Chapter XI

CHAPTER XI--Judas’s Mission To Natas
August 13th

The sluggish boat churned 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
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
distinctly 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.

Chapter X

PART II
CHAPTER X–DAY OF RECKONING
WASHINGTON D.C., P.A.L.S. HQ
AUGUST 11TH

The day was like any other: sunshine arched her arms across the gorgeous blue sky, not one wisp of wind, and Quentin Forsythe’s right hand man, Dr. Henry Yates casually walked up the marbled mosaic steps into the illustrious P.A.L.S Headquarters. An overpowering waterfall in the courtyard added an aesthetic expression to the otherwise bland building.
Dr. Henry Yates was creeping up on another mid-life crisis, his wife of six years had recently severed the relationship, claiming “marriage malfunction”, whatever the hell that is. Yates just wanted to assemble another chapter in his life, albeit at fifty years old, he sure had a lot of cosmetic tinkering to adhere to. One friend, and ex-girlfriend named Lola, urged him to induct himself into the foray of thousands who are trying the medical marvel of Botox. One could see how long that relationship lasted for the virile Henry Yates.
Henry was starting to split at the seams, in every conceivable crevice. His infectious appetite, especially, when going through these dire, trying times would lead him directly into the arms of Little Debbie and those legendary moon pies. A short man of roughly five feet six inches, Henry’s weight bounced around the scales like a ping-pong ball in a championship tournament.
But, as those twisted fates would have it, Dr. Henry Yates’s
validated concerns about his two hundred and fifty pound frame, or his slight deafness in that pesky right ear, or the wrinkles that had enjoyed their voyage across his face, wouldn’t compare to the letter that laid upon his glass desk, ready for his curiosity to peek at.
The brown envelope was a well-traveled one indeed, and the return address had stunned the obese doctor even more. His fingers carefully used a sharpened metallic silver colored letter opener to crack the glued seal, allowing him to expand the envelope and grasp what was inside. His voracious eyes scanned over the meticulously handwritten note, sensing imminent danger was amidst. This was no formal letter from just anyone. This letter was a sign, a last-ditch warning to save the human race. The author was none other than Quentin Forsythe.
Dr. Yates quickly worked the phone lines, desperately trying
to reach Dr. Judas Sturgis.
Judas flipped off another bottle cap to an ice cold Heineken, as Katy prepared a hot breakfast for the dynamic duo. The magnificent aroma of sausage and eggs lured the inebriated Judas staggering into his small kitchen. The last week and a half Katy hadn’t left his side, deciding to roommate with the once prolific doctor, rather than commute back and forth between residences.
She had ultimately decided to let Judas’s frequent drinking fall by the proverbial wayside, since he was enduring a tough struggle coming off his recent malady. But, enough was enough and she finally wrought up enough courage to combat Judas’s increasingly difficult behavior.
Katy’s slim body had snugly fit into Judas’s pair of blue Adidas running shorts. She also found of his tattered New York Yankee tank tops to complete the sweltering ensemble.
Judas polished off the beer and sauntered up behind Katy, reaching around her waist and tugging her hips with a playful grip.
Katy immediately felt entranced by his advances and pushed off her intended conversation with Judas, failing yet again in the throws of passion. She would have to find a way to solve that problem of hers, as it usually let to failed relationships and a path of winding uncertainties.
The loud knocking of the door broke Judas from his trance,
almost startling him from his self-induced daydream.
“Now, who the hell could that be?” Judas complained as he shuffled his dreary ass over to the door and gazed through the tiny peephole.
“Maybe it’s our room service?” Katy offered a vague attempt at humor.
“Doubtful,” murmured a shaky Judas. “Not unless they’re dressed in a visually distracting blue suit with government issued haircuts.”
“Mr. Judas Sturgis?” The deep voice called out from the other side.
“Who wants to know?” Judas aggressively barked back.
“We’re here on important business.”
“Then start blabbing,” responded a sly Judas.
“Well sir, it’s a matter of national security, and we’re personally here via the President of the United States, Dr. Henry Yates, and Dr. Quentin Forsythe.”
