Sam continued to stare out at his surroundings for what felt like an hour, feeling uneasy as he did so. The endless jungle and towering mountain in the distance intimidated him, and he found himself praying to the good Lord to get him out of this mess. Sure, he had done a lot of bad things in his time… a LOT of bad things, but nothing so bad that it would warrant this kind of divine punishment, right? He shook his head, God didn’t put him here, it was that stupid satanic cloud. At least he assumed it was satanic, it certainly had looked the part when it was trying to eat his soul.
Maybe he had died in that encounter after all? Was this hell? It couldn’t be heaven, if it was then everything wouldn’t suck so hard. Hell wasn’t what he expected, where was the fire, the brimstone? Was this a personal hell tailor-made to make Sam miserable? He shook his head. This couldn't be hell, Ma always said that hell was a state of being, not a place. It was separation from God or some such, damn he should have gone to church more often so he’d know what was going on!
Was there something to do with scary infinite jungles in the Good Book? He didn’t think so… Alright, so if this wasn’t hell, then he couldn’t be dead, at least that was what he was thinking at the moment. He certainly felt alive, the burnt flesh of his face, the throbbing wound on his forearm, the way the air clung to his sweaty skin all felt too real and palpable for this to be any kind of afterlife. Then again, what if this was just how the afterlife was? What if you went to the other side not knowing that you had died?
He pondered this a moment as he leaned against the trunk of the tree. Why had he showed up wearing his clothes then? Shouldn’t he be naked as the day he was born? Why would clothes transfer over upon death? He sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose as he considered. Other had also told him that he’d check in on Sam after about a month, to see if he survived. You couldn’t die twice right? After some time, he reached the conclusion that he couldn’t have been deceased. He had survived washing up on the beach and had puked up a good bit of the ocean doing so. The state of his body at the time had said it all: he had lived. The exhaustion, soreness, and his leaden frame had all been indicators that he needed to recover, not that he had passed into the afterlife.
Meaning that somehow, this place was still on Earth. In a way, he felt relieved knowing that he wasn’t dead, but now he’d need to figure out what this place really was, and how to escape it. What did he know so far? Well, there were lizard people, feral humans, and a supernatural jungle. That was about it…
He chewed his lip nervously for a moment before finally deciding to descend the tree, he wasn’t getting anything done just sitting there. Sam picked his path down carefully until he found the thick vine he had used to ascend, and used it to reach the jungle floor. He wiped his hands off on his dirtied jumpsuit, swiping up the machete before picking a direction and marching forth.
He spent a lot of time picking his way through shrubbery, swatting at bugs along his path as he made headway to… somewhere. He wasn’t quite sure what the goal was right now, the beach was far out of sight, and he had little hope of finding it again anytime soon. His legs burned as he walked, and it wasn’t long before his stomach began to grumble. His pace slowed as hunger pangs assailed him, and the dry soreness of his throat did little to help matters. He’d need to find something to sate his needs soon or he was gonna collapse.
This was all his own fault for trying to chase after that creepy goober. There had been plenty of coconuts on the beach, and he had given them up. Maybe there were coconuts inside the jungle itself? He wasn’t sure. Looking around, he spotted quite a few trees that looked just like the palms on the beach… but unfortunately, there were no coconuts to be seen growing on any of them.
Were these a different species of tree? They looked pretty much just like a coconut tree, but the leaves were different, more fan-like. Did coconuts only grow on palms rooted in the beach? If so, he was screwed. He had no idea just what he could and couldn’t eat in the confines of this green jail. There were plenty of berries around, various bushes were filled with ripe pickings, all the colors of the rainbow. The red ones in particular looked particularly juicy, the size of his thumb and possessing an alluring sheen.
Yet, somewhere in the back of Sam’s mind, his instincts warned him against eating it. He thought on this for a second, squatting down in front of the bush and berry with squinting eyes. He coulda sworn that he’d heard somewhere that eating red berries was bad… or was he remembering that wrong? Maybe it was the blue colored berries that were dangerous to eat, or those purple ones. There were also a slew of bushes that held white and yellow berries, maybe those ones were good for eating?
