Human

by Hayley Camille

  Instead of tainting Gihn further, Ivy simply listened, asking questions occasionally and remembering as much as she could to record in her journal back at the cave. Behind them, the Southern Cross shone in yellow ochre on the wall, and Kyah, Trahg and Turi laughed and rolled about in the leaves all afternoon.

  No one noticed when Trahg dipped his own little finger into the remaining pigments as any child would, who could not resist. And when they left as the sun set, no one noticed the yellow woman with flaming red hair left on the limestone. Nor the dark haired creature and small boy drawn beside her, holding hands.

  The chimpanzee shuffled loudly above him. Neil held his breath as it passed. It was almost too easy. For the last two days the chimp had foraged ever closer to his hide-out. Today it was alone, lacking its usual entourage of man-ape children, but Neil cared little for its reasons for solitude. All he cared was that it was alone. The animal was a clear threat and it was time to get rid of it.

  He’d spent the night with a sharp chunk of flint in his fist, stripping and shaping a switch. His own blood stained the shaft of the spear that he now had to show for his efforts, along with the cuts and bruises that were etched into his palms and fingers. Still, the spear offered Neil a degree of protection, and what better initiation for it, than to kill the only thing here that knew he existed. One less obstacle.

  Seemingly oblivious to his presence, the chimpanzee skirted low branches, further and further into the forest. Neil was unfamiliar with the dark trees it led him through, but wasn't concerned. He ran his fingers over the curve of his mobile tucked away in his pocket. It was almost always switched off to conserve battery power, but in the unlikely event he needed it, the compass would point him back to the river.

  Neil let out a soft grunt, ducking under a branch and pushing through a thorny tangle of vines. Ahead, the chimp kept moving. Take your time. Neil held back as far as he dared, wanting to get enough distance between himself and the cavemen to ensure he wouldn’t be seen or heard when he rammed his spear into the chimp's soft belly. Its constant presence goaded him.

  The deliberate threat as it stood over him by the river’s edge still cut into Neil's memory. He was loathe to admit what he knew now was an undeniable truth. It didn't just see me. It saw me. My desperation. My intentions. My fear. Ever since, it had followed in the redhead’s shadow as a silent sentinel, waiting for him to act again, no doubt. But I won't be so careless again. This time, fear for yourself, chimp. Neil wiped a trail of sweat down his trouser leg and re-gripped his spear.

  An advantage wasn't given, it was created. That first defeat had been hard, but it was an opportunity to learn. There's more at play here than a fucking game of Survivor. There were lives at stake. His own life, obviously. And Benjamin's life. I can give him time. I'll do it all again, I'll give him my time. This time. There would be no more tubes and chemo if he could get that amulet. The boy had put on a brave face but Neil was next to useless against death's shadow. It was easier to keep the boy at arms' length and save him from the disappointment that came from seeing a parent's inevitable fall from hero to human. Benjamin needed a hero, a real one. No more pain. A chance to live.

  And soon, Neil would be that hero.

  There was life to be had. There were opportunities begging in a world that would devour an energy source he could provide. The world was hungry for resources and knowledge that he could steal from its own future and carry back, by bending time itself.

  And no damned monkey is going to take that opportunity away.

  Neil crept forward. Far enough. The chimp seemed to be slowing, waiting for something. Neil moved slowly, closing the distance between them. It was so close now. The chimp's head swivelled and he saw its eyelids narrow. It ducked beyond the shadow and momentarily disappeared from view. Readying his spear, Neil broke through the forest edge, a smirk on his face.

  He stared, blinking dumbly into the sunlight, swivelling his head in search of the chimp.

  “Where are you, you little bastard?” he said, turning slowly. “You can't hide forever.” Neil heard a slight movement above him. Concealed on a low branch amongst dark foliage, the chimpanzee stared down. Its eyes bore into his own, fully aware of his presence. It pulled its lips back baring teeth. Then slowly, deliberately, it pointed over Neil's shoulder.

  He spun around.

