Diffusion

by Stan C. Smith

  Samuel stepped in front of him. “Hear me now. If indeed the creature is injured, you must appreciate this as an opportunity. We may prevent further murder by killing it.” Samuel held up a finger for Mr. Darnell to wait, and he went over and talked quietly to the Papuan men.

  The cry came again. “Help me! Father, help me!”

  Something about the situation felt wrong to Bobby. If Addison were really hurt, wouldn’t he use the medicine to heal his body?

  Samuel returned. “Vututu and Aguisa will accompany you and will help with the difficult task you face. If the creature is injured, it will be helpless for only a short time.”

  The two Papuan men dropped their spears and grabbed short, thick clubs. Then Vututu and Aguisa left the hut, followed by the Darnells.

  Samuel spoke softly to Bobby. “I am doubtful of their success. I beg you to persist in your efforts. Better to prepare for the worst, I should think.”

  Vututu and Aguisa descended the rope ladder first, forcing Quentin and Lindsey to cope with their conflicting thoughts while waiting. Addison’s voice continued calling from below, the same words over and over: “Help! Father, Help me!”

  Quentin’s nerves were torn. The cries were desperate. Could there be something left of Addison’s consciousness, some remnant of their son? But their task would be easier if there weren’t. Against his every instinct, Quentin silently hoped that Addison would simply die from the wounds he had suffered. For the first time since the crash, Quentin felt like his sanity was truly slipping away, like he might snap from the pressure.

  When all four of them were on the ground, the Papuans headed in the direction of Addison’s cries without speaking.

  “Help! Father, help me!”

  The cries were closer, but Quentin saw only understory foliage and tree trunks. His anxiety grew with every step, and he pushed harder, leaving Lindsey and the Papuans behind.

  “Help! Father, help me!” Addison was just ahead.

  “I’m here, Addison!” Quentin pushed his way to a small clearing. “It’s okay, I’m—” He stopped. “Oh Jesus,” he heard himself say. He couldn’t move. He could only stare.

  Lindsey and the tribesmen broke through the tangle and stood by his side. No one spoke.

  “Help! Father, help me!” It was Addison’s voice, but it wasn’t Addison. The voice came from a horrifying mass of tissue lying on the ground against a buttress root. No, Quentin realized. Not next to the root, joined to it—fused to the root with sinewy tendons. The figure had a head and chest, but the arms quickly diminished into tendons that extended to the ground and the tree, holding the entire mass in place. Below the chest it was the same: strands of flesh fused with the surroundings. There was nothing else—no pelvis, and no legs.

  “Help! Father, help me!”

  Quentin stared at the thing’s face. Addison’s details were missing, as if God had decided to start over with it, erasing the features down to generic blank stock. There were no eyes, only slight depressions where eyes should be. And the nose was flattened, no more than a slight bulge with two holes in it. Only the mouth appeared fully developed, as if the entire nightmarish visage existed for one purpose: to call out to Quentin.

  “Help! Father, help me!”

  “That’s not Addison,” Lindsey said, her voice hollow.

  They had made a mistake coming here. Quentin took her hand. She resisted, as if afraid to take her eyes off of it. But then she allowed him to lead her away.

  The Papuans did not follow. Quentin glanced back at them. Vututu caught his gaze and lifted his club to where Quentin could see it. Quentin nodded. As they made their way back to the rope ladder he heard the two clubs striking flesh, and then there was silence.

  Bobby put one hand on the Lamotelokhai and began shifting symbols with the other. He wrestled with an idea that was forming in his mind. The thing had said it could not make Addison the person he was before the crash. But that didn’t mean they had to kill him. Maybe they could give Addison something to make him love Mr. and Mrs. Darnell again. He tried explaining this to the Lamotelokhai.

  “Addison is going to kill the villagers. Addison is going to kill me. Do you know how to stop Addison?”

  “Yes.”

  Bobby waited, but there was no more. “How can I stop Addison?”

  “Kill Addison.”

  “No. I don’t want to kill Addison. I want to change Addison. Do you know how to change Addison so he won’t kill?”

  “Yes.”

