Amurru: The Accidental Adventures of Mila Stone

By Jan-Hendrik Groenewald

A trip to Japan goes horribly wrong when Mila Stone, an avid traveler from South Africa, is drugged and abducted. When she awakes she soon realizes that she is further from home than she ever expected. In the next few months, she is forced to fight for survival as she desperately tries to get back home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jan-Hendrik Groenewald
• Release date: Jun 21, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463016671

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Amurru

The Accidental Adventures of Mila Stone

Copyright 2019 Jan-Hendrik Groenewald

Published by Jan-Hendrik Groenewald at Smashwords

Cover design by the incomparable Michelle Gallant

Map of Ramu by the outstanding Heinrich Groenewald

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Contents

Acknowledgements

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Epilogue

Map

Acknowledgements

There are a great many people that I owe thanks to for their boundless support during the creation of this novel. I’d like to send out a special word of thanks to a few of them. To my first readers, Kevin, Luke, and Matthew, thank you for all the advice and for sitting through the rough drafts. To my father, thank you for being the first to finish my book and for being its biggest fan. To my mother, and editor, thank you for every note, every red line, every piece of advice, you are the best. To my two graphic designers, Heinrich and Michelle, thank you for doing the hard work that I never could. To my amazing in-laws, thank you for believing in me. And finally, to my wife and best friend, Suzanne, who doesn’t like reading but has read every one of my works, thank you for being with me every step of the way. I love you all.

For Suzanne,

my eternal travel partner.

A Mila Stone Story

Prologue

TOKYO, JAPAN

Mila’s head swiveled like a kid on an office chair as she took in all the sights of the Asakusa market. The famous Tokyo market street was packed with traditional shops and stalls. To her left an old Japanese gentleman with a long Mister Miyagi beard was meticulously oiling the blade of a beautiful chef’s knife. The hilt of the knife was edged in silver and both it and the blade shone in the sun as he polished it using slow smooth strokes. Next to him a young shop attendant in a form fitting red kimono with gold inlay was showing off her stalls’ modern styles to a group of Chinese tourists. The tourists nodded appreciatively, then haggled furiously in broken English to get the price down from 18000 yen to a much rounder 10000. Mila smiled at their sheer audacity and snapped a quick picture of the scene, quickly unraveling into a full-fledged argument, before wandering off into the busy market.

Further down the street she stopped at a stall selling mochi. She didn’t really enjoy the sticky rice balls. But, these were filled with peanut powder and sprinkled with castor sugar, making them nearly irresistible. She bought a box of ten, immediately regretting it as she popped one in her mouth and the sticky rice candy stuck to her gums and the sides of her teeth. She chewed it slowly, pulling the glutinous mess from her teeth with her tongue, all the while scanning the streets for anything interesting to document.

Her eyes were drawn to a narrow maze of alleys leading away from the main market street. The crowds passed it by, occasionally taking a picture by its arched entranceway, then walking on to buy more souvenirs. Mila on the other hand was drawn to the narrow streets beyond the arch. Asakusa was also famous for its traditional town houses and century old temples. The lure of antique lampposts and intricately carved wooden doors in front of almost stereo-typically Japanese town houses was too much for Mila to bear. Readying her camera she set off through the arch.

As Mila walked she stared in wonder at the beautiful old town houses and apartments crowded together in the tight maze of alleys. It was one of her favorite things about older Asian cities that you could transition from a modern cityscape into a traditional street setting just by turning a corner. Taking pictures as she went she allowed herself to get lost in the side streets. She felt like she was being transported into another world, another time. She knew eventually, and unfortunately, she would find a large road again, and all the traffic and tourists that came with it. But, for the moment she held on to the impossible idea that she was the only tourist on her trip, the first to discover new and exciting places in a foreign land.

Taking a right turn lead her down a dead end. The street, slightly more neglected than the rest, ended in an abandoned house. A high wooden fence kept her from getting a clear view of the house, but through a crack in the rotting wood she could see that the building was basically falling apart. The front doors and window shutters hung open at strange angles and parts of the roof had clearly caved in. Intrigued, Mila quickly clambered over the bolted gate.

She landed with a thud on the other side, her knees buckling slightly under the combined weight of her and her backpack. The courtyard was overgrown, with tufts of grass and weeds sticking out from between the mossy cobblestones. The limbs of a dead cherry tree reached out over the broken cobblestones casting long spindly shadows that drifted slightly as the branches creaked and shifted from some unseen breeze.

Mila swung her weapon of choice in front of her face, her camera. It was late afternoon and growing dark outside so she moved quickly, taking picture after picture of the shadowy yard in the dwindling light. She moved towards the house, trying to capture the last rays of the sun beaming in through its empty wooden window frames. The sun falling through the dry tree branches reached into the house, casting ominous and slightly terrifying shadows inside the empty front room. Mila felt a shiver run down her spine.

A noise to her right, like leaves crackling underfoot made her jump. She turned around with a shout and swung her backpack in front of her as a shield. Casting her gaze around the forgotten courtyard, she tried to find the intruder. But, as far as she could see there was nothing, nothing except a deep dark shadow lurking behind the cherry tree.

