Chapter 3: Arata - The Island Apes

  I hit the ground sideways. Wet needles. An acorn pressing into my thigh. My lungs forgot the rhythm. “Okay… aha… thank you…” I showed gratitude to the world, which never cared. Since Baatar, I’ve been in constant pain, but at least my muscles felt stronger, more resistant now. Under the curfew glow, green bands striped my nails, matching the forest aesthetic all around me.

  Sixty minutes. Don’t engage, the memory said. “Survive,” I said back. Ambitious for a man in a hospital gown and no plans. I stood still, the cold breeze cutting through me. I shivered. Then I walked, nowhere in particular.

  Fog encircled me, ripped straight out a bad horror movie. A porch bulb flickered two ridgelines ahead, a house where there shouldn’t be one. I walked toward the light. The shack was held together by bad nails and someone’s stubbornness.

  Before I could knock, the door eased open. “If you’re one of those damn missionaries, I ain’t interested,” said a tired Texan accent. He was mid-fifties, trench coat, revolver worn like a watch. Greying beard cut with a spoon. He studied me, seeing I looked manic in a hospital gown, and stepped aside.

  “Please, sir. Just looking for somewhere dry,” I said.

  “So, you came to the swampland? You must be kidding, kid.”

  “Aha… y-you’re right, that is kind of stupid. I guess you could say I’m here… involuntarily. A-anyway, can I please stop by? I’ll be gone in an hour.”

  “I’m just pulling your leg; you came to the right place. John Stoeckmann. Cryptozoologist.”

  “Arata… aha…” I said, forcing my politest laugh.

  “Arata, eh? Sounds Japanese. Er, my condolences. Come on in.”

  Inside smelled like mildew, kerosene, and cigars. Jars of flies. Yellowed clippings. Wooden cross on the wall. A wall map of the Island with red pins in angry circles. Pictures of blurred figured in treelines were taped all over the board. I recognized one, bobbing in the water. The Loch Ness Monster.

  “Eh, you’re interested in my research, are you? I’m fascinated by the unknown,” he said, lighting a lamp. “They say they made the Island with it with metal. Smarter men than me call it Edenfall alloy. Rich men love zoos, until the animals won’t stay put.”

  “Hold on. Zoo for what?”

  “Ask the things washing up. They aren’t birds.”

  He sat back in his chair; lamplight caught his tired brown eyes. “America’s gone, you know. I came here to get rich off stories nobody believes in anymore. Turns out monsters don’t pay rent.” Something thumped in the back room. He didn’t flinch. “That’s my retirement plan,” he said, and led me through. The cage was welded from pipes gone orange with salt. Inside crouched a hulking figure, seven feet tall, covered in wet brown-black hair. The shoulders were too wide; the face looked like an orangutan. Dark, long fur. Eyes caught the light and glowed red. The smell hit like swamp breath, rot and excrement. I gagged.

  “The Island’s Ape,” John said, proud and apologetic. “Proof that even an artificial island can hold secrets, kiddo. Whispering Pines finished plantin’ two years ago, you think animals migrate that fast? Damn joke, Nicodemus Mann thinks we’re fools… I knew differently.”

  “Wait. Why is a cryptid on a man-made island?”

  “Apparently monsters can take private jets from Florida,” he said, then shrugged. “Somebody brought him. I have no idea. It makes no sense, kid. Really.”

  The creature shifted and pressed one massive, leathery hand to the bars. Its breath fogged the glass.

  For a second, I met its eyes. There was something there, confusion, recognition, maybe pity. I didn’t feel hunted. Just measured. I lifted a hand and gave a short, awkward whoop. Somewhere between primate call and human embarrassment. John didn’t laugh. The ape’s ears twitched. It tilted its head. A low chest-rumble answered, not words, just a sound that vibrated the air like distant thunder. We both froze. It felt like we’d said something true neither of us could translate.

  John poured not-coffee into two chipped mugs with an American flag. Must’ve bought it when he was my age. “What’s your story, Arata?”

  “Passing through. Looking for someone... eh, maybe it’s better to say… trying to survive.”

  “Passing through? Huh,” He squinted. “I really am sorry for your country, kid. New America and New Japan… what a load of bull that is, eh? Can’t replace what’s lost.”

  “Thanks…” I said, my knuckles turning white.

  Wind moaned through the shutters. The lamp guttered, then rallied. Our shadows stretched thin across the wall. A polite knock came at the door. John’s jaw set. “Nobody visits at this time.” He lifted the revolver, motioned me behind him, and cracked the door.

  I recognised him immediately. Same hunched silhouette, same dark coat swallowing what little light there was. The hat sat low, the round lenses glowing white and empty, hiding eyes I already knew better than I wanted to. His scarf was stained now, stiff at the edges, and the cane shook slightly in his hand as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. “My apologies for the intrusion,” he said. “I heard you had a specimen.”

