AN 1: Next chapter in 1-3 weeks.

TRACK RECOMMENDATIONS:

Part 1: Lorn – All Corrupt Eveything

Part 2: Alva Noto - Garment (for a garment)

CHAPTER 11

Running, literally for her life. A narrow, dirt path, fringed on both sides with varying degrees of foliage, the blessedly full moon providing just enough visibility through the canopy of trees not to render every object in her way a potential hazard. Had it been moonless, the sizeable branch she encountered would have resulted in injury, possibly worse. She tackled the branch in one surpirisingly agile go, only to nearly trip over her own feet as she carried on straight ahead, the route taking an abrupt downhill slant. Her mind screamed panicky obscenities as the momentum had her skidding down the slope, cutting through denser plantlife and accumulating a mini avalanche of pebbles underfoot and around, until she almost went careening over a rocky plateau. Miraculously, it was only the pebbles that saved her, causing her to slip over onto her side an instant before the moss and vine-covered boulders came into view all of five feet away. She slid the rest of the distance at speed, traveling halfway over the boulders before reaching a tentative stop. Adrenaline pumping, she felt dizzy but in no discernable pain, unable to recognize whether or not she had done herself any harm, although it wouldn't have mattered if she had.

As the dizziness cleared, she tried to take in her surroundings; she had reached what seemed to be the bottom of a small-ish, grassy valley, with ferns, palms, and various other types of trees dotted amongst the vegetation and smooth rock formations of the inclines. Upon looking down from where her feet dangled, she praised whatever deity did or didn't exist; the drop between the edge and the grassy ground was little more than two feet, allowing her to simply stand up and continue unimpeded. She almost felt like a character in a videogame — albeit one set to the easiest level — or an action movie, rather than a real person who wouldn't be magically resurrected if she were to perish at any moment. Nevertheless, she wasn't going to tempt fate just yet by attempting to scale either bank when there appeared to be a flat path ahead of her.

She gave a moment's consideration to picking up a few small rocks to use as potential missiles, but rejected the idea on account of her shorts pockets not being deep enough, and needing her hands free. She took off at a sprint, following the mostly grass-covered course. Here and there small animals darted out of her way, and an unidentified winged creature swooped perilously close past her face. Although the valley proper seemed to end virtually as soon as it had begun, the extensive fauna and large boulder formations made for numerous blind corners, forcing her to slow her sprint to a fast jog... and thank fuck for them, because mere seconds later she was on the verge of another ledge, overhanging a sheer drop of around ten feet. Broken ankle territory for sure, if not broken leg. Whatever was looking out for her, it was doing a superb job so far.

Another ridge stood barely a few feet away but at double the distance's drop, and as she still didn't intend on any rock climbing if she could help it, there was no alternative but to make the jump... and without delay. Panic caught up to her with a jolt, ringing out in her head, mingled with the same handful of questions, pounding ceaselessly like a mish-mash of syncopated kick drums: it couldn't have even been two minutes yet, but was he already tailing her anyway?; how far had she gotten?; was she visible?; was he close behind, or catching up?

One thing was for certain: she couldn't stand here wasting time worrying. She had to make it to the other side.

Backing up a little, she steeled herself, and took a running leap. Her stomach lurched. A split second later she touched down hard and inelegantly on the opposite boulder, but luckily without injury, that she was aware.

To her feet, and running again, down a small but steep rocky slope that gave onto another dirt path, which dipped further and then sloped gradually upward. The propulsion of her downward trajectory was sufficient to get her over the worst of it, only requiring minimal effort to reach level ground. Seconds later the trees and vegetation petered out, the dirt path giving way to a flat rock path, which in turn gave way to a boulder, a log bridging another chasm, and then—

Shit! Shit! Shit!

