The Sun Has Wings: the Story of Yewbie, the Talking Ape

By James T. Morrow

Melissa Joyner is a young scientist who discovers an unknown species of apes on a remote island in the Indian Ocean. The apes are not only intelligent but can speak. They have their own language. Their own culture. Their own way of seeing the world.
Melissa manages to capture one of the apes—a young male named Yewbie. She takes him to America to study but with the intent of returning him to his island home.
Things do not go well. Yewbie is not sure if humans are gods or demons but he clearly sees his cage as unjust and escapes.
After Melissa manages to find the missing ape and then learns he can speak, she swears she’ll never keep him in a cage again and a close friendship grows between the two of them.
When the world learns of Yewbie and discovers he can talk, he becomes an international sensation. He appears on TV. His sayings become a best selling book. His tribal songs become a smash album. A cult soon forms around him.
Then a large corporation, Bestor International, claims him as their property and legally wrestles him away from Melissa. But are their intentions as good as they claim or do they plan to use Yewbie for their own greedy ends?
Can Melissa rescue Yewbie before Bestor poisons him, both body and soul? Will she ever be able to return him to his island home?
THE SUN HAS WINGS is a novel about nature, friendship, greed and hope. A novel with humor and suspense that will leave you thinking about our relationship to the natural world in a whole new way.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James T. Morrow
• Release date: Oct 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463652176

James T. Morrow

James T. Morrow is a published novelist. For the past twenty-plus years he's primarily made a living as an artist/ illustrator. He lives in the coastal community of Pacifica, just south of San Francisco.

Book preview

Chapter 1

She dreamed she was back in the jungle…

…chasing the elusive old man of the forest.

High above her an orangutan sat on a branch in the Sumatran rainforest. The ape, which the locals called the old man of the forest, shook his shaggy red hair and smacked his lips before hooting his long-call: an ear-splitting whoo-unnnhh—whoo-unnnhh.

Then the hoot morphed, sounding like a banging noise: whump-whump-whump.

Melissa Joyner opened her eyes and, for a moment, wondered where she was. She expected to see the inside of her tent, where she’d slept for the last year. Instead, she saw a ceiling with a fan, whirling slowly above her.

The thumping sounded again and Melissa sat up, holding her aching head. She was in a dimly-lit hotel room, still in the clothes she’d worn out of the jungle: khaki shorts, a sweat-stained shirt and muddy socks. The trip from her camp in the Indonesian rainforest had taken five days. Two were spent trudging through thick brush to the small village of Bukit Lawang. From there she and Zeze, her guide and assistant, had taken a long meandering bus ride to the coastal town of Medan. And, finally, they’d taken a thirty-six hour ferry ride across the strait to Singapore.

Exhausted upon her arrival, she had kicked off her boots and collapsed onto the mattress.

Again, the thumping sounded and Melissa realized someone was knocking at her door. Brushing sleep from her eyes, she stood and stumbled over her mud-caked boots. Yawning, she opened the door and Zeze smiled at her.

He was a white-haired man with crinkly, brown skin. Zeze smoked worse than the Krakatoa volcano and she caught the scent of the clove-scented cigarette in his hand. Back in the jungle he would have been dressed only in baggy black shorts and a porkpie hat. Here, in the hotel however, he had added a shirt covered with flowery prints.

Big find! Zeze said as he rushed into her room.

He seemed frantic, nearly breathless and began tugging at her arm, insisting that she follow him.

Wait, she said, stifling another yawn. What did you find?

"Ling Setan."

"Ling-what? Oh, wait, she said, remembering. Back in the jungle, Zeze had once told her a local myth. What is it, a Devil Monkey, right?"

Ya, ya, Missa. It real. See it with my own eyes.

She gave him a dubious smile while brushing a strand of blond hair from her eyes. C’mon, Zeze, stop kidding around.

No, no kid, Missa. You come; I show you.

Zeze was vague about the details, saying only that he’d found a weird ape on display in the city. He wasn’t vague about his determination that she go with him, however. So, a few minutes later, after a quick wash-up in the bathroom and donning clean clothes, she was inside a taxi. Under a steady drizzle, they took a long ride across the city. Evening was falling and neon signs began flickering from storefronts. After a year in the forest, Singapore seemed too bright and too hectic to Melissa.

During the ride she did get a few more details from Zeze. The ape was not alive but a stuffed specimen. It had been shot and, according to Zeze, it still sported the bullet holes in its chest. He also claimed the ape’s head was as big as a soccer ball. She doubted that was true, he was either exaggerating or she considered the possibility that the creature might have had hydrocephalus, water on the brain. Yet, the more questions she asked, the less he seemed willing to divulge.

Better you see with own eyes, he kept repeating.

Eventually Zeze pointed out the window and instructed the cabbie to pull to the side of the road.