How could he test out which ones would make him sick and which ones were edible? He supposed that there was only really one way to find out… which was to eat them. Yet, he held off on this notion. There had to be another way that didn’t involve testing his guts resilience. If he poisoned himself now, after all he’d already endured, he doubted he’d make it another day. At least, it wouldn’t be easy for him to do so.
Then he had an idea. He could try and just squeeze some of the juice onto his skin. If the skin got irritated or started breaking out, he’d avoid eating that kind of berry. Nodding to himself, he gripped the red berry, lifting his sleeve and squeezing the life from the little bastard. The cool juice dripped down onto the skin of his forearm, and he waited. A long time passed before he decided that the berry might be safe.
Might be.
He’d give it a bit more time before he’d actually eat it. What if it needed more time to produce a reaction? With a groan, he stood, popping his back and letting out a relieved sigh. These berry tests were gonna be time-consuming, but he’d rather not get poisoned if he could help it. Maybe he could find berries that he’d recognize? Were there any blueberries or raspberries around here? Might be worth it to try and forage some up if there were.
With that, he began his search. It took much scrutinizing and face-scrunching on his end, but after about an hour or so, he’d scrounged up what appeared to be blueberries. They certainly had all the characteristics he’d recognized from the store-bought variety. Round with that little crown on top.
[https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/995880962359578784/1126950801315733504/Ch4_illustration_v2.png]
His gut grumbled at the sight of it, and he brought a single berry up to his mouth with barely any thought. It took all his willpower to keep his mouth closed. It was so tantalizing… yet what if this just looked like a blueberry? What if it was an imposter, sent from an opposing family or worse, the law to try and trick him?
Sam shook his head with a smile, imagining the little berry with a badge and a mustache. It couldn’t be that bad, right? It had to be a blueberry, it looked just like what he had seen before. He supposed that he could squeeze it and smell the juice, surely that would help him identify it for sure. He crushed Officer Berry between his fingers, bringing the remains of the snitch up to his nose and giving it a whiff. Certainly smelled like what he suspected.
With a shrug, he picked another, flicking it into his open mouth with a thumb and chewing. It was sweet, sweeter than store-bought, that was for sure. It tasted just like a blueberry, but better. Grown in nature sure did taste great. Ma was right, fruits n’ veggies were better if ya went out and picked em yourself. Not that he’d ever do that under any normal circumstances, he wasn’t some kind of gardening pansy.
He held off on eating another, instead packing them into his pockets by the handfuls. He was only pretty sure that what he’d eaten was a blueberry, he’d hold off for as long as he could before eating another one. If his bowels imploded or he started puking up his organs, he’d know for sure.
It took quite a long while for him to gather the little things, the pockets in his jumpsuit were spacious. Another hour or two passed before he finished, pockets filled to bursting with blueberries. He was sure that he looked ridiculous, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He looked up at the sky through the many broad leaves and hanging vines, seeing that the sun was still shining brightly overhead. Was it noon now? Still plenty of daylight left then, maybe he could find some real shelter before dark?
Hopefully. Maybe there was a hotel just around the corner, five-star of course. He shook his head as he took up the machete, making headway through the jungle once more. Five stars in a dump like this? Yeah right, maybe on the beach. Bigwigs always liked their beachside suites. Honestly at this point he’d even take a seedy lice-infested motel. At least there’d be a damn shower! He’d kill for one right now. Probably literally, if he was being honest with himself.
Yet he knew that showers didn’t grow naturally in tropical environments. The seeds just weren’t compatible with the soil.
Hours passed as he continued on his trail, throat aching for water. He had found a few pools of it along the way but it had a greenish hue and was completely stagnant. Sam knew enough to understand that he definitely should not drink from that. There had to be some other way to get water from the jungle that didn’t involve coconuts or drinking from what looked like raw sewage.
What was safe to drink around here…? He stopped in his tracks, looking around as he considered. There was still a good amount of dew covering the plant life around here. Dew was safe to drink right? How would he gather it? Again, his face scrunched as he thought, idly swinging his machete while he did so. If he got a big leaf, he could use it as a bowl. He’d go around to all the plants he could find with dew, and shake them down for protection money (water), spilling the moolah into his chosen leaf. That sounded good to him, now he just needed to find something that would bowl up easy. It didn’t take long.
