Forbidden Island

by Jeremy Robinson

  Neither were dead, but they weren’t exactly mobile, either.

  Stay down, Rowan willed them, and then he grasped the arrow sticking out of the man. He placed the arrow on the bowstring and had to fire it immediately as a quiet warrior charged from the side. The man took the arrow in the chest, spun, and fell.

  Not one of the fallen Sentinelese had shouted in pain, or shown any kind of emotion at being shot. They’d been physically incapacitated, but they seemed to possess no fear of death.

  Because they can’t die, he thought, and he followed it up with another. Bullshit. If they get up, it’s because the first shot wasn’t a kill shot, or because the smoke is making me see them get up.

  Three men and two women emerged from the jungle as a group. They looked about, taking in their fallen tribesmen. He thought they might attack with a little more caution, but he was wrong.

  The five Sentinelese charged together. Rowan reached for an arrow, hoping to pluck it from the second man’s body, but there was no time. He deflected a spear strike with the bow and struck out. He hit someone hard, but had no idea whom he’d struck or if it had any affect. Blows came from all directions, some of them blunt—fists and feet. Other were sharp—arrows and spears.

  He focused on the weapons, evading their points, even if it meant taking a hit. A spear slipped past his side, under his arm. He clamped down on it, spun into it and threw a punch, connecting hard. A woman fell to the side, already rolling to her feet, but she’d let go of the weapon.

  Rowan spun with the spear tip extended straight out from his armpit, which for the Sentinelese, was face level. Two men ducked back. The third took the multi-pronged tip in the face, falling away with three spines lodged in his cheek.

  Without looking, Rowan kicked out behind him. His foot struck something soft—a stomach—and the ‘oof’ that followed it could not be held back. As the woman fell to her knees behind him, Rowan pressed the attack on the three men.

  Using a combination of Ranger and Kung-Fu training offered to all U.S. Special Forces, Rowan spun, struck, and jabbed with the spear, like it was a bo-staff. The warriors who stood their ground were struck or impaled until they fell back, giving him a wide berth. He’d wounded all five of them, their blood soaking into the already wet sand. But they still lived.

  He extended the spear tip and pointed it at each of the five attackers, his back to the ocean.

  I can take them, he thought. They’re not used to people fighting back, especially people who know how to fight back.

  But then the three arrow-wounded Sentinelese stood. The two men and one woman were bleeding, but still mobile.

  Not possible, he thought again.

  One of them had been shot in the chest. As near as Rowan could tell, he’d been shot in the heart. No amount of blood-congealing smoke could save a man from a wound like that.

  He’s still on the ground.

  He’s not real.

  Rowan made a mental note of the Sentinelese he believed were dead and then focused on the rest.

  That was when the rest of the tribe arrived. They slipped out of the jungle, casual, like they were out for a stroll. First, there were just a few of them, and then what looked like the entire tribe. They hung back near the jungle, watching, unconcerned about the possibility of him attacking them. Some of them sat down to watch. Women collected their infants, scrambling on the shoreline, and began nursing.

  His death was to be a spectacle.

  “C’mon,” Rowan growled. “Let’s give them a show.”

  Gunshots rang out to his left. He turned toward the sound, looking down the beach, but the sand curved away. He didn’t know who was shooting, but he had little doubt the confrontation involved Mahdi and Talia.

  He wanted to help them, but he was under no illusions of rushing to the rescue. His life ended here. If they survived the island, it would be without him.

  “C’mon!” he shouted, jabbing the spear, but the Sentinelese maintained their distance.

  Why aren’t they attacking?

  He knew they weren’t afraid. The Sentinelese didn’t run from fights. And they didn’t shirk from violence, or from attacking first.

  They’re either waiting for me to make the first move, which would leave me wide open to a counter attack, or…

  Rowan spun around, spear raised in defense.

  He saw a dark blur, felt an impact on the raised spear and then one on his chest. When he regained his senses, he found himself lying on his back in the sand. The spear had been cleaved in two. When he looked up, a lone Sentinelese woman strode from the water, naked, beautiful, and holding his combat hatchet.

