Primal Gambit

Chapter 5: The Drop

When the gated elevator bell rang in Shuke's ears he could barely make out the words being yelled by the men around him. He was about to be dropped into a new world. The gate was yanked open violently as someone pushed him forward. Conley had long since vanished, reveling in his own room so that he may torment captured men further. The classical music still played in the professor's head. A rusted storm door built into the paddock floor was unlocked and the small hallway was flooded with abrasive spotlights. The shining beams were cut down by a thick canopy of foliage above. The same two park wardens now donned stun batons as they pulled a shackled Shuke along.

An evening event was advertised on electronic billboards cast across highways and city busses, depicting an old picture of the professor during his university days alongside the shadows of beasts that inhabited the jungle he was about to enter. In the distance, he could make out the muted shouts of an audience, all waiting with bated breath as Shuke was yanked into an oasis cut away from the brush. One of the wardens, a man of few words with a grizzly red beard and tattoo on his temple voiced into a radio:

"Animal Tag Number 1174 is dropped." He growled.

Shuke looked back at the door to see three men with drawn rifles watching the trees for movement. A light breeze cut through the area, the leaves moving in unison. Long stalks of growth swayed gently on the wind as Shuke was smacked on the back of the head.

"Look forward, monkey." The red bearded man threatened with his stun baton. Arthur Shuke did as he was told, and when the three stepped into the oasis the sounds of the boisterous crowd were cut short by a long sorrowful howl. The professor looked up and out of the dome constructed of thick razor wire and beyond the electric fence that circled the top of it. He could see the back of a woman's petite head but could not understand how she spoke over the noise.

"Now introducing to Paddock #8 is our very own Arthur P. Shu..." She was interrupted by the next howl that doubled in length. Resting the megaphone by her side she turned to look inside the exhibit, her own curious wonder overpowering her.

Red Beard motioned for the second warden to take off the professor's shackles. As they left his body the two men repulsed from the reeking stench of rotted flesh. Shuke's lacerations had cut deep into his tissue. They backed away, joining the three guards and drawing their pistols, aiming toward the tallest tree: a goliath weeping willow in the very center of the exhibit. The megaphone reappeared before the tour guide's mouth:

"Arthur P. Shuke. He is 58 years old, already thinning out and coming in at 153 pounds at an even 6 feet!" She paused, awaiting the horrid gasps that never roused from the audience of onlookers.

"We feed him through tubes, as we do with all our specimens here at Marcotte, on a nutritious diet filled with all the essential vitamins." The group of people surrounding the enclosure attempted to lean over the angled electric fence to take pictures but they were advised to stay off the wall by the guide.

"Please don't lean over the railing, as seeing both outsiders and the flashing of cameras can rattle, disturb, or even enrage the animals." She smiled a plastic smile through her gasmask, the same smile she put on before work every day.

"Although, it appears the Alpha is already perturbed by the presence of our new addition." She added.

Shuke stepped forward once the howling ended, submitting to an ancestral pose immediately. He knelt, his knuckles gracing the soft jungle floor. He breathed heavily, wanting to scream but restricted by the tendons under and above his cracked lips. The entire exhibit was silent save for the calm gust of wind that continued. A low wheeze resounded in the undergrowth nearby; when Arthur's head darted around he saw nothing, just the furrowing of a group of bushes. A large crash sounded behind; the guards and the wardens had slammed the door down. It was shut completely, the locking sound from the other side of the steel reminding Arthur that this was permanent.

The wheeze continued from a different direction – perhaps the towering willow before him. It was softer now, distanced. Arthur took a moment to try and take in his surroundings before his entire existence spiraled into the pits of Hell. This was for all intents and purposes possibly one of the last vestiges of green growth in the world and the old professor was going to take it all in. He tried not to think about the wheezing or the howling or the shouting tour guides around him but rather the wind that nestled in his beard and pushed untied greens about the jungle floor. He looked to the weeping willow, a breed of tree he had not seen since his very youngest childhood memories. Blocking out the floodlights gave birth to a rich aqua-blue sky, the stars obfuscated in the night but the moon vibrantly glowing – splitting clouds in two.

Though he was robbed of the ability to taste, he breathed as deeply as he could – nostrils flaring. Shuke took in every scent offered to him: the stale body odor of his primitive co-captives was drowned by the pure, albeit processed, natural earth. For a lifetime, he had forgotten the smells to be drawn from the dirt and from the trees and for a moment he was blinded by the nostalgia.

The moment was stolen from him by the raspy howl that dragged on from the top of the willow tree and the gasps of the crowd above. Shuke stumbled back – burying himself into the nearest grouping of underbrush. His eyes peered beneath the dense weave of vines as the top of the tallest tree rustled ferociously from within. He could only assume, as once told to him by an Anthropology colleague, that it was the Alpha of the pack displaying dominance, showing the new primate his role in the society.

The crashing branches continued. When he looked up he saw the floodlights instantly shut down. The paddock was doused in shadows; Arthur Shuke looked up in the most purified sense of dread. He could feel the thick dew of breath on his neck and a clawed human hand reeling over his shoulder.