Chapter XIII

CHAPTER XIII
REVEREND KIMBALL MADDOCK

Reverend Kimball Maddock walked about his fallen house of God, searching for answers to his many questions. He religiously and emphatically clutched the torn fibers of his beloved Holy Bible. One of the few precious items that had survived Dantu’s demolition of the church, Maddock’s parchment of prayers became the only solace in his ensuing disturbed madness. Maddock’s recent recovery from life-threatening injuries prompted his desire to lead a valiant resurgence within the torn colony. His tall towering frame was now reduced to a frail man filled with contempt for those who wiped out his life. Commander Dantu was the person solely responsible for crushing the Reverend’s dreams and place amongst the colonists. Seething inside, Maddock’s fingers traced over the golden cross that dangled loosely from his scarred neckline.
He sauntered over to the fallen pulpit and knelt before the dismantled podium that he had once built with his own hands. His fingernails were torn and splintered, while his skin was littered with insect bites, a result from his lengthy vigils inside the worn-down church. Maddock’s large hands clasped the Holy Cross that hung around his neck, as he bowed down his head in complete accordance with his religion.
The lingering sunshine had penetrated through the cracked walls, and poured down upon Maddock from high above the obliterated ceiling. Reverend Maddock could feel the tiny pebbles digging into his bruised kneecaps, as he tried to fidget himself trying to locate a more comfortable location.
“Dear Lord,” he whispered into the hot jungle air. His broken and jagged teeth cut deeply into his tongue every time he had attempted a speech. His right eye surveyed the area, even looking up straight into the filtering sunlight searching for the Lord’s presence. “I pray to you, not only for your support, but for your strength and courage.” Maddock held the emblem to his lips and cemented his words with a gentle kiss.
“Reverend Kimball Maddock?” the voice beckoned from behind.
The aged Reverend, most likely well into his late fifties, gingerly rose and turned to face the dainty voice.
Alethea had brought Katy along with her in hopes of gathering the Reverend for a much-needed morale boost to the colony.
“Ah, my sweet Alethea.” The Reverend completely had turned to face her. His lankly fingers tapped the cover of the Bible. The quiet sounds were comparable to a tune he had stuck in his head from an earlier time.
“My dear Reverend,” Alethea greeted him warmly. “Your still a very dashing man, considering what has transpired here over the past few weeks.”
Katy took in the Reverend and noticed his large frame, black skin, the insect bites, gray hair, and the multiple scars from Dantu’s beating. And then, there was the lasting impression upon Katy’s young psyche. Maddock’s left eye was torn from its socket and covered with a black eye patch. His right eye was jarred from the ocular cavity, sliding around the socket.
“And you are?” his deep voice beckoned to his new guest.
“Dr. Katy Madison,” she replied back while she swayed back and forth in a nervous pattern.
“No need to be jittery young Miss,” Maddock addressed Katy.
“Is it the eye patch?” he asked.
“Perhaps.” Katy winced at the thought.
“Well, I’m very fortunate that my right eye still remains intact. I however, have suffered significant vision loss in my right eye. I will not and shall not let this impede my crusade against Dantu and this deadly virus.” Maddock soared with redemptive passion.
“Are you willing to ignite a revolution?” Alethea curiously asked of him.
“I’m willing to lead a revolt against Dantu’s injustices and devilish acts of violence.” Maddock sternly addressed Alethea.
“I fear Quentin has succumbed to Dantu’s fiery rage,” Alethea responded with remorse. “I feel responsible sanding him out into the jungle searching for a solution.”
“I’ve briefly met Quentin,” Maddock said with a short pause. “I do honestly feel that he has not betrayed you, nor the colony in his quest for answers.”
“Really?”
“I feel that the Lord’s work is at hand here, and your Quentin will not stray from his task.” Maddock let a small smile stretch across his tired face.
“How can you be so certain?” Katy pondered.
“One must have faith in God and what he has in store for us down here.” Maddock paced around, mourning the loss of his once proud church. “Alethea, I can remember you sitting here just a few short weeks ago.” Maddock started reminiscing about his highly popular Sunday sermons. The dismantled benches were splintered, cracked, and charred from the vandalism acts of Commander Dantu.
“Quentin and I came every Sunday morning to hear your uplifting words of faith, hope and insight.” Alethea welcomed back the fond memories.
“We need to gather the remaining survivors and spread the word of God. I shall provide the inner strength needed to combat the Devil’s disease.” Maddock clutched his trusty Bible. “I will not remain blind to the Devil’s advances upon our colony.”
“Amen,” Katy spoke with conviction. “You have a rousing voice, very suitable for sermons.”
“Why, thank you.” Maddock looked around the crumbling church. “We’re going to need to rebuild the House of God, if we are to succeed.” Maddock opened his arms in a prayer towards the sky. “It will be His will, and His alone.”
Dusk was rapidly approaching the colony, infusing the entire area with a warmly lit orange hue. Maddock broke the silence outlining his plan of action.
“We need to act fast and gather the healthy into the church and stress unity and determination in battling this disease.”
Alethea and Katy both bid their farewells to the Reverend, as they dispersed to gather the healthy for Maddock’s night sermon.
