The Lost Island

by Douglas Preston

  The trail continued along, close to the cliff’s edge. The surrounding jungle appeared to be full of strange and exotic creatures: brilliantly colored spiders (which he hoped weren’t poisonous), odd crested lizards scurrying away, and multicolored birds crying raucously in the trees. Another monkey troop approached with a huge amount of noise, different from the first. He quickly stepped off the trail into dense vegetation, ready to take a shot. These monkeys had white heads, and he recollected from the briefing book that they must be white-headed capuchins. But he didn’t recall the streak of yellow on the hind legs, like stockings.

  Hoping that they weren’t rare and exotic, apologizing to the gods, he waited silently, .45 at the ready, as the troop worked through the treetops closer to him. They were feeding with great gusto on fruits, the discarded pits dropping down around him. Slowly, he took a bead on the biggest monkey and aimed. It was a tough shot, over a hundred feet. He let his breath run out, then squeezed the trigger.

  A loud explosion. The monkeys erupted in a deafening screeching, the trees thrashing as they raced off, including the monkey he had tried to shoot, with a large amount of loose dung falling around him as a sort of good-bye gesture.

  “Son of a bitch,” he muttered to himself, tucking the .45 back into his waistband, flicking a piece of monkey shit off his shoulder, the foul stench rising up around him. He moved carefully back to the open trail.

  Behind him, he heard a sound, a rushing—and then a terrifying roar. He spun around, fumbling his pistol out, but before he could raise it a hideous, terrifying creature came charging down the trail, its pink mouth open and bellowing. It was gigantic, humanoid, with a massive oversize head in which stood one huge, glistening, yellow, saucer-like eye.

  A huge hairy arm swept out and Gideon felt a bone-breaking blow to his side, knocking him a good ten feet into the violent embrace of the jungle. He lay dazed and in excruciating pain as the furious creature, with another grotesque and spine-freezing roar, bore down on him with a slab-like hand, and struck another mighty blow…

  51

  THROUGH A VEIL of pain, awareness slowly returned. Gideon found himself in semi-darkness. He drifted in and out of consciousness, vaguely aware that someone was with him, apparently tending to him. Slowly, bits and pieces of what had happened came back to him. He tried to move and felt someone raise his head, lift a gourd of water to his lips. It was Amiko.

  “My God…What a nightmare…”

  “I’m so glad you’re coming to.”

  “It hurts—”

  “I know. Drink some water.”

  He drank again. “Where…?”

  “We’re in a cave.”

  “And you—how are you—?”

  “I’m good. Almost all better.”

  “How long have I been out?”

  “About twenty-four hours.”

  Gideon laid his head back. Nothing made sense. How could she be better? Why were they in a cave?

  The attack. The creature. Was it a nightmare? Or real?

  “I had this nightmare. I dreamed I was attacked by…by some kind of monster.”

  “It’s no nightmare. It’s real. We’re his prisoners.”

  “Prisoners?” He tried to sit up but a lightning pain shot through his head, and he winced and lay back down. “What happened?”

  Amiko set aside the gourd. Gideon tried to focus on her in the dimness, but his head kept swirling.

  “After you left, I started to get worse. Much worse. The wound was becoming infected. My fever spiked. I couldn’t move from the spot where you’d left me. I felt like I was burning up, I became delirious, and I guess I was shouting or mumbling. And then this…one-eyed creature appeared. I thought I was hallucinating. It, or rather he, circled about warily, grunting at me. God, you can’t believe how frightened I was when I finally realized…this isn’t a dream. I think what saved my life was that I was obviously too sick and weak to be a threat. He came closer, roughed me up a bit. Slapped me, prodded, yanked my hair. I tried to scream. He made a horrible sound, struck me harder. Opened the wound again.”

  “Bastard…”

  “Gideon, I think that monster is an honest-to-God living Cyclops.”

  “Impossible. They must have died out thousands of years ago.”

  “Listen to the end of my story, then. I figured this monster was going to kill me. But he didn’t. He seemed more apprehensive than aggressive. I tried to think what to do…and then I had an idea. I spoke to him.”

  “Spoke to him? What did you say?”

