Dark Island

by Matt James

  “We stop,” Babo said, stepping off onto a ledge.

  “No, we—”

  “Rest, Ghost. Then, climb.”

  Ian closed his eyes and sighed. He wasn’t in the mood to fight back. He took a step off and was surprised, and happy, to see a shallow alcove cut directly into the cliff face. They’d been free climbing for a while and needed to take a break anyway. Usually, Ian wouldn’t think of doing such a thing, but with his growing headache and searing puncture wounds, he’d be as likely to fall to his death as he would be to finish the descent.

  The first thing he did was remove his backpack and shotgun from his shoulders. Then, he quickly tore away his Kevlar vest, dropping everything at his feet. Next, was his t-shirt. If it wasn’t black in color, Ian knew he’d be able to see the individual puncture wounds seeping through it. He struggled to get the sweat-soaked garment off, and when he did, he was relieved to know that the wounds weren’t infected…yet.

  Just really freaking sore.

  He felt better immediately as the pressure from wearing the vest on was released from his injuries. Unfortunately, he knew both the shirt and vest were going back on soon. Babo dug into his pack and removed his small first aid kit. Everyone carried one. Ian had insisted that each team member comply.

  Babo offered him two high-dose painkillers and a low-dose anti-inflammatory. Ian procured a water bottle from his own pack, throwing the pills in his mouth as he unscrewed the cap. He knew he needed to ration his water supply, but he greedily drained the bottle with a couple of quick pulls.

  Plenty of fresh water down here anyway.

  And there was.

  Tipping his head back as he finished his drink, something cold touched his chest, stinging with antiseptic. “Fuck!” he shouted, spraying Babo in the face. The big man had started to clean the wounds without Ian knowing it.

  Stepping back, Ian laughed at his drenched friend. “Gotta warn me, Bob.” He winced in pain. “Shit that hurt.”

  Not bothering to wipe the water from his already wet face, Babo silently handed the rag and small bottle of rubbing alcohol to Ian. The former SEAL went about cleaning the eight stab wounds, never once flinching as he did the work. Ian handled pain better than anyone he knew. Babo had surprised him more than anything.

  Even though they were years old, Ian gently wiped away the blood from the three scars left behind by the gunshot wounds he had suffered at the hands of his friend. He had suffered more than just physical scars that day. It had taken time to get over the mental ones as well.

  Finishing with the last wounds, Ian turned and looked out over the hollow. It was absolutely enormous, much bigger than the one housing the feral fossae. That was a quaint little place compared to this.

  The low light made it impossible to see anything on the ground level, all you got were blurs and shadows. All he could see clearly was the treetops and a few tall rock formations jutting out of the ground. The sounds he heard next were what got to him the most.

  There were low, baritone rumbles mixed with the telltale chirps and shrieks of the raptors, the hoots of lemurs, and everything else in between. A blur of something shot past his face, swooping in from above and disappearing back into the darkness over the jungle below. As it passed, Ian felt a whoosh of air buffet his face and naked chest. It wasn’t a fossa falling from above their heads either.

  It was something winged and in control of its flight.

  Damn, he thought, reaching for his shotgun.

  Babo got his gun ready too and the two men stood in silence waiting for the predator that buzzed their perch to return. Ian knew it would come back. The men were prey and whatever it was would be interested to know if they were edible or not.

  Looking down at his bloodied chest, Ian groaned.

  “It can smell my blood,” he said aloud, mostly to himself.

  Regardless, whether he was talking to Babo or not, the other man stayed quiet, hands steady. The only thing that greeted them was more silence. They could definitely hear bird-like screeches out in the distance, somewhere over the trees, but nothing was close from what Ian could tell.

  His mind went back to the winged raptors. Could they fly if they had enough air beneath their wings? No, he decided. The dinos were too heavy, and their wings too feeble, for sustained flight. Whatever was out there was something different. Something made—something evolved—to fly.

