Tim Lebbon - Kong - Skull Island

The survivors seemed boosted by his brief speech, and the soldiers mobilised, ready to head out.

Packard grunted in satisfaction. His hate burned deep, smothering fear and giving every sense an edge. He imagined that beast down and dead by his hand.

It felt good to be taking action.

Conrad moved gracefully, swinging his machete as he hacked through the jungle, leading their way. Like him, Weaver had been in the field for a long time, constantly on the move. Looking for the next story. Seeking a greater truth through her lens than war, conflict, death, and the inevitable descent from civilisation into chaos. She witnessed it everywhere she looked. There was nothing to be seen that could convince her that humankind was heading in any other direction.

As they moved forward, sweaty and dirty, exhausted, still scared, Slivko continued to monitor the radio. The static sang, fading in and out. There were no voices. It was as if the island was whispering about them in mocking tones.

“Save it for when we get closer to the others,” Conrad said. “If anyone else is even still alive.”

Slivko clicked the radio off and slung it across his back. Weaver took a snap of him, dejected and defeated. She wondered what that momentary image would show if and when she developed it. That was what she loved the most about taking photographs. She witnessed life through the lens, animated and constantly moving, but truth lay in those frozen images she caught. Sometimes reality was too fast or too deep to see with the naked eye.

Just ahead of her, Conrad froze. He turned and pressed his finger against his lips. Then he pointed ahead at a clearing in the jungle. It contained a wide pool of water fed by the river, its surface relatively still and speckled with large lily pads and clumps of rushes. At its centre was a hillock, an island of sorts that was scattered with logs and long, grassy water ferns. Colourful birds flitted back and forth from the island, digging at the ground and fleeing with large winged insects in their beaks.

“What is it?” Weaver whispered. Conrad only shook his head and pointed at the island. She looked closer, but it was only as she brought the camera up to her eye that she saw the subtle movement.

Ripples were breaking out from the island and travelling across the large pond. Lily pads rode the ripples, and gnarled frogs leapt on and off the pads, adding their splashes. She clicked a photo.

The island began to move.

Weaver lowered the camera as the island began to lift from the water. It was disorientating, as if the ground was dropping beneath her feet. She swayed but remained upright, then gasped as she recognised the shape in the pool.

A huge, majestic water buffalo slowly rose from the water and muck. Weeds and plants trailed from horns that must have been fifteen feet in length. Its head was an island in itself, lifting from the water and turning as it stared at them. It chewed slowly, each grind of its jaw making a wet, dull thud that echoed across the clearing. Water poured from its back. Birds landed on its exposed horns and starting plucking small creatures from the plants drooping from them.

Slivko lifted his M-16, but Conrad placed his hand on the barrel and pushed it back down. Slivko did not resist. Weaver was glad.

She sensed no threat from this beast. It did not seem as fascinated with them as they were with it, dipping its head back down and scooping another mouthful of foul-smelling muck and plant from the pond’s bottom.

“That’s… big,” Weaver whispered. Conrad smiled at her, and she was pleased to see the sense of wonder she felt reflected in his eyes. Maybe it’s not all struggle and fight , she thought. Maybe what I’ve been looking for all this time is wonder .

“We’ll pass on slowly,” he said to all of them. “I don’t think it’s a threat. But we take it slow and cautious, and be ready for anything.”

The water buffalo snorted, and it reminded Weaver of the sound a whale made filling its lungs on the surface of the sea. She could smell it now, a heavy dank odour mixed in with something altogether more spicy and sweet. It watched them as they moved around the edge of the large pool, head turning slowly as it continued to chew. Slivko and Conrad moved ahead, and behind her came Brooks and San, both staring at the amazing creature as they passed. Nieves brought up the rear. He seemed more alert to their surroundings, less engrossed in the creature they had disturbed. That comforted her. While their attention was on it, something else might be focusing its attention on them.

Seeing the huge buffalo was not the first time she’d considered what else might be on this island with them. The ape, the snake that Conrad had encountered, and now this buffalo, all meant that the island would be home to countless other unknown creatures. Fascinating animals, she was sure, and horrors too.

The terrain grew more challenging, and soon the pool was lost in the jungle behind and below them. The ground rose and fell, plants grew thick and spiked, and Conrad worked hard to clear a route. Some of the plant life around them she recognised, much of it she did not. She was no botanist, but she knew for sure that some of this undergrowth was found nowhere else on the planet. She’d heard of carnivorous plants before, and knew that there were several species that trapped and digested insects. When they saw one with large upright cups filled with water, it was Conrad who investigated the dark shapes contained inside.

“What is it?” Slivko asked. Conrad grabbed the stem and snapped it so that the bulb spilled its contents across the ground. There were several birds in there, a lizard, and a wasp the size of Weaver’s hand, all in varying stages of decay.

“Don’t touch,” Conrad warned. “Acid.” Weaver took a picture.

They moved on in single file and remained alert, Nieves and Slivko pausing frequently to look around and take stock. Jungle sounds and smells assailed them. Weaver knew from experience that it was when the constant sounds lessened and faded that they would have to take care. The jungle seemed to know when something bad was about to happen.

In such situations attention could wander. Weaver walked into Slivko where he’d come to a standstill. He barely seemed to notice the impact.

“What?” she asked, immediately on edge.

“Conrad?” he whispered. Ahead of him was the path Conrad had been cutting through the undergrowth, trailing creepers dripping sap where he had sliced them through. A snake hissed and curled away up a drooping branch. The scurrying shadow of a large spider disappeared into a carpet of trampled leaves. “Conrad?” Louder. No answer.

“What’s happened?” Weaver asked.

“I lost Conrad.”

“What do you mean, lost him? He was right in front of us.”

“And then I looked around and he was gone,” Slivko said. He nursed his M-16, sweeping the undergrowth ahead of them. “Conrad?” he called, louder than before. Then as he drew a breath to shout Weaver caught movement from the corner of her eye. She span around and crouched, wishing she had accepted a weapon from Slivko after all.

Conrad emerged from the jungle, looking from Weaver to Slivko.

“Keep your voices down,” he said. “Wouldn’t want to wake up anything with teeth.”

“Where’d you go?” Slivko asked.

Conrad pointed back through the trees he’d just emerged from. Deeper in, Weaver could just make out a patch of depressed foliage.

“Combat boots did that. It’s fresh, maybe only fifteen minutes.”

“The others must be close!” Weaver said.

“No one can move quickly in this jungle,” Conrad said. He eyed the whole group, assessing their condition and obviously satisfied, for now. “Come on. This way.”