Chapter 2

You’re kidding, Melissa said after climbing from the taxi. This is where you’re taking me?

Ya, Missa, Zeze said. Big surprise inside.

Zeze grinned as he gestured at the hand-painted sign above Melissa’s head. The sign, illuminated by a pair of light bulbs, was chipped by age and featured a man covered with snakes, a fire-eater and women contortionists. Off to one side, in fresh paint, glistened a fierce, golden ape.

Melissa sighed, realizing it was all hocus-pocus, carnival fare. The trip had been a waste of time. Inside there would be no strange ape. Certainly no Ling Setan. Only a bogus fabrication concocted by some Asian P.T. Barnum.

Melissa glanced back at Keppel Road, one of Singapore’s seedier areas. The street was crowded with produce stalls, gritty bars and neon-flashing massage parlors. The smell of beer and overripe produce hung heavy in the warm air. Here and there, prostitutes paraded the crowded sidewalks like painted birds of prey.

I’m going back to the hotel, Melissa said and glanced around for another taxi. Would you like me to drop you off at your cousin’s place?

Zeze narrowed his eyes, confused.

You not go in and see ape?

It’s a fake, Zeze.

No-no-no. Inside is real ape I never see before.

Melissa stared at him for a moment. If anyone besides Zeze had told her that he’d discovered a weird unknown ape—in Singapore, no less–she’d suspect the person of being either a liar or a fool. But Zeze had lived most of his life in the rainforest. He knew every plant, every bird, every snake and every primate.

Please, we here, Missa. Take five minute to look. Okay?

Melissa smiled, realizing that even if the ape inside proved to be a fake, she had valued Zeze’s help and his friendship too much to say no. Refusing to even look at the specimen risked offending him. Something she would never do.

Okay, she said. Five minutes. Then it’s back to the hotel. I have a long flight to California tomorrow.

Zeze grinned and brushed aside the beaded curtain at the doorway, allowing Melissa to enter. They paid a gnarled, elderly Chinese woman at the entrance. Then Zeze led Melissa down a long hallway. Insects scurried up the walls and across the dirt-scuffed floor.

Incense filled the muggy air, making it almost too unbearably sweet and thick to breathe. Melissa followed Zeze into a room crammed with exhibits of two-headed snakes, stuffed exotic birds, and several shrunken Indonesian heads—each black with stringy hair and with their eyes and mouths sewn shut.

I must be pretty damned gullible, she thought, to think I might make a major primate discovery inside a city as big as Singapore.

Melissa glanced from one exhibit to another and chuckled to herself. She resolved to feign being impressed by whatever Zeze showed her. After a polite show of thanking him, she would head back to the hotel for a quick meal and a good night’s sleep. She’d need it when she arrived at the University of California at Berkeley and began the fight to reclaim the funding they had just ripped from her.

Zeze rushed into a second room and stopped in front of a glass-encased exhibit. The spotlights from the ceiling threw a glare on the glass, obstructing Melissa’s view. Zeze waved an enormous moth off the glass before sweeping his arm out as if he were making a major presentation. Along the bottom of the exhibit was a sign reading: Ling Setan. She fought back a smile and moved to one side to avoid the glare.

Melissa froze. The creature’s golden fur, snarling face and glistening, pointed teeth were the features of no primate she’d ever seen before.

Holy Einstein, she whispered.

The specimen stood upright, a bit under five-feet high and with only the slightest hunch. Alive, it probably weighed a hundred and ten pounds. The ape’s long arms were raised high in a fierce attack position with one hand clutching a club-like branch. But, clearly, the ape’s arms weren’t used to aid walking the way other apes used their knuckles. And the thumbs were longer than an orangutan’s, making its grasp of the branch quite human-like.

The creature’s facial features were similar to an orangutan’s, but it didn’t have the pronounced cheek flanges. Nor did it have the plump round belly of an orangutan. Its legs also were longer than other apes.

The face was contorted into a menacing, sharp-toothed snarl surrounded by a spray of whiskers hanging from its chin. But close inspection told Melissa the teeth had been filed sharp by a taxidermist. There were also four deep scars down the middle of its forehead that had long ago healed. She noticed too that the shoulders looked overly padded. In fact, the taxidermy job had been so obviously rigged in places, she wasn’t sure how much she could believe—even of those parts that appeared unaltered.

That was especially true of the head. Zeze had exaggerated the size of the skull when he’d told her it was the circumference of a soccer ball. Yet Melissa knew no primate except man ever had a cranium as large as this creature’s.

She circled the exhibit and was astonished to find that—unlike the obvious patchwork at the shoulders—the fur about the skull seemed unaltered. She also spotted the bullet holes in the chest that Zeze had mentioned and had to admit they lent the creature an eerie air of authenticity.

Incredible, Melissa muttered.

