by Greig Beck
Wenton held up his hands. “Just checking.” He turned away to look out toward the horizon. “I just wonder what they’d be like. What they would say to us if we ever met. We’d both have compelling questions, I should think.” He turned back. “Maybe I will come back one day. I’ll meet them, and I think they’ll like me.”
“Yeah, sure they will, Harry. And by the way, you can only come back if you get home first. Let’s make that priority number one, two, and three,” Maggie said.
The group climbed back into the boat and shared the results of their foraging. There were shells, creatures like soft-bodied crabs, and starfish. They only ended up with a few mouthfuls each, but it was better than nothing.
They set off, rowed for another half hour until spent, and then finally a breeze gently lifted. They gratefully unfurled the sail once again and scudded forward. In the distance were some type of flying creatures in the air, and Andy pointed.
“Birds, or whatever they are. But it means there’ll be land close by.”
“Unless they’re like the albatross,” Jane replied. “They can fly entirely around the world without landing.”
“You should do motivational speeches.” Wenton saluted her with a finger.
She chuckled. “You’re right, Andy. More than likely, it’ll mean there’s land close by.”
In another few hours, the horizon showed a line of a dark rising up that had to be land.
“Did Katya say where they landed?” Jane asked.
“Yes, yes, she did, if I remember correctly.” Michael quickly reached for the notebook and began flipping pages until he came to the place he wanted. “The field of flowers.”
“That sounds nice. At last, something that doesn’t bite, sting, or peck. I approve.” Maggie held up a thumb.
“But she also says, ‘hold your breath,’” Michael added.
“What does that mean?” Maggie frowned.
Michael shrugged. “That’s all she wrote—‘hold your breath.’ Maybe she didn’t like the smell.”
“Are you sure you’re translating that correctly? Let Bruno…” Maggie sighed and turned away. “Doesn’t matter.”
They continued on for another hour until the landscape dominated the skyline. It was a familiar jungle they recognized; however, here there was a riot of color and the tall trees gave way to more grassland dotted with the flowering shrubs in all the colors of the rainbow. Interestingly, the birds skimmed the treetops, but there didn’t seem to be any over the clearing and the flowering shrubs.
“Should we avoid it?” Jane asked.
“There’s thick jungle everywhere else. Katya’s notes weren’t exactly a warning. Not sure if she meant hold your breath because it stinks, or hold your breath because they were nervous.” He clicked his tongue in his cheek. “Damn, wish I could ask her.”
Wenton sat upright. “It seems the safest landing spot for miles. How about this: a few of us can go ashore first and scout. Everywhere else looks to be a near-impenetrable tangle anyway.” He turned. “Besides, your friend made it okay, so why shouldn’t we?”
Michael decided. “I agree—we land. Andy and I will…”
“No, I’m the biologist. No disrespect, but you guys have no idea what to even look out for. I’ll go in first,” Jane stated.
“I’ll go with you,” Andy added. “Jamison?”
“Yeah, okay.” Jamison turned to check with Wenton who gave a small nod.
“Take your spears,” Michael said.
She smiled. “Of course. I’m hunting wild flowers.”
“Humor me,” Michael added.
The boat nudged in at the muddy shoreline and Jane and Andy stepped out. Their feet squelched into the glutinous muck and Jane inhaled deeply and then shrugged.
“I’m not smelling anything significant.” She looked along the flowering bushes and shrubs. The field of flowers extended several hundred feet before it entered a forest. She exhaled slowly through her nose. But hold your breath, Katya had written. Something in here had made the Russian woman apprehensive.
There was only one way to find out what it was. She turned to wave Andy and Jamison on.
She led the young men into the start of the blooming masses. She tried to watch for anything crouching in among the blooms or camouflaged but couldn’t help but be distracted by the plants.
