“I must say I am mystified by your apparent knack for utilizing the same symbols that I have floundered with for many years.”
“It’s just Kembalimo,” Bobby said. “I was already pretty good at it.” He glanced at Samuel’s perplexed expression. “It’s a language program. It’s made to be like a game, so lots of people like it.”
Samuel looked no less confused. “How could it be that this Kembalimo involves the same symbols?”
Bobby shrugged. “You’d have to ask Peter Wooley that.”
Samuel suddenly stiffened. “Did you say the name Peter Wooley, sir?”
“He’s the guy that invented Kembalimo. He’s famous.”
Samuel’s face went pale, and Bobby was tempted to take a step back.
“It cannot be,” Samuel half-whispered. “Peter was killed before my eyes. He was beaten beyond hope of repair.”
“Maybe that was a different Peter Wooley,” Bobby offered. “The guy I’m talking about is alive and well. He’s really rich and he lives in Australia.”
Samuel looked at the floor and shook his head, like he was dismissing this. “But the symbols,” he said. He furrowed his brows and fingered his vest. Slowly his face regained its color, and he seemed to relax. One edge of his mouth turned up slightly, as if he were pleased with something very personal. “How extraordinary,” he said.
Bobby shifted back and forth and nodded toward the peculiar mass beside him. “Do you mind if I…”
“Yes, do continue,” Samuel said. He then turned away, apparently still deep in thought.
Several hours later they walked Bobby back to the tree house. A man named Tengorros was staying there, along with Ansi. Samuel said this was for their protection, but Bobby suspected it was to stop them from leaving.
Mr. and Mrs. Darnell wanted to know what he had learned. He tried to explain but found this to be more frustrating than actually working with the Lamotelokhai. So he told them he had a headache, which wasn’t true. In the darkness of the tree house, he watched the two villagers’ silhouettes as they whispered to each other. Eventually they stopped talking, and Bobby was the last one awake, feeling very alone with his thoughts. The rain had stopped, and the only sounds were trilling insects and tree frogs.
The stars were the only constant in an otherwise fluid setting. Everything around the tree kangaroo had always been and was still flowing, changing, evolving. But even the positions of the stars themselves were gradually shifting, revealing movement across the planet of the landmass upon which the mbolop lived. And according to archived data, the land mass had been moving long before Mbaiso had been around to measure it.
Clutching the highest limb it could find, the creature extended its legs, pushing itself high enough to see the horizon. This allowed it to triangulate the positions of key stars. It filed the information away and then settled back to a more comfortable perch, completing a routine it had carried out many times before.
Before descending the tree, Mbaiso sat motionless, listening. Although it could not know what sounds to expect, significant events would likely occur soon. Mbaiso and the other tree kangaroos were given little leeway for interfering, but they could observe and document. And Mbaiso was acutely interested in the outcome. The unusual new humans would probably take actions harmful to themselves or to their species. That was expected, but it would mean more waiting—possibly much more waiting. Perhaps the Creator, the Lamotelokhai, was unconcerned with waiting indefinitely, but Mbaiso had been given traits of a living biological entity. Including some sense of mortality, spawning impatience. The mbolop was ready to move on to what events may unfold next, even if this meant testing the boundaries of its permissions.
Mbaiso continued to listen, but so far the night revealed nothing beyond the chorus of night creatures.
The hut shook slightly and Bobby was alert again. Something rose up through the entrance in the floor where the Papuans slept.
Bobby whispered, “Addison, is that you?”
There was no answer. The figure took a silent step toward the sleeping men and touched their faces one at a time. It then dropped through the hole and was gone.
Both men sat up. They wiped at their faces and mumbled to each other, and then they were quiet again. They didn’t seem to have seen the mysterious figure. And now Bobby wasn’t sure he had seen it himself. He closed his eyes.
He was nearly asleep when he heard a cry in the distance. It rose and then trailed off like the call of a wolf. But it was human, and it was filled with sorrow or pain. Then another cry rose from a different direction. Soon there was a third. One of the Papuans lifted his head. He listened for a moment, then sank back to the floor and didn’t move again.