  “I spoke the ancient Greek word for ‘friend.’”

  Gideon tried to wrap his head around this.

  “In the Odyssey, the Cyclopes could speak. I figured, if Odysseus came here, and the Greeks after him, maybe this thing was really a Cyclops and knew some words of Greek.”

  “And it understood?”

  “When I spoke that word, he stopped cold. Stared at me with that awful eye. I repeated the word, spoke a few others. It was my impression he understood a little, but couldn’t speak in return. But I kept trying, one word after another. For the longest time he remained, listening, as if in a trance. It almost looked like he was remembering…” She paused. “I kept repeating that I was a friend, that he could trust me—soothing words, spoken softly. But then I lapsed back into the fever. After that I don’t really remember much. He carried me to the cave. I sort of remember seeing you. I was getting even sicker. The wound got swollen, bloated, purple, and all this foul fluid starting coming out, and I really felt like I was going to die. I can’t remember much except that he forced me to drink a terrible-tasting gruel.”

  “The lotus root.”

  “Yes. And it did to me what it did to you. I’d never felt so peaceful. And when I came out of it, I was a lot better. The fever was gone. The wound was healing fast. Incredibly fast. Look at me now. He saved my life.”

  “And then what?”

  “The creature was gone when I came out of it. You were lying there, on the ground, all bloody. At first, I thought you were dead. That he’d killed you. I looked you over, found you were alive—but I think you’ve got some broken ribs and a possible broken arm, not to mention a nasty head wound—maybe a concussion.”

  Gideon lay back, his head spinning, body racked with pain. This was too crazy.

  “The thing rolled a boulder over the mouth of the cave. We’re his prisoners.”

  “What does he want?” Gideon managed to say.

  “I have no idea. You’re in bad shape. We’ve got to get you the lotus. We’ve got to convince him to help you like he helped me.”

  Gideon tried to concentrate on what he had just heard. It seemed incredible. He glanced around but had a hard time focusing his eyes. He realized several bones were broken; he could feel the ends grating against each other, and the terrible pain, when he tried to move in certain ways. They were in a rough lava cave. Faint light filtered down from a narrow fissure in the ceiling. A dying fire lay upon the rude sandy floor. “Convince that monster? I doubt it. We need to get the hell out of here.”

  “No. We need his help. Otherwise, you won’t make it.”

  At that moment there was a sound—a scraping and rumbling.

  “He’s coming back,” Amiko whispered. “He’s moving the boulder.”

  Another rumble, and now Gideon could hear footsteps—a heavy tread that seemed to shake the ground. He turned warily toward the sound—and there, emerging from the darkness, was the creature that had attacked him.

  Gideon could hardly believe what he was seeing. The creature was huge—maybe nine feet tall, with a massive head on a thickly muscled neck. In the middle of its face glistened a single, glossy eye the size of a plate that looked this way and that, exposing bloodshot whites. It had a huge nose, flat and glistening, flaring nostrils, and a wide, fleshy mouth with dry, leathery lips, which drew back to reveal a rack of sharp yellow teeth and pink gums. A mat of silvery hair sprang up from the top of its head and fell in long, tangled
tresses, almost like dreadlocks, to its waist. The monster’s body was the color of sand, covered with pale fur that looked as soft as mohair. Despite this, the skin beneath displayed many ragged purplish scars, old wounds, marks, and puckered flesh. He was wearing an old animal skin tied around his waist, with a leather sack hanging from it. The creature looked like some hideous species of ape.

  Except for its weapon. In one massive, ropy arm he carried a giant wooden spear with a flaked stone point.

  Without a doubt, it was the living version of that hideous skull the natives worshipped. Amiko was right. It was, indeed, a live Cyclops.

  The Cyclops stopped and stared at Gideon with that large, yellowish globe of an eye. It scowled, the eyelid narrowing. Then, with a guttural roar, it raised the spear menacingly and advanced with it pointed at him, apparently about to run him through. Gideon, his head still swimming, tried to move, but the pain was so massive, and his head so thick, he could barely turn aside.

