“Shut up, Mat. Pass the necklace to Tuan Arin. You better honour your word. I heard you promised to treat some friends in your last unit at a Chinese restaurant, and instead of paying, you ran!”
Mat laughs as he slaps his thigh, “No, that was different. That was a good prank, a funny one.”
“And how did you end up not being dead?” Ray asks as he examines the cooking pot. “They know who my fiancée is - the Colonel’s daughter.”
"Well, that explains everything," Ray smirks.
Mat takes off the talisman and throws it to me, “Don’t lose it, please Tuan Sir.”
I catch the talisman in my right palm. Instead of pocketing the talisman, I could feel a strange sensation in my palm, the talisman is very warm and feels very weighted. I open my palm, an old silver talisman, more dull and dark grey than silver, though I thought I saw it shine earlier. For a talisman, I am surprised that they are not markings, no inscription of any kind. I contemplate on whether to put it in my pocket - which could mean I would lose it and then decide to wear it over my own neck.
“It’s not chicken,” Ray removes the lid of the cooking pot, the steam and the sweet and yet pungent smell of unfamiliar meat being simmering in the cloud white stew.
“Well, it’s not monitor lizard or snake.” Ismi stirs the pot and see a strange carcass floating in the cooking pot, white and pale, soft and once alive.
I walk towards them and peek inside the cooking pot. It’s a dead and cooked pangolin, the large armoured scales are no more, only recognisable is the long snout and the claws of this ant-eater.
“It's a Tenggiling,” I utter in disgust.
"A Tenggiling is a pangolin," Ray explains to Matt, who looks baffled.
“Maybe the poacher had impotence issues.” Mat tries to amuse us.
“In that case, you better eat this whole pot. Not sure if it will ever help you, Mat. Your fiancée's been telling me you’ve been having problems getting it up,” Ray taps on the aluminium pot.
The Captain arrives back, “I can’t find their tracks, the poachers - they left here without leaving any tracks…”
“That’s strange, Captain Sir. It seems they left everything here in a hurry. We can see they left a large footprint here and yet were they really skilled enough to leave without a trace?”
‘What vital piece of information missing?’ I wonder to myself.
An uneasiness sneaks up to me, a sense that we are in great danger, and yet all around I see we are safe at this campsite, with food and provisions lying around the camp.
“What did they cook?” The Captain asks.
“Pangolin,” Ismi replies with a frown.
“That would bring nothing but bad luck.” I sense the Captain’s wariness. Having been under his command for all these years, I can almost read his mind. He is troubled by something, almost expectantly.
Matt leans nearer to the pot and scoops out a morsel, “Got to try everything you know. Join the army, be adventurous.”
A red spot appears in the middle of the Pangolin stew, then turning grey and then dissipating into the stew. We all look into the stew pot: Are we really seeing what we are seeing?
More red spots appear in the stew, quickly turning into grey spots, but this time not disappearing. A flurry of red large spots reappears, bubbling furiously in the stew, turning grey each time, and then the pot turns overwhelmingly red, fills to the brim, sizzling red and outpouring on the floor.
I take two steps back and see a line coming out of the pot, a line of red liquid. I blink my eyes again, and see the illusion, the red liquid is flowing from above.
There is red fluid dripping from above and into the pot. I look up but the sunlight blinds me. I take a few more steps back, and to my horror I discover how the poachers were able to disappear without leaving tracks on the jungle floor.
Dismembered torsos, limbs, and five severed heads - eye missing in a few sockets, strewn on the branches of a petrified tree, dripping blood down onto a main branch and flowing down into the pot. I grip my Colt Commando semi-automatic rifle, the metal feeling much colder than ever, unlatching the safety, my own eyes refusing to budge as I stare at the petrified scream of horror of the nearest head, a former poacher now turned tree trophy - paled and impaled.
