Cryptid Island

by Gerry Griffiths

  “Did you say Peanut?” Miguel asked.

  “Panut,” the man corrected.

  Miguel smiled. “Sorry. Must be the jet lag.”

  Jack wiped his forehead with his shirtsleeve, giving the man’s truck the once-over. “You have air in that?”

  “Oh, yeah. Plenty air.”

  “Thank goodness for that.”

  Jack and Miguel threw their duffle bags into the bed of the truck. Panut looked at the green travel bag in Jack’s hand.

  “Dat go in back.”

  “It’s our guns,” Jack said. “I’d rather keep them in the cab.”

  “No room. Put in back.”

  Jack tried to hide his annoyance. He glanced inside the truck. The cab was so small he seriously doubted if all three of them would even fit. He certainly wasn’t going to ride in the back of the truck in this heat.

  “All right. I see your point.” Jack wedged the travel bag between the two duffle bags in front of the spare tire, some yard tools, a bunch of crinkled beer cans, two metal poles, and a coil of clothesline.

  Jack opened the passenger door. He looked at Miguel. “Age before beauty.”

  “Shut up. I’m younger than you.”

  “Just get in.”

  Miguel climbed inside. He slid halfway across the bench seat, both knees pressed up against the bottom of the dashboard.

  Jack got in. He was just able to close the door.

  Panut got behind the steering wheel. He started up the truck, which rattled and vibrated as though every bolt holding it together was ready to fall out. Being a smaller man, he had plenty of room where Jack and Miguel were like two left feet stuffed in a single sock.

  The driver and passenger windows were rolled all the way down.

  They headed away from the airport onto a major roadway. Jack was feeling sticky from the humid air rushing in. He saw only a car radio on the dashboard that looked like it had been taken from another vehicle, possibly stolen, and jury-rigged to fit.

  Jack looked across Miguel at Panut. “I thought you said this had air-conditioning?”

  “This is air,” Panut said, waving his free hand at the opened windows.

  Miguel broke out laughing.

  “Swell.” Jack sat back against the vinyl seat.

  Panut turned off the main roadway. He sped down a narrow dirt road into the jungle.

  Jack grabbed the top of the window frame so he wouldn’t crush Miguel when they came around a bend.

  For forty minutes, the truck barreled down the same road.

  Thundering up a grade, Jack leaned his head out. He glanced down at the steep drop off of sheer rock. “How much further?” he yelled to Panut.

  “Not far!” Panut hollered back, reaching a summit only to speed down the winding road.

  Jack could feel every spring in the seatback stabbing into his spine. He was definitely going to need a few therapeutic sessions with a good chiropractor after this trip.

  Up ahead, the dirt road ended abruptly. Panut didn’t slow down. He kept driving straight into the jungle.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” Miguel’s hands shot up to the headliner to brace against the jolting ride; large fronds slapping the windshield; the front bumper grill guard plowing down brush and high grass.

  Just when Jack thought they were going to slam into a tree, Panut cut the wheel. The truck burst out of the dense vegetation, rolling to a stop in a small clearing near a marshland surrounded by tropical trees.

  Panut shut off the engine. He looked at Jack and Miguel. “See, not far.”

  They climbed out of the truck.

  Panut jumped up into the truck bed.

  Jack leaned over the side of the rear fender. “So what did you bring us?”

  The Indonesian guide picked up two long spears.

  “What, no tranquillizer guns?” Miguel said.

  “Skin too tough. Spears work better. See?” Panut twisted the spearhead off a pole. “Hollow tip. Trap blood inside.”

  Jack looked at the six-foot long poles in Panut’s hands. “You really think we can get close enough to actually jab one of these things?”

  “Jack, we have to find one first,” Miguel said. “Personally, I don’t think these things are real.”

  “Well, whatever is out there, I’m not going in with just a pig sticker.” Jack reached over, grabbing the green travel bag from the truck bed. He opened the bag. He took out his revolver, strapping on his gun belt. Miguel put on his shoulder rig. They took a moment to load their weapons.