  Lost in thought, Ian almost didn’t see the demon-missile come straight at him at full speed. Before it slammed headlong into him, he thrust his shotgun out sideways, catching the creature in its open mouth. Ian believed himself to be an expert on all things predatory in Madagascar, but the thing that was latched onto his weapon was something he had never studied.

  It was something either unknown or new.

  The animal’s wingspan wasn’t much wider than his shotgun was long, and its wings were made of leathery skin, not feathers. It wasn’t quite a Pteranodon, nor was it a Velociraptor. It was both… It was something new. An agitated, cat-like tail snapped back and forth behind it too, reminding Ian of another dino, a Dorygnathus.

  But Dory didn’t live in Madagascar.

  Gnawing on his shotgun, Ian looked it in its missing eyes, snarled, and yanked it back hard, twisting around as he did. In one violent motion, Ian pulverized its skull into the stone at his back. It only took the one blow to get its toothy mouth to release its death grip on his weapon. Once it did, it flopped to the ledge and didn’t move. For good measure, Ian shoved it off the cliff with his foot, watching it plummet back down to earth.

  “Son of a bitch,” Ian said, leaning on his knees. He cringed feeling his chest wounds open up again. He didn’t have enough time to close them before being attacked. He would need to pack them tight and apply a series of butterfly bandages for the time being. He'd go see a doctor once this was all over to have them properly addressed.

  Over…

  The thought was cut off by a chorus of airborne screeches. More of the sky-demons were coming their way. Foregoing the gauze and bandages, Ian speedily threw his shirt, vest, and backpack on, slung his shotgun over his shoulder, and began his climb again. They needed to reach ground level before they were pulled free of the rock face.

  Wanting nothing more than to draw his pistol, Ian refrained from the act and concentrated on his footing and handholds, keeping at least three of his hands and feet in contact with the wall at all times. It was the safest way to scale any type of rocky surface, especially when free climbing like they were now. They didn’t have the benefit of a safety line to catch them if they should slip.

  More screeches bounced off the wall, reverberating around Ian and Babo. The way the calls ricocheted off the rock, it made it difficult for Ian to gauge the creatures distance to them. They could be dozens of feet away, or, as something grabbed his backpack, right behind them.

  Ian yelped when he was pulled free of the wall by the more prominent cousin of the one he had killed. This one was huge, having a wingspan of at least twenty-plus feet. It wasn’t a flying raptor or anything—not that he could tell from his current vantage point. The one thing he had going for him is that it had grabbed him by the shoulder straps of his vest and not his flesh.

  He didn’t need to be impaled again.

  Babo shouted after Ian, watching him from the wall as he was carried away. Not able to pull free, and not wanting to drop a hundred feet, Ian calmed and took in his situation to the fullest, using the time he had to plan his escape once he was released.

  First, he studied his captor, glancing at both of its clawed feet. They were scaled like a dinosaur’s, but had eagle talons as long as his hands, fingertip to palm. There were three digits too. He’d been extremely lucky that it didn’t’ latch onto the meat of his shoulders. But here he was… It had seized him and regardless of how he was actually grabbed, his circumstances were dire.

  Gotta be a nest around here somewhere.

  He looked down between his feet and noticed they were descending not f
lying straight across the open space. The creature’s home was nearby, apparently. If Ian could get away quick enough and shoulder his shotgun, he might just have a chance.

  A caw so loud that it made his ears ring resounded above his head. He looked straight up and saw the monster for what it was. While it’s face was long and pointed like a Dorygnathus’, it had the teeth of a carnivorous dinosaur chaotically jutting out in every direction. He doubted the thing could even close its mouth all the way without impaling itself. Even the shape of its skull was that of a raptor, just bigger and deformed.

  More evolution…

  Its arms were mostly wing, like a bat’s. Unlike the hybrid Rahonavis, which had conventional, jointed arms and clawed hands paired with the wings, the much larger Dorydevil only had really had its feet to clutch its prey with. That gave Ian hope that he could fight back, just as long as he stayed out of its killer grasp.

  One of the rock formations came into view directly below them, and the creature paused their trek, beginning to descend directly over it. When they were fifty feet above it, Ian could see shapes in the dim glow. The forms moved, hopping back and forth like...

