“About time I think,” Captain Shuler answered.
Each of them had a collapsible hunting style tripod stool in their backpack. They weren’t the most comfortable, but afforded them a place to rest. Backpacks were swung off their backs, water bottles were produced; and each member of the team took a seat on their small chairs.. They would eat a meal of MREs here on the mountain. Then they would go over the base of the volcano and on to the second mountain, and the caves beyond.
Jesus, it’s hot. We’ll be pushing on to our destination after lunch. There are caves up on that mountain, they say. And even though these kids come from every different scientific field I can think of, even though they’re studying the plants, and the snakes and the rocks, it’s the caves that we’re here for, I just know it. This is supposed to be a general research expedition, but we’re heading right for those caves. There is something odd about our photographer, too. He’s handy, for sure, but I feel like he knows a lot more about this place than anyone else. Why would that be? Well, I’d better choke down this MRE. Yum, lasagna.
Chapter 15
Kimmy Soon, who was actually Kim Su-eun, until she had finally committed to completely Americanizing her name, packed up her things, done with work at last. Like many people, she hated work, but unlike many, her hatred was deep, not just a matter of disdain for having to earn a living. She literally loathed her profession and those that she worked with or for.
“Thank you so much, you were very entertaining,” said the forty-year-old mother of three who had hired her. She stood nearby in the kitchen as Kimmy packed the last of her things into the deep blue bag.
“You must really love what you do,” the woman continued. She was average height and slender for her age. She was white, but beyond that, her features looked to Kimmy like every other white woman who hired her.
Kimmy was terse with her. “One hundred eighty-five dollars, please.” She did not smile at the woman but was crisp and polite. She formed her words with careful deliberation, mindful of the Korean accent that followed her everywhere she went. It was not an accent that would ever go away, no matter how long she had lived in the United States.
The woman looked a little startled and then turned from her, presumably to grab a checkbook. That’s fine, Kimmy thought. She did not want, nor did she need friends. She needed to pay her monthly apartment rent, purchase groceries, and pay for the gas and insurance on her automobile. Beyond that, her life was very stark. She did not need this yuppie white woman to like her.
Kimmy looked up when she heard small feet walk over to her.
“I want to be a clown just like you.” The voice was light and high pitched, the voice of a five-year-old boy.
Just then, the woman came back over with Kimmy’s check. Kimmy looked from the woman to the child. A pained forced smile played over Kimmy’s face. With grit in her voice, she forced out, “Well then, you’ll have to go to clown school, just like me then, won’t you?”
The boy nodded, satisfied with her answer, then Kimmy turned away from him. She took the check from the woman’s hand without comment and picked up her bag. The kitchen had a door that led out to the deck, and off the deck was the driveway, where her modest Saturn two-door was parked. There had been a light rain and Kimmy had to navigate down the flight of wooden deck stairs carefully, lest her long red shoes slip and cause her to fall.
When she reached her car, Kimmy threw the blue bag into the backseat, unceremoniously whipped off the rainbow-colored wig she wore, took off her gigantic shoes, and tossed them all into the back of the car. She peeled off her white gloves and tossed them into the backseat. She ran her hands over the top of her head then ducked into the car and started its engine. She shifted the car into reverse, glancing up into the rearview mirror as she did. To her disgust, she saw that the bright yellow foam clown nose was still stuck in the center of her makeup-covered face.
She plucked the nose from her face as if it were a leech, flinging it with disgust onto the passenger floorboard. Through all the makeup, it was difficult to see that she was Korean. That’s how the whites liked it. They didn’t want to acknowledge a cultural group. As progressive as they claimed to be, they were a scared ignorant race. To them, all Asians might as well be wearing clown costumes as different as they looked from the whites.
For that matter, why was she called Asian? It’s not as if Kimmy were Chinese or, she sneered, Japanese. It was bullshit of the highest magnitude, she thought, to lump such a variety of different races and people into one group just because they shared some physical characteristics. It was true that many “Asians” did have slender, intelligent eyes and small features, in contrast to the big, cow-eyed, broad faces of the moronic whites.
The little Saturn soared swiftly through the city. Kimmy made a brief jog onto the expressway, then exited three miles later. Soon, her familiar neighborhood loomed in the early evening light. The buildings were not altogether decrepit, and it was not, as many whites said, the ghetto, another abysmally racist reference to the slums in which the Nazis, the very epitome of white society at its height of decadence, would cast down all those it felt were beneath them, most notably the Jews.
It was not run-down, nor was it upper class. Her community consisted mainly of single-family rental homes and a few condominiums, most of which were age-restricted and many times with income limitations. The streets did not have medians, but nearly every house had a yard of neatly manicured green grass, shade trees and shrubbery. Maybe this was not the “American Dream” type of area, but it was a neighborhood of hard workers, most of them Hispanic, Asian, and a few lower income whites.
Kimmy’s apartment building was a twenty-year-old complex that sat at the end of a street near a larger thoroughfare lined with grocery stores and shops. They were not touristy shops, but practical ones: hardware stores, grocery stores, drug stores and liquor stops. Her building was nice enough, and it seemed that many of the people who lived there were friendly and quite pleasant., as least as nice as anyone was to a stranger on the street or a casual passerby in a hallway. Kimmy pulled into the u-shaped apartment complex with its cream colored siding and parked her small vehicle next to another small car with a license plate that read “LTs Car.” This was her assigned parking space.