They were of myriad colors and shades, and they were like nothing she had ever seen on the surface. Some had broad leaves of brilliant vermillion, with yellow throats, some like trumpets of soft blue, and tightly rolled rosettes of a red so dark it was like clotted blood. The ground also had a thick carpet of green that was dotted with small purple bells.
On the tips of some of the branches, it looked like tiny seedpods with wing-nut leaves and blood-red centers.
“I’m not seeing or smelling anything,” Andy said. “But my parents would kill for a few of these in their garden.”
She grinned, and then couldn’t help laughing at the thought. She half-turned. “No samples.”
She heard Michael yelling at them and she turned to give him the it’s all good so far sign. She’d give it another few dozen feet and then call the group in; as far as she could see, there were no signs of any threats.
The further the trio pressed inland, the more she felt better about her predicament. This place wasn’t so bad. And in fact, wasn’t a threat at all. She turned and looked back at the blood-red ocean, with the fields of flowers now between her and the boat.
She wondered what it would be like having a small house here. Coming home to find Michael sitting on the porch, two cold beers, and him with his shirt off. She felt herself blush.
Where did that come from? she wondered.
She laughed softly again, and only stopped when from behind she heard a soft scrunching sound. She turned to see that Jamison had sat down. Andy was doing the same.
“Hey, you guys. What’re you doing?” She crossed to them.
The pair sat cross-legged and sipped their water. Andy raised his canteen. “Damndest thing—I wished this tasted like wine. Then I took a sip, and guess what? It does. How cool is that?”
A small voice told her that was ridiculous and she knew they didn’t have time for this, but she couldn’t resist sitting down with them. She unscrewed her canteen.
She closed her eyes. “Champagne.” She then sipped. Her mouth dropped in an open smile. “Oh my God, you’re right. It does taste like champagne.”
She toasted them and sipped again. She looked up at the sky and saw the sun—it shouldn’t have been there, but it was. Rainbow-colored birds flittered from bush to bush, and she sighed and lay back.
The birds came to land close by and sang the most beautiful song to her. She smiled down at them as they hopped onto her and began to gently caress her skin.
“I love it here. I really do,” she said dreamily.
*****
“What the hell are they doing?” Michael stood up.
“Did they just fall down?” Maggie also stood.
“No, I think they all just, sat down, like they were about to have a damn picnic,” Michael replied.
Wenton squinted and walked to the front of the boat. He perched on the forward gunwale and craned his neck for more height. “I don’t believe they’re sitting anymore. I think now they’re lying down.”
“That’s it. I’m going in.” Michael leaped over the side.
“Wait. We’ll all come,” Wenton said. “Let’s get everything together.”
“No time, we go now.” Michael frowned.
“We’re not coming back. Your friend got through this, so will we. And one more thing, I have a hunch—wear a mask. Soak a rag and tie it over your nose and mouth.” Wenton began tossing everything they needed out of the boat and onto the sand.
Michael quickly loaded his pack, took out a tattered rag that once was a shirt, wet it, and wrapped it around his lower face. “Ready?”
Wenton and Maggie nodded. Michael began to jog in to where the
y had seen Jane and the men’s last position.
In a few minutes, they came across the prone bodies.
“What the hell?” Maggie’s eyes widened.
The two bodies were covered in red flowers the size of silver dollars. Michael went to his knees and started to rip them free. Every time he did, he left a small smear of blood where the rooting tendrils had pierced the skin.
“Bloodsuckers. Where’s Jamison?” Wenton said as he ripped and scraped the things from Andy.
“Jamison!” Maggie yelled. “Ouch.” She slapped at her neck and looked at her hand. One of the floating plants had tried to alight on her.
“We need to find him, fast.” She began to circle the group, trying to locate her friend.
“Let’s at least get these two the hell out of here,” Michael said.
“Not without Jamison,” Wenton said.
“We’ll come back for him. Maggie will find him.” They grabbed the slumbering bodies of Jane and Andy and dragged them through the clumps of flowers. In a few minutes, they were at the edge of the jungle and in the shade, and once out of the red light, many of the blooms started to drop off.
