Book Synopsis
Book Tags
Donation Rankings
Comment
0 Comments
You May Also Like
墨書 Inktalez
I opened my backpack but didn’t take the handgun out; instead, I just felt around for the bullets inside. Looking around, I noticed that besides Lao People, who was keeping watch with me, everyone else was sound asleep. I quietly slipped the handgun into my coat.
Feeling a bit more at ease, I sat back down next to Lao People. I didn’t let him see what I had taken from the backpack, even though he might have guessed.
With over two hours left, sitting idly wasn’t a solution. I tried to engage him in some simple conversation, like asking for names—something straightforward that would be easy to understand and communicate. Soon enough, I learned that his name was Buasong, he was thirty-three years old, and he had two children at home. From our first interaction, it was clear he enjoyed chatting with others; even with the language barrier, he chattered away, gesturing animatedly.
Before long, our exchange turned into his monologue. He spoke quickly, continuously rattling off words I couldn’t comprehend, almost like chanting a spell. However, after listening for a while, I caught a word that appeared frequently: Guman Tong.
I interrupted his rambling and asked him at my own pace, “Guman Tong?” while making a confused expression.
Buasong seemed excited and pointed towards the thick fog outside the firelight, repeating “Guman Tong, Guman Tong…”
I began to understand; it seemed he was suggesting that something called Guman Tong was in the fog or that it was responsible for creating the fog. This wasn’t too different from Ah Xiang’s curses, but what exactly was Guman Tong? Communicating across this language barrier was proving to be quite troublesome.
I felt increasingly anxious as Buasong appeared even more agitated than I was. He made various strange gestures with his hands, and his facial expressions showed signs of twitching. Suddenly, I remembered that Fatty understood Lao language. Quietly, I circled around the fire to grab my backpack and pulled out the Satellite Phone. Turning it on, I dialed Fatty ’s number only to hear the sound of no signal beeping back at me. My heart sank immediately.
The main reason we brought these two Satellite Phones was to facilitate communication with Fatty. In this situation, our plans were thrown into disarray. The problem was that we relied too heavily on the Satellite Phones, failing to prepare a backup plan. With no way to contact either group if the phones were down, we had no alternative means of communication. Given Fatty ’s temperament, he might recklessly charge in without waiting for news. While Fatty could handle himself—his tough skin meant he could endure a bite from a Leech as if it were just giving blood—Xiao Ting, being a delicate girl, would likely faint if bitten all over by one.
Before we descended, we had brought our backpacks down without knowing we were entering marshland. Only essential equipment had waterproofing; everything else wasn’t protected and must have gotten wet. I quickly opened the phone casing to check the battery; there were no signs of water damage inside. It struck me that this didn’t seem right—if water had gotten into the phone, it shouldn’t have powered on at all. Yet here I was able to turn it on and even dial numbers; it just returned no signal.
I reassembled the phone and tried dialing again but still received only the no-signal beeping. Next, I dialed a landline number—my parents’ home phone—but again heard nothing but the same frustrating beeping tone. Looking up at the thick fog above me made me wonder if this mist could somehow block satellite signals? That seemed so contrary to physical principles. But with no other options available, I reluctantly tossed the Satellite Phone back into my backpack and decided to wait until the fog cleared before trying to reach Fatty again.
Meanwhile, Buasong continued repeating “Guman Tong, Guman Tong,” his expression growing increasingly fearful as if it represented something terrifying. His incessant muttering began to irritate me; however, fear is a contagious emotion. His terrified demeanor and chant-like tone sent shivers down my spine and raised goosebumps all over my body.
I impatiently interrupted him once more, pointing to my head to indicate that his noise was giving me a headache. Buasong looked at me, suddenly displaying an incredulous expression, as if he had seen a ghost, and shouted, "Guman Tong! Guman Tong!"
I was so furious I almost lost my mind. I even suspected that this guy had taken drugs too; his behavior was too consistent with the hyperactive state of someone high. However, I quickly realized he wasn't pointing at me but rather behind me. My mind buzzed as I turned around to see a glowing blue object approaching me through the thick fog. The mist was too dense to make out what it was, but this blue light was large; it couldn't be a mere lamp and resembled a luminous creature.
My throat tightened with anxiety as I shouted at the glowing object, "Who are you? If you don't speak, I'll shoot."
The blue object moved swiftly, getting brighter as it closed in on me. Buasong's earlier chaos had already scrambled my thoughts, and now he continued to shout "Guman Tong," making my nerves even more frayed. Regardless of what this glowing entity was, I had no reason to let it approach. It certainly wasn't Fatty; the direction was wrong. Even if Fatty had come down recklessly, he should have landed on the opposite side of the island. Besides, Fatty didn't have any luminescent abilities.
I couldn't wait any longer. After receiving no response, I quickly drew my pistol and fired all fifteen rounds from the magazine as fast as I could. I saw the glowing object dim slightly and its speed falter for a moment, but the damage from my magazine wasn't significant. Before my gun barrel had even cooled down, that blue luminescent entity surged toward me again at high speed.
In the stillness of the night, gunfire should carry far, but for some reason, the sound wasn't sharp; it was more of a muffled thud. My shots immediately startled everyone awake; in fact, Buasong's shouting had already roused most people. However, his nervous behavior went unnoticed and only earned him curses and a thrown shoe.
The gunfire was different; it was an unmistakable danger signal that needed no explanation. While I crouched down to reload my bullets, I heard two other automatic weapons firing off in response. I didn't need to look to know what guns they were; I recognized them too well—the sounds of an AK-47 and a submachine gun.
Ah Xiang and A San were half-kneeling on the ground as two streams of fire flew past me. I feigned calmness while reloading, but inside my mind, a thousand curses were racing: Could you two not shoot around the campfire? One slip of your hand could hit me!
Before I finished reloading, their round of fire came to an end. With the deafening echoes still ringing in my ears, I asked, "Did you take it down?"
"It seems like it's dead."
"No way! That thing is definitely scattered. What the hell is that?"
I was left utterly confused; what did 'scattered' mean? With that round of firepower—especially from an AK-47—not even a bear would have stood a chance against it.
.
Comment 0 Comment Count