  Once they were ready, Panut pointed the way. Jack and Miguel carried their spears. They followed the guide across the clearing into the marsh grass.

  Jack got a whiff of something foul up ahead. “What is that smell?”

  “Getting close,” Panut said.

  Miguel covered his nose with his hand. “Man, that stinks.”

  Jack could hear a humming getting steadily louder with each step.

  They stumbled onto a spot where the grass had been flattened in a large circle fifteen feet across, filled with rotting carcasses swarming with black flies. Some of the skeletal remains were still intact. Jack recognized a wild boar and a few deer.

  Miguel held a handkerchief over his mouth and nose. He studied a pile of bones. “Jack, take a look at this.”

  Jack stared down at the ground. “That’s definitely a human skull. Looks like we’re not the first to come here?” He looked at their guide.

  Panut shook his head.

  “So what is this place?”

  “Buru feed here. From here, watch your step.”

  They continued to hike into the eight-foot tall grass. The blades were sharp as razors, slicing at their hands and faces. The stalks so resilient, they’d pop right back up after being trampled flat to the ground. They soon lost sight of one another, like being separated in a cornfield maze.

  Miguel yelled for help.

  18

  QUAGMIRE

  “Jesus, what did you do?” Jack said, once he cleared the tall grass and saw Miguel standing waist-deep in the middle of a swampy pond.

  Panut came running over to join Jack on the bank.

  “Stay calm,” Jack told Miguel.

  “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one standing in the middle of quicksand.”

  “I told you. Watch your step,” Panut said.

  “Thanks, Panut. Next time I’ll be more careful,” Miguel said sarcastically.

  “Try and not to move around,” Jack instructed. “The more you do, the faster you’ll sink. Where’s your pole?”

  “I dropped it when I fell in. It’s gone.”

  “Okay, then grab mine.” Jack extended his pole. Miguel attempted to turn around to grab the end but it was just out of reach. The slightest movement caused him to slip down another inch into the oatmeal mush.

  “I can’t,” Miguel said.

  “Okay, forget that. Try lying back. See if you can raise your feet.”

  Miguel put his arms out to the side. He lowered his head back, hoping to float.

  “Don’t panic. We’ll figure this out.” Jack searched around for something they could use to throw to Miguel. He remembered seeing the spool of clothesline in the bed of the truck. “Panut, go back and get the rope from your truck.”

  Panut dashed off through the reeds.

  Miguel continued to sink.

  “Breathe deep,” Jack yelled to his friend. “The more air in your lungs the more buoyant you’ll be. Just hold tight. Panut will be back and we’ll get you out.”

  Miguel moved his arms over his head, attempting a slow backstroke.

  “That’s right. Swim! You can do it,” Jack yelled, shouting words of encouragement. “Don’t worry, buddy. We’ll have you out before...”

  Something big rushed through the high grass.

  Jack heard a hiss like a ruptured gas line.

  “Shit, what the hell was that?” Miguel said, finally able to turn enough he could see Jack. His eyes widened. “Jack! Watch ou
t!”

  Jack spun around with his spear pointed directly in front of him.

  A gigantic lizard stepped out of the tall grass onto the bank. The enormous head and body were covered with scaly skin like linked metal rings of chainmail worn by medieval knights. It had extremely long curled claws causing it to walk awkwardly. With each step, its fork-tipped tongue shot out of its mouth, sucking back in like a paper party horn.

  Nora had been right. The Buru was easily fifteen feet long from its snout to the tip of its long powerful tail. It had to weigh close to five hundred pounds. If it was anything like its cousin, the Komodo dragon, it was probably fast on its feet.

  As it approached Jack, the Buru opened its mouth wide like a massive hissing snake exposing its pink-gums and fanged teeth.

  A man’s hand was partially visible down its gullet.

  Panut stumbled out of the reeds. His face was pale. The stump at the end of his arm looked like it had been dipped in red paint.

