9.
Turbulence – Foot? What Foot? - Take A Hike – Deja Vu
The small Beechcraft airplane landed with a soft thud at an airstrip surrounded by gently flowing jungle flora. Frank Lapidus sneered at his controls, despite its assurances of easy green across the board. His private flights for 'Herarat' – actually just another shell corporation for Mittelos' needs - were growing increasingly smoother and easier, though he still had a jolt of discomfort every time he touched down on the island. The flash of light and the sudden appearance of land where his instincts knew there should be nothing but vast and empty sea remained jarring. The money Hurley paid him, though... that was comforting. Along with the man's constantly repeated promises: that he would never be trapped, and he would always have a safe flight home. So far, so good. Too bad about ol' Bug Eyes still being local.
Can't have everything, kiddo. There's always a bee in the beer. He looked up from his flight log where he had been scribbling his notes and then over his shoulder at a slight groan from the cabin. Frank had gotten used to the oddities of the island trip. The new arrivals would have been jarred by the lightshow and turbulence of the approach and had been treated to a fairly clear and honest warning about it. All but one of them had opted in for a sedative to help them skip the worst of the trip. Least it had been optional. Bug Eyes had mentioned a now-obsolete and disturbing version of the tactic that resembled press-gang slavery more than anything else. He at least had the taste to sound contrite about it.
Frank tossed the flight log onto the copilot chair with a dismissive shrug, turned, and slid open the door to the cabin. The Indian guy was looking at him with a startled, wild expression, while the kid was rolling over in the first stages of wakefulness. The other two were still dead asleep. Frank grinned into the guy's dark eyes. "Weird as hell, right?"
"That wasn't turbulence!" The words were blurted in a clipped street-London dialect.
"Close enough, guy." The pilot looked him over. A bit frail, but what the hey. "You got it in you to help me with the luggage?"
. . .
The other three emerged from the plane as Frank hauled out the last of the large suitcases, the trio still looking baffled and dozy. Indian guy did alright by Frank's standards, plucking out some of the smaller bags and tossing them onto a rolling cart sitting on the still-new tarmac before the pilot took over and finished up. The place was still hot as hell, causing him to unbutton the top of his pilot's shirt and roll up the sleeves. Sweat glistened on silver-grey chest hair.
Frank looked over the rest of the arrivals; the wide-eyed and jumpy kid, the dour-faced woman, the tense-looking man with the labcoat over his arm, then shrugged. "Welcome to What The Fuck Isle, just off of the main island, which I like to call "What The Shit Is This, And Who Brought The Whiskey And The Dead Guy?" Long story, don't ask. I'll be helping you down to the beach where some other local fella's going to get you across the way. Dude in charge will be taking it from there." He turned to put a hand on the cart, then turned again to look at the odd little group. "And don't bother asking me questions, because generally speaking, I know less'n you do. Unless you wanna talk shop." He jerked his thumb at the Beechcraft. More baffled silence. "Thought so. Alright, let's hop."
. . .
The strip of coastline held a newly installed small dock. At it was tied up a private little ship with what looked like plenty of cargo space. The group watched their pilot grumble something at the two men idling around. They were aboard and shuttled across to the larger island within a half hour, the island itself towering over them.
. . .
On the beach of the main dock were more locals ready to grab up the luggage and some other small bits of cargo that had been in the ship. The new arrivals looked up and down a bright stretch of beach, the smell of sea and jungle green filling their nostrils. Just up from the dock, a large sun umbrella had been rooted in the sand. Underneath it, unmoving and prone in the bamboo chair, was a small man dressed in light brown linens. A jaunty straw fedora was pulled down to shade his closed eyes and his hands were clasped on his chest. A glass of some tan liquid adorned with a little red paper umbrella was wedged in the sand next to the chair, condensation glistening and dripping down its side. The rustle and bustle at the dock drew no movement from the man, nor any sound. The Indian man spotted the woman giving the quiet figure a jaw-twitching sneer before turning away to look for whoever was supposed to be meeting them.
"Dudes! You're early!" A big man in a red shirt and a baseball-style windbreaker burst out from the edge of the jungle, a meaty hand in the air flapping in a happy greeting. Most of the arrivals found themselves smiling back. The man's open demeanor was infectious. "Welcome to the island. You all introduced to each other?"
The guy with the labcoat shifted uncomfortably. "Didn't get the chance, I'm afraid. You're Mr. Reyes?"
"That's Hurley, dude. You're Doc Ellis. Glad you came. I'll stick with doc, sir, you had to work your butt off to get a title like that." The doctor blinked a little, then rubbed his dark hands together as if stuck for anything else to do. The guy – Hurley – pointed to the kid. "This is Tsuchi, he's gonna be doing some translating around here."
The Indian guy jutted his chin out in a friendly manner when Hurley turned towards him. "I'm Krish Madhvacharya." Another grin, a little tired-looking but still welcoming, as Hurley sounded the name out. "Stick with Krish. Everyone does."
"Bet you get sick of that one scene in Office Space." The woman mumbled the words under her breath. "I'm Kyra."
Hurley rubbed his hands together. "Right. Krish is the numbers guy, Kyra does information or something." He jutted his chin toward her. "You're what exactly, an informant type deal? Ben kinda explained it. I know I signed off on everything, but sometimes I pick it up better as I go."
"Information broker. I go out and learn stuff that people don't want their competitors to know, then I go sell it to their competitors."
