As the hours passed and they drew closer to the mists, Marek’s sense of unease only increased. The rest of the crew were agitated as well. Beck sat near Muno, who was sleeping curled up in a ball, and repetitively picked at her fingernails like she was in some kind of trance. Keresi helmed the boat, occasionally looking at the distant fog and uttering a defiant “Pah!” with a shake of his head. Rulio sat at the front of the ship, gazing out intently at the horizon from underneath his hat while he cleaned his gun.
Marek spent a couple of hours taking pot shots at the back of the boat, where they had set up another makeshift target range, but his mind was wandering and his aim was poor. If anything, it seemed worse than it had been on Kennedy’s ship. Still, maybe the practice was filtering in somehow, and would emerge when needed.
Eventually, Marek grew frustrated at his inability to concentrate, and went to sit near Rulio. Together, they watched the fog loom ever larger, darkening and coalescing into a high shadowed curtain that spanned the horizon.
There was no fanfare when they finally reached the fog. The mists ahead simply grew taller and taller, until they towered over the small ship in a dark grey wall that soared upwards for hundreds of metres. There was no resistance when they entered; no sign that they had passed any corporeal barrier, no direct indication that anything drastic had changed. The Raven simply continued to slip forward over the calm ocean as the fog enclosed them in an overwhelming, cloying embrace. The clear day quickly turned to an indeterminate gloom, and all sense of space and time seemed to diminish. The ambiance of the natural world, which had been so varied moments before, faded away, and was now noticeable only by its absence.
Marek focused his hearing. The soft ripple of the sea as the Raven cut through it and the occasional creaking of the ship were the only things he could perceive. The still air bore no breeze, and the ocean itself seemed quieter, less alive in some way, like some immense creature holding its breath. The air was cool and damp, carrying with it a vague, odd scent that seemed electric in nature, and the surfaces of the ship quickly grew slick with condensation.
“I don’t like this,” Keresi said, shaking his head as he gazed around the grey cocoon they now found themselves in. “This isn’t natural.” Somehow, his voice seemed to echo against the mists.
Marek felt the urge to say something cutting, to highlight Keresi’s immediate about-turn after his hours of incessant bravado, but thought better of it. The strangeness of the situation, and the tacit prospect of some unseen danger lying in wait for them, made such petulance seem inappropriate.
Around them, the air gradually stirred into a light breeze. Behind the distant echo of Keresi’s voice, there was now a low wailing sound being carried on the wind. The fog seemed to distort the noise, both amplifying it and suppressing it so that Marek wasn’t sure where it was coming from, or if he was actually hearing it anymore at all.
Marek looked around uneasily. He could see nothing through the fog. “What is that?” He licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry.
Next to him Rulio shrugged, though his eyes continued to dart around, constantly probing the mists. “Souls of the dead, mermaids, maybe just the wind. I don’t know.” He turned to regard Marek. “Best not to think of it.”
Marek nodded, but despite his best efforts he couldn’t take Rulio’s advice, and his thoughts went down wild paths as the Raven continued onwards.
Long minutes passed in silence as they pushed through the mist, with everyone on a knife edge, expecting something but encountering nothing. Keresi was guiding the ship at a snail’s pace. Nobody was sure where exactly Obelisk Island was, and the last thing they wanted was to crash right into it.
It might have been twenty minutes, or an hour, but eventually the grey curtain in front of them rolled back to reveal the hazy beginnings of a sandy shore. Bathed in the pale grey light that descended through the fog, Marek could see the beachhead extending backwards and then to either side of them, until it was again overwhelmed by the dense mists and progressively disappeared from view.
Rulio brought the ship in carefully until it floated just above the seabed, then Keresi dropped the anchor.
“Alright,” Rulio said, taking off his hat and throwing it into the cabin, “time to get our feet wet.” With that, he shifted over the side of the boat into the water, holding his gun above his head, and was shortly followed by Keresi.
Beck glanced at Marek and shrugged, then gracefully dipped herself overboard. Marek had little choice but to follow suit, and slowly lowered himself into the sea.
