Reek, page 15
“All good over at Norwich?”
When Martin spoke, Henare could hear the gratitude in the man's voice. He had grown up hearing the stories like everyone else. Talking about Pokere tended to put most folk on edge. “Yeah. Nothing here 'cept one codger complaining about our heritage. Guy thinks we're losing our soul by tearing down the building.”
Town lost its soul a good half-century or so back, he wanted to say but thought better of it. “Right. Listen, I'm gonna head over to Oscar's place.”
“You want back up? Trace made sure I asked you, reckon I could be there fast.”
He had to crack a smile at that. Martin had been a constable for three years now and couldn't seem to shake the occasional Hollywood term. He didn't miss him dropping Tracey's name in either. For a receptionist, she was very protective. Her family had been tight with his grandmother since way back when. Long after he had distanced herself from the old woman; years since their falling out and her constant warnings about Pokere and what it had done to them, Trace's family had stayed the course until she died. He supposed he owed her, though had no idea what form of payment was sufficient.
“Nup. You tell Trace the only problem I'll have with Oscar is with his nose hairs. Might be contagious. Bring them back and infect the station. See how she responds to that one.”
He hung up, swiped the phone. Still no messages. Slowly he was coming round to the fact that he would have to take the first step in smoothing things over. It could wait until after work. The wind kicked up around the dock, overcast clouds bullied out of the way by their dark gray brothers. They hovered low, heavy and full of threat. If he hadn't known better he would have sworn the clouds were spilling out from around Pokere. Brushing off pie flakes, he tightened the cap on his drink and took one last look at the island. It seemed bigger now, closer to the harbor. Henare made a silent prayer as he walked towards his car, hoping it would be the last he saw of the island for some time. Indigestion burned up his throat, as if in response.
The clouds continued to grow across the sky, light rumbles signaling things to come.
10:14:40:20
Anno knew he was going to die. As pure and as vivid people know their favorite food, he realized the end was close at hand. Death had glided past; marking its prey for later on. Once he had been filming in South Africa; Mecca for most documentary teams. Blood to be found in broad daylight, drama about to unfold at any moment; Pandora's Box invariably reopening just around the corner if only you ventured forward. Doc crews knew it was the place to be when all else failed. Get your lens filthy with dirt, sweat and God knew what else. There, he had found himself stuffed into a shark cage, a few feet away from the largest Great White he had ever seen. The beast was massive, rivaling the one from that Spielberg film. It swam by the boat, cruising in that slow, smooth way all predators had; that paralyzing confidence. It glided past him, locking eyes. Anno saw his mortality, how small he was. This animal was made to eat. To digest anything including humans; current title holder of the top of the food chain. Masters of all, crushed and torn into chunks of meat and gristle, gobbled up into the shark's stomach. Top the food chain, bottom of the stomach. On this island, in this abandoned place, he knew he hadn't just slid a few rungs from the top, it was a plummet all the way to the bedrock itself.
Everything was happening so quickly. Shouting, pointing. Mai was out cold, propped up against a wall, wrapped in bandages and cloth, blood already soaking through. A hidden line had been cut through the foyer like an earthquake splitting the ground apart beneath them. Jin stood near Mai, glancing back at her every few moments. Gone was the man who rolled his eyes when Anno had to shoot another take, now, he yelled, veins in his arms popping out. On the other side of the room Kojima stood firm, Jin's threats washing over him with little effect. Anno was sure Jin was going to punch Kojima, who would not back down despite Jin's obvious rage. The man stood there in the face of it, the strangest smirk on his face, probably half the reason why Jin did wind up punching him. He went direct, straight on. Anno saw folds of flesh around Kojima's face ripple as Jin's fist landed home. Yui screamed out as he crumpled to the floor. Sato was quick to his side.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Me? Are you blind or so damn focused on your own rhetoric that you won't accept what just happened?”
“You fucking shit!” Kojima yelled. “I'm gonna sue your ass so hard-”
“When we get back to Japan, safe and sound? You think this place will let us leave that easily?” He looked at them all, searching for help. Anno turned away. Whatever Jin wanted to see, he would not be able to find it in his eyes. “You all saw what just happened.”