That last name hit Judas like a ton of bricks. Judas’s mind went into a tailspin as he tried to search for the right sentence to utter next.
The door finally unlatched and Judas welcomed his guests into his home.
“Sorry to intrude,” the first man spoke, as he eyed Katy’s ass in the kitchen. “My name’s Kevin Barton.” He reached for the stunned Judas’s hands.
“Dr. Judas Sturgis,” he finally responded. “And over there in the kitchen, is my girlfriend, Dr. Katy Madison.” He finished off the introductions.
“Hello,” Kevin also shook Katy’s hand, noticing her perfect breasts underneath the New York Yankee tank top. He was stunned at her erect nipples and thought to himself of what he wanted to do to her.
“Are you finished staring at my breasts? Or would you like to take more time to analyze them?” Her statement shook Kevin’s foundation, engaging a full-blown case of reddened embarrassment.
“I wasn’t,” Kevin unsuccessfully tried to backtrack his way out of this steaming pot of crap. “I’m here to bring Judas to Washington D.C. to meet with Dr. Henry Yates.
“I don’t appreciate you looking at my girl,” Judas tersely responded back.
“I’m very sorry,” Kevin started to sweat through his cheap polyester suit. His furry eyebrows saturated with glistening sweat, while his pale skin turned a bright red. “I meant no harm, just damn, she’s very pretty.”
“You do understand your behavior’s very unbecoming of a government official?” Judas confronted the immature pig.
“Can we just go now?” Kevin started to pace back and forth.
The sudden jolt of the phone had perfectly broken the uncomfortable scenario. Judas eagerly picked it up, waiting to hear Forsythe’s grimy voice on the other end.
“Dr. Judas Sturgis?” The elderly voice asked.
“Speaking,” Judas replied back, knowing that this had to be Dr. Henry Yates, Quentin’s right hand man. Judas had only met the gentleman on rare occasions, a very honest and hardworking medical genius as well.
“Dr. Henry Yates here,” the voice paused, “I have some terrible news for you Judas.”
“I take it, that Kevin will escort me to the nation’s glorious capital, and you’ll tell me all about it?”
“Good to see that your refined sarcasm hasn’t changed a bit over the last five years.”
“It’s been that long since Quentin had that fund-raiser for the Cambodian campaign?” Judas remembered back.
“Yes,” Yates’s voice dropped in baritone, almost as if he had seen a ghost. “Please, come to Washington and we’ll plow through everything.”
“I’ll be there soon,” Judas said as he clicked off the phone and rested it back on the cradle. “After you, Porky Pig.” Judas mockingly motioned to the disgraced official.
“Must you bust my balls? I mean, just look at what she’s wearing?” Kevin tried to weave his way out of the situation.
“That’s it!” Judas cocked his fist and squarely landed a vicious left hook on Kevin’s cleft chin, sending him spiraling to the light beige hardwood floor.
“You just hit a top ranked government official!” Katy was stunned.
“Yeah I did.” Judas reached down and swiped Kevin’s keys from his slacks. “And it felt great,” replied Judas as he dangled the keys in front of Katy’s widened eyes.
“You’re fucking nuts!” Katy kissed him on the lips.
“Go change.” Judas slipped Katy some tongue and squeezed her firm ass. “Today we’re riding in style.” He tossed the keys into the air and caught them in a cocky manifest of enthusiasm.
*****
The fantastic view of the majestic, towering, historical Washington Monument swept over Katy Madison like a fourth grade field trip. The very fabric of our nation’s freedom and existence was all captured inside this tiny district, just outside of Maryland. Katy had accompanied Judas on this particular journey into the political foray, for she wanted to know why that dickhead in the suit approached them back at the cabin.
Judas fiercely parked the black Cadillac into the first available parking space he could locate.
“I don’t think we’re handicapped?” Katy advised directly to her boyfriend.
“I have a feeling, we’re going to get out of jail free card on pretty much anything we do right now.” Judas opened the door for Katy and the two darted up the steps of Dr. Henry Yates’s building.