Hello? She called in English, but there was no answer. Konichiwa? she tried in shaky Japanese, but still no one replied.

Of course no one replied, stupid, she admonished herself out loud. If someone was going to attack you they wouldn’t declare themselves to you. Shaking slightly, frozen to the spot, she stared at the shadow behind the tree, willing her eyes to penetrate its cloak of darkness.

She almost smacked herself as an idea suddenly popped into her head. Turning on the flash of her camera she aimed it at the cherry tree. Scared of what she might reveal, her fingers trembled on the shutter. She pressed it down slowly. The bright flash lit up the courtyard, throwing new shadows up against the walls and sending others fleeing down the still empty street. She pressed the display button on her camera.

Nothing! Mila nearly burst out laughing. All her photo revealed was the spindly trunk of the cherry tree and the crumbling wall behind it. She felt herself blushing at her own stupidity. Of course there was no one, no one had followed her down the street, no one lived in the house, she was completely alone. Still, it was getting dark and she did just nearly wet her pants being scared by a shadow. So, it was probably time to leave.

Feeling relieved, she tucked her camera in her backpack, popped another soon regretted mochi in her mouth, and clambered back over the wall. But, when she landed her new feeling of safety disappeared, replaced by a deep primal paranoia, the feeling that something was wrong. A strange prickling sensation was crawling up her spine and spreading across her neck and shoulders. She had the distinct feeling that someone was watching her.

Mila furtively glanced around her. The street was a mess of shadows created by its only source of light, two street lamps far down the street, near the entrance of the dead end. The lamps nearer to the house seemed to be out of order.

Pressing her back against the wooden fence helped her to steady her breath and calm down a bit. It helped to know that at least no one could creep up on her from behind. Mila took a deep breath and determinedly staring straight ahead of her she took a step down the street. But, she couldn’t get away! Something was holding on to her, it had her tightly, tugging her back every time she tried to pull free. She tugged and pulled with all her might, but to no avail. Someone had her shirt clasped in his hands and wouldn’t let her go. A croak of a scream tore from her lips into the still night air. She dug her feet in and shot forward with all of her might, and was met with the distinct sound of a seam ripping. She looked down, yanked one more time, and watched in despair as her brand new shirt ripped free from the rusted gate latch.

Mila felt a relieved sob of a laugh rise up in her throat and drop from her lips like a stone falling in a muddy bog. Her whole body was shaking as if she had really just been attacked. Her breath was racing and came out in short shallow gasps. She felt utterly drained. Gathering her last shreds of dignity and courage she squared her shoulders and started down the street again. But, something held her back again. This time it pulled her back firmly. She took a breath to scream, but a furry, gloved hand was suddenly on her mouth, while something sharp pressed into her side. A knife? No, it was much smaller, a needle. Mila struggled wildly but the gloved hand held her in an iron grip, its fur getting in her mouth as she bit and clawed to escape. The needle pierced her skin and sunk deep into her neck.

It’s not even cold out, was the last thought that flitted through her mind as the furry hands guided her down to the street and the world turned black.

Chapter 1

Journal Entry 1

Hello, this is Mila, Mila Stone. I’m being held captive. I’ve been in my cell for, what feels like days. I have no real concept of time since I haven’t been outside once during the whole time I’ve been here. In fact, I have no idea where outside is since my cell has no windows, no doors, just one small hatch through which they push my food and take away my empty tray…

I’ve been sitting here basically tearing my hair out with nothing to do or even look at. There’s a screen, a control panel I guess, on the wall next to my bed. I tried using it, but up until this morning I haven’t been able to make it work. Then when I was fiddling around with it today it just came on and showed an image of me. I tried to get it to do something else. But, as far as I can figure out it is either a recording device or a high tech mirror. Maybe I’m lucky, though and it can send recordings as well.

I was in Japan, in Tokyo when I was taken. They must have drugged me, because I remember taking photos at the Asakusa Market. I was in a quiet street just outside the market when someone grabbed me from behind and everything went black. The next thing I knew I woke up in this room.

I have to get out of here! My family live in South Africa, they won’t know I’ve been taken. Mom, Dad, Jonathan, if you are hearing this I am not hurt, but I am terrified. Please do something! Get me out of here!

My name is Mila Stone. If you are hearing this, I’m being held captive. Somebody, please, send help.

Mila stared at herself for a moment in the screen. Without anything other than her fingers to use as a comb her wavy dusty blonde hair was a tangled mess that would probably need a team of hairdressers to sort out if she didn’t want to shave it all off. There were deep bags under her eyes from lack of sleep, and her usually bright blue eyes looked dim and bloodshot. She pressed her palms against her eyes and stifled a yawn. She couldn’t go to sleep, not yet. Forcing herself to stay up until she passed out was her only way to tell how much time had passed. So far she had slept five times, which to her completely deprived senses meant five days had passed. It probably didn’t matter, but knowing how much time had passed at least gave her some sense of connection with the outside world.

