Savages

by Greg F. Gifune

  And then she began to fall.

  It wasn’t until she plummeted down and crashed into the ground that she realized she’d run right off the edge of a precipice, the literal end of one side of the island, and was now tumbling and rolling violently down the severely slanted, rocky and vine-covered terrain. With astounding velocity, she bounced along, occasionally finding air only to crash back to earth and tumble further down, the air forced from her lungs, her grip on the ax lost. Barely conscious, she bounced and slammed down the side of the crag for what seemed an eternity, finally splashing down into some wet sand along a small and narrow stretch of beach.

  Quinn lay there a moment, unable to move.

  From somewhere above, there came a deafening blast that shook the ground beneath her and sent dirt, rocks and debris showering down all around her.

  Turtling, she covered her head, waiting until the rain had ceased.

  Slowly, the pain returned, moving through, searing and tearing at her as with tremendous effort, Quinn pushed herself up to her knees. Spitting dirt and grass from her mouth, she looked around, tried to get her bearings and clear her head. After a few seconds, she realized where she was, and what happened.

  She’d fallen all the way down to the ocean, and on the way, the grenade in her waistband had come free and detonated, leaving a crater in the side of the crag about one hundred yards above her.

  Of course, she thought, that one fucking worked.

  Her arms, legs and feet were badly scraped, scratched and bleeding from several small wounds, and she’d bitten her tongue and smashed her nose as well, so they too were bleeding. But somehow, far as she could tell, she’d managed to survive the fall without any serious injuries.

  Back on her feet, she swayed and her knees buckled, dropping her back to the wet sand. Looking up the side of the cliff, she saw no sign of the creature.

  Quinn tried to stand again. This time her legs held her.

  Frantically, she looked for the ax. It was gone.

  A small rockslide began, peppering the narrow shoreline with debris from the side of the cliff.

  Quinn looked up.

  The thing was coming. Running down the side of the cliff, sword drawn.

  Nothing human could do that.

  Following the rocky base of the cliff, Quinn hurried along the small stretch of sand then climbed up and over a small embankment and back into the jungle. She’d not been here before, but knew now roughly where she must be.

  As the creature dropped the final length of cliff, the bottoms of its booted feet slamming into the wet sand in an explosion of dirt, water and blood, pieces of its damaged armor falling away, Quinn ran.

  She had virtually nothing left. Exhausted and battered, she no longer had the strength to run with any real speed, but she kept moving anyway, allowing raw instinct and adrenaline to carry her.

  As she staggered through the jungle, hoping she was headed in the right direction, she made her way steadily through the difficult terrain, her bare feet torn and scraped. Every step agonizing, she hobbled along. There was only survival. Only the will to live. To beat this thing. To kill it for all it had done to them. To her.

  It was not love that drove her, but hatred.

  Drenched in sweat, Quinn finally reached the clearing. Nearly breaking down, she pushed her emotions aside and stumbled into the outpost.

  She fell near the flagpole, which still displayed the bodies of her friends.

  Rather than look, she struggled back to her feet and ran to the edge of the tunnel she’d emptied the drums of gasoline into. She could smell it, the fumes wafting about in the thick hot air.

  In the doorway to the officer’s quarters, stood Gino, propped up and using a rifle as a crutch. He looked near death, coughing and pale and covered in sweat. But he’d seen her, and called her name.

  Why was he calling her name when she was so close?

  And then she realized it was because the creature was coming up behind her.

  She turned in time to see it closing on her.

  Throwing herself to the ground, she avoided the blade of its sword as it rushed past, but as she rolled away and lay on her back, she saw it was still coming for her, moving toward her with that same deliberate walk.

  She wanted to get up. The voice in her head screamed for her to get up, to fight.

  But she couldn’t. Even if she tried, she wouldn’t make it back to her feet in time. It was already standing over her, the sword raised, the blade glistening and catching the sun with profane beauty.