Michael turned back. “Harry, stay here with them. I’ll be back.” He sprinted back to where Maggie was searching.
In a few more minutes, the pair finally found him. He had crawled a hundred feet through the flowers and was curled up beneath a bush. Jamison was hard to see at first, as he was totally covered over by the parasitic blooms.
Michael hauled him out and together they ripped and wiped him as free of the blooms as they could manage.
“Let’s go.” They pulled him to where Wenton waited with the others.
Jane and Andy were groaning as they began to come round. But Jamison looked pale and a little shrunken.
“I think he’s lost a lot of blood,” Maggie said.
Michael pointed. “Maggie, see if you can rouse Jane. We need her expertise here. She’s the biologist.”
Michael looked back down at the young man. His mouth was open, and even though they had removed the visible blooms, he saw that where a lot of them had alighted, they had managed to embed their tendrils into the skin. And some had broken off.
As he watched, his eyes widened. “Oh shit.” He saw them spreading below the skin surface like tiny worms, elongating and thickening.
“Oh God, what…just…happened?” Jane sat up and put a hand to her head.
“A little help here.” Michael was trying to pull some of the tendril threads from Jamison’s skin, but his fingers were becoming slippery from the blood and the fine hair-like threads broke off and then snapped back below the skin surface. “Damnit.”
Wenton joined him and took out his knife. He looked up at Michael who nodded. “Go for it.”
The man started to cut into the skin, tracing the larger tendrils that seemed to be forming veins. They’d spread, formed a little nodule below the skin, and then branched out from that nodule in different directions, to then make more nodules.
“Oh no, oh no, oh no.” Maggie put a hand over her mouth.
Jamison’s mouth dropped open, and from deep inside his throat, a tendril lifted free, broadened, and then a small bloom opened on its end.
Michael froze, staring at it as if in a trance. Even though his logical mind was revolted and in a state of panic, a small voice in his head was urging him to lean closer and inhale the flower’s fragrance.
He began to lean in toward the young man’s face.
“Get. Away. From him.” Jane groggily dragged at Michael’s arm. “They must. Be giving off. Some sort. Of gas.”
Michael fell back and shook himself while Maggie and Wenton continued to pick at the young man, scrape at the blooming flowers, and cut into his flesh.
But Jamison began to swell; his stomach, his thighs, and even his throat.
“He’s dead, get back,” Michael said.
“He’s not,” Maggie wailed.
As if in response, Jamison let out a long and low moan. He seemed to take an enormous, deep breath as his chest swelled.
“He’s not dead, goddamnit.” Maggie ripped his shirt open to get at his chest, but the body was just a network of spidery veins and lumps that pushed up through the skin now to open as new blooms.
“Don’t breathe it in.” Andy got to his knees, his swollen eyes blinking as if sensitive from the light.
In another second, Jamison’s body split open like a melon and spilled a bloody tangled mesh of roots, flowers, and questing tendrils.
Wenton and Maggie fell back, and Andy and Michael grabbed at the pair to pull them backward. As they watched, the body of Jamison threw out roots that dug into soil. Branches lifted from him to quest out from under the tree canopy toward the sky and further blooms opened on their ends.
The group pulled back into the darker jungle and stopped to stare. The young man was no more and the only sign was a vaguely human-shaped root ball at the base of yet another flowering shrub.
“Hold your breath, Katya told us.” Jane wiped her eyes. “I wonder whether one of her team members is out there in among that field of flowers.”
“They drugged us,” Andy said. “They put some sort of gas in the air and made us fall asleep so those, things, could land on us and try and take root.”
“To feed on us,” Jane said. “We have carnivorous plants that use scent to attract their prey. But these things take it to another level. They use it to take down large animals, and then just…consume and use them.”
“That’s how they spread as well.” Michael looked up briefly at the tree canopy overhead. “But seems they don’t like shade.”
