Ch 9 - The Sting of Death

As we sailed to the village of Amge, another

story was already unfolding there — one influenced by

the event we had just observed and which would also

influence our own course. In the wealthiest of its houses,

a middle-aged man, whose dentition and near-absence of

hair indicated an even older age, was ironing a few

clothes that would fit him for the event he was to attend.

The man's name was Samuel Abal, his manner was now

somber and his expression taciturn. There was nothing

about him that revealed the joy of having become a

father for the first time. Perhaps the reason was that it

was also the first time he had lost a child. Or perhaps it

was because this child was the result of an extramarital

relationship; the reader is left to judge. In any case, he

had revealed neither to Ahohako, his wife, and now he

would deal with the fact.

— Are you really not going to tell me where you

are going? — she asked, with her hands on her waist, fed

up with lies and excuses.

— I already told you it's a place I wouldn't want

to go myself, — he said simply, still arranging the

clothes he would wear to the wake.

— It's always a place I wouldn't want to go, isn't

it? — she cried, bitterly. Leaving the scene, she slammed

the door that led to the bedroom. This also closed the

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chance for a peaceful night's sleep, because the other

room was exposed to the conditions, as its roof had not

been repaired and the large cracks and holes gave way to

the water that poured through them like a waterfall.

Exhausted, no more physically than emotionally, he

crawled into the disgrace that was that tiny guest room at

the end of the hallway opposite the master bedroom.

When there was no one there, which was common, it

served as a storage room, housing all kinds of junk; the

kind of garbage we don't throw away out of emotional

attachment. The problem, though, is that so much junk

consumed the already limited space available in the

room, forcing any poor soul who used the bed to suffer

with the rain. It, by the way, was falling violently at this

point; lightning illuminating the night and heavy drops

hammering roofs and consciences. Staring at the ceiling,

Samuel felt his face wet from the icy drops that soaked

his clothes and blanket, but he couldn't feel sorry for

himself. On lonely nights like this one, which he had

caused himself, his company was the stars that shone in

the firmament far above, but tonight, even the stars had

gone out, certainly because the rain clouds blocked their

light. But not entirely — no, there were stars he could

see through a gap in the roof; two at least, that had not

been devoured by the darkness. — How curious it is,

really, — he thought, — that they are so close to each

other... — For a second, the pair of stars went out and

then shone again. Abal's mind wandered, trying in every

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possible scientific way to explain this complex little

event, but his methodical mind stopped when he heard

what sounded like the hoarse cry of a hawk. In the other

gaps, then, more and more pairs of "stars" appeared. —

Good heavens… — said Abal to himself. His instincts

were now more powerful than his rational mind and

guided him to act. Jumping out of bed, he grabbed the

rifle he kept on the shelf in his room, along with a few

bullets, and loaded it. Scrambling open the shuttered

window, he let a torrent invade the room and poked his

head out to see what the creatures watching him were.

Above him, on the edge of the roof, reddish animals

hung about, like vultures, and huddled together to watch

the man who now appeared in the open window.

Pointing at any one, he wondered what those strange

birds were. — And what does it matter, too? — he

grunted to himself. Perhaps more out of frustration and

anger at himself than anything else, he opened fire;

shooting without aiming precisely, expressing only anger

in its most vicious manner. Reloading fast and

relentlessly, he fired at the animals in a merciless frenzy.

These animals were not like others he had hunted before,

because they did not fly away at the sound of a shot.

Around him, bodies fell like the rain that surrounded the

gruesome scene; the claws of the corpses sometimes

scraping past his face.

The last claws, though, were different — they

were alive and, not falling, but leaping and clawing at his

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face. His screams were now filled with horror, as more

beasts came through the window and attacked him,

piercing his skin at various points and biting his face,

blood pouring from his nose and cheeks, his cries

muffled by the feathers covering his mouth and the

thunder that filled the air. Samuel Abal struggled, like

the prey he had become, unable to reload his rifle and

collapsed to the ground, covered by the animals that

were still biting him ferociously. Waving his arms, he

managed to throw some of them against the wall and

seek refuge. Crawling on his stomach, he then sought the

only place that his instincts reminded him of — under

the bed, and there he propped himself against the wall.

With each flash of lightning, it was possible to see the

shadow of the shutter hitting the wall and the silhouettes

of more creatures coming through the window and

getting closer. The atrocious torture was about to begin

again, and this time he would have no chance to regret it.

⬫⬫⬫

— Thank you so much again for your hospitality,

Mr. Norwayan. We were getting soaked,— Lane said to

the native who welcomed us into his home. The fine

drizzle had turned into a furious storm in the past hours,

and we set sail for the village of Amge. Still at the

entrance to the village, we met this affable inhabitant of

the community, Mr. Paka Norwayan, who invited us in.