“Why is that?” Katy asked of Judas as she adjusted her navy blue ensemble.
“I have a gut wrenching feeling that Quentin Forsythe needs my help down in South Africa. Mr. ‘I can save the world’, finally needs someone else’s help. How sweet justice can be sometimes.”
Judas grinned back at Katy, while he professionally withdrew his dark black sunglasses and entered through the expensive revolving glass doors and into the lavishly decorated marbled foyer.
Jogging up the stairs to the second floor, Judas approached the receptionist’s desk. “I’m here to see a Dr. Henry Yates,” Judas said with a hearty thrust of his voice.
“Is he expecting you?” The kind receptionist answered back.
“If he wasn’t, do you really think I’d dress in this Armani for nothing?” Judas smirked back in arrogance.
“He’s having a tough day adjusting to his new found wealth,” Katy rebutted, trying to smooth over the potential train wreck to follow.
“Right down the hall, third door on your left.”
“Thank you,” Katy responded before Judas could get a word in edgewise. She tugged him by the wrist cuffs, and motioned him along down the bright corridor.
“That went well,” Katy interjected her thoughts, “that is until you opened your mouth.”
“Promise me you’re not going to talk in there,” Judas replied back with a sarcastic tone.
Katy was confused on how to take that remark, and she quietly started to seethe under her breath. Judas could be such an asshole, and this was one of those times.
Judas rapped his knuckles against the window and heard Dr. Yates beckon him inside.
“Ah, Dr. Judas Sturgis,” the portly Yates welcomed his visitor. “And the gorgeous lady?”
“Dr. Katy Madison,” she spoke without thinking of what Judas asked of her before they entered the room. She caught him placing his fingers to his lips and silencing her next word. Katy picked up on the inglorious hint, and obliged this one time.
“So, what’s that Forsythe up to now?” Judas started to bark away at the questions.
“What I’m about to tell you, is truly horrific,” Yates replied with a dour tone. He firmly paced the room, several times circling Judas and Katy, tapping his fingers against his lips in a hesitant fashion. “Do you need a drink?”
“Only the alcoholic kind,” Judas slyly replied back.
“Well, you might need one after what I’m about to tell you.”
“Don’t keep me in suspense. What good trouble has that old fart created now?” Judas used his right hand to unbutton his Armani before he sat down in the chair. Katy followed suit and pulled up a seat next to Judas.
“Ever since Quentin landed in Natas, Africa, he’s had some severe obstacles to overcome, no doubt.” Yates also retreated back to his comfortable swivel chair behind the monstrous desk of his. Yates anxiously flicked the cream colored Venetian blinds with his fingers, trying to find a docile way to encapsulate the dire situation at hand, without creating a firestorm of fear and lost faith. “He has successfully rebuilt some of the impoverished colony, even constructing a new medical center, a preliminary water irrigation system, and with the help of a local man called Zartan, completed a water filtration system that gathers the water directly from the nearby Congo, and offers the colonists a healthier and cleaner drinking supply.”
“How do you know all of this?” Judas inquired.
“Quentin has written me two letters,” Yates started to sweat and fidget in his chair. “The other letter, not so rosy.”
“How so?” Judas loved this moment. He had deep disdain for Quentin, and now the failed doctor desperately needed Judas to come bail his ass out.
“Details are vague, but it seems that Quentin has stumbled upon a deadly virus that combines Leprosy with Ebola.”
“Pardon my French.” Judas cleared his throat. “But, how the fuck does that happen?”
“Quentin states briefly that a previous doctor had found a cure for Leprosy through the Ebola virus. He used himself as a control, and the rest, as they say, is history.” Yates turned to the intercom, pressing the red button with a powerful firmness.
“Lara, please send in Randal Davis.”
“What’s going on?” Judas wanted to know. “Who is Randal Davis?”
“Mr. Davis will personally take you down to Natas, Africa.
I want you and your assistant here, to find out what the hell happened down there, and bring back Quentin Forsythe.
“I feel a bit maladjusted to be sent on a rescue mission into the heart of bloody fucking Africa.” Judas gritted his lower jaw with ravage intensity.