  A trap!

  Only seconds had passed with Neil standing exposed and distracted in the forest glade. But as the shouts went up and sharp spears surrounded his face and chest, Neil had time to glimpse his deceiver one last time before it disappeared silently back into shadows. You clever bastard.

  Spears jabbed into his chest and arms, forcing Neil to his knees. Tiny rivulets of blood broke from his white skin. His captors shouted at each other over his head, clearly incensed by his sudden appearance from the undergrowth. Sweat stung his eyes and his heart pumped furiously. Truth be told, this was what Neil expected to find in this archipelago jungle, whenever in prehistory he’d fallen. Human hunters - tall, dark-skinned and possessing all the reasoning skills of a modern human.

  One man stepped forward, red beads swaying from his cropped hair. His face was young but he had the indefinable carriage of a leader. The red-beaded hunter grimaced at Neil’s white skin, and then boldly leant forward. Where the other hunters were clearly nervous, this one showed no fear at his white face. With a flint blade tight in his fist, the hunter pushed his own hand through Neil’s greying hair. As Neil tried to twist away, the man scraped his exposed neck with the knife in warning. He grabbed Neil roughly by the jaw and studied him carefully. The others argued over his head, spears poised.

  Neil sensed the beaded hunter assessing him. The hunter pulled Neil’s spear from his hand and surveyed it with critical eyes. He ran his fingers over the point, clearly unimpressed. He threw it to the undergrowth. He picked at Neil’s shirt collar and ran his fingers across his trousered leg, scowling. He plucked at the shirt buttons with his fingernail and scuffed his bare toes into Neil's shoe. Then he simply stood, considering, while the others argued around him. After a few long minutes, the red-beaded hunter turned to the others gesturing with instruction toward the North.

  A rabble of objections broke out and many spat towards Neil, furious with whatever had been suggested. The closest man, older and heavily muscled, pulled a sharp flint blade from a band at his waist. In one swift move, the knife was pushed to Neil’s bare throat. Neil felt a trickle of warm blood and squeezed his eyes shut. He braced himself for the inevitable.

  It never came.

  Through squinting eyes, Neil saw the man struck hard across the jaw. The older man stumbled back, dropping his blade in surprise. A snarl of warning came from the red-beaded hunter. All around him, the others’ eyes were wide with shock. But no one stepped forward to defy him again. In protest, the defeated hunter pulled something from his waistband. It was a plait of long matted hair, dark and coarse. A woman’s hair. He indicated the direction from which Neil had come. He grabbed at the long spear of a comrade as he spat his argument at the red-beaded leader.

  Neil watched the plait of hair swing back and forth in the latter man’s hand. It was unlike the hair on these men. Their hair was black and glossy in the sunlight. The severed cord of hair was different, thicker with hints of rusty brown. It was dirty and caked with blood at one end where it had been bunched unevenly.

  In a moment of clarity, the realisation hit him. The ape-men.

  These hunters didn’t want a hostage. They were as unwitting in the chimp’s plot as he had been himself. These men were out to hunt and to kill.

  This hair was hers. The dead one. Neil’s stomach turned a little at the thought. He'd watched two days ago as the sun came up in his usual spot. But instead of her morning swim, the redhead had brought the old man with her and washed the dead female’s body by the river. When they were done, she carried it back up to the cave. Neil had noticed the body's crudely cropped hair – an anomaly in the cave dwellers. He'd
assumed it was some sort of a burial ritual and left it at that. Despite that, it was clear that her wounds were severe, and now, it was obvious. This lot killed her. And now they're spoiling for a fight. He wondered what she could have possibly done to provoke a death so barbaric.

  Neil watched the men around him argue, their tempers heightened by the promise of violence and his own unwelcome disruption to their plans. They didn't know what to do with him. Most seemed scared by his appearance. Others looked suspicious and angry and no doubt would slit his throat without a moment's hesitation if given the chance. Some again, like the older, muscled hunter, looked increasingly intent on finishing him, if only to continue to their goal. They wanted the ape-men dead. Neil steadied his breathing as another spear was pushed dangerously close to his ribcage. He felt fabric gather on its tip as his chest rose and fell. He could die here and now.

