Wednesday, May 31, 2006

Chapter VIII

CHAPTER VIII
NATHANIEL LOGAN
IRAQ

Crackle. Crackle.
Captain Nathaniel Logan was losing the signal. Amidst all of the fighting and secret missions, now was not the time to lose contact with his right hand man: Lieutenant John “Sharkey” Garrison.
Logan pressed the button with haste. His teeth grated against each other, eventually whittling away at the dry skin upon his lower lip.
“John!” He gasped into the intercom. His silver earpiece rattled loose from his left ear once he saw what entered into his tent.
A strong fume swept over Logan’s base camp, penetrating his small collection of men. Logan was in the thick of his mid-life crisis at thirty-eight years old. He worked his way up the corporate ranks with grit and toughness. He was an imposing man of six feet five inches, with short trimmed brown hair and hazelnut eyes. His arms were fit for a bodybuilder, his strength was unmatched, unparalleled, and uncontested. Logan could kill a man with his huge hands, and he has under extreme circumstances.
But, this wasn’t how he was supposed to die. A cheapened retribution from some splintered Iraqi army, undoubtedly pissed off at the current American administration for wiping out their leader under a blanket of firepower and non-stop bombardments.
Logan watched his men drop to the ground in pain. His rapid deduction taught him to cover his mouth and nose and shield away the deadly nerve gas. A three-dimensional thinker, Logan darted for the light breaking through the tent’s flaps. He barreled straight through, knocking down several Iraqi soldiers like bowling pins.
Logan rolled along the sandy surface, fingers clenching his firearm tightly, ready for action. After a complete roll, Logan landed on his backside and cocked his weapon. A secure sweep of the area showed several confused and dazed Iraqi’s on the ground, wondering what just had hit them.
Logan’s fingers clicked the earpiece back into place. “John,” Logan whispered anxiously. “Can you hear me?”
An intermittent static sound reverberated back to Logan. The hot sunshine glared down upon him as he tried again to re-establish contact with his best friend and explosives expert.
“Captain Nathaniel Logan?” A strange musky voice addressed the Captain.
“Who is this?” Logan asked with a fiery tone, as he whipped around in a circle that offered him a steady defense.
“Come on, don’t play with me,” the voice engaged Logan in a barbed conversation.
“Where’s John Garrison?” Logan addressed the mystery man.
Where could this man be calling from? There was a straight patch of desert before the next town. John had a day’s head start, implementing a steadfast plan of C-4 and clay mines along the presidential headquarters. A total top-secret mission, only the President, Vice-President, Joint Chief of Staff and Logan knew the protocol. His men as they would later say in the debriefing are expendable. Well, fuck them. Logan wasn’t going to let his men die out there without a fight, and that’s what he was going to do for John Garrison.
“He’s begging for mercy.” The man’s voice became more agitated. “You picked the wrong man to fuck with Logan.” The line went dead, allowing a minimal window of opportunity for Logan to find the source.
“Damn it!” Logan squeezed off several rounds into the empty skies in a thrust of anger. His attention brought him to his Hummer on the other side of the tent. Logan started a brisk jog over to the vehicle and hopped in, closing the door behind him.
Logan quickly flipped on all the cool toys, activating the GPS locator. “That prick’s fucking with the wrong man.” Logan gazed down at the blinking red dot on his screen. “Hold on John.”
Logan slipped his blue tinted sunglasses over his face, cocked his neck, and clacked his jaw with a vengeance. He eagerly slammed the gear into first and pulled away in a cloud of sandy dust.
“What’s this?” the man boomed at the beaten John. “You’re
wired?”
John just managed a weak grin. He might’ve been on the short side, at five feet five inches, but this man had a reputation. In fact, behind the bald head, tightly trimmed black goatee, and arrogant attitude, John did have a sense of humanity. Just not right now. Logan hired him personally for this mission, and he wasn’t about to fail. John’s long tenure in the military also provided him with invaluable knowledge, that couldn’t be understood by this daunting asshole before him.
“Again,” the man bowled over with hate. “Someone knows you’re here, is that Captain of yours?”
John tried to move, but his hands were tied above his head to the railing above him. He just dangled there, awaiting another
punishing attack from the brutal man before him.
“Do you know, when you want to kill someone, especially someone of my political power, you don’t fail in your quest.”
“President Katar Quay?” John asked.
“In the flesh,” the disgraced president boasted.
“You survived?”
“I do have more options at my disposal then you do my friend.”
“You were captive in a secret prison for weeks,” John didn’t understand, unless the president was a decoy the first time.
“Do you get it yet?”
“The president we captured was a fake?”
“And you thought I would just let you punks waltz right in and kill me?” President Quay unloaded a harsh punch into John’s naked chest.
“Your country’s in ruins.”
“Indeed, but like my father used to tell me: you have to sacrifice in order to succeed in life.”
“Where do you think you will succeed?”
“I have many other options to retaliate against your putrid country and regain my lost empire.”
“Not if I can help it.” That voice rattled the president from his speech.
“Ah, Captain Nathaniel Logan,” he whirled around. “Please come in.”
Logan surveyed the area. Everything was perfectly in place inside the presidential palace. John was hanging from the low ceiling, while the president was standing perfectly in place, never walking around or using any aggressive movements. John was kept close to him, guarded within the six by six foot block, that the president also had resided in.
There were no signs of explosives anywhere, but perhaps they could be underneath the tiled floor, or worse strapped to John’s back. Logan wasn’t going to take any chances. He raised his weapon perpendicular to the president. Only a few feet separated the men.
“Now, that’s a dumb move.”
Logan’s mind scattered across all the options, until it was too late. John wasn’t the one triggered. It was Logan. He was standing either on or underneath a vast array of explosives.
“How’s that mind of yours working now?” President Quay mocked Logan. “I’ve done some reading on your unique abilities to find your way out anything, just by using that brain of yours.”
“It’s a family gift,” Logan barked back, as he noticed the fringed rope around John’s hands that held John in midair.
“Once a step off his weight pressurized plate,” the president explained. “It will trigger a line of explosive mines, and C-4 all around this building. So, you’ll get your wish by blowing up my palace, but you’ll sacrifice yourself in the process.”
“And you?” Logan directed at the president.
“I have my escape route all planned out.”
“As do I.” Logan grinned back, as he took of his sunglass and held his weapon firmly behind him.
“And how’s that?” The president tried to guess, as he started to move off his protected grid.
“I’m guessing you and John are the same weight?”
“I’m about one eighty-five,” John called out.
“I’m one seventy-five,” the disgraced President suddenly caught onto Logan’s plan, but it was too late. The bullet had already left Logan’s chamber and sliced through John’s rope, sending him landing down upon the president’s grid.
“What?” The president urgently reached for his gun, firing off a random shot towards Logan.
Sidestepping the oncoming attack, Logan unleashed a harsh round directly into the president’s chest, sending the leader
crashing to his knees.
John stepped off the grid and welcomed Logan with a hearty handshake.
The president writhed on the floor, clutching his fading heart, losing every breath he had left in his faltering body.
“You picked the wrong man to fuck with,” Logan addressed the dead president. “John, light this place up like a roman candle.”
Logan slid his sunglasses back on his face, while John pursued him, snatching up his black detonator box that was taken from him during the whole process. His stubby finger held down the red button with pleasure.
Both men exited out of the lavish palace, leaving behind a swirling column of smoke and fire escaping into the fierce Iraqi skies.