He found a wide low hanging leaf from a young tree, pulling it taught before hacking it free with his blade. Leaf in hand, he began gathering the dew, cupping his hand to force it into a bowl shape. It was time-consuming but after a long while, he finally had gathered enough water to fill a cup. He sipped greedily at the water, draining it in what felt like an instant before he let out a gasp.
His throat still ached terribly and that did little to dissuade his gut from trying to implode, but he felt a tad bit better already. Still, gathering dew like this was taking up way too much time, there had to be some kinda source of freshwater around here somewhere… Maybe there was a river nearby, or perhaps a lagoon like in that one movie he’d seen as a kid. Considering just how bad his luck had been lately, perhaps he’d accumulated enough good luck to find what he’d need.
“God,” Sam started to pray silently, “I know I ain’t been the best fella, but can ya cut a guy some slack?” He asked, clasping his hands together and bowing his head, “I’m sorry I never went to church with Ma after I joined the Family, didn’t have the time for it.” Hmm… perhaps he shouldn’t make excuses. “Sorry, I just didn’t feel like going.”
God said nothing in reply, as he expected. Well, God didn’t talk through words, he talked through signs right? Well, where was the sign!? He looked around, head whipping here and there to see absolutely nothing that stuck out. As he was about to start cussing out the Good Lord, his eyes landed on what appeared to be a footprint in a patch of mud. It looked to be some kind of cloven hoof, small like a pig or a deer. Did pigs and deer live in jungles? Maybe wild boars did, but deer? There was no way.
He winced as he stared up at the sky, feeling guilty that he’d been about to curse at the Big Guy upstairs.
“Sorry… and thanks?” He asked before looking back to the footprint.
Ma would beat his ass if she ever found out about him almost-cussing out God, hopefully the Good Lord wouldn’t mention it to her in Heaven. Hell, she’d probably come down here with angel wings to slap him around with a paddle. That would be a sight, and after the beating, maybe Ma would offer her favorite (and only) son a ride outta here. Maybe God should tell her after all…?
He shook his head with a smile as he slowly followed the cloven footprints through the jungle. He figured that at some point, whatever animal this was would have wanted to stop by its favorite watering hole at some point. More time passed of him blazing this trail, swatting away insects as he listened to the sweet sound of birdsong. The day grew hotter and more humid as time passed, slicking his skin with sticky sweat. He was tempted to unzip his jumpsuit and slip his arms out of their sleeves, but the attack of the bugs was still in full swing and he wanted as much skin protected as he could afford.
Already he felt a fair few bites on where his skin was exposed, a light itch beginning to set in. Why hadn’t he thought to steal some bug repellant from the joint? He shook his head as he moved around a large boulder, why would they have bug-be-gone in jail? He supposed that they did have that de-louser crap, but he wasn’t sure that would work on the biters out here. Besides, he wouldn’t have thought to take any of it anyway.
The trail then abruptly stopped before a small, muddy clearing, before turning to circle it, continuing on until it reached the other side of the mud pit. He paused, furrowing his brow as he considered. The clearing wasn’t that big, only about four or five strides or so, and if it was a pig, then why had it wanted to avoid this mud? He knew that pigs needed to cover themselves in mud to keep their bodies cool, so why avoid this?
Of course, this was all assuming that what he was following was a pig, but still. An animal shouldn’t have cared about getting some mud on its feet. Indeed, the first of these tracks he’d seen had been through a small mud puddle. There was something wrong here, his instincts screamed at him to avoid passing through the clearing at all costs. He saw no reason to ignore these instincts, but curiosity forced his hand to lift up a heavy rock from the ground. He then tossed the stone into the mud with a grunt, staring intently as it slowly began to sink.
Then he understood.