  At first, Jack thought the man looked ashen from the blood loss: the front of his tank top and pants drenched. But then he realized it was much more serious than merely bleeding to death. The skin on Panut’s face and arms was sloughing off like boiled meat falling off the bone.

  He was literally rotting in front of Jack. The man had turned into a walking zombie, all due to the Buru’s deadly saliva.

  It was heartbreaking to see the man dying right in front of him but then there was a breath of hope—for Miguel—as Panut had been able to retrieve the clothesline that had come uncoiled and was dragging behind him.

  Panut staggered to the edge of the bank. He fell facedown into the quicksand like a lead weight. He steadily sank into the quagmire, dragging the clothesline down with him.

  The Buru decided at that moment to lunge.

  Jack jabbed it in the chest with his spear.

  Only when he pulled back to stab the creature again, he found the spearhead had lodged in the thick hide. The giant lizard stepped back, yanking the spear from Jack’s hands.

  He stood dazed for a second.

  Time enough for the Buru to repeat its attack and for Miguel to drag his Desert Eagle out of his shoulder holster and fire off a well-aimed high-caliber shot. The bullet struck the creature in the shoulder, punching a decent-sized hole in the lizard’s seemingly impenetrable armored skin.

  The Buru roared. It spun around, stepping on the shaft, pulling the spearhead out before bolting back into the tall grass.

  “Jack! The rope!” Miguel yelled.

  Jack dove to the ground like he was a baseball player sliding headfirst into second base. He grabbed the end of the rope before it went under with Panut. He pulled as much rope up as he needed and cut the line.

  He formed a lasso, throwing the lifeline to his friend. Miguel slipped the noose over his head and shoulder. Jack pulled on the rope; hand over hand, until Miguel was on the bank.

  “Thanks. I owe you a beer,” Miguel said. He was covered with wet clinging sand from the shoulders down.

  “I wish I could have done something for Panut.”

  “Do you think the professor realizes the danger involved?”

  “I’m starting to wonder. For all we know, those bones back in that pit belong to some poor schmuck she sent before us.”

  “That’s not a comforting thought.” Miguel looked over at the blood smeared on the spearhead lying on the bank. “Well, at least we got her damn blood sample.”

  “Yeah, but it’s certainly not worth a man’s life.”

  “I really have to get out of these clothes,” Miguel said. “Feels like the time Maria and I took mud baths in Calistoga.”

  “Too bad you don’t have a hose to spray out those nooks and crannies,” Jack smirked, picking up the spear.

  “I doubt you’d be laughing with sand up your crack.” Miguel grabbed his waistband, shook his trousers then stumped his boots to shake out the wet grit.

  Jack unscrewed the spearhead and threw the pole down. He drew his revolver and cocked back the hammer. “Let’s get out of here before that thing decides to come back.”

  This time on their way back through the tall grass they kept together, never letting the other one out of his sight.

  The smell—now that they knew what it was—seemed twice as bad as they skirted the perimeter of the Buru’s abattoir.

  Jack was never so glad to see Panut’s truck when they finally reached the clearing.

  Miguel already had his shirt off. He ran up to the side of the truck, slipped off his boots, and stripped out of his pants. He grabbed a jug of water from inside the cab, dousing his head to wash off. Without bothering to dry himself, he dug out a change of clothes from his bag. He quickly got dressed while Jack kept watch.

  Jack opened the driver’s door. He climbed behind the steering wheel while Miguel got in the passenger side.

  “Oh, shit. Jack!” Miguel pointed through the windshield. The monstrous lizard was charging straight at the truck.

  Jack reached for the steering column...

  There was no starter key in the ignition switch.

  “Where’s the key?” Jack shot a look at Miguel. “Please don’t tell me Panut has it on him.”

  “Try under the mat,” Miguel said in a panic. He placed his arm over the side mirror bracket trying to line up a shot.

  The Buru moved to the other side of the truck.

  Jack bent over. He pulled up the floor mat. “No, not under here.”

  “Here it comes!” Miguel yelled.

  Jack glanced out the open driver’s window.

  The Buru did a belly run at the truck, ramming the fender and driver’s door.

