Here is the horror tale: NO SMOKE WITHOUT FIRE 

HORROR SHORTS

BY

DREW BROWN

Published by Apricot Alliance at Smashwords.

Copyright 2011 Drew Brown

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

NO SMOKE WITHOUT FIRE

I'll be home safe, Hannah. I promise.

The screaming was so loud that Thomas Baxter felt it pushing through his skull, squeezing

his brain. He wanted to cry out. To make it stop. The other passenger's voices threatened to

overcome his thoughts.

Not so sure now, though. Reckon it's a promise I can't keep.

Turning his head, he saw the tops of trees stretching out to the distant horizon, where the

green carpet of thick rain forest met the blue sky.

Fucking planes.

Out on the wing, the engine smoked with flames streaking out behind it like the trail of a

comet. The blue sky turned dark, the windows suddenly submerged in the foliage. There was a

thunderous noise as the airframe tore through the leaves and branches, ploughing through the

tops of the trees, plunging to the swampy rain forest floor.

Dead.

Darkness. Silence. Nothing more.

I'm alive.

Thomas uncurled from the ball he'd made in his seat and opened his eyes. The photograph of

his daughter was still clutched in his hand. He stared at the faded picture, surprised to see her

small face and blonde hair again. She was smiling, a perfect image in the pink dress she got for

her fourth birthday.

Nearly a year ago. Away so long. It was worth it. I'm alive.

He reached into his shirt and touched the leather pouch that hung by a chain around his

neck. The diamonds were still there.

Safe and secure.

Thomas widened his field of vision. There were wisps of black smoke in the cabin, but not

much. The smell of burning fuel teased his nostrils. So much had changed; he'd been

unconscious.

But he was still alive.

He hadn't expected that.

There was lots of noise; someone cried, fires crackled and the shattered starboard engine

whirred to a halt. But compared to a few seconds before, when the straining engines had failed

and the Beech King had torn into the tree canopy, ripping through the foliage on the way to the

forest floor, it seemed like silence.

“Are you okay, Mr. Baxter?”

Thomas turned to face the steward. His dark face was stained with sweat but his mouth

displayed large white teeth behind a forced smile. “Mr. Baxter?”

“Fine,” Thomas answered.

“We must get off the plane.”

Thomas unbuckled his seatbelt, wondering why he’d even bothered to apply it.

It didn't save your life; you just got lucky.

Rising to his feet, he rocked into the plastic back of the chair in front of him. The plane

wasn't level, it had landed nose down, easily the angle of a steep hill. From the windows,

Thomas saw that the wing was gone. Only a few struts remained, jutting out into the

undergrowth. Vines and leaves rested against the small round windows.

“Wait here, Mr. Baxter,” the steward said.

Thomas nodded and glanced back at the rest of the aircraft. The back section, the tail and

part of the cabin were gone. Blue sky lashed with leafs and the woven branches of the highcanopy

were all that could be seen. There were four other passengers. An African with several

gold teeth and kaki clothes, a young couple in their late teens or early twenties and a middle-aged

woman in a loose-fitting yellow blouse and cream trousers. She was the one nearest the opening,

the one whose chair was now the furthest back.

There had been more. Thomas remembered that at least two people had been on the back

row, their legs stretched out as they relaxed during the flight.

They were gone now.

All dead.

But I'm alive. I can go home.

A scream came from beyond the cockpit door. Thomas turned towards it, surprised at the

sound. He'd not expected the pilots to survive, not so exposed in the cockpit. He hurried to the

door and gripped the handle.

The scream became a voice, a terrible cry. “Please, God, help me.”

Thomas opened the door.

The cockpit was wrecked. The windows were obliterated and the metal of the nose cone was

twisted and ruined. Bits of glass, metal and pieces of the plastic console covered the carpet,

surrounded by leaves. The forest had forced its way inside, filling the small room with green and

brown.

There was red as well.

A branch had pierced through the back of the pilot's chair, impaling him where he sat. It was

the size of a fence post and its bark was stained with his innards. Blood oozed down the chair's

backing. His right arm hung into the centre of the cockpit, lifeless and still. Even without seeing

him, Thomas knew the pilot was dead.