In response to Lane's thanks, the native said:

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— Why, don't mention it...Mister? Doctor?

— Anthony. Use my first name, pal; I despise

titles, — Lane replied, shaking his hand and introducing

himself a second time. I admit it was great to be in a

house again, instead of sleeping in the jungle, and there,

with that kind gentleman, we dined to our hearts'

content, not even minding Keene's corrective glances at

our bad manners, easily excused by our hunger. And

even a toilet is worth a lot when you only have what the

jungle provides. After these cares that our host provided

us with, Lane tried to address the issue that weighed

most heavily that night:

— Mr. Norwayan, we are a research team

investigating a witness report of abnormal creatures

sighted in the archipelago. I am afraid that what we have

discovered will greatly affect the life of you and your

community on the island. Jacob, show him, please. — At

Lane's command and still grudgingly, Keene took the

camera out of his backpack and accessed the archive of

images we had. Lane took the device in his hands and,

showing pictures of the Deinocheirus to Norwayan, he

said:

— I believe these creatures are in your culture

called Kaiaimunu, right? — Stretching out his hands to

hold the object and having his eyes wide open, the native

asked:

— Where were these pictures taken?

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— In Ambungi, — answered Lane. — Perhaps,

that's not really what you should be concerned about,

though. Let me just find the image I am referring to...Ah,

here! You see, these were already taken in Alage; they

are animals that our paleoartist identifies as

Australovenator, and they were following the

Kaiaimunus in the direction of Amge. Mr. Norwayan, we

have to warn the whole village and leave Amge

immediately.

— Leave the island? — said the native. Keene

then cut in:

— Unless you prefer to fight those animals. —

Still stunned by the news that he would have to leave the

house where he had lived for years, Paka Norwayan took

some time to think, and finally concluded:

— Well, in the morning we will talk to Samuel

Abal and he will know what to do.

— Is there no way to contact this Mr. Abal

today? — asked Lane.

— No, no, the village chief is probably already in

bed by this time. But don't worry, he will certainly sort

everything out in the morning. — Then, looking at Lucy

and me, who were standing behind Lane's chair, he

continued:

— Meanwhile, I'll show your children the

accommodations; they look tired. — As no one corrected

this statement, we silently followed our host, who led us

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a few steps, and showed us a room with two beds, one

adjoining each side wall.

— This room was very useful when my son came

and brought my grandson, — he said, in a wistful tone.

— It's... a good habit he had, you know? He visited me

often. Since he went to Kimbe, though, he...doesn't have

that much time anymore. Well, rest now, children, make

yourselves at home. — Lucy and I looked at each other,

silently commenting on what we had heard, before

hearing the native's footsteps in the other room again.

— Kimbe is a big city, isn't it? — Lucy wanted to

know, lying down on her bed. Snuggling into my own, I

answered her:

— The third-largest port in the country...the

fastest growing city in the South Pacific...served by the

Hoskins Airport, where we landed; it's what I would call

big.

— And then he stopped visiting his father...

— It's hard not to judge, isn't it? — I concluded,

after meditating for a few moments.

— To judge? — asked Lucy.

— Well, yes. Your father, well, he...

— He was a lousy father, — said Lucy,

completing my sentence.

— And yet you came back to see him. You treat

him well, despite everything. — Even with the

compliment, she remained silent. Finally, she asked:

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— You know, now that even other people call us

siblings and that has been well established...why don't

you tell me about your old man, huh? — I sighed deeply,

forming the vague image in my mind, but there wasn't

much to remember.

— I'm not sure where he is, but you know, you

said Dr. Lane was a lousy father. I would have to use

stronger words to describe mine.

— Did he... abandon you?

With a simple nod, I confirmed and there were no

further questions from either part. Soon, the sound of the

elders' muffled chatter and the tinkling of the raindrops

caused us to fall asleep.

When the sun rose, so did we; much more

refreshed by the previous night's sustenance, and now

headed for the residence of the man we understood to be

something like the leader of the community — Mr.

Samuel Abal, a man highly respected among the locals,

married with honor and, as we saw when we arrived on

the scene, the owner of the largest property on the island;

I believe this is already a standard among the

authorities…

— Ahohako! It's me, Paka! — called out our

benefactor, when he arrived in front of the hut. This one

was right on the border between the beach and the jungle

and had enough soil for a garden to be planted around it,

with a small shovel still stuck in the ground, showing

that someone had worked on it recently. From within, the

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most beautiful lass emerged, with a dark complexion and

a violet dress that complemented her. Smiling at us, the

lady said:

— Why, hello, Paka! Introduce me to your

visitors.