  Or he could fight. On strength or skill, he would lose. But perhaps, a different kind of fighting was required here. He closed his eyes for a moment, shutting them all out. An advantage wasn't given, it was created. And where there was violence, there was potential…

  The red-beaded hunter won his argument. For almost two hours, Neil was pushed and dragged through dense forest. The hunters took him North, bound at the wrists. He watched the trail closely, memorising what he could. A half dozen spears jabbed his skin to keep him moving and when he stumbled and fell, he was kicked to his feet again. Neil considered his options. He didn’t know where he was being taken or how long he had before they reached their destination. Once there, he had no doubt that his life would once again be contested. Neil glanced surreptitiously to the red-beaded man who scowled at him. Once again, Neil felt he was being evaluated. There was only one thing for it. Neil glared back with a silent message. Do your worst. The man grunted, surprised. He turned away with a thoughtful look, continuing his lead. This one is different, Neil realised. For whatever reason, he had kept Neil alive. To remain that way, was clearly goal number one.

  They were hunting the ape-men when they found me, so they're angry with them. And if that hair is any indication, the animals will come off worse in a fight. Neil saw the ape-men in his mind's eye, dead or scattered, leaving the redhead alone. Vulnerable. With the black stone tied to her wrist. The ape-men were already on the wrong side of a losing battle. Against these humans, they didn't stand a chance. There's no blood on my hands either, they're already marked.

  Instead of fighting for his own life, Neil could make the humans believe they had to fight for theirs. Goal number two. Use these humans to get the stone.

  There was potential here. Neil scowled at the broad shoulders of the man in front of him. The bright red beads snapped against the hunter's neck as he moved. So, the enemy of my enemy…

  The remainder of the journey was swift. Dark strategy again became his ally.

  For the remainder of that day and through the night, Neil waited while his fate was argued. During the night he’d grown dead cold and looked longingly to the flickering campfires occupied by his captors. By midday the following day, the oppressive humidity and unrelenting sun had turned his skin red. There was no chance to escape. To dissuade him from trying, two hunters stood spear-ready by his side at all times. Of those that took turns guarding him, none had seemed too pleased. They too shared his discomfort of the elements while waiting, their moods fouling as they grew more cold or hot.

  After the initial unwelcome by the human tribe, a number of elders had retreated to the cool recess of their limestone cave. Neil assumed his own life was the topic of discussion. While Neil waited, he learned, never letting an event, however trivial, pass unnoticed. There were approximately eighty men that came and went at various times of the day. Mostly however, they sat in small groups on the far side of the camp, drinking and talking, or sleeping under bamboo shades. Neil had counted another sixty or so women, going about their daily chores with children at their heels, avoiding his eyes and skirting his virtual prison with a wide berth. The only exception was a young woman with blue feathers in her hair. Upon the direction of the red-beaded hunter she had delivered water to Neil several times in a cured bladder, and then scurried away, leaving the faint scent of salt and herbs behind. The hunter sat nearby, watching Neil closely as he hafted a quiver of wood with his knife. It was clear he was irritated at his exclusion from the council.

  No time like the present, Neil thought. He wiped his face with his filthy tie and knotted it around his forehead to slow the stream of sweat that stung his eyes. Neil pulled his mobile from his pocket and flicked it on, holding it toward the watching hunter. Immediately, the red-beaded man approached. He muttered a command to the two guards and they left.

  Neil spun the phone slowly in his fingers. The hunter watched him suspiciously, kneeling, with a long bladed knife casually resting against his knee. The implication was clear. One wrong move and Neil’s temporary reprieve would be gone. The hunter grimaced and shifted his chin toward the device.