  “Aw, shit,” he said, realizing the truth.

  The rock formation held the mama bird’s young and they were coming out in droves for their meal. Ian counted at least ten of the little shits too. There was no way to know if there were more of them within the mass of stone either. Small caves dotted its surface, providing natural shelter for the hatchlings.

  They came into better view as they continued downward. Each of the youths were the size of the one that had attacked him and Babo earlier. Apparently, the little ones could fly as well but still depended on their mother for further sustenance.

  Like me.

  With twenty feet to go, Ian felt her grip loosen. If she dropped him now, there was a good chance that he’d break his legs or back, maybe all of the above. It was the perfect plan actually. Injure the prey so they can’t run, but don’t kill them, so they stay nice and fresh.

  Or is it something else?

  Ian noticed that the trees grew close to the rocks on all sides. He seriously doubted a creature the size of the matriarch could adequately land on the roost without at least knocking her kids off or slipping and getting wedged between the trees and stone. It was plain to see that she routinely dropped her prey from above.

  Ian couldn’t let that happen. Not yet. Reaching up with both hands, he snagged both her ankles and squeezed as hard as he could. She instantly reacted, trying to shake him loose. Letting him go, Ian held on the best he could and was relieved to see them getting closer and closer to the peak below.

  Once he was ten feet above stone, he gritted his teeth and let go, preparing himself for a rough landing. Well, he tried to anyway. Instead of falling feet first, he was forced sideways at an awkward angle. When he hit, he took out two of the babies, driving them backward with his feet. Then, gravity took its course, pulling him down the side of the massive cone-shaped rock formation. It was, in essence, a circular plateau that tapered as it went higher. Now, going down, it acted like a wickedly bumpy slide.

  More of the miniature caves pocked its surface, some of them rattling his spine and tailbone as he slid by. He had traveled thirty feet and could still barely see the jungle floor. Suddenly, it appeared, along with a few small clusters of glowing mushroom. There were also curtains of spaghetti-like tree moss. The latter dangled low, giving the grounds around him an even eerier feel.

  The ground rushed to meet him, and Ian did what he could to brace himself. It didn’t work. Instead, he slammed home and rolled, thankful to see that the jungle floor was covered in a carpet of algae and mosses. It softened his high-speed arrival enough that he didn’t feel anything give and break.

  Unfortunately, Ian couldn’t stop his slippery, out-of-control landing and he spun and bashed into the base of a nearby tree. The last thing he heard before blacking out from the head-on collision was the chaotic hooting of more of the mysterious lemurs and a gutteral, angry growl of something enormous approaching.

  16

  They were everywhere—a horrible sight for sure. Multiple species of oversized bugs were crawling all over one another, vying for position atop a…

  Atop a what? Mack asked herself. She could see them swarming, feeding on something substantial in the center of the clearing. Whatever the meal was, it would’ve been considerable in size when alive, easily forty-feet-long. The dead creature’s girth sank another stone in her gut.

  They’d yet to see something that big.

  “This just keeps getting better and better…”

  The insects themselves were a type of rhinoceros beetle, but like everything else they had discovered, the bugs had also undergone some changes over the millennia. Instead of having a blunt, Y-shaped horn, this species had a very distinct, bladed, Y-shaped variant.

  The larger, Great Dane-sized ones numbered in the thirties, with another hundred or so smaller, cat-sized offspring hovering around their feet for scraps. Transfixed on the mayhem, Mack watched as they slashed and tore at the dead beast’s hide, ripping section after section of meat and innards away to be eaten.

  “Good, god,” Nash muttered, looking like he was going to vomit. “This ain’t right.”

  “None of it is,” Mack replied, feeling queasy.

  Multiple calls rang out behind them, reminding them that they were still running for their lives. The elephant birds had left them alone for a spell but seemed to be gaining confidence with each passing second.

