Savages

by Greg F. Gifune

  “But—”

  “Strength in numbers,” Dallas said before further argument could ensue. “Right?”

  Quinn brushed a strand of sweaty hair from her forehead. “Let’s hope so.”

  “Herm,” Gino said, “take point.”

  Rather than responding with one of his typical wisecracks, Herm dutifully headed through the opening, letting his torch light the way ahead.

  Harper latched onto Gino’s arm, clinging to it with both hands. Gently as he could, he loosened her grip, and instead, took her by the hand and led her through the partially open doorway. Dallas and Quinn pulled up the rear, so one torch led the way into the darkness and the other lit an area behind them.

  Moving gradually but decisively, Herm swept the torch back and forth in slow deliberate arcs, illuminating as large an area as possible. “What the hell’s all over the floor?” He came to an abrupt stop and held the torch down by his leg. “Something’s crunching under my feet with every step.”

  “I thought it was sand,” Dallas said.

  “No, look.”

  A large amount of the substance lined an area in front of the doorway and continued a few feet into the room. It looked a bit like sand but the color was wrong and the grains were larger, thicker than sand.

  “Is that salt?”

  “Yeah, I think it is.” Gino pressed a thumb into it and hesitantly brought it to his mouth. Touching it with the tip of his tongue, he looked to the others and nodded.

  “Why would there be so much salt all over the floor?” Dallas asked.

  “Spillage?”

  “No, the pattern is too deliberate.”

  “Maybe a religious thing,” Quinn offered.

  “Salt is used in a lot of Japanese magic and religious rituals.” Herm moved the torchlight slowly along the floor. “It’s usually used to cleanse an area of evil spirits or that kind of thing, far as I know. When it’s around doorways or windows, it’s usually for preventing evil to enter or exit an area, I think.”

  Quinn looked away and raised her torch higher, broadening the light around them. “Because this place wasn’t already creepy enough.”

  “My best guess is they performed some sort of ritual here.” Herm reached for a small brocade bag resting atop the salt. Inside, he found a thin rectangular piece of wood covered in red silk. The sides on one end of the wood were slanted rather than squared off, and attached to the silk were several small pieces of paper bearing Japanese characters. “Pretty sure this is a talisman designed to ward off evil, or for protection, that kind of thing. I don’t remember the term for these things, but they’re a fairly standard item in Shinto and Buddhism. These little papers are probably prayers or incantations of some sort.”

  “I don’t want to be in here,” Harper whined, attaching herself to Gino again.

  “Easy.” He wrapped an arm around her. “I got you.”

  “Whatever was going on,” Herm said, standing, “they were worried about it enough that they tried to purify the area on the way out.”

  “I don’t think it worked,” Quinn said. “Purified isn’t exactly the vibe I’m getting from this place.”

  Herm aimed his torch at the darkness ahead. The flame revealed countless scraps of paper and other office supplies littering the floor beyond the carpet of salt, as well as several pieces of furniture—mostly chairs, small tables and file drawers—scattered about. A large drum of some kind, possibly for gasoline, lay on its side directly in their path. “Careful.” He pointed it out, led everyone around it, then crouched down again and scooped up a handful of papers from the floor. “Looks like mostly forms and parts of reports,” he said, shining his torch on them for a better look. “From the markings it’s definitely official military paperwork of some kind, but I don’t have clue what any of it says.”

  Quinn used her torch to cast light on the walls. Though pitted and worn, thus far, they were the same as the rest of the building and most of its contents—remarkably well-preserved. Unlike most of the outpost, the island had not reclaimed this place, and it had been sealed shut for so long, it was as if time had simply stopped within these walls, preserving things nearly as the Japanese forces had left them.

  The air was thinner here, and it was far cooler than outside, but an unpleasant odor hung around them like a fog. A slowly tightening noose, the claustrophobic feel to the low ceilings and dense walls, the surrounding darkness and the ghosts that surely watched them from the shadows across all those years, grew stronger and more oppressive the deeper into the building they went.

