Charles grabbed the trailing bandage, pulled the Black Blade from his leg, and used it as a machete to hack at the bandage-draped branches ahead. The thorn-covered branches were easily chopped off, but their severed ends were eerily empty.
The two of them plunged deep into the forest. Soon, Charles saw the other people the bandaged man had spoken of, and the scene that unfolded before him was shocking. A grotesque, squat tree stood before them, its long-thorned trunk wrapped around the bodies of several youths. The unconscious humans hung in midair like slabs of cured meat, swaying gently like the tree's bizarre fruit. The "fruit" wasn't just a single person; the tree was laden with them.
"Get them down!" Charles gripped the Black Blade and charged forward.
A boy dropped to the ground with a pained groan and slowly began to stir. He looked at Charles, who was frantically hacking at the tree trunk, his head foggy with confusion. "Who are you? Have you seen my Captain?"
Charles didn't have time to answer. He slashed madly at the branches, rescuing everyone he could. This time, however, the hollow branches weren't empty. A tangle of short, trembling pink tentacles tumbled out from the severed ends.
CRACK... CRACK... CRACK... Suddenly, the squat tree's trunk shuddered, and everyone's gaze snapped toward it.
The rusty-red trunk slowly ruptured. Several almost tangible gazes shot from the cracks and landed on Charles.
Is this thing alive? A thought flashed through Charles's mind.
The tree's movements grew more violent until Charles could see the twisted flesh and a yellowish-brown eyeball within the cracks. He could also see the boundless rage swirling deep within its gaze.
"Run!" All the conscious survivors bolted at once. Even if they had no idea what was happening, pure human instinct propelled them to flee for their lives.
They had barely taken a few steps when, with a deafening BANG, the squat tree exploded, and grotesque, fleshy monsters crawled out. At first glance, they looked like starfish with black hair, but on closer inspection, the "hair" was actually a dense mass of dark, slender tentacles. An orange-yellow cyclops eye and a fang-filled maw were set in the center of their bodies.
The monsters opened their beastly mouths, their tentacles whipping frantically as they pursued their fleeing food.
Fortunately, Charles had already hacked a path open, and the gap between them and the creatures kept widening.
CRACK... CRACK... CRACK... All the tree trunks around them began to shudder and split open. It was as if Charles's group had triggered some hidden mechanism. All manner of malformed creatures awoke as if from a disturbed slumber, unfurling their nauseating ribbons of flesh. They writhed, letting out shrill, headache-inducing shrieks that turned the entire island into a living Hell.
Twisted and malicious gazes swept over them from every direction, making everyone's skin crawl and their limbs freeze in terror.
"Hurry! Faster!" Charles supported the boy as they raced for their lives.
The crisis only worsened the longer they ran. Now, not only was there a tide of writhing flesh behind them, but even the monstrous trees ahead began to shake. Just then, the writhing tentacles before them formed a great net. They were surrounded!
At the very edge of catastrophe, Charles suddenly remembered something. He reached for his waist and felt a hard, dense object—the explosives he'd brought.
BOOM! Gore splattered everywhere, clearing the blocked path.
The explosives helped them forge a way forward, but as the supply dwindled, the group's faces grew increasingly grim. Just as Charles clutched his very last pack of explosives, he heard the distant sound of waves crashing on a beach. The exit was right ahead!
Everyone understood what this meant. They pushed their feet to move even faster, drawing on the last reserves of their strength.
The final pack of explosives was lit and tossed. At last, the hard ground gave way to soft sand. They had made it out.
The seven of them sprinted madly for the wooden boat at the shore, with the fleshy tendril monsters right behind them. Out of the corner of his eye, Charles saw a flash of golden light. It was the Futan statue he had dropped earlier.
Charles ran a few more steps, grabbed the statue, and leaped aboard the boat. The others rowed frantically, and they finally reached the sea just before the monsters could catch up. The creatures seemed to fear the seawater, recoiling immediately at the slightest touch.
It wasn't until they were safely back on the Rat that the group finally allowed themselves to breathe, collapsing on the deck and panting like exhausted old dogs. Though every muscle in his body screamed in protest, Charles forced himself to stand. The danger wasn't truly over. They had to leave this island.
"Chief Engineer, fire up the boilers! Sailors, weigh anchor! First Mate, take the helm! We're leaving this damned place."
"Aye, Captain."
Seeing the crew quickly follow his orders, Charles felt a flicker of surprise. Something felt off. He rapidly sorted through his memories and was amazed to find that all his crew members were back, and he could remember all their names. It seemed the island, or perhaps its monsters, could alter memories, but the effect wore off once you left its shores.
Bracing his hands on the rail, Charles gazed toward the distant island. In the darkness, the fleshy tendril monsters were just blurry shapes. They stretched out their tentacles and swayed rhythmically from side to side, as if performing some kind of ritual—an unnerving sight against the shroud of darkness.
As Charles watched, the Rat's smokestack belched black smoke once more, and the ship slowly pulled away from the bizarre island.
It was only at mealtime, after Charles explained what had happened, that the crew understood the ordeal. They were stunned by the news.
"My God, are unexplored islands really that dangerous? No wonder so many Exploration Ships go missing."
"My memory was wiped and then came back? Captain, you aren't pulling my leg, are you?"
Charles took a sip of soup and cleared his throat, and the chatter quieted down. After scanning each of their faces, he said, "Everyone, report your name and duty. Cross-check your memories and see if there are any contradictions."
He couldn't afford to be careless when it came to that uncanny island. The ability to make crew members vanish without a trace and even erase memories of them was a power he found deeply unsettling.
"Bandage, First Mate. My duties are to assist the Captain, coordinate work plans, prepare the cargo stowage plan, and serve as helmsman for the 12:00 to 24:00 watch."
"James, Chief Engineer. I am responsible for the proper working order of the turbine. I also maintain the propulsion system and auxiliary equipment, the boiler, and the lubrication, cooling, and fuel systems."
"Frey, Chef. Responsible for the crew's meals."
"Deep, Boatswain. I guide the sailors in the maintenance and repair of anchors, cables, and loading equipment. I also lead them in painting, rigging, and working at heights."
"Walt, Ordinary Seaman. I perform steering, navigational watch, and daily deck maintenance duties."
"Jack, Able Seaman. I handle mooring lines, operate the gangway, and perform various other deck tasks."
"Anna, Ship's Doctor. Responsible for treating the crew's illnesses and conducting routine medical checkups."
After checking their reports against his own restored memory and confirming that all eight "footprints"—all eight crew members—were accounted for, Charles finally let out a true sigh of relief. He had been overthinking it. The ordeal was finally over.