Friday, May 19, 2006

Chapter VII

CHAPTER VII
THE DEVILS DISEASE
July 30th

The blazing hot sun again drenched the colony in an inescapable heat wave. The thick clouds had started to formulate a wicked storm high above the jungle. This of course, hadn’t slowed down our Quentin Forsythe who briskly limped across the impoverished colony, watching as decimation wrecked the feeble society. His long wrinkled white shirt was disheveled and bloodied, hung loosely over his tattered and torn light brown khaki’s. He had sported a grizzly, bristled white beard, a remnant of the days gone by. Quentin had a plan in place, to eliminate the devil’s stronghold on this colony.
“Master Quentin,” her sweet voice came up behind him.
“Ally,” he turned around to face her. “How are you?”
“Much better, now that you’re here,” she responded in her thick dialect.
“We have to start our plan of rebuilding the colony.” Quentin reached for her hand.
“I understand.” Ally’s soft voice resonated in his ears.
“I have to trek into the jungle and scour for fresh water and edible food.” Quentin looked around at the citizens taking baths in the diseased riddled creeks and rivers, or even worse, using them for lavatory purposes. “I’d like to leave as soon as possible.”
“I know just the person to take you into the jungle.”
“Really? Who?” Quentin pressed for an answer.
“His name is Zartan Torue, and he’s the best we have.”
“I’m flattered. Where can I find him?”
“He lives in that small tent way over there at the end of the colony.”
Quentin followed Ally’s finger. “A bit of a recluse?”
“What does that mean?”
“He likes to keep to himself?”
“He’s one of the last survivors.” Ally looked into Quentin’s eyes. “He’s dodged all the major diseases to this point.”
“He’s very lucky.” Quentin and Ally continued to walk along, noticing small kids kicking around a battered soccer ball.
Quentin entered his tent, with Ally right behind him.
“I want to give you something,” she said reaching for something underneath her makeshift straw bed.
“A present for me?” Quentin felt a bit embarrassed.
“Here, Master Quentin.” Ally handed him a black and silver double-barreled shotgun.
“What’s that for?”
“You will need this in the jungle, to protect yourself against the demons.” Ally’s voice turned serious.
“I will gladly take this and defend the colony with every ounce of strength left in my bones,” replied Quentin as his eager fingers firmly clasped the weapon. “Thank you.”
“Your welcome,” Ally responded as she beckoned him to the bed. “Come here, Master Quentin.”
Quentin followed her lead, right into her waiting arms. After a lengthy kiss, an air of romance surrounded the two lovers, as the rolled around the bed in a tight embrace.
****
The next morning was the day that Quentin was going to implement his five-step plan. Quentin shuffled over to the tiny mirror and gazed at himself for a second. His fingers worked every button on his shirt, until a pesky chest hair got caught in between forcing a slight grimace on his face.
Quentin headed outdoors, using his hands to shield himself from the blinding sunshine; he finally made out Zartan’s tent.
Quentin used the gun for a temporary cane, as he gimped along, nursing his injured leg. He calmly opened the green flaps to Zartan’s tent and walked inside.
Zartan was a tall, black man in his mid-forties, with small brown eyes. A shiny, bald head, taut black goatee, and two golden hoop earrings in each ear rounded out his facial features. He was dressed from head to toe in green combat fatigues, obviously stolen from one of Dantu’s men.
“May I help you?” Zartan’s deep, low voice asked of his guest.
“Alethea has sent me into your kind graces,” responded a
friendly Quentin. Zartan’s voice had reminded him of the legendary actor, Isaac Hayes. “My name is Dr. Quentin Forsythe.”
“Ah yes,” his African accent was prominent. “Alethea and I go back a long way. She speaks very highly of you, and I see she trusts you.”
“How so?”
“That weapon is very close to her heart. She uses it for defense when her father comes through her with his troops.”
“She gave it to me for protection.” Quentin gazed around the tent. “Do you have enough weapons?”
“Not enough,” Zartan answered with a sly smile. He started to load a shotgun full of bullets, and slid a thick hunting knife into a homemade leather scabbard that hung loosely at his side.
“When Commander Dantu comes through here, I’m usually raiding his camp. I make away with weapons, food, and medicine for the colony.”
“You seem to be a very wise man.” Quentin observed him.
“I have a an extra change of clothes for you.” Zartan administered assistance to Quentin.
“Great,” responded Quentin as he reached for the camouflaged clothing.
“Take these,” Zartan handed him two grenades. “Put them in your pocket, yes?”
“I guess so,” Quentin replied as he retrieved the explosives from Zartan’s grasp.
“For defense.” Zartan turned himself around and picked up a large knife and handed it to Quentin.
“Another weapon?”
“Slid it into your boots, in case you find yourself without your shotgun, or you need to skin a lion for food.”
“Interesting.” Quentin simply was enthralled at this entire
practice.
“We leave now, yes?” Zartan again ended his dialogue with a friendly tone.
Quentin approached the Jeep first. “Is this our transportation?”
“For the first quarter mile,” Zartan responded as he chucked the gear into the back. “Then, we hike.”
“Wonderful,” said a crestfallen Quentin, as he rubbed his leg with care. He cautiously slid into the passenger seat, which was torn and lopsided.
Zartan turned the key and the Jeep sputtered to life.
“Anything I need to know?” Quentin asked, wondering if the seat was going to hold him.
“Just grab onto the railing above your head.” Zartan started to pull away towards the jungle.
“Why?” Quentin never had the chance to get an answer, as he was bounced around like a pinball in an arcade machine. His teeth clattered together, his bones shifted back and forth over the rocking and jostling of the Jeep.