Chapter 3

Melissa pulled her Nikon from its bag and began snapping photos, adjusting the flash so that it wouldn’t be reflected in the glass. Her skin was tingling with a spooky excitement.

She realized if anything about the creature was real—and that seemed an enormous if—then the specimen in front of her was no deformed orangutan. That had been her first suspicion when Zeze announced his news. And no, this wasn’t the mythical Ling Setan—but something altogether undiscovered. An entirely new species!

Hold on, she told herself. You’re a scientist. Think like one! Let’s get some facts and see if any of this is real.

She turned to Zeze and asked to speak to someone in charge. Zeze hurried off.

Melissa continued examining the creature. She jotted observations in her notebook, trying to tell what was real from what wasn’t. A minute later, Zeze returned with the old woman who had taken their money at the door.

Melissa always had a knack for languages, speaking four fluently, including Indonesian. But she had barely picked up enough Cantonese to get by. Awkwardly, she asked where the ape had come from.

The old woman held out her hand and, in Cantonese, said, Chin. Money.

Well, Melissa mumbled in English with an exasperated smile. I’ve heard Singapore is one of the world’s great capitalist cities.

She pulled her wallet and laid five Singapore dollars in the woman’s hand. When the old woman didn’t close her fist, Melissa counted out five more. The old woman at last stuffed the money in her pocket.

My son bought it from a man in Thailand, she said in Cantonese. Up at the Andaman Sea.

Her voice was squeaky and the Chinese words tumbled out so fast that Melissa had trouble keeping up with her.

Would you know the man’s name?

No. And we don’t keep records but my son has a good memory. Perhaps he remembers.

When Melissa asked where her son was, she discovered he was performing on stage. The old woman led Melissa and Zeze into a small, bleak auditorium filled with sixty or so patrons. On the stage a man was doing a snake act—wearing the reptiles like a suit. For thirty minutes she watched a fire-eater, acrobats, and jugglers do their acts. When three, near-naked female contortionists began twisting and writhing on stage, the old woman returned.

My son can talk now, she said, raising her voice over the crowd of cheering men.

Melissa and Zeze followed her backstage. The old woman opened the door to a cluttered room filled with filing cabinets and boxes. Sequined costumes hung from hooks, doorknobs and picture frames. A man in his forties with a stringy build sat at a make-up table removing his white face. Melissa recognized him as one of the acrobats and the fire-eater. He stood up, looking foppish in his red silk robe and yellow scarf.

I Mr. Loo, proprietor, he said in English.

Melissa drew back from the smell of gasoline on his breath. But she was relieved to hear him speak English. She introduced herself and then Zeze.

You interested in Ling Setan? he asked, slicking down his thin mustache.

Melissa nodded.

Most rare, indeed—not for sale, Loo said with a grin.

His hungry smile, however, seemed to admit that his denial was a ruse to inflate the price.

Melissa wasn’t sure she wanted to buy a specimen that had been so heavily altered. She knew enough about taxidermy to know there were no bones in the specimen, only a frame made of wood or fiberglass. But she could run DNA tests on the hair to see if it matched any know apes.

I understand you bought it from someone else, Melissa said.

Yes. Very costly, Loo said as his smile broadened.

Did he have it stuffed, or did you?

I did—also very costly.

I’m sure. Listen, how many changes did the taxidermist make to the creature? For instance, did you bleach the fur blond?

No. Fur is natural color.

Melissa pulled out her digital camera and began reviewing the pictures on the screen. She pointed out the obvious alterations she had noticed, such as the padded shoulders and sharpened teeth. Loo narrowed his eyes at the photos and sat back.

A few changes made for exhibiting, he admitted. Very minor.

Did you change the length of the arms or alter the hands in any way?

Loo shook his head.

How about the skull? Did you enlarge it?

No. Look for self; hide covering head never been changed.

Melissa nodded and asked Loo if he knew whether the taxidermist had kept the bones.

Loo laughed and said, No, he grind bones to powder and sell to people who think they buying rhinoceros horn.

Ground rhinoceros horns, Melissa knew, was thought by many in Asia to be a potent aphrodisiac. Loo seemed to think the taxidermist’s little con was hysterical. Melissa pursed her lips, disappointed.

Tell me, do you remember the man’s name who sold you the ape?

Loo’s laughter faded. He studied Melissa closely, as if suspicious of so many questions. Guardedly he said, Months ago. Not sure I remember. Quickly he added, I recall he say he search island for more Ling Setan but found only one he killed.

Melissa flinched at the remark, seeing her hopes of observing and documenting live specimens evaporate. But as she stared into Loo’s eyes, she decided he’d said that only as a way of increasing his specimen’s value. Besides, Melissa knew that few lay people had the patience and knowledge to search out shy apes in the forest.

