After what felt like an hour, pushing through thick ferns that brushed damply against his face and swatting at persistent, biting insects, Mike heard it – a twig snap that wasn't his own. He froze mid-stride, every nerve ending screaming, his senses on high alert. He listened, heart hammering, straining to identify the source of the sound through the dense curtain of green.
A figure emerged from the foliage, coalescing from the shifting shadows and light. A woman. Her clothes, a similar drab jumpsuit to his own, were as tattered and dirt stained as his. Smudges of grime adorned her sharp, angular face, but her eyes, when they met his, were startlingly clear, alert, and intensely wary. She held a long, sharpened stick like a makeshift spear, its point fire-hardened and lethal.
"You're new," she stated, her voice low, steady, devoid of inflection. It wasn't a question.
Mike swallowed, a complicated mix of relief and undiluted caution churning within him. Relief at not being utterly alone; caution at the sight of the weapon and the predatory stillness in her posture.
"Mike Willson," he managed, his voice hoarse. "I… I woke up on the beach. No idea how I got here. What is this place? How long have you…?"
"Anna," she interrupted curtly, her eyes never leaving his, assessing him with an unnerving intensity. "And it doesn't matter how long." Then, her gaze flicked almost imperceptibly past his shoulder, widening in sudden, stark alarm. Her entire demeanour changed in an instant, shifting from wary to galvanized. "We need to move. Now."
Before Mike could even begin to formulate a question, before he could process the abrupt shift in her tone, the jungle around them erupted. A guttural roar, deeper and more resonant than any animal he had ever heard, ripped through the humid air. It was a sound that vibrated in his bones, a primal declaration of murderous intent. Trees, thick as his own body, shook violently as if in an earthquake. A flock of brightly coloured birds burst screaming from the canopy.
A monstrous shape, all matted, mud-caked fur, wickedly curved, razor-sharp claws the length of his forearm, and a disproportionately large maw filled with far too many dagger-like teeth, burst from the undergrowth with terrifying speed. Its eyes, small and piggish, burned with a primal, unthinking hunger. It was on them in seconds, a blur of deadly motion.
Anna shoved him hard in the chest. "Run!" she yelled, her voice sharp with urgency.
Mike stumbled back, his newly enhanced perception screaming DANGER in a thousand different ways, but the creature was impossibly fast. He saw Anna try to dodge, a swift, athletic movement, a desperate pivot – then a sickening thud as one of the creature's massive, clawed paws swiped through the air where she had been a split second before, connecting with her side. She cried out, a sharp, breathless sound of pure agony, and crumpled to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut, a dark, ominous stain blooming rapidly on the fabric of her jumpsuit.
A surge of adrenaline, hot and raw, coursed through Mike. He was no fighter, no hero; he was an architect, a man of plans and calculations. But the sight of Anna, injured and vulnerable, the dark stain spreading, lit a fuse deep within him. A guttural sound, half-roar, half-scream of pure, unthinking rage, tore from his own throat. Inexplicably, shockingly, he found himself lunging towards the monster. His hand closed around a thick, fallen tree branch, far heavier than he should have been able to wield with any effectiveness, yet he brandished it like a club.
Just as the beast turned its horrific, slavering maw towards him, its fetid breath washing over his face, a different sound cut through the chaotic terror – a harsh, barking shout.
"Oi! Ugly! Over here!"
A burly man, scarred face set in a permanent snarl, heavily tattooed arms bulging with muscle, stepped out from behind a thicket of bamboo. He was an imposing figure, radiating an aura of brutal, hard-won confidence. He brandished a crudely fashioned but effective-looking spear, its tip a shard of jagged metal. The monster, momentarily distracted from its new target, swivelled its massive head towards the newcomer, a low, frustrated growl rumbling in its chest.
"You two look like you've seen better days," the tattooed man grunted, his eyes flicking from the snarling monster to Mike, still frozen in his aggressive stance, then to Anna's still form. He jabbed his spear threateningly towards the beast, forcing it to take a hesitant step back. "Come on, then. If you want to live."
Mike, still dazed, heart hammering a painful rhythm against his ribs, his mind struggling to catch up with the rapid-fire events, looked at Anna. She was bleeding badly, her face pale and clammy.
"She's hurt," he managed, his voice hoarse, the adrenaline beginning to ebb, leaving him shaky.
The man's gaze was unsympathetic but intensely practical. "Can she walk?"
When Mike numbly shook his head, the man cursed under his breath, a string of guttural obscenities. "Right. Grab her. My camp's not far. They won't like another mouth to feed, especially one carrying dead weight, but you got lucky I was hunting this way." He feinted at the monster again, which snarled its displeasure but seemed hesitant to engage two bipedal targets simultaneously. "Unless you fancy your chances out here alone with little Fido."
Desperation, cold and sharp, clawed at Mike. This man was clearly dangerous, a "villain criminal" type if he ever saw one, his eyes holding a chilling ruthlessness. But Anna needed help, and this brutal stranger was, however improbably, their only lifeline. He carefully scooped her into his arms – she was lighter than he expected, or was he somehow stronger than he remembered? Another one of those disquieting, out-of-place thoughts. He pushed it away.
"Let's go," he said, his voice strained but firm.
The tattooed man nodded curtly, beginning to back away slowly, spear still pointed unwaveringly at the beast, which watched them with a malevolent, unsettling intelligence. "Follow me. And try to keep up, Architect."
The last word was spat out with a sneer, but Mike barely registered it. His focus was on the woman in his arms and the long, uncertain path ahead.