  Quinn closed her eyes.

  Someone was screaming.

  Gino. Screaming to it at the top of his lungs, with everything he had left.

  She opened her eyes. Though barely visible in the glaring sun, she could see it had straddled her and raised its sword. But Gino’s screams continued, and rather than finish her off, it turned, left her, and started toward him.

  Get up, she thought. Get—Get up, get—up.

  Something landed on the ground next to her, bounced and rolled close. Quinn sat up, shielding her eyes from the sun. A grenade. Gino had thrown her one of the grenades she’d left with him.

  As she snatched it up, Gino screamed again. But this was different.

  The thing had stabbed him clean through. A long section of blade protruded grotesquely from Gino’s back. Screaming again, he gagged on his own blood, dropping the rifle as the creature lifted him off the ground and high into the air, driving the sword even deeper.

  Gino’s limp body slid down until the entire blade was inside him up to the handle. The creature’s blood-soaked hands had penetrated him as well.

  Quinn pushed herself up onto her feet, but she was so weak she could barely hold her balance. “Gino,” she heard herself say.

  As blood exploded from his mouth and nose, running down his face and spraying the creature, Gino began to laugh. It was a gurgling, horrible sound that quickly turned to a gagging cough, but he raised his hands just before he died, and Quinn knew then what he was telling her.

  In one hand he held a grenade. In the other, the fuse pin.

  The explosion rocked the entire outpost, and knocked Quinn back off her feet. All around her, dirt and debris flew up and showered down as she hit the ground, her ears ringing and all sound muffled and distant.

  The blast launched both Gino and the creature off the porch and onto the ground several feet away.

  In pieces. Bloody, horrific pieces.

  And then, unnatural silence.

  Soon, a buzzing sound rang in Quinn’s ears. It became a rumble, before finally, gradually, her hearing returned to normal.

  Her vision still blurred, she pawed at her eyes.

  The explosion had caused the front of the building to catch fire. It burned, slowly but steadily, climbing the walls and running along the remains of the porch.

  Quinn forced herself to look at the bodies. They lay together, in a tangled bloody heap. It was difficult to tell where the creature ended and Gino began, and while they were largely intact, body parts and viscera lay scattered around them, including one of Gino’s legs, which had landed several feet away.

  Gino had saved her life.

  Or so she thought.

  Until what remained of the creature slowly rose from the carnage.

  A bloody stump of bone was all that remained where the thing’s right arm had been. It’s armor, tattered and missing in many places, hung on the creature now, and its helmet had been knocked free, leaving only the leather faceplate that covered everything below its eyes. Its head was covered in scars and nearly bald, but for a few long sprigs of black hair dangling grotesquely from it. In the blast it had sustained an enormous wound in its side, and a large chunk had been blown out of one of its thighs. Slowly, it reached up with its only hand, ripped its faceplate free and threw it aside.

  Its face was hideous, horribly scarred and leathery, a patchwork of decayed and mummified flesh that appeared to have been sewn together by disciples of Doctor
Frankenstein. The nose was skeletal, and the mouth had no lips, just a badly scarred and revolting slash of an opening, behind which, teeth black as coal resided.

  It shook free of its armor. The metal panels and mesh material fell to the ground in a heap. Beneath it the creature wore what remained of a cloth tunic. It watched her with its red eyes, as if it were trying to understand.

  Their eyes remained locked, and in those few seconds, Quinn swore she saw something more. Something akin to respect in those bloody eyes, as if it had deemed her worthy somehow.

  “Come get me,” she said, her voice rough and raw, foreign even to her. “I’m not running anymore.”

  The creature looked to the ground, searching for its sword.

  Still clutching the grenade, Quinn crawled to the entrance of the tunnels just as it located its weapon and drew it free from the pile of Gino’s remains. The sword, slick and drenched, dripped with blood and bodily fluids.