“Now,” Sato said, his hands raised to block in case Jin decided to get punch-happy. “We need to think ab-”
“I swear if you start trying to twist this into 'figments of our imagination' or some shit, I'll knock your ass through the wall. You saw it! You all did. Take a look at Mai if you are still having trouble.”
“What part did you play in this, other than turning into a hysteric mess?” Kojima said, standing up, one hand massaging his face. “It's why I brought you along, to stop something like this from happening. I thought you would be used to this by now, but for someone so cocksure about ghosts, you seem to have no fucking clue what's going on!”
“I thought ghosts couldn't hurt people,” Okada said. He had spent most of the argument going through the footage, the first thing a cameraman always did, rule number one: check the footage.
“You're going to blame me for some crap you heard from a movie? Of course ghosts can hurt people you fucking idiot. These types especially.”
“Ah, this 'types' bullshit again? You're something, you know that?”
Jin laughed a dry, tired bark at best. He checked Mai again, walking over to her, tightening a bandage on her arm that had come loose. Anno could see her chest working slowly, her breathing had finally returned to normal. Her eyes shot around under her eyelids, as though the attack was still taking place. “Sure, I'm the crazy one, the faker. Whatever you need me to be, go ahead. I'm too damn scared and too tired to bother with your shit. Mai needs medical attention and I'm sick of talking about this to a bunch of people who should know better. You wanna keep filming and line yourselves up for the smorgasbord? Go ahead–no seriously–go right ahead. There's some salt in my room, knock yourselves out. Pour it around the windows, doors, and walls and it might offer some protection. But she and I are getting on that boat as soon as the sun rises, to hell with all of you.”
“No boat.” The words spilled out, all hearing each letter, each syllable. Anno's heart began to beat faster.
Must have misheard him, he thought. Must have. There's no way. Quick, someone ask him, check to make sure.
“What?” Jin spoke to Mai's face, not turning around.
Kojima nodded, quick and sharp. “Not now. Not tomorrow. The captain will not return for two more days, that,” he said with finality, “was the agreement.”
“Tell me you are joking.”
“I made a choice based on the knowledge I had. None of our phones work out here, so I had to give a time and date.”
“You bastard,” Jin said red-faced, teeth gritted. “She's going to die of infection or blood loss or some shit unless we get her to a hospital!”
“We are stuck here for two more days?” Yui said. Anno hadn't even noticed her. Since the attack she had sat down next to Okada, eyes never leaving the monitors, hands balled up into fists. “Stuck here with these things after us?”
“I'll admit, I was wrong to put us in individual rooms, I see that now,” Kojima said. “The best thing to do is to stay together and finish this project. We are so close, everyone. So close!”
Anno felt queasy as Kojima's eyes met his. Less heartening and more threatening, the pupils all but screaming: do as I say. He wouldn't stop looking. Each time Anno blinked at the floor or looked at someone else he would be waiting for his eyes to return, sure he was the weak link. The one that would cave first. Fire burned there, a ghastly force; domination and coercion.
“We came here to make history, to be the first in the world, pioneers together. If you leave now it was all for nothing, think about that. What happened to Mai, for nothing. The sacrifices you all made in coming here, for nothing. Is that what you want? What you came here for? I thought we came here to change the world. A half completed documentary will result in nothing but laughter. You'll be lucky to get a job fixing potholes in the road. But,” he said, moving on to the group as a whole, “two more days. Not three, not four. Two. We stick together. Film in large groups. Take care of Mai, every step of the way, as a team. Take care of ourselves. Create the documentary we came here to make, all of us. Together we can do this. Am I right, Mr. Sato?”
Anno thought he saw the professor grimace as though he had been punched in the stomach. He regained his composure at an admirable speed. “Y-yes. He is right,” he nodded, confirming things to himself. “We still have plenty of medicine and bandages in the first aid kit. Bottled water and the like. We could take shifts looking after her. The cuts don't seem too deep, infection isn't likely if we keep watching her progress.”
“Exactly,” Kojima said.
