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As the sun set over paradise and night finally fell, the Jeep’s headlights pierced the glum mist surrounding the sacred glade of the Wellspring Tree. Elias Cobb reveled in his victory over the dangers of this island. Here he was, at last, entering the unpaved crossroads of glory and destiny.
No more obstacles stood before him, none that could challenge his authority and his right to claim this prize. His mother’s hatred, the loathsome orphanage, his dull years spent in the military, the callous actions of his corrupt CIA handlers and subsequent employment by SysLife—these events had all been leading him to this precise, undeniable moment in time.
“We’re here,” Cobb told the Sons as he parked the Jeep at the entrance to the glade. They couldn’t see anything without the headlights, so he kept the engine running.
Earthen mounds protruded from the ground on either side of the vehicle. He eyeballed the dirt piles with trepidation, as each had the size and composition of a recently dug grave. In the bare illumination of the headlights, it was difficult to gauge how many bodies lay beneath.
Two rows of unlit torches spread from the center of the clearing to the shadowy profile of a short wooden staircase built into a steep embankment. Beyond the stairs, he glimpsed the vague outline of a massive fruit-bearing tree.
“Gentleman,” he said, taking in the sickly-sweet scent that lingered in the breeze. “Light it up. We don’t want any unwelcome visitors surprising us in the dark.”
Seconds after the Sons finished, he and Walsh stepped out of the car. Cobb left the key in the ignition as a contingency plan. He’d come too far to make the same mistake he’d made on the boat. He wouldn’t underestimate this island’s mysteries or his opponents ever again.
The map had proven a most valuable asset on this mission. Although it hadn’t warned him of the prehistoric menace in the ocean or the dinosaurs on the island, it had shown him the most fruitful and straightforward path to the Wellspring Tree.
Cobb had initially assumed that he and Walsh were after two different objects of power. That’s what he’d told the girl shortly before the plesiosaurs attacked the ship and his crew. Further study of the map and its directions showed him otherwise. He believed there was more to the legend of the fruit than the scholars let on.
With the torches aflame, he walked the broad path to the steps and followed Walsh down the stairs. The doctor cradled his wife Elizabeth in his arms. Cobb pitied him. What fool could believe in vain hope the myths? Whatever power the Wellspring Tree held, it wouldn’t revitalize the man’s dying wife. Of that, he was certain. The question of the fruit’s capabilities remained, and those who once lived here knew the truth. What priceless, arcane knowledge had they hidden from the world?
A few yards from the embankment, the island’s four rivers fed into a large stone pool at the base of the tree. The gnarled roots of the Wellspring Tree coiled around and besieged the moss-covered rocks. The honeyed smell of the fruit intensified as they approached. His mouth watered.
The broad tree was a brilliant amber color, not unlike the plesiosaurs. Compared to its plain kapok cousins, it gleamed in the firelight. The egg-shaped fruit dangled from its spidery branches and beckoned them closer with its intoxicating aroma.
The Sons gathered around the tree and awaited further instruction. Many of them seemed eager to strip the tree for themselves. Their bodies trembled with restrained movement as they wrestled against impulse. He had trained them well.
Walsh laid his wife on the rocky basin and went to pluck a fruit from the tree.
Cobb basked in the glorious scent of the Wellspring Tree.
What a shame that Llewyn Finch and all those who called my purpose and ascent into question aren’t around to witness my triumph.
***
Llewyn handed his Mauser to Willow, ducked under an old stone archway, and heaved his shoulder against the pile of sodden logs in his way. The wood crumbled and splintered beneath his weight with hardly a sound. He heard the muffled voices of the Sons, which meant the mercenaries and the vaunted Wellspring Tree were nearby.
He and Willow followed the flickering torchlight past the Jeep and crouched behind a boulder at the edge of the embankment. More white kapok trees spanned the outer rim of the glade—really a condensed valley—creating the ghastly illusion of pale bodies leering over the shining jewel in the middle. The last of the mercs surrounded the tree.
“I see Cobb and Walsh,” Willow whispered, pointing out the two figures standing next to the stone basin. “The doctor has his wife resting by the pool. Why hasn’t he given her the fruit yet?”
“I think he has,” said Llewyn, shielding his nostrils from the tantalizing fragrance emanating from the Wellspring Tree. His wife did the same. “They must be waiting for it to take effect.”