A rocky rise, no more than 10 feet high but at a 90 degree angle in most parts, marking the end of this part of her journey. Fortuitously there happened to be a bundle of thick, sturdy vines trailing down from the bark of a tree at the drop's edge, which should enable climbing the rockface; that was the good news. The bad news was that she had never succeeded in even climbing a tree, and not for want of trying. But backtracking was out of the question, the boulders lining the path too high and smooth to tackle and the plantlife completely obscuring everything else. It was rock climbing or bust.

Hurry! For the love of... hurry!

Even if it hadn't been ten minutes — and she was sure it hadn't — her captor wasn't necessarily a man of his word. He could be right behind her at any moment.

One of the vines was loose, its root having been wrenched from the ground. Clearly, it had indeed been used for the same purpose as she intended to use them. Still, she gave it an initial rough series of tugs, testing its durability and give, just in case. Things had been going uncannily well for her so far, and it would be just her luck to attempt the maneuver and have the apparatus break. Fortunately, appearances weren't deceptive.

Come on!

With both hands she grabbed the vine as far above her head as she could comfortably manage, stepped as far backwards as the vine would allow, then jumped, swinging herself forward and aiming the flat of her Sketchers-clad feet against the rest of the hanging cluster. Her feet slipped, and she landed.

Shit...

She tried again. Again she failed.

Fuck... no...

Once more yielded another failure. Panic started rising, bringing with it a flurry of nausea.

You have to calm down. Calm down. You can do it, now. You've gotta think straight.

She forced herself to take a deep breath, closing her eyes and promising herself that when she opened them she would come up with something, no matter how fantastical the thought sounded.

Balls of your feet, said a little voice the instant her eyes opened.

This one worked. Rejoicing internally, she succeeded in slotting the toes of both feet into the spaces between the static vines, using the impenetrable solidity of the rockface to help assist pushing herself higher as she inched her hands upwards. The strain on her arms, upper body and core was tremendous, but she forged on, invigorated by her success. Another foot higher, and then another, and another. The rough surface of the vine was beginning to burn her palms, but no matter. She couldn't afford to let go, much less stop.

Right hand up. Left hand up. Push with her toes. Repeat. Holy shit, she was doing this! Right hand up. Left hand up. Push with her toes. Repeat. Again.

Keep going; you got this.

The further she climbed, the more painful it became, but nothing would kill her determination. Adrenaline roared in her every cell, her every fiber, fierce and uncompromising, spurring her on. At long last, her palms and body screaming with pain and exertion, she reached the top. One final, enormous haul, and her legs were up and over. Exhausted, she collapsed on her back, lower body against stone and upper on grass, gazing up at the glowing satellite so far above as it gazed down upon her. Unwise though it surely was, she knew she would be unable to continue if she didn't rest, if only for thirty seconds, so she permitted herself this one luxury. Waves of pure joy rolled through her, despite the pain and danger she was in, and in spite of the uncertainty lurking behind every obstacle.

She watched the bright orb in the sky, and it watched her. It felt like another of those life imitating art moments, because in fiction didn't mostly everything important that occurred nocturnally do so under a full moon? Daring escapes; frantic chases; stakeouts; revelations; creepy or horrific goings on? But full moons didn't just spring out of nowhere, nor did they prevail in certain parts of the world; there was always a period of waxing, then of waning. There was a far greater chance of things happening when the moon wasn't full, so it seemed bizarre, if not tinted with the supernatural, that the events of tonight just happened to take place when it happened to be at its fullest and brightest.

She counted what she estimated to be another fifteen seconds, then clambered to her feet, her head swimming for a moment and nearly causing her to fall back down. Laying down flat hadn't been the wisest of decisions — duh — but she could spare no time to berate herself. Fortunately she regained her balance just before gravity would have prevailed.