  Quinn’s torch settled on a large rising sun flag on the far wall, the colors faded. As the light continued along the wall, it revealed shelves still stocked with various items, mostly bottles and small boxes. Although covered in a thick film of dust, everything appeared to be intact. She moved closer, carefully chose a bottle from one of the shelves, blew the dust off of it and tried to get a closer look at the label. Replacing it to the shelf, she looked over a few other items then turned to the others. “These are medical supplies.”

  “Was this a hospital?” Gino asked.

  “There’s no way they’d have a hospital this size at an island outpost,” Herm answered for her. “Maybe this part of it was used as a sickbay kind of thing, though.”

  “Keep moving.” Gino, still holding Harper’s hand, motioned for Herm to continue.

  Herm dropped the papers and pushed his torch into the darkness awaiting them.

  Shadows slid along the walls, dust motes spiraled in the torchlight, and all the sounds from the ocean and jungle they’d grown accustomed to could no longer be heard this deep into the building. Other than their breath and footfalls, it was deathly quiet. Once inside these old walls, the outside world ceased to exist in any meaningful way.

  They moved through an open doorway, the door itself resting on the floor a few feet away, badly damaged and looking as if it had been forcibly removed from its hinges then tossed aside.

  Once into the next room, they encountered a series of tables, chairs, small cabinets and metal counters. As Herm lowered the torch toward the only table still standing upright, the light fell upon a pair of leather shackles. Built directly into the table, there were two sets, one for hands and another for feet.

  “You guys seeing this?”

  “Okay, this was definitely some sort of medical building,” Quinn said. “But…”

  “What’s with the restraints?” Dallas asked.

  Quinn held her torch lower, sweeping it to illuminate the floor. Like the others before it, it was covered in papers and debris. But here, there was something more.

  Photographs.

  She bent down and picked one up, and then another and another.

  Black-and-white, grainy and badly faded with age, they were otherwise undamaged. The first several revealed the room they were now standing in, and a shot of a man shackled to one of the beds. In the photographs, a clearly crazed and sickly looking young Japanese soldier was strapped down but struggling to free himself, a look of abject terror on his pale face, his mouth open wide and twisted, the camera having evidently captured him in mid-scream. In the final photograph, blood smears emanating from the man’s eyes stained his cheeks in wide swaths, his abdomen was split and held open with some sort of metal contraption, his intestines in full view across his lap and along the table. Attached to the photograph was a single sheet report of some kind.

  “Jesus,” Quinn said softly, handing them over so the others could see them too.

  Gino squinted at them through the poor lighting. “What the hell is this?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Dallas studied the photographs once Gino had passed them to him. “What in God’s name were they doing out here?”

  “ Whatever it was,” Herm said, looking over his shoulder at them, “I don’t think it had anything to do with God.”

  “Torture?”

  “Possibly.” As the photos were returned to her Quinn dropped them back
to the floor, no longer wanting to touch them. “Or medical experiments, maybe, I don’t know.”

  “People think of the Nazis when it comes to human experimentation,” Herm said, “but the Japanese were involved in that shit too. It was called Unit 731. Hideous stuff. We’re talking chemical and biological warfare, vivisections, rape and forced pregnancy, depriving people of food, water and sleep, injecting them with all sorts of diseases and other poisons, syphilis, anthrax, bubonic plague, cholera, the whole—”

  “I think we get it,” Quinn said.

  “There were rumored to be occult ties to certain factions too.”

  “Occult?”

  “Experiments that supposedly yielded results, contact with unknown entities and other realities, that kind of thing. The Nazis reported similar things.”

  “Sounds like folklore to me.”

  “Could be. Who knows?”

  “And the Japanese did these experiments on their own people?” Dallas asked.

  “Mostly Chinese and Koreans, prisoners of war, but in some cases, yeah, they even experimented on their own soldiers. A lot of women and children were used too. We’re talking about evil on an almost unimaginable level.”