— Well, actually, these kind people came to me

by chance, — explained Mr. Norwayan. — They need to

see Samuel; is he home?

— Oh, well, I'd say Samuel wanted to sleep in

again; I've been calling for a while and he doesn't

answer, but come in, come in, please. I'll insist a little

with him. — Obeying Mrs. Abal's command, the five of

us went in behind her and sat down, while she went to

the end of the corridor, where I believed to be the

couple's room, and knocked on the door, saying:

— Sam? Sam, there are some people here to see

you; are you awake yet? — As there was no answer, she

turned the knob to enter the room, which we thought

would be followed by a few more minutes of waiting, as

the man had to get ready to see us.

The wait, though, was very short. As soon as she

opened the door and looked into the room, we heard her

horrified scream — the scream of a woman who had

discovered the remains of her husband. We ran to help

her, not knowing yet what the reason was for her dread,

and as we reached the doorway we saw an arm sticking

out from under the bed. Lucy and I grabbed the item of

furniture and turned it on its side, as there was no room

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to just push it aside. This revealed a half-devoured

figure, the body of Samuel Abal, now unrecognizable

and no longer so respectable. Around him, a puddle

formed by the previous night's rain had also been filled

with blood, and on its surface floated delicate red,

yellow and gray feathers. To complete the macabre

scene, the gun the hunter had used the night before,

probably on the creature that had reversed roles. I bent

down to pick up one of the red feathers, which glowed in

a vivid shade of light and color with the blood still

oozing from it, as water would not allow it to coagulate.

The flickering red of the feather brought to mind the

image from the previous evening — the bird-like

animals that we had seen being chased away by the

Kaiaimunu Leader. I looked for Lane's eyes to comment

on this with him, but the old man was paralyzed at the

door frame, his lips pursed, his eyes glassy, and his skin

as pale as the long hair that surrounded it. Turning to

Lucy, I had no better results, because she had her back to

me, leaning against the window, which had been left

open the night before, and her gaze was lost on

something outside. I grabbed a few feathers before we

returned to the living room and deposited them inside

Jacob's backpack. On the couch where we had sat to wait

for the widow, she herself now sat, weeping bitterly and

wailing as she muttered in a horrendous, endless litany:

— My Sam, what's happened to my Sam? — The

violet of her dress was already turning purple with the

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torrent of tears streaming from her eyes, which then were

turning red with the rubbing of her hands. We sat around

her, Norwayan and I, one on each side, Lane behind the

native, and Keene beside me. Lucy sat opposite her, on a

smaller sofa; her tear-fogged eyes gazed into those of the

widow. Trying to say something to comfort her, Paka

Norwayan began to say:

— We...we are not sure yet, Ahohako, but you

see...maybe it is for the same reason that these people

came looking for him. We believe it's... —, but he didn't

complete the sentence, because Lane gently touched his

elbow to keep him from saying anything else — There

was no reason to torture her further by revealing morbid

details about her husband's death. At this, Lucy stood up

in a burst and shot out the open door, probably to cry, or

so I thought. We kept quiet out of respect, Norwayan

being the only one to make the slightest movement

which was to stroke her hands. Even Keene had his eyes

lowered as if he had no idea how to react. Silence, at

last, reigned.

Then the door opened with a kick, and Lucy

came in dragging something behind her. — This

happened, — she exclaimed, answering the widow's

question. At the same time, she threw whatever the load

was over her shoulders and dropped it to the ground at

our feet, breaking the delicate bones. The burden, which

we could now see, was a slender creature covered with

multicolored filaments of bright red, yellow and gray.

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The filaments were like tufts, which were grouped

together to adorn the body, and there were also feathers

hanging from the arms, to form what were the animal's

wings. — We came to see your husband about this, —

Lucy revealed, — we wanted to inform you that other

animals were coming and I'm sorry that we were too late

to prevent this tragedy, but we can still prevent others.

The widow sat petrified, her eyes fixed on the

shattered carcass at her feet. Faced with the explanation,

she tried to reason, but stuttered:

— I-I don't know if I could be...

— Useful? — Lucy added. And then, holding

Ahohako's face, she continued:

— Listen, dear. We don't need any more losses;

what we need to do is notify your family and friends,

who I bet, live in Amge too, don't they? Great, okay.

Give me your hands then, that's it. Come with me, we

have work to do. — Taking the widow by the hand, she

led her through the door, leaving us alone. Somewhat

still stunned perhaps more by Lucy's determination than

by the death of a man, we stared at each other, searching

for ideas of what to do next. Eventually all eyes were

fixed on Anthony Lane, the most experienced person in

that room; perhaps the only one who knew how to act.