  Since the others weren’t attacking, he assumed this was meant to be single combat. He rolled backward and onto his feet, clutching the two sides of the spear, hoping the Sentinelese wouldn’t simply skewer him from behind.

  Lightning ripped through the sky above and he couldn’t help but look. The streak branched out in all directions, filling the dark clouds with purple light and silhouetting a large, winged shape.

  It’s not there, he told himself, and he focused on the approaching woman. But she is.

  He took a sideways fighting stance, plotting his moves. Block with the left, strike with the right. Two quick moves. One clean strike. It would drop the woman and clear a path to the ocean. While she still fell to the ground, he would make for the waters and then swim. The plan ended there, but at least it was a plan.

  The woman appeared to size him up, too, looking him over through squinted eyes. She stopped out of range. Didn’t flinch when a barrage of automatic gunfire tore through the air.

  He tried to match her disinterest in the unseen battle, but struggled to not glance toward the sounds.

  A moment later, the blast of gunfire repeated, and this time his ears picked up on the distinct sound and rhythm. He’d heard it in training, but most often when it was directed toward him.

  Those are AK-47s.

  The knowledge did him little good, but the distraction nearly cost him his life. When the woman stepped toward him, he almost didn’t notice. By the time he did, she was within striking distance.

  Instinct shouted at him to strike. Follow through with the plan. But the woman had not attacked. Instead, she’d stopped short.

  The pair held their ground, neither moving, nor attacking.

  When the woman finally moved, Rowan flinched back, but it wasn’t necessary. She moved with a calm steadiness, lifting the combat hatchet toward him. Then she spun the weapon around in her hand, holding the handle out toward him.

  “Lazoaf,” she said.

  “Lazoaf?” Rowan responded, the tone of his voice adding a ‘for real’ that even the Sentinelese understood.

  The woman grinned. Extended the hatchet a little further.

  Rowan reached out slowly, expecting betrayal and was somewhat shocked when he was allowed to reclaim his weapon. Do they want me to die with my own weapon? Is this some kind of cultural thing? Honoring me as a warrior?

  He couldn’t think of anything else that made sense…aside from the truth.

  Lazoaf.

  Leave.

  They’re letting me go.

  “Why?” he asked.

  She stepped closer, raised a finger, and poked it against the still tender, but partially healed wound on his chest. “Geula.”

  Her extended finger traced a path around them, indicating the Sentinelese tribe. “Herev lohetet.” Then she poked Rowan again and said, “Herev lohetet. Geula.”

  She nodded like he understood and then stepped back.

  The Sentinelese to his left parted, clearing a path down the beach, toward the sounds of gunfire.

  Hatchet in hand, he nodded his gratitude and then sprinted away, hoping he wasn’t too late to help Talia and Mahdi.

  While running, he glanced at the sky and saw nothing but clouds.

  It’s not real, he thought, clutching the hatchet, knowing what he could do with it. But I am.

  44
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br />   A leviathan rose up beside the boat, white like the great whale, but decorated with an outlandish, brightly colored tattoo. Winston had swum beneath the boat and shoved off the ocean floor. He gripped the dinghy’s side, once again trying to pull himself in.

  Once again, he failed.

  An unprepared Ambani was catapulted into the ocean though.

  Chugy managed to stay in the boat, clinging to the outboard motor’s throttle handle. When gravity pulled Winston back into the water, she drew a knife and leaped after him, venting her anger with a shrill battle cry.

  Winston ducked beneath the water, allowing the airborne woman to sail past and splash down in waist deep water. Chugy surfaced first, knife clutched, teeth bared. She grunted and screamed as she looked for a fight. When she didn’t see Winston, she turned toward the shore, looking first to the jungle and then toward Talia and Mahdi.

  Talia recognized the look in Chugy’s eyes. She’d seen it before, reflected in a mirror the night her father died. The news of Emmei’s death had lit the fuse, but the men who had come to kill Mahdi had turned the long fuse into a short one, which had just run out. She was looking for a target now, and found it when she looked at Mahdi.