“What do we do? We’re not packing a ton of heat here, and I don’t see those infected people Sofia warned us about lurking around the tree. We’re alone. It’s us against the world.”
“We improvise,” he said, studying the layout of the valley and the path behind them.
“Because that worked out so well for us last time,” said Willow, glancing occasionally at the unmoving body of Elizabeth Walsh. “I guess we’re alive, at any rate. Got a plan?”
He nodded slowly as he looked from the Jeep to the torches and back to the tree. “Yeah. Keep an eye on the Sons. Let me know if anything changes.”
He knew his way around the vehicle, having owned his Jeep for nearly a decade before it went up in smoke along with Lone Oak. Moments after he cut the fuel line and hoisted a rock onto the gas paddle, he glanced at Willow.
“Llewyn,” she said, “the tree’s not going to burn up. We know that.”
“Cobb doesn’t.” He grabbed one of the flaming torches and tugged hard. The top half broke free. “Besides, this isn’t about destroying the tree.”
“It’s not?”
The Jeep rolled smoothly toward the bank. A threadlike stream of fuel trailed closely behind.
“Remember what Sofia said? The infected guard the tree when they’re not in the village. We haven’t seen them, but they’re definitely here. I’m sure of it.”
She stared. “Where? Down in the valley? Hidden in the bushes?”
“No. Their skin mutates to be more like tree bark, right? What if part of their transformation makes it so that they need to root themselves? If they’re more tree than man, maybe they need to feed on nutrients from the soil.”
“Meaning?”
Llewyn chose his next words carefully as the Jeep crept along the path beside them. The last thing he wanted to do was alarm her, but this idea was something he’d been mulling over since he first laid eyes on the forbidden place.
“Look around you, Hon. Those mounds aren’t graves. They’re beds.”
A chill slithered up his spine as he said those words. The whole premise was outlandish monster movie nonsense, and... he believed every syllable he’d spoken.
“Shit,” said Willow. “Then what the hell are you trying to do?”
He lowered the torch. The voice of reason inside his head screamed at him that this was an idiotic and dangerous plan, but it was all they had, their only hope of stopping Cobb and whatever grand delusion he had about remaking the world.
“I’m raising the dead.”
***
Her chest rose and fell with long, raspy breaths as the doctor brooded over his dying wife like a mother hen gathering her chicks.
Stubborn fool.
Cobb sighed. The woman’s brittle form dashed his hopes for an impressive display of power from the Wellspring Tree. Her disease proved impassible for the fruit’s mysterious properties. There was nothing to be done. The fruit had rejected her.
Cobb pressed his fingers to the implant in his neck, and again thanked SysLife for their rather nifty invention. “Men,” he said, drawing his sidearm. “Gather your share. Don’t eat the fruit. Not one bite. We’ll take these samples back to the lab at headquarters and run our analysis. We leave in five.”
“Wait,” Walsh shouted in his ear. “We can’t go! Liz hasn’t recovered yet. It’ll only be a little longer. I know it. Our deal is still intact. You don’t get paid if I don’t get what I want.”
“Oh, that,” said Cobb, facing the impudent man as the Sons went about their business. “Consider our services rendered.”
He pulled the trigger three times, and Elizabeth’s bullet-ridden corpse splashed into the pool. The water darkened and her blood smeared the rocks.
Walsh uttered no words as he fell to his hands and knees on the ground and wept.
Cobb cracked a toothy smile. It was a welcome relief to be unburdened from the shackles of that man. How he had labored and toiled under the doctor’s lies and unpreparedness. No more. He, Elias, was once again free to enact the will of the cosmos. He had his trophy and the scars to show for it.
“Commander, watch out!”
A smoldering mass of metal hurtled toward him. Cobb dove sideways and was back on his feet in seconds. The flaming Jeep barreled downhill and collided with the Wellspring Tree.
“Get clear!”
The gas tank exploded, setting the tree and the remaining fruit alight. He scowled at the wreckage. The doctor was nowhere to be seen. More than likely, Walsh had been crushed beneath the weight of the vehicle and burned. No great loss.
Cobb hastened up the steps in pursuit of the unknown assailant. The trail of fire led him straight to the multitude of earthen mounds. Through the haze of the flames, he caught sight of a slender body with an unkempt mane of red hair, and saw her disappear into the bushes.
He knew what must be done to this thorn in his flesh. Truly, it had been written in the cards all along. Such was the price of glory in his new paradise.