“The President of the United States, virtually handpicked you to spearhead this mission Judas,” Yates cracked his knuckles against the sweaty palm of his right hand. “He’s read your work, and quite frankly, finds you to be on a higher intellectual level than most of your peers.”
“I forgot to strap on my boots today Henry,” Judas responded with haste. “You can stop shoveling the bullshit, it’s almost knee high.”
“I’m serious, Judas. This problem could eventually spark a worldwide epidemic.”
“So why not just send down the Army and bottle that colony up tighter than a drum?” Judas inquired.
“The President wants to keep this situation under the radar, as long as humanely possible.”
“Do I have a choice?” Judas asked already knowing the answer.
“I would think you would cherish the opportunity to help your mentor,” Yates said with a wry grin.
“Well, I sure would like to rub his nose in whatever shit he’s gotten himself into down there.” Judas sported a cocky smirk.
“When do we leave?” Katy broke the male dominated conversation, startling Judas, who again shot her an annoyed grimace from across the room.
“Once Roland Davenport helps you pack your gear.” Yates motioned in Roland through the glass window.
“Hello Mr. Yates,” Roland’s firm presence permeated the room’s stuffy atmosphere. Roland’s daunting figure was definitely fearsome. His grandeur six foot four frame, rippling muscles, and light hazel colored eyes that would melt any woman’s rapturous heart.
“This is Dr. Judas Sturgis and his companion Dr. Katy Madison,” Yates introduced the pair to their tour guide.
“Hello,” Katy’s soft voice seemed lost upon Roland’s manly presence; however, she still maintained her allegiance to Judas.
“What’s with the cargo gear?” Judas returned the firm handshake, with a sly remark on Roland’s choice of clothing. Judas definitely felt a bit on the jealous side, Roland had to be several years younger than Judas, and offered Judas a potential threat for Katy.
“It’s finally glad to met you Dr. Sturgis,” Roland’s calm demeanor made Judas hate him even more.
“You know my name?”
“Dr. Quentin Forsythe and I shared a recent crusade to Cambodia together, and your name usually frequented the conversation.”
“It’s best to know I’m not forgotten around here,” Judas answered back with haughtiness.
“Are you always this cocky?” Roland addressed the stunned doctor.
“Ever since Judas unceremoniously left the organization, shortly after his divorce,” Yates brought Roland up to speed. “He’s been sort of a rogue type doctor floating around where he can, offering whatever brilliant assistance he can.” Yates offered a solid compliment to the otherwise dreary Judas.
“Are you familiar with the area, where we’re headed? I don’t want to be running in circles the whole time I’m down there.” Judas looked over at Katy, who in return sent him a roll of her eyes. Judas returned his attention to Randal. “So?”
“I’ve been a seasoned tour guide for over fifteen years,” Roland responded coolly. “I’ve been in Cambodia, South America, Africa, China, even North Korea.”“I really do feel much better.” Judas smiled back with the wryest of grins. “When does our plane leave?”
“Oh yeah,” Yates interjected. “Two minor details I forgot to outline for you Judas.”
“Can I pick which one sucks the worst?” Judas retorted with sarcasm.
“Roland will be taking you into the colony via the Congo river, as a fragmented coalition has been patrolling the area for several days now, awaiting Quentin’s next chopper.”
“Peachy.” Judas stood up. “And secondly?”
“Secondly,” Roland stepped into the conversation. “Is once you enter the colony, there’s no return.”
“No return?” Katy answered back in confusion.
“The colony has been potentially overrun by this virus, and
according to Quentin’s letter, your first breath could very well
be your last.” Roland tugged down on his green Congo hat, and
then reached into his sandy colored pocket and broke off a piece
of a Slim Jim, eagerly stuffing into his waiting mouth.