This was quicksand! Smart little piggy to recognize it for what it was. Damn, if he had walked in there, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to get out. He’d never been trapped in quicksand before and wasn’t really sure what the procedure was to escape it… he knew that it couldn’t support weight and would sink anything heavy that moved over it. Maybe if he laid flat on his belly? Well, he wasn’t caught in it and had no intention of trying it out-
A muddy pair of pincers the size of Sam himself then emerged from beneath the quicksand, snapping at the stone he’d tossed and cracking it in two. Sam’s jaw dropped as he stared wide-eyed,the crab-like pincer descending back into the soil silently. He nearly fell to his knees from the shock he felt. What the hell kinda crustacean grew to be that huge!? What if he had stepped into one of these by accident? Well, that woulda been the end of him for sure.
He stared silently for a few minutes before he circled the clearing, moving silently as he did so. The last thing he wanted was that thing hearing him stomping around up here. His machete wouldn’t save him from something that big if it decided to come after him. He found himself praying again, this time asking for a shotgun once he was well away from the pit of crab death. Sadly though, God did not give him a holy shotty, at least not right then.
Shaken, he continued following the pig-path until finally, he found a breach in the trees. The light of the setting sun poured through the opening easily, indicating that not much foliage could be blocking its light. Had this pig trail led him back to the beach? That sure would be nice, back to fresh coconuts and being out of this muggy maze. Unfortunately, when he finally did pass through the break in the trees, he saw that he was indeed not back at the beach as he’d hoped.
Fortunately though, it was a beach.
Brown sand surrounded a large glittering lake of crystal clear water, the light of the sinking sun’s rays reflecting off its lightly rippling surface. His eyes followed the lake, guesstimating that it was around the size of two football fields. A large waterfall filled the lake at its far edge, streaming down from a steep cliff face before draining into two narrow streams that snaked back into the jungle, splitting the land with their currents.
The ache in his throat worsened considerably at seeing all the fresh, clear water on display. He had to reign himself in from simply running to the beach and collapsing on all fours to gulp down the entire lake in one sitting. It was best to hold back, after all, who knew if the water was actually safe for drinking? What if this was salt water? Somehow, he doubted it. He considered his options as he descended the hill toward the beach, keeping an eye out for any crabs, lizards, or freaks that would try and get the drop on him.
He supposed that he could simply taste the water to see if it was good for drinking, but what if there were parasites in it? You were supposed to boil water in nature to make it clean right? How the hell was he supposed to boil this stuff without a pot? Maybe there was a bowl shaped rock somewhere he could use? That would take a lot of searching and a lot of luck, and it might be dark by time he found one.
Would parasites be visible in the water? Would he be able to see them with his naked eye if he looked into it long enough? Probably not… then again, the freaks and lizards needed to drink something that was clean, and that guy he killed sure didn’t look like the type that would care to clean what he drank. Maybe the lizards didn’t need fresh water? He wasn’t sure, but the ache in his throat drove him ever closer to the lake’s surface. Once he reached the gently lapping waters, he knelt down, inspecting it closely.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
Well, there were no giant poop worms swimming around in there that he could see. He leaned in closer, until his reflection in the surface nearly touched noses with him. He then took a whiff, noting that the water indeed smelled like water and not sewage. There wasn’t anything nasty floating around in it either… he then decided to taste some, washing off his hands before using them as a bowl.
He sipped lightly at the contents in his hands, delighted to find that this indeed, was not saltwater. Well… it seemed like it was safe. No gross bugs in it or salt, no bad smell, and most importantly, it wasn’t stagnant. Sam decided right then, that he would risk gut worms. His aching throat demanded to be sated and he would not wait any longer.
He would prefer to boil it of course, but he didn’t have much daylight left and he didn’t want to use that time trying to find a good rock to use. Not to mention the fact that he had no idea how to start a fire without a lighter. He knew that he’d need to use friction, like rubbing two sticks together or something, but that sounded like a pain in the ass. Who knew how long that would take, and again, he only had so much daylight to work with here.
And so, he began the arduous process of drinking the entire lake. The cool water flowed down his throat in a torrent, easing its agony and leaving Sam gasping for more. Only when his stomach was full did he stop, laying flat on his back to stare up at the blue sky.