Maddock turned back to the shattered pulpit and looked up at the splintered Jesus that dangled from the ceiling, swaying back and forth in a hypnotic fashion.
His weary fingers flipped through the Bible, until he located his favorite Psalms. “Ah yes, here it is,” he ran his index finger down the yellow encrusted page, until he rested upon Psalm 27, seeking trust in God.
“Father, I kneel before you in hope of your guidance, your salvation and most of all your love.” Maddock gazed upon the swaying Jesus, ready to begin his sermon with the Lord.
Maddock quietly murmured the Psalm.
“The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom should I fear?
The Lord is my life’s refuge; of whom should I be afraid?
When evildoers come at me to devour my flesh,
My foes and my enemies themselves will stumble and fall.
Though an army encamp against me, my heart will not fear;
Though war be waged upon me, even then I will trust.
One thing I ask of the Lord; this I seek:
To dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life,
That I may gaze on the loveliness of the Lord, and contemplate his temple.
For he will hide me in abode in the day of trouble;
He will conceal me in the shelter of is tent, he will set me high upon a rock.
Even now my head is held high above my enemies on every side
And I will offer in his tent sacrifices with shouts of gladness;
I will sing and chant praise to the Lord.
*****
Zartan was forcefully salvaging whatever crops he had in his tiny garden. The contaminated water did not serve as a proper additive to the crop’s longevity. After Dantu’s blaze of destruction, everything was left for dead. Reverend Maddock’s irrigation system was destroyed, as was his Church. Maddock also had made strides in building stronger structures for the colony, from a new medical lab, to new housing and even had dreams of building a shower with running hot water. His plan would have a pit of hot coals heating the pipes of clean water, giving the colonists a chance to kill bacteria and cleanse themselves on a frequent basis. The Reverend had found some miscellaneous piping in one of Dantu’s vast camps. Although, he never had time to implement his full plan. He would watch from afar as Quentin, the new doctor, tirelessly worked to achieve what the Reverend had planned, before Dantu’s wake of destruction arrived.
Zartan stood there motionless, as he fondly remembered when Maddock spoke passionately about these advances, and he wanted to a part of the rebuilding process. However, this new outbreak had the colonists fighting for their very lives, as they attempted to restrain from becoming infected. They were in need of an immediate solution. A solution, that perhaps Quentin Forsythe had jotted down in his medical journal. The same journal that had Judas Sturgis running circles trying to find.
*****
Judas frantically searched through Quentin’s personal belongings, desperately trying to locate the missing journal. Darkness had already engulfed the African jungles, signaling the end of another brutal day of heat, famine and of course, the new viral strain that had ripped through the colony. If only Judas could find the journal, then he could find an attainable cure the disease, rendering him an icon within the saved colony. This ego driven fantasy eschewed most, but not Judas.
The cave’s walls were moist, sending a trickling of water dribbling down the rocky surface. Judas had no luck in finding Quentin’s writings. Judas systematically pilfered through Quentin’s decaying knapsack, now covered with cobwebs and frayed black shoulder straps. The L.L. Bean logo had been completely worn off, and the zippers were untracked.
Judas’s patience had rapidly begun to wear thin, prompting a haste search. His fingers finally traced over a worn black marbled notebook, with several creases on the front cover. A slick smile stretched across his face as he joyfully pulled out the thick notebook from the warped backpack. He licked every finger while he perused through the white and blue lined pages, searching for the antidote. Quentin’s scribbling was marginal at best. The jumbled words were juxtaposed together, barely legible, almost as if he was in a hurry, or perhaps that was his natural writing style. Whatever the case was, Judas frantically attempted to locate the key information.
“It has to be in here,” he mumbled. Judas had yet to find what he was seeking. Quentin has rolled over in his bed, still immersed in some kind of R.E.M. sleep. His inconsistent marbled linguistics was driving Judas insane.
Judas had noticed a jagged tear in the center of the notebook, where a page used to be located. The previous page had indeed alluded to the antidote. However, there was no sign, or information pertaining to the antidote’s powerful capacity.
Judas forcefully slammed the book to the ground, and kicked it across the room. “That bastard,” he fumed while he stormed about the cave. “I bet Quentin left it back in the colony,” Judas wondered as he darted out of the dwelling and onto the ledge. His face had become entangled in a silky web. His hands frantically tried to wipe away the annoying substance. It was then Judas had a devilish idea of his own.
Judas re-entered the room with Quentin’s knapsack, stuffed with African Spiders. “This will be one battle you won’t be winning Quentin.” Judas smirked while he cautiously slid the open backpack underneath the covers where Quentin Forsythe lay engaged in a deep state of sleep. The spiders moved around inside their new home, eagerly anticipating a way out.
Quentin again rolled around in his bed, inadvertently kicking the backpack, agitating its new guests.
Judas silently walked out of the dwelling one last time, with Quentin’s journal firmly clasped within his left hand. Judas let off a dark smile upon hearing Quentin’s faint screams, as the spiders feasted upon their new prey, injecting poisonous venom into Quentin’s bloodstream.