  “How do I change Addison so he won’t kill?”

  “Kill Addison.”

  This wasn’t working. Bobby had to explain what he wanted, but it seemed impossible. He had no words for feelings like love. It would take hours, maybe days, to make that kind of progress.

  Again Bobby heard Addison’s cry from far below. “Help! Father, help me!” Mr. Darnell and the others were probably almost there by now. If Addison were really hurt, why wasn’t the Lamotelokhai healing him? Panic started to grip Bobby, making it hard to focus his thoughts. He moved the symbols again.

  “Addison is shouting. Does Addison need help?” Bobby waited, but no answer came. He tried again. “Do you know where Addison is?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is Addison hurt?”

  “No.”

  Bobby stared. Maybe he didn’t ask the question right. “Where is Addison?”

  “Addison is above you.”

  Bobby heard vines and sticks breaking. Long fingers forced their way through the living roof of the hut and ripped open a hole. A figure dropped through headfirst, flipped over, and landed on its feet next to Bobby. Before Bobby could back away, Addison grabbed him by the hair, and his other hand smashed into Bobby’s face, rubbing damp, gritty death into his eyes and mouth.

  Bobby couldn’t see. He fell to the floor and crawled to a corner. Cries filled the hut as Addison attacked the others. Bobby wiped his eyes, trying to get the stuff out. But it was too late. It was in his body, and it would eat him from the inside. Again he saw Miranda’s empty face, her eyes collapsing into her head.

  Bobby heard himself crying over the din of the struggle. He suppressed it and tried to think. How much time did he have? Would he feel his heart and his bones turning to dirt? He rose to his feet and stumbled forward with his hands out until he bumped into something soft—the Lamotelokhai. Bobby put both hands on the substance. The symbols appeared in his mind, even though he could see nothing else. He shifted them into a message.

  “Addison put something from you in me. Will it kill me?”

  “Yes.”

  Bobby choked. He was sure he could feel it now, a tingle in his stomach, the stuff starting to eat him alive. He pushed the symbols as fast as he could.

  “Can you help—”

  Bobby was knocked off his feet. He landed hard under the weight of a writhing body. The body rolled to the side. Bobby forced his eyes open and saw green feathers. Sinanie lay next to him, rubbing desperately at brown smears on his face. Another Papuan—one of the women—lay on the floor nearby, moaning. There were more screams as the last Papuan man and another of the women fought with Addison, trying to hold him back with spears. But Bobby’s eyes were drawn to the corner. Ashley, Carlos, and two Papuan women huddled against the wall behind Samuel, who was crouched with one hand on the roll of substance he had stretched out on the floor. Samuel held his other hand out to the fighting Papuans.

  “I le-ba-lé ye-mén!” he yelled.43

  Addison attacked the man and woman. Their spears pierced him, but he managed to grab the man and throw him to the floor.

  Samuel yelled again, “I le-ba-lé ye-mén!”

  The woman retreated from the fight and Samuel pulled her behind him.

  The man beneath Addison grunted and tried to roll away. There was blood on his face, mixed with some of the Lamotelokhai from Addison’s palm.

  Samuel cried out to Addison, “Gu nu u-ngga-lekhén-ma-té. I am he
re!”44

  Addison jumped up and lunged at Samuel, screaming and grabbing for Samuel’s face. But then something happened. As Addison passed over the substance there was a crunching sound. He collapsed onto the floor, and his screams became a choking gush.

  Addison’s body shook, splattering wetness on the floor. Bobby moved closer to see. It was no longer Addison’s body. Instead it was a sickening heap of skin and flesh. Bulges of bloody tissue stuck out everywhere, like it had exploded from the inside. The legs had not crossed over the strip of Lamotelokhai, and they still looked almost normal. But above the waist it was impossible to recognize anything, other than one arm protruding at an unnatural angle. As Bobby stared, the arm thrashed like it was still trying to fight.

  Ashley was the first to speak, her voice barely a whisper. “What happened?”

  Samuel kicked at the body with his foot. “There is no time to explain.” He then wiped his eye and held out his hand for Bobby to see. The brown substance was smeared on his fingers. “Death is upon us, Bobby. But if there is one who might prevent it, it is you. Perhaps my death is past due, but I beg you to save your life, and those of the remaining indigenes.”