The cries went on for some time. Bobby stared into the dark, listening to them, haunted by their misery, until sleep finally came.
Quentin was the first to wake in the morning. For some minutes he lay still as the chatter of birds filled the air. He wished he could go back to sleep. He had dreamt of a life without the plane crash, where his only burdens were those any man could bear. The stresses of his life before the crash seemed so trivial now. Quentin thought of Samuel’s desire to return to his past and understood how desperate the feeling could be.
But sleep would not return. Addison was still out there, and Quentin had to find him. Then he would convince the villagers to let them leave. If that didn’t work, they would escape and find their way to civilization on their own.
Having made this decision, Quentin felt better. He forced himself up, intent on waking the others and getting started. He glanced at the two Papuans who had stayed with them through the night, and then his confidence dissolved in a single wave of shock.
The villagers were gone. In their places were two piles of reddish dirt. Much of the dirt had fallen between the sticks and vines of the floor, but the remaining piles still resembled two sleeping bodies.
Minutes later, Quentin paced the length of the small hut. Everyone else stared at the remains of the two men. Quentin wanted to find Samuel and get some answers. But he didn’t want to separate the group again.
“We’re all going,” he said. “We’ll find Addison and then we’re getting out of here.”
“I think Addison was here,” Bobby said.
Quentin stopped pacing. “What do you mean?”
“Last night. I saw someone come in. He did something to Ansi and Tengorros. He touched their faces. I think it might have been Addison.”
“Why didn’t you wake us up?”
Bobby looked at his bare feet. “I don’t know. I guess I wasn’t sure.”
Quentin closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing. Addison would not have killed two men. He opened his eyes. “We’re all going now.”
They drank from the container of water until it was empty. Lindsey and Ashley both insisted that they now felt strong enough to climb down the ladder without being lowered down. So one at a time they all descended to the forest floor.
Quentin led them to Samuel’s tree house. It was some distance away, perhaps a half-mile, but he remembered the route, and before long they stood beneath it. He called to Samuel but there was no response, so they headed for the Lamotelokhai tree. As they approached it, the shuffling of their feet echoed among the massive tree trunks. Quentin spotted the dark outline of a hanging corridor above, and he pointed at it without stopping. He followed the shadow of the hanging tunnel until they finally stood at the base of the Lamotelokhai tree. Quentin cupped his hands to his face to call out, but then he stopped. There was movement in some foliage perhaps fifteen meters above them. At first he saw only leaves and shadows. But then something twitched—something with a face and dark eyes.
“Addison?” Quentin called out. “Is that you?”
The foliage exploded as the form flung itself into the air. Quentin stumbled backward in shock as the thing dropped the entire distance to the ground. It was a fall that would kill—or at least break the
legs—of any human being. It hit the ground with a loud thud, bounced a few inches into the air, and landed in a controlled crouch. It then lifted itself fully erect.
There was stunned silence as they all stared at Addison.
“Oh, my God,” Lindsey whispered.
Addison’s body was changed. His arms were longer, like those of a chimpanzee, with sinewy fingers. There was no sign of Addison’s boyish body fat. Instead, his arms, legs, and torso were braided with ropes of muscle. A cord was tied around his waist, and from it hung a pouch that only partially hid his genitals. If it weren’t for Addison’s face, Quentin would not have known who—or what—it was. But even his face was changed, no longer that of a boy. It was now hard, with sharp angles. The wounds from the previous day were all but gone except for a jagged valley in the skin running from his left eye up past his hairline. Addison’s eyes darted back and forth as if he were a cornered animal. Quentin felt a mix of loathing and affection as Addison stepped toward them. He fought the urge to back away.
“Yanop khomile-lé-dakhu,” Addison said.25
Quentin found his voice. “Addison, we’re leaving. You’re coming with us.”
“No. You will help me now.”
“Help you with what?”
