Chapter XII

CHAPTER XII--Judas’s Mission To Natas
August 13

The sluggish boat churned about diverting crests upon the Congo River, leaving an uninterested Judas Sturgis wondering if they would ever make alive into the colony. The weight of the threesome gradually started to lower the boat into the river, eventually dragging the ass of the craft dangerously close to sinking beneath the water’s surface.
“With all the fucking money the government spends on space shuttles, we couldn’t get a trendier means of transportation?” Judas swatted away a collection of swarming mosquitoes.
“We need to blend in here,” Roland snapped off another tasty morsel from his vast collection of Slim Jims. Roland was sitting all the way in the back coaxing the dying motor to last for one
more hurrah.
“Christ, even the motor’s a rust bucket!” exclaimed a pesky Judas.
“I kind of like the scenery,” Katy quipped back, definitely busting Judas’s balls.
“You would.” Judas shot back sending a wink her way.
Roland looked dead ahead, staring down the sun’s deadly glare through his dark sunglasses. His newly acquired Land’s End fly fisherman’s hat proved beneficial to this particular journey.
Judas on the other hand, started to suffer from the sun’s blazing heat, receiving an excessive dose of sunburn. “Are almost there yet? I didn’t have a life changing experience to travel up and down the God damn Congo River in a sinking dingy.”
“Does he always bring a sour attitude to the party?” Roland turned to Katy.
“Ah, he’s just being his usual cute self.” Katy smiled back at Judas. “How much further?”
“About another fifteen miles, at least,” Roland answered
Katy. His fingers felt a sudden jarring from the motor, as a
thick cloud of smoke escaped from the engine, eventually killing
any momentum that the craft had sustained over the last fifty
miles. “Ah, son-of-a-bitch!” he blurted out.
Judas shot up, rocking the boat violently.
“Sit down, Mr. Sturgis,” Roland’s calm tone became broken
and anxious. He grabbed hold of the string and gave it a full
yank. His shoulder eventually burned with pain from the intense lunges back and forth. “You’re not helping our situation.”
Judas dropped back down into his splintered seat; unknowingly the momentum sent Roland sprawling into the Congo below.
“Roland!” Katy screamed as she lunged for the rear of the boat.
“Sit down!” Judas barked back as he scrambled to rescue Roland. The boat sat silently in the middle of the dangerous Congo River, with the waves slowly slapping the sides of the craft. Judas scanned the water for Roland, finding no sign of the
tour guide. Squinting his eyes, Judas recognized a small collection of bubbles rising to the murky surface. “Roland!” he screamed.
Roland’s head shot through the water, bloodied, with strings of flesh slowly peeling away from his face. “Judas!” Roland felt another tug from beneath, and again became submerged underneath the red river. Piranhas had deliciously feasted upon this new entrée, along with a nasty attack from the Congo’s resident crocodile. Roland managed to break free and surfaced on the other side of the boat, just to Katy’s right hand side.
“Katy!” Roland managed to grab hold of the boat with his disfigured hand. “Help me up! I beg you!” Roland pleaded to Katy.
“I’ve been attacked by a crocodile and need immediate medical attention. Get me back into the boat.” Roland’s attempts were futile, for the inevitable was about to happen.Katy instinctively tried to save Roland, her fingers almost touching his hand to pull him up, but a sudden jolt from underneath the boat, sent Roland splashing back into the watery depths. Judas turned around a second too late, as he was trying to re-ignite the stalled engine and begin preparations for a prompt escape.
“No!” Katy bawled as she collapsed to her knees, eventually watching Roland’s air bubbles vanish beneath the bloody water.
“Pull yourself together Katy,” Judas tried to preserve the whirlwind situation. His hand slipped into the river and felt the scaly back of a passing crocodile. The sleek reptilian firmly held Roland’s corpse between its mighty jaws, as it passed silently underneath the calm wake. Judas felt a horrific chill run up and down his spine, as he remorsefully watched Roland’s rolled back eyes disappear into the Congo River. “We need to get the hell out of here and head to the colony.”