“Was it a bear that did this?” Ismi shouts as the others edge away from the ominous pot. I hear choking and shallow breathing, it’s Ray. His face is turning red and blue at the same time, holding on to his neck, struggling and clawing his neck.
“What’s wrong, Ray?” Matt shouts out, but not willing to come to his aid. Ray mumbles, and then we notice how his feet is not touching the jungle ground. He is levitating above the jungle floor.
There is a short glimpse of a shadow behind him, which disappears when I try to focus.
What was that?
Ismi runs towards Ray, who continues to struggle with the unseen. I try to move to help, but my feet refuse to move. I am frozen in fear. How can this be? I am a soldier. I am an elite. Ismi pulls Ray down, and Ray falls to the ground and starts gasping for breath. The Captain takes out his parang, a machete and runs towards Ismi and Ray, jumps up and then attacks and slashes the empty air around Ray. A glimpse of a black shadow wall appears and then instantly disappears. The Captain lands on his feet, his eyes in a wild stare at an enemy I cannot see. I rub my eyes but I cannot see what is there.
Ray starts to orientate, stands up, and pulls up Ismi, “You saved my life, Ismi. When we get back home, I’ll…”
Before Ray could complete his sentence, flesh protrudes from his chest, ripping his uniform and blood, enveloping a giant hand that goes through his chest. A hand drenched in Ray’s blood and flesh, a hand larger than Ray’s head. Ray shows his disbelief and then his head flops down, his limbs devoid of life. I stare at Ray, and I cannot accept that he is dead. I cannot accept what could kill him, even as I start to see the shape that is behind Ray, the owner of the hand that had plunged into Ray’s torso and impaled him and his heart. The shape, humanoid, and yet nothing but a demon in the form of a shadow, so dark and black and all the essence of evil, if not the origin of all evil, standing, seemingly proud of its kill. It throws the body of my friend and my team comrade Ray hurtling towards Ismi, who tumbles hard with the force of the impact of dead Ray. Poor Ray.
Matt cocks his Colt M4 Carbine rifle and starts shooting blindly around where the demon is, the rounds striking trees and foliage, as splinters and broken branches litter the ground as Matt empties a magazine of rounds. It is clear Matt cannot see the demon. He fumbles and manages to load the next magazine.
“Die, mother-f...”
Before anyone could respond, the demon swoops down onto Matt, and throws him up into the air, above the branches of the petrified tree. In mid-air, with one swing of its hand, the demon severs Matt in the abdomen. Matt screams momentarily in pain, and then nothing, Matt remains quiet as the lower half of his torso and legs fall down onto the ground, his intestines follow through, falling down like moist floppy rope. As if saving him for later, the demon impales Matt’s chest on to a tree branch.
The fear overwhelms me. I cannot move my legs. I pull out my knife and swear I would not die without a fight.
The Captain runs towards Ismi, pulls him up. “Get up, soldier! We need to retreat. FAR AWAY FROM HERE!”
They both run towards me. “Move Arin! Run!”
Time slows down, I see them both run towards me. Before they can reach me, Ismi is thrown into the air landing half-way up a giant tree and then falls down back to the ground, only to be swooped up by the giant demon.
“Don’t kill him, you monster!” I scream out. The Captain does not bother to look back. He knows what will happen.
Like a ragged doll, Ismi is flung against the trunk of the same tree, head first, as his skull crunches and shatters and all the brain and blood matter splatters on the dark green and brown tree trunk.
Both fear and anger try to enter emotions but block each other off.
The Captain holds my head in both hands, shouts slowly and as clearly as he can “Arin, you need to run and save yourself. Now cover your eyes.” The Captain throws two grenades near the cooking pot, landing with a soft thud and no bounce. The Captain covers my eyes with one hand and throws himself against me, as we both duck on to moist wet ground.
A flash of light followed a blast wave shakes the core of my body. A singe in my right thigh awakens my legs. I can feel my legs, the pain and burning sensation on my feet. A loud ringing feels the air, I can barely hear what the captain is saying as he flips back up onto his feet, and then pulls me up, “Arin, there is a river near here. Go there and you will be safe. I will buy you time.”