Is it possible you could take me to the man who found the ape? Melissa asked.

What? You want to buy Ling Setan or not?

Perhaps. I’d like to run some tests on it first. I’d also need you to help me find the man who sold you the ape.

Woman, I have business to run! he said and gestured toward the cheers coming from the auditorium. I no waste time running around Thailand—

I will pay you for your time.

A smile slowly appeared on Loo’s face. How much?

Chapter 4

I’m a fool for being here, Melissa told herself.

She was in the front seat of a cramped Toyota, bouncing down muddy roads in Thailand. Mr. Loo was driving while Zeze sat in the back seat, humming old Beatle tunes to himself. He had an irritating habit of shifting from one song to another in mid-chorus.

It turned out the only place Loo had ever seen the man who’d sold him the ape, was in a bar. But Loo couldn’t recall which bar. So, Melissa was deep into the second day of searching every bar along the Thai peninsula.

With each mile, Melissa felt she was getting lost in a fool’s errand. Her career as a scientist had gotten off to a slow and rocky start, so she had been grateful when the University in Berkeley agreed to fund her fieldwork. She knew it seemed an odd dream to most people—to track and observe orangutans in the dense forests of Sumatra. But it was her dream. She knew her work not only had scientific significance, but helped in the fight to protect the apes against poachers, against deforestation and the growing palm oil plantations that encroached on their habitat. The population of orangutans had plummeted by 20,000 over the last decade. A horrendous loss, because, at that rate, they’d be wiped out in twenty years.

Yet, instead of sitting in an office back at the University of California, fighting with the administration to reinstate her funding, she was bouncing along the rutted roads of Thailand.

And, even more absurd, there was no guarantee that the creature she was searching for would prove to be real. Odds were it wouildn’t. She was on the verge of telling Mr. Loo to turn the car around when Zeze poked his arm out the window.

Look, Missa, he shouted.

Zeze pointed at a tiny, dilapidated building made out of rusted sheet metal near the docks. Across the front, in huge crude lettering was the word: BAR.

Melissa turned to Loo and asked, Does it look familiar?

Loo shrugged. I told you: it was night before.

Melissa told Loo to park in front. She climbed out of the mud-splattered car, chewing on an aspirin to nurse a headache.

They were now in the town of Phuket, a scrubby little seaside town. It was late afternoon—hot and sticky.

Although Loo kept referring to the mysterious man as Rat-face, earlier he had claimed his real name was Bambang.

Bam-bang? Melissa responded when he’d told her. You’re joking, right?

Loo shook his head, confused. Then Zeze assured her it was a legitimate name in Indonesia. The name didn’t carry the same connotations in Southeast Asia that it did in English but, to Melissa, it seemed oddly fitting for the man who had gunned down a hitherto unknown species.

Inside, the dirt-floored bar was nearly empty. Two sweaty fishermen sat at a table, arguing until they noticed Melissa. When they fell silent, a lone, gaunt man perched on a rickety stool by the bar turned to see why. Loo squinted at the man and grinned broadly.

That him, he said. Rat-face!

Melissa walked toward the plywood bar and saw why Loo had been referring to Bambang as Rat-face. He had big ears, a wide nose, a receding chin and black haggardly eyes. Bambang clutched an empty whiskey glass and a cigarette dangled from his lips. He clearly hadn’t shaved in weeks and his suit was soiled and smelled as if he had slept in a fish hold.

"Sawat kil," Melissa said in greeting and introduced herself.

Bambang sneered at her, his attitude as repulsive as his odor.

Melissa knew little more than hello in Thai, but Loo had sworn that Bambang had spoken English to him during the sell. Now Bambang refused to speak any language. Melissa pulled out a color print she’d had made of Loo’s specimen and laid it in front of Bambang. He jumped at the sight of the ape, almost toppling from his stool. After recovering himself, he sneered at Melissa, coughed and spat black phlegm at a can near her feet. Melissa guessed the inside of his lungs must be as black as axle grease. Bambang raised his empty glass and sucked at the last droplet of whiskey. Afterwards, he stared at the glass as if, somehow, more whiskey might be hiding from him.

Melissa called to the chubby barman and bought a glass of whiskey. She slowly poured a swallow from her glass into Bambang’s. His attitude instantly improved.

You shot this golden ape, Melissa said, pointing at the photo, which you later sold to Mr. Loo here. Isn’t that right?

Bambang nodded.

Ling Setan, he slurred. Many attack. Try to kill me.

Many?

Melissa glanced at Loo who had sworn his specimen was the only one Bambang had seen.

Loo shrugged innocently and whispered, He drunk.

But it was Bambang Melissa chose to believe. She poured another swallow into his glass and said, Tell me how you came to find the ape.