Noticing the gaze of the other three, Lane took the only

route he knew — science. Averting his eyes, he knelt

with effort and pain before the carcass thrown to the

floor, without touching it. — Sinornithosaurus, —

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declared the old man. — Another genus that has ended

up here, so far from Asia. Jacob, do you remember those

articles about this creature?

— That ridiculous dispute about venom? —

Keene replied, referring to a few scientific articles

written in response to each other, dealing with new

discoveries and hypotheses as to whether this genus was

venomous or not. There was no concrete proof until

then; the biggest indication being some grooves running

the length of the animal's teeth, which are thought to

have been conductors of toxin. However, similar grooves

could also be found in several other theropods, and it is

hard to imagine that a whole range of carnivores had

such capabilities. So the debate continued, with at least

the current paleontologists being kinder and more

respectful than Cope and Marsh, the belligerent blokes

who started the Bone Wars.

— I'm afraid we won't have time to support either

side, — said the Doctor, standing up with my aid. —

Besides, they didn't give that man a chance to suffer

from any possible venom first. Now, let's get out of here;

Lucy is already leading us again.

As we left the hut, we saw Lucy and the widow

already going through the village and reporting on the

horrific event that had occurred the night before; the

perfect introduction to the warning message that was to

follow. We joined them in spreading the message and

soon people in the local community joined in our efforts

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as well. I had a slight déjà vu when I saw Keene and

Lane again clapping in front of the doors, the difference

this time being that there was someone alive to answer

them. Our audience consisted of the residents of no more

than 50 houses, as the island would hold, and we soon

grouped all these terrified people on the beach, advising

them to go by boat to Akinum, about 7.5 km from the

island and report to the authorities. We thought about

Poi'iek, but its distance of less than 4 km would

compromise the safety of the locals just the same. On the

sand, Lucy was guiding the community to leave the

island as soon as possible:

— That's right, y'all, get your boats, and let's get

the heck out of here! — Ahead of her, a crowd of people

went into their boats, soon to be followed by the next

group. Accompanying Dr. Lane, I followed Lucy so that

we could make our final plans and also leave the damned

place at once, and she asked us:

— Has everyone in Amge received the notice?

— I believe so; we have knocked on all the

houses; I even made sure to ask the community if

everyone they knew was on the beach, — answered

Lane.

— And where are the ones we know? — I asked.

— Where are Dr. Keene and Mr. Norwayan?

— Oh, hell! — thundered Lane. — I don't know

about Paka, but Jacob must have come back to examine

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that damned carcass. Well, I'll bury them both in the

garden!

— No, no, Dad! — Lucy intervened, holding him

by the arm. — You stay here and get on the boat, please.

Stay in the cockpit now, Kevin and I will get them both.

— Faced with the obligatory invitation, I ran along with

Lucy and we went through the village, calling Keene's

name, afraid that our voices would be heard by the

animals who had already reached the island. But our

calls remained unanswered, and we looked at each other

with expressions that showed we both feared the worst.

Before giving up, though, we reached the last hut and

saw coal-black hair glistening behind the window of the

Abal hut. We hurried and, upon reaching the door, the

scene was of Jacob Keene with his hands full of drugs

taken from a cupboard in the house.

— Dr. Keene? — Lucy began, forcing her voice

not to sound disrespectful. — What are you doing here?

We have to go now!

— Well, of course, we do. I just came to examine

this animal one last time and…stumbled upon these

medicines. It'd be a sin to simply throw them out,

wouldn't it?

— Yeah, yeah, you're right; could you go to the

boat now, please? And where is Mr. Norwayan? — said

Lucy, tripping over her words.

— Oh, yes, he went to his cabin to get some

documents, I believe.

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— Okay, please go to the boat, my father is

already there. Kevin and I will find him and be with you

as soon as possible.

Disappearing once again through the door, we

left Jacob Keene alone and went to the first cabin we

entered on that island. The same one that, the night

before, had served us as shelter from the storm and God

knows what else that was out there. Upon finding the hut

and entering it, we found Paka Norwayan going through

papers and photographs that he kept in a notebook. We

repeated the same urgent call to the native, who replied:

— I'm coming, I'm coming.

— For God's sake, Mr. Norwayan, — said Lucy,

almost out of temper. — You can get your documents

back later!

— And who told you I'm after documents, miss?

— said the native, in a reproachful tone. — I am looking

for a letter, the last one my son sent after he left for

Kimbe. It was... here, between some of these pages, ah,

here it is!