It was the co-pilot who'd screamed.

His chair had broken loose and slid into the console, crushing his legs. At the sound of the

door he'd turned his head to Thomas, his eyes gaping with pain and fear.

He was not alone in the cockpit.

Between the two seats was what looked like a chimpanzee. Except it was much too big. It

was as big as a man, bigger than most. Even hunched over, its body sloping forwards with its

knuckles flat on the cabin floor, the creature could look Thomas straight in the eye. Its hairless

face was the size of a dinner plate, the bone of its forehead protruding far beyond its shadowy

eyes. A wide, pinkish scar ran from the corner of its mouth to its ear.

Thomas felt as though his feet were pinned to the ground. Nailed in place. He wanted to run

but couldn't even turn.

The scarred chimp turned to the dead pilot. It wrapped its padded fingers around the body's

outstretched arm and gave it an effortless yank. The cockpit filled with the crack of bone and the

wet, snapping tear of muscle and flesh. The white shirtsleeve ripped, turning crimson with blood

where the arm had been pulled clean from the shoulder.

Thomas vomited.

Holding its prize aloft, the chimp's lips slid open over its teeth. To Thomas, they looked like

jagged yellow dominoes.

The co-pilot screamed again.

Yellow teeth sunk into the arm, biting away a fist-sized chunk.

The gun!

Thomas pulled the revolver from inside his grey waistcoat and swung it towards the chimp.

The gunshot filled the cockpit with noise. Acrid smoke wafted from the barrel. The chimp

screeched as a shock of black fur left its shoulder. There was a spray of blood as well, but

Thomas knew he'd been too hasty.

The shot was only a flesh wound.

He pulled at the trigger again, but by the time the chamber had revolved another sixth, the

chimp had squeezed out of the empty front window and escaped into the trees.

The bullet ripped uselessly out into the rain forest.

“What was that, Mr. Baxter?”

Thomas felt the steward at his side, but was too absorbed by the pilot's arm to answer. The

chimp had discarded the appendage when it had fled and the limb rested on the console beneath

the window. The steward squeezed past him and knelt beside the co-pilot. “Mr. Lewis, are you

all right?”

“My legs.”

“We must get help. Is the radio still working?”

“We've already sent the mayday.”

“Be still, Mr. Lewis. I will get the first aid kit.”

Thomas stood aside to let the steward out of the cockpit. The co-pilot caught his gaze. “I'm

glad you had that,” he said, eyeing the revolver.

“So am I. What was that thing?”

“A chimp?”

“Too big.”

“Yeah,” the co-pilot said. Thomas noticed that there was blood in the injured man’s mouth,

bubbling up from his chest. His lungs. It lingered in the gullies between his teeth. “But it sure

looked like one.”

A screech spread through the trees. Another one came in reply, close by. Thomas looked out

through the shattered cockpit window, staring out into the foliage.

More screeches sounded.

“It wasn't alone,” Thomas said. He raised his revolver.

Something thudded against the outside of the cabin. It clanged against the metal airframe.

Thomas hopped back a couple of paces, swinging his gun. The co-pilot jumped in his chair,

causing him to cry out in pain.

“What was that?”

A rock sailed through the opening of the broken window and clattered against the back wall

of the cockpit. It settled by Thomas's left boot. Grey, damp and vaguely round, the rock was the

size of an apple. “What the hell?”

“Help me out of here,” the co-pilot said.

Another rock came through the window.

Is this really happening?

Thomas knelt at the co-pilot's side, making sure he was protected from the rocks by the

console. He examined the co-pilot's legs. They were pinned in place, crushed between the seat

and the controls. Blood showed around the brown material of his trousers. “You're safer where

you are until help comes. Releasing your legs might cause more complications.”

“A village,” the co-pilot said. “We saw a village up river. Not far. Some huts and a fire.

Take me there.”

A flurry of rocks entered the cockpit. Others banged against the airframe. One flew straight

through into the passenger compartment. Several cries of surprise came from the occupants.