****

Bambang licked his lips and sipped the whiskey slowly. The liquor didn’t dull his memory as it usually did and he guessed that was due to the photograph of the horrible ape on the bar. It had brought the ordeal back to him in sharp, frightening detail.

He had been the sole passenger one night, riding in an old Twin Otter Seaplane. Half an hour after taking off Chin Peng, the little Chinese pilot, began screaming for Bambang from the cockpit.

Bambang left his cabin seat and headed down the aisle, wondering what Chin Peng wanted. The plane bounced as if it were a raft shooting rapids, throwing Bambang against the walls.

We’re headed into a hell of a storm, Chin Peng said over his shoulder. His round face was creased with fear. I think we should turn back and wait it out.

Bambang paused in his story and glanced at the tall American woman who was doling out the whiskey to him in sips. What was her name? Melissa something. He wiped his mouth and said, We…er, we deliver medical supplies—

Do I look like the police to you? Melissa said, taking a seat next to him. I’m not going to put you in jail. Just tell me the truth.

Bambang shrugged and admitted they were delivering heroin. He studied his empty glass and licked his lips. Melissa poured a couple of swallows into the glass and Bambang took another sip, still debating just how much he should tell this American woman.

Chapter 5

Bambang continued the story, remembering how he’d bopped Chin Peng on the head and said, The boss’ll cut off our balls if we don’t deliver the shipment on time. Can’t you fly above the storm?

Chin Peng swallowed hard. Buckle yourself in. It’s going to get bumpy.

Don’t waste any sweat over me, Bambang snapped. Just get us to the American’s yacht on time so we can make the transfer.

Chin Peng turned to the controls and began whistling—a sure sign, Bambang knew, that the pilot was scared. Bambang staggered back to the cabin and checked on the stacks of caked heroin. He didn’t want three hundred kilograms of China White shaken loose and scattered across the cargo hold. The ropes holding the plastic packages were reassuringly taut.

Bambang buckled himself into his seat and watched the lightning coming from the dark boiling clouds. Below, the Indian Ocean looked as black as raw opium gum. Bambang lit up a Marlboro but he could hardly inhale; the storm unnerved him and left his chest feeling tighter than a junkie’s fist.

He leaned over to make sure Chin Peng wasn’t looking, then pulled out a flask of whiskey he had sneaked on board. Bambang downed two quick swallows. His boss had an ironclad rule against drinking on a job, but Bambang hated flying and the whiskey did a good job of taking off the edge. Suddenly, a blast of wind battered the plane as if it had been hit by the tail of a dragon. The flask flew out of Bambang’s hand and tumbled across the aisle. Chin Peng stopped whistling and that made the hairs on Bambang’s neck bristle.

Bambang! Chin Peng shouted. Help me, damn it!

The Twin Otter shook violently in the storm, causing Chin Peng’s voice to vibrate like the engines.

Bambang sat clutching the arm rests—his entire body as tight as the ropes around the stacks of heroin. He swallowed hard and unbuckled his seat belt.

GRRRANNNCHHH!

Sparks flew as the right engine’s metal cover sheered away. Orange flames suddenly erupted from the exposed engine. The plane shuddered and lurched to one side, sending Bambang tumbling across the floor.

Chen Peng screamed, May day! May day! into the radio.

Bambang spotted the box of emergency supplies strapped to the wall and scurried toward it.

BHOOOOMM!

The burning engine exploded, shooting flames along the wing. The interior lights blinked out and the plane dipped into a tailspin. The sudden jolt sent Bambang crashing about the cabin. He grasped wildly in the dark, trying to break his fall. Bambang caught hold of an empty chair and held fast. The falling plane screamed in his ear like a giant angry falcon.

The downward spiral seemed to last forever. Bambang pulled out a satellite phone and started to dial his boss just as the plane slammed into the ocean. The impact bounced Bambang’s head against the fuselage, leaving him dazed.

Bambang groaned and sat up. He blinked, trying to focus on the scene around him. Blood ran into his left eye from a gash across his forehead. He wiped the blood away and, in the flickering light from the burning wing, he realized the seaplane was floating on the ocean but at an odd angle. He had dropped his phone at the moment of impact and glanced about for it. It was nowhere in sight. But he did notice that the ropes holding the heroin had broken and loaves of packaged heroin lay scattered about the cabin. Several had ripped open and now fogged the air with dust.

Bambang quickly tied a handkerchief over his nose and mouth. He shoved the bags of heroin aside, searching for the box of emergency supplies. He found it, dragged it across the aisle and swung open the cabin door. Outside, the waves surged up at him like angry dogs.

Chin Peng! Bambang shouted. Come on, damn it!

Bambang peered down into the cockpit and saw Chin Peng slumped forward, still strapped to his seat. The cockpit was a mass of twisted metal and dangling wires, shooting sparks. Water swirled around the pilot’s waist and Bambang realized Chin Peng must have been knocked cold by the crash. Bambang cursed and started down after him.