— Good, you found it, can we go now? —

insisted Lucy.

— Tell me something, you two — have you ever

received a handwritten letter? No? Maybe you then, kid?

— Faced with the denials we gave by simply shaking our

heads, he went on:

— Yeah, just as I thought. Consider yourselves

fortunate to always be close to your father. Maybe...it is

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a bit boring sometimes to have to orbit around a retired

old man, but believe me when I say...it does us a lot of

good. When a piece of paper is all we have...it being

handwritten, and not typed by cold keys...makes a lot of

difference.

We lowered our frowns and sat down as a sign of

respect before the native, giving him time to think, even

though we knew that time was risking our lives. Around

us, portraits and more portraits hung on the walls and

furniture; ornaments that the dim light of last night, or

perhaps hunger, did not allow us to see, but now such

images hovered before us — already faded photographs,

with brown edges and faded faces that showed a younger

version of the native and what had been his family; the

time when he was, so to speak, alive.

— Why don't you bring what you can of your

photos and letters and we'll arrange to take you to Kimbe

to see your family; how about that? — Lucy offered.

— Now, would you do that?

— Of course, you welcomed us first, — I added.

Paka Norwayan looked at Lucy and then back at me, his

lips trembling, not knowing exactly what to say. Finally,

with a leap, he gathered us both with the large arms that

fit his stumpy body and murmured, — Thank you so

much, — his voice still trembling. Releasing us from the

strangling embrace, from which we fell back onto the

couch, he proclaimed with his forefinger in the air:

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— If I'm going to see them, I'm bringing them the

same memories I have every day! I've got all kinds of

things here that will make them remember what it was

like to live in Amge; oh, that boy is going to learn a

valuable lesson. Do you think I can convince him to

come back? — Before we could answer with our

opinion, he exclaimed:

— Yes, you are right! I say! How can I convince

him if I don't also take the toys that were his when he

was a child? — Saying this, he disappeared into the

other rooms, looking for all sorts of knick-knacks.

— It was rather kind of you to do that. — But

was it a good idea to tell him he could bring his

belongings?

— I'm beginning to regret it, — she replied. The

more regret we felt with each passing minute, and to our

right, we could see through the window in the wall a few

meters away that the shadows were slowly moving in the

warm morning. Eventually, we got up and went to see

him in order to offer our backpacks as travel bags and

discreetly speed up the process.

— But you are such nice young people! — said

Mr. Norwayan. He smiled as we carefully put the

photographs and papers that he kept, along with anything

and everything else until nothing more could fit in the

backpacks. We were heading for the door when he saw

the glass cabinet, where a few more of those simple

photos rested in their glass frames.

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— Why, I forgot those! — complained the native.

— But no problem, right? I have enough of them

already. Besides, I think I held us for half an hour! — he

finished with a laugh. My heart skipped a beat when I

thought that he might want to make room for those

photographs too, but we breathed a sigh of relief when

he abandoned the idea. Finally outside, the three of us

made our way toward the beach, Lucy and I hurrying a

bit to try to motivate our host to walk faster, but the man

simply refused to abandon his good-natured personality

and continued walking at a slow pace, staring at the

horizon with half-closed eyes. However, the scene that

already seemed so frustrating, with two young adults

walking with what looked like a sleepwalker, was about

to get worse. From the turn of one of the houses, Jacob

Keene appeared, startling both us and himself, except of

course, for Norwayan.

— Oh, God! — complained the British man, — I

thought it was one of the creatures!

— Doctor Keene? What...didn't I ask you to go to

the speedboat? — Lucy stammered with frustration.

— And I did, — Keene answered. — After a

while, though, your father told me to come and see what

was keeping you for so long, and…now I see, — he

finished, staring at what seemed to be no more than the

native's eyelids. Looking at my sister, her desperation

was clear — it is useless to try and guide those who do

not follow the lead. Taking a deep breath, she said:

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— Well, let's all go to the boat, please.

Leading us through the ghost town we had

created, Lucy remained particularly silent during that

crossing. Occasionally, she would turn her face to pay

attention to Keene who called her to explain:

— It was a disaster when I got to the speedboat,

you know? Your old man kept shouting! 'Where have

you been? Were you examining that damned animal?

And this dusty map of yours?' he shouted. He also made

a threat; something about burying me in the garden, from

what I remember.

— Don't worry, Doctor, — Lucy replied, — I'm

sure my father will be in a good mood when we all get to

the...boat? — Just as we passed the last house and

looked out over the ocean, we were all stunned, and even

the native opened his eyes, for before us was a deserted

beach. All the boats were gone — including ours.