“Wait,” Anno heard someone say shortly before Sato continued, his voice becoming louder, surer of itself.
“I think if we all stay here in the foyer, we can watch each other.”
“I agree,” Kojima said, his voice rising too. “We use the cameras as our eyes and ears, and keep ourselves to the foyer at night. Might be a bit cramped but we'll manage. Right, Yui?”
“Wait,” the voice said again while Sato walked over to Yui, his hand on her shoulder. She freaked, a small yelp spilling out of her before she saw that it was Sato.
“I-I'm sorry,” she said.
He bent down, all smiles. “Not to worry. We're all shaken up.”
She squeezed her fists, knuckles whitening at the skin. “I-I think...you are right, Mr. Kojima. We can't go back. We have to finish this.”
Okada nodded, letting out a long sigh. “Almost halfway completed, anyway. We just need to shoot some more exteriors, get some more of you speaking, Yui. Even if we don't get any more ghosts on film, we're still going to be famous with the footage we have.”
“That's the spirit everyone, excuse the pun,” Kojima said with a smile that looked diseased. “That's why we'll be famous!” Anno wanted to pee at his words. His lower body shook, the stress needing to find a way to exit. It was over. Done, case closed. Filed and dated.
“WAIT!”
The floor creaked as the group turned to Jin, finding Mai cradled in his arms. Anno had a brief, sickening thought that she was already a corpse; her ghost preparing to drag them all to hell, long skeleton fingers gripping their ankles as they went down screaming. “All of you? You're going to do this? Risk her life and yours for this...thing?” The last word was spat out, as though his throat had a glob of phlegm sticking to it, needing to be expelled. A diseased, shameful glob. Silence was his answer as only Okada, Kojima and Sato had the strength to look back at him. “Yui? Sato? You are going to let this happen?” Anno swallowed as Jin looked at him.
Please don't, he thought, whispering in his own mind, please don't ask me, I can't!
The child in him spat on the floor, repulsed. Originally an avid reader of superhero manga, this was a perfect situation for a hero to stand up for what was fair and just. He had often done so when he was younger, bouncing off his bed, fist raised at the sky, fighting various imaginary evils. Where that hero was now, Anno did not know. He had sold off his manga collection after being pummeled by bullies for the sixth time in junior high.
Jin nodded, adjusting Mai, her head sagging against his shoulder. Anno's heart sank at his face. Not a speck of surprise at the outcome, not a shred of sadness at their failure to be human. Or worse, the affirmation. That selfish desire to protect one's own ass, no matter the cost. “I hope you all get what's coming to you because it's coming. Believe me.” He took one look at Anno before turning towards the double doors.
“I told you,” Kojima said, “the boat is not coming.”
“I'm going out to one of the huts outside. Smells less like death out there.” The doors swung open with a squeal, the morning light beaming off the floorboards, monochrome switching to golden sepia. Wood slammed into place as the doors shut behind him; loud drums banging away at a vacant concert.
“Boys,” Kojima said, turning to the monitors, “show me what we got. That had to have looked something terrific.”
Anno felt sick. He really was going to die.
10:20:19:11
Something smelled delicious. A smell that made one swallow involuntarily; throat reacting to the flavor, trying to taste. Rich, juicy meat.
Mai fought to open her eyelids. They were heavy, her whole body screamed exhaustion. The world focused at its pace, milky blur receding. She was in the foyer. Daytime by the look of it, the area alight in activity; people in a panic, faces pulled tight as they ran all over. They wore old clothing; the design and fabric something from the past. Thick cloth covering up too much skin. No color, just reliable black, white and gray. Not a single Asian face among them. She noticed a few dark-skinned people, she had head Jin calling them something. Mari? Mo-ri? The foyer surrounding them while not brand new looked in remarkably better shape than she last saw it. A large mirror hung against one of the walls, encased in a detailed lacquered frame.
