Wendigo Island (ONC2024)

Entry 16: Ambush

Marie/ Entry 16

Dinner was tense, but after dinner was even worse. Blain snapped.

He told Ron, "If you're so hungry that you need to stare at the back of everyone's head, then maybe you're the closest to death?"

"The fuck did you say twig-boy!?"

"I said, keep thinking those thoughts and I'll go ahead and kill your ass. Save us all some time."

"You'd rather wait. You couldn't handle that on your conscience Boy Scout."

"I've done worse to better people."

Their faces were nearly touching. I tried to break it up. Talk some sense into Blain. Not that I cared if Ron died, but he might have hurt Blain. I told him that we still might need Ron to translate.

Ron said, "yeah listen to fish girl, fuck tard."

Blain struck Ron with a hook right to the side of the head, "that ship has sailed, we ever meet any natives then I'll do to them what I'ma do to your ass!"

I can only assume he meant to eat Ron, but Ron stood up swinging his breifcase. Blain managed to get his arms up to block, despite the malnutrition. The breifcase smashed into both arms sideways and the lock popped open.

Hundreds of thousands of crisp one-hundred dollar bills exploded from the briefcase. Ron fell to his knees dry sobbing and searching the ground with his hands. He found a photograph, but Blain yanked it from his hands.

The photo was of an eight year old girl smiling and waving. Her hospital gown was covered in flowery designs, her waving hand had a hospital band along with several colorful rubber bracelets and some made from yarn, one of her front teeth was missing and so was her hair. There was a sadness in her eyes.

Ron was beside her with an arm over her shoulder and an even darker depth to the sadness on his face. She may have known the gravity of her situation, but Ron was old enough to know it wasn't fair. Old enough to thoroughly hate the world.

"My neice, she has cancer. They gave her six months before I left. So I moved this money from my company to a fancy bank account and withdrew it. I was going to pay for her treatment and disappear. Now I'm going to die right alongside her."

The thunder of hooves broke off any response we would have had. A storm of dust and noise spilled up from the mountain path. A herd of creatures with the body and horns of a goat, but sporting a deformed human torso, like some kind of demonic centuar, ran towards us and blew right past.

As if called upon, the natives flodded into the nest and circled us with spears inches from our faces. Mute tried to dive into the cave, but spears nearly took his hand off as they blocked his path.

One of the small, blue people riding one of the goats jumped off and scrambled into the cave. The crowd of rough looking smirfs remained perfectly still as their friend searched the cave. I'm not sure if I laughed because of the thought of gross smirfs or the absurdity and nerves, but the cold stone tip of a spear against my neck kept me from laughing anymore.

They bound us all together and lead us through the forest. Past the temple to the west and past the gaze of dozens of owls.

We all noticed at the same time. Blain was missing, and the mounted pygmy guarding the rear was not on his mount. Both had vanished at some point during the trek. The chieftain rallied a group to search for Blain and personally pushed us remaining three forward with his spear.

We were thrown to our knees just outside a series of tents made from reptile skins, the shells of giant bugs, and the rough blue skin of our captors' ancestors.

On our knees facing a line of demonic centuars and cannibals seemed hopeless, but Ron was talking. He spoke several phrases in several languages. Sometimes, he would just name a place, but the cannibles grew increasingly agitated at his attempts.

The war chief leveled a spear at him.

"Korean? Brazilian?"

The chief was yelling now and pressing the tip of his spear against Ron's neck. It was just enough to make a bit of blood trickle down his shirt. Ron kept trying, and the chieftain's arms flexed as if to drive the spear forward.

"Wetim! Em stap tasol wanpela as-hul," Mute spoke this time.

All of the pygmies turned to him in surprise and burst out laughing. The chieftain spoke to him in this language for a bit before pointing at Ron and seeming to end the conversation.

Mute was quiet and puzzled as he thought of the words they wanted translated, but he finally told Ron, "stop mouth."

Not long after, an old woman came by and grabbed us each by the jaw. She looked into our eyes with hers. There was something strange about them. Like a slight blindness had colored her.

She pointed at me and left.

They led me into a scale and leather hut and cut my bonds. The shaman handed me a wooden bowl with a pink soup. I didn't have much choice in the matter since she stared at me the whole time, but even if I didn't, I probably would have eaten it.

It was brains. I could tell because the taste of Karla's hadn't left my mouth yet. It, well (Scratched out text) It was delicious.

The woman stared at me for a long time. Her eyes had glazed over with a white fog. Her blue skin was rough and painted with the clear lines of old scars. She had more bone jewelry than bones in her body. Earrings, a nose piercing, a series of bracelets woven together to make a single bracer, and a necklace that came down past her chest like chainmail. Blain's poisoned spear lay across her lap.

She pointed to her eyes, "Kuru kuru."

Then she pointed to mine, "Kuru kuru."

She bowed and layed the spear at my feet, stood, and left. I don't know what to make of this. If Kuru kuru is the same in her language, then she just told me I have brain rot. Did she accept me because of cannibalism? Do they worship brain disease? I hope I'm wrong. I hope Blain comes back with help, but how could he.