“So you’re a doctor, yes?” Zartan asked of his bouncing guest.
Quentin’s words seemed to stammer from the vicious shaking of the old vehicle. “Yes, I am.”
“We need more of you here, to save us from the devil’s diseases.”
“That’s why I’m here.” Quentin looked up just in time to feel a cool rain drizzle upon his face. “Looks like rain.”
“We stop here, yes?” Zartan spoke as he shut off the ignition and let the Jeep roll to a complete stop at the end of the dirt road.
Quentin happily got out of the Jeep, and firmly planted his feet on the ground. It took a few moments before the rocking inside him had subsided, but he gathered himself and reached for the shotgun.
The dense clouds turned dark and within a matter of seconds the sun was a faded, distant memory.
“Where now?” Quentin’s head felt the raindrops increasing with tenacity.
“The path splits just inside the jungle.” Zartan motioned with his hands. “We go this way, yes?” He indicated with his left hand.
“How far is Dantu’s camp?” asked Quentin as he smacked away an engorged mosquito away from his sweaty neck.
“A few miles inside the jungle. Be very careful and prepare yourself for Dantu’s men. They routinely scour this area. Their method of entrapment relies on carefully placed landmines.” Zartan warned Quentin.
“Land mines?”
“The one’s that go ka-boom!” Zartan exclaimed with vigor.
“If you hear a click, ka-boom follows. No survivors,” said a saddened Zartan as he shook his in a negative manner.
“Thanks for the tip.” Quentin’s hair was totally drenched now, just a wet matte of white hair.
“I will concentrate on hunting for food, you will collect fresh water and medicine from Dantu’s camp, yes?”
“Sounds like a plan,” Quentin replied as he bent down to tie his boot, which had come untied. Quentin’s knee had made a soft impression in the muddy path. He could feel the earth wash away underneath his weight. By the time he looked up, Zartan had already started the dangerous trek into the dark jungle ahead, without the doctor.
“That’s just great,” murmured Quentin. “His enthusiasm impresses me, but his leadership skills.” Quentin’s thoughts broke off once he heard the small click of a weapon directly behind his right ear.
Quentin slowly reached into his black boot and retrieved the hunting knife given to him by Zartan.
“What are you doing here?” asked the burly solider of his newly found prisoner. The intense rain poured down upon them with a vengeful reckoning. The water ran fiercely off the soldier’s cap.
“Would you believe I’m lost?” Quentin sarcastically answered.
“Lost?” The commando’s fingers pressed the trigger, however, the weapon jammed and he had lost the upper hand.
Quentin’s hearing picked up on the miscue, and he took full advantage. His hand gripped the knife tautly, and with a sharp and furious thrust, Quentin had buried the blade deep within the soldier’s right thigh.
A howl of pain erupted from the wounded man’s lips, as he collapsed in a bloodied heap and rolled across the mud-soaked trail, clutching his flesh wound.
Quentin whirled around, digging his fingers sharply into the ground for ample support. He had to favor his throbbing leg; it had started to seize up on him again.
The tears strolled down the soldier’s face; his bright red lips were pursed in agony. And then that horrible sound creaked out from underneath the mud.
CLICK!
Quentin knew that sound meant something horrible for the young man. He was in no position to save him, nor did he really want to. His deep hatred for what Dantu had done to him; lead Quentin down a different path of thinking. Rationality had started to seep away from his consciousness. Out here in the colony, it was survival, and nothing more, nothing less.
“What does that sound mean?” The wounded man asked.
“It means Ka-boom.” Quentin rose and gingerly walked towards the fork in the road. Seconds later, the screaming was lost within a forceful explosion that sent pieces of the solider raining down in every direction.
The warm rain softened as Quentin arrived to a clearing, where he spotted Zartan peering through a set of binoculars.
“What took you so long?” Zartan wanted to know.
“One of Dantu’s men cornered me,” answered the stern doctor.
“I take it you won that battle, yes?” Zartan posed another question to Quentin. “What do you see?”
Zartan tossed the binoculars into Quentin’s direction. “Take a look.” He nodded his head directly ahead.
Quentin’s eyes peered into Commander Dantu’s campsite. Several men walked around; fully equipped with a deadly arsenal, ready to destroy all intruders upon contact. Emerging from the center of the pack was Dantu himself!
“Bastard,” grumbled Quentin. “That sociopath is mine.”
“We camp further up and hit them tomorrow,” proposed a thoughtful Zartan.
“Well, I’m sure he heard that explosion, and wants to know what caused it.” Quentin lowered the binoculars. “I’ll wait here, you go ahead and gather some food. I’m confident in a matter of minutes, Dantu will send out his men to search the area, leaving him fully exposed for a surprise visit.” Quentin was right on target, as Dantu indeed dispatched his small troupe to scour the surrounding area.
“Good luck my friend,” Zartan slapped Quentin upon the shoulder, nearly knocking him over.
“I’ll need it,” Quentin mumbled back as he made his way towards Dantu’s camp, pushing away large vegetation in the process.
Dantu had paced around feverishly, nursing his recent foot injury. His concentration had been broken for a minute, as he lingered off thinking about the pain in his foot. He quickly felt a sharp crack from behind that sent him sprawling ahead trying to find a way to retaliate. Soon, dark blackness swallowed him up, and the faint noise of footsteps dragged him along the wet ground.
Dantu was securely tied down in a chair in the middle of his medical tent. The rattling of supplies alerted him to his intruder. He frantically tried to free himself from the tightly knotted bondage.
“Who are you?” Dantu grimaced.