That was one benefit of living in an apartment complex; she never had to worry about driving around looking for a safe place to park. Getting from her car to her apartment was where Kimmy often had a dilemma. She still wore thick white makeup with dark red and yellow rings all over her face. Her orange suit was puffy and extremely baggy. She sat still in the car for a moment, observing her surroundings because she hated running into people after a job. She loathed how she looked and detested speaking about it (people could not help but ask when they saw her with makeup on). Why couldn’t they just leave her alone? After a few minutes of watching and deliberating, Kimmy exited the vehicle in a smooth motion, kicking the door closed behind her as she got out. Her purse, the normal one, was over her shoulder, and after she double-tapped the lock button on her key fob, she pulled open the green steel entry door to her building.
There was a hallway with mailboxes that ran straight back to the rear of the building, and in front of her were the stairs that went up to the building’s second floor. Kimmy took the steps quickly on her tiny feet and bounced up and onto the landing without meeting any of her neighbors. Her heart was still racing, though, as she was not inside her own space yet. She passed two doors before coming to her own on the right-hand side of the hallway. Just as she inserted her key into the lock, she heard a neighbor’s door start to clatter open down the hall.
Kimmy quickly swung herself into the dark apartment before she could be seen, closed the door, and leaned back against it. She tired of this routine, and tried to squelch the anxiety, but it always seemed to bubble up inside her. In Kimmy’s opinion, all those foolishly judgmental peop
le were the cause of her angst. The familiar scent of pet dander mixed with the sharp tang of ozone filled her nostrils. Home at last. Kimmy let out a relieved sigh. She did not smile, but marched directly over to the kitchen where she filled an electric teapot with water and flipped the switch to “on.”
A few minutes later the water had boiled. Kimmy stood at the counter this whole time, not moving, not even to retrieve her phone from her purse. She dumped a spoonful of dried crushed herbs into a cup and added the boiling water. Only seconds later, the strong but delicate aroma of chrysanthemum filled the kitchen. She held the cheap porcelain mug under her nose and breathed deeply. That was good. The tea was still too hot for drinking, but the smell calmed her, and at last, a muted smile touched her lips. She left the tea on the counter and made her way to one of the apartment’s two bedrooms.
To say her bedroom was Spartan would have been quite an understatement. The room consisted of a twin-sized mattress and box spring set on a simple steel frame. That was it. Inside the closet was a hamper for her dirties, several pairs of shoes arranged on the floor, and her modest wardrobe hung up neatly on the bar. There was also a single shelf above the bar and on that shelf was a photo album and a Rubbermaid bin where she kept her costume, the hideous costume. Kimmy pulled the bin down off the shelf, stripped out of the one-piece clown outfit, folded the detestable thing, and put it into the bin and back onto the shelf.
She had no jobs tomorrow, but one the day after. She continued to undress, pulling off her white socks, her cream-colored bra, and cotton panties. All of these were deposited into the hamper. Wearing the clown costume made her body sweat, which in turn made her clothing feel and smell unpleasant. Kimmy shifted back and forth on her feet as she gazed into the closet. Then she returned to the kitchen, still naked, where she picked up the cup of tea and drank. It was fragrant and good, but still quite hot.
The tea singed her mouth and she spilled a little onto her bare chest. When the hot tea touched her, it burned, and Kimmy stared down in disapproval. She just stood there and drank the cup in its entirety. Despite the heat, the tea was good. It burned in her mouth and throat, but gave her stomach a pleasant warmth. Her belly made a growling noise and she glanced at the digital clock on the stove.
Five p.m. That’s fine, it was time for food. They’re probably hungry, too, she thought. Kimmy nodded to herself and tipped her head back, letting the last drops of tea drip into her mouth. This was a disgustingly American thing to do, she did not know how or why she had picked up the habit, but it persisted. She put the cup in the sink and approached the second bedroom of her small apartment. This is where her ‘pets’ lived.
Chapter 16
4 p.m., this is our last rest before we push over the ridge. We’ve been hiking for eight hours now, save for a short lunch break and a few more quick water breaks like this. I’m exhausted, but I’m old so it’s expected. I still love the adventure, though, and I’m sure not going to complain. These kids don’t seem to be fairing much better than I am. The one exception is probably the photographer. He’s driven. I’m sure I’ll add more thoughts about him later. Also, our ropes engineer, which I have to admit I’ve had trouble keeping my eyes off of, seems to be holding up fine. She looks to be made up of solid muscle; I can see it in her arms and shoulders as she walks.
I find myself appreciative of her decision to wear a tank top. And yes, this does make me feel like a bit of a dirty old man, but she truly is a beautiful woman, a little bit of an amazon, with those muscles, but beautiful nonetheless. Besides, I wouldn’t try anything with her. I can admire a woman without being a total lecherous fool. The botanist is happier now, the fog has burned off, and we’re left with just plain old fiery hot weather. He’s been collecting leaves and laying them flat in a large album lined with some type of parchment paper or something. Every so often he’ll make an excited noise as he examines a particularly interesting bloom or patch of fungus.
