment later.

  “I fail to see,” Mahdi said between heavy breaths, as he brought up the rear, “how any of this matters. Just go!”

  Mahdi’s urging was punctuated by a three foot arrow that punched through a large leaf and thunked into a tree just a foot away from Rowan’s head. He grabbed the arrow as he ran by, hoping to pull it free. But the long shaft broke, leaving the arrowhead—a potential weapon—buried in the wood.

  The jungle around them filled with the sounds of shot and thrown projectiles, small scurrying feet and the sound of a hundred people chasing them down, not to mention the rain-created white noise and the boom of thunder.

  Of all the ways Rowan had pictured his death, something like this was not on the list. Until being banished from the Rangers, he had always imagined dying in battle, like an ancient Norseman. But those images usually involved a more desolate landscape of the Middle East, not a tropical jungle, and not at the hands of an ungodly, mind-bending, primitive tribe.