“No argument from me,” Katy was despondent and was in no position to question Judas’s ardent plan of escape.
The hot, sticky, muggy atmosphere played tricks on Judas’s mind. The reckless sucking of his blood by a collection of pesky mosquitoes had left him dizzy and feverish. The blinding sun of course, didn’t help matters any; it just lent itself to a long line of things that pissed Judas off.
“I’m growing sick and tired of this endless maze of God Damn
water!” Judas painfully churned the oars through the river, grimacing with every rotation of his shoulder. His angry eyes glanced over Katy, screaming for her to pick up the pace. “Could
you go any slower?”
“Fuck off,” Katy hastily murmured.
“Do you see any signs of the indigent folk yet?”
“I’m starting to feel a bit queasy,” Katy responded with a throat full of vomit. “Could we ease up the pace a bit?” Her mouth could feel the hot, stinging sensation creeping up her esophagus.
“Don’t be a whiny, crying baby,” Judas turned to face her, but only found the disdain of watching her hurl over the side of the boat. “Do you feel better?” Judas wanted to see dry land, and fast.
“A little,” Katy splashed cold water across her face, rinsing herself free from the vomit. “I can see a water tower a few yard away.”
“Excellent.” Judas eased the craft towards the colony’s direction, eventually bumping into dry land. “We’re here.”
His first impression gauged the work of Dr. Quentin Forsythe. The impeccable planning, execution and satisfying results, churned Judas into a jealous, rage-filled frenzy. Who the hell did Quentin think he was doing? To personally to come in here and radically reform the colony into Quentin’s private sanctuary. Judas felt betrayed by his aging mentor. This should be his landmark venture, his rebuilding process, and his statement to the medical community. But, instead, Judas has to come into someone else’s Garden of Eden. Quentin had done a remarkable job inside the colony, masterfully constructing a water tower to filter and replenish the colony’s dirty supply of water, and constructing several new structures, including a much needed medical center for the sickly, and those in need of operations and immediate medical assistance.
Judas’s first step off the boat was a tricky dance with the muck and sand collected upon the water’s edge. Judas’s mind raced with hatred for Quentin, and in the process, he forget completely about Katy and the gear. Katy trudged up closely behind Judas,
lugging the backpacks, canteens and other assorted merchandise for this expedition. Judas simply just walked into his tunnel vision and headed straight for the medical tent, again completely ignoring Katy.
“May I help you with that?” Alethea approached the sauntering woman, as she approached the colony’s interior design.
“Why thank you,” Katy returned the favorable conversation.
“We’ve arrived to help you fight this new outbreak.”
“You must be Katy?” Alethea’s accent was thick and pronounced.
“You know my name?” A bewildered Katy approached her.
“Master Quentin talked a great deal about you and a Dr. Judas.” Alethea carried one of the heavy backpacks, while Katy handled the full canteens and the other backpack of goods.
“I see. Judas is right up there.” Katy pointed straight ahead. “Heed my warning, he’s a bit on the gruff side today. We just lost our tour guide on the way up here, and the two of us are a bit taxed and exhausted.”
“My name’s Alethea, but Master Quentin calls me Ally.”
“Very nice to meet you,” Katy said with a broad smile. “I take it you and Dr. Forsythe are friends?”
“Very much so.” Ally beamed. “Sadly, my Quentin has been missing for some time now.”
“Missing?” Katy inquired as they walked through the decimated colony. Several dead bodies lay strewn about the grounds, newly infected from the mysterious virus that has supposedly spread through the colony. “Did they,” Katy started to speak but Ally intervened.
“They died early this morning from complication from the devil’s disease.”
“Devil’s disease?” Katy shot off a quizzical glance towards Alethea.
“Ever since Master Quentin returned from his trip deep inside the jungle, this outbreak has rapidly consumed our colony.”
“I’m starting to understand.” Katy fidgeted with the straps, trying to loosen the excessive weight of the backpack.
The two women continued along the dirty path, until they finally reached their intended destination. A rough, small, brownish colored tent, fully equipped with a zipper in front to block out flying insects and pesky neighbors. This would be where Katy and Judas would stay for the duration of their visit.