As it turned out, the water went well above his feet, stopping closer to his waist. It was warmer than he expected, but still brisk compared to the temperate air that his body was accustomed to. His feet immediately sank into the soft sand, and his submerged pants turned into a cumbersome dragweight. He awkwardly shifted himself forwards towards the beach, following the others in a sluggish, awkward walk, trying his best to keep his utility belt above the waterline.
Once they had all emerged from the water, they set about checking and loading their weapons. With everything in order, pistols were holstered and rifles were slung over shoulders, and then they made their way up the beach to where the sand ended and the island’s vegetation began.
As they pushed forwards into the jungle, the sparse sandiness of the beach gave way to diverse greens and browns, though their vibrancy was muted by the mists. The ground was blanketed in rigid, spiky grass about knee-high. Tall, gnarled trees twisted their way up towards the jungle’s canopy, their limbs bent like skeletal arms seeking salvation. Of any animal or insect life, there was no sight or sound. They walked slowly, with Keresi on point, all of them scanning the mists for any irregularities.
“What exactly are we looking for here?” Marek asked quietly, moving past Beck and up towards Rulio.
“Ideally, we find the soldiers sitting around a fire.” Rulio replied.
“Oh,” Marek said, though he was already thinking of all the non-ideal possibilities.
They said nothing more about it, but Marek was certain the Captain was also thinking similarly.
They walked, and walked more, the warped trees and the unrelenting fog ever constant around them. The air was thick with the smell of decaying undergrowth, and decaying animals, and fouler things. As they walked a soft rain began to fall, the kind that arrived in a wet haze rather than proper raindrops. Even so, the rest of Marek’s clothes were soaked through in a matter of minutes. While the feeling of the cold shirt and pants clinging to his skin was unpleasant, it was still surpassed by the sensation of his feet squelching inside sodden socks with every step, as they had done since he emerged from the ocean. He doubted the other three were faring much better. Rulio was closely shadowing Keresi, with Marek and then Beck following a little further behind. If Marek focused, he was sure he could hear Beck’s feet squelching away behind him.
Marek shifted in his drenched clothes, trying to get more comfortable. He was wearing plain military-green fatigues: long cotton pants, a shirt, a light long-sleeved jacket, and sturdy brown combat boots. Rulio had given him the clothes during the voyage here, presenting them with great formality. Marek supposed it was another kind of validation, a further confirmation that he was really part of the crew now. He had gladly accepted them, and was glad to be rid of his shirt and jeans, which he felt had always looked rather out of place in this world. Furthermore, it just felt cool to finally be looking the part. Once he had strapped on his belt, complete with the ammunition magazines, grenades, and his pistol in its crisp leather holster, he felt ready to take on anything.
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Or at least he had, before he’d seen the fog.
The fog was still all around them, grey and profuse, a constant dampener upon the world. Its density allowed for a dome of vision about fifty metres in diameter, which followed them as they walked. Beyond that, there could be anything. It was unsettling – though at least the strange wailing noise had stopped. Marek wasn’t sure when.
Suddenly, they all stopped. Almost without realising it, they had emerged into a clearing of sorts, an area devoid of the eerie, twisted trees that had kept them company on their march from the beach so far. A few small bushes scattered the ground, but most of the earth in front of them was now plain muddy dirt, sprinkled with dead leaves. About forty metres ahead rose a small hill, which was again sparse of any vegetation. To either side of them the tangled bushes and trees continued, ringing a perimeter around the clearing.
“Alright,” Rulio said, “let’s take five.”
Marek was preparing to settle into the break when Keresi muttered “Shit.” A short word, but it carried a wealth of apprehension. He was staring at the top of the hill, and Marek followed his gaze.
There were two large dogs up on the slope’s edge, standing with their legs planted firmly apart, hunkering down on their haunches. Their eyes were set unblinking on the crew down below, and their jaws quavered in barely contained snarls. Saliva collected into viscous tendrils behind their teeth, and the hounds’ matted black fur seemed to drink in the dim grey light filtering through the fog. They looked more like wolves than any normal dogs Marek had seen. Could there be wolves here? Were there even supposed to be dogs here?