“Thanks God.” Sam said, and meant it, “Now, about that shotgun I was asking for earlier…”
For the next few minutes, he then began to explain to God just why he needed a shotgun, and why he needed one now. Sadly though, a shotgun did not inexplicably fall out of the sky to land next to him. He really should’ve stolen a gun from prison, but going into the armory would have added a whole lot of risk to his escape plan. He was regretting not doing it now though.
Ah well.
He sat up from the sand with a stretch, scratching a bug bite he’d received on the back of his neck with a sigh. That was the best water he’d ever drank in his life, nothing in civilization could compare. Then again, he had been suffering severe dehydration, so maybe that had played a part in forming this opinion. He stood up slowly, feeling the water slosh about in his gut as he did so. Maybe he went a little overboard on the drinking, but he just couldn’t help himself. Popping his back, he tried again to find the pig trail, but found that it had disappeared in the sand.
Or maybe it was just too hard to see where the trail was in the sand. In all likelihood, the sand had just shifted slightly from the wind, resulting in the tracks vanishing in the grains. It wasn’t like he still needed to follow the tracks anyway, but the thought of porkchops made his mouth water. He would need to find some way to cook that, he wasn’t eating meat raw, especially not pork.
Now, since he was filled to the brim with water, he should focus on finding a place to sleep-
Two men then emerged from a break in the trees on the other side of the lake, both with coal-dark skin and wearing long masks of a dark wood. Short skirts of grass covered their privates, but other than that, they were completely naked. The long oval masks were an unsettling sight, and he took a step back as their gazes seemed to focus on him. Each held a long wooden spear, the ends tipped with sharpened stone. He gripped his machete tightly as they began gesturing at him with their weapons, making stabbing motions before suddenly they began to circle the beach, sprinting to reach him.
Sam cursed as they approached, quickly closing the distance at an insane pace. He knew that there wasn’t gonna be any way to get away from these freaks. The pace they ran at was almost on par with The Other’s. Was everyone in this jungle gonna be faster than him!? He supposed that shouldn’t be a shock, even back in civilization, he’d always been a fighter, not a runner. He was slow-footed, perhaps due to his great size.
That was a problem now though, considering that he’d need to fight two freaks at once. There had to be some way to make this a more even fight… but how? The two savages closed quickly, leaving him little time to think. He looked to the lake, briefly considering swimming across it to the other side before dismissing it. These guys had them runners builds, they’d circle the beach to the other side well before he could reach it, and what then? Would he just keep swimming end to end until he was exhausted and drowned?
No, swimming away wasn’t an option, not unless he could get into one of those streams? That was a bad idea too, they’d just catch up and poke him full of holes. The only option was to fight. Suddenly, an idea sparked to life in his mind, and he quickly eased himself into the lake, going up to his knees in water as he waited for the freaks to arrive. When they finally reached him, they paused, staring down into the water before staring at Sam. Suddenly this seemed to be a bad idea too… what if they just opted to throw those spears at him? He could probably get clear of them before they connected, but what if he couldn’t?
The savages seemed to consider this as well, for one lifted up his spear to throw before his companion halted him.
“We won’t win if we throw our spears and miss.” Said the one halting his friend, his tone deeply accented.
Sam couldn’t recognize what country that accent woulda come from, it didn’t sound familiar at all. Slurring with short pauses between words. Considering the hue of their skin, Sam had suspected that they’d speak in an African language, but that was not the case. Their accent was all wrong too, they didn’t sound like they were from Africa at all… it was too alien and strange to be so. The closest he could compare it to was something almost… Slavic, mixed with a tad of… Chinese? When he had met Other, that fella didn’t have any kind of foreign accent, he had sounded American. Maybe he had washed up here too and had just gone crazy?
“My aim is good.” The man hefting the spear insisted, “And it is not far away.”
“If we miss we won’t be able to beat it with our hands. It is too fat for fists to be good.” He replied cooly.
Sam blinked at the words. Fat? He wasn’t fat, it was just that these twigs had none to speak of.