Several thousand miles away, in a dingy, small, Iraqi bar
lit with a dusty, shallow hue, Captain Nathaniel Logan washed away his recent victory with a cold beer. The angry locals had sputtered about the musty café, causing some occasional injustices. For example: a rowdy, uncontrollable bar fight, or loud incessant arrogant verbiage, or perhaps on some days, actual gunfire. Captain Nathaniel Logan had just killed one of the cultural icons that this country had adored or feared, whichever fragment of society one conversed with. Whatever the bleak case would be, America had now immersed her labor, time, and blood into this eventful cause, and now had to produce that wily carrot on a stick; democracy. Our over eager American President with a shoot first and maybe ask questions later, had another problem to surrender his attention to. This new problem centered upon the rapid explosion of a mysterious virus in the depths of South Africa, where one of our leading doctors had run into something truly horrific. President Samuel Locke couldn’t possibly ignore this problem any longer, and called in his own reinforcements: the glorious U.S. Army.

Chapter IX

Chapter IX-THE FOURTH HORSEMEN

“Come on, old man,” Zartan anxiously begged to his fallen friend. “Get up, yes?”
Quentin winced with extreme pain, writhing around the jungle floor with mighty agony. His hands were cut and filled with jagged pieces of the glass vial. He had accidentally absorbed the antidote taken from Dantu’s body.
“I’m fine, let’s head back to the colony.” Quentin finally stood, brushing himself off, and picked away at the shards of glass away from his hands.
“You killed Dantu, yes?” Zartan asked of the doctor, as they rumbled back into the colony.
“It would seem that way,” Quentin looked around the town, noticing Ally running straight for the incoming duo.
Quentin leapt from the Jeep, landing on his bag leg. He didn’t care; he witnessed what Ally was running to. Lying before them, were the mangled bodies of several colonists.
“What happened?” Quentin looked everything over.
“A savage tiger attack,” Ally grimaced in a sour mood. “He was our friend, can you save him?”
“I’ll try, but we must hurry, I fear that he’s lost a lot of blood.”
“I go after tiger, yes?” Zartan nodded his head.
“Help me first,” Quentin motioned to the big man. “Let’s get this man into the tent where I can work on him.
Zartan happily obliged and carried the wounded man all by himself into the desired location. “Anything else?”
“Yes, in my bag over there, please get me some disinfectant wipes from the orange canister.” Quentin nodded over to his medical belongings.
Zartan soon retrieved the contents and handed them over to Quentin.
“I’m also going to need some water for the operation,” Quentin directed Zartan. “Grab a bowl and fill it up, please.”
“Bowl of water, yes?”
“Yes,” replied Quentin.
Quentin then leaned over to Ally. “I have to tell you something.”
“Yes?” She prepared the instruments for Quentin to use.
“I killed your father.” Quentin was hoping for Ally’s reaction to be that of sorrow or remorse.
“I’m sad it was you and not I that pulled the trigger.” Her emotions were totally blank for her father. “Did he suffer?”
“I managed to extract a potential antidote for what he calls the devil’s disease that ravaging this colony.” Quentin brought his lady up to speed.
“Where is it now?” She looked him over, noticing his bloody palms.
“It broke when I dove for cover.”
“?” Ally was confused.
“I blew up Dantu’s tent, and in the process I accidentally landed on the vials, breaking them and absorbing the contents directly into my bloodstream.”
“Is that bad?”
“Well, I’m going to need for you to extract a sample of my blood and help me study it and reconstruct the antidote.”
“As you wish Master Quentin.”
“Thank you, Ally.” He kissed her soft forehead.
Zartan returned with the bowl of water, watching as Quentin rinsed his hands and started to operate on the wounded man.
“The tiger sure did a number on his chest,” Quentin feverishly worked, ignoring the fact that he had seriously sliced one of his fingers in the process with the scalpel, when the man’s body inexplicably jerked violently.
Quentin stared down into the man’s open chest cavity, as Ally handed him the necessary tools. She was faster, brighter and more talented than half of the nurses and doctors he had ever worked with.
Quentin quietly rolled the man’s eyes closed. “I’m so sorry.” He hung his head in complete disappointment. “Such a loss.”
“You tried your best, yes?” Zartan wanted to know of his new friend.
“Until it was totally impossible to save this man.” Quentin wrapped his injured digit in a bandage and firmly helps keep pressure on it.