  Amiko cried out, rose to her feet, and stepped in front of Gideon, speaking to the Cyclops in ancient Greek, rapidly, quietly, soothingly. Her words seemed to give the creature pause…but only momentarily. It growled again, pushed her aside with its arm, stepped forward and placed a bare, horny foot on Gideon’s chest. The pressure against his broken ribs sent a wave of pain coursing through him and he screamed.

  “No!” Amiko cried. “Please!”

  The creature placed the point of the spear against Gideon’s chest.

  More rapid talk from Amiko, urgent, desperate. The creature stared down, his face distorted with what seemed like hatred and fear. Gideon could feel the tip tear through his shirt fabric and pierce his skin. He felt helpless. “No…no…” He tried to twist away but couldn’t. He was too weak, and the pain was truly unbearable.

  Amiko pleaded, her voice getting louder. The pressure on the spear increased, the tip biting through the flesh, pushing against his breastbone.

  “Stop it!” Amiko cried in English. “For God’s sake, stop!” She rushed at the creature and attacked it with her fists, flailing away. “Don’t hurt him!”

  Taken by surprise, the creature stepped back and grabbed her in one of its massive arms. She flailed about, clawing at its eye. It thrust her aside with a gentle movement, but with still enough force to send her sprawling on the sandy floor. She tried to get up, yelling in Greek.

  The creature removed the spear from Gideon’s chest and then, with an irritated noise, walked to the wall of the cave, and leaned it against the stone. Then he displayed his empty hands to her in a clear gesture of acquiescence.

  Amiko continued speaking in Greek until the Cyclops made a violent gesture at her with a loud barking roar. Amiko fell silent, trembling in fear.

  Gideon lay there, in so much pain that he almost hoped it would soon be over.

  “I think the Cyclops is going to try to kill you.”

  “Your gun…,” Gideon gasped, “get it out.”

  “I can’t. He saved my life, Gideon…And if I kill him, you won’t get the lotus. We have to find another way.”

  Gideon gasped as another wave of pain wafted over him.

  “He’s very suspicious of you. It’s clear to me he’s been hurt by people before.”

  The creature squatted at the hearth and, taking some dry sticks from a pile nearby, placed them on the dying coals and blew up a fire. The cave filled with a flickering light. Gideon could hardly take his eyes off the monster. It was like something out of a B movie, a huge, muscled Neanderthal, stooped, with a sloping forehead and a beetling brow over that single monstrous eye. The fire going, the Cyclops squatted and, untying the leather sack from his waist, opened it and removed a large iguana. He rammed a stick through it and propped it to roast next to the fire.

  Gideon felt his head swim. He felt like he was going to pass out.

  Amiko started speaking again, pointing at Gideon and gesturing. The creature ignored her for a while, then growled menacingly, but she continued to press the issue. Even as she spoke, Gideon felt the pain growing—unbearable pain—and his mind clouded, swimming. He struggled to stay conscious, but despite his best efforts things drew farther away…very far away indeed…and he lapsed back into unrelieved darkness.

  52

  THREE DAYS HAD passed. Three strange days. They had gone by in a dream-like fugue state, as Gideon passed in and out of consciousness. Fragments of it came back to him later: the Cyclops growling and prodding him hard; the Cyclops stretched out in the sand, sleeping by the fire; Amiko feeding him a cup of foul gruel, similar to what he’d tasted at the ceremony, while the Cyclops looked on, scowling. He remembered anew that wondrous feeling of peace and contentment he had experienced before, followed by a second vicious hangover.

  And then, when his head cleared at last, he felt better. Much better. He was still weak, and in some pain, but incredibly enough the broken bones appeared to be well on their way to knitting, the cuts were healing, and his head no longer hurt. The restorative power of the root was truly remarkable.

  For the first time, Gideon felt a wave of actual hope. Real hope instead of hopeless speculation. He might have a future after all. For all he knew, the vein of Galen defect in his brain might be healing up along with his broken bones. But then…it wasn’t an injury. It was a congenital defect. It might be beyond the reach of even the lotus.

  The only problem was that they were still prisoners of the Cyclops.

  Gideon lay by the fire, watching Amiko grill the carcass of some small animal—evidently a rat—a string of which the Cyclops had brought back to the cave and hung on the wall.