The Sons filed lockstep behind him.
He turned his attention to them. “We have one final obstacle set before us, boys. There’s a conniving vulture in our midst. This harpy has taken flight and she must be grounded.”
“Are you saying the female agent isn’t dead?” asked Manny. “But that’s impossible, boss. How could she survive here by herself?”
“Underestimate her at your own peril, but I’m not suggesting that she’s alone. In fact, I suspect she has at least one helper. Llewyn Finch is, I think, very much alive, and the two of them have decided to renew our conflict. Who am I to disagree? No threat to our cause goes unchecked. Tonight, we hunt.”
His words echoed louder than the shots he’d discharged into Elizabeth’s limp body. In the valley, crackling flames devoured the topmost branches of the Wellspring Tree. The blazing heat of the inferno carried in the wind. Water from the rivers might be enough to douse the fire, but what did he care?
“May this tree bear no fruit ever again,” Cobb declared, smugly self-satisfied as he held out his palm in mock salute.
The ground shook, and he whipped his head around and searched the dark rim of the forest for the bulky outline of an approaching dinosaur. He scanned the recesses beyond the dense foliage for signs of the deadly Carnotaurus, waiting with bated breath, and strained to see through the outer darkness. The Sons raised their AUGs, prepared to shoot, and listened to the silence of the jungle.
Hairs on the back of Cobb’s neck stood as the earth moved again, and he realized the vibrations weren’t coming from the woods. A five-clawed hand ruptured the soil at his feet. The piles of freshly dug dirt lifted as black humanoid shapes unfurled from the holes, and a cloud of dust engulfed them.
The reds of their eyes glared at Cobb. One of the unfathomable creatures reached behind its back, felt its calcified skin with its claws, and grasped the fibrous tendril protruding from its back. With a single swift motion, the thing sliced apart the root which had fastened it to the earth in its shallow bed.
It had a slight hunch as it stretched its limbs and climbed out of the hole. Its brethren crooned. Cobb watched with morbid fascination as the other creatures repeated the precise motions of their apparent elder kinsman.
Then a fierce shaft of light—as if from the divine—shined through the canopy of the jungle and illuminated the scene in perfect detail. His instincts screamed at him to destroy these things or retreat, but his curiosity continued to overwhelm his sense.
The nude, sexless creatures were taller than he and his men. Their cracked charcoal skin resembled deformed tree bark. The plates stacked across their whole body, leaving only a barely recognizable pair of eye sockets, nostrils, and lips untouched. Sturdy legs propped up hefty torsos, and their branchlike arms nearly brushed against the ground.
The leader spoke in a hushed tone to its kin. Cobb hadn’t expected to understand its gravelly voice or the words it breathed.
“How long we waited, but she did not return. Instead, she has sent thieves into our home. These trespassers have defiled our sacred altar. Kill.”
Cobb unloaded his AUG into the leader without hesitation. A dozen rounds fractured its outermost layer of skin, chipping away at the chest plating, and bits of smoky flesh exploded. The thing stalled in its tracks, reeling from the impact.
His shots had missed their mark by a wide margin; he’d aimed for the head.
Damn that Llewyn Finch.
Glowing red eyes met his lone blue one. Then, brushing flakes of fragmented skin off its shoulders, the creature walked menacingly toward him.
One of the men stepped into its path. Renault held the trigger down, firing point-blank at its legs, intending to cut the creature off at its knees.
Its arm extended, five clawed fingers outspread, and it grasped Renault by the eyes, nose, and mouth, and yanked him off his feet. The treelike men encircled their leader and its victim.
The Sons bombarded the enemy, shooting wildly into the crowd until their guns emptied, knowing they might hit their fellow soldier in the process.
The vile gurgling sound of Renault choking under the monster’s claws was thunderous to Cobb’s ears. He heard the sick squelch of bone tearing through flesh, and a torrent of blood splattered the throng of treelike men.
Renault’s decapitated body flew over the mob of growling creatures and landed at Cobb’s feet. A single row of bloodied teeth and a bottom lip stared up at him, the head having been severed at the jawline.
The leader crowed with pleasure as the crowd dispersed. Strips of mangled flesh dangled between its fingers as it clasped Renault’s gory, unblinking face in its claws.
At that moment, Elias Cobb experienced the one primitive emotion he’d cast aside eons ago, in the shadow of a drunk and vengeful mother.
Fear.