The steward rushed in, a brown satchel over his shoulder. There was a red cross printed on

the zipped flap. “What is happening, Mr. Lewis?”

The co-pilot didn't answer. His head was slumped against his shoulder and blood gushed

from a large dent in the top of his skull. The hair was matted around the broken bone.

He'd been hit by a rock.

“I think he's dead,” Thomas said. “At least unconscious.”

All around the outside of the cockpit, the screeching seemed to be getting louder.

Closer.

The foliage started to shake. The leaves and branches rattled, hissing in the still air.

That’s not the wind.

A rock smashed against the wall beside the steward. He dropped to his knees. “What is

happening?”

“I don't know,” Thomas answered. “What's your name?”

“Winston.”

“I think we need to get out of here, Winston.”

There was a scream from the passenger compartment. Thomas looked beyond the steward,

straight up the central aisle.

The noise had come from the woman in the yellow blouse. Another giant chimpanzee had

entered the aircraft, climbing in through the opening created by the missing tail section. The

chimp’s wide, long black arm had wrapped across the woman's chest.

In its other hand the chimp held a four-foot long stick, an inch in diameter that had one end

worked into a jagged point. It shook the spear in the air, then bounded from the aircraft, carrying

the woman off. She screamed as she vanished from sight.

“Mrs. Dawson,” the steward shouted. He ran into the passenger compartment but the scream

faded away.

Around the cockpit, the screeches were getting closer. Thomas levelled his revolver at the

empty windscreen and backed away. The foliage outside shook with more violence. He saw

fleeting glimpses of black fur through the gaps. There were chimps all around.

Lots of them.

Too many to count.

More rocks crashed against the outside of the Beech King.

Thomas stepped back out of the cockpit and slammed shut the door. He turned to the other

passengers. “We have to get out, now.”

The black African with gold teeth raised a long machete. It glinted orange in the light of

some of the fires outside. “Did you see that monkey?”

“There's more,” Thomas replied. “And they're attacking.”

“I'm a hunter,” the African said. “Monkeys don't do that.”

From behind the cockpit door came the sound of glass breaking. There was a moment of

silence and then a scream. A long, pain-filled scream.

It ended suddenly.

“Mr. Lewis!” Winston the steward cried out, and he dashed towards the cockpit, shoving

Thomas out of the way. He pulled open the door.

The two seats were empty. The bodies had gone.

Winston sunk to his knees, doubling over on the debris-strewn carpet.

Thomas saw why. One of the co-pilot's legs remained pinned in place between the console

and the seat. The rest had been ripped away from the knee joint.

Blood soaked the seat.

Thomas grabbed Winston and dragged him back out of the cockpit. He slammed the door

shut and looked for a lock. There wasn't one. He held his revolver at the ready.

You gotta survive. Gotta see Hannah.

“What are these beasts?” Winston sobbed.

Thomas left him on the floor, turning to the others. “Who else is armed?”

The African hunter turned his knife back and forth. “I only have this.”

It's nearly her birthday.

“Right, there's a village not far away, just up river. We have to reach it.”

“Maybe we should stay here, white man,” the hunter said. “They'll kill us outside. Better to

defend here.”

“Those monkey’s eyes. They're different. They'll kill us if we stay,” Thomas said. He started

up the central aisle. The steward tugged on his trouser leg.

“We should remain with the aircraft. Help will come. Mr. Lewis said they sent the mayday.”

Gotta keep going.

Another voice piped up. “Hey, please. You have a gun. Stay with us.”

Thomas turned to the young man. He had risen from his chair, but not moved any distance.

His female companion, blonde and pretty, remained in her seat. She was crying into the palms of

her hands. For the first time, Thomas noted the crutches stowed beneath her seat.

“My sister has a broken ankle. She can't leave.”

Thomas weighed his options.

Stay alive. Fuck the rest.

“Sorry, kid,” Thomas replied. He jogged up the aisle to the opening. Looking down, he saw

the wet, sticky ground beneath through a weave of leafless branches. It was a ten-foot drop.