  A tongue, black and diseased looking, emerged from the creature’s horrific mouth. Slowly, it brought the blade to its face, licked it clean then let out a guttural, rumbling laugh.

  When it again fell silent, Quinn managed to get herself up into a crouched position.

  The thing swung its sword about, quickly and out before it, as if to showcase its skills, and then with an inhuman screech, a war cry of death and destruction, it vaulted toward her.

  Quinn pushed off with everything she had, rocketing herself up and straight at it.

  Her shoulder crashed into its midsection. She bounced off and rolled away, but the force of the contact knocked the thing off balance, and it toppled into the hole, falling and sliding down into the tunnels.

  Scrambling back to the tunnel opening, Quinn saw it laying in the dirt below, its legs bent at impossible angles. Yet it continued to struggle to stand, to come for her. A heartless killing machine of spirit, flesh, blood and bone, it would not stop, could not stop. Not ever.

  “Die,” she growled through gritted teeth. “Die.”

  Looking once more into its terrible eyes, Quinn pulled the pin and dropped the grenade down on top of the creature.

  Crippled and still on its back, the thing continued to struggle to stand.

  Quinn ran for the lagoon.

  The explosion was massive, as the gasoline ignited as well, shooting fire up and out of the hole while also surging through the tunnels. The flames rocketed beneath the earth, exploding out through several exits and catching the surrounding areas on fire.

  Knocked to the ground, Quinn lay just beyond the outpost.

  Amidst the dirt, debris and flames, pieces of the ancient warrior fell like rain all around her. The fire had spread, and the flames and sparks falling from the initial explosion ignited the other buildings as well.

  Soon, the fire had reached the surrounding jungle.

  A bloody and battered mess, Quinn lay trembling uncontrollably, the final look in the demon’s eyes still burned into her vision.

  She fell still and slipped away to unconsciousness. Or something similar.

  ***

  She dreamed of death. Blood. Carnage. Tears.

  And fire.

  She dreamed of moving through the tunnels, the darkness, the island above her consumed in flames and smoke. She dreamed of burrowing even deeper into the earth, so many bloody skulls cradled in her arms.

  Howling winds echoed in her mind, screaming like animals being slaughtered.

  Finally, she dreamed of nothing at all. Darkness, empty and endless.

  A void from which no one ever fully returned.

  When Quinn awakened, she was no longer afraid. The fire continued to spread, and by nightfall, the entire island had become an inferno. She removed the tattered remnants of her clothing, and using a finger, decorated her face with her own blood, marking it like a warrior using war paint. Like the predator she’d become.

  Then she sat back and watched the world burn.

  AFTER

  It was quite an impressive spread. Hot coffee, tea, various drinks, numerous fresh fruits and plates of steaming breakfast foods—scrambled eggs and bacon and sausage, corn beef hash, hash browns, and all of it displayed across a large table covered in beautiful white linen. The tent, under which a large rug, table and chairs had been placed, was brightly colored and ornate, outfitted with rows of lights and torches on either side of the entrance that burned bright once the sun went down. But it was early morning, and the sun was still rising over the clear blue ocean, the tent positioned on a gorgeous section of beach just walking distance from their hotel.

  Everyone looked amazing. Healthy and rested, tan and vibrant.

  Even Herm, who was in the middle of a story about one of his students, looked good, not so pasty and disheveled.

  They ate their breakfasts and drank their coffee and tea, laughing and joking with each other, enjoying their vacation. And this resort, so beautiful it just got better and better, beyond anything they’d hoped for.

  “I don’t think I ever want to go home,” Quinn said.

  Dallas raised his juice glass. “I’ll drink to that.”

  “Hell yeah, I could go for beach bumming it here the rest of my life,” Andre said.

  “Have you ever seen a more beautiful sunrise?” Natalie asked through a bright smile. “I’m in love with this place.”

  Gino ate like he always did, purposefully, steadily. Not too fast, not too slowly. Unlike the others, he didn’t engage in conversation much as he normally did, but laughed when it was appropriate and seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself.

