Project Apex
Authors: Michael Bray
PROJECT
APEX
MICHAEL BRAY
Copyright © 2015 Michael Bray
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
WWW.MICHAELBRAYAUTHOR.COM
ASIN: B018R7TG0M
“I do not see why man should not be as cruel as nature”
― Adolf Hitler
“The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.”
― J.K. Rowling
“Multiply, vary, let the strongest live and the weakest die.”
― Charles Darwin
CHAPTER ONE
CONGO BASIN
AFRICA
AUGUST 7
th
1999
ELEVEN DAYS INTO HIS expedition, Richard Draven's skin was a blanket of mosquito bites. He swatted the droning insects away from his face, temporarily denying them another meal as he followed his guide deeper into the dense jungle. He was tired but excited. He knew they were getting close to their destination.
“How far is it?” he asked, wiping a forearm against his brow.
"It's just ahead sir," said his guide, Buto, who seemed just as excited. He turned and grinned, white teeth seeming incredibly bright against his dark skin.
Draven nodded, pushing aside thick branches and stepping over roots, the almost impassable terrain seemingly unwilling to give up its secrets just yet. Somewhere up ahead, a monkey chattered. Draven paused. “Is that it?" he whispered, staring into the dense tangle of trees. He wiped his forehead again, the humidity making something as simple as breathing a never ending battle.
“Could be, Mr. Richard." the wiry guide said. He took a sip of water, then ducked, staring deep into the tangle of branches. "Follow me. Must keep quiet."
Draven nodded, sticking close to Buto as he moved off whatever track he'd been following and doubled back the way they had come, veering off into deeper foliage.
"Why are we heading back?" Draven whispered.
"We are downwind, Mr Richard, sir. The animal will smell us."
Draven glanced at his shirt, which was grubby and sticking to his skin. "I think I’m pretty easy to smell either way."
Buto flashed a wide smile then continued on, leading Draven deeper into the jungle. Although it was the middle of the day, the sun barely penetrated the gloom. Draven had been all over the world, but this was by far the most hostile environment the twenty-four year old had ever encountered. Another mosquito buzzed in front of his face, and as he swatted it away he thought it was a minor miracle he hadn't contracted malaria. He watched his guide twist in and around the thick branches, then pause to take another drink from his canteen. With skin the colour of coffee and a smile which was bright and full of warmth, it seemed that even Buto was showing the first signs of fatigue. Draven wasn’t surprised. This particular stretch of the jungle was uninhabited and mostly unexplored. Like much of the Congo, the sheer density of the foliage combined with the uneven ground and abundance of wild animals made it a dangerous place to explore. Draven thought he was fit, and as a keen cyclist thought that lack of stamina was the least of his worries. However, one thing he hadn’t anticipated was the intensity of the heat. The temperature had risen to a steady thirty-eight degrees, a dangerous level where it would be easy to get severe sunstroke. He knew that out here, so far away from civilization, it could be lethal. He blinked sweat from his blue eyes, and took a mouthful of water, reminding himself it had to last. Although it was slightly warm, it was still divine. He tugged at his shirt, pulling the soaked material from his sweat slicked skin. He was sure he had lost at least twenty pounds since they first set out from camp. As the blazing sun reached its zenith, his calves screamed for mercy as they began to ascend another rise. Ahead of him, Buto stopped and held out a warning hand. Draven froze mid-stride, taking the opportunity to suck in some hot, dry air.
"Must be very quiet now," Buto said, crouching and inching forward, somehow barely making any sound as he moved amid the foliage. Draven followed, incredibly aware of his own clumsiness as he tried to replicate Buto's graceful movements and crashed through the jungle behind him.
They arrived at a clearing, the claustrophobia-inducing tree canopy opening up to allow full access to the blazing heat of the day. Just below them and downhill on the opposite side of the ridge was the reason for their journey.