Onward she ran, over bare earth, grassy earth, and stone; past trees and ferns, foliage and nonspecific greenery, boulders, rocks, and inclines of varying heights, several times given a juggernautal startling courtesy of deer dashing out from blind spots. Then through a small cave of sorts, low enough to make her stoop and slow her pace to a crawl. A small creature darted over her right foot, causing an involuntary shriek, for which she scolded herself internally. If she didn't manage to get a handle on her reactions, there was a strong possibility that one of them — just one, extra loud scream — could betray her location. But how the hell could she, when it was difficult to do anything but simply react? She would have to figure something out, and soon; her life might literally depend on it.

That extra-loud scream nearly happened, all of five seconds later when what she had believed to be one of the 'rocks' just past the cave's exit turned out to be Martin... or what remained of Martin. Empty eye sockets stared back at her from a gore-caked face, and his lower jaw hung bloodied by its hinges as if in a mute, hysterical shriek. His right ankle lay bent back at an impossible angle, as did his right hand, and a sizeable chunk of flesh was missing from his left calf, along with his left show. If Isabel could have screamed, she would have, and it probably would have been loud enough for the guys back in the camp to hear. But no sound emerged — just an asphyxiated silence of pure terror and revulsion. When Martin had requested a toilet break, never to return, Isabel hadn't heard any sounds of a breakout attempt. The toilet hadn't been far away enough not to hear any sounds of a fracas. But there had been nothing. However the poor New Zealander had met his untimely fate — and why-ever, for that matter; because wasn't her captor planning to sell him? — it it must have happened quickly. Or perhaps they had humored him, simply letting him flee, safe in their own knowledge that he wouldn't get far? But if the latter, why?

Cassowaries, her captor had said. Wild boars, too. Bears. Komodo dragons. Or those snarling beasts the troops kept as pets. That was all, wasn't it?

Shit... She couldn't remember. She couldn't fucking remember.

A shrill bird cry and vigorous flapping of wings sounded from directly above her, and instinctively she ducked. Whatever bird had made the sound swooped into a nearby tree, disturbing the leaves as it settled. Waiting for fresh meat, probably, which meant it wasn't likely to be the only one — then again, she had no idea how long the poor man had languished there. Maybe the alphas had been and gone, and now it was the omegas' turn? And she shouldn't be waiting for them, should she? Yet, for several precious moments, she forgot herself, glancing upwards to see if she could locate the bird. When she turned around to face the direction she had come, she saw Martin's backpack, several meters up, perched precariously on the edge of the cave's roof like some elaborately-rigged trap. He must have fallen from there, which explained the broken wrist and ankle, perhaps even the jaw if he'd fallen head first. So it must have been wildlife that had ended him, or those dogs. But if so, why had they taken so little of him? Had something scared them off? Something bigger, or if not bigger then at least more intimidating than a bear? But what could—

A tiger. Or tigers. She and Adam had wanted to visit a Sumatran tiger conservation park; the Sumatran tiger was on the critically endangered list, for which the Indonesian authorities had introduced a number of schemes to repopulate national parks and various islands with them? That she couldn't remember whether or not the Latino had mentioned them effectively meant nothing. Even if he hadn't, didn't mean there weren't any. Because she was terrified, and totally ignorant of this place, she would be pliable, gullible. He could have told her there were baboons on this island and she would have taken his word for it. If he had lied to her about what creatures did exist here — and that wasn't to say he had; it was completely possible to have another apex predator in addition to everything else — he most certainly could have lied by omission about what didn't. "Surprise, bitch! Say hello to my little stripey friend!"

No, no, it couldn't be. Would he really be that cruel? Wouldn't he have derived more pleasure frightening her with the very notion of tigers, rather than the surprise? And what if she had been the so-called apex predator whose arrival had scared off the scavengers? Wasn't that equally as possible?

Only then did she notice the preternatural stillness and silence covering the immediate scene. From somewhere far off came the sussuration of water, but here not even a breeze murmured.

This was a trap. It was a trap because she had been idiot enough to waste potentially life-saving moments inspecting a corpse. What the hell had gotten into her? Why hadn't she just kept fucking running, for crying out loud?!