“Thank you for trying.” Zartan slapped Quentin on the shoulder.
“He’s taking a liking to you.” Ally surveyed the situation.
“He has a son that’s very sick.”
“Well, then let’s look at him.” Quentin looked around for Zartan, who had just left the medical tent. “Can you stitch my finger back up?”
“Yes,” Ally’s eyes brimmed with eagerness. “Anything for you.”
Quentin retrieved the supplies for Ally to start the procedure.
“So, Zartan’s very protective of his only son, Duke.” Ally continued the conversation.
“Duke?” Quentin asked. “What kind of name is Duke?”
“Zartan has several American comic books of G.I. Joe?”
Ally wanted to if she said it right.
“Ah, now his name makes sense too.” Quentin smiled. “Let me talk with him, maybe he’ll let me have a look at Duke.”
“You can try Master Quentin,” Ally kissed him on the cheek,
walking away as she rubbed her belly with a loving gesture.
Quentin, along with several other colonists buried the young man behind some trees a few yards into the jungle. Quentin held a short sermon and continued back to the colony to have a talk with Zartan.
“Zartan?” Quentin poked his head into the tent, noticing off in the corner, was a small boy of about four years old, sleeping comfortably on a straw bed.
“Doctor,” his voice was serene and shallow.
“Alethea told me about your son.”
“She did. I told her not to.”
“I understand.” Quentin’s finger started to pulsate.
“Duke’s very sick, I know of this.” Zartan turned to his feeble son. “His toes and fingers are bent backwards and he spits up the devil’s blood.”
“Really?” Quentin started to piece together the picture.
Another case of leprosy, but the internal bleeding was definitely a new spin. Unless, for arguments sake, Dantu’s story was indeed correct, and Dr. Norris had unleashed a combo of Ebola and Leprosy upon these unsuspecting colonists. A new strain of both, combined would devastate anybody instantly. Quentin had to analyze Duke and fast. He had already lost precious time, and Quentin didn’t know how much Duke had left.
“I want you to help him,” Zartan hung his head in chagrin.
“Will you?”
“Yes.” Quentin walked over to Duke. “Hi there little Buddy.”
Duke’s brown eyes flittered open, his small limbs encased in a limber stretch.
“Daddy?” Duke called out to his father.
“This man is a doctor, and he will help you.” Zartan gave approval for Quentin to administer tests.
“What’s your name?” Duke weakly asked, as blood trickled down his chin.
“Quentin, but you can call me Doc.”
“Okay, doc.” Duke smiled feebly. “What will you call me?”
“Well, you’re like a little buddy, so I’ll call you Bud.”
“I have to ask you a few questions, Bud.”
“Okay, doc.”
“Tell me where it hurts,” Quentin softly spoke, as he gingerly pressed every inch of Duke’s tender body.
“My toes and fingers hurt a lot.” Duke started to cry.
“What about your chest?” Quentin pointed.
“Sometimes, when I cough and breathe.”
Quentin leaned over and listened to Duke’s breathing pattern.
Zartan was impressed at Quentin’s technique. “How is he? Good, yes?”
“I’m afraid I’m going to need to run a blood test to figure out why he’s spitting up blood and why his breathing pattern is labored.
“Then do it.” Zartan motioned for Quentin to start the procedure.
“Did Alethea teach your son how to speak?”
“Yes, she did. We read to him every night and encourage him to speak and share his thoughts.”
“That right there,” Quentin stood up. “Is the best medicine you could give him. Love conquers all.”
“You a bright man?” asked Zartan.
“Depends on whom you ask.”
Zartan looked at him with confusion. “Who would I ask then?”
“Never mind. It was a bad joke.” Quentin started for the entrance. “I’m going to get Ally for this, she can help me collect and analyze the samples.”
Quentin dusted off the dirt from his well-worn khaki pants and found Ally amongst a sea of meandering colonists.
“Ally!” Quentin split his fingers and blew a hard whistle in her direction. She instinctively whipped her head around and met his eyes with hers. “Over here!”