The savage hefting the spear paused, seeming to consider the words before finally he lowered his weapon, aiming the tip in Sam’s direction. “Then what do we do?” He asked, gripping the shaft tightly, “We need his meat, and his blade.”
Sam paled at hearing that. His meat? By God, these were friggin’ cannibals! He imagined himself being submerged into a gigantic cookpot, tied up with rope and left to marinate with a buncha carrots, like some kinda cartoon. Well, he sure as hell wasn’t going to let that happen.
“You got any idea who I am?” Sam asked with a growl, “You try and eat me punks, come on, just try it!”
They didn’t reply, seeming to completely ignore his threats. If only he could see their faces behind those giant masks… wait a second. He grinned as he took a step forward, readying himself to duck should they throw their spears. They began to split from one another, trying to flank him on either side. If they managed to pull it off, he’d probably be a dead man, but if he timed this right…
Right as they began closing in on him, ready to deliver fatal thrusts, he shot off to one side, closing the distance between himself and the savage on his left. The cannibal thrusted, the spearpoint speeding toward Sam’s chest at a near-blurring speed. Had he not anticipated the strike, it was doubtful that he’d have been able to dodge it. Stepping to the side, he cupped his free hand, he dipped it low into the water, flinging it toward his chosen victim with all the force of a mini typhoon. The water impacted with the mask, flowing through the eyeholes and forcing the freak to sputter.
Sam then grabbed the spear, yanking it toward him forcefully and pulling the smaller man close with ease. Sam then reared back his machete, a mad grinned plastered on his face as he swung the blade, its edge slicing into the man’s neck. It was too dull to separate bone, and normally it would likely only be capable of delivering small flesh wounds, like the one he’d received from the freak he’d taken it from.
[https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/995880962359578784/1126950801852612688/Ch4_illustration_2_v1.png]
Yet through the strength of his arm, the edge powered through the neck until it hit the spine, halting only once it connected with the bone. Blood practically exploded from the massive wound, the man gurgling before he fell into the water. Sam leapt forward over the dying cannibal as soon as he fell, anticipating a stab from behind. Unfortunately, he didn’t quite make it clear of the predicted attack.
Stone pierced his left ass-cheek with surprising force, pushing him further forward and causing him to lose his balance. He fell face first into the water, scrambling to regain his footing as he shouted bubbles. He clawed away, half-swimming half-drowning as he went. When he finally breached the water, he turned, seeing the cannibal racing toward him screaming with rage. Sam realized that he was unarmed, having left the machete embedded in the dead man’s neck by accident.
His ass-cheek stung horribly when he backpedaled, trying his best to stay out of reach of that thrusting spear. It seemed that the surviving member of the duo had flown into a blind fury at his companions death, and was trying desperately to skewer Sam like a fish. He kept backing away as the dead man’s body began tinting the water around it crimson. The wet sucking sand beneath his heavy boots nearly tripped him as he went but barely seemed to slow the berserking masked freak at all.
He splashed water at the mask as he continued to backpedal, but that only seemed to further irritate his foe, who screamed louder at Sam’s bombardment. There had to be something he could do here to flip the odds… but what? As he thought this, he began to notice that the cannibal’s strikes were slowing down marginally. He was tiring himself out with those strikes, and quickly too. If Sam could just avoid that spear for a bit longer, he might just be able to disarm him. Yet this constant dodging backward through the wet sand and knee high water was exhausting Sam as well. A small part of him wanted to stop the dodging so he could catch his breath, but he ignored it.
Catching his breath now would also mean catching a spear in the ribs, and there was no way he’d survive a wound like that out here in the wild. This wasn’t looking good. Then suddenly, the savage’s last thrust wobbled halfway, and he took a few steps back in the water, his breathing ragged and skin shining with sweat. Sam had to act now, if he let this guy catch his wind, he’d be screwed.
He trudged forth quickly through the muck, both hands raised to balance him as he went. The freak hissed angrily through what sounded like clenched teeth, and reared the spear back over his head, throwing it with all his might. Sam’s life flashed before his eyes as the spear hurtled toward his head. Church with Ma, meeting the Boss, dinner with the Family, and countless other memories played in the instant before the point connected. After that, a single thought came to him.