“You don’t remember me?” the voice asked him, as they continued to peruse through Dantu’s medical gear. “What’s inside the boxed cooler?” The voice dropped in tone.
“I’m not telling you.” Dantu defiantly denied access to that precious knowledge. Lowering his head, Dantu stared at the ground.
The intruder simply shrugged it off and walked around to face Dantu. Those eyes gazed down upon the fallen commander until Dantu finally raised his head, instantly recognizing his captor.
“You!” Dantu darkly growled. “I left you for dead, to teach you a lesson!”
“Well, next time play for keeps,” responded a fearsome Quentin Forsythe.
“It was a business decision,” Dantu tried to smooth out the situation. He directly knew his chances of survival hinged on calmly placating the riled doctor.
“Save it,” barked back Quentin. “I thank the Lord above for a wonderful daughter like yours. She lovingly treated me and brought me back from certain death.” Quentin started to pace around the room.
“She does have her mother’s flaws.” Dantu sniffed back with hatred.
“Never mind that. I want to know what’s inside that neat little cooler over there.” Quentin turned around and looked directly into Dantu’s eyes. For once, he saw that fear, that uncertainty inside the commander’s shaky eyes.
“I will not tell you.” Dantu again defied Quentin.
A hard vicious slap sent a stinging sensation across Dantu’s right cheek.
“That’s supposed to scare me?” Dantu hurled a wad of spit into Quentin’s face.
“No. But, this baby should.” Quentin quickly displayed the fully loaded shotgun that Ally had given to him earlier that day.
That cold barrel stared down the faltering commander.
“Now, now.” Dantu fidgeted in the chair. “Let’s not make rash decisions.”
Quentin’s calm, steady hand pumped off a blistering shot that had whizzed by Dantu’s cheek, leaving a reddened flash burn.
“The cooler.” Quentin again asked the question, as he snapped the shotgun shut, ready for another shot. “And, the next one goes directly between your eyes hot shot.” He raised the weapon directly in front of Dantu’s face.
“Remember Bob?”
“Yeah, my old friend, the one you brutally killed?”
“Well, he found something that was left behind by another doctor.”
Quentin tried to make the dots connect. “What other doctor? And, what the hell are you stammering about?”
“A couple of years ago, I stumbled upon this young doctor inside the colony, who claimed he had found the cure for leprosy.”
“Impossible,” Quentin denied the plausible possibility.
“According to this doctor, he had found the remedy within the Ebola virus.” Dantu’s words were stinging.
“Ebola? We would all be dead right now.” Quentin administered his theory.
“Not if the doctor had isolated that one case.” Dantu licked his lips. His hands were starting to chafe, underneath the rigid rope.
“Okay, so where does Bob tie into this?”
“He found out that this doctor, I think his name was Norris, like the American movie star, had combined the two into one entity, and administered it to himself, using himself as the test subject.”
“Dr. Rodney Norris?” Quentin finally made the connection.
“Yeah, that sounds right.” Dantu agreed.
“But, he left here, and returned back to the states, until he...” Quentin’s words had trailed off.
“I stumbled upon this during the later stages, and coerced Bob to monitor the situation.”
“What happened?”
“The devil’s disease,” Dantu’s voice spoke sternly.
“It spread?”
“It infected some, but not all.” Dantu started to choke up. “I lost many men to this venomous snake.”
“And what about Bob?”
“He needed medical supplies to find a cure, but in the end, he was only out for himself,” replied Dantu. “Eventually, he double crossed me, and nobody does that.”
“I gathered. How did it spread?”
“I don’t know. If I had to guess, it passed from person to person, through the air. Chances are you’re infected right now.” Dantu evilly smiled. “Welcome to the colony.”
“And you’re not?” Quentin inquired.
Dantu just quietly rocked back and forth.
Quentin darted for the cooler, fiercely breaking open the lock with the butt of the shotgun. Quentin set down the weapon and slowly opened the top revealing two empty vials spinning wildly at the bottom of the cooler.
“You little, wily dick!” Quentin whirled around and briskly limped over to Dantu. “You took the last of the antidote. That’s why you killed Bob. He knew that you held the key to the puzzle.”
“Survival,” seethed an angry Dantu.
Quentin quickly headed for the table, and scattered the medical kit about. His fingers scooped up a clean syringe and empty vial and headed straight towards Dantu. “It’s your turn to save the colony now,” Quentin used his teeth to rip off the plastic, readying Dantu for a blood withdrawal.
“What are you doing?” He abruptly asked. His violent rocking made it impossible for Quentin to draw a sample. A solid head-butt from Quentin sent Dantu staring to space, allowing Quentin to enact the quick retrieval of blood from inside Dantu’s arm. Dark, berry blood swirled into the clear vial, filling it with a sea of red.
The sounds of approaching men, made Quentin harshly cap off the vial and head for the exit.
“Time for me to leave.” Quentin turned around to face the bewildered commander. Quentin couldn’t resist the temptation and pulled out a grenade from inside his pocket.
“What are you doing?” Dantu started to resume coherence.
“Let’s call it a mutual business decision.” Quentin snagged the pin with his teeth and tossed the explosive device directly into Dantu’s personal space.
Quentin darted out of the tent in a desperate attempt to beat the grenade’s wrath of terror. He bumped into the incoming soldiers, and continued to bristle past their grasp, heading for cover. Time slowly elapsed, as Quentin didn’t think he had enough distance.
A thunderous boom rocketed into the sky, infiltrating the jungle with a deafening shake. And there was Quentin Forsythe on the ground trying to protect his body from the flying shrapnel and burning flesh. His thoughts drifted to his sweet Ally, wondering if he would ever see her again.

