The creature that stepped out of the night was smaller than a fox, its eyes burning with an ethereal light that mirrored the flames of the fire like two small moons. Its body was long and sleek with charcoal fur and strange silver stripes running down its flanks. The creature stepped closer with deliberate caution, nose twitching, as it tested the unfamiliar smells of Frieda and her camp.
She held her pistol on the creature, finger resting over the trigger, her instincts were screaming at her to eliminate any potential threat. She thought of shooting, but something in its manner held her back. This beast was curious rather than threatening, not like the predators she had faced before.
"What the hell are you?" Frieda whispered, slowly lowering her weapon but not holstering it.
The creature froze at the sound of her voice, ears pricking forward. For a moment of taut silence, they locked eyes across the fire, and then, with a high-pitched chirping sound she had never heard the like of, it was gone, disappeared into the bushes with only the faintest rustle of leaves to mark its departure.
"What-..." she gasped, finally returning the pistol to its holster. "What kind of animal is that...?"
It was the first time she had ever laid eyes on a peculiar looking creature like this. The encounter only deepened the mystery of her situation, this was clearly no ordinary Pacific island, if it was an island at all.
Sleep did not come after the encounter.
When dawn colored the sky with pale pinks and golds, Frieda''s eyes were dry with fatigue, her body aching from vigilance throughout the night.
After a short sleep, she woke fully with the sunrise, stretching sore muscles and ticking off in her mind the day''s priorities. The ship held possible resources she hadn''t claimed yet, medical supplies, tools, maybe even communications equipment if any had survived the attack. But the woods called with just as much insistency, that strange light she''d seen most of all.
After a moment of deliberation, pragmatism prevailed over curiosity.
"Ugh, here we go again, I hope those dark and cold corridors missed me," she muttered, her voice tinged with sardonic humor.
"I cannot say I missed them much," she added, brushing sand from her uniform.
Following a swift breakfast of the fruit she had picked the day before, Frieda headed back to the Yamato. The pilot ladder was still draped over the deck, swaying lightly in the ocean wind.
The second time, the climbing was less difficult. On the boat, she strode purposefully through the empty corridors, no longer unsettled by their vacancy. She had a clear task now, salvage anything of value and return to land before nightfall.
Room by room, Frieda systematically gathered supplies. Part of the medical kit from the infirmary. A compass and some detailed naval charts from the navigation room. Stored rations from the galley stores. Every item of equipment found its way into a canvas sack she had fashioned from a spare bedsheet, which grew increasingly heavy with each addition.
In the officers'' quarters, she found clothing that they used to wear. What truly caught her attention, however, was her personal weapons locker, still intact and secured with a lock only she had the key to. She smiled faintly as she withdrew the small key from inside her uniform jacket. Unlike the standard-issue weapons aboard, these were hers, collected and carefully transported from her homeland.
The weighty lock disengaged, swinging open to reveal her own personal arsenal. A sniper Kar98k rifle with scope covered in protective cloth, Luger pistol, StG rifle and an EMP submachine gun. Next to it, the Mauser C96 pistol, her favorite, a gift from her "father" when she departed from her homeland. Ammunition crates were neatly stacked but she knew there was only a limited amount.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Two combat knives with worn leather grips completed the collection, along with a "potato masher" grenade that her troops had been so fond of. The serious look on her face immediately changed to an indescribable smile. It was hard to tell if it was because she was happy or if it was because of something else entirely.
"I had almost forgotten these existed, I missed you guys so much!" she exclaimed, running her fingers along the barrel of the Kar98k.
"I hope you guys haven''t forgotten me. You guys will be pretty useful for me."
She carefully placed the Kar98 into her makeshift bag and switched the Walther for the Mauser, leaving the other guns for later.
The ship''s main armory yielded more spoils, some cases of ammunition for her own weapons, clearly boarded at her own request when she took command. She also discovered a pair of binoculars that would be handy for reconnaissance, and a small hand-crank radio in the communications room. There was no way to tell if it would function but its existence provided the first spark of hope of contact with the outside world.
By midafternoon, her improvised bag loaded with supplies and arms, Frieda finished a final sweep of the ship''s primary deck. There was something about this place that was growing more and more wrong. Not just the absence of bodies, which made no sense at all, but something more fundamental. As if the Yamato itself had been displaced, torn from its own time and abandoned here like a broken toy by a child.
"I''m tired of this nonsense. The more I think about it, the more unanswered questions pop up instead of answers. Where the hell is my damn crew? Damn it."
She spoke the words out loud, which were blown away by the wind.
The descent to the beach was tricky under her loaded weight, but Frieda managed it without accident. She stashed her gear at the camp and arranged her weapons with military precision. The Mauser in its holster at her side, the rifle propped against a nearby rock within easy reach, and the knives in their sheaths at belt and ankle. She counted her ammo carefully. Forty-seven rounds for the Mauser, thirty-two for the rifle. Not an unlimited supply, but enough if used carefully.
She noted the sun''s position. There were a good few hours of daylight remaining, enough time to check out the forest glow she had seen the night before.
Sliding the rifle onto her shoulder and ensuring the Mauser was secure in its holster, Frieda marked her path with snapped twigs as she walked into the dense forest. The beach surrendered to the interior of the forest with abrupt suddenness, sunlight giving way as overhead cover became thick. Unfamiliar birds shrilled from unseen roosts, and insects hummed in the undergrowth.
She walked in the general direction she had seen the light, pausing now and again to get her bearings. The forest grew wilder the deeper she walked, ancient trees with massive trunks, strange flowering vines that emitted faint phosphorescence even during the day, fungi in shapes and colors she had never encountered.
"There is no chance that such an island is not known to the world. This isn''t any Pacific Island I know. Can I... really be in the afterlife...?"
While thinking, she brushed aside a veil of moss and uncovered a tiny clearing.
The clearing was exactly round, as if cut deliberately from the forest. In its center was what appeared to be a stone altar, weathered by age but still unmistakably worked. Symbols were etched into its surface, patterns that flirted with the edge of recognition without falling into anything identifiable.
As Frieda approached the altar, the air around her noticeably cooled. Her breath fogged in the suddenly chilled air, and goosebumps rose on her arms. The stone gave off cold like a block of ice but otherwise appeared normal.
"What the—"
Her fingers had hardly touched the rock when there was a loud crack. Frieda stepped back, rifle at the ready. The clearing was still empty, but the whole forest grew quiet. No birds, no insects, as if every living thing was holding its breath.
Suddenly she started to hear whispers that appeared to come from everywhere and nowhere, several voices chattering in a language she couldn''t understand. Was she finally starting to go crazy? The noise tickled the fine hairs at the back of her neck, primordial fear racing through her bloodstream in spite of years of military academy.
Step by step, Frieda stepped back from the altar, but she felt like the altar was calling for her to come closer, still clutching her rifle at an upward angle as she scanned the edge of the clearing. The whispers lingered behind, increasing in volume and urgency. And then she saw motion, a flash of white against the green and brown of the woods.
A small form flashed between two great trees, too fast for Frieda to get a clear sight. But the glimpse she did catch was unmistakably human. Or at least, humanoid.