“Steady.” Rulio’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Don’t make eye contact with them. No sudden movements.”
Marek averted his gaze, making brief eye contact with Beck as he did so. She was hard to read at the best of times, but even she looked visibly unsettled.
He didn’t know what to make of the situation. It was just a couple of dogs, right? Surely nothing too crazy – and if the worst did come to the worst, they were all carrying guns.
Slowly, Rulio began to unsling his Thompson from over his shoulder.
Steadily… avoiding any sudden movements…
He had nearly manoeuvred the gun into a workable position when the dogs bolted towards them.
Marek watched on in a daze as Rulio frantically brought the submachine gun to bear while the dogs quickly closed the distance, sprinting down the hill and kicking up sprays of dirt behind them. Keresi reached for his pistol, his arm a blur.
With his gun now levelled, Rulio’s arms twitched briefly as he shifted his aim between the two rushing dogs, and then he opened up on the closest one. A full burst of automatic fire erupted from his gun – thirty rounds in a couple of seconds. The leading dog seemed to disintegrate as the hail of bullets penetrated through fur, muscle, and bone with ease, dissolving it into flying chunks of red gristle. Inertia carried the beast onwards, but it had become nothing more than a limp mass of haggard scraps.
Keresi now also had his pistol primed, and began to fire off shots at the second dog, scoring a couple of hits which failed to have any immediate effect with such a small calibre.
Rulio’s gun was conspicuously silent – in his haste, he had used the whole magazine on the first dog. He was pawing at his bandolier for a fresh magazine, but the surviving dog was now only a few metres from Keresi, pushing onwards through its wounds like a creature possessed.
Marek jumped as noise exploded from beside him – Beck was rushing towards Keresi, firing her pistol rapidly at the dog. Within moments, the dog collapsed and slid to a halt near Keresi’s feet, the dual streams of damage finally proving too much for it.
The beast lay still, breathing heavily, fur matted with mud and numerous bullet holes. Rulio walked over to the dying beast, calmly unholstered his pistol, and fired a round straight down into its head, which burst like a rotten egg into shattered pieces of bone.
Staring at the carcass, Rulio reached up and wiped a fragment of fur-clad skull from his cheek, then slid the pistol back into its holster.
“Thanks,” Keresi said with a glance towards Rulio, appearing slightly unsteady on his feet.
Rulio said nothing, and continued to stare down at the dog’s remains. Beck was walking over to join the two of them, and Marek followed suit, stirred from his inaction. With a sinking feeling, he realised he hadn’t done anything to contribute to the group’s close victory.
Keresi was hunched over, collecting himself, with his hands on his knees. Rulio had walked over to where the first dog he had killed lay, and was studying it intently. Beck and Marek veered towards him, curious to see what he was looking at.
There was a slight rustle from the bushes next to Keresi, at the edge of hearing, and everyone turned in unison to see what had caused the noise.
The bush settled into stillness. Then a few strands moved, and a moment later a dark shape surged forth.
Keresi yelled as the third dog lunged at him. He threw up his left arm, a moment before the dog’s jaws would have reached his neck – instead, they sank into his forearm. Keresi cried out as he fell to the ground, the dog snarling as it thrashed his arm from side to side. The hound was nearly as big as him, and Keresi’s desperate punches at its head and body seemed to have no effect.
Marek looked on, unable to move. It was like the battle with the scout ship all over again.
The dog continued to shake Keresi around by his arm, scraping and bouncing it against the damp jungle floor. Keresi had stopped making any sound, and was struggling to reach for his knife as his body was tossed back and forth.
“I can’t get a shot!” Rulio shouted. He was aiming desperately, shifting erratically, his face tight with exasperation. “I’ll hit him!”
“He’s going to die!” Beck screamed. Her pistol was in her hand, limp. She also didn’t dare risk taking a shot.
Marek stood there, paralysed in his indecision, feeling useless. His head was rapidly getting dizzy, his vision tunnelling in on itself. Keresi was going to die right in front of him, on their very first mission. The dog was tearing his arm open, flicking drops of bright blood onto the muddy soil.