The angle of the plane forced Bambang to climb into the cockpit as if he were descending into a shaft. He found a foothold in the water, grabbed Chin Peng’s shoulder and shook him.

Chin Peng! Come—

The pilot’s head rolled to one side and Bambang reeled back in horror. One of Chin Peng’s eyes dangled from its gaping socket. And chunks of red tissue hung from his mouth, exposing the teeth and forming a grotesque grin.

Bambang kicked at the water and scrambled from the cockpit as if Death itself had smiled at him.

He crawled across the cabin, snatched up the box of emergency supplies and dove into the stormy sea. Bambang pierced deep into the water, righted himself and kicked toward the surface. The water, lit by the burning plane, took on an eerie, orange glow. When he broke the surface, Bambang heard a series of hisses and realized they came from pieces of the burning wing falling into the water.

He left the box of emergency supplies floating on the water and swam to where an aluminum boat was attached to the plane’s belly. The storm tossed him across the churning waters as if he were a dead fish. Yet, he made it to the boat and unhooked it. It dropped onto the waves with a loud slap! Bambang climbed in and rowed to the floating box of emergency supplies.

Kha-ruck! Khu-rack!

Both struts holding the floats to the plane snapped—one after the other—and the Twin Otter plunged halfway into the ocean. As it sank, Bambang saw the flames reaching for the gas tanks near the tail. He plucked the emergency supplies from the waves and turned to the small two-stroke engine bolted to the boat. Bambang yanked the chord—three, four, five times. Yet, the engine refused to catch.

He cursed, grabbed the oars and paddled away from the plane as if it were a dragon, breathing fire. A loud gurgle erupted. Bambang looked up, expecting to see the wreckage slide underneath the water. Instead, the flames licked at the tail and the fuel tanks detonated.

KHAAA-RUFFF!

The blinding orange ball thundered, sending flares out like a fountain of fire. A chunk of hurling metal slammed against Bambang’s head and knocked him out cold.

When he regained consciousness, he was lying in the boat. A puddle of rain and seawater lapped at his face. It was mid-day and the storm had passed, leaving behind a few dark clouds near the horizon, heavy winds and giant swells. The plane was nowhere in sight—only endless blue water surrounding him on all sides. Bambang noticed a gummy paste had covered his boat. He scooped up a bit and sniffed it. Heroin.

He scanned the water, hoping to find some packages floating on the waves. But all the heroin appeared to have sank, dissolved or burned in the fire.

The Americans will be as angry as wasps, Bambang thought. Which will make my boss angry as a scorpion. Which will make me...envy Chin Peng.

Bambang glanced at his clothes, nearly torn to rags by the crash, and he reached for a Marlboro, only to find them soggy.

Damn this world! he said and began carefully pulling out his cigarettes, laying them on the box of supplies so they’d dry in the sun.

Bambang yanked at the cord to the small two-stoke motor but it didn’t even cough, much less start. The gas tank was full, so he decided to tinker with the motor, hoping he could fix it.

A motorboat wasn’t standard equipment on a drug run. But Bambang’s boss hadn’t trusted the Americans and the plan had been to land the Twin Otter a hundred meters or more from their yacht and ride the motorboat out to pick up the money first. So there wasn’t much gas. Just enough, now, to chase down a ship if he was lucky enough to spot one.

Bambang found water in the motor’s fuel line and drained it. He also cleaned the grit from the spark plug. When he touched one of the cigarettes he found they had dried and smiled. Bambang lit one with his pocket lighter and sucked in the warm smoke. It gave him a pleasant calm as the boat bobbed up and down on heavy swells.

From the corner of his eye, he spotted a sliver of green along the horizon.

Bambang’s heart quickened. He clumsily stood in the boat and stared above the rolling waves along the horizon. He saw a fog bank hugging the water. Nothing else. But just as he decided he’d been hallucinating, the swirling fog thinned in one spot and Bambang spotted the jade-like color of trees.

Land! Bambang hooted.

He gave the cord a firm yank and the engine came alive. Bambang chuckled, even though the bearings clattered like rocks inside a barrel. He tightened his hand around the steering rudder and headed toward the bank of fog.

Soon an island came into view.

Chapter 6

When Bambang reached the wide, shallow reef, he hesitated.

The thick coral and jagged rocks below the surface threatened to smash the blades on his propeller. So, he cut the engine and pulled the motor from the water. Grumbling, Bambang began the laborious job of rowing more than a hundred and twenty meters to the beach.

He rammed a couple of sharp rocks and held his breath until he was certain he hadn’t poked a hole in the boat. When he finally drifted into a peaceful cove, Bambang glanced about for signs of civilization. He saw no buildings. Not even grass huts. No fishing boats clung to the shore, which didn’t surprise him considering the treacherous reef. There wasn’t even an antenna tower for an unmanned weather station. Nothing but thick, lush rain forest.