She barely heard it before she saw it: an ominous rustle of leaves somewhere behind her, the treading of undergrowth, and then—

She whipped round, and there it was, its round eyes glinting as they caught the light. Its giant, bone-crushing teeth bared. It let out a slow, deep roar, laden with menace, like distant, rolling thunder, harbinger of the storm. Its presence was the single most intimidating thing she had ever experienced.

Nothing existed in Isabel's world at that moment; nothing except paralyzing terror, and one sentence that came to her from the mists of a faraway memory whose source she had long since forgotten: "Do. Not. Run. Stare it in the eye."

She couldn't have run, even if she had wanted to. And, in the same way as when her eyes had first met those of her human captor, neither could she look away. She was bound to this beast, just as she had been bound to him, and her fate was in its hands.

It couldn't have been more than a second later when a gunshot cracked the silence. The tiger turned and fled left, back through the foliage, weaving through the trees and disappearing over a hillock. Just like that, it was over.

Isabel wheeled in a circle, scanning the night-veiled terrain for the shooter. Although the trees and vegetation were sparser here, she saw no-one. Her captor — no, one of her captor's men — had saved her life. The irony certainly wasn't lost on her.

But no, they hadn't; either she had, or the creature had never intended to kill her in the first place. It was either that millisecond when she turned to face it that made all the difference, or the animal was warning her off its meal. That gunshot might be less to scare aware the tiger than to let her know she was being watched. How long had her captor been planning this little game, she wondered, if he already had sentries set up? Or were they, too, tailing her, and radio-ing back to him? Didn't that defeat the purpose, though? If he knew where she was and where she was headed, wouldn't that just eliminate the fun? Or maybe it was the norm to have comrades dotted around the island?

It came as a surprise that, despite the fear and panic occupying most of her headspace, not only had she not degenerated into a pitiful wreck, but that she hadn't completely lost the rest of her cognitive faculties either. But still, she was thinking too much — it was the nerves, the come-down from her encounter with the tiger — and she had to consciously try and stop it. The important thing was that her captor clearly wanted her alive...for now, although that didn't mean she could count on them showing up whenever she landed in trouble. She had to go, before the tiger returned, because next time she might not be so lucky.

Without bidding Martin's mangled corpse farewell, she took off... only to halt abruptly mere seconds later. What she had presumed to be slope downwards transpired to be a sheer drop, and around fifteen meters down, a fast flowing river, cleaving the island in two. About 200 meters to her left stood a multi-layered waterfall, ceaselessly rumbling. Her heart gave a painful clench, and she gulped, hard. It seemed hardly believable that she had been scarcely seconds away from these landmarks, back where Martin lay, yet they hadn't sounded so close. This island was playing tricks on her... or her own mind was. Had her captor somehow laced the water and food he had given her with a slow acting drug? In her partially compromised mental state, maybe she hadn't noticed that the bottle of water or the protein bar were already open? Could she be hallucinating?

No, she couldn't let herself think anything along those lines. She had to trust her senses, and proceed with as much caution as was possible. This place was full of surprises, so she needed to concentrate on keeping her wits about her.

The adjacent cliff stood a good hundred meters away, and the only route across was a rickety old bridge that looked too flimsy to support anything substantial. But what other route could she take? Venture left, the way the tiger had gone? It may be somewhere else entirely now, but she didn't fancy taking her chances. Venture right, which would mean more rock climbing? Not if she could help it. And turning back was a bad idea, because she had been even more hemmed in by rocky slopes there than she was now. Therefore, crossing the bridge was her only viable option. Despite its flimsy appearance, if muscle-bound men — groups of them, possibly — used it and survived, she would have no problem, as long as she trod carefully.