Friday, May 12, 2006

Chapter VI

PART II
CHAPTER VI--LOST PROPHET
July 25th


Katy Madison jogged briskly around Central Park in between an intermittent thunderstorm, recklessly filtering through her I-Pod with a quick dance of her eager fingers. The portable music device housed her favorite musical artists, ranging from the incomparable Dave Matthews Band, the juggernaut classic rock band, The Rolling Stones, and finally Pink Floyd.
Katy’s gray and red striped ensemble easily caught the wandering eyes of the city’s finest horndogs. Her daily exercise routine kept her body in firm shape. As a member of the prestigious P.A.L.S. organization, Katy had always kept herself on the path of a rigorous regime.
Her daily jog rapidly became filled with wandering thoughts of Dr. Judas Sturgis. It was only a short month and a half ago that the two shared a drink at one of the local cafes, and promised to keep in touch.
A meandering teenager bristled past her; spinning her on a dime, on his way to catch the departing Greyhound express line.
“What a little prick,” she muttered to herself. She had her fill of the stupid, arrogant, and self-absorbed assholes that seemed to parade their recessive genes around the city daily, without a care or common courtesy extended to the next individual in their proximity.
She returned to her thoughts about Judas, wondering where the hell he’s been and why the absent phone calls. Her current path brought her to a nearby newspaper stand, where the daily copy of the New York Post rested comfortably in its proper place.
On the front page splashed the headline: Local doctor released from hospital.
Underneath the black and white picture, Katy almost pissed on herself once she saw the person’s head shot in the center of the paper.
Dr. Judas Sturgis!!!
She calmly slid the vendor a crisp green dollar bill and snatched up a copy, along with a 24 oz bottle of ice cold Dasani water. Katy made her way through the thick gathering of New York City’s ‘finest’ to an emptied park bench straight ahead. Katy turned off her music and crossed her legs, eagerly waiting to divulge this new information concerning Judas.
Katy deciphered what had happened to Judas and planned to pay the recovering doctor a little visit.
Judas, now bearded and twenty pounds heavier, rested comfortably inside his den, using every fingertip available to twist off the cap to an ice cold Heineken. That uber-cool taste wrapped his taste buds in a heavenly glory.
Judas was not a man of organizational structure. His spacious den alone was littered with medical papers, science journals, and his favorite copies of Mad Magazine. Judas’s attention was totally engrossed in thinking of absolutely nothing, just a heavy dose of daydreaming.
Katy Madison nervously dialed Judas’s number, hoping the good doctor would answer it.
Judas had just finished off the first bottle of Heineken, rising to retrieve another, when his telephone jarred him out of his funk. His gangly fingers scooped up the white portable off its cradle, and threw across the room. He didn’t want anyone calling him, only the continued silence of the world around.
That reckless toss of the telephone had inadvertently turned it on, with a nervous Katy Madison on the other end.
“Hello? Judas?” Katy’s voice was taut and delayed. “You probably have something better to do than talk to me right now,” Katy said hoping that wasn’t entirely true. She had a secret crush on him, and ever since their meeting, she had deeper thoughts about Judas.
Once her effervescent voice had penetrated his ears, Judas made a miraculous dive to retrieve the phone.
“Katy? Is that really you?” Judas innocently asked her from the other end.
Her voice seemed startled yet enjoyed to hear him speak her name. “Yes, I’m here Judas.”
This must be a dream. Judas had prayed for this day to arrive when he could talk to Katy Madison just one more time. He felt a bit incorrigible for treating her rather abruptly the last time they met.
“Oh what a relief!” Judas added with a sudden exuberance.
“Glad to see I’m missed,” Katy continued the conversation with a hearty chuckle.
“I was hoping we could talk some more, you know, especially after I cut our date short.” Judas admitted to his mistake.
“Same here.” Katy was totally smitten by this man. Her giddy tone probably relinquished any self-control she had left.
“I’ve been in some dire straits since our last conversation,” Judas informed her of the situation. “I was sitting alone in the café watching that pompous ass, Dr. Forsythe spewing his righteousness and wisdom to some reporters. And then it happened, completely blind sided me,” Judas added as he paced around the room, one hand holding the portable phone, the other grasping a warming bottle of Heineken.
“What happened? I read the papers, but I want to hear it from you Judas.” Katy respected him enough not to fall prey to scathing articles or fabricated lies about his character.
“Thank you,” Judas responded with earnest. “I suffered a mild heart attack, and dropped like a sack of rocks to the floor. That’s the last thing I remember, besides waking up in the hospital. Unbeknownst to me, I also cracked my head pretty hard on the tiles, and suffered a concussion that kept me in a coma for the better part of a month.” He completed the story, romantically finishing off the bottle of delicious beer.
“Is there anything you need?” Katy inquired of Judas.
“I’m very hungry.” Judas grabbed his rumbling stomach. “How about this? I’ll call for some cheese and sausage pizza from Domino’s and we can shoot the shit around a bit?” He casually invited her over to his place. “I could really use some company tonight.”
“Sounds like a date to me,” Katy answered back with a jubilant tone. “I’ll need directions, of course.”
“It’s very simple.” Judas eagerly gave Katy the easiest path to his house. “I should see you in about twenty-five minutes.”
“I’ll be there,” Katy finished up her conversation and clicked the phone off. “What to wear, what to wear.” She amused herself by opening her closet, exposing everything from lingerie, business suits, denim jeans, and summer dresses. Her eyes glowed with a fiery passion once she made her decision. “Absolutely perfect.”
Judas shuffled around the room waiting impatiently for the grub to arrive. His tired body ached for proper nutrition, but since he was fresh out of fruits and vegetables, pizza and beer would have to accommodate his urges for now.
The soft rapping upon his front door had brought Judas to full attention eager to snatch up that pizza and taste that hot, melting, cheese. Instead, Judas stood staring a gorgeous Katy Madison.