  The tingling was growing inside Bobby’s body. “I don’t want to die.”

  “Then you must hurry.”

  Tears streaming from his eyes, Bobby put his hands on the Lamotelokhai. He tried to concentrate on the symbols but it was getting hard to think.

  “Oh shit, it’s changing!” It was Ashley.

  Addison’s body had rolled over, and now there was a second arm protruding from the mess. This arm was bigger than the other, and it seemed to grow before their eyes. With a moist grunt, the body pushed itself to a sitting position. At the top of the body, where Addison’s head should have been, an eye looked directly at Bobby. Muscle and skin around the eye began to change into a lump, and then the lump grew upward. It slowly took the shape of a head.

  Suddenly Ashley snatched up one of the clubs, raised it high, and brought it down on Addison with a wet thud. Addison screeched. Ashley swung the club again, but this time the larger arm snapped out and ripped it from her hands. Addison flopped over and then somehow rose to his feet. His upper body was transforming, getting taller.

  Addison turned to face Bobby. There were now two eyes on his face. “It is mine!”

  Addison stepped toward Bobby, but then Samuel and Ashley attacked from behind. Between blows, Samuel shouted, “Bobby, make haste!”

  Bobby moved the symbols. “Addison kills. Can you help stop Addison?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me what to do.”

  “Take some.” A bulge formed on the Lamotelokhai.

  But Bobby hesitated. “Will this kill Addison?”

  “Yes.”

  There were grunts and sickening blows and cries of pain. Bobby tried to focus. “I want to stop Addison, but not kill Addison.”

  No response.

  “I want Addison…” Bobby struggled to form words. “…to want to not kill. Can you help?”

  “Yes. Take some.” The bulge grew larger.

  Carlos’s voice rose above the clamor. “Ow! Goddammit!”

  Bobby turned to see Carlos fall to the floor, holding his shoulder. Addison was bloodied, but he fought viciously. There was no more time.

  “Will this kill Addison?”

  “Yes.”

  Bobby realized it was no use. He had no other choice.

  Quentin heard the shouts as he reached the rope ladder. Instead of waiting, Lindsey started up the ladder just behind him. Quentin started to protest, but decided against it. If the rope broke, it might be an easier death than what awaited them above.

  The ladder held. Quentin helped Lindsey into the hanging tunnel and they made their way toward the shouts. At last they entered the central hut. Addison was in a savage fight with Samuel, Ashley, and a small Papuan woman. Bodies were strewn on the floor around them—some of them writhing in pain, others still. And at the center of the hut stood Bobby. He held one arm up, ready to throw something cupped in his hand. Without faltering, Quentin rushed in and grabbed Bobby’s arm.

  Bobby blinked at him, tears flowing from his eyes. “Mr. Darnell! I have to get this into him.”

  It was not Bobby’s burden to do this. Quentin scooped the stuff from Bobby’s hand and pushed him out of the way. As Quentin turned to the fight, Ashley caught a vicious blow to the face from Addison, and she crumpled to the floor. Addison snatched her club and flung himself at Samuel and the woman. They tried blocking his blows, but their movements were slower than his.

  Quentin screamed, “Addison! Look at me!”

  Addison stopped his attack and spun around. Quentin caught a full view of his face. It was torn and blood-soaked. But there was something more. The shape of Addison’s face seemed to shift before Quentin’s eyes, as if it were made of clay.

  Suddenly, from behind, the Papuan woman smashed her club into Addison’s head. It was a crushing blow, but Addison ignored it. In fact, he seemed to smile at Quentin as the depression in his skull smoothed itself out. The woman moved to strike again.

  “Manda-é,” Samuel said. “Yu lé khomilo-mbo iMoné.” He motioned for her to wait.45

  Addison’s body tottered peculiarly as he edged closer to Quentin.

  “You came back,” Addison said. “But you can’t hurt me now. You can try. Do you want to hurt me?” Addison held his arms out as if inviting Quentin to strike him.