I want to object - I should stay with the Captain and fight - but no words come out of my mouth.
“Corporal Arin, I command you to run and save yourself!”
And with that, I follow his orders, and run I did. I run as fast as my legs can take me, I run as though there is no tomorrow.
There is no tomorrow.
There is no tomorrow.
There is no tomorrow.
1st December
Arin: Run
Location: Unknown Jungle
“CAPTAIN, WHERE ARE YOU?”
Where is everyone? ARE THEY REALLY ALL DEAD?! Did all that really happen right in front of my eyes?
I force myself to stop the visual flashbacks of the recent horrific events, images that do not make sense surround me - is this real? That is not a question I must ask now. I must live. I must survive.
Survival is tantamount.
The jungle echoes my words as I fight the sweat dripping down my forehead, stinging both my eyes and the small cuts on my face and arms - the trees and the branches trying all to stop me from leaving. Wiping hard and I can barely keep my eyes open. Panting hard and wheezing, I rest briefly, hands descend and rest on my thighs, barely stooping - I can barely feel my feet, trembling hard, running through this wretched tropical jungle for too long.
The sun is sinking down fast -too fast- and the unforgiving darkness is engulfing this terrible, cursed jungle. Rumbling thunderously and ominously, my pursuer crashes through the dark jungle nearby, broken tree branches fall from the tree canopy in the near distance, smaller trees crunch and shatter, whilst hundreds of birds fly in all directions as screeching tiny primates flee from the imminent danger.
I am not imagining this.
I examine my ‘digital camo’ tiger-striped army trousers, and wince at wound in my right thigh and the unlikely fragile union of clotted blood and wooden fragments lodged stopping me from bleeding to death. The sight brings me to the awareness of the pain. The pain of survival.
Push myself now. I am First Recon Unit. I am the toughest of the toughest. I will survive. I will beat that thing.
A blood-curdling scream shatters my thoughts, a now-futile attempt to recollect myself.
The demon has found me, knocking down everything in its path - it is unstoppable - half as tall as the jungle trees and blacker than the darkest of nights, a face without a face. My survival instincts jolt me, and I jump across a fallen tree, pushing through the pain, running through the shrubs, sliding on the mix of wet mud, dried jungle leaves and underneath low hanging mesh of trees and liyana jungle vines.
I must find safety before night fall.
Heart pounding, waiting to burst out of my chest, I remind myself I have no weapon and I have no food. I had to drop everything when we were attacked, and the captain ordered us to retreat. No, he told me to run and save myself. I hate running away - I did not live my life as a coward, and yet I know I have no chance against this hell-bound creature.
To my relief, I hear the faint sound of water gurgling - a river must be nearby. I prod on, almost stumbling and yet refusing to lose momentum, as the faceless giant demon continues to chase me through this thicket. Being small and agile has its advantages. I jump and leap on all fours, part parkour and part desperation, constantly moving forward and uphill, dodging the projectiles of broken logs, trees and rocks. I dare not look back, its screams and grunts getting closer and closer, as relentlessly it keeps trying to hit me with the large ‘sticks and stones’.
The jungle starts to thin, and then a clearing with a straight path of salvation appearing before me. With all my might, I scream and sprint, jumping and running across the dark hues of orange light and darkening grey shadows of the disappearing daylight. The sound of moving water grows reassuringly louder as I reach the end of the path. Peering down the rocky ledge, I see my final escape route: the river, a fifty foot drop below. I look back, the demon is still chasing me.
It’s all or nothing, now.
I take a few steps and with everything I have left, I sprint and jump, giving myself as much clearance from the rocky cliff wall. In mid-air, I close my eyes and embrace myself in preparation for water entry, I scream out “First Recon Unit - once trained, always engrained!”