  “You killed him, didn’t you!” Chugy waded toward shore, the knife blade pointed at Mahdi.

  They were far from defenseless. Talia’s spear and Mahdi’s knife still lay at their feet. An AK-47 lay not far away. It was strapped to Baseer’s body, but it wouldn’t take long to free.

  The problem was, if either of them picked up a weapon, they might make themselves a target for the Sentinelese.

  Then again, the barrage of arrows and spears had come to a stop. The Sentinelese had no doubt realized the island’s invaders were fighting amongst themselves. Perhaps they were content to let their enemies kill each other. Or maybe they were watching for sport. The Sentinelese and their customs were impossible to understand. The smoke still pouring out onto the sand, clouding air and minds alike, made every observation she had made dubious. She had no more real information about who the Sentinelese were and how they lived than when she had first arrived.

  That’s not true, she thought. I know that they are masters of psychochemical warfare.

  Beyond that, why the Sentinelese did anything was anyone’s guess.

  The water behind Chugy bulged. She was so focused on Mahdi that she didn’t hear the water sluicing off Winston’s broad body. Talia nearly shouted a warning, but her mouth clamped shut when she saw Ambani’s lost pistol in Winston’s hand. Had she warned Chugy and Winston survived the ensuing fight, he would turn the gun on Mahdi and her.

  Mahdi, however, lacked her cold logic. Despite Chugy’s clear intent to plunge a knife into his heart, Mahdi pointed and shouted over a drum roll of thunder. “Behind you!”

  Chugy’s face twisted with confusion. Why would the man she intended to kill warn her of danger? Was it a ruse? She must have heard Winston as she pondered these questions, because she snapped around, swinging the blade in a wide arc. As she followed through, twisting around, a thin red line appeared on Winston’s belly. Beads of blood formed along the line, but nothing more.

  The big man barely noticed the scratch and kept his wits as he dismantled his adversary. A quick pistol whip to the side of Chugy’s head stunned her. He caught her by the wrist as she stumbled, and gave it a twist. With a crack of bone and a shout of pain, the knife fell from her hand.

  Winston yanked Chugy’s injured arm behind her back, keeping his hand on her wrist, the pain making her compliant. He raised his gun hand toward the jungle and then toward Mahdi. “I was thinking about letting you live, Mahd-man. But that? After everything we’ve been through together? That hurt.”

  Using Chugy as a human shield, Winston moved back onto the beach, his feet buried in sand. He glanced up as lightning filled the sky, smiling and then confused. He scanned the clouds and then faced Talia. “Fucking island. Plays with your God damn mind.”

  Talia said nothing. Made no move. Hoped the Sentinelese would press the attack once more, but they remained silent and hidden.

  “My offer still stands,” Winston said. “You can leave, right now, with me.”

  Talia knew she should stay quiet, maybe even feign interest, lower his defenses and then strike. But he wouldn’t believe it, and she couldn’t bring herself to not reply honestly. “I’d rather take my chances with the locals.”

  “Ouch,” Winston said with a grin. “That hurts.” He leaned in close to Chugy’s ear. “How ’bout you, Chugs? Willing to switch teams for a ride off this island?”

  Chugy let out a primal shout and thrust her head back, connecting with Winston’s nose. She spun, throwing an elbow, but fell short when two gunshots dropped her to the sand. She dragged herself a few feet away from Winston and then fell still.

  Talia took a step forward, but stopped when Winston raised the gun toward her. All of Winston’s vile humor was missing from his face. That two women would rather die than trade sex with him for freedom had scratched off a scab he pretended didn’t exist.

  “You can all fucking die here, then.” His finger began compressing the trigger as purple light filled the sky. Wanting to see something beautiful before she died, rather than Winston, Talia looked up. Streaks of light cut through the sky overhead, the strobing flashes revealing rain drops…and something else.

  Something large.

  With wings.

  Then the light coalesced into a single streak that flashed downward, toward the beach.

  Toward Winston.

  Thunder and gunshot merged. The sound ripped through the air with soul-torn-from-body violence.