Inside the tent was indeed part of a culture shock for Katy. Two small, lopsided, blue cots rested on one side of the dirt floor, while on the other side of the tent, a table filled with full canteens, cocoa beans, and assorted vegetables grown in the makeshift farm that Quentin had started before his disappearance.
Katy looked around and finally rested her eyes on a unique, well-worn book lying on the table. “What’s that?”
“That is my Quentin’s journal. He kept a daily diary of our progress down here, and ultimately the fatal outbreak.”
Katy flipped through the random pages quickly scanning for vital information.
“In fact, you and Master Judas probably won’t survive down here, once you breath in the air.” Alethea informed her guest.
“We’ve already been exposed?” Katy questioned Alethea, and then immediately found her answer in Quentin’s journal. “Oh, it says right here, that Quentin feared the virus could be airborne and lethal to the colony. His rapid fight against this epidemic would lead him to build the water tank, irrigation system and farming fresh crops.”
“He was a smart man.” Alethea looked down at the backpacks.
“For your sake, I surely hope you don’t become infected with the devil’s disease.”
“Why aren’t you infected, if I may ask?”
“I feel I might have a immunity or a unknown defense against the virus,” Alethea responded with a glimmer of faith and hope. “My Quentin told me that, that he believed that some people have a natural immunity to certain virus’s, and that my unique immune system could be one of those rare finds.”
“Well then, you’re a truly lucky woman.” Katy casually unzipped her backpack and tucked the daunting journal inside.
“Hey ladies, what’s going in here?” Judas’s voice boomed as he boisterously sauntered into the tent. “I mean it’s not the Ramada, but hell, I didn’t think Yates would pull out all the stops on this one-way ticket anyway.”
“Dr Judas,” Alethea offered her kindness and warmth to her visitor.
“How are you?” Judas returned the favor.
“Not well, as you can see from the devastation outside.”
“And speaking of calamities, where does the great Quentin Forsythe reside in this paradise?” Judas meandered around the tent, gazing about taking in fresh mental notes.
“Sadly, he has not returned from his trip into the jungle,”
Alethea despondently answered Judas. Her eyes welled up with migrating tears of sadness and sorrow. “I just feel lost without him by my side.”
“Yeah, don’t we all.” Judas mimicked her sentiment, albeit in a sarcastic delivery.
“We need to develop some sort of master plan here Judas,” Katy firmly addressed her colleague.
“And what type of ideas do you have?” Judas wavered in and out of tent, as if he was looking for something. “Because, I have the master design to find Quentin Forsythe, bring back here, and find out what the hell’s going on here.” Judas looked back at Katy with a twitch of his eyes.
“I understand your concerns,” she said looking over at Alethea. “My concentration will be on the colony here and helping Alethea recover medical supplies, food, water, and clothing.” Katy grabbed her backpack and brushed by Judas. “Listen. I care about you tremendously, so don’t be a jerk,” she firmly whispered into his ear, while she gently kissed him on the cheek. “Go find Quentin, and bring him back home.”
“I wouldn’t underestimate your feelings for me Katy,” Judas confirmed as he returned the firm kiss. “First, I’ll scour the area for anything that can lead me to Quentin. Then, I’ll inspect the medical facilities and conditions of the patients, before I leave them to you and Quentin’s friend here.”
“I’d appreciate that greatly Mr. Judas,” Alethea warmly spoke. “For you to risk your life to find such a great man, that truly is God’s work.”
Judas cringed again at the uneven comparisons between him and Quentin. A surge of jealous envy consumed him once again, and he angrily exited the tent with a clouded mind and disenchanted soul.
Judas valiantly tried not to stare at the fallen colonists strewn about the town, stacked upon each other in a failed attempt at escaping this new illness. Judas recognized a mass graveyard when he saw one. These poor colonists had already started to bleed out from their eyes, mouths, ears, and noses. Their decrepit bodies, mangled, and locked into painful positions, that even a skilled chiropractor couldn’t fix. Calmness had swept over Judas Sturgis, as he came to the realization that Quentin Forsythe, whether friend or foe, would be his only chance at saving this colony. Without him, Judas might as well kneel down before these fallen men, women, and children, and let the devil’s disease wash over him as well.
