Zombie Kong - Anthology (27 page)

“The producer heard the legend somewhere and he’ll just find someone else if I don’t write it,” Jonas said. “I don’t see the danger. Who’s going to kill me?”

“Fifteen years ago,” Alex said, as if she didn’t hear him at all. “I went with a natural history exhibition to visit Tortuga. Because it’s an island that has been mostly left alone, the nature preserve in the center of the island presented unique opportunities. There were five of us selected from a few universities and museums in California. None of us knew about the legend before we got to the island. We only knew about the pirates.”

Pirates
, now that was something that could sell some scripts. Jonas wanted to take out a notepad, but knew Alex wouldn’t like that. Alex did not want the movie made at all, certainly not with her crazy story as part of it. He had to listen and remember the key points. At the very least it could give him some story ideas, and might even get a “based on a true story” tag out of the whole deal. Not that he’d tell Alex about it.

“We took this picture when he crossed right in front of us; he didn’t notice us or care that we were there. We just stood there, dead still in the jungle, and watched this three story gorilla disappear into the lightless depth of the trees. We argued for maybe an hour, to decide if we should follow it or not. How could we not follow it?” she asked.

Jonas realized she really wanted him to answer. “I don’t know.”

“We tried to follow it and got nowhere. That gorilla was moving fast. We got lost and then found ourselves surrounded by some sort of local native people. I have to admit, I didn’t know who they were, didn’t even know there were any native people left on Tortuga. I know now that they were a twisted splinter group from the Caniba tribe, but anyway, they looked about as surprised to see us as we were to see them. Both groups tried to communicate, but that went nowhere, so they pulled out axes and knives and pushed us along the trail, away from the direction we came from.”

Scary jungle natives were a real tough sell, especially considering all the cultural sensitivity criticism that was always aimed at Hollywood. He’d have to find a sympathetic character among them. Maybe Alex could be plied for more detail?

“They led us into a cave hidden under a cluster of tall trees. The cave was lined with torches and the floor was worn smooth. We whispered to each other about running, but mostly we were curious to see what there was to see. So they took us down a spiraling tunnel, and eventually we were led into a massive central chamber. The cave had a stone table in the center, and all around it were several rows of carved wooden benches, all facing center. There was a fire pit filled with ashes directly underneath the stone table.

“I noticed that the walls of the cave were lined with human skulls, ribs and limbs. Arnold, from UCLA, joked that it was like something from a 1930s serial. Some sort of shaman stepped out of a cavern and looked us over. He was naked except for a collection of red stripes on his upper body and dark circles tattooed in his eye sockets. He shook his fist violently and then walked directly to us.

“Ronald took out a piece of paper and drew the best gorilla he could. He drew a tree next to it for scale. The shaman grimaced and he pointed fiercely at us. He yelled a command and the men at the top of the cave surrounded us. He shouted another order and then led us into another tunnel. We walked upwards, on a route lit by torches. The tunnel was marked on both sides by paintings, markings, and all kinds of art––drawings of a giant gorilla. This was a ceremonial journey we were taking.”

“What do you mean?” Jonas asked.

“They were taking us to meet their god,” she glared at him as if he were a child. “We walked toward bright outside light and found ourselves standing on a stone ledge that overlooked a narrow green valley. The leader raised his decorated arm and pointed to the valley. I followed the line of his finger and saw a large, dark, and hairy body, lying among the rocks and trees. The giant gorilla looked quite dead.”

The producer had not included this part of the story when he gave him his background notes. Alex’s version of the legend was filled with great details. He wished he had brought an audio recorder. He had to remember as much as he could, get some more details, but not look like he was interested. He leaned back and crossed his arms in front of him––the universal gesture of disbelief.

“The gorilla was dead, like it had just died of a heart attack. The leader pointed at us—more exactly, he pointed at Ronald. Ronald reddened and took a step back. I didn’t know what I could do… I don’t think any of us did. Three of the Tortuga Caniba walked forward and pulled Ronald closer to the edge. We all knew what was going to happen next, but we couldn’t think of a way to stop it. I suppose we didn’t believe what was happening.”