  “I’ve never heard any of this. Were the people involved tried for war crimes?”

  “The Russians tried a few, if I remember correctly.”

  “What about us?” Dallas pressed.

  “We gave them immunity in exchange for their results and data. Under the American occupation, members of Unit 731 walked free.”

  “Unbelievable,” Gino said.

  Quinn rubbed her temples with her free hand. “My God.”

  “Yeah.” Herm looked around and wearily shook his head. “Thing is I don’t remember anything about island outposts being used. Most of these things took place in facilities in Japan. I mean, look, I’m reciting what I remember from college a million years ago and some of my own research, okay? I’m not an expert on this by any stretch of the imagination.”

  “Could this have been some sort of satellite program?” Quinn asked.

  “It’s possible, an offshoot, maybe. Let’s face it, if you were doing things you never wanted anyone to know about, this’d be a great place to do it.”

  No one spoke for a while, and the eerie silence returned, engulfing them.

  “All right,” Gino finally said, “let’s keep moving.”

  Herm swept his torch back and forth along the floor and walls, revealing another doorway leading to a dark corridor beyond. With a quick fearful look over his shoulder at the others, he turned and led them through the room and into the hallway.

  Narrow and confining, they had to fall into single-file in order to negotiate the corridor. Above them, old light fixtures encased in metal cages lined the ceiling, the walls and floors bare. Like a tomb, it engulfed them, and even with the light from the torches, the darkness seemed different here, deeper and more menacing.

  The first side room they came to was small and cramped, with a bank of electronics and communications equipment along the walls. Old and covered in dust and cobwebs, the equipment had been purposely smashed and broken apart. On the floor just inside the doorway they found the likely culprit, a large metal ax.

  Tossing his club aside, Gino retrieved the ax and inspected it.

  “They destroyed all their communications and radio equipment,” Dallas said. “Why would they do that?”

  “It’s not that unusual, actually,” Herm explained. “It’s a fairly common practice in wartime when abandoning this sort of equipment.”

  “This is a game changer.” Gino smiled broadly, holding up the ax as if in evidence. “It’s almost like new. Not only a good weapon, but one hell of a tool. It’s gonna make things a lot easier.”

  Quinn’s torch found an overturned chair near the corner, likely something the radio operator had used. But as she moved closer, focusing the flame on the floor around it, she noticed something more.

  “Christ, that’s blood,” Dallas said.

  An enormous dark blood stain covered most of the chair and the cement floor surrounding it. A good deal of spatter lined not only the nearest wall, but had sprayed across the ceiling as well. Long absorbed into the walls and floor, the stain had turned dark over time, but the sheer size of it was shocking.

  “I don’t want to be in here,” Harper said again. “I want to leave.”

  Ignoring her, they all moved back into the corridor and continued on, deeper into the building. Harper never left Gino’s side, still holding his hand tight.

  The flames licked the walls, flickering through the shadows and darkness, but the corridor seemed more claustrophobic and confining than ever. The floor was littered with more papers, but something in particular stood out. Herm bent down and picked it up.

  “What the hell?”

  “What’s wrong? What is it?”

  He held up a tattered and faded magazine. A young Katherine Hepburn graced the cover, which was dated January 6, 1941 and had a price of ten cents. “A copy of LIFE Magazine,” Herm said.

  Gino raised an eyebrow. “Why would there be an American magazine here?”

  “No idea. Strange.”

  “Could American forces have been here at some point too?” Dallas asked.

  “Seems doubtful. I mean, there’s nothing else I’ve seen that would indicate that, but…”

  “But?”

  “Well, like Gino said, why would this be here? There were no Americans on the island, not even POWs from what we’ve seen. And even if there were, where the hell would a copy of LIFE Magazine with Katherine Hepburn on the cover have come from?”

  “Who’s Katherine Hepburn?” Harper asked quietly.

