Chapter 4: Survivors in a Cage

Gunsmith climbed down from the tree, checked that he was unhurt, and hurried back to the center of the blast. The hole he had dug was now much larger, exposing a considerable portion of the buried metal pyramid's tip.

The bone gun had punched through the metal's outer layer, leaving a cylindrical channel about forty centimeters in diameter. When an energy bullet penetrated the outer layer of a metal object like this, it left a passage wider than an artillery shell, perfectly regular and cleanly cut.

Gunsmith picked up a pebble to drop through the hole in the pyramid's tip and test the depth, but the moment he bent down, he staggered and fell to his knees.

“What's going on...?” His legs could no longer support him, and his vision was blurring.

Several figures entered Gunsmith's field of vision, but he could not make out their features. To him, they were merely human-shaped shadows. Soon more figures joined them, and they began talking in a language he could not understand at all.

Before long, Gunsmith toppled backward onto the ground. His mind was still clear, but his vision was blurred and his whole body was weak. He could feel himself being tied up, lashed to a long pole like livestock, then lifted and carried away by two people.

He had no idea how far they carried him or how much time passed. They seemed to have brought him to a village. He saw buildings that looked like thatched huts and smelled food roasting. Then they untied him from the pole and threw him into what seemed to be a cage. There appeared to be someone else beside him, but the man sat motionless in a corner, and Gunsmith could not tell whether he was alive or dead. He still could not see clearly and had no strength to speak, so all he could do was wait.

By the time his sight and strength began to return, the sun was already sinking low. Gunsmith tried speaking to his fellow prisoner, whose eyes were unfocused. “Hey, buddy, can you understand me?”

The man was white and looked to be in his thirties, prematurely balding, with a face covered in stubble. He lifted his eyelids, glanced at Gunsmith, and answered, “Oh, the drug's worn off, has it?”

“What drug?” Gunsmith asked.

“The anesthetic, of course. These natives use homemade blowguns to shoot tiny darts coated with something that paralyzes you. Could be juice from medicinal herbs, or some powder they grind up. I'm not really sure.”

Gunsmith instinctively felt the back of his neck. Sure enough, there were two tiny wounds. “When did they hit me...? I didn't even notice...”

“It's hard to notice. Feels about the same as a mosquito bite.” The man held out his hand. “John DeSoto. You can call me John.”

Gunsmith managed to lift his arm and shake his hand. “Charles Rohl. Call me whatever you like.”

“So, Charles, did you come to explore the jungle too?” John asked.

Gunsmith gave a rueful chuckle. “No, plane crash. What, you're an explorer?”

“Yes, though I'm sorry to say this expedition hasn't gone very well.”

“Let me guess,” Gunsmith said. “At some point your compass suddenly stopped working, and you got lost around here?”

“More than just the compass, buddy. My friends and I were an expedition team, six of us altogether, equipped with all kinds of advanced instruments,” John said. “But every one of them stopped working once we got here. There seems to be some kind of force in this place that makes every advanced device invented in the past hundred years or so go on strike. That force also gives off a chaotic magnetic field, which affects even basic tools like compasses. In the end, the only things that were any use were some of the simplest electronic devices, like radios.”

Gunsmith looked around. “You said there were six of you. Where are the other five?”

John gave a bitter laugh, yet tears glinted in his eyes. Gunsmith knew this was a bad sign. The man might already be on the verge of a breakdown.

Sure enough, John's answer was as chilling as his expression. “Eaten...”

Gunsmith swallowed. “By crocodiles?” It seemed a reasonable enough guess.

But John answered, “No, by these natives.” His voice began to rise in hysteria. “This tribe ambushed us around noon the day before yesterday. That night, Louis and Abel were eaten. The next night, it was the other three's turn.” He raised his head and looked at Gunsmith with despair in his eyes and a desolate smile. “Today's the third day. I suppose it's my turn...”

“John, you've got to pull yourself together,” Gunsmith said. “Things could still be worse.”

“Could be worse?” John's voice suddenly rose. Fortunately, the two natives guarding the cage nearby seemed to pay no attention to the prisoners' conversation.

“My teammates risked their lives alongside me, and they were slaughtered right in front of me. These savages stripped them naked, tied them to stakes, and cut flesh off them while they were still alive. They divided up their tongues, brains, and organs as if they were handing out spoils, then lit a bonfire and had a barbecue for the whole village. See that cooked meat hanging on the racks outside? What do you think it is?” John leaned a little closer and lowered his voice, though he still sounded frantic. “The people being killed and the people in the cage were all screaming and begging, but they wouldn't stop. Maybe they don't understand our language, but an animal's most instinctive howls and cries are universal. So... to these cannibals, we're no different from livestock. Do you feel pity for pigs, cattle, sheep? Does a butcher care if his food screams? No! Today it's my turn. Maybe they'll take you too, who knows! Charles! You think things could still be worse?! Rather than die like that, I'd sooner find a sharp wooden spike and drive my forehead onto it.”

Gunsmith waited until John had caught his breath before saying, “Calm down, John. At least we're still alive.”

John gave a derisive snort and slumped against the cage. “This is all my fault. I'm the leader of this expedition. My teammates put their lives in my hands, and I got them killed. I should have known this day would come. Even good swimmers drown. I deserve this...” He began to sob as he spoke. Here was a man pouring out his heart, making his confession in the last hours of his life. If Gunsmith had not been there, John might have had no one but God to tell.

By now, Gunsmith had more or less regained feeling in his body. He sized up the cage. It was quite large, probably big enough to hold a dozen people if they squeezed together. The wood was sturdy too. He knocked on it a few times and reckoned even a hippo could not break out. Densely woven vines around the cage's exit prevented anyone from reaching an arm through, and the secured latch could only be opened from outside. It seemed these cannibals had designed the cage to hold people as well as wild animals.

Still, Gunsmith was a Normal-rank ability user, after all. However securely the wood was lashed together, it was still wood. He was entirely confident he could break out with his bare hands and escape with his life.

He thought for a moment, then turned back to John. “When these cannibals took your friends out of the cage, didn't you try to fight back?”

“Of course we did, but they use anesthetic. There's no way to dodge it in this cage, and once we're drugged, we can't fight back.”

“Then... if we're going to escape, we'd better do it now, in case they decide to eat early...” Gunsmith felt for the bone gun. It was still there. The savages had not touched anything on him. Only his pack was gone, but that hardly mattered anymore. As long as he had the gun.

“Don't waste your strength,” John said. “You could shatter your shoulder blade and the wood in this cage still wouldn't split.” He really had lost all hope. That outburst might have been his last.

“John, my friend, I can't take someone who's completely lost the will to live,” Gunsmith said. “You've got to pull yourself together, because once I break out of this cage, I can't carry you on my back while we run.”

John's expression suddenly changed. He stared at Gunsmith's face. The man did not look as if he was joking. What little remained of the explorer's will flared up again like a dying ember. “Are you serious?”