Bambang was hungry, so he pulled a fishing net from the box of supplies, unsnarled it and flung it into the water. When he pulled the net back into the boat, several fish thrashed about, trapped. Bambang kept a couple of archerfish but tossed the smaller butterfly fish back into the water. After rowing into the shallow surf, he jumped out and pulled his boat onto the glistening white sand.

The jungle looked wild, forbidding. He pulled his Beretta automatic from his shoulder holster and checked to make sure it was loaded. Only then did he start collecting a pile of dead leaves and twigs from the edge of the forest. Bambang ignited the kindling with his Bic lighter and cooked the two fish. They tasted bland without any soy sauce but they filled his belly. The bottled water he’d also found in the box of supplies had tasted heavily chlorinated, but it washed down the fish.

As he ate, Bambang became aware of how quiet the island was. Eerily quiet. He saw and heard no one but had the odd sensation that he was being watched. Bambang pulled out his Beretta and made doubly sure it was loaded.

Afterwards he set off, wandering the beach and shouting to see if anyone else was on the island. No one answered him. After searching the entire day, Bambang returned to where he’d left his boat just as the sun sank into the ocean. Using a flashlight from the emergency supplies, he gathered more kindling and built another fire on the beach. Bambang ate a crab he had captured and drank the milk of a coconut. Afterwards he took off his gun holster and lay on the sand, blowing cigarette smoke at the stars. When he felt the urge to sleep washing over him, Bambang curled up and pulled his Beretta closer.

Hell, he thought, I didn’t survive a plane crash simply to be clawed to death at night by leopards.

He closed his eyes and was asleep within minutes.

YEWBIEEBAHNAAA!

The scream snapped Bambang awake.

He glanced around in the pale dawn and saw an ape—charging him. It had shaggy golden fur hanging from its raised arms. And its teeth were bared, screaming as it streaked toward him.

Bambang fumbled for his gun, clicked off the safety and fired: K-RAACKK!

The ugly ape was thrown back by the bullet and slumped onto the sand. Bambang panned the island, looking for more apes, his gun pointed and ready. The beach, now bathed yellow by the first rays of sunlight, was deserted. Bambang slowly approached the fallen ape, and kicked its leg. It didn’t react, apparently dead. He figured it was a female from the floppy teats hanging from its chest. Bambang started to pump a bullet into its head, to make sure it was dead, but hesitated and decided not to. He only had seven more rounds in the pistol’s magazine and he’d need those if more of the horrible beasts rushed him.

Bambang noticed a half dozen red bananas, three or four mangoes and a few orchids near the remains of his campfire. Someone, he thought, had placed them there while he slept. Footprints spoiled the smooth sand near the fruit and, when he examined them closely, he saw they didn’t look human. They were ape-like prints and led to a huge boulder near his camp. A boulder as big as a hut. That made the hairs on Bambang’s neck stand on end. He started toward the boulder, his gun ready.

"Akka-bann!" came a scream from behind him. Bambang spun around and saw a second ape erupting from the bushes. It was larger and a stringy beard hung from its chin.

Bambang fired: K-RACK! K-RACK!

The first shot threw sand up on the beach. But the second knocked the bearded ape backwards into a tree where it slumped to the ground. Blood poured from its chest. The noise seemed to reanimate the female ape. She struggled to her feet, clutching the bloody wound at her neck. Bambang took aim to finish the creature off. But a new scream sounded—from the boulder at his back.

Bambang spun and saw a third, somewhat smaller ape. The creature held its arms outstretched and babbled nonsense—as if begging to be shot. Bambang was not about to disappoint the ape. He aimed for its head but a frightening groan and a thrashing noise sounded from the bushes behind him.

Bambang jerked off a shot at the ape near the boulder, twisted around and spotted the bearded ape stumbling toward him—clutching a club above its head with blood soaked hands. Bambang drew a bead on the ape and fired another bullet into its chest. Blood gushed from its furry breast, misting the air as it crumpled onto the sand.

Bambang spun back to the boulder and realized the third ape had vanished, meaning he’d missed it. He stumbled over the fruit lying on the sand as he approached the boulder. He moved cautiously, holding his gun straight out like he’d seen cops do on American videos. As he rounded the boulder he spotted the shadow of the smaller ape and realized it was keeping the boulder between them. When Bambang waded into the surf at the far side, the creature darted across the beach to the female. The ape pulled the female to her feet and half dragged her toward the jungle.

Bambang slipped in the wet sand as he shot at them, recovered his footing and shot again as they dashed into the thicket. He started to fire once more but stopped, realizing he was now down to two miserable bullets.