****
Captain Nathaniel Logan, along with his right hand man John Garrison, stepped off Air Force One, and walked casually along the tarmac with the President of the United States, and a collection of his Secret Service entourage.
“So, Mr. President,“ Captain Logan addressed the nations leader with a firm military salute.
“At ease,” he said with a smile. “You have a lot of information to digest Nathaniel, I suggest you take a short break and then regroup, before heading to Natas, South Africa.” The President looked up at the lemon yellow glare of the sun. He adjusted his tinted sunglasses, and managed the cuffs on his black and white suit to fit around his thin wrists better. The President was in his late fifties, had salt and peppery hair, was a former Governor, and always had a hard on for blasting enemies off the planet with his new expensive military toys. But, as stated before, the President couldn’t just wipe the infected colony off the face of the Earth, he would needed to formulate a master plan that would require a non-violent approach.
“Ah, I don’t need a break Sir,” Nathaniel played the political game.
“Yes Sir,” John added into the one-way conversation. “We’re ready to serve you, Mr. President.”
“Well, in most cases, that’s plenty reassuring,” the President scoffed back. His underlying distaste for John Garrison was clearly evident, and both men hated each other.
“Okay now, easy boys. Let’s all play nice.” Nathaniel tried to smooth out the rough edges.
“In all fairness, great job back in Iraq in John,” the President acknowledged John’s excelsior type feats. “It’s just a sad shame that our own slanted views and opinions prohibit us from becoming closer within the political circle.” He turned around to once again shower accolades upon his prized military leader. “Captain Nathaniel Logan!” The President saluted. “I hereby declare from this time on, you will be known as Col. Nathaniel Logan, effective immediately upon your safe return from South Africa.”
“Thank you Mr. President, Sir!” Nathaniel returned the gracious salute with vigor.
“Lieutenant John Garrison,” the President again proceeded with the window dressing.
“Yes, Mr. President,” John eagerly awaited his potential promotion.
“I want you to back this man up down there in South Africa,
watch his back for me.”
“Yes, Sir!” John saluted again. “Anything else you would like to add, Sir?”
“Excuse me?” The President’s tone became burly. His black limousine pulled alongside him and one of his most trusted Secret Service agents opened the door for him. “Are you implying I’m not grateful for your time and service?” He started to angrily gnaw away at the inside of his cheek.
“No, I’m not inferring that at all Mr. President.” John started to toe the political line, but then he completely turned a one hundred eighty-degree about face.
“Wise move, Garrison.” The President started to enter the back of the limousine, eagerly waiting a drink from the wet bar.
“I don’t like being addressed to in a condescending manner,
Mr. President, Sir,” John’s crude manner definitely didn’t sit well with the Commander-in-Chief.
The President raised his eyes towards one of his agents, and nodded his head to one side.
“Now, let’s all be nice to each other,” Nathaniel tried in vain to rescue the situation from further damnation.
“Mr. Garrison, please enter the limousine,” the gruff agent addressed him.
“Fuck off, Poncho,” John hissed back. “That asshole in there knows I’m right, but he will never admit it. Where is my God Damn
promotion! I’ve fought in shit holes you’d never dream of entering. I’ve killed people you’ve only wished you had the balls to pull the trigger on. Instead, you give the order, and I carry out the mission. I don’t have a problem with that Sir, I honestly don’t. What I have a problem with, is the fact that I’ve been looked over for the past five fucking years in regards to a promotion, and that is really unfair.” John felt better getting all that off his chest.
Nathaniel could see the fire burning within the President’s eyeballs. He wanted nothing more than to take John into the far end of he forest and beat the shit out of him for an hour and a half.
“All I want is a fucking thank you. Thank you John, for all your hard work and dedication in protecting and serving our country at her most vulnerable time.” John felt a huge weight lift off his chest. “I feel better now Mr. President. Thank you for allowing me to vent that out, so I can go to Africa with a clear mind and conscience.”