“Am I too early?” Katy’s voice cooed to him.
“All I want to know is since you’re here faster than the dinner, do I get you for free?” Judas jokingly responded.
“If you please.” Her wonderful eyes met his.
“I would love it for you to enter my lovely abode.” Judas ushered Katy in with a prevailing gentleman sweep of his hands.
Katy’s svelte figure was wrapped seductively in a red floral dress, her small feet were encased snugly in cherry red flats, and her body sprinkled with the perfect dose of perfume. She made sure she walked slowly past Judas, in order for him to get a full waft of her aura.
“You look sensational. Am I missing the boat on this one?” Judas inquired.
“What do you mean?” Katy turned around and toyed with her golden necklace that hugged every inch of her neckline. Her figure was simply lavishing, perfection in every category. At least in Judas’s eyes she was.
“A tad over dressed for pizza?” He again posed the sarcastic question. “What would happen if you spilled pizza sauce all over that pretty dress of yours?”
“I’d have to change.” Katy looked around the room, then back at Judas.
“You brought a change of clothes?” Judas played along in this electrically charged flirtatious atmosphere.
Katy just shook her head in a demure negative connotation. “I want you Dr. Sturgis.”
“I’m flattered really,” Judas walked over to her. “But, why?”
“Why not?” Katy poised the question. “You’re successful, handsome, endearing, and well proportioned?” Her eyes gazed down at his denim shorts. “You must be a boxer type of guy.” She smiled back at him.
A rash of red seared his face. Judas was blushing for the first time since his wedding night.
“You’re a funny man.” Katy caught the high-octane blush across his face. She moved in closer.
“I haven’t had time for any type of relationship since my wife died.”
“I’ve taken a break from all that dating stuff as well.”
Katy tried to connect with him. “I feel it’s time for me to jump back in the water.”
“What if I’m a dangerous shark ready to wreck your life?” Judas asked honestly.
“I’ll take my chances. Not all men are bottom feeders. I really admire you, and want to be with you.” Katy reached for his hand.
“This all happening way too fast,” Judas held her hand softly. “I don’t want this to be a mistake.”
“I’m ready for it, are you? I’ve been attracted to for some time now, and it was truly apparent when we went out for coffee that night at the café.”
“I enjoyed that night as well.” Judas noticed Katy stepping in even closer until they were mere inches apart.
“I have a secluded backyard, and a sprawling porch.” Judas turned away to head for the front door.
“What is it?” Katy begged him.
“I heard a car door, my guess is pizza’s here. We’ll take out on the porch for dinner.”
Judas slipped the delivery guy an extra ten dollars for his rapid service and returned back to Katy, who was outside waiting for Judas with her back arched against the wooden railing.
“Here we are . . . ” Judas stopped in mid-sentence once he saw the ravaging beauty of Katy before him.
“You have a beautiful place here Judas,” Katy said to her speechless host.
“Thank you,” Judas returned back to earth, taking his attention away, albeit briefly from the perky attributes of Katy Madison. Judas opened the box and withdrew a slice for his guest. Walking over to her, he tenderly brought the tip if pizza to her waiting lips and offered her a bite.
Katy stepped in closer and took a delicious snap from the slice, licking her lips in pleasure. Judas offered several more, until one last morsel remained. His fingers seductively placed it into her mouth, following it with a kiss.
Katy caught somewhat by surprise, likened this move made by the daring Judas Sturgis, dressed to impress in his denim shorts and Hawaiian shirt.
The sunshine had faltered, eventually giving way to thickening clouds of threatening rain.
“Look up there,” Judas motioned towards the darkening skies, “It’s time to head back inside.”
Katy wouldn’t have anything of Judas’s implication that they head back indoors. She forcefully grabbed his hand and pulled him closer into her chest, drenching his mouth with a frenzied French kiss.
Her eyes locked into his, the fire burning from within, Katy didn’t care about rain, and she wanted Judas here and now.
Judas returned the sexual favor by slowly lifting Katy’s dress and ran his swift hands up her soft thighs. Judas was surprised to find that Katy had no panties on whatsoever, almost anticipating Judas’s intentions later that night.
Katy fervently bit Judas on the lower lip, as his forefinger found its mark: her throbbing clitoris. It had been seven long months since Katy was touched in that manner. Katy exploded from within at the sheer caress, desperately wanting more.
Judas slipped his tongue deeply into Katy’s mouth, each time with a stronger push than before. Judas always wanted to be in control, and this time would be no different.
A steady rain had started to pour down upon the reckless lovers, drenching their clothes, causing them to cling to every crevice of their bodies.
Katy’s dress stuck to her every curve, heightening the moment. Judas dominantly brought Katy to orgasm quickly, as he worked his other hand down the front of her chest, swiftly snapping it open. Katy’s pink bra burst onto the scene, moments away from Judas’s wandering hands.
“I want you in me,” Katy whispered into his ears, as she could feel another vigorous rock of her body from another climax.
Judas obliged by tasting her bare neck, while his free hand squeezed those beautiful breasts of hers, causing Katy to throw her head back in lust, catching the raindrops in her open mouth. Her fingers dug deeply into the railing, as Judas pleased every inch of her outside on that porch.
After another round of pleasure, Katy quickly unzipped Judas’s denim shorts, and pulled his penis into the open. Her small hands barely held the entire pulsating organ, but the simple strokes from her fingers brought Judas to full attention.
“Take me now,” Katy lead Judas over to the table and bent over for his every whim and desire.
“It will be my pleasure,” he raised her dress and entered Katy from behind, sliding himself slowly into her wet vagina.
“More baby,” Katy urged him on.
Judas penetrated Katy with dominating power, relishing in her tightness. Katy spread herself out on the table for her conqueror, waiting for each powerful thrust with lusty splendor, until the ultimate climatic encounter was reached, sending the lovers into a whirlwind of exotic sexual satisfaction.