Now the rocky terrain is covered with fluorescent green and orange moss. Well, I call it moss anyhow. I’ve seen a few lizards here and there, and a damn lot of ants, but not much else. I heard the big, grizzly, biologist saying he hadn’t seen any furry creatures yet. I’m not real sure of the significance of that. The kids are getting along better now, thank God. I couldn’t handle much more of the bickering.
We’ve ascended several thousand feet in elevation so far. Not so much that it’s hard to breathe, but I’m feeling it for sure. All those years with a cigarette hanging out of my mouth have really taken a toll on my lungs. Directly in front of us is a steep ridge of hardened magma, not sheer, but very steep. On the other side of the ridge is a series of cliffs, gentle slopes, large rocks, crags… and caves.
We could not dock the boat on this side of the island, for surrounding this northern edge are 130 foot sheer cliffs, hence the long walk across the jungle. At last we’ll be getting to our destination. One other group was heading for the mountainside, taking a more circuitous jungle route, so as to map more of the island and collect more samples from the local flora and fauna and earth. I hope that they will meet us on the other side of this ridge. I’m looking forward to making camp for the night.
The five-person troop was exhausted by the time they started down the gentle slope on the north side of the ridge. It had taken an additional four hours just to climb up the ridge; they had only anticipated two. They would have made it in two, but their botanist, Marion, who was unwittingly and unfortunately falling into the position of village idiot, took a bad fall as they hiked up. Their ropes engineer, Magda, caught him. Literally caught him as he was tumbling down the slope, and if not for her lightning fast reflexes, he would have launched himself out over a protruding ledge of rock that extended thirty feet above the ground.
Magda had already reached the top of the high ridge and secured several pins and carabineers with ropes that she was sliding through for the rest of the group. The hike could be managed without ropes, theoretically, but theoretically, anything could be managed. It was steep, and the rocks were loose. She was on her way back down to the rest of her crew.
The group was resting and waiting on a patch of rock that had been pounded relatively flat by the weather, but it was still steep enough that they had to lean into the hill to stay upright. They stopped many times for water, and most presently had to shimmy laterally over about sixty feet of rock to get into the best position to finish the climb on a more gradual part of the ridge. That’s what put them almost directly above the high outcropping.
Magda was approaching the group with ropes for them. Everyone wore a crotch and chest harness. Then the botanist fell. He would later say he had been shoved, but he couldn’t say by whom, and nobody saw anything to verify that claim. As I said, he had become the village idiot. One minute the group stood together, the next, Marion was tumbling back down the ridge, headed for the outcropping and the drop beyond. Magda saw it happen first because she had already started toward the group. When he lost his footing, she broke into a dead sprint after him, pushing through the group and sending them scrambling to the ground lest they tumble as well.
She tore after him, her fleet, strong legs gaining ground quickly on the pudgy rolling mass. He reached the outcropping and the crew heard his head smack the glassy rock; then he tumbled once more and was over the edge. Magda went over the edge, too, as she dove after him, bear hugging his torso. The botanist was unconscious, unable to help himself.
Then she shouted, “Grab the rope!”
For a split second, they were in shock, but then the captain dove for the dark blue nylon rope that was making its way toward the pulleys at the top of the ridge. His basic ropes knowledge told him that he only had to exert pressure on this end and the safety locks would engage. The rope was slipping away fast. He barely got a hand on it, flinging himself onto the rocky ground. Then he wrenched down on the rope with all the force he could muster and the line s
topped moving immediately. He heard a pained grunt from over the outcropping as Magda jerked to a sudden stop.
“Go check on her,” he barked to the others, who obeyed immediately. They hurried to the edge and flopped down on their bellies to peer over.
“Holy shit,” the photographer said.
“Lucky freaking bastard,” said the big biologist. Magda was swinging ten feet off the ground below. The botanist was upside down in her arms.
“Lower me down, a-holes; I can’t hold him for long!”
It took some time to pry Captain Shuler’s hands from the rope, but they finally released it and lowered Magda down. She was alive, and after a quick check, she confirmed the botanist was as well. Lucky man.
The problem was that the two now had to climb back up a considerable distance and they were not in a good spot to hike back up the ridge. They would have to travel laterally, and since numb-nuts had knocked himself out, Magda wouldn’t be able to leave anytime soon. That’s why it had taken so damn long to get up the ridge, and that’s why the sun was already very low on the horizon when they reached the other side. To their surprise, the other group had not made it over to this side of the island yet, either.
The botanist was shaken up pretty badly and he had a big lump and a gash on his head. The captain doctored him up, dousing his head with antiseptic wash from the first aid kit they each carried and then fixing a large gauze bandage to it, which almost immediately was soaked with blood. Scalp wounds bleed like a mother-effer.
“Well, at least you don’t have any hair to get in the way,” the captain said. Then he chuckled. The botanist glowered at him, then chuckled as well.
Pathosis (A Dark Evolution Book 1) Page 12
