Chapter 5: Checkmate

Flaky twisted in her sleeping bag, her legs flying. She almost fell if she hadn't grasped the tree trunk she was leaning on. She panted, squinting at the dull orange glow the rising sun was giving off. It was the next day.

The siren was real. She began to panic when she assessed the source. It was somewhere in the distance. Somewhere northeast from where she was. She wriggled free from her sleeping bag, packed it hastily, and stood up on her branch.

Even if it was a bit far, there was, no doubt, the enemy base. It was, in her eyes, like a marble, shining like a beacon. It was as though it wasn't even trying to go incognito with the white color that was in stark contrast with the jungle foliage. There was a thin strip of pavement leading into it. The river, as she had guessed correctly, was only a few hundred feet from the base.

There was a kind of commotion, though. Or some plans for a big event. There was a kind of pell-mell stage in front of the base, with a hundred or so chairs in front. Soldiers in blue uniforms were filing out and marching to their seats in small groups of two and three. As they sat down, with their backs straight and with their gazes directed to the empty stage, Flaky had the urge to go down there and see for herself what was going on.

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She arrived by the base, watching a good distance away from the event itself. She wasn't too near to be spotted, or too far not to know anything. She was hidden with the jungle foliage. Flaky suddenly became thankful that the foliage was thick.

All the while she was running to the base, the soldiers had doubled. Now, as she settled down on the ground and tested out her injured arm, she took in the scene.

Flaky wasn't mistaken of the stage she saw. It was made of wood. It looked creaky, but the way the senior officers sat down on the chairs grouped to one corner, it was sturdy.

There was a podium on the center of the stage. There was no microphone, obviously. Just a podium. The officers seated on the stage looked at their watches impatiently.

Apparently, the guest speaker was running late. All of the soldiers, except the ones who were still inside guarding the base, were assembled in front, not so much as moving a muscle. They were very silent. It made Flaky's eye twitch. The silence was deafening.

Luckily, one of the senior officers stood up and took his place behind the podium. He was a heavy-set man, an eye patch over his left eye. His silver hair was in a buzz cut. His hat was between his right arm and his body. His face was a decoration of scars and stitches, probably left from the last war. He walked with a kind of limp in his right leg. When he spoke over the crowd, his voice was low and feral, like a tiger's growl.

"Listen up," he roared without so much as a good morning. "As you all know, this island has been raised to Code Red. We have an intruder." He grimaced, his lopsided mouth twisting. "We have a woman."

No one moved. Flaky could've heard a pin drop. Literally.

"Objectives are not yet concrete, but we have some guesses," the General continued. "However, this is a public meeting. These guesses will be kept in secrecy for a while longer." He stopped and looked far away, as though imagining where Flaky could be. "Our territory is no longer safe. One little slip from an officer has jeopardized our plans. Do not make another mistake." He eyed every one of them beadily. "Prove to me that I haven't been training pussy-cats for war.

"Dismis – "

"WAIT!"

Flaky's head twisted to the side along with countless others, to the source of the sudden shout. After some rustling in the leaves, a scrawny soldier came out of the foliage, his hat askew and his face dazed. He ran to the General, bowing so low Flaky was afraid he was going to collapse into a dead faint on the General's boots. But he arose again, panting heavily, and whispered something into the General's ear.

The General listened for a bit, his one good eye widening slightly, and he nodded curtly. He then turned his back to the podium and sat down with his other officials, shrugging.
The soldier had gotten a bit of his bearings and cleared his throat. He fixed his hat and started to speak, his face glistening with sweat like a beacon.

"A message," he said nervously, "from the Doctor."

There were murmurs in the crowd and between the officials. Flaky's ears perked up instantly. What the hell was up with this Doctor, to instill fear even in the hearts of his own team?

The soldier slammed a hand down on the podium, and all of them instantly silenced. "The Doctor apologizes for not being here on time. I believe he has found a lead on the island's visitor. He simply cannot leave it, or else, he says, the trail might run cold."

Flaky swallowed silently, goose bumps erupting on her arms and legs.

The soldier continued. "The Doctor instructed me to warn all of you that everyone is not allowed to tell anyone about the Doctor's whereabouts, personality, lifestyle, likes and dislikes, or even physical description." He looked far away, squinting. "No one is authorized to tell anyone about where he came from and when he arrived. All of this is top secret. He also said that the General had agreed upon these terms."

As though for support, he looked back at the General, who nodded. He turned back to the audience, flustered.

"And also," he muttered seriously, clearing his throat. "He has a message to our visitor."

Flaky almost gasped, but her voice was muffled by a gloved hand on her mouth. She couldn't resist, since there was a bowie knife on her throat.

The soldier smiled cynically, quoting the Doctor's last message: "Checkmate."