He would have to climb down. He started to look for a vine, a strong enough branch,

something to grab hold of.

At the other end of the Beech King, the cockpit door burst open. It flew off its hinges.

“Please, God,” Winston yelled.

The pretty blonde screamed and her brother shouted in panic.

Thomas took one look over his shoulder. Half a dozen of the oversized chimps were rushing

up the aircraft, speeding on feet and knuckles and leaping over the seats.

The leading one's face was already splashed with blood.

Another carried the co-pilot's arm between its decayed teeth.

Forgetting the distance, Thomas jumped.

His body jarred when he landed. The stagnant, putrid water came up to his knees, splashing

up into his mouth. It tasted like death.

He wiped it from his eyes and started to run, dragging his boots from out of the cloying

mud. His progress was slow in the knee-deep water, some steps sent him sinking deeper,

plunging up to his waist.

He scanned the way ahead, searching for drier ground.

The African hunter dropped down from the Beech King with his machete clasped between

his teeth. Thomas heard him splashing through the water close behind.

The screams from the aircraft faded to nothing.

All Thomas could hear was his rasping breath and the water around his legs. Then, the

screeching resumed. He glanced back to the aircraft, despairing that he had only managed to

cover thirty yards.

The African was only half that far.

Perched on the tip of the broken fuselage, one long arm raised towards the blue sky, the

other thumping its hairless chest, was the scarred chimp. Others appeared behind it.

One carried the headless torso of the pretty blonde.

The unencumbered chimps took to the trees.

Thomas felt his boot fall upon firmer ground. He emerged from the water and surged on

with renewed effort. Weaving through the tree trunks and low branches, Thomas gasped for air

but kept running.

He heard the trees around him rustling, high above in the canopy.

“Wait for me,” the African shouted.

Thomas looked back but didn't stop.

A chimp swooped from the trees to bundle the African to the soaking ground. The machete

flashed in the sunlight as it flew from the hunter's hand.

He cried out in despair.

The chimp ripped his head from his shoulders and blood spewed into the air.

Thomas kept running. The trees started to thin, the canopy reducing until the only thing

above him was the blue, cloudless sky. There was the sound of running water in the distance.

The river.

Thomas scanned the horizon for the village. The co-pilot had spoken of huts and a fire. He

spotted a column of black smoke in the distance, rising up from beyond a slight incline. Thomas

veered towards the smoke, away from the churning river.

He was in a clearing, out from beneath the canopy of trees.

He forced himself to look back.

Five of the massive chimps were still chasing. They were on the ground, running on all

fours, their knuckles pounding the floor. They were forty yards away. But they were gaining.

Thomas took three quick shots with his revolver.

None of the creatures were hurt, but the sound disrupted their rhythm, sending them reeling

a few paces here and there. All across the tree line, birds took to the sky.

The chimps were soon back on the pace.

Thomas reached the top of the incline.

The village lay before him.

He hurtled towards it, his legs threatening to run away from him.

There were several huts made from wood and mud, and they ringed a bonfire that raged in

the middle of the camp.

Black figures surrounded the blaze.

A flash of yellow caught his eye.

His mouth gaped open.

Beside the fire was the woman from the Beech King, the one who’d been carried away. She

was right alongside the flames, bound to a stake in the ground with her head slumped down onto

her chest. Thomas hoped she was dead. In a flash, her hair turned to cinders. Next her yellow

blouse flared up red and orange, burning around her.

The skin of her face bubbled.

She began to scream.

Thomas stopped and aimed his revolver. He put a bullet in her head, silencing her cries.

Around the fire, the black figures, the chimps, went wild.

One of them approached the woman, dashing in quickly and snapping off her right arm at

the elbow. For a moment, the chimp held the arm into the flames, then retreated back and started

to tear at the flesh with his teeth.

Thomas fell to his knees.

He put his revolver to his head.

Better off dead.

The hammer clicked harmlessly.

No more bullets.

Thomas let the gun drop to the floor and spread his arms out wide. He looked up at the blue

sky and screamed.

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