Andy grimaced and scratched at his stomach. He suddenly stopped. “Shit.” He ripped open his ragged shirt and pulled down his pants until he was just standing in very sweat-stained underwear.
“Check my back, check my back.” He pointed over his shoulder.
“Stay still,” Michael said and spoke over his shoulder to Jane. “You’re next.”
Michael found one spot of the tendrils on Andy’s neck and scraped them off with his blade. Luckily, they hadn’t penetrated below the epidermal layer of his skin. And more good news was Jane was spore free.
Michael turned back. “Remind me in my notes to say something a little less cryptic than: hold your damn breath.”
“Amen to that,” said Andy as he pulled his tattered clothing back on.
Michael turned back to the forest. There were tall trees like redwoods and carpets of fallen leaves. In between the mighty boughs, fern fronds the size of small cars hung heavy with dripping moisture, and the further in he looked, the darker it got.
Andy finished pulling his rags back on. “I feel we’re back where we started.”
“Yeah.” Jane leaned up against a tree trunk for a moment. She looked at Michael and gave him a watery smile.
“I don’t know how much more I’ve got in me.”
He nodded. “I understand. But we’ll see the surface again. Just remember, every step we take is a step closer to home now.”
“You promise?” she asked.
“I guarantee it.” He smiled confidently and then hugged her to him and kept the smile on his face.
But behind the façade, he couldn’t help feeling a sinking ache of doubt deep in his chest.
CHAPTER 21
After a little over a mile, the land began to slope downward and the huge trees began to thin as smaller species took over. Beneath their feet, the jungle floor squelched and became slippery, and even the feeder roots began to lift from the waterlogged soil.
They could smell it before they saw it: the stench of rottenness as the thick air filled with the odor of fetid gases, fungus, and death. And just as Michael hoped it would begin to dry, they passed through a stand of broken rock and there before them was the bog. And it seemed endless.
“Oh God no.” Maggie leaned forward to place hands on her knees and Michael also slumped against a rock.
“How long did
you say this Russian woman was missing down here?” Wenton asked.
“A year.” Michael turned. “But I don’t think she went this way.”
“What? Have we lost her trail?” Andy asked.
Michael shrugged. “She can’t have come this way because she said they followed a river. She didn’t say which way it was.”
“Maybe she did,” Jane said. “Maybe 50 years ago this was the river. But now the land is saturated and spoiled.”
“You might be right.” Michael held out the compass. “North is right through the center of this damn swamp.”
They turned back to stare at the belching morass. There were thick, green pools of algae, some the size of bathtubs, and some hundreds of feet across. Bubbles of methane popped and let loose eggy-smelling vapors.
“Wait here.” Michael walked a few paces ahead of the group and turned slowly. The gigantic tree branches cut out most of the light, and the murky water plus too many shadows made for a deadly mix.
He stood with his hands on his hips for a few moments and could feel eyes on him. He walked back slowly to the group. “I can’t see any sort of path.”
“We’ll never make it,” Maggie said. “How far is it—a few hours, a day, a week?” She shook her head and slid slowly down to sit. “Someone just shoot me now.”
“Alligators,” Jane said.
“What? Where?” Michael craned forward.
“Or something like it.” She rubbed her face and then looked up at him. “Remember what I told you about nature hating a vacuum? And also if it found something that worked, it recreated it from any raw material it could find?” She raised her eyebrows.
“Yeah, I do,” Michael said, already guessing where she was going.
“Alligators and crocodiles are some of the most successful creatures on the planet. I mean, the surface of the planet. Their form is largely unchanged since the first crocodilians of some 250 million years ago.” Jane turned to look back out over the dismal swamp. “I’d bet my last dollar that there is some sort of insectoid equivalent of an alligator in there.”
“Oh Jesus. I do not want to meet that,” Andy said softly. “Everything in this goddamn place is huge and wants to eat us.”
