Kong: Skull Island - The Official Movie Novelization

TWENTY-ONE

Chapman walked.

Part of him had wanted to remain with his crashed Sea Stallion, but it was still smoking, and its impact had stirred up the jungle. Making it back there, he’d been uncomfortable waiting by something so large and so obviously not of this island. Waiting, not knowing if anyone else knew where he was. There were things that might still be making their way to the location to see what had caused the commotion.

And there was the ape, and the squid. Those monstrous things he had seen played on his mind, haunting him with violent memories, and walking went some way to divert his attention from those memories.

An hour out from the crashed chopper, he started talking to himself. He wasn’t sure why, because he’d never done it before, but his muttered words were somehow calming. It made his alien surroundings just a little less alien.

“Dear Billy. Sometimes life’ll punch you right in the balls.” He smiled as he thought of what Billy’s reaction would be to those words. He’d be surprised, but he would also laugh. More than anything, Billy was Chapman’s reason for surviving.

He heard something behind him, moving back in the shadowy trees. He froze, breath held, listening, watching… nothing. He was skittish and nervous, waiting for something horrific to come for him. So much so that his mind was making ghosts. He didn’t want them, didn’t need them, and he started talking louder to drown out their chatter.

“Dear Billy, one day—”

His radio buzzed, but when he replied he received only static. He crouched down and tried to adjust the radio, lowering the volume and turning the frequency knobs. He moved over to a fallen log, making himself more comfortable, and placed the radio close to his ear. Ghostly voices came through. Perhaps he didn’t really want to know what they had to say.

As he turned the dials, the log beneath him moved.

He froze and looked down. It moved again.

Chapman launched himself from the trunk as it shifted upright, rising high above him, its base digging into the soil as it lifted a heavy weight up into the sunlight overhead.

He staggered backwards, still holding the radio but ignoring the voice crackling through it. Terror took away any hope of understanding. His feet almost tangled in undergrowth, but somehow he remained upright as the giant stick insect lifted itself to its full height.

It must have been twenty feet tall. Its legs were thick and heavily spiked, its head the size of a man, bulbous eyes rolling in different directions as it took in its surroundings. All of its attention rested on him and it faced down at him and hissed. He could smell its breath, and he had smelled death many times before.

Still gripping the radio, Chapman scrambled back the way he’d come. He thought of pulling his pistol, but didn’t think it would have any effect on something so huge. The bullets would barely graze its thick carapace. He could not fight this. Panic had gripped him, and flight was the only reaction that made any sense.

The beast kept pace with him easily. Its monstrous legs slammed down around him however fast he ran, and he knew this was a race he could not win.

He tripped and rolled down a slope, smashing against a tree. The wind was knocked from him. Billy, he thought. Oh, Billy, I’m so sorry that I couldn’t make it home.

He grabbed his sealed bag of letters to Billy from his jacket and pinned it to a tree with a knife. He wrapped a red neckerchief around it, in the vain hope that someone might find it and make sure Billy got to read those words at last. They suddenly meant so much.

Chapman scrambled around to face his fate. Pulling another knife and his pistol, ready to fend off the imminent attack, seemed like a hopeless gesture. But he refused to lie down and die without a fight.

The stick insect punched its legs down either side of his body and leaned in close. Its head was even more horrific this close up, like one of those 50s monster movies given life. Its teeth were long and sharp, and he imagined them piercing him, lifting him so that those powerful jaws could snap him in half with one bite.

He gripped the knife harder. I’ll aim for the eyes, he thought. Blind the bastard. Then perhaps—

The stick insect suddenly froze above him like a fallen tree, almost vanishing into the surroundings again, such was its perfect camouflage.

Seconds later it started backing away.

Chapman kept his breath held. He didn’t move. Maybe it couldn’t see him when he was still! Maybe it thought he was dead! It backed further away, then turned around and rushed into the trees, gone as quickly as it had appeared.

Moments later Chapman had to question whether he’d even seen the thing at all. He couldn’t contain the grin that spread across his face as death stalked away through the jungle, leaving him behind. As if to join in his celebration, the radio buzzed again.

“Chapman, this is Fox Leader, do you read?” It was Packard, sounding desperate.

“Yessir!” Chapman said. “This is Chapman, I copy you, I—”

A shadow consumed him from behind, flowing around the tree he sat against. A coolness washed across him, and he thought it had little to do with the dappled sunlight being shut out from view. This felt like the icy touch of evil.

Chapman turned his head slowly, not wanting to see but compelled to look.

A monster stood behind him. He had never seen anything like it before. It was no known beast, alive or dead, yet it breathed and stared, saliva dripping from its open mouth, eyes wide and unblinking, reflecting his terrified self in their orange glow. Its head was six feet across, much of its vast body still hidden back in the jungle from where it had crept this close to him.

Close enough to touch.

“Chapman?” Packard said.

Chapman dropped the radio and grabbed his dog-tags with both hands.

“Billy,” he said.

Packard sat apart from the rest of his group. Three guards were posted around the small riverside clearing, the rest of them were taking a break and a drink. They all kept their weapons to hand. Since the encounter with the spider and Jammers’ horrific death, they could not let their guard down for a second. He tried to keep his voice down low, but now that contact had been made with Chapman, he wished he could reach through the radio and save his friend.

He needed saving. Helpless, horrified, Packard heard Jack Chapman’s final agonised screams, and then the sickening crunching sound that marked his end.

He turned away from the group and stared into the jungle as he finally let the signal fade out.

“Sir?” Reles called over. “Anything?”

“Still out of range,” Packard said. He packed away the radio and stood, decision made. This would destroy them. And besides, there was still work to be done.

Chapman’s death didn’t mean that their destination should change.

“Come on, ladies,” Packard said. “We got miles to go before we sleep.” He watched his men hustle the group together again, efficient, determined, the soldiers he had always wanted them to be.

He was furious. He was grief-stricken. And he knew that their greatest battle was still to come.