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墨書 Inktalez
The flavor was even more delicious than I had imagined. The meat was firm and chewy, reminiscent of a bird I had once eaten. As for what kind of bird it was, I couldn't recall. Sometimes in the wild, we would hunt for game to improve our meals, which could lead to mistakes for those of us unfamiliar with wildlife protection laws.
I chewed slowly on the piece of meat, savoring the pleasure it brought me. My saliva bubbled up like a camel's, spilling over the corners of my mouth.
Saliva aids digestion? Yes, I felt as if my saliva was melting the meat away. I continued to chew with seemingly endless enthusiasm.
I was waiting for even the slightest reaction. Bat meat was not just my food; it needed to become sustenance for Jack and the Lao people and Vietnamese as well. Of course, that depended on my finding them first. I had to be a qualified experimenter, fully experiencing every sensation this meat provided me, especially any discomfort.
We were fortunate; it had been ten minutes since this piece of meat entered my stomach, and I was still alive and well. In fact, I was almost drowning in my own saliva. A starving person facing a large chunk of fragrant roasted meat without eating it was quite a challenge.
I couldn't conduct the experiment for much longer. My hunger made my eyes green like a starving wolf's. Although waiting longer would allow gastric juices to fully digest and break it down—perhaps even letting it enter the large intestine for absorption—my patience was wearing thin. If there were no food in front of me, I could hold out; I should be able to endure. But with a large piece of roasted meat before me, I chose to fast-forward the experiment into its later stages.
If a person goes hungry for too long, they lose their sense of fullness, much like a newly hatched chick that keeps eating and would continue until it bursts if not controlled. That was my current state; I hadn't eaten in ages. My stomach's sensitivity had diminished significantly until I realized I had consumed nearly half of the dog-sized bat before me, which left me momentarily speechless.
However, my sluggishness met its consequence. When I set down the remaining half of the still fragrant roasted bat, my stomach felt so bloated that I could hardly stand. I worried that any sudden movement might cause my stomach to burst; I dared not drink water either, fearing that my stomach wall had stretched too thin and could not bear any additional burden.
I could only gently rub my belly to help my stomach digest the food.
The warm campfire made one easily drowsy. Now, after a hearty meal, blood rushed to my stomach, leaving my head feeling lightheaded from lack of blood flow. I had no choice but to keep myself busy to avoid falling asleep.
I occupied myself with many tasks: loading bullets into the empty magazine of my Micro Submachine Gun, cleaning Jack's filthy pants from his unfortunate accident, adding firewood to the campfire multiple times, and constantly giving Jack water to drink. In fact, washing out toxins through gastric lavage and drinking plenty of water is one of the most effective detox methods when toxicity is uncertain. Continuous hydration would speed up his metabolism and help expel toxins from his body more quickly.
During this process, my bloated stomach finally became less uncomfortable. However, I sensed something was wrong with my mind. It felt as if something was lurking in the shadows, watching me.
The fire blazed brightly, fueled by an abundance of combustible material. Its light illuminated a vast area, even reaching the faint outline of the Underground River in the distance.
During one trip to the Underground River to fetch water, I felt a presence behind me—silent, shadowless, purely instinctual. Despite my distended stomach warning me against any vigorous movement, my nerves compelled me to spin around instantly, the bolt of my AK47 clicking into place.
With a sharp "click," I turned to find nothing behind me. The campfire flickered farther away, and Jack lay on the opposite side of it. Between us was the Wood Chip Dam, and nothing else.
A chill ran through my heart. I knew something was wrong with my mind.
The firelight was bright; anything appearing behind me should have cast a shadow first—unless it was transparent. My mind was too tense; this was a manifestation of paranoia, and it was terrifying—potentially deadly. Yes, it could be deadly. To others.
In a heightened state of tension, delusions can occur, especially when surrounded by people you don't fully trust or in strange circumstances.
Such cases had been documented in our Archaeology Department. Although those engaged in fieldwork are often thick-skinned and can overlook oddities, prolonged mental strain can become unbearable. Paranoia is highly dangerous; there have been precedents where teammates were harmed or even killed due to it.
Feigning calmness, I turned and walked to the edge of the Underground River, crouching down to fill my water bottle. This spot was far from the campfire, and I could still see my shadow stretching long across the pavement. I stood by the riverbank for a long time, silently observing my own shadow.
The side effects of Bat Meat were manifesting; its potency surpassed that of insect toxins in terms of lethality and destructiveness. Insect toxins weaken immunity, causing swelling in skin and certain organs, potentially leading to organ failure in severe cases. However, they only harm the individual who is poisoned.
My situation was far more perilous. I could potentially harm others. Before losing my sanity and while I could still think clearly, I needed to leave Jack behind. I believed the toxin from the Giant Bat was formidable; although I had consumed a lot, it hadn't been long since then, yet my symptoms of paranoia were severe. Standing at the riverbank, I still felt something lurking behind me—seemingly a pair of devilish eyes watching me.
These eyes could turn me into a devil as well.
Returning to the campfire, I did nothing but stare at Jack for a moment. Of course, I didn't believe those prying eyes belonged to him. I examined whether there was any hostility or suspicion toward Jack within myself; if there was, it would mean I should leave him immediately. That would indicate deep-seated thoughts of persecuting him within me.
Fortunately, my feelings for Jack remained one of unwavering trust; I did not believe he would pose a threat to me.
I placed the water bottle over the campfire to heat it up and disengaged the safety on the AK-47.
My actions appeared calm, but inside, I was a storm of anxiety. The feeling of being watched had not diminished; in fact, it intensified to the point where I felt like I was sitting on needles. It seemed that prying eyes were lurking from every direction, wherever the firelight did not reach.
I felt like I was going insane. I could hardly suppress the urge to scream, and I even considered firing the AK-47 into the darkness.
I knew this couldn’t go on; I needed to find something to do. Keeping busy would leave me no time for wild thoughts and help me forget my drowsiness.
Then I remembered that damned Roasted Bat; it could get me—and even us—killed. I had to dispose of it! I couldn't let Jack see it; I felt he would be just as unable to resist the temptation of that roasted meat.
The remaining half of the Roasted Bat was behind me. I stood up and turned around, only to freeze in shock. The half of the Roasted Bat was gone.
(To Be Continued...)
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