Something was off. She wasn't catching on; important information dangling just above awareness. She needed to think, mildly alarmed as she noted her body was slow in picking up information relayed from her brain. Things were happening around her but it was like looking at the world below from an airplane. Nothing mattered, far out of reach to be of consequence. The smell came again, wiping everything away, tempting. Something was burning; full and rich, a hint of sweetness underneath the piquancy of meat burning. A look at faces running by showed concern, teetering on the edge of complete fear. The men seemed to be putting on a brave face while the women looked wild somehow, fierce. There it was again, that thing she was missing. Something that sure felt important. Mai watched the people as she gathered a sense that whatever was causing such a fuss was happening outside, beyond the double doors. People would run inside, waving their arms around in an angered state. She couldn't make the words, everything sounded dulled, like hearing the noise of a TV in another room. All wore bandages in stages, wrapped around parts of the body, yellowed and in dire need of changing; some mottled with blood. Beyond that, a few people with entire heads balled up in cloth, small slits in the fabric their only way of seeing out. Yelling from down all of the hallways. Clusters of people appeared dragging several women that were bandage free. Not the most well-read when it came to her history–especially the international kind–but Mai was sure the women were nurses, their uniforms bore the blueprint of standard hospital garb. They screamed, holding onto floorboards until sharp pulls wrenched their grip free; fingernails torn from the skin, remaining behind, stuck between gaps in the wood. Mai tensed her legs, about to move. No longer was her body slow, brought out of her thick stupor by the nails left in front of her. Whether she was about to help the women or run in the opposite direction, her thoughts changed when she saw the girl standing across from her.
The grubby little girl from the hallway.
What had been hovering in the shadows of perception became clear, perfectly so. Her hand slapped to her cheek. The skin was still there. Pulling at the cloth, she saw her arms were fine too. No blood. Despite the mob running back and forth, the little girl stood silent and calm, pointing across the room, little fingers aimed right at her; a scarecrow's gesture. Yelling to her left, sharp and short. The double doors were closing, no more than a sliver of a view left before they came together. Someone was watching her, a man in white. He called, his finger crooked. Mai blinked. It was no finger, but a cane of some kind. The doors closed. Screaming erupted from outside, the most horrifying sounds she had ever heard. She tensed her legs again–definitely going to do something to help–when she realized, “Oh.”
Now she knew. The grubby girl continued to point as she felt a cold shiver right underneath her heart; a sensation like a skeleton's fingers, spearing through the rib cage to tickle away, answered her before she spoke.
“I'm dead, aren't I?”
10:33:14:12
The soft whirr of the camera told him it was filming, but it cheered him to check the red light. From the camera's perspective, everything swooped madly to the right. It recorded big, flat feet in scuffed, bound sandals surrounded by mud-flattened grass. The view dangled there for a second or two, then swung back up to get a shot of Anno, up his nostrils. “Shit,” he said into the camera; noticing his double, going on triple chin, Dolby Surround picking up a heavy sigh to go with the words. “I've gotta stop eating late night ramen.” His feet sank into a cold patch, mud squeezing its way into the small spaces between his toes. Anno swore as he shook the mud loose before turning his attention back to the camera.
“Th-this is Anno. Day three or maybe, uh, four of the production. I, uh...shit.” The more he thought about what to say the words seemed to float apart, flying out of his mind. Better to spew it all out. It could always be edited later on if the footage was ever found. “I don't want to go back in there. Something about that place, I dunno, makes me feel like I can't breathe. Things have,” he caught himself. His brain had jumped ahead, trying to find the most political words to use. “Things have gotten worse with all of us. Mr. Tanaka, uh Jin, and M-Mai have left the building. He's taken her to one of the huts nearby, though I don't know how that is going to help her. With the main group in the big building, it's getting bad. Mr. Kojima has ordered us to start filming everything, and he's pushed Yui and Mr. Sato into filming more segments. Yui looks terrible. Don't think she's OK to do much right now. She looks terrified, which is kinda how I feel too. Yeah, terrified. Um, I put some salt-uh, salt lines down in the foyer. Jin, the psychic told us it would protect us. Felt stupid about it but it did make me feel a little safer.” He knew he should not stop. He had to tell it all. Show it. The real document of what happened on the island. “I,” he paused, this time not because he was finding the right words, but because he was rolling up the left leg of his shorts. “Also, I found this today.”