"Are you sure these are the same ones, the ones you said they use in the village?" Draven whispered, knowing immediately by the excitement which surged through him that he was looking at an entirely new species of monkey.
"Yes," Buto said. “They are the same."
“Incredible.” Draven whispered as he crouched beside Buto and looked at them, the pain and toil of the trip suddenly worthwhile. He counted around twenty of them, their grey coats flecked with distinctive yellow streaks. They were small, around the same size as an average house cat and sported an unusual cranial shape, the forehead being much higher and more curved than any other species of monkey Draven had ever seen. Buto’s decision to head off track in order to avoid their scents giving them away had proved a good one, as the monkeys seemed to be oblivious to their presence. To think he had travelled almost four thousand miles from his home in London to the Congo basin on nothing more than a rumour had been causing him to question his sanity, an idea which had in one instant been vindicated as he watched the small animals frolic and play in the sun.
He had first heard about the Timika tribe from a friend, a fellow scientist called James Turner who had been to the Congo in late ninety-seven. He had gone in as a fresh faced paleontologist on a six week expedition to study local plant life in the area and had come back six months later a changed man. When he returned, he told Draven all about a tribe he had encountered who were renowned in the area for the incredibly good health of its people. James hadn't thought too much of it at first until he had decided to hike out and pay a visit to the village. There, he had seen first-hand that the stories and rumours may have actually carried some weight. Indeed, he was able to see for himself that the Timika had an inexplicable immunity to not just illness, but physical harm. James had expected extracting information about how this was possible to be difficult, however, the Timika were more than happy to show him what they referred to as ‘the yellow magic’. James was given a demonstration, knowing that the more it unfolded, the more he was witnessing something incredible. He saw men cut themselves to the bone without feeling pain, a wound which should need stitches and hospital treatment, bleeding only for a short time before clotting and starting to heal. He saw another man put his hand into a fire, grinning as the flames ate at his flesh, the smell of it sizzling and burning repulsive. Two days later, the man’s burns were already starting to heal. James was stunned, trying to comprehend what this new discovery could mean for science, and then learned that this was far from an extraordinary feat, for the Timika tribe it was a normal way of life and had been for generations. James had asked how it was possible that something so incredible could happen and was told by the Timika that it was magic granted to them by the yellow beasts of the jungle. James had neither the time nor the funding to stay and investigate any further, and so had reluctantly returned home and relayed the information to Draven, who he knew had had just begun researching the possibility of transmitting the genetic traits of animals into humans. To Draven, James’s story almost sounded too perfect. Even so, it was enough to pique his curiosity to look into things further. His initial attempts to research the Timika were frustrating, each avenue of enquiry throwing up another dead end, which he acknowledged was no real surprise. This was a tribe who had remained shielded from the modern world, isolated and living within their own ecosystem as the wider world grew and prospered around them. They knew nothing of the way modern society lived, or of technology. For the Timika, existence was simplistic. Hunters went out with spears to find food for the village, and disputes were dealt with exclusively by the tribal elders in whichever way they saw fit. The less info Draven could find, the more curious he became and the more the idea that James might have discovered something truly unique ate away at him. As extreme as it seemed later in hindsight, the decision to fly out to the Congo and search for the tribe and see for himself seemed like the most natural thing in the world. Using the last of his savings, Draven scraped enough money together to make the trip, and immediately upon his arrival started asking for information at the various fishing villages scattered down the length of the Congo River. The first two weeks proved to be a frustrating exercise in trying to gather snippets of information to point him in the right direction. It was quite by chance he met Buto, a local fisherman who not only knew of the tribe but where their village was located. Draven relayed what James had said, asking questions which Buto was all too happy to answer. He confirmed that the tribe existed and that they possessed great healing powers. Draven had asked to be taken to the village, upon which Buto had shaken is head and told him that the Timika were an incredibly private and territorial tribe and that a white man such as him, may not be welcome. He told Draven, however that he would be willing to take him out to see the yellow beasts from which the Timika drew their powers. Ten days later, Draven was looking at them, peering down into the clearing with a grin on his face as his mind swam with possibilities.