“Kill them.” He pointed a long finger upward. “The rest are there.”
Before Quentin could speak, Bobby stepped forward. “Addison, what did you do? That was you last night, wasn’t it? And I heard yelling. What did you do?”
Addison leaned forward, placed one hand on the ground, and shoved his face up toward Bobby. The movement was chillingly nonhuman. “Nu khén-telo! You can talk to it.”33
Bobby nodded. “Yes I can.”
“So you know.” His finger stabbed upward again. “Help me kill the rest.”
Quentin wrestled with the weight of Addison’s words. “What do you mean kill, Addison? You didn’t kill someone, did you?”
Addison stood erect again. “Yes. I am almost finished. Help me kill the rest.”
Quentin didn’t move or speak, afraid to trust his own judgment.
Addison shifted from one muscled leg to the other, glancing at the canopy and back to Quentin. “Help me now!” he cried.
Quentin knew they had to reason with him, convince him to leave with them. They could find their way to civilization and then get help for him. “Addison, whatever you’ve done, we can work it out. It’s time to go home.”
“You don’t listen. You can’t go there. Help me kill them.”
“No, Addison!” Lindsey said. “We don’t kill people. What’s wrong with you?”
Addison stooped forward until both his hands were on the ground. “Then I’ll kill you, too.”
Following those words, everything seemed to go silent.
Quentin opened his arms to the creature that still might be his son. “Please talk to us. Help me to understand.”
Addison held out a balled fist. “Look at me. I can do anything now.” Then he leapt into the air. He grasped a limb, swung over it and landed on his feet on top of it. He gazed down at them for a moment before dropping back to the ground. “I’m better now. You can be too.” He eyed them, expectant, but no one spoke. “The Lamotelokhai knows you now. It has your keliokhmo. It can make you better.” Addison looked at each of them. When his eyes fell upon Ashley, he pointed. “You did not like the khofémanop, Addison. You wrote things about him.”40
Ashley’s face darkened with anger. She left Lindsey’s side. “How do you know what I wrote, Addison? Did you read my journal?”
“The Lamotelokhai knows your keliokhmo. And now I know, too. You wrote things about him—about me. Bad things.”
Ashley’s hands clenched. “You bastard.”
Addison continued, “You didn’t like him. But his father,” he jabbed a finger toward Quentin, “you wrote different things about his father, didn’t you?”
Ashley shrieked, “Shut up, you twisted freak!”
Addison lunged at Ashley, closing the gap with alarming speed. Quentin tried to get between them, but Miranda beat him to it. She blocked Addison with a hand against his chest. “Leave her alone!”
Addison sneered. “You didn’t like him either.” Without shifting his eyes from hers, he dipped his hand into the pouch at his waist.
Bobby lunged. “Addison, don’t!”
But Addison had already grasped Miranda’s face. His long fingers wiped at her eyes, forcing the stuff from his pouch between her lids. Then he pulled back and glared at her.
Miranda fell to her knees, her hands pressed to her face.
Quentin shoved Addison away from her. “What have you done?”
For a moment Addison’s brows furrowed in confusion. But then his features hardened again. “You want to take it!”
“We don’t want to take anything,” Quentin said.
Again Addison’s face softened. He gazed at his own hands for a moment. Suddenly he turned and sprinted away.
Miranda seemed shaken from the attack but physically unhurt. Quentin examined her eyes. They were red and watering.
She began crying. “What’s happening to me?”
“Nothing is going to happen to you,” Ashley said. But her voice betrayed her fear.
“I’m going to die, aren’t I?”
Everyone assured her she’d be fine. But Quentin sensed they were wrong. Addison had clearly meant Miranda harm. Samuel had to be right—Addison’s brain had been damaged in the plane crash.
Miranda sobbed. “Nothing can hurt me now, right? They fixed me after a plane crash and a broken leg.” Her words were beginning to slur. “Ashley! I can’t see.” Miranda held out a hand and Ashley took it.