  Quinn reached over, touched her husband’s hand and smiled at him.

  Dallas gave her a wink and popped a piece of bacon in his mouth.

  Wake up.

  “Okay, so anyway,” Herm said, continuing his story and chuckling around a mouthful of eggs and sausage. “The test question was, in 1803 the United States purchased land from the French, and President Jefferson chose two men to travel to this unexplored land and report back to him what they found. What were the names of the explorers he chose for this historic expedition? And the kid says…”

  They all waited.

  “Martin and Lewis?”

  Everyone laughed. Except for Harper, who seemed even more confused than usual, which was saying something.

  “I don’t get it,” she whined. “Who’s Marvin and Lewis?”

  Gino was the only one able to contain himself. Everyone else’s laughter only got worse, and Herm nearly choked he was laughing so hard.

  “Jesus Christ, babe.” Gino sighed. “You know who Lewis and Clark are, right? The explorers? The kid should’ve said Lewis and Clark. That was right answer.”

  “Um…’kay…so…who’s Marvin and Lewis then?”

  “Martin and Lewis,” he said, dropping his fork.

  Andre was laughing so hard he was crying.

  Gino shot him a helpless look then turned back to Harper. “They were a comedy team. You know, Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis?”

  “Who? God, why is everything you guys talk about so confusing?”

  Quinn got up from the table, a cup of coffee in hand, and walked across the rug to the sand, and out of the tent. She was laughing too, but felt bad, and saw no reason to be mean to Harper. Quinn never understood deliberate cruelty, and wanted no part of it, even when it was meant to be funny and harmless. Harper was young, vacuous and very limited, but she seemed like a nice enough kid.

  Kid, Quinn thought. Now she’s a kid. What does that make me?

  The ocean breeze rolled in slowly, seductively. Quinn loved the way it felt in her hair, against her face, and couldn’t recall ever having been quite so content.

  Her bare foot brushed against something partially buried in the sand.

  An old LIFE magazine…

  Tell us what you see.

  A young Katherine Hepburn on the cover.

  Wake up now, Quinn. It’s time to wake up and tell us your secrets.

  Another outburst of laughter dr
ew her attention back to the tent.

  Wake up.

  She looked back over her shoulder at the others. They were no longer laughing, but staring at her instead, their faces sullen, wet and dripping blood.

  Tears filled her eyes, blurred the horrific scene and rolled across her cheeks.

  Wake up, Quinn. Wake up.

  ***

  The fire was what brought them. The island burned for hours, the fire sweeping through the jungle to create an enormous beacon in the night, in a stretch of ocean thought to be void of any land whatsoever.

  She knew they were there. She’d seen them approaching, several of them leaving the larger vessel anchored beyond the reef and taking a smaller boat to the beach. She counted eight in all. Strange, she thought. There were eight of us.

  As they stood on the beach, their flashlights unnecessary with most of the island still ablaze, she wasn’t sure if she should approach them or not. She couldn’t be sure anymore if leaving this place was good or bad.

  Good, she finally decided, but…

  She was not the same as before. She never could be.

  Moving with stealth and precision, she crept from the tunnels to the sand.

  They hadn’t seen her yet. They wouldn’t until she allowed it.

  Her head hurt and it was still difficult to sort her thoughts. But she knew she wanted her husband…she…she wanted Dallas but…he was no more.

  Neither am I, she thought.

  Slowly, she walked along the waterline, the saltwater so cool and healing against her bloody feet.

  Monstrous waves of heat surged and pulsed from the fiery jungle, a giant furnace blasting directly at her. But there was something beautiful about it. So pure.

  “Dear God!” a male voice bellowed.

  She’d gotten within reach of them before they even realized she was there.

  Only one was a woman, and at closer range she saw they were all wearing matching uniforms. Shocked to see her standing there, one man asked, “What the hell happened here?”