  The hair on Mack’s neck stood on end when a handful of the beetles turned their way, reacting to the bird calls. As soon as the bugs realized they had visitors—and also another potential meal—they began hissing like mad. Then, one by one, they all abandoned the stripped carcass and faced her and Nash.

  “Shit,” he whispered, looking down the barrel of his rifle.

  Aiming her pistol, Mack was about to squeeze off a round but didn’t. Neither of them did. They didn’t have to. Dozens of bird calls rang out as one and, then, a flock of the elephant birds tore out of the treeline at a sprint, bypassing Mack and Nash entirely. It seemed that they were locked in on a more natural adversary.

  Still, the only humans in the area never let down their guard as they skirted around the battle royale. Squawks and hisses filled the air as the creatures fought one another, hacking at one another with their evolved weaponry.

  The beetles bucked their heads up and down, trying desperately to impale the closest bird, while the birds snapped their feet up with lightning fast attacks, looking like a champion kickboxer. Two of the animals tackled each other and rolled right at Mack. Both she and Nash dove in opposite directions, forced to separate for the time being.

  Hurrying around the frenzied creatures, Mack had no choice but to move towards the center of the frenzy, further into the fray. She ducked when one of the bleeding “ostriches” went airborne, thrown by the largest of the beetles. It had skewered the screeching bird, before discarding it and was resuming its ferocious assault on a second.

  Dammit, she thought, knowing she’d be dead if caught. The bird was almost a thousand pounds and was tossed away like it weighed a hundred.

  The “bull” bug noticed her and hissed. Mack immediately raised her gun and unloaded it into the beetle’s face. Unfortunately, like the typical species of rhinoceros beetle, this one had very strong, boney plates protecting most of its face. But unlike this version’s much smaller cousin, its face was seemingly bulletproof.

  “Move, move, move!” Nash shouted, coming out of nowhere shirt slathered in blood, pushing Mack closer to the bull.

  “What are you—”

  Nash’s decision to move them deeper into the action came to light moments later when six of the birds came running up behind them. With ten feet to spare, Nash pulled Mack to the left, nearly tripping her up as he yanked on her pack.

  Instead of following them, the beetle faced off against the group where
there were more significant numbers. Now closer, Mack could see that its shell was covered in scratches and grooves from previous altercations. The bull was old and a ferocious fighter. But could it survive against an all-out-blitz like this?

  Mack quickly decided that she didn't want to stay to find out and kept running. Both she and Nash took pot shots at everything that looked their way, bird and bug alike. Hopefully, the unfamiliar sound and sting of a gunshot wound would, at the very least, deter the beasts from pursuing them further. Rounding one of the ends of the mostly devoured corpse, Mack thought she saw what looked like a lizard’s clawed hand. It may have even belonged to a kind of crocodilian reptile of some sort.

  God help us.

  She wanted nothing to do with a creature that size in a place like this. She wasn’t as versed with the prehistory of Madagascar and could’ve really used Ian’s knowledge on the subject. She’d be kidding herself if she told someone that she didn’t miss him terribly right now. What she missed the most was the security she felt while in Ian's presence, especially in a strange place like this and, for that matter, above ground too. Even though he faced his own personal demons, he was solid as a rock as they faced the demons this island offered.

  Dashing into the trees on the other side of the chaos, Mack's thoughts drifted to Ian and Babo. She and Nash could definitely use their help just as she was sure the two men could use theirs.

  * * *

  He smelled something sweet. The aroma was coming from the bedroom, thick but pleasant. He knew the scent well. Abigail had used the same strong-smelling shampoo for years. She hated wearing perfume and choking Ian to death on its potency. So instead, she opted for what didn’t piss off his sinuses.

  Ian opened the bathroom door and peeked in, feeling like a child doing something naughty. Then, his juvenile mind would step aside and allow his much more dominate adult form to take over.

  Ian marched in like he owned the place, which he did, half of it anyway. Undressing, he joined Abigail in the vast, walk-in shower. Opening the fogged, glass door, Ian grinned, reaching out for her butt. One quick, unexpecting squeeze could make the woman shriek like a banshee. He loved to tease her.