  But for a quick sideways glance from Herm, they ignored her.

  “Maybe it had something to do with one of the experiments,” Dallas said.

  “Possible, I guess.”

  “Can I see it?” Quinn asked.

  Herm handed it to her.

  She stared at it. Had she seen this magazine before somewhere?

  Dallas sensed her discomfort. “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know. I…” Had she dreamed of this?

  “It’s definitely out of place,” Herm said through a heavy sigh. “Makes no sense.”

  “You’re right. It doesn’t.” Quinn tossed it back to the floor. “Let’s keep moving.”

  They followed the corridor for several more feet. Eventually, it led to another room, this one the largest of any they’d encountered thus far.

  “Okay,” Herm said just above a whisper. “We’ve got bodies.”

  The skeletal remains of two Japanese soldiers lay on the floor just inside the doorway, one with a rifle by his side and a gasmask still covering his face, the other clutching a gasmask in one hand and a rifle in the other. The gasmasks, made of rubber and covered in some sort of mesh fabric, had oversized goggle-like eye pieces, giving the long dead soldier a disturbingly alien and frightening appearance.

  “Gasmasks,” Dallas muttered. “That can’t be good.”

  “We shouldn’t be in here,” Harper said in her tiny voice.

  Quinn angled her torch deeper into the room. Several human skulls and bones, some still inside uniforms, others not, lay scattered about, along with more paperwork, cans, boxes and additional photographs. As the light crept across the room, it stopped on one skull in particular. There were still strands of hair stuck to it.

  Alongside it lay a machete.

  Dallas scooped it up. It was heavy and filthy, but intact. He held it up to show the others.

  “Nice,” Gino said. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

  Herm took another step, realized he was standing on something, and held the torch down so he could get a better look. Dog tags on a chain lay beneath one of his sneakers. “There must be—what—six or seven bodies in here?”

  As she slowly swept her torch through the room, Quinn stopped briefly on a bank of file cabinets that lined the back wall, th
en another examination table in the corner. There appeared to be something on it, so she moved closer.

  A hideously decayed face pierced the darkness, as if it had lurched out at her.

  “Jesus!” she said, stumbling back.

  Herm replaced her light with his. The body lay face-up on the table, head turned to the side and facing them, legs still in restraints. Partially mummified and clad in what remained of a tattered and bloody uniform, the body appeared to have been a young man who, if his open mouth was any indication, had died screaming. His hands were buried in his abdomen up to the wrists.

  “This man tore into his own stomach,” Quinn said softly. “Imagine the things you’d have to do to someone to make them rip their own guts out.”

  Dallas picked up some photographs at his feet, and standing close to Quinn so he could benefit from the light from her torch, rifled through them, tossing them back to the floor as he moved from one to the next. Each depicted various test subjects on the beds, and many looked to have been tortured and mutilated to a point where they were barely recognizable as human. Some had been outfitted with strange metal faceplates that appeared to have been drilled or screwed directly into their skulls, while others had something resembling a metal horse bit fastened to their mouths and jaws. Others still looked as if they’d had their eyes removed and had been skinned alive. “Most of these guys look like they’re still kids,” he said, gagging. “Late teens, early twenties at most. They look…Christ, they look…”

  “Possessed,” Gino said, looking over Dallas’s shoulder at the last photograph in his hand. “They look fucking possessed, like something out of the goddamn Exorcist. Look at his face, his eyes, or what’s left of them.”

  “Extreme pain does strange things to people.”

  Gino turned to Herm. “What was this occult shit you were talking about before they were supposedly doing?”

  “I don’t—I’m not an—I don’t know the specifics, really.” He ran the back of his free hand across his mouth and drew a deep breath. “The whole Unit 731 thing is something I cover in my class when we’re on World War II. But it’s like three minutes, basic, general stuff. I told you, I’m not an expert on this. All I know is from some of the things I’ve read there were offshoots of the program that dealt with the occult.”