Friday, July 21, 2006

Chapter XV

CHAPTER XV
The Return of Commander Dantu


“Nah. I’m fresh out of last words. However, a nice filet mignon would be nice right about now,” Judas replied back as he shuffled around trying to prevent the inevitable.
“Are you aware of my legacy?” Dantu pointed out.
“Besides being a prick?” Judas shot back. “I could care less about your legacy, or for that matter anything else you stand for.”
“Release him,” Dantu ordered.
The soldier threw Judas to the soil with a brute force. Gasping for air, Judas felt himself losing control of the situation. Mentally, the malaria had given him a new edge. Judas had nothing really to fear, for either the malaria, the virus, or this military dick would serve as Judas’s personal grim reaper.
“From where I stand, you’re the one that needs to re-evaluate his situation,” Judas always had to add sarcasm to his replies.
“I shot Quentin on the spot for defying my authority, what makes you think I won’t do that again with you?”
“It’s my lucky day.” Judas gripped the soil and peeled away fistfuls of mud from its place. “I’m not letting you take my journal.”
“I really don’t think you’re in a position to bargain with me,” Dantu said as he pulled out his gun and lowered in Judas’s immediate direction. “Let me illustrate to you what I mean by putting a bullet into every joint you own, and then watch as you try to crawl away. Then, and only then, after watching you for about an hour, will I put a bullet directly into your belly, watching you slowly bled out.”
“That’s so gay.” Judas withdrew his arm and launched a handful of mud into Dantu’s face, momentarily blinding him.
Dantu staggered about, losing his iron-fist grip on the situation at hand. Judas sprang and knocked over the daunting Commander, sending the journal sailing through the air. The two men rolled around until Judas wisely gained the upper hand and wrestled the gun away from Dantu.
“Get up, you pig,” Judas seethed. He waved the gun in the air. “Everyone back the fuck off, otherwise your fearless leader here gets one in between those sinister eyes of his.”
Dantu nodded his head in agreement for his men to back off on their positions. “I have this under control, retreat back to camp, I’ll meet you there shortly.”
The soldiers scattered back into the hot jungle, leaving the two fighters atop the dangerous cliff.
“Shortly?” mused Judas. “I don’t plan on going down that quickly.
Dantu found a weak spot and sent a hard punch into Judas’s stomach. Judas groaned as he hunched over in significant pain, losing his advantage. Dantu then alertly sent his foot sailing into his attacker’s face, watching in pleasure as Judas spat blood into the air, before belly-flopping upon the muddy terrain. “Now, tell me wiseass. Whose in charge, now?” Dantu bellowed.
Judas rolled over and found a lightning quick Dantu rapidly approaching. Judas taxingly raised the gun and bided his time. Dantu, not to be upstaged, kicked the gun away from Judas’s weakened grasp and lowered himself down and violently grabbed Judas by the neck.
“Listen to me, you little punk.” Dantu jerked Judas around like a puppet on a string. “I own you, I own that journal, and most of all, I own the colony.”
“I see you’re a bit territorial,” Judas cracked wisely.
“Fuck you.” Dantu spit into Judas’s sweaty mug. Dantu slammed him back into the ground and backed away.
Dantu turned his back and stared at the jungle. “This jungle will either consume you entirely, or you will die trying to escape it’s wrath.”
“Is that your story?”
“My story? My story Judas, is one that will be told for ages.”
“Has the jungle consumed you Commander?” Judas raised himself from the ground.
“I like your spunk. I want to offer you a deal.”
“A deal?”
“Yes. You show great courage and determination. Those are two traits that are hard to find in a solider.”
“I will never join your cause.”
“I look at this way,” Dantu replied as he continued to stare into the jungle’s darkness. “We can overtake the colony together. I will take what I want, mostly the antidote and any supplies, and you can tend to the dying and needy.”
“How does that benefit me?” Judas questioned Dantu’s logic.
“I always have an inside man working for me. They supply me with technology, medicine, a hospital for my injured men, food, water, and a place to crash every now and again.”
“And what do I get?”
“Your life.”
“That’s it?” Judas’s tone was vicious. “That sounds like a shitty deal.”
“You could be dead.” Dantu cracked his knuckles. “I’ve been in a terrible fight where I barely survived with my life.”
“Yeah, tell me about that.” Judas searched for the missing gun, trying to locate it before Dantu attempted another attack.
“That stubborn bastard, Quentin blew up my base camp and almost succeeded in taking my life,” Dantu told the story. “My body was badly burned, however, here I stand.”
“Quentin fought hard for what he strongly believed in.”
“Then why Judas, did you kill him.” Dantu’s eyes surveyed the scenery, taking in its unheralded power.
“It’s complicated.”
“How so? He had something you wanted. The journal.”
“Partly, yes.” Judas couldn’t find the gun.
“Don’t make a foolish attempt at finding the weapon,” Dantu responded with a keen sense of awareness.
“Why not?”
Dantu raised his left hand high above his head. Clutched tightly within his grasp was the mud-caked pistol that Judas had dropped during the fight.