Friday, May 05, 2006

Chapter V

CHAPTER V–Alethea Kineta
4 Days Later
Medical Tent

An inescapable cloud of distortion clung to Quentin Forsythe’s senses like a blanket around a newborn baby. The infancy of his long, arduous, recovery period had already begun. Quentin’s wounded body lay wrapped in several bandages, tucked away inside one of the several medical tents stationed within the colony. The darkened blood had started to seep through the whitened dressings.
A quiet black woman tended to Quentin’s harsh injuries. A wiry five foot three frame, curly thick hair, and deep hazel cinnamon colored eyes, rounded out Quentin’s savior. Her calm and steady calloused hands swiftly changed the bloodied bandages, deftly preparing Quentin for optimum comfort.
“I need him alive Alethea,” Commander Dantu ordered to the helping nurse. “Do what you can, that man needs to survive.”
Her sweet but firm voice offered a brash response. “If you want him alive, then why shoot him?”
“To prove a point,” The Commander briskly said, shifting the weight to his left foot.
Alethea noticed the subtle move. “You sure have an odd way of proving your point. I’d take a look at that right foot of yours.” Her hands finished up on Quentin. “You’re lucky this man will survive.”
“I shot him to solidify my position here inside the colony,” Dantu responded with a huff. “I need him alive to aid my army’s
ailments. How did you know about my right foot?” Dantu asked with a puzzled curiosity.
“I’d say you have a Staph infection, or something like it.” Alethea looked up the tall commander.
“I would greatly appreciate that,” Commander Dantu fingered his handgun.
“After I finish up with my patient, I’ll come find you.” Alethea turned her attention back to Quentin. “There, there angel.” Her soft words attempted to soothe him.
Quentin slowly batted his eyelids open, gazing upon an angelic face looking down upon him. His tired vocal chords attempted to release words of an inquisition, however, nothing escaped from his moistened lips.
He rolled around writhing in absolute agony, until that gorgeous woman with the tender touch applied a dampened cloth to his beaded forehead, mopping away the releasing sweat.
She simply had the magical touch. Quentin felt a rush of energy he hadn’t felt since the shooting several days prior. His eyes were now fully opened, catching the warm rays of the hot African sunshine. His body lay strewn across the blue cot in the middle of the medical tent. This was the place where the sick came to prepare for death or find a grain of hope embedded in the skillful hands of their doctor.
“How bad are my wounds?” Quentin words were minced with an indescribable pain.
“Tender but you will heal,” Alethea’s soft words soothed Quentin’s ears. “My name is Alethea Kineta.”
“Dr. Quentin Forsythe,” he said looking into her eyes. “I’d shake you hand, but I still can’t seem to locate the energy to do just that.”
“It’s okay Darling,” her voice again issued a sense of normalcy into Quentin’s dire straits.
“How did you come to understand the intricate quilt that is medicine?” Quentin’s wincing still caused concern for Alethea.
“I studied under the previous regime,” Alethea responded to his question.
“Bob?” Quentin asked of her.
“That was the man’s name,” she said looking around the tent. “He had taught me much about the field of medicine and I shortly became his trusted assistant. I was also a key figure in translating what he said into the native tongue for my people.”
“You’re truly an angel from heaven.” Quentin rolled his back closed and attempted to regulate his broad breathing.
“You’ll be okay.” Alethea lovingly touched his hand. “We will need you at full strength to help with the sick. Since that bastard killed the only other doctor in the colony, you’re now the only one left.”
“I know. I plan to incorporate my plan to revive this colony, to breathe a new vibrant life into its tired veins, and recapture the lost beauty of the people and the land.” Quentin opened his eyes again to find the softest of all pink lips planting a firm kiss upon his forehead. “What was that for?” He asked Alethea.
“I find it a curable remedy for what ails the sick.”
“Really?” Quentin seemed to fish for another answer.
“Well, you’re a very handsome man as well.” Alethea’s eyes drifted back down to the floor and up again to Quentin’s captivating eyes.
“As you are a beautiful sight as well.” Quentin squeezed her hand in affection. “I’m truly in your debt for saving my life.”
“The only bullet that looks to cause you permanent harm was the one that shattered your right hip. You’ll be nursing a cane for the rest of your days.”
“It beats the alternative. Will that prick Dantu return?”
“Almost a certainty,” she answered with a tint of bitterness in her voice. “He loves to come in here and swagger that power of his.”
“We have a lot of work to do.” Quentin quickly assessed the crucial situation. “He wants me to help his fallen soldiers. Where are they located?”
“They are located in the next tent over writhing in complete pain.” A weak smile came across her face. She took no pity in men who killed others for sport or any other reason. “They deserve what they get.”
“The ends don’t necessarily justify the means,” Quentin replied with a hearty yawn. “I need to rest, we’ll talk more later?”
“You can count on it!” Alethea beamed with an unbridled enthusiasm.
Commander Dantu stormed through the colony yet again, this time on a rampage to find the one person that could save him: Dr. Quentin Forsythe.
He rapidly approached the medical tent where the resting Forsythe lay recovering from Dantu’s harsh gunshots.
“How is he?” Dantu barked to Alethea who was holding a bedside vigil for her fallen patient.
“Slowly recuperating Commander,” her voice resonated such a sweetness to his ears.
“Your mother would’ve been proud,” Dantu said as he ran his fingers through his daughters black hair.
“Don’t touch me,” she growled back. “You killed my mother and then deserted me here,” her words stung him like a fat bumblebee.
“Your insolence has always been your weakest link daughter,” Dantu hissed back at her.
“I need to tend to him, if you want the doctor to look at your men.” Alethea bristled with hatred for her father.
“I don’t need him for my army right now, but for me.”
“What’s your problem?” She deeply regretted the decision to ask that particular question.
“My left foot’s infected,” Dantu untied his black boot and hoisted his decaying foot upon the nearby stool. “Take a look.”
She didn’t want to, but it was the only way to get him to leave. “Looks just as nasty as you do.” Her sly remarks fell on deaf ears.