In the deadly quiet that followed, Bambang realized he’d pissed in his pants. Not even the plane crash compared to the fear that had gripped him during the ape attack.

He quickly threw his supplies into the boat, including the fruit he hadn’t stepped on. He was about to shove off when he paused and glanced at the bearded ape still lying on the beach. He hurried to it, gun drawn and kicked it hard three times. When it didn’t react, he bent down and checked to make sure it’s heart had stopped. Certain it was dead, he dragged it by one leg to his boat and threw it inside.

Bambang turned to the American woman, Melissa, took another sip of whiskey and said, That is all I remember.

In truth he had not told her everything he’d remembered. He’d kept several details from her concerning the drug run. And he’d babbled on about other meaningless details—pausing often, as if his memory was faulty—just so the American woman would keep adding whiskey to his glass. Only when he had a true buzz from the liquor and was tired of talking did he wind up his tale.

Chapter 7

Why did you take the dead ape? Melissa asked.

Bambang took another swallow of whiskey and shrugged. Food, he said and explained he realized he might drift for days before he chanced upon another boat. Indeed, four days passed before a fisherman rescued him. Bambang took the ape’s corpse back to Thailand to sell, thinking it was strange enough that it might bring him some money—money he’d need now that he didn’t dare return to his boss, the drug lord.

Melissa wasn’t sure how much of Bambang’s story she believed. All the apes she’d ever studied were shy creatures that only attacked when they felt threatened or believed their offspring were in peril. Bambang had done something to upset them—either unknowingly or on purpose. Most likely, Melissa guessed, he had omitted the fact that he’d done something malicious, which had riled them.

She neither liked nor trusted Bambang. But he was the only human on earth, as far as she knew, who had seen the apes. Melissa explained that she was a licensed pilot and offered to pay him if he’d guide her to the area where his plane had gone down. Bambang shook his head furiously.

I not fly! Bambang said. I crash once, Buddha not smile on me twice.

She argued for twenty minutes, trying to convince Bambang that she was an experienced pilot and that he’d be perfectly safe. It was no use. He wasn’t about to tempt fate again.

Melissa began chewing another aspirin and asked Bambang several detailed questions: What was his destination before the plane crashed? How much time elapsed before the plane went down? In which direction had he drifted after leaving the island? And more.

Bambang’s answers came slowly, each prompted by another swallow of whiskey poured into his glass.

Okay, Melissa said, you’re afraid to fly. You’re not afraid of another boat ride, are you?

I no wish to see Ling Setan again—

You won’t have to set foot on the island. Is it a deal?

Bambang smiled and raised his glass in salute. You pay, I go, he said and finished his drink.

****

Too much monkey business... Chuck Berry’s voice wailed from the boat’s speakers.

The old song was a favorite of Melissa’s, one that—as a primatologist—always gave her a chuckle. To help relieve the boredom of the long, idle hours at sea, she listened—and often danced—to rock ‘n’ roll. Everything from early rock to the latest hip-hop.

She had rented a fishing trawler and hired the two young men who manned it. Kukrit, the older of the two, was burly and jovial. Sweat seemed to glisten on his skin, as shiny as fish scales. The other, Chalong, was lanky, shy. A thin wisp of beard dangled from his chin. Both smoked like tugboats.

The two fishermen watched and smiled as Melissa sang and danced across the rear deck. Bambang, moody over her refusal to allow him to bring whiskey on board, ignored Melissa. Zeze clapped and waved his arms to the music and often Melissa would grab Zeze’s hand and try to show him how to dance to rock.

Shake, she would shout over the music. Let the beat move you.

Zeze tried to copy her movements but he was too stiff-legged and self-conscious to let the music take him. Always half a beat behind.

The thirty-foot fishing trawler had an iron hull, which was streaked with rust and strung with old rubber tires to prevent damage when bumping against other boats at the dock. The cabin was cluttered with fishing gear, unwashed dishes and piles of greasy rags. Amidst the scent of dead fish that permeated the boat, there was also the smell of tobacco and the sweat of men living in close quarters. The cabin slept four and the tiny galley carried enough food for three months.

Not the Queen Mary, Melissa had thought after first touring the boat, but she was sure it could get her to the island and back.

Before leaving Thailand, Melissa had downloaded charts of the ocean currents, satellite photos of the Indian Ocean and a special GPS app for her iPhone. The GPS, using signals from satellites over 20,000 kilometers overhead, would pinpoint her exact position anywhere on Earth. With these, she felt confident she could backtrack the currents to the island’s location.

Melissa had Kukrit follow the Monsoon Drift Current by the west coast of Sumatra, then catch the South Equatorial Current and sail into the middle of the Indian Ocean near the Tropic of Capricorn. After thirteen days at sea, they were well south of normal shipping routes and hadn’t seen another boat in six days. The last plane anyone had spotted had been three days earlier and that was