Resigned she pressed a few buttons in the hope that one of them would send her message darting off into cyber space, nothing happened. Then she pressed the button on the screen that, to her knowledge had made it start recording in the first place. It faded to black. She sat back on her thin, but thankfully comfortable cot and pulled her knees to her chest. Hugging her legs tightly she stared at the blank wall in front of her. Not for the first time, she wished that her captors had left her backpack with her. Then she could have at least written something in her journal or sketched. But no, apparently their brand of torture was starving you of any form of stimulation until finally you are as dull and numb as the room around you.

Five days ago she woke up in a gray metal room. Her clothes and everything else she owned was gone. Instead, she was wearing a tight fitting silver jump suit that must have been made from some new age material since it fit her seamlessly. She quickly found out, when she was about to burst from needing to pee so badly, that you took it off by pushing a tiny button at the front. This caused the jumpsuit to loosen and basically fall off you. The same button fitted it to your body again. The suit itself wasn’t too bad, it was pretty comfy, and it seemed to be self-cleaning because it never reeked of anything. What killed her was that it was basically the same color as the walls, and the bed, even the toilet was the same monotone silver gray color. To her it felt like she was slowly being sucked into the room around her, just another gray feature in a colorless world.

Mila got off the bed and walked over to the bathroom, a tiny closed off cubicle in the far corner of the room. She washed her face in an attempt to wake herself up. Then she sat down on the toilet, a strange square device that sucked away her business the same way a toilet on an airplane would do except much louder. She winced at the sound of the flush, washed her hands and went to sit on the bed again. Absentmindedly she tried to untangle her hair while she stared into nothing. It was slow and painful work, but there was nothing else to do.

For the first few days there was little change in her routine. She woke up, she screamed and shouted, food came, she ate, she screamed and shouted, food came, she ate, she slept, and she woke up. Wash, rinse, and repeat. After a while her voice grew hoarse, so she stopped shouting. Then the screen came.

At first the screen had been a relief, at least she could try to send a message, at least she could look at someone, even if it was just herself. But, the more she thought about it the more the screen terrified her. What if it had been put there to monitor her, to watch her every move. She shivered, and tugged at her hair, almost breaking into tears. Then she visibly shook herself until it felt like she had some kind of grip on reality again. She couldn’t let this get her down. She had to get her mind off the utter hopelessness of it all. In fact, she decided, she refused to let whatever was happening to her get her down.

Mila got up and started doing jumping jacks in the cramped space between her bed and the wall. Her long blonde hair irritatingly fell about her face, slapping her eyes and getting in her mouth. Not for the first time she wished the stupid jumpsuit had a hairband attachment, or something. She tucked her hair into its own tangles, and gasping for breath she kept jumping.

She had always looked athletic, but she was far from fit. She was barely at twenty jumping jacks and she was already gulping for air like a fish out of water. Next she dropped to the floor and started doing push-ups, then sit ups, then lunges, then squats. Then, against her body’s best wishes, she started the whole thing over again. In her mind she had convinced herself that she was getting fit so that the if at any point someone came into the room to take her somewhere, or do something to her, she would be ready for them. But, mostly it was just something to do to pass the time.

When she finished exercising her second, and final tray of food for the day came in through a hatch by the floor. It consisted of a bowl of colorless goop that tasted like nothing but did serve to quell her hunger, a slice of a yellow spongy something or other, and a peeled orange. There was nothing to drink, but the water from the bathroom tap was clean, if slightly tinny. Her captors didn’t provide her with any utensils, so she ate with her hands. They probably didn’t want to give her anything to harm them, or herself with. After dinner she washed up as best she could in the sink, sat around naked until she dried, sang what she felt were protest songs and fell asleep still butt naked. Video camera, be damned!

Journal Entry 22

Captain’s log, or something like that. By my count I’ve now been stuck in this cell for nearly a month, shit. I have no idea how to feel anymore. Am I devastated, am I panicked? I don’t know! Honestly, if it wasn’t for exercise and talking to myself I would have probably gone crazy by now.

However, every few days there does seem to be a small change. A few days ago I stopped getting oranges, now I get a small sachet of orange powder that tastes like a mix between orange Kool-Aid and aspirin. I mix it in with the goop. It improves the goop considerably. Yesterday warranted the biggest change, or maybe my biggest discovery. I can now do two things on the screen, record videos or look at a random list of pictures and symbols. I think it’s a kind of language, or alphabet.

Whatever it is, at least memorizing the symbols is something to do. Who knows, maybe I’m part of some grand experiment. Though, that doesn’t make me feel any better. I didn’t sign up to be anyone’s lab rat. Then again, it’s not like I have any choice in the matter. Unless someone gets me out of here I have to go along with whatever is happening to me.

As always, if anyone is receiving these messages, my name is Mila Stone. I’m being held captive. The last place I was before being taken was the Asakusa Market in Tokyo. Honestly, how far could my kidnappers have gone with an unconscious white girl in a predominantly Asian country? Someone must have seen something! So, to whoever is receiving my messages, please send help.

Mila stretched her back as she stood staring at the screen. Not for the first time she wished she had a chair to sit on, or that the screen was just a little bit closer to the bed. She was busy trying to make sense of the characters. She was sure they were some form of writing. They looked like an elegant blend between Mandarin characters and the English alphabet. Some were simple,