“Shit.”
“I like your strength and will. You killed your fellow friend, colleague, and mentor. And for what? A collection of papers.”
“It’s more complicated than that.” Judas offered an explanation.
“Life is not that complicated,” Dantu offered his take. “You breathe, take a shit, eat some food and set out to dominate the world.”
“That’s a unique way of putting it.”
“Well, I’m a unique type of guy.” Dantu turned around and raised the pistol directly at Judas’s chest. “My men also have this area secured, so don’t plan on escaping or running away, for they are instructed to shoot on sight.”
“After all this philosophical discussion, you’re just going to shoot me?”
“I truly did enjoy our engaging conversation. But, when it comes down to getting results, you’re either on my side, or against me.” Dantu licked his salty upper lip.
“You’re just a pussy that kills people with your neat little pop-gun.” Judas mocked him. “Be a man, and use your fists. A fight to the death. If I win, you give back my journal and I’ll set your men free. If the great Commander Dantu somehow manages to win, then I’m dead, and you will have a clear path to the colony.”
Dantu’s eyes glowered as his blood started to boil. “Okay, Mr. Judas we will play it your way. I haven’t been challenged in quite some time. This will serve as the perfect exercise when I’m ravaging the colony again and punishing the men, women, children, with ease.”
Dantu chucked the gun off into the jungle’s mucky confines and planted his feet into the ground. “Come and get me you son-of-a-bitch!” he taunted Judas.
Judas balled his fists and swayed from side to side, mentally preparing himself for the fight. His right foot planted behind him, he led with his left. His body lurched forward, headed straight for the unfazed Commander.
Dantu sidestepped the charge, and countered with an elbow to Judas’s face. Dantu watched in glory as his attacker landed hard on the ground. “Have enough yet?”
Judas gingerly touched the side of his face, tracing over the fresh bruise. “That sure does sting. However, you’re going to need more than a bitch-slap to bring me down.” Judas arose and charged again. He aimed low and planned to take out Dantu’s feet from underneath.
Dantu’s quick and wily nature had prevented Judas from adhering to any planned course of strategy. “I’m like a Bengal tiger.” Dantu grinned.
Judas made another maddening dash for the Commander. Judas stretched out his fingers and managed to drag his nails across the side of Dantu’s scarred face, drawing a stream of blood in its wake.
Dantu spun around in slow-motion fashion, twirling around eventually regaining his balance from the surprise attack. “You’ll pay for that.”
Judas kept his feet moving at a fleeting pace, just like his father had taught him many years ago when Judas was just a kid. His father’s hobby was boxing, in fact, his dad was a Golden Glove boxer, and taught Judas the tricks of the trade. Judas finally had a situation besides the bully at school, to shine his brightest. His mind was now completely drenched in malaria, offering him no chance of recovery.
“The way I look at it,” Judas said as he let off a vicious jab to Dantu’s mid-section, causing the Commander to double over in pain. “You’re going to pay.”
Dantu staggered about trying to regain his menacing composure. His quickened hands had unleashed a fixture of punishing hits to Judas’s face. One of his shots broke Judas’s nose wide open, spilling its contents all over the place. “Are you still feeling like a cock-fighter now?” Dantu taunted him.
Judas cupped his nose for a brief moment to pressurize the bleeding. He was ill-prepared for Dantu’s continued barrage, which spun Judas around like a nickel on a table.
The steamy atmosphere swelled with inevitable precipitation, threatening the two fighters’ surroundings. A powerful, yet brief cloud storm rollicked through the area, dispatching the mesmerizing, continuous onslaught of rain.
Both men were completely drenched to the bone from the powerful watershed, but neither would give up their position.
Judas caught sight of Dantu’s pistol, resting in the earth just a few yards off to his right side. If Judas could only make a break for it, he could regain the upper hand. Judas lowered his eyes, now tainted with a yellowish haze. “You want me, then you’re going to have to work for it.” He prepared for the fight, clenching his cocked fists, planted his feet and sprinted towards Dantu.
Dantu danced back and forth like a prized fighter awaiting his challenger. He wasn’t threatened one bit by this joke. Dantu had savagely killed men weaker than Judas, he only toyed around with Judas for his own personal pleasure. His men had the area comfortably surrounded, for Dantu was protected on all sides of the proverbial fence.
Judas lowered his shoulder and slammed into the mighty Commander. Dantu absorbed the blow and collapsed backwards with Judas landing on top of him. Judas rammed his left knee directly into Dantu’s testicles and grinned as the fearsome leader groaned in pain. “Are you still feeling like a cocky fighter now?” Judas questioned the jarred Commander.
Dantu curled his lips and spit directly into Judas’s eyeballs. “Fuck you.”
Judas unloaded with a hard, crushing head-butt to Dantu’s right temple, extracting a steam of blood, which trickled along the Commander’s uniquely scarred skin, almost like a pinball inside a contorted maze.