  “No, I don’t want to hurt you,” Quentin said. “I just want my son back.”

  “Your son…” Addison looked uncertain for just an instant, but then the smirk returned. “Not here.” Addison stepped closer, holding out a hand smeared with brown clay.

  Quentin backed away. Now, his mind screamed. He flicked his wrist, throwing the substance directly at Addison’s face.

  Addison’s hand was a blur and he struck the stuff in mid air. The lump of Lamotelokhai splattered and fell aside. But smaller pieces struck Addison’s face. His smile faded, and then he charged, shoving the material in his own hand toward Quentin.

  Quentin managed to grab Addison’s wrist with both hands, but he tumbled back under the weight. He struck the floor hard but focused all his effort on holding the hand away from his face. But then the struggle abruptly stopped. Addison simply relaxed, allowing Quentin to push him over on the floor. The hatred in his eyes melted away and his face went slack. Quentin rose to his feet. Addison’s eyes darted from one of them to another but showed no expression.

  Bobby stepped to Quentin’s side. “It worked, Mr. Darnell. You got some in him.” Without another word, Bobby moved to the Lamotelokhai and began working with it.

  Quentin looked to Lindsey. She stood with her hands over her mouth, staring at Addison. Bodies were scattered on the floor. They all appeared to be conscious, but they just lay there, making no attempt to get up. Bobby stood in the center of the hut shuffling one hand rapidly in the air, moving objects that no one else could see. And at Quentin’s feet, dying, lay a creature that was his son. He had killed Addison himself, an appalling duty no parent should ever have to perform. But he had done it.

  Quentin knelt down and cautiously rested his hand on Addison’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Addison. I’m so sorry.”

  Addison suddenly sat up. He looked at Quentin with confusion. His eyes drifted around the hut and then locked onto a spot on the roof. There was a hole there, as if someone had torn through it. Without a word, Addison bounded across the hut and leapt for the hole in the roof. He pulled himself through and was gone.

  The hut was completely still.

  “Remarkable,” Samuel finally said. He turned from the hole in the roof to face Bobby. “Please make haste, Bobby. Our remaining moments are few.” Samuel then sat on the floor, holding his stomach as if he were sick.

  Bobby scraped a handful of the substance from the Lamotelokhai. “I’ve got it!” He stepped away from the tree. “At l
east I think so.” He then smeared some onto his tongue.

  Bobby handed Samuel a portion, and then he went to Ashley and Carlos and placed some in their mouths. They accepted it without argument. Bobby moved to the Papuans, and they each accepted a portion. He then turned to Quentin and Lindsey. “Did Addison get any on you?”

  “I don’t think so,” Quentin said. He then looked at the hole in the roof. “Maybe we can find him. We can give him some, too.”

  “Addison doesn’t need this stuff,” Bobby said. “He’s not dying.”

  Lindsey finally took her hands from her mouth. “He’s not?”

  “I didn’t want it to kill him,” Bobby said. “I couldn’t figure out how to make him the way he was before. So I made him forget.”

  “Forget what?” Quentin said.

  “Everything,” Bobby said. Then he looked at the floor. “It was all I could think of.”

  Following the boy known as Addison was demanding. The tree kangaroo, Mbaiso, moved nimbly from tree to tree, but the much larger human boy changed directions frequently, apparently without a destination, and the boy sometimes walked on the ground but then would take to the trees as skillfully as any mbolop.

  Mbaiso made no effort to be stealthy, but the boy showed no recognition or interest.

  Mbaiso finally paused, claws piercing the spongy bark of a breadfruit tree and holding him steady as his body heaved from the efforts of his lungs to meet the demand for air. He turned and waited for Tupela and Tripela. The other tree kangaroos were several trees behind, and he watched as they bounded between branches, their weight counterbalanced by long tails of mottled brown.

  When the three creatures were side-by-side, they watched the human boy recede into the tangle of the forest. It appeared that this human was no longer relevant, so there was little purpose in continuing to follow him. And the tree kangaroos would surely be needed for what was to come next. They descended to the forest floor. After looking one last time in the direction of the boy, they hopped off, making their way back home.