“Get out of here Garrison,” the President snarled back.
John wasn‘t finished with his argument. “That’s right, go and slither back into whatever bunker you’ve created, so when this virus shit hits the fan you’ll be safe and protected like a baby inside her mother’s womb.” John stared down the President and then turned and walked away.
“Nathaniel,” the President called to his trusted officer.
“Yes?” Nathaniel asked as he walked over to the car.
“If that were me down there, I’d shoot that prick in the back of the head and leave him for the maggots.”
“Eh, John’s not all that bad. He just doesn’t agree with your philosophies and actions. That doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t that little bastard backing me up. John sure is one hell of a solider Mr. President. I think he just wants you to notice that, and stroke his ego a bit, just like the American public strokes yours.”
“You always have the right things to say at the right time.
Have you ever thought about a career in the White House?”
“Never crossed my mind.”
“We’ve wasted enough time here today with all this nonsensical chatter. I want you to implement a master plan for South Africa, and do it today.” The President ended the conversation, and immediately thereafter the black tinted windows zoomed up, and the President’s cavalcade soon disappeared from the tarmac and into the busy streets ahead.
****
Fifteen agonizing minutes had passed before Judas Sturgis gathered up enough will and grit to continue into the dense jungle and begin his search for the missing Quentin Forsythe.
The swirling inhabitants of the warm habitat didn’t sit well with Judas. His distaste for mosquitoes, gnats, or any other flying insect drove him to find Forsythe faster. He was bereft of a tour guide, not like Quentin had during his last costly expedition.
Zartan was caring for his fellow colonists, and Judas couldn’t disagree with those noble intentions.
Judas started to sweat immediately upon entering the thick jungle atmosphere. His patted his brow frequently in order to keep the streaking beads of sweat from impairing his eyesight.
The tasty mosquitoes feasted upon their new host’s exposed areas.
Judas continually smacked them away, leaving searing red marks all over the back of his neck, forearms and hands. A steady parade of black army ants scurried along the ground, while snakes slithered in and out their tree habitats. The sheer beauty of the jungle took Judas aback, however, he had no leisurely time for sightseeing. He was about to implement his master plan.
Judas was smart enough to bring along the late Roland’s hunting knife, along with a medium sized machete both which were located underneath one of the boat‘s chairs. Judas tightly gripped the silver and black machete, as he started to cut a path through the bulky vegetation. Judas reached for his water bottle as the sweltering African sun quickly dried up his energies. The water’s cool crispness felt great against his cracked lips. Judas eagerly swallowed up the liquid and twisted the cap tightly back onto the canteen. He pushed the canteen underneath his jacket and he let off another powerful shot with the machete, watching as pounds of vines fell harmfully to the ground.
Judas had no idea where Quentin was, or even if he was still alive. Judas wanted to get the hell of there before sundown, with or without Quentin. However, in his bitter haste for the legendary doctor, Judas forgot to make mile markers, or even cut marks into the trees in order to find his way back to the colony.
A daring trek into the horrible depths of the jungle is what Judas had to prepare himself for.
As the sun started her decline into the waiting pink horizon, Katy wondering where Judas was. Certainly, she knew his journey into the jungles would be a lengthy one, but she had hoped for his quick return with Quentin right behind him. Katy managed to pass the time by helping Alethea tend to the sick and dying. Sadly, as it was in most cases, Katy and Alethea’s presence was just to offer a quiet solace for the colonist’s escape over to the other side.
“This situation’s really bad here, isn’t it?” Katy asked Alethea.
“I’m afraid so.” Alethea slid her fingers across the eyes of a young man in her early thirties. Her face was hardly a semblance of her once dazzling beauty. Her green eyes were now pockets of blood, her fingers and toes curled backward, definitely a sign of advanced leprosy. The new strain of leprosy which had fragments of Ebola intertwined in it, was a devastating killer. The victim’s organs turned to liquid, eventually oozing from their eyes, mouth, and nose. In addition, the advancement of leprosy had robbed their minds of clarity, their bodies of movement, and their souls of hope.