  “Yum,” said Gideon, looking at the roasting, popping rat, its little claws flaming into stumps, dripping fat into the fire.

  “Almost done. You’re going to love it.”

  “I actually think I will. I’m starving.”

  Amiko removed the rodent from the fire and propped it on its improvised stake to cool. After a few minutes she pulled apart the roasted animal with her hands, laying a piece for Gideon on a large banana leaf. He tucked into it.

  “You realize, Gideon, we now have all the proof we need. Both of us, cured by the lotus. We’ve got to identify the plant—and the Cyclops is the key to that.”

  “How?”

  “You’re the one who’s good at social engineering. Think about how we might persuade the Cyclops to show us the plant.”

  “The last time I tried social-engineering a Cyclops, it ended badly. Do you know why he’s keeping us?”

  “Fear,” Amiko said. “I believe he’s terrified of humans and thinks that if he lets us go, we might come back with more of our kind.”

  “He’s probably right.”

  “I’m serious about the social engineering, Gideon. I’ve tried everything. I can’t break through his suspicion. And you know…” She gave a little laugh. “He’s kind of dumb, actually. In a sweet way. He might be easily manipulated—if you could just find the right way to do it.”

  Gideon sat back, thinking. Successful social engineering always exploited a basic need. Odysseus had gotten Polyphemus drunk and put out his eye. Aside from the fact they had no wine, hurting the creature was out of the question. The Cyclops had injured them—but it had also saved both their lives. They had not gained its trust, however…only its forbearance. And that was a tenuous thing indeed.

  They needed to make friends.

  The Cyclops was gone for the present, the rock rolled over the mouth of the cave. Gideon noticed that their drysacks had been thrown into one corner. Crawling over to his, he rummaged through it, then finally dumped the contents onto the sand. Knife, gun, miscellaneous junk. Friendship started with an exchange of gifts. He couldn’t give away the gun; besides, the creature wouldn’t know how to use it. The knife? He needed that, too. And he’d noticed that the Cyclops already had an array of beautifully made stone knives with bone handles.

  “If you’re looking for a gift,” Amiko said, “I thought of that. We don’t have anything h
e would want. We forgot the beads and mirrors.”

  “One of the headlamps?”

  “He seems to see perfectly well in the dark.”

  Gideon thought for a while. Social engineering always began with understanding the target’s deepest needs and desires. What were a Cyclops’s basic needs? Food, water, sex, shelter, fire…

  Gideon suddenly had an idea. He explained it to Amiko.

  She thought for a moment and said, “Worth a try.”

  “Fetch one of those spears and climb on my shoulders.”

  Amiko grabbed a spear and climbed up. Unsteadily, ignoring the pain, he managed to raise her. Taking the butt end of the spear, she reached upward, jammed it into a crack in the ceiling, and started prying.

  “Don’t start a cave-in.”

  “I’m trying not to.”

  “When a rock comes loose, give a shout.”

  She pried back and forth with the pole, loosening a chunk of lava from the ceiling. Suddenly she gave a shout and jumped off his shoulders; he threw himself sideways as a large chunk of lava came down with a crash, landing with a thud in the sand near the fire, showering them with smaller rocks, one of which glanced off his forehead, leaving a nasty cut.

  Gideon wasted no time. He gathered up some of the smaller rocks and artfully dumped them on the fire, scattering a few around, adding some sand. They then rolled the big rock on top, effectively putting out the fire. They brushed away marks in the sand around the fire, hiding the evidence of what they had done and arranging it to look like a small, natural cave-in. Smoke came trickling up from around the rocks for a few minutes, and then stopped.

  “Damn cave-in,” Gideon said with a smirk. “It put out the fire. Wonder what our friend’s going to do about it?”

  A few hours later they heard the Cyclops return, rolling the rock away with much grunting and then entering, two enormous, gutted iguanas over his shoulder. He walked in and stopped, staring at the fire. Then he looked up at the ceiling, looked back down, and hastily began pulling the rocks and sweeping the sand from the fire. Fetching some small twigs, he placed them in the dead coals and knelt, blowing steadily. Nothing happened. The fire was dead.