Tim Lebbon - Kong - Skull Island

He was staring right down at her.

Weaver felt her legs weakening in shock. She stumbled back a few more steps, staring up in an effort to comprehend. He could have crushed her with one movement of his leg, one smack of his hand, but she knew that he would not.

It was a shared moment, timeless and endless, during which she understood nothing but Kong. She forgot about where she was, who she was with, even her own identity and memories. For those few moments there was only her and the ape, and nothing else existed.

He turned and walked away. Weaver watched, part of her desperate to run after him. But she knew she could never catch him. Each giant step took him further from her, and a minute later he was gone, her view of him lost behind towering trees and the foliage of this wild landscape.

While she’d been watching Kong, the water buffalo had risen and wandered away. She was alone in the swamp now, and as she caught her breath that place came alive again with sound. The land had held its breath, as had she. Now it was time to live on, and she knew that moment would stay with her forever.

Conrad was waiting for the Iwi villagers to see what they were doing and intervene. At the very least, it would likely prove an awkward confrontation. At worst it might end in violence.

He didn’t want either. But right then, he figured that Marlow and his patched-together boat were their best bet for getting to the island’s northern shore in time for extraction.

Marlow had been here for a long time and was still alive, and by his own admission that was thanks to the Iwi villagers. There was that to consider, too. Conrad had been in enough war zones to know that a friendly face who knew the lie of the land was priceless.

Still, he had to wonder just how likely it was that this rusted hulk could even sail.

Conrad, Marlow and Slivko were hoisting the engine into place, using a system of levers and pulleys that Marlow said he and Gunpei had designed and built. Most of the pulleys were ungreased, and several of the levers appeared rusted and ready to break.

Nieves sat by and watched, making no effort to help.

Marlow’s curiosity knew no limits. He’d been effusive from the moment he’d seen them, but there had still been a shell around him that Conrad had sensed was delicate, and protective. The more he asked about the world outside, the more that shell became fractured. The moment soon came when it broke altogether, and Marlow at last seemed ready to immerse himself in news from beyond his own confined world again.

While they worked, they were filling Marlow in on what he’d missed.

“Hold the phone, Russia was our ally. Now we’re at war with ’em?”

“More of a cold war,” Conrad said. “No actual shooting.”

“So what, you’re fighting with nasty words?”

“Something like that.” Straining with the weight of the engine, Conrad glared at Nieves. “You do find a way to lend a hand.”

“Well, cold war,” Marlow said. “No shooting. I guess that’s an improvement.”

“We also put a man on the moon,” Nieves said, coming to help. Reluctantly, from what Conrad could see.

“We did? And brought him back again?”

“Yep, all of ’em.”

“Gee whiz.” Marlow shook his head. Then he seemed to perk up. “But have the Cubs won a world series?”

“The Cubs?” Slivko said, laughing. “Man, not even close.”

“Well at least I haven’t missed that,” Marlow said. With Nieves’s eventual help, they positioned the engine just where Marlow wanted it. “Okay, set her down,” the old pilot said. “Slowly. Slowly! This baby’s delicate.”

They lowered the engine down through the deck and onto its mounting. Conrad was constantly alert for movement on the shoreline or beyond, but the villagers seemed to be staying away. Too trusting, perhaps. Or maybe they knew exactly what he and the others were doing, and were comfortable with the fact it would never work.

“Really think you can get this thing started?” he asked Slivko.

“Pop’s a mechanic. If I can’t fix this, he’ll disown me. If he ever sees me again.” Slivko leaned down into the engine compartment and started fiddling.

“Suppose he does get this fixed,” Nieves said. “What then? Sail back the way we came? It’s the north shore we need to reach, not the south. And that wall seals off the whole rest of the island from us.”

“Haven’t you seen the river running through it?” Marlow asked, smiling.

“So?” Conrad asked.

“So… there’s a hole in that big ol’ wall, just at the waterline. High tide, nothing gets through but fish. But at low tide, it’s low enough for us to squeeze under.”

“I can’t believe that’s a mistake,” Conrad said. “Villagers who could build such an edifice would not have accidentally left an easy access.”

“It’s not,” Marlow said. “Sometimes, the Iwi need to venture further inland.”

“Iwi? Weird name.”

“It’s the closest I can translate what they actually call themselves.”

“So when’s low tide?” Conrad asked.

“Around daybreak. Which gives us three hours to get to know each other, once Slivko’s worked his magic. I camp out in the Wanderer . Got myself a nice little loft, even if I do say so.”

Weaver was a listener as much as a watcher. Viewing the world through a lens was one thing, but hearing it was just as important, more so when the people she listened to forgot she was there.

She was setting up a camera tripod to take some creative shots out through the cracks in the spring hall’s roof. They were camped out on one of the Wanderer ’s upper decks, the protective canopy above them split in several places. Through the splits a remarkable display of aurora borealis cast its flickering light, illuminating the night sky above the village and valley.

It was almost peaceful.

San and Brooks sat shoulder to shoulder close by, and Weaver couldn’t help overhearing them.

“When I first wrote that Hollow Earth paper, the whole committee laughed out loud,” Brooks said.

“Not Randa,” San replied.

“Yeah. The one guy in the crowd who took me seriously. Felt good, at the time. Then I thought he was just plain crazy when he said the hollow earth was full of monsters.”

“Right,” San said. “That, I liked much better as a theory.”

Across the deck, Slivko had levelled his portable record player and was lowering a needle into a groove. Crackles, scratches, and then Led Zeppelin strummed into the night.

Marlow was sitting calmly while Nieves helped him shave his extravagant beard. He seemed unimpressed. “What kind of music is this? What happened to swing? Benny Goodman?”

“You’re like a time traveller, man,” Slivko said. “This is the new sound.”

“I hope that thing you call a boat can actually get us upriver and to the north shore in thirty-six hours,” Nieves said. “If we miss that window, we’re literally up a creek.”

“You don’t seem like much of an adventurer,” Marlow said.

Weaver grinned at that. Brave thing for a man to say to someone holding a razor at his throat.

“I’m an administrator,” Nieves said. “And this would be a lot easier with an electric.”

“ Electric razor ?” Marlow asked.

Nieves rolled his eyes and carried on shaving. San and Brooks lowered their voices even more. Weaver turned her full attention to the tripod, camera setting, and the shot she was aiming to get.

She didn’t see Conrad until he was almost standing beside her.

“The most dangerous places are always the most beautiful,” he said, and she nodded, thinking of her encounter with Kong just hours before.