Alex paused, allowing her full meaning register with Jonas.

He nodded, he got the point, and he should believe what had happened and avoid their mistake. Alex didn’t understand subtlety in the least, which was good, because neither did his producer.

“The men pulled Ronald’s arms behind his back, and the leader drew a three bladed weapon from a pouch and held it out for everyone to see. He pointed it at Ronald, and then used his free hand to pull grey powder out of the same bag and throw it over the edge. The powder drifted into a cloud on its way down. Without any warning, the leader raised the weapon and slashed it across the lower part of Ronald’s throat. His blood came out like a fountain, and the leader guided Ronald’s body over the edge of the rock. The leader watched the body fall. We couldn’t see over the edge, but it didn’t matter; we couldn’t really see anything after we saw Ronald get murdered—we were blind with shock. The rocks under us shuddered.”

Jonas waited, looking down at the picture on the table. There wasn’t much of a story here. The damn gorilla was dead. What was she thinking? No matter how big it is, who cares about a dead gorilla? Dinosaurs are pretty big, too, but they aren’t a big mystery. He was wasting his time.

Checking his watch, he realized that his next bus was in five minutes.

“The gorilla rose slowly, and stood at its full height. From the ledge it was easy to see the creature was huge: fifty feet. We knew it was tall, though, so that wasn’t that main shock. The horror was discovered as the gorilla turned to face the shaman and our group. It was so close, and so still… we could see its facial features. The skin was draped across the bone, torn in places so the rotten meat was exposed. The giant eyes were opaque and unmoving, insects swarmed over its skin, and the massive stench of a hundred dead animals drifted off of its fur. A stain of fresh blood coated its dead, limp lips. The creature opened its mouth and roared out a shattered, wheezing noise. Half its teeth had fallen out; the tongue was blackened and full of holes. The gorilla was dead, but still moving.”

“You’re telling me this was a goddamn zombie gorilla?” Jonas blurted out.

“I’m telling you that the gorilla was dead, yet it was animated. I don’t know what to call it.”

Jonas pulled the photo closer, trying to distinguish the decay she was talking about. There was too much blur and graininess to see that kind of detail. Even so, the photo could have been altered. The producer was not going to go for this story, at all. Maybe there was another twist. He decided to wait for the next bus, but he needed answers real fast.

“Even if everything you say is true, Alex, I don’t understand how you made it here to tell me about it,” Jonas said.

“The gorilla turned away and moved toward the thicker jungle. The Tortuga Caniba walked us back to Bodden Town in silence. Of course, we were in all kinds of shock, so the walk back was a total blur. We went back to our hotel, went to our rooms, and spent a couple of days to ourselves. Eventually we met in the hotel bar, wanting to create a believable story with regard to Ronald’s death. We all agreed that it had happened, we all remembered the gorilla, and we even agreed that it looked like it belonged in the ground… not above it.

“Arnold had been nodding along, but he finally spoke during a sustained pause. During the time we were apart, he found someone in town that knew something about the Caniba. Legend and hearsay said that these Caniba had worshiped the giant gorilla for centuries; they sacrificed anyone they could to keep the god’s favor. One day, the gorilla died. Scores of islanders died as the Tortuga Caniba piled on the offerings to the dead god. Finally, they sent a shaman to Haiti, and he came back with the secrets of re-animation. They brought their god back from the dead, and continued their sacrifices, but not to gain his favor—to keep the gorilla from destroying the island.”

“Didn’t anyone notice the smell?” Jonas asked.

“Their god was too terrible for many of the Caniba. They fled the jungles and the island; only the most fervent stayed with the tribe. The group’s numbers diminished until they were nothing more than a circle of fanatics bringing sacrifices to the gorilla. We had the misfortune of meeting those few that remained,” she said.

“I don’t understand why the island would put up with them if they are carrying on with these sacrifices,” he said.