She paused for a beat, taking one last look behind her, hoping and praying to simultaneously see nothing untoward and to see something. If she happened to catch sight of the tiger, or a bear, she'd have to instantly rethink her way around the river; if a tiger or bear pursued her onto the bridge, or if one appeared on the other side — shit, she hadn't thought of that — she would be done for. They could probably survive a fifteen meter drop into the raging, rocky torrents; her puny human body would be shattered like glass.

Please let there be nothing there. Please, please, please.

It appeared her prayers had been answered. Nothing immediately visible at any rate; barring any predator lurking in the undergrowth, or behind one of the many clusters of trees, which couldn't be ruled out. She looked as far ahead as she could, half expecting the tiger, a bear, or even her captor to emerge, the latter of whom would smile and give her a jolly wave, but again nothing stirred. Then again, they wouldn't be a decent predator if they let themselves be sighted. They could be anywhere, just biding their time until she was at her most vulnerable.

Fuck...

What could she do? Whichever route she took, she was equally in danger. If she went left or right, her best means of escape from a predator wouldn't be to run but to climb a tree, which was as pointless as it was impractical. Just because she had managed to surmount a small rocky wall didn't mean she had suddenly become any more skilled at climbing trees, and when in the tree she would be stuck, pitted against the strong will and tenacity of a hungry beast.

It had to be the bridge. And if it collapsed, or she simply fell, it would be a quicker, probably less painful demise than being mauled and eaten alive. That decided her.

She stepped onto the bridge.

With no watch or phone to guide her, she lost track of time. It could have been half an hour before the next eventful happening, or an hour, she couldn't be sure. It had been at least two now, she figured, watching the tranquil waves lap at the shore.

She had seen him.

She had been picking her way through a copse on one of the place's innumerable hillsides when, to her shock, he came into view directly ahead of her, fifty meters away. Her dismay was soon mollified as he appeared not to have seen her, instead turning right and continuing up the wooded incline in the direction she had been planning to go. Isabel had held back, watching him traverse the sparsely wooded terrain adroitly. Weighing up whether to go back the way she had come, or follow him, she had waited until he was another fifty meters ahead, and had then decided to creep along after him, praying he wouldn't turn around. After all, her tailing him would be the last thing he would expect if he thought she was smart. Perhaps she was stupid, then, or just plain crazy. Or maybe morbidly curious. She knew damn well she should have bolted the other way, yet for the life of her she felt compelled to follow him, to try and play him at his own game. If this were a film, she would have been the kind of character whose stupidity viewers would have derided, she was certain of it. But no matter; she could turn back at any time.

I can quit any time I like, jested the latent addict in the back of her mind. Yeah. Sure.

All had gone relatively well for the next ten minutes. The wood was as uneven as the hill it grew from; denser coverage in some parts, lighter in others. Illumination from the full moon cast glowing blue pools in the spaces between trees, tinged every object with a bright white lining, and cast disproportionate shadows. Although her captor moved fast, it hadn't been too difficult to keep track of him in the sparser areas. The denser ones had been problematic, though. With only a vague outline to go by, she had nearly lost him on several occasions.

Not once had he looked round. Either he genuinely hadn't sensed her presence, or he was playing a game with her, possibly even leading her into a trap. Any second he could have swung round and shot her, and at that thought she had considered quitting and letting him go on. But, she had come this far, and loathe though she was to admit it, she felt a sort of perverse thrill at being on the brink of peril and just about managing not to tip over. She had survived climbing a wall, a near face off — perhaps literally — with a tiger, and crossing a bridge that felt even flimsier than it looked. She had made it through this far without detection, even if not by his well-concealed patrolmen but by him, so it seemed. In spite of all this, some twisted part of her psyche was actually enjoying it, ever seeking the next wave of heart-stopping terror.

She had decided to keep following him, no matter where it lead her, and despite vociferous protestations from the sane side of her. To that end she had trekked on, stealthily, until he had entered a particularly thick section, the canopy too proliferous to admit more than pinpoints and scant scratches of light. It was then that he vanished completely.

What?!