  The enemy of my enemy… With quick flicks, Neil opened the last photo in his gallery. It was a clear shot of some of the little beasts by the river, taken from his brambled hollow. With a look of deliberate collusion, he turned the screen face to the kneeling hunter. His reaction was just as Neil had anticipated. Yelling and stumbling backward, leaping to his feet, grabbing his knife. Its stone blade came to rest inches from the screen, the photograph still glaring like a miniature prison for the creatures displayed. He shouted again, looking fiercely between Neil and the device.

  Neil knew what he did was risky. But it was a calculated risk. With no comparable concept, the very idea of capturing the image of a person onto a surface was heinous. Blasphemous even. Surely it would be taken as clear evidence of evil, this act of capturing a soul. Neil hoped so. To steal a soul represented power, evil or not, and only a god would be capable of such an act. Neil knew nothing of religion, but assumed primitive cultures venerated some kind of deity, perhaps more than one. It didn't matter to him which ones. Surely they feared their god, or feared the wrath of bringing evil spirits into their village through disobedience or disrespect. Neil figured there could be only two alternate repercussions for his attempt at feigned supremacy - he would be murdered or idolised. He desperately hoped for the latter. If Neil was a god, he couldn’t be punished. In fact, he would have to be obeyed.

  Quickly, Neil flicked to a second photo, not wanting to lose his audience. The man growled at the reflected image. Relentlessly, Neil forced more photographs before the hunters' eyes. His detailed chronicle of the daily lives of the ape-men illustrated his obsession. With each photograph, the hunter grew less fearful and more critical until his face betrayed open curiosity.

  Finally, Neil tapped hard on the knife still clutched in the hunter’s fist. With deliberate provocation, he tapped on the image of the pregnant ape-woman remaining on the screen. He drew his own hand across his throat.

  Kill it.

  Again Neil pointed to the knife, and again, another photo.

  Kill it.

  The imitation left no doubt as to his intention. I want them dead too.

  The red-beaded hunter nodded, eyeing the mobile device. Neil sensed his distrust of it. But he doesn’t need to trust the machine, thought Neil. He needs to trust me.

  Neil decided it was time to establish the only two spoken words he felt he should know. After a few minutes of miscommunication, the first word was this man’s name - Charat.

  Then the photographs prompted the second name. Ebu Gogo.

  The mood between the two men shifted imperceptibly. A glimmer of understanding passed between them. Neil had clawed his first inch of respect.

  As dark descended, the humid air turned cold, and chilled the sweat clinging to Neil’s skin. Trailing from the cave in small groups, men and women crowded around him. The faces of the council flickered behind the firelight. Each one was heavily adorned in shells and carved bone with ochre patterned across their skin. They held no weapons which only served t
o symbolise their power. At their slightest indication, any number of hunters would spring forth to protect them.

  Neil was not used to feeling intimidated. He pushed his tense shoulders straight and lifted his chin against their authority. He refused to let his fear reach his eyes. Neil imagined that to the Ebu Gogo, these humans must be terrifying. They stood twice as high and were broad shouldered and strong. Humans outshone them with sophistication and culture. They must have religion and tradition and the inevitability of dominance over their natural world. The Ebu Gogo were nothing. They simply couldn't compete and for a split second, Neil almost felt sorry for them. Almost. It's them or me, he reminded himself. If I don't get that stone, I'll die here.

  The entire tribe had turned out for the spectacle, eager to hear his fate. Behind him in the darkness, the guards shifted closer. Charat addressed the council while Neil stood, awaiting his part. Finally, the hunter turned and signalled him to come forward. His audience was waiting.

  Neil strengthened his resolve, internalising his commitment to act by the Art of War. Let your plans be dark and as impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt.

  Neil garnished his face with his typical intimidating glare, daring his audience to doubt him. Anything less and he would give himself away. Neil walked deliberately to the council of elders and held his mobile to their faces. When he was sure the majority could see, he opened the first photograph. The image elicited a reward of fearful cries and shouts. Neil waited for all council members to see and then flicked slowly through his selection of photographs. The luminescent screen face was all the more fantastic against the dark night.