Dantu writhed from the crushing hit, but countered with an uppercut, stunning his attacker momentarily. “You’re going to die here today.” Dantu sat up and wiped away the blood from his face with the back of his wet hand. A cavalcade of rain droplets coursed over his bruised body, briefly endorsing his vitality a little while longer.
Judas managed to balance himself nicely from Dantu’s stunning punch and through the sticky mud, regained his footing and jumped at Dantu again. Judas timed his attacked perfectly, tackling the rising Commander right below the knees.
“I’m not going to let some snot nosed Commander kill me off in this hellish place. I will live to the colony, you my friend, will not.” Judas brimmed with a slick, devilish confidence, a sure sign that the malaria had completely washed away any lingering fabric of his deep-rooted moral code.
Dantu countered with a smattering of defensive moves, but Judas had elusively managed to perform a wrestler’s dream move: a full-nelson on the wily Commander, thus limiting his mobility.
Judas tightened his grip until the Commander had no choice but to succumb to his overpowering attacker. “What’s this?” Judas felt a large bump against his ribs. “You were hiding a knife?” He quickly withdrew it and plunged the weapon into Dantu’s rib cage, twisting it with every snap of his fingers. Dantu seethed with anger, as the pain raced through his body like a tornado galloping over a valley of homes and crops. “Speechless?” Judas wily asked of his dying challenger.
Dantu doubled over and withdrew the knife from his left-side. He expertly twirled the bloody knife between his fingers and let off a wry grin. He kicked out his feet and tripped Judas. “This is not over.” Dantu sliced Judas across the shins, and attempted to escape, heading towards the cliff’s edge, seeking refuge.
Judas again dashed for the ailing Commander. He forcefully grabbed the fleeing Dantu by his shoulder and jerked him backwards through the muck.
Dantu expertly interlocked Judas’s legs with his and rolled him over and over again, until both men came inches away from the cliff’s dangerous edge.
“We’re both going to die together Judas. Embrace your fate.” Dantu powerfully let off one more pivotal twist of his hip and sent both men careening off the edge of the cliff, caught in a deadly spiral towards the raging river below.
*****
The fire licked the sky, sending one last flume of smoke high into the air. Logan pivoted upon his aching heels and grinded his breakneck pace to a complete stop. “John,”
Logan addressed his right-hand man.
“What’s up buttercup?” Garrison shot back.
“I suggest we use our masks, just in case,” Logan said. He slipped off his backpack and unloaded the precautionary items. “Who knows who or what we will come in contact with. I would think this virus could possibly be air borne.” Logan didn’t want to be right about that particular scenario.
Logan and Garrison carefully approached the perimeter of the colony. The fire had died down considerably leaving only a thin veil of smoke behind.
“Hand me the binoculars,” Logan whispered to John.
“Yeah, hold on a sec,” John responded as he fished through Logan’s backpack. “Here.” John handed the Captain the necessary hardware.
Logan firmly pressed the binoculars against his keenly adept eyes and scoured the singed remains of the colony. His attention was drawn to two women standing in the center of eroding establishment, just looking into fiery wreckage of the medical tent.
“I count two women who seem to be searching for something, or possibly someone.” Logan could easily identify every single facial hair, skin blemish, or other intricate detail, simply by gazing through the latest state-of-the-art eyepiece. “The medical area has been completely comprised, allowing us no access to treat or cure any of the infected colonists.”
Logan grimaced. “And, I don’t recognize another building, or area inside the colony that would serve as a secondary medical facility.”
“So, we’re screwed?” John strained to witness what Logan was looking at.
“I do see a decimated stone church over in the northern quadrant. That seems to be void of any human contact right now. I suggest we set up base camp there and try to find out what exactly the hell is going on around here.” Logan passed the binoculars to John. “Here, take a peek.”
John slid them up to his eyes and peered through the looking glass. “What a complete disaster area.”
“Yeah. I also noticed that the crop area along with some kind of irrigation system has also been comprised. Our supply of fresh water and food will have to sustain us as long as possible. There’s no telling what kind of shit these people are innocently infecting themselves with from the tainted water and poor crop system.” Logan again surveyed the area, trying to secure the safest route to the church.
“Do we make contact with the women?” John whirled around with the binoculars.
“We’re going to have to. They’re standing right in the middle of the whole colony.” Logan shook his head in a bemused sort of way. “Do you always make it your goal to test my patience?”
“I try. What can I say? I’m extremely gifted.” John grinned as he returned the binoculars to Logan.
“Well, you are indeed ‘gifted’ in the truest sense of the word.” Logan tapped his old friend on the shoulder and headed straight ahead into the belly of the beast.

Saturday, July 15, 2006

Chapter XIV

CHAPTER XIV
The Infected

With Quentin Forsythe now a distant memory, Judas would be able to take over the colony, and assume all the necessary tasks in order to complete the antidotes’ transformation. The infected colonists would have to come to him for the remedy, for he would hold all the power, all the control, all the marbles.
Back inside the colony, the Reverend was making his presence known. With the assistance of Alethea and Katy, his mission to round up the last remaining healthy colonists became the primary objective. Maddock certainly didn’t want the healthy to succumb to this devil’s disease.
Maddock defied the odds and walked over to the medical tent and entered inside, with Alethea and Katy right behind him.
“I need to see if we can salvage anyone in here.” Maddock gritted his teeth together. “I must save those I can in the name of the Lord.”
The medical tent was the only structure still standing from Dantu’s rampage. The irrigation system was destroyed, along with the crops and Maddock’s church. Buried deep within the makeshift tent, numerous infected bodies lay strewn about the dirty floor, encapsulated in a pain so unbearable, that death was a welcomed friend. Other decaying bodies sat huddled in a far off a corner, trying to regain their shattered lives. They rocked back and forth, their internal organs rapidly liquefying, essentially killing them from within.
The colony’s disease had spread like a wildfire, infecting more than 50 percent of the inhabitants with the deadly combination of Leprosy and Ebola. The effects were instantaneous, and the cure would have to be found quickly.
A crumpled man clawed upon the Earth with his curled fingers and ragged fingernails. His body violently convulsed as he tried to crawl his way outside the tent. His eyes were buried deep within their own sockets, his skin was yellow and peeling, and specks of blood trickled from his nostrils, a sure sign that the Ebola side of the virus had already administered her fatal dose. Through incessant coughing, the man hacked up a wad of blood from his mouth, sending a faint spray into the air.
“Cover your mouth and nostrils!” Maddock caught sight of the man’s condition. “I fret this virus could be airborne.” Ally and Katy followed suit and shielded their faces from the disease.
Maddock cautiously walked by the man, but not before the man’s mangled hand clasped onto Maddock’s ankles, scratching away at the Reverends skin.
Maddock let off a vicious kick to the man’s face, sending the infected soul rolling across the floor. A small speck of blood surfaced where the claw marks were. Maddock spun wildly around to find another victim behind him, ready to strike.
“Hhmmmm.” The woman’s words were an incoherent mess, as the Leprosy had totally wiped out her gift of speech. She lunged dramatically at the Reverend, pushing him to the ground. Her frail body landed on top of his. Her lost eyes fixated their deep stare into his, almost begging for mercy. But, within an instant her body also began to convulse, ready to spew about another bloody cloud.
Maddock felt a sudden jerk, as his attacker was knocked off his body with a thunderous gunshot from behind. Behind the fallen victim was Alethea, tightly holding a smoking, silver pistol.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“It’s too late,” Maddock softly replied. “All of us are infected.”
“I fear that as well,” Alethea noticed another round of victims approaching the trio.
Katy scrambled for a defensive weapon of her own, as two infected men sauntered her way. Their limbs were dangling from their sides, swinging wildly about. The Leprosy had affected their feet, curling their toes and curving their feet. They walked with a deliberate, slow shuffle. Their incoherent moans were chiding at Katy’s ears, like fingernails trailing down a chalkboard. “Maddock, Alethea!” Katy bellowed to her friends.
Maddock and Ally had their own situation at hand. The colonists had sealed off the entrance, trapping them inside the tent. Ally still had the gun, whilst Maddock also needed to find a mechanism for his defense.
Hope had started to fade from the Reverend’s positive outlook. Without the remedy, there was no telling how much longer they could survive, especially with the virus in full flux. It had obviously taken over the colonists, rendering them into walking zombies of sorts. Their inability to speak and move led Maddock to believe that killing the infected would be the only viable option. The antidote would be to far removed once they had reached this critical state.
Katy frantically searched around for a possible weapon. The back of her ass had bumped into a table. Wildly spinning around, she uprooted the table and used as a makeshift shield against her oncoming attackers.
The two men eventually approached Katy, bumping into the table. Katy used all of her force and knocked them down, landing directly on top of them. Their legs kicked wildly, as Katy repeatedly bashed in their heads using the weight of the table. Several stains of red flew about, as Katy finished off the infected men.
Slowly standing up, Katy backed her body into someone, or something. Her thoughts raced of Maddock, Ally, or even Judas would comfort her at this point. Katy turned cautiously around, her fists balled into instruments of defense, ready to attack who was behind her.
*****
Judas’s slow journey through the cave had finally paid off. His long trek had brought him into the river’s rapid current. Judas figured he could swim out to safety, and head back to the colony. He tucked the treasured journal into the backpack to prevent water damage, and waded with a careful step into the water. He could almost taste his freedom.
The cool liquid offered a refreshing feeling against Judas’s weary body. He slowly moved along the rocky floor of the river, not fully aware of when the depth would take a dramatic change.
His mind rattled off several aspects of his master plan for saving the colony. Judas would plan to secure his place amongst the greatest doctors of all time. His driven desire to replace Quentin as the foremost thinker in medicine, fueled his delirious passion for rescuing the colonists.
****
They swarm. They are slick, mesmerizing soulless entities filled with corrupt thoughts and a sickly disease. They were once a proud, hard-working, strong-willed colony. In the few agonizing months that had elapsed, they were reduced to quivering, shattered remnants of what used to be able-bodied citizens. They were now suffering from broken minds, ravaged bodies, and souls that became drowned in a mire of hopelessness and confusion.
They were transformed into the walking dead, zombies of some sort. But, this wasn’t some movie script gone awry. This was a real virus that had taken control with an iron first and smashed their will and determination to live into pieces. The colonists were beyond saving. Their bodies were rapidly decaying the point, where the accelerated Leprosy/Ebola virus would take over in a day or two, and the Ebola faction would wipe them out shortly thereafter. They were encased into a mindless trance, the virus feasting upon their healthy minds, seducing them into an oblivion beyond comparison.
Reverend Maddock, Alethea, and Katy were trapped inside the medical tent, with another round of swarming colonists ready to attack from outside.
A tall man, with dangling arms and twisted fingers lurched at Katy, and violently clawed at her bare neck, dragging his gnarled fingernails down the right side of her face.
“Get off her,” Alethea barked at Katy’s attacker, who stood a few feet away. Ally fired off another round from the pistol. The shot burrowed into the side of the man’s yellowish face. The impact caused a sharp jerk that abruptly brought Katy’s attacker hurtling toward the ground, stopping him literally in his tracks.
“Thank you,” Katy whispered. “I owe you one.” Her breathing was tenuous and her limp body needed a rest.
Maddock’s watchful eyes followed the eerie shadows that were congregating along the peripherals of the tent. The disfigured, delirious throng slowly assembled outside, seemingly patient to make their next move.
“We have to find a way out of here.” Maddock searched about the confines. He cautiously stepped over the two dead bodies that Katy had killed moments earlier. “How many bullets do you have left?” Maddock directed his question at Alethea.
“I have four,” said a confident Alethea.
“They are past the point of saving,” Katy added.
“I agree.” Maddock began to relentlessly pace back and forth trying to induce some sort of logical scenario where the trio could escape. “I will speak of prayer for their lost souls,” Maddock responded as sweat started to congeal above his thick black eyebrows, soaking the Reverend in a sheet of frustration.
Their bodies slowly approached the facility, their mangled fingers penetrating through the screened windows, trying to enter. Their yellow faces were beaded with streaks of sweat, rashes, and streaks of dried blood. Their sunken eyes rolled around within the swollen sockets, as the shuffling continued along the perimeter of the medical gazebo.
“Katy, these bodies upon the other tables are dead?” Maddock looked down upon the frail bodies with a sorrowful glance.
“They are engaged in a battle for their lives,” Katy addressed the situation. “The virus has sent their brains into a spiraling comatose state, where they might never wake up from.”
“Let us pray to the good Lord, for his spirit, his guidance, and his love.” Maddock reached his arms towards the sky and welcomed God’s showering of strength. “Forgive us for killing those infected with Lucifer’s disease my good Father. I have sinned in that regard.” Maddock lowered his head and witnessed the incoming horde of infected colonists.
*****
Judas continued along the river, sloshing through the water. His addiction to find the missing page from Quentin’s journal fueled his desire to escape from the cave. He momentarily paused to splash a cool wave of water over his face and quench his scorching thirst. Upon rising back up, he had this uncanny feeling that someone was following him. Judas frequently spun around, only to find nothing but the quirky calmness of the cave’s dark atmosphere.
The river’s destination would lead Judas back into the sun-drenched jungle. From there, he would be able to find his way back to the colony. Judas frantically slapped, scratched and smacked his neck, leaving a stinging red sensation. The malaria infected mosquitoes had already begun feasting upon Judas’s skin, injecting their poison into his bloodstream. Opening his clenched hands, Judas smiled down upon the crushed bugs, as he flicked them off into the distance and continued along his trek, unknowingly infected with the deadly contagion.
*****
One by one, they continued to enter through the tent’s various openings. Some entered through the back, while other colonists sauntered in from the front. Even a few had managed to claw and rip apart the screened window and lurched their limbs inside, clawing and scratching their way into the room.
“They are beyond saving.” Maddock spun his head around as he surveyed the area. “It seems like they’ve regressed into rampaging animals.” Maddock braced himself for a fight.
“Quentin and I studied a few cases and found out that the virus attacks the muscles, brain and nervous system. It has the early stages of Leprosy, until the Ebola part overpowers and accelerates the effects of Leprosy. I fear with the loss of brain function, the Leprosy and the Ebola wreaking havoc within their bodies, this is the end result.” Alethea took her position in the center of the tent, armed with her pistol.
“Well, I agree with that philosophy,” Katy added as she took refuge by Ally’s side. “They are definitely past saving, but there are still colonists that have a chance.”
“Yeah, if we can get out of here alive.” Maddock kissed his golden cross and clenched his fists. “Then, perhaps we can administer the cure once Judas comes back with Forsythe.”
The colonists had successfully infiltrated and the combine and had Maddock, Katy, and Alethea completely surrounded. The trio was easily outnumbered. It would calculate to almost ten colonists for each of them to fight, with more potentially on the way.
“I picked the wrong day to come back to the colony.” Maddock heroically planned to withstand his oncoming attackers.
“We’re doomed with only four bullets,” Katy replied, shifting her head in Ally’s direction.
“Then, I shall shoot accordingly.” Ally let off a brief smile, as she raised her weapon.
*****
Judas felt feverish and his muscles burned with pain. He wasn’t akin to this sort of environment. He was more suited for the good old United States and her hospitals. His hearing picked up on faint voices, and footsteps that had seemed to reappear and disappear at will.
He turned his head around and found nothing behind him yet again. Judas started to feel dizzy and his balance became shaky and distorted. His vision slowly entered blurriness, enhancing the difficulty of his intended escape.
“There he is!” A deep, husky voice bellowed out from behind.
Judas couldn’t locate the man behind the voice. Was his mind playing tricks on him? His headaches had become unbearable now, and Judas needed to find the colony, and fast.
The end of river had brought Judas into the hot, searing jungle, where the raging sun bore down upon the Earth, sizzling the skin of those that were unprotected. Judas lazily stumbled forward and collapsed head first into some brush, laying motionless underneath the African skies.
*****
The rope was rigid and taut. He had cut his hand trying to grasp onto it. He wished he had never taken this trip. He hated the fucking President, and wanting nothing more than to prove him wrong.
John Garrison clipped the silver latch onto his black belt and relentlessly shimmies down the rope and landed harshly upon his ankles.
“You know, as a veteran of special missions, John still has problems with this exercise,” Captain Nathaniel Logan sarcastically addressed the pilot. “We’ll stay in communication with you throughout this mission. Frequency 76.” The pilot nodded as Logan slid his goggles over his face and lowered himself into position. His fingers quickly assembled the latch and belt, and within moments he disappeared into the colony’s waiting arms.
“Are you okay?” Logan asked John who was nursing his bruised ankles.
“Shut up.”
“Really, how’s your ankle?”
“Bruised, like my ego.” John rubbed out the kinks. “I’ll be fine.”
“We need to do an inventory check.” Logan unlatched himself from the rope, tugged it, and watched as the chopper zoomed off into the distance. “The chopper will be back in four days. We have enough ammo, food, and water to last a week here.”
“I suggest we talk to our vacation planner, because I surely don’t see any four-star hotels out here.” John’s tone was flavored with bitter and irritability as he scoured the area. “All I can see are a bunch of fucking trees and plenty of pesky insects.”
“The President wants us to confine this virus. In other words, eradicate it at all costs.”
“All costs? Shit, I should’ve stayed back home.” John grinned.
“You’ll carry the explosives, C-4, plastique,” Logan addressed his friend.
“I won’t dissapont, Captain. I blow that fucking virus into oblivion.” John tapped his backpack, which was stuffed to the brim with all the necessary tools and explosives.
“That’s good to know. I’ll carry the compasses, food, water, and communication equipment. We’re broadcasting on frequency 76.”
“Affirmitive,” John responded. He had always worked well with Logan. They always seemed to work well together and deliver effective results.
“If there any survivors, including this Dr. Forsythe, then we implement Plan A.” Nathaniel brought John up to speed.
“And what’s Plan B?” John braved the obvious question.
“That would include the eradication at all costs, no one leaves the colony under any circumstance.” Logan strapped his backpack firmly to his back and placed the compass directly into the center of his left palm. “We will head north into the jungle, and according to the satellite’s coordinates, this little piece of heaven is five-hundred yards from here.”
“Sounds cozy,” John replied as he brought up Logan’s rear. He adjusted his Glock and stared up towards the blistering sun. “Do you have an extra pair of shades? This sun’s a bitch, just like back in Iraq.”
“Yeah. Go and reach into my pack and get one for yourself. You really need to plan better. Your organizational skills suck.” Logan playfully busted his friend’s balls.
“Yeah, thanks Pops,” John shot back. “I found a pair, thanks.” John slid the pair of black glasses over his eyes and looked up at the sun again. “Ah, much better. Much better.”
*****
The infected colonists shuffled across the room towards Ally and Katy. They dragged their feet behind them in a slow creeping motion. Their mouths were in constant motion, as if they were chewing upon their own tongues. Fingers curled backward, forearms clenched tightly to their chests, these colonists were in the virus’s horrific aftermath.
Several men surrounded Maddock from every angle. There was nothing useful for defense inside the tent. Maddock scoured the area for something. His eye managed to locate several oxygen tanks over in the corner.
“How full are those tanks?” Maddock asked Ally.
“They’re almost drained,” Alethea replied. “Why?”
“Well, you have four bullets, and we need for each one to count.”
“Agreed.” Ally caught on.
“If I can get them over in that direction, then we can eliminate a larger number.” Maddock made a dash for the tanks.
Katy landed a hard kick into the mid-section of her attacker, sending him spiraling backward into the rest, knocking them over like bowling pins. “Hurry up with that plan!” she called out to her friends.
Maddock fought his way through the horde and reached the tanks just in time. Trailing behind, a dozen of the colonists were ready to converge upon their victim. Maddock knocked over the tanks, sending them rolling along the floor, and into the staggering colonists. Maddock was caught off guard from behind and pulled down. The wiry man had Maddock by the ankles, digging his nails into the fresh skin. Maddock writhed about, trying to break free. He repeatedly kicked the man in the face, but to no avail. Maddock even withdrew his knife and jabbed wildly at the man’s arms and chest. Another man, this one very strong, had grabbed Maddock’s arms and started to cough violently. Maddock was trapped and knew that this one-time chance was rapidly escaping. He called out to Ally to fire off the shot. “Ally, now!” Maddock alerted her of the situation.
Alethea unable to save Maddock, and realizing his dire circumstances, fired off the shot directly into the crowd of dying colonists, penetrating the collection of tanks. A loud, thunderous boom rocked the tent, quickly dispersing the swarm. A series of flames licked wildly about in the air, while splintered body parts landed throughout the room.
“Reverend!” Alethea gazed upon the fiery remnants, wondering if Maddock had survived.
“Ally, Maddock died trying to save us.” Katy placed her hand on Ally’s shoulder in comfort. “Is there anything else in here for us to use against them?”
“I’m afraid not. And, without those tanks, we’re going to be unable to save the healthy colonists.”
“If there are any healthy ones left,” Katy surmised.
The two women managed to escape outside the tent as the flames started to engulf the entire room, trapping the colonists inside, burning them alive.
Katy and Ally managed to reach the church nary any significant injuries, as the medical facility burned to the ground. The raging inferno would ultimately consume everything within, effectively containing the virus for now.
*****
Logan and Garrison were still several yards away when they heard the deafening explosion, wondering where exactly it had originated from. Logan alertly tracked the thin billow of smoke in the distance with his sharpened vision, trying to locate the exact position.
“It seems that something has gone horribly awry,” Logan responded with an authoritative feel. “We need to pick up the pace and find out what exactly has happened.”
Garrisons’ body went into hyper-drive, valiantly trying to keep pace with the quickened pace that Logan had established. “Can’t we slow down a bit, Boss? I’m sure they’re in no immediate hurry.”
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that John.” Logan’s feet were pounding into the dirt as his quick jog, had transformed into a full-scale run. “We need to find out if there are any survivors, and what the actual infected count is,” Logan gripped his Glock and darted straight ahead through the lingering vines and branches.
*****
He was laying in an expansive area, filled with trees, misty skies and a soft muddy terrain. The soil pushed through his fingertips as he tried to regain his lost balance. The left side of his face embedded deeply into the sinking mud, while his legs were split at a weird ninety-degree angle. His neck swollen from the multitude of infectious bites left by the stinging mosquitoes. The stinging numbness started its climb through his spinal cord, and buried itself deep at the base of his dizzying brain. Malaria had already begun its dangerous course inside his head, leaving every thought, image and sense lost in a cloudy atmosphere of confusion and escalating fever.
The jungle seemed to call to his soul. He felt himself losing his tightened grip on reality. His whole world was now spinning out of control, and ironically the only choice of salvation for Judas, was for him to embrace his new tainted reality. This new place which had existed only inside his deep thoughts, where evil had enjoyed the spoils, and good, well, they went home empty handed. Judas would devise a crucial plan of action, simulating what needed to be done. He would not allow any person, place, or thing to stand in his way of becoming the key figure in resurrecting the infected colony.
His lips smacked together with a strong distaste for the brush that collected inside his mouth. Using his hands in a brash move, he quickly filtered out any lingering remnants of the sticky, slimy, leafy substance. Judas wriggled his body through the mud, attempting a way to seize control of the situation again. Upon his sudden movement, he heard a loud synthesis of clicking and grunting. His eyes followed along the seemingly endless line of the battered, dirty boots that had congregated around his fallen body. His head snapped up trying to capture a better view of what the hell was going on, as sheets of mud harmlessly slide off the right side of his face.
“The situation’s under control Commander.” The man firmed up his stance and buried the gun’s nozzle into Judas’s right temple. Judas’s chin was still drenched in the brown matter. He was a filthy excuse for a man right now.
“Excellent,” the voice resonated from behind the wall of soldiers.
Judas didn’t recognize the accent, nor the man. His mind was walking around in complete darkness on what this man was actually seeking.
“Does he have the old man with him?” The Commander asked wit h a snarl.
“I don’t see him,” the soldier responded as j=he surveyed the area around Judas.
“What’s your name?” The Commander asked with haste.
“Dr. Judas Sturgis.”
“Where’s Quincy? Or was it Quentin?”
This man knew Quentin? How should Judas play this out? He hadn’t come all this way just to have his balls slapped around by some ingrate.
“Dead,” Judas softly spoke.
“I don’t believe you.”
“I killed him myself,” Judas started to get up.
“Why?”
“He had something I wanted.” Judas looked around.
“The journal.” The Commander’s brilliance was unmatched.
“It’s mine,” Judas declared.
Judas heard a quick snap of the Commander’s fingers. Within in a blitzing second, Judas felt the crack of the gun against his back, forcing him into his knees. On of the soldiers then placed a rifle underneath Judas’s chin to restrain his movement.
From behind the wall of men, the wily Commander fiercely walked up to his newly pinned prisoner.
“Let me illustrate something for you,” he retorted. He motioned for his trolls to toss him the backpack.
“Enlighten me,” Judas grumbled underneath the intense pain. He tried to use his finger to act as a barrier between the hard rifle and his throat, but had no leverage in the matter. Judas winced and coughed underneath the strain to breathe. Judas had managed to visually take in the man’s disturbing features. He was short and wiry. But, that wasn’t the part that Judas was concerned about. When the Commander turned his face to catch the backpack, the left side was completely scarred, possibly from intense blaze or fire.
The Commander unzipped it quickly and dumped out its contents all over the field.
“You can’t have that.” Judas stared down the Commander. “You will remember my name, son.” He bent down to snatch up the muddy journal.
“Which is?”
“I’m Commander Reese Dantu of the rebel Army. And, just like your friend Quentin, you’ve just made a very costly mistake.”
“How so?” Judas fought hard for breath.
“This journal belongs to me. With Quentin’s hard work, I will sell the antidote to the highest bidder.” He cracked an evil smile.
“Those people need that antidote,” Judas tried to dissuade Dantu’s plan. He knew that the antidote’s page was missing.
“I think you need to focus on the task at hand, Judas.”
Judas felt his brain swell from the intense pressure as he was ruthlessly dragged along the ground.
“This cliff overlooks one of Africa’s mighty rivers. This particular one cuts right through the jungle’s heart.” Dantu offered his tour guide take on the scenery.
“Spare me the National Geographic special,” Judas snapped back, still trying to engulf a full breath.
“When you hit the bottom of that raging river,” Dantu replied with a sly tone. “You’ll feel every bone shatter within your fragile body.” Dantu motioned for his men to throw Judas of the edge of the cliff.
Judas peered down upon the rampaging water below. Thick stumps of trees littered about, as rocks and vines also filtered throughout the dangerous area.
“Any last words, before you plummet to your death?” Dantu asked of his prisoner.

Saturday, July 08, 2006

Colony Update

Hey Gang,

I finished The Colony and edited it with a once over. I've also posted revised versions of the first three chapters, and posted the new chapter.

Over the next week or so I will post the revised versions of all the chapters through number 12.

Keep up the reading

J.G.

Chapter XIII

CHAPTER XIII
REVEREND KIMBALL MADDOCK


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

Monday, July 03, 2006

Chapter XII

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


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