“Pretend it's a fist.”
Time seemed to slow as his head weaved to the right, the point barely clipping his ear as it passed. He was aware of a light stinging on his lobe, but ignored it as he jumped forward, tackling the cannibal into the water. Sam’s eyes were wide as he held the freak under, face flat as the smaller man struggled beneath his greater weight and stronger arms. Bubbles flowed to the surface for a long while along with the wild thrashing of limbs. Only when the strength left the man’s arms did Sam drag him back above the water, the cannibal gasping desperately as he dragged him forcefully to the beach.
There were answers Sam needed, and he was going to get them.
He slammed the cannibal hard into the sand, the smaller man gasping as the wind was driven from him. He then flipped the freak over like he was a pancake before sitting on his back. He wheezed underneath Sam’s great weight, but hardly struggled due to his exhaustion. The stinging in his butt-cheek made him wince as he felt the pressure from sitting on it, but he didn’t want to give his captive a chance to escape.
“I got questions for ya.” Sam asked, popping his knuckles next to the mans ear. “Yer gonna answer em’ or I’m gonna pound ya into hamburger.”
He wheezed again in reply, and Sam gripped one of his ears hard, “Where am I?” Sam asked in a low, dangerous tone.
The cannibal gasped for breath before replying, voice strained, “T-the Crossroads…”
“Where is the Crossroads?” Sam asked again, pulling the ear taught as far as it would go.
“I-” He rasped, “I don’t-” Sam then pinched the ear, eliciting another gasp of agony, “I don’t know!” The freak shouted, “It just is!”
Sam nearly groaned, even with the threat of a serious ass-kicking, this guy was talkin’ all weird like The Other. ‘It just is’ what a crock of crap.
“Whatever.” Sam replied, “What’s with the lizard guys?”
“T-they are our enemies!” The man screamed, “Dangerous!”
Grilling this guy was gonna be a pain, but he had to know more about where he was if he wanted any chance of getting the hell out of here. And so, Sam began some more intensive and specific questioning. He demanded to know what was edible in the jungle and what was not, keeping in mind that the cannibal could deliberately give him false information. He didn’t seem to be lying when Sam presented him with a blueberry that the freak had confirmed to indeed, be a blueberry. Perhaps the threat of losing an ear had brought out the honesty in him.
He asked about how to get back to the beach, but the man shook his head, insisting that only a select few could manage to find their way to it, and that he was not one such person.
“The jungle,” He rasped, “It moves whoever walks in it, taking them wherever it wishes.”
So Sam wasn’t crazy, this place really did flip things around on him earlier, but then, how had Other managed to find the beach again after being in the jungle? Perhaps he was one of these special few the cannibal spoke of? He pressed harder, trying to find out just why this place did that. The answer was almost half-expected.
“I don’t know.”
Sam nearly growled, a slight rumble audible in his throat. “How many of you are there? How many freaks and what’re ya all called?”
“T-there are many thousands of us, and hundreds of tribes,” The cannibal explained quickly, “I am of the Acktre tribe.”
Great. There were thousands of them crawling around here, all looking for some Sam steak. Well he wasn’t no cut of meat and he had no intention of letting these losers gorge on his forbidden ham.
“Why’d you try to kill me?” Sam asked with a glare, “I know yer a cannibal, but ain’t there somethin’ else ya can eat?”
The man shook his head, “Easy meat is hard to come by… the easiest beast to hunt is the Lost Ones… Men who were not born here, who do not know of the jungle and its dangers.”
“Well I ain’t no easy meat as ya can see.” Sam sneered, “So I’m a Lost One then, right?” The cannibal nodded. “How many of my kind are ‘round here?”
“Hundreds, each year there are hundreds of new ones.” He explained quickly, “Sometimes they join the tribes, but mostly they are meat for us… or meat for the beasts. My tribe has never taken in the Lost Ones, our blood is pure.” The cannibal finished, a tinge of pride in his tone.
“Yer blood is gonna ‘pure’ on the ground if you keep getting off track.” Sam threatened, “Now what’s with that big mountain I keep seein’?” He asked.