“I’m here, Miranda,” Ashley said. “You’ll be okay.”
“I’m afraid, Ash. I see stars. Why do I see the stars, Ash?”
Quentin’s eyes were drawn to Miranda’s hand, gripping Ashley’s. The tips of her fingers were turning brown, and they stood out against Ashley’s pale skin. Quentin ran in the direction that his son had disappeared. “Addison, come back! You can stop this!”
He paused and listened. The forest was silent except for the stricken sobs of his wife and students as they watched Miranda die.
Miranda’s body turned to soil before Bobby’s eyes. It started with her fingers and toes. They turned brown, and the tips began to fall away. And then her eyes became dirt and crumbled into her skull. The dark sockets seemed to stare at Bobby, and he had to turn away. He leaned against the Lamotelokhai tree, trying to flush the image from his mind. But even without his flawless memory, Miranda’s decomposing face would have haunted him for the rest of his life. As the others were gathered around Miranda’s remains, Bobby sat to the side, watching the trees for signs of Addison’s return.
Before long Samuel appeared. His face was pale, and he appeared old and tired. Standing over Miranda’s body, he spoke to Mr. Darnell.
“The loss of another of your pupils is regrettable. But the creature has also murdered many of the indigenes. You are aware that I have lived among these people for the majority of my days. Their murder is a devastation beyond reckoning—a loss not only to me but quite possibly to the welfare of all beings of this earth.”
Mr. Darnell stayed quiet and stared at Miranda’s remains.
Samuel continued. “You must not encumber your need to do what must be done by reasoning that the creature is your son. He no longer is, and he must not continue this amok.”
“What are you saying?” Mrs. Darnell said.
Mr. Darnell held up his hand. “He’s right. Addison couldn’t have done this. We’ve already lost him.” His voice was low and uneven, like he had snapped from too much grief.
Samuel went on. “Addison has employed the powers of the Lamotelokhai to take the lives of my indigene hosts, and of your pupil.” Samuel then pointed at Bobby. “The boy possesses an aptitude for relating with the Lamotelokhai, as if he were born to accomplish
that very task. He has progressed beyond my own achievements. If we are to employ the substance to overcome Addison, then Bobby may be the only practicable hope.”
“Overcome him?” Mrs. Darnell said.
Mr. Darnell’s face showed that he already knew what Samuel meant. “Bobby’s only fourteen. I can’t ask him to do that. If it’s anyone’s responsibility, it’s mine.”
Bobby recalled the vision Mbaiso had shown him, the brutal killing of Addison, and then him holding the bloody club. Mbaiso had tried to tell him something important. But now it would take more than clubs to kill Addison. Bobby thought of Miranda’s eyes, crumbling into her skull as she died. “I’ll do it,” he said.
The others turned to him.
Bobby swallowed hard. “I understand what has to be done, and I’ll do it.”
Sixteen
Bobby counted only eight Papuan villagers in the tree house. Samuel had said the Lamotelokhai hut was where they would all come when something bad happened. How many others had Addison killed?
Sinanie was one of the eight remaining villagers. Also among them were three women, the first ones Bobby had seen. Their faces looked similar to the men’s, but they had breasts that weren’t covered up. Down below they each wore a clump of dried grass over their privates, hanging from a cord around the waist. There were no children present.
The villagers should have been enraged. Instead they were quiet, staying together on one side of the hut, watching the Americans. Bobby had asked Samuel about this, and was told that the villagers knew Bobby could talk to the Lamotelokhai, and because of that they believed their world was going to end anyway. They now wanted to stay with Bobby to protect him in case Addison should return. It seemed as if everything was suddenly about Bobby.
It was hard concentrating with so many people in the hut, but still Bobby made progress. For whatever reason, the Lamotelokhai was programmed with the ultimate version of Kembalimo. Bobby had passed all the early levels and was now arranging symbols into groups representing ideas and simple sentences. Samuel hovered over him for a while, asking questions. But then he must have realized this was only slowing things down because he backed off.
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