Hurley tilted his head, squinting as he thought it out. "Sounds kinda rough. You know anything good?"
The woman shrugged, crossed her arms across her chest. "I know all of Mr. Cluck's secret herbs and spices."
Hurley laughed. "Get outta here. I worked there, they made this big deal about having that sucker all locked up."
Kyra gave him another shrug as a reply, arching an eyebrow. She must have unbent slightly, as a small smile quirked at the corner of her mouth.
Hurley clapped his hands together. "Alright, that's cool. We got some names out, we're good to get started. I got the guys taking all your stuff to these little cottages we got for you. You all got your own, and I'll let you get settled in a little while. I gotta ask you to do one thing with me first, then we'll come back, get some food on, and take the rest of the night easy. Alright?"
General mumbles of assent. Hurley turned his head to call up the beach. "Hey Ben! You gonna join us?"
The figure under the umbrella stirred very slightly. A drawling voice came curling out from underneath the hat, eyes still wedged shut. "I'll pass, Hugo, thank you. Think I'll finish my tea and then go see to the digger. They're staring themselves silly at the foot, I believe."
The doctor arched a thick black eyebrow. "Foot?"
"Foot, dude." Hurley shrugged. "We'll get to that. So, okay. We're gonna go take a walk together. I want you to take your first good look at the place. I want you to see what I've got you here to see, okay?"
Krish spoke up, eyebrows knitting together in worry. "A long walk?" He glanced up towards the green-coated hills and sharp angles of the inner island. "More like a hike?" His voice sounded doubtful and weary. "I think I'm worn enough with getting here. I would please ask to pass for now."
Hurley stepped towards him. "I really need you to do this with me, and I promise you'll be okay." The big man reached out and gripped both of Krish's arms. The pressure was firm and comforting. "I gotcha. It'll be fine. You'll get a little more tired, but I absolutely promise that you can handle this." The voice was earnest. Despite his own doubts, Krish wanted to believe it. "This place is worth the push. Alright?" Hurley grinned when the man nodded after some hesitation. "Alright. C'mon! We got burgers and some chicken on the grill after this."
The little bunch followed after the bounding Hurley, with the dryly muttered words drifting unheard on the breeze behind them. "Spa resort, I swear to the Lord, we're on the way. Luau's at eight. I'll bring the weenies."
. . .
The hike started in jungle lowlands, where banyan trees crept in close. The shade they cast was dark and warm, bringing sweat to the group very quickly. Only Hurley seemed used to it; embraced it even, as they traveled from little stands of trees and at one point, across a wide, green plain. True to Hurley's promise, the Indian gentleman had no problems keeping up, although his heart pounded wildly in his chest. The others glanced at him now and again, realizing there was genuine concern for the man's health. Hurley however seemed unworried, continuing to lead them up a gently increasing slope. The path they took somehow avoided steepness and difficulty, though the hazy humidity made it hard to grasp how far or how high they had traveled so far.
The jungle itself went from quiet to musical to quiet again as the humidity burst into small misty drafts of rain. They were spared any storms, and the little bit of moisture helped to wick away the sweat. Birds sang in low tones, a larger one cawed now and again. Stands of thick and springy bamboo crackled on occasion, some mammal or another passing nearby. Again, Hurley took no concern and there was never a sense of danger. Just the lush smells of moss and grass, tropical flowers, and the lingering sweat of the travelers.
It took a few hours before the trail Hurley led them along began a steeper incline. He made sure to let everyone rest and take some water before finishing what he called 'the last leg of the first pilgrimage.' The phrasing gave some of them pause, glances flickering between the doctor and the woman, wondering what they had gotten into. "Just a phrase, dude," had been the followup, another light shrug. "We're almost there."
. . .
There seemed to be a flat-topped peak. It came into view just ahead of the group, through a break in the trees. Hurley turned to the group and grinned. "One of the best views coming right up. C'mon." He flapped a hand out, urging them to hurry the last little way. "It's perfect. The weather's just clearing up. You'll see everything. Well, not everything, cuz the temple's further inland, but you'll get the idea."
Kyra mouthed the word temple at Hurley with a raised eyebrow. "Yeah, it's kinda old. Lot of rough stuff happened there in the past, so I don't go there much. You'll get a chance to check it out later. Dude, c'mon."
. . .
The view was impossible to the travelers, strange and foreign, a thing never seen by any of them. A pure azure blue took half the horizon, the perfect mate of sea and sky. It was broken by a strip of golden-white beach in the distance, the beach's boundaries itself marred by lush jungle tops. They were high, very high, and overlooking a span of area not so far from where they had started. Below them, jutting up from the sand, was a foot. The foot; carved of some old stone and of inhuman, four-toed proportion. Smaller figures milled around it, impossible to identify specifics from such a distance, but clearly people.
It was beautiful.
Hurley grinned at them of them in turn. "I told you guys. Heck of a view. Better than the first ones I got when I came here. God, that feels like forever ago, you know?" He shrugged, then jammed his hands in his pockets and looked over the dumbstruck group. "So whaddya think?"
Silence for a long while, broken by the distant song of some pair of birds. It was Krish that stepped forward a little more, confusion and wonderment marking his paled, weary face. He surveyed what was revealed, the vastness and strange architecture of the island they'd all been taken to with questioning eyes. A soft breeze rustled through their hair. He blinked for a while, then turned to the others, looking into each of their faces. When he spoke at last, it was with a voice full of soft reverence and wonder.
"Guys... Where are we?"