“What would you like to do now, Mr. Richard? Buto asked.
"Can we catch one?" Draven whispered.
Buto considered the question. "Yes, but we will have to make it sleep first." he said as he quietly untied the rifle strapped to his backpack. He loaded it with a tranquilizer dart, its tail a bright red ball of fur, then nestled the rifle against his shoulder and took aim. Draven held his breath and waited for the explosion of gunfire, however to his surprise, there was no such explosion. Instead, the gun fired with a pneumatic whoomph, the dart hitting the targeted monkey on the thigh. Draven watched, half excited, half guilty as the poor primate leaped into the air with a shriek then scampered into the jungle as its brethren fled, scrambling up trees and into the safety of the canopy.
"Come on Mr. Richard, “Buto said with a wide grin as he started down the slope to the clearing. "Drug acts quickly. He won’t go far."
Draven wiped sweat from his eyes, struggling to keep his balance as he followed Buto down the slope. "How long have the Timika known about the healing properties of these animals?" he asked as they escaped the blazing heat of the clearing and back under the cover of the jungle.
"Many years. My grandfather was friends with the first man to discover the magic inside this monkey."
"What happened?"
"My grandfather’s friend was hunting for food and encountered the monkeys. One was pregnant and thought my grandfather meant them harm. It bit him here." Buto pointed to the underside of his skinny forearm. "Usually, animal bites are bad. They mean infection. Very dangerous."
"I take it that didn’t happen?"
"No," Buto said, shaking his head. "Instead, my father’s friend grew strong. The bite healed. The people of the village were afraid. They thought my father’s friend had been taken by the spirits of the forest. At night, the elders came and took him whilst he slept.”
“What did they do?” Draven asked.
“They hung him,” Buto said with a shrug.
"Jesus.”
"Remember, Mr. Richard. The Timika have their own laws unlike the world you come from. They are very spiritual people.”
“Still, it seems a little extreme.”
“There is more to this tale yet,” Buto said, hopping over a fallen tree branch.
“Go on,” Draven said, more interested now in the rest of Buto’s tale than finding the monkey.
“As I said, the Elders took my grandfather’s friend into the centre of the village and hung him as a warning to their people not to toy with the yellow magic. But my grandfather’s friend, he did not die.”
“Say again?”
“He hung by the neck for three days and nights, yet the life would not leave him. This angered the elders, so they cut him down and buried him alive in the shallow ground by the river. Three days later, he returned to the village after digging himself out of the dirt. Now the elders were frightened and begged my grandfather’s friend for forgiveness. It was then he told them that the monkeys were magic and had given him the power of healing."
"Magic?" Draven said as he ducked under a branch.
"What else could he say, Mr. Richard? They had tried to kill him twice. He promised to show them the monkeys and teach them how they too could become one with the gods."
"And that's how the tribe became so resistant?"
"I don’t know this word resistant," Buto said over his shoulder.
"Uh, I mean is this how they learned not to feel pain?"
"Yes."
"This is incredible. I wish I could have spoken to him myself."
"You could if the Timika would allow visitors to their village," Buto said with a grin.
"He's still alive? That’s impossible."
"He lives. He is the same today as the day he was bitten."
"That can’t be true. Are you saying he's not aging at all?"
"All I know is the man is alive and still healthy. He has lived with the Timika since that day he told them about the monkeys."
"Surely if this was true the village would be huge, overpopulated even."
"Not everyone in the village is deemed worthy of the magic Mr. Richard. Only those chosen by the elders are given the gift of life."
It was mind blowing, and it took Draven a moment to gather his thoughts. "If this is true, what’s to stop members of the tribe going behind the back of the elders? Surely once you have the gift, or magic, or whatever it is, there is nothing anyone can do about it."