“How can I help you?” Her sweet voice echoed in his ears.
“Zartan gave my permission to collect a blood sample from his son, and I need your assistance. You’ve done a great deal before with Bob, I thought we could work together from now on.”
“I would like that Master Quentin,” she responded with heart.
“Follow me then,” Quentin answered grabbing her small hands and leading her back to Zartan and Duke.
The trees started to sway back and forth in a ferocious pattern, the clouds started to reform above the sultry jungle, leaving a blistering monsoon on the horizon. Several times a year, these wicked storms blitzed through the African landscape, flooding, destroying and some cases, wiping everything out in its maniacal path.
A young man sauntered through the crowded street, his fingers and toes burned with pain. His eyes sunken into his sweaty head, his lips freshly painted with blood. A snide grin grew as he wiped off the remnants of blood with the back of his hand. A small collection of tiny blisters scattered across his face, hands, and arms. They were dark red from his consistent itching.
“Are you okay?” an elderly man asked.
“My body’s on fire, it hurts so bad,” the young man violently hiccupped a stream of blood directly into the elderly man’s face.
“Arrgh,” the man grunted as he forcefully wiped away the blood, trying to erase it from his skin. The tiny droplets of blood had already found their way into his nostrils and were instantly sucked up into his sinus cavity.
“Someone help me!” the young man again pleased for help,
as the drizzling rain quickly started to escalate into a powerful downpour. His body doubled over in a gut wrenching agony, leaving the defenseless man writhing around on the muddy street.
A few more passerby’s continued along their path, until the elderly man cam across their path.
“That man over there,” he pointed. “He needs immediate medical attention.” He let off a quiet sneeze directly into the path of the unsuspecting colonists.
“Bless you,” the group chorused.
“Thank you,” the elderly man continued along, unknowingly spreading the devil’s disease throughout the colony.
The young man finally rolled along the ground, spewing blood into the air, screaming for mercy to come and save him. His eyes swelled inside their eye sockets, his organs’ one by one started to disintegrate and liquefy within him. Every orifice soon had blood escaping from their clutches, culminating in the gruesome death of the promising young man.
The raging monsoon swept across the colony, drenching everyone with a constant battering of heavy rain and wind.
Quentin could feel the tent start to flap wildly from the storm’s intense pressure. He nevertheless continued with Duke’s analysis. Ally had successfully retrieved a sample of blood, and a thick curly strand of black hair for DNA. She had learned a lot from Bob, and was excited to use her many talents.
“What’s going on?” Quentin gazed around the tent looking for answers.
“Feels like a monsoon, yes?” Zartan brought Quentin up to speed on their frequent storms.
Quentin headed outside to inspect the potential damage from the stormy weather. His hands flipped open the tent, as he poked his head outside. His eyes couldn’t believe what was waiting before him. Quentin fully stepped outside into the fearsome rain, feeling it pelt off his skin with a fiery passion. The mist started to collect along the ground due to the intense humidity, rolling across the scattered bodies with a thin veil. The entire panoramic view was horrifying, leaving Quentin clamoring for breath. At least a half-dozen dead bodies were lying across the muddy fields, with several others either doubled over in pain, or already on the ground rolling around waiting for death.
Quentin stubbornly refused to believe Dantu’s story. The disease had already penetrated into the colony, spreading with reckless abandon throughout. And from the looks of it, it’s an airborne demon. Quentin felt responsible for not fully understanding the situation, and as he looked down at his stitched finger, a horrid thought crept into his mind. What if the man he tried to save was one of the infected? Quentin had inadvertently mixed their blood with the botched operation? But, Quentin had the antidote; only he had lost during the explosion. Quentin felt horrible, easily to blame for not saving these innocent lives. He lowered his head in complete shame, and kept whispering the same name over and over again.
“Judas Sturgis, we need your help,” Quentin prayed to the murky heavens above, as the stinging hot rain pelted upon his tired face. He raised his hands high above and rested them on top of his head, shaking it back and forth in a distraught nature. The rain cascading down his chin and innocently fell down upon the blood soaked earth below.