A cold shivering sensation wraps tightly around my torso. It is not the river water. I open my eyes and see IT, the black and faceless demon - a shadow of hell - grips me tightly. I can hardly breathe, struggling hard against its deadly hold. Its one giant hand wraps around me with such ease and brings me back to the ledge, whilst its other hand is poised and ready to deliver a now all-too-familiar death blow to my chest.
“NO!” My feet not touching the ground, I kick furiously to no avail, even though I know this is the end.
A surge of fury engulfs me in the worst of times. I will not be smothered this way.
My final act of defiance: I spit at the faceless face of the dark shadow demon, grimace and stare at it and scream at the top of my voice, “Death is only a training ground. I will come back for you even in death. I am First Recon Unit.”
I stare daunted and undaunted at the same, in defiance and in submission to my fate, at my death-bringer as a thousand memories of my fallen comrades flash through my mind like a thousand videos screened at the same time, the shoulder of the demon tilts which only means his other hand is heading towards me. And as if by slow motion, I feel its executioner hand sear my chest with a burning pain of life-sucking intense coldness.
The coldness exits my chest, the pain still incredulously ripping through my chest as I find my feet touching the ground again. A warm hand pulls me aside and then up. I breathe deeply as the vice grip is no longer, I am no longer held by my executioner, only to find my saviour next to me. The demon stumble away from the both of us.
“Captain! Let’s fight this thing together"
My Captain, stern-faced with his unmoving moustache, grips his machete tighter and raises it above his head, poised and ready for simultaneous attack and defence, refuses to look at me. He duel-stares the demon, which looks injured - if that is at all possible.
“Arin, no. Run. Live.”
Before I can object, the Captain elbows me in the chest, propelling me with great force away from the ledge and I tumble down into the cold, murky river below.
The brackish taste of the river awakens me from the fall, I swim towards the river bank but the river is either too strong or I am too weak. The river takes me to the path of cowardly retreat.
I stare up to the ledge and to my surprise, both the Captain and the demon stand side by side, staring down at me from above. Seemingly at a truce with each other. How can that be?
And from the faceless face, a set of hellish red eyes appears and glows insidiously. A deep fear engulfs me, I start to choke as my breathing freezes, the river pulls me down and I start to drown. Water rushes into my throat, cold and muddy - all air leaves my lung. I struggle to move my limbs, as my chest burns in pain. I scream endlessly in bubbles, unheard and underwater. I sink to the bottom of the river bed, clawing my own chest to free myself from the impossible, and yet the impossible happens around me. The water and the river starts drying up quickly.
I sit up and look around me. This is not what happened last time. I know this place, which becomes a
ll too familiar as my eyes become more and more accustomed to the darkness, shapes and figures reveal themselves. This is my bedroom in the barracks. I find myself on my wet bed. I place my hand on my t-shirt, pants and then the bedsheets, it is completely drench in sweat. I take off my shirt, shivering in cold and fear, running my hand on the knobbled scar on my sternum.
It wasn’t just a nightmare, it was a memory. My fallen comrades. The Captain. Why?
My hand trembles uncontrollably as I grab a pack of my cigarettes from my bedside, the plastic gas lighter barely able to light up as my wet trembling fingers does its best to smother the flame and the flint. I can think of better ways to numb the pain, but for now these damp cigarettes will have to do. My body shivers, the fear still remains. I should take a shower but my feet refuse to move. I stare at my feet and then at the barely visible scar on my right thigh. It’s a reminder that it was real. It is real. I stub out the cigarette on to the scar, sizzling and the nauseating smell of burning skin invigorates me and my feet start to respond. I will never let fear take over me. Never, never again. I unsheathe my army issue nine-inch knife and place it between my clench teeth, the metallic taste spurs more saliva from my mouth. I take it out of my mouth and then glide the sharp end across the scar. The knife slices my skin ever so slightly, stinging and yet gentle, minute blood seeps out from the ruptured tiny capillaries.