“T-the spire…” He whispered, shuddering, “We cannot go there, it is both forbidden to try, and impossible to approach.”
“What do you mean?” Sam asked, “Impossible to approach?”
“The Crossroads are very large,” He explained, after another rasp, “There are many places the jungle will take you, but it has never put anyone before the spire.”
“How the hell do you know that?” Sam asked, lifting an eyebrow, “Maybe someone got sent there and they just never came back.”
The cannibal just shook his head, “It simply does not happen.”
Sam sighed and looked over to the man he’d killed, spying the machete still embedded in his throat. His brow scrunched up at the sight of it. Now that he thought about it, a tribal fella shouldn’t have machined steel like that… they should be all using stone weapons, as these ones had. He brought this up to his captive.
“Spoils from the Lost Ones.” He said, “Given to us by the gods as rightful plunder from those who were banished here.”
Sam sneered again, disgusted by the savage’s words. Unlucky smucks like Sam clearly weren’t seen as people by the islands natives. At least, not by this ‘Acktre’ tribe. He had mentioned that there were some other tribes that took them in… maybe there was some kinda castaway commune he could join up with somewhere around here. The man shifted beneath Sam’s weight, clearly trying to find a more comfortable position for himself… and that was when he heard a light jingling.
He knit his brow and looked down between his legs, seeing that a small sack was tied to the cannibals grass skirt. He reached down, plucking it free from the skirt with a grin.
“What are you doing!?” The freak shouted, “That is mine!”
“Plunder, right? I think this is mine now… unless ya think you can take it from me?” Sam replied, his grin widening as the tribal lapsed into silence. “That’s what I thought.”
He then loosened the top of the sack, peering inside to see what lay within. His eyes widened and his blood froze as he saw just what was inside. It was a small doll, a little rabbit with overalls, lightly jingling as it moved. Sam’s breathing quickened, vision going red as he dropped the doll and the sack. His hands balled into fists as he glared at the back of his captives head.
“Where,” Sam started slowly, “Where did you get this doll.” Not a question, a demand.
“Rightful plunder,” The cannibal groaned, “A Lost One child-”
Sam flipped the man back over, ripping off the wooden mask to see wide eyes staring up at him. His vision reddened with every single blow he brought down onto the freaks face. He could hear nothing, a dull ringing seemed to blot out all sound. Yet, he was still aware that he was screaming. His blood boiled, all his pains and aches forgotten as he brought strike after strike down upon the murderers head. Only when his body gave out did he stop punching, falling over top of the corpse as he gasped for air. His body was still a furnace as he slowly wrenched himself back upward, seeing that the Acktre’s head had been caved inward in places.
It was no longer a face, just a bloody crater. Sam’s own knuckles were streaked with blood, both his own and the savage’s. Red still filled his vision, and he barely managed to suppress the urge to keep pounding in that mangled excuse for a face. He rolled off the body with a scowl, breathing ragged as he crawled toward the body in the lake.
He stood once he reached the water, wading into it to retrieve the machete from the other corpses neck. This side of the lake was tinged red now, all the man’s blood having seemingly emptyed into it. He had to punch the body in the head in order to dislodge the blade, the cannibal splashing back into the water with a spurt of crimson. With one hand, he dragged it back to the beach, not wanting the lake to be further tainted with its blood.
He spied another sack tied to this ones belt as well, but ignored it for now. There was something more important to do at the moment. Moving over to the rabbit doll, Sam lifted it up, lips tightening as he stared at it. Rage and sadness warred within him as he noticed the specks of blood staining the cloth, gritting his teeth as he moved toward the jungle. Staying just outside of the trees, he began digging up soil, right between where the beach ended and jungle began. Once he had a hole large enough, he gently laid the rabbit within, swiping the moist soil over the doll and packing it tightly.
Sam, with a weary sigh, clasped his hands together, and prayed for the child’s soul as the sun set over the horizon. Something hot and wet rolled down from his eyes as he did so, carving twin trails through the dirt on his face before dripping down on top of the grave.