Cautiously, she had grappled her way though the mass of rough, dark obstacles, hoping to catch sight of him, but all in vein.

How could he disappear like that? Just how the hell was that even possible?!

She had stopped, listening attentively for the sound of rustling, but had been rewarded with nothing. Then she had dropped to the ground, straining her eyes to see if she could make out a figure laying there, but it was too dark, and without even the sound of breathing to guide her. The waiting game continued for a further few minutes, until eventually, flummoxed and more than a little unnerved, she had decided to go on. Back to being the pursued.

Bastard had known all along, hadn't he? That was why he had pulled this little trick — letting her know who the island belonged to, and who was in control. More fool her for even entertaining the possibility of fucking with him. She had set herself up for this, and deserved the humiliation.

I am the one who fucks with people, hermana, she imagined him hissing, alcohol and marijuana laced breath a ticklish dance against the shell of her ear as he misquote Breaking Bad's Walter White. And he was continuing to play her by letting her 'escape' once more. Allowing her the temporary illusion of escape, before he struck. In the meantime, however, would he ensure her safety from whatever predators he had mentioned? All the ones she had forgotten? Or would he just let that one play out, smirking from the sidelines?

So she had resolved to quit this idiocy, this lunacy. She was better than that. Scared and puny and captive she may be, but she was not going to keep making a dolt of herself for his amusement.

She had chosen to venture right, instead of going directly ahead as it appeared he had done — if indeed he had done; who the hell knew — and had trekked on through varying quantities of trees and all plants until she reached a wide clearing upon which several pigs grazed. Never once did she stop or turn her head to perhaps catch sight of her pursuer. He wouldn't have let her.

The clearing stretched on, up and over a hill that looked oddly bald above the archipelagos of tree clusters. Covered by a shining carpet of moonlight, with the dew on each blade of grass transformed into a billion glistening diamonds, it seemed near phantasmagoric. How Isabel had the capacity to notice the poetry in things at that point, she couldn't figure it. She had followed on up the hill, over the top of which revealed just how high she had climbed. She could see the ocean from here, a sliver of beach, and close to its banks a dirt road painted white-gold in the moon's rays. She trod a careful, gradual path down to it, hoping that it might lead her to the port she had alighted on; an island as small as this wouldn't have more than one, surely?

This time, she had endeavored to keep her mind deliberately blank – not even thinking about him – focusing instead on getting down the hill safely, the warm summer air, the muffled sound of her own footsteps, the chirping of the crickets, and the strangely less than feverish beating of her heart. Several times she could have sworn that she had heard footsteps behind her, navigating the terrain with as much fluency as she had difficulty, and although this struck the fear of God into her, she neither stopped nor looked round. Her pace was limited by the steepness of the decline; if her captor was ready to catch her, there was nothing she could do. There was also the possibility her imagination was overworking again. Only when she reached the road did she survey her surroundings, to find no-one there.

AN 2:

Swinging in and back out like a chimp on a revolving door...

I've got stuff to stay; not much, but I have to say it nonetheless. I'm thrilled to have all you readers on board, especially in such a small fandom and over four years since the game's heyday. However, it would be even better if you could post a review every so often, even if it's only for one chapter. I put a lot of time and effort into crafting a fic, and as a writer I thrive on reader feedback - most of all, constructive crticism. It would be wonderful to know what you enjoy about the story; and equally, what you don't. Is there anything you think could be improved? Noticed spelling mistakes, any grammatical errors etc? If con-crit isn't your thing, though, then just a review (however small) would be much appreciated. If English isn't your first language, feel free to post in your native language. I appreciate it may not always be easy to know what to say; I have the exact same problem wh en reviewing other people's fics. But if nothing comes to mind, even one word - "Fantastic!"/"kudos"/"whut?!"/"Noodles" - would be great.

I'm not obligating anyone to review - all I'm saying is it would be nice, is all :) If you still would prefer not to, then at least I can say I tried. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, as they say.