  Hot white light exploded from the beach, launching glowing orbs of hot sand.

  Talia closed her eyes and crouched. Her body was pelted with steaming debris, burning her skin.

  She flinched when hands clutched her shoulders. “Are you all right?”

  Mahdi.

  She opened her eyes, confused by the pain in her head. Mahdi was crouched beside her, concern painted on his face. He put a gentle hand under her chin and turned her head. “Looks like a graze.”

  “A graze?”

  “You were shot,” Mahdi said.

  She felt warmth spreading over her scalp. Blood flowing. Shot, but not dead. Her head pulsed with pain. A concussion for sure.

  “Winston?” she asked, struggling to stand.

  “I don’t think he will—” Mahdi’s assurances were cut short by a groan.

  “Ugh… Fucking hell,” Winston said. Steam rose from his red and boiled skin. The lightning had struck him, but had not killed him. He tried to take a step, but remained locked in place. Dazed, he looked down. Winston’s confusion at what he saw matched Talia’s.

  But then she understood. The lightning had turned the beach sand, which his feet had been buried in, to glass that had been quickly cooled by the rain. Winston was locked in place, and would never leave the island.

  Confusion became desperation became rage. He raised the pistol, which had been fused to his hand, toward Mahdi. “I’m not going to—”

  A loud crack silenced Winston and snapped his head to the side. His body went slack and tried to fall forward, but his joints and the solid glass around his feet kept his dead body upright. The hatchet buried in the side of his head looked familiar, and the skill with which it had been thrown was unmistakable. Talia traced the weapon’s path backward, knowing who she would see.

  Rowan ran toward her, blood mixed with water dripping from his arms and legs. He’d been through hell, but he was still alive, and still fighting to keep them alive as well. “We need to go. Now.”

  “No shit,” she said, blinking past the dazed feeling starting to overtake her, and hobbling toward the sea.

  The surge of a boat motor drew her eyes up.

  Ambani was in the dinghy, twisting the throttle and turning the boat back out to sea. He had no parting words. Didn’t even glance back.

  “We can swim,” Rowan said, but
she knew the yacht would be gone long before they reached it. She stumbled to a stop, feeling hopeless and defeated. Before she could fall to her knees, something massive fell from the sky.

  It landed into the ocean with a colossal splash. The sound of shattering wood and fiberglass exploded into the air as the boat’s back end shot up and launched Ambani into the sea once more.

  “That was real.” Rowan looked at her. “That was real, right?”

  “The boat is destroyed,” Mahdi said. “Of that we can be sure.”

  “But how?” Talia asked. They were all wondering the same thing. If the boat was real, and it was destroyed, how had it happened?

  The answer rose from the water, spread its fleshy wings wide and opened what looked like a hundred sets of eyes. Lightning flashed overhead, reflected in the many eyes, all of which looked at the man clutched in the Cherub’s hand—Ambani.

  The twelve-foot-tall, hunched monster took three long strides into the shallows. The many eyes flitted to Rowan, and Mahdi, and Talia. Her insides quivered when it looked at her, but the glare didn’t last long. The eyes shifted back to the unconscious Ambani. And then the long fingers coiled inward, punching holes into the resort tycoon’s body and waking him up.

  “Is that real?” Rowan asked.

  The Cherub lifted up Ambani’s screaming and writhing form up. Its tight black skin stretched over its long slender muscles and thick bones. The rib cage looked close to bursting. The bony, peeled-open face turned up to watch Ambani, along with its many multi-colored eyes, all of them furious. Then it spoke. A single, rumbling word. “NIDON.”

  Talia recognized the word. Condemned.

  The five long fingers buried in Ambani’s flesh slurped out. The man shouted in pain, but looked relieved.

  Relief shifted quickly to horror as the giant clutched him tightly enough to snap bones and crush organs. Blood oozed from his mouth alongside a gurgling, short-lived scream. Then Ambani was cast aside, his flung body colliding with Winston, whose knees snapped forward. Both men crashed to the sand-turned-glass.