The recent rains had turned the tropical jungle into a mucky residue, leaving pockets of sink holes all over the place. Judas wasn’t able to sidestep these traps and his boots quickly became entangled in the mud. He was able to finally break free after a few quick jerks, albeit he feared he had strained his MCL from his sudden quick movements.
“God Damn colony!” Judas shrieked as he continued to trudge along in search of the missing doctor. The sun had already fallen below the horizon, and the bright full moon basked the heartland with her glow. Judas looked up and saw some ominous looking clouds roll on by. “This place creeps me out.”
A scattering of faint voices penetrated Judas’s psyche. What were those sounds? Who was making them? Judas certainly had the naïve feeling he was all alone in the jungle, and that was fine by him. Nevertheless, the thought of someone else freaked him out. The fact that not seeing who or what was making those eerie, muffled whispers had really started to freak Judas out.
“Who are you?” The voices continued to haunt Judas. “Where are you?“ he asked with escalating aggression. His fingers tightly gripped the machete as he continued along his path. There was another thick collection of vines and branches just ahead of him. The snapping of several twigs in the distance alerted Judas to the incoming party. He defensively whipped his ahead around in a complete circle trying to locate the sound. The loud murmuring continued, as Judas darted straight ahead toward the dense grove ahead.
Judas grimaced with every step, his knee was definitely feeling the pain from the strained MCL. There was nothing he could do about it now. He fiercely swiped away at the brush making a clearing just large enough for him to escape into. He could feel the burning in his arms from wielding that machete through the tough foliage, swipe after swipe. The full moon seemed to light up the entire jungle in a bath of gloomy shadows.
Judas stared straight ahead and caught a glimpse of something white in the darkness. He blinked and stared at the same spot again, but this time the whiteness had disappeared.
Was he going nuts? Was Judas seeing things that weren’t there?
CRACKLE. CRACKLE.
Judas could feel them surrounding him. They were waiting for him, waiting to devour his flesh. The hotness of the jungle had consumed his brain. Judas was sweating profusely now, as random thoughts of horror trampled through his flailing mind. All he could think of were those damn George Romero zombie movies. Judas knew better, but, when one’s distraught in a place where everything is not as it seems, thoughts like those can dominate over rational judgments.
Another brush of sounds set Judas off into a defensive stance. He screamed and unloaded with a deadly yield of the machete, netting a perfect swath of carnage in its wake. Dark, cherry red blood splattered the lush foliage, and streaks of blood flew about into the moonlit skies, raining down upon Judas’s tired face. He withdrew the machete which was soaked from the fresh kill. He was horrifically brought to his knees when several colonists stumbled into the small clearing, mere feet away from Judas.
“Help us!” They murmured as they crept closer. Their bodies were covered in blood from Judas’s vicious attacks. Their convulsing joints and limbs were flailing aimlessly about, seemingly dangling from their bodies, limp from the deadly virus. Their eyes were sunken into there heads, their fingernails sharpened and curled from weeks of neglect. Their mouths were agape with fear, as they tried to keep the blood within their ailing bodies.
“Get away from me!” Judas threw up his arms in defense, stumbling along trying to find his footing.
The colonists started to grab and tug at Judas’s clothes, desperately trying have him rescue them. Their nails dug deeply into his skin, clawing and digging into his sweaty flesh.
“Help us!” Their chants were again echoed.
An infected man toppled over on top of Judas’s body, inches from his face. Judas again tightly gripped the machete and let off a sly grin.
“I’m afraid I can’t help you.” Judas thrust the machete into the belly of the wavering man, and back out again. The man choked up blood, spraying the droplets into Judas’s eyes.
“Oh fuck you!” Judas kicked him off and wrestled away from the rest of the dangerous colonists. A small woman in a final attempt to restrain the fleeing Judas, bit sharply into his ankle, puncturing the skin.
Judas let off a wild kick into her face, sending the woman flying backwards. “Get away from me, you infected swine!” Judas managed to stand up and limp backwards into the jungle’s cover.
“Go away!” He screamed. Judas was eventually able to block out their wailing moans, as he descended even deeper into the heartland of Africa.