  “Who are you?” John asked.

  “Doctor Vainio,” the old man said, testing the name.

  He moved. When he reached the cage, his eyes caught the lamplight wrong, pupils deepening into black facets. The ape flinched and gave a sharp defensive whoop that I felt in my ribs.

  “Beautiful specimen,” Vainio murmured. “A child of the Lord of Magic; Thoth. Yet… just a child, a Two-Aberrant, yet one who doesn’t even know how to cast a spell. Lost in a land, yet adapted perfectly… hm! Regardless, John, I must congratulate you on capturing an Eldros.”

  “You some kind of biologist?” John said, hand near the trigger. I hid behind the red couch.

  “Yes,” Vainio said, unnaturally. “You could say I’m an ecologist.” He turned his head my way, past John. “People say a Corpse Fauna haunts these areas. What’s your opinion on that, Arata Tanaka?”

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  “What?” I stuttered.

  He smiled faintly. “No matter. I only wanted confirmation.”

  John cocked the hammer. “The kid’s with me. Back away from my retirement.”

  “Do you really think that will hurt me,” Vainio said calmly. “You may be a talented researcher, discovering hidden Eldros. But you don’t yet know our power.” The lamp flickered. His shadow unhooked from his heels and climbed the wall. It split in two and kept growing.

  “Back up,” John barked.

  The shadow obeyed, then turned and smiled with a white mouth. I stood up, backing away.

  Vainio finally looked at me properly. “There’s no need to flee, Arata. I don’t want violence,” Vainio said, voice now doubled from the ceiling. “I simply want to examine.”

  “You have the wron-” I said.

  John fired. Muzzle flash slapped daylight into the room. Vainio staggered, coat smoking, and then he wasn’t there so much as an outline. His body thinned into thinning smoke that held a man’s shape. The ape exploded out of the cage, roaring. The sound was raw and guttural, rage meant for the thing in front of it. Vainio’s shadow wrapped it mid-leap like wire. Bone cracked. Wet and final. Kerosene spread across the floor. The curtain caught fire instantly.

  “Run,” I screamed. I tripped over three times, sprawling over John’s sheep-skin rug, as I pulled myself out.

  Vainio’s voice followed, unbothered and academic. “Thank you for the meal.”

  I scrambled into the wet mud, the heat blistering my neck as the roar of the blaze drowned out the rain. Outside, rain battled with the fire. The roof trembled once and collapsed. In the treeline, eyes burned dull red and multiplied. More apes, or something worse.

  “You think he’s dead?” I asked, breath torn sideways.

  “It ain’t he, it’s the Corpse Fauna,” John said, and spat. “Damn it! We ain’t got a choice. Split up and run as far south as you can. Hide in the swampland!”

  When I finally risked a glance back, the house was a black square in fog. The windows filled. Not with flame, but with movement. Dozens of shadowed forms climbing the walls, writhing up through smoke like flies out of a carcass. I told myself the rain masked the sound. But under it, faintly, I could still hear knocking. From inside. The fog took us within a hundred steps. Somewhere behind, wood popped, metal screamed, and the Island added one more ghost to the ledger. John veered toward the marsh with his revolver and a plan only he believed in. I cut the other way.

  The forest hit my senses, nose then ears. A skunky rot of musk and swamp, then a metallic scream that stretched too long. Something heavy thumped, two beats, making bark shiver. Fog peeled open around a silhouette too tall to be kind. Long arms. Stooped spine. A white streak, like a skunk’s, ran down its beard and chest. Eyeshine blinked once, red and deliberate, then vanished. I gave a short whoop without thinking.

  “Down,” a calm voice ordered from above.

  I dove into a hollow where mushrooms made a roof. The smell of rot comforted me. Thirst punched hard. I leaned my palm to the soil, and a faint green vein crawled up my arm; moisture seeped into my tongue. The thirst stepped back once. A payment was made.

  A rock the size of my skull shaved the air beside me. The second caught my shin. Something cracked. I hit mud teeth-first. Then silence. “Okay.” I yanked fabric aside and forced the nature magic through my palm. Tendrils crawled up my leg, weaving tight. A splint bloomed from under the skin, warm, wet wood. The forest took a litre of water from me in exchange.

  Time passed, and I dared not leave the mudhole. Another tremor. The ground sunk as he walked in, and I literally felt the ground complain. Dark hair plastered to slabs of muscle, bigger than John’s retirement plan. Skin armoured in stone dust. It was a living, feral, impervious, utterly terrifying… wall.

  “You’re not on the menu,” I said. Bravado has a short shelf life.