“This sect of Caniba is a doomsday cult. They believe that on the day they run out of sacrifices for the god, he will leave the island and go out to destroy the world. If they are threatened, they will cease to appease the gorilla with sacrifices. The dead gorilla
will
destroy the world. They must be left alone.”

“Right,” Jonas said. He took one last look at the photo and then pushed it towards Alex. He pushed his chair back as if he were about to leave. The visit had been interesting, but didn’t really do much for him as a practical matter.

“You tell a great ghost story, Alex,” Jonas said. “ I don’t know what any of this has to do with my screenplay or movie gig. I can’t even use this stuff you’re telling me because I can’t see not getting laughed out of the office.”

Jonas stood up and pulled on the office door. The door didn’t move, he pulled it again, hard, and the door didn’t open. The knob didn’t turn. He faced Alex; she was still sitting on the table as if he were supposed to sit back down.

“I would like to leave now,” he said.

“If anybody on that island sees or hears about your movie, they will come and kill us,” she said. “Or the Caniba will release the gorilla. You cannot write that movie.”

“If I don’t, they’ll find someone else. Are you going to track them down, too?”

“Yes, until this story is buried… where it belongs,” she said.

Jonas jerked the door hard for emphasis.

“Fine, let me out, so I can go home and erase the script,” he said.

“Do you believe me?” she asked.

“Yes,” Jonas lied.

* * *

The bus ride away from the museum gave him time to do research with his iPhone. In the time it took to get home, Jonas determined that there were five people on her team, like she said. He found a photo of the group in an academic journal––saw a younger Alex, Ronald, Arnold, a woman named Jennifer, and a man named Fredrick. There was no mention of Ronald’s disappearance, or of the giant gorilla, just that their expedition was cut short due to weather. The article also said the group was planning to return at an undetermined time.

Arnold’s name popped up a few lines lower on his search results. Jonas popped that article open, saw that it was from the same journal, but published two years later. The photo showed Arnold standing alone on a wharf outside of Bodden Town with a few bulky bags next to him. Four paragraphs explained that he returned to the island to pick up where the earlier expedition had left off. Why hadn’t Alex mentioned this? Jonas scanned further and further through the search results and found no mention of Arnold’s return or his findings.

By the time Jonas sat back down in front of his laptop, he had worked out the steps he needed to take to get to Tortuga: flight to Haiti, short boat trip to Tortuga. He could be on the island in less than a day. The flight would shave a bit off the top of his advance on the script, but it was a reasonable expense for the kind of research he could do. If he could wrap his script around a “true story”, it would be easier to market. A giant gorilla story with even the slimmest of facts behind it was much better than one that was total fiction.

Jonas packed his bags for a short trip and stuck a note to the refrigerator for his roommate. Sixteen hours later, he climbed out of the rusty boat that had taken him from Haiti to Tortuga and set his bags down on the rickety wooden dock. The sun was near the center of the clear blue sky, the heat was well into the 80s, and a thick wash of humidity stuck to him. No one met him on the dock, and as he looked down the length of the wharf, he couldn’t see anyone at all. He draped his bags over his shoulders and marched through the port of entry. No one checked his passport; no one offered to carry his bags; and no taxis waited.

He walked over a rough open patch that might have been a building once and stepped into a three-way intersection. The main street ran from northeast to southwest, and it was empty in both directions. None of the feral street animals he expected could be seen, either. Dry roads and dirty buildings were neglected to near collapse. A few dirty, parked cars sat on the street; many were covered with palm leaves and debris from the overhanging roofs. The island was nearly silent; there was hardly a breeze. Jonas double-checked the map he had printed out, then crossed the street to follow the third road to the southeast.

Building after building went past, without any sign of residents or merchants. Weather-damaged aluminum lay amid broken glass and splintered wood on the street. Bodden Town was abandoned or deserted, and had been for some time. Why hadn’t the boatmen told him? Were they so desperate for fares that they didn’t want to scare him off?

He reached his destination and saw the sign for Fort des Trois Hotel swinging loose. He wondered how soon he could catch a ferry back to Haiti, as there was little hope of getting anything out of the trip. He wanted to spend as little time as possible in the ghost town.