“What can you do to heal it?” Dantu gritted his teeth through the pain.
“Just a matter of time before you lose those three toes,” Alethea’s answer wasn’t what Dantu wanted to hear.
“Not acceptable!” Dantu grimaced. “Save the foot!”
“Due to your lack of ingenuity when it comes to protection, you will lose those three toes, from left to right.”
“No other way?” Dantu looked to her for solace.
“This is the only option you have, unless.” Alethea looked at him directly.
“Unless what?” His temper was starting flare up.
“You do nothing at all, and just wait to lose the entire extremity.”
“I’ll be damned if it’ll get to that juncture,” her father informed her. “If you have to cut off those three toes to save my foot, then against my better judgment, I reluctantly agree for you to do it.”
Their whole relationship was fragile and fragmented. Dantu found out his wife was screwing around with one of his highest ranking officials. In a fir of drunken rage, he shot his best friend once through the left temple, and then strangled his wife while she slept with a piece of barbed wire.
“Gladly,” Alethea arose and walked over to the rotting medicine cabinet and withdrew a cloth full of tools.
She resonated professionalism as she methodically uncovered the surgical tools. Her deftly skilled hands prepared the area to be removed and retrieved a small silver bullet from the cloth.
“Here bite down hard on this to alleviate the pain,” she handed the bullet to her crestfallen father.
“I’ll manage just fine,” Dantu responded tartly. “I’ve been shot at, tortured and beaten, so I don’t really think some half brained doctor will cause me any pain.”
Alethea could’ve let that little remark bother her, but instead she concentrated solely on the task at hand. Within a matter of moments, the enduring pain had become so intolerable, that Dantu swiped the bullet from the cloth and bit down firmly upon it. Tiny specks of red coursed over Dantu’s face, as he fought prominently to reduce any of the agonizing pain.
Alethea professionally administered the steps in removing the infected toes. The tools were older to say the least, filled with decay and rust, so a precise cut was proving difficult for the young doctor. She had no qualms about slowly digging through the rough skin, dragging the blade fiercely across the toe, eventually slicing it off completely. Hell, any torture brought to her father; she was in full endorsement of.
After the lengthy terrorizing procedure, the once proud Dantu limped around the dirty tent adamant in trying to regain his lost composure. No longer a dominant figure, he had to rely on a moderate limp for transportation.
“You’ve ruined my life!” Dantu screamed at his daughter.
“You brought this upon yourself!” Alethea wasted no time in arguing back.
The jarring conversation awakened Quentin from his deep slumber.
“Do we have a problem here?” Quentin angrily asked of the commander. “I had the most wonderful dream and it was ruined by your shrilling voice!”
Dantu itched to shoot him again, but he needed Quentin to save his rebel army.
“I’ll bite my tongue on that one doctor,” Dantu sneered. “My men await immediate medical attention once you’re up and well again.”
“Your men would’ve have been attended to if you hadn’t shot me several times to prove your own egotistical point!” Quentin harshly slammed back.
“No one crosses Commander Dantu!” The mad commander reiterated.
“I’ll promise to look at your men tomorrow morning.” Quentin fidgeted in the cot.
“Fair enough. I’ll take whatever measure of glory I can from this horrendous episode.” Dantu shot back a glaring stare at his daughter, who kindly returned the favor with her outstretched middle finger. Dantu slid a pair of black sunglasses over his tired eyes and sauntered out into the hot African sun.
“I take the two of you know each other?” Quentin asked Alethea.
“Only by blood.”
“Is that prick your father?” Quentin queried her.
“Yes.”
“The two of you don’t get along? I wonder why.” Quentin posed the fake question, for he already knew the probably answer.
“He killed my mother in cold blood.” Alethea started to tear at the sound of her mother’s grisly death.
“How?” Quentin sat up with great difficulty, but extended his hand out to Alethea.
“Once he found out she was cheating on him, he did the next best thing and proceeded to drink heavily and then administer the proper punishment. For her lover, a single gunshot to the temple, and for her, well he made sure she’d feel every bit of the pain she had caused him. Later that night, while I was sleeping, he crept up alongside her in bed and wrapped a barbed wire around her pretty neck and strangled her.” Alethea started to cry heavily and her breathing turned into a fight for air.
“It’s okay,” Quentin reached for her, as she obliged by cradling her head into his waiting arms. “I’ll protect you now.”
“I appreciate that,” her words filled his ears with a needed boost of energy.
“So what’s your story here in the colony?” Quentin queried her.
“I learned under Bob, as he taught me your English language, and your culture.” Her sweet African dialect soothed him.
“I have to admit I’m impressed by your professionalism and knowledge in the medicinal field.” Quentin looked down at her, as he still cradled her inside his arms.
“I also served as a translator for my people during the operations, consultations, and educational purposes.”
“That’s very admirable of you.” Quentin meticulously observed the emptied cots that were strewn about the ramshackle tent. Those barren spaces were ready to be filled with the inevitable influx of the sickly.
“And then there’s one more thing I’d like to concentrate on,” Alethea softly spoke.
“Which is?” Quentin posed the fake question, as he already had an answer. He could feel something growing between them, was it love? Or hot lust? There was a feeling he hadn’t felt in along time when Alethea soothed him, kissed him, or just had a normal conversation with him.
“Are you involved with anyone?” Her question was blunt and totally honest.
“I did have a marriage that crumbled, so right now I’m single and enjoying bachelorhood.”
“I do admit I’m smitten by your presence Quentin,” Alethea replied with a gazing stare.
“I feel attracted to you as well,” Quentin responded with a tighter hug. “You saved my life, for that I’m forever in debt to you.”
Alethea nestled in Quentin’s arms for what seemed to be forever. The colony might have harbored many secrets, many horrors, but the one thing it could not defeat: was true love.