  He didn’t answer. The earth did. Pebbles hovered. Dirt picked up, mixing with the fog to create a visual obstacle. It must’ve been Terra magic. Under his fur, bolted on, a badge of bronze blinked blue. Assassin’s Association. This Island Ape wasn’t wild. This one was hunting.

  “Bigfoot,” I muttered. “Stealthy, aha... I guess cryptids make good assassins.”

  I opened my hands. Roots sprouted between my fingers, slick and fast, shooting forward to tangle his ankles. “Grow.”

  The vines snapped up his legs, wrists, waist, throat, tight as wire. For a breath, I had him and almost yelped in excitement. Then, his skin changed texture. Razor-sharp brown stones rippled out from within his chest, firing like bullets, which grazed my cheek. Thorns squealed across slate. He palmed the ground. A wall surged up between us, knee then hip then chest.

  I jammed both hands against it and begged for something useful to happen. Roots veined green and flexed. The wall stopped an inch from my chest. Pressure folded my ribs inward before giving. The shock left my ears whistling. Another boulder spun out of nowhere. I ducked behind a stump. It hit. The stump disintegrated. Bark turned to shrapnel.

  “Fine,” I hissed, dragging breath. Growth was cast. My muscles thickened, and I saw the forest from a foot higher. Veins glowed faintly like lines on a map. Adrenaline met photosynthesis halfway. Everything in me went hot and alive.

  The ground bulged under his step. He advanced, swinging a tree trunk like a staff. I sprinted to meet him because running away felt slower. He swung. The trunk cut the fog in half. I slid under, shoulder grazing bark. My left arm whipped up, vines bursting from my wrist and lashing his forearm. The impact cracked bark and vine both. Sap hit my nose. Mine or the tree’s, hard to tell.

  He followed with a fist like a wrecking ball. I caught it with both hands. Wrong idea. Bone screamed. Fibers braided green beneath my skin. I held for a heartbeat, then flew six meters.

  I hit moss, rolled, spat copper. He closed fast. Steps punched craters. Every impact geysered dirt around his calves. I threw both palms down. Roots blasted outward in a radial snare. Twelve lines of green anchored to trunks and rocks. He stepped, the net snapped tight and jerked him off-balance.

  He dropped one knee and slammed both fists down. A quake rolled through the forest, ripping my net out by the roots. The backlash tossed me into a stand of birch. Bark stripped skin from my shoulder.

  “Come on,” I shouted, somewhere between fury and disbelief.

  He charged, all bulk and certainty. I ran too. Momentum for momentum. At the last instant I dove, slid under his guard, planted both feet, and roared, “Grow!”

  The ground erupted. A ridge of roots and stone shot up beneath him like a hinge. He flipped backward. When he hit, the shockwave rolled through my bones like thunder in a box. Before he could rise, I was already there. My right forearm wrapped in vine and bark, elbow locked. I drove it across his jaw. It felt like punching an obsidian wall. He grunted. Cracks spidered across his stone hide. Iron dust stung the air.

  He swung again. I ducked and felt wind peel hair off my forehead. Another swing. I caught it, hooked his wrist, stepped through, and used his momentum, a clean seoi nage. He hit the ground. The forest shuddered. Leaves fell like confetti. I was probably mad, but I felt like they were thanking me.

  I straddled his chest and set my forearm across his throat. Vines surged from my wrist, looping behind his neck and across the carotid. The garrote tightened one green inch at a time.

  He clawed at my arm, strength enormous but fading. But the Growth magic enhanced my muscles further, my strength only grew. Stone peeled in flakes. His breath hit my face, hot and wet, earth and salt. For a heartbeat I heard the whoop from the cage. Something like understanding tried to stand up between us.

  “Sleep,” I whispered. It sounded like begging.

  He tapped the ground twice. Old combat language. Yield.

  I let go. The vines unwound and sank. As the muscles shrunk, so did my bravado. Growth faded. Muscles cooled and shrank. Thirst roared back with interest. My vision blinked white at the edges. He rolled to one knee with surprising grace. The stench eased. He touched the shallow line my vines had left on his neck, then checked his rank disc. It blinked once. Non-lethal resolved. The ape clawed at me, kicked me, threw me around. To no avail.

  “… Answer me… what… are you doing here… what are you things…!? Why are you on Earth…!?” I said.

  Silence. I was the one who stood. I took out my phone, and hit record, leaning on a trunk until the shaking stopped. My mouth felt hollowed out, every drop of moisture burned for fuel.

  “Sixty minutes,” I muttered. “What a hobby. At least, now I have a golden ticket.”

  I didn’t wait for Oruun or John. I limped into the fog, smaller than the trees, laughing at the notification on my phone.

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