Rulio threw down his gun in frustration and rushed towards Keresi, drawing his knife.
Then he dove onto the dog’s back. “Let! Him! GO!” he thundered, stabbing the dog in the base of its skull with each word. A slender fountain of blood greeted every withdrawal of the blade.
Even after the first blow, the dog had gone limp, and Keresi’s arm slipped free of its jaws.
Eventually, Rulio decided he had stabbed the dog enough, but for last good measure plunged the knife into its skull with all his bodyweight. Then he rolled off onto the dirt, exhausted. The knife’s hilt stuck up out of the beast’s head like a lever.
Rulio propped himself up on one arm, breathing heavily. Mud and leaflitter encrusted his uniform in thick, misshapen blotches. His wet hair clung to his face in thick strands, and sweat was trickling diluting rivulets down through the dirt on his face. Keresi lay motionless a few feet away, the dead dog lying on top of him.
Rulio gave him a shove.
Keresi stirred. “Yeah?” His reply sounded tired and distant.
“You still with us?” Rulio asked, sounding nearly as tired.
It was a while before Keresi spoke again, in a slow murmur. “I just talked, didn’t I?”
“Yeah,” Rulio said, and gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Yeah, I guess you did.” And with that, he lay down on his back with his hands over his chest.
Marek stared dumbstruck at the two men lying in the mud. How did things get to this so quickly?
“Marek!” Beck snapped. “Help me dress his wounds.”
“Right,” Marek mumbled, and fiddled around at his utility belt for his first aid pouch.
He walked with Beck to where the two men and the dog lay.
“Get this… fucking thing… off…” Keresi mumbled. Marek and Beck hefted the dog and managed to roll it off him, triggering a series of groans from their injured friend.
“My… arm…” Keresi lifted his injured limb. His forearm was a mangled mess, riddled with deep puncture wounds that were pulsing out thick oozes of dark blood. He stared at it blankly, then flopped his arm back down with a grunt.
Beck went to work quickly, with Marek helping as best he could, and they soon managed to clean and bandage Keresi’s arm and stem the bleeding. Packaging from both of their medical kits’ contents lay scattered in a debris field around them. They had used a lot of supplies on Keresi – maybe too much. But they also had little choice; they couldn’t let Keresi’s present injury go untreated in the hopes of preserving components for possible future injuries, which may or may not eventuate. Marek could only hope that there wouldn’t be any more, although the fact that Keresi had been so severely injured, and almost straight away, didn’t seem to him like a positive sign of things to come.
At some point during their treatment of Keresi, Rulio had risen into a sitting position, his hands clasped around his knees. “Fucking dogs,” he murmured in contempt.
With a little help from Beck, Keresi was soon sitting up as well. “Why’s it always have to be me getting injured?” he said miserably, examining his wounded arm.
Rulio rose to his feet, wiping down the front of his uniform but succeeding only in further lengthening the streaks of mud across it.
Marek and Beck helped Keresi to his feet as well. He was wobbling slightly.
“Can you walk, K?” Rulio asked.
Keresi shifted, testing his stability. “Well enough.”
“Alright. Good. Beck, take him back to the ship. Marek and I will go on ahead.” He wiped muddy rain from his eyes with the back of his hand, his face despondent. “If we don’t find some kind of evidence of these paratroopers, then all this has been for nothing.”
Beck put her arm around Keresi’s waist, offering him some support. She looked tiny next him.
“Make sure he’s taken care of,” Rulio said to her.
Beck nodded, but looked none too happy about being consigned to Keresi’s caretaker. Her mouth was tightly pursed, and her chin ever-so-slightly thrust outwards. Marek thought he saw a brief, strange look in her eyes.
Rulio saw it too. “Beck?” He eyed her carefully, eyebrow raised.
“Alright,” she said, but her body language was disconsonant.
Rulio and Marek watched as she turned with Keresi, and they headed back towards the ship. When they were out of sight, Rulio looked towards Marek.
“Alright,” he said, as he walked over to the body of the third dog. He yanked his knife out of the skull, wiped clean the blood and brains against the dog’s fur, and then sheathed it. “Let’s keep going.”