  As his window was open, Jack was afraid the lizard would stick its head inside the cab.

  One bite and that would be it.

  Jack reached down for his revolver on the seat.

  The Buru struck the side of the truck again, this time lifting the tires on the driver’s side off the ground. Jack held onto the steering wheel as the cab tilted.

  “If that thing flips us over, we’re dead,” Miguel said.

  Jack reached for his gun but it slid off, falling beneath the seat.

  Miguel pointed his .357 pistol at Jack.

  “What are you doing?” Jack shouted in disbelief.

  “Don’t move!” Miguel fired two shots into the door panel, narrowly missing the top of Jack’s thighs. The high-caliber bullets tore twin holes above the armrest.

  The Buru roared. The truck slammed to the ground.

  A key attached to a bottle opener fell down from the visor, dropping into the palm of Jack’s hand. “Well, I’ll be damned.” He inserted the key. He turned the ignition switch. The starter motor groaned like the battery was dying.

  “Oh, don’t tell me...” Jack tried it again. The engine fired up.

  “Drive! Drive!” Miguel yelled.

  Jack threw the truck into gear, stomping on the gas.

  They drove back through the jungle, never once looking back.

  19

  AHOOL

  As soon as they were back on the dirt road, Jack pulled over so Miguel could get out to retrieve his laptop from his bag in the bed of the truck.

  Miguel sent a quick email message to Nora explaining what happened and that Panut was dead. Not knowing how to proceed, they decided to wait.

  Ten minutes later they got a response.

  Miguel took a moment to read the reply.

  “What does she say?” Jack asked.

  “It’s not from her. It’s Ivan Connors, head of security of Wilde Enterprises.”

  “How did he get involved?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he’s monitoring employee emails.”

  “Sounds like big brother’s watching the professor. So, what’s up?”

  “He wants us to take the truck to a designated lot at the airport and leave it. We’re not to say anything to anyone. We’re to go to the main terminal and wait for further instructions.”

  “Shouldn’t
we be telling the authorities? A wild animal killed Panut. Well, technically you could say he died in the quicksand but still somebody should do something. Surely, his family would want his body found.”

  “Connors said it’s a company matter now and he’ll handle it.”

  “Sounds like a cover-up to me.”

  “Be happy we’re off the hook.”

  “Just doesn’t feel right.” Jack started up the truck while Miguel signed off his email account to plot a GPS course back to the airport.

  ***

  Everything seemed to be operating like a well-oiled machine. As soon as Jack and Miguel stepped into the terminal, they heard a page on the intercom requesting they report to the Aviastar ticket counter where they were handed two tickets for Java.

  Miguel let out a grumbling laugh. “What are we, a couple of ping pong balls?”

  “Why, what’s so funny?” Jack threw his duffle bag over his shoulder as they walked to the waiting area to make their connection.

  “First we’re at Jakarta and fly over a thousand miles to get here. And now we’re getting on a plane and flying to Java which is only a couple hundred miles from where we started.”

  “Hey, at least we’re racking up frequent flier miles.” Jack looked down at his wristwatch. “Hey, we better get a move on, our flight’s just about to leave.”

  ***

  Somewhere over the Flores Sea, Professor Howard contacted Miguel on his laptop. This time she insisted they use earphones, as she didn’t want any passengers to overhear her part of the conversation. Miguel plugged in a splitter cable so Jack could listen in.

  “I was so sorry to hear about Panut.” This time Nora was not at her desk but sitting in a padded armchair. Her eyes were bloodshot.

  “You knew him personally?” Jack couldn’t tell if she’d been crying or was exhausted from working long hours.

  “We met when I was in Buru.”

  “So you’ve actually been there?” Miguel asked.

  “You know, I do step out of the laboratory on occasion.”

  “So you knew the dangers?” Jack said.

  “I did. And I should have prepared you. I’m sorry.” Nora rubbed her right eye.

  Jack saw a tear trickle down her cheek.

  “So this place we’re going to now. What can we expect?” Miguel asked.