by T A Walters
“Are you telling me the truth?”
“You’re talking to a guy who used to get fever blisters so badly and so frequently that I considered going out to sea and drowning myself. That was a few years ago. I don’t get them anymore!”
“Do you think I’m gullible Joe?”
There was a bit of laughter in Joe’s voice. Perhaps Kat would believe me in a few days when the healing was already noticeable. “Of course not,” said Joe.
“Then how’d you discover this?”
Snapping the lid back on the aerosol can and discarding the paper towel, Joe settled back in the seat alongside Kat and explained, “I had sailed over to Bimini Island which is the territory of the Bahamas. Well, I arrived at West End and was trying to make port using my engine when it failed. Luckily, I got towed in by a friendly native who told me there was an outboard motor mechanic in Alice Town. Being a good mechanic that he was, he noticed my horribly festering lips. It was then; he introduced me to the cure.”
“You’re serious.”
Joe was feeling the Sandman was about and began yawning. “Yeah, Kat. Drop dead serious.” He looked over at her and told her that in a day or two, the itching will come back. “The little guy inside the blister will try to make a comeback. When you feel that itch give your self one more treatment of the Starter Fluid. I guarantee that’ll be the end of that little virus dude. The fever blister will scab up as if it is already healing. After that, you might never have another fever blister. And if you do, it’ll be a long time before you do.”
A long silence drew a sideward glance to Kat who had fallen asleep. Joe studied the peaceful way she looked when she slept. How beautiful it would be if he could stay, however, he slipped outside gently closing the door to the JLTV for the long walk back in the cold to his Humvee.
Chapter 7
~~Two hours ago~~
After taking a ‘browbeating’ from Abdul Medina, Walid Ghazarra hung up the phone and sighed. As Commanding General of ISIS forces, he felt ashamed, having not been with his men on the battlefield. His army’s raid on the American rebel forces had failed miserably. Walid spent a few moments in thoughts on how it went wrong. Was it because the element of surprise had been compromised? How? And who is responsible for this breach of intelligence?
His brain, racked with the pain of not knowing who was responsible for the intelligence breach that caused the slaughtering of half a regiment brought forth gnashing of his teeth in anger as he slammed his fist into the top of his desk: there was no doubt American forces knew about this planned attack beforehand.
The first thought of suspicion leaned toward the Russian allied forces. However, it was Russian intelligence in the first place. It became clear to Walid that the Russians had placed them in a strategic position of world dominance beginning with North America. One of the first rules for radical takeover is positioning oneself tops in the information base. Being the dealer of cards makes you the owner of the house; and as everyone knows, it is difficult to break the house. This angered Walid. If it had not been for his brethren in arms, the Chinese and Russians would not be successful in occupying the American soil. He knew alone, the Chinese and Russians secretly feared to take on American forces for the technological advances they possessed. So it only made sense to use Middle Eastern armies to soften up the Americans using what the others feared: nuclear weapons. Americans were fools after being threatened over and over by North Korea and Iran, that we hated them and that we would destroy them. Yet the arrogance led their better judgment astray. So now they are like neutered goats.
With Middle Eastern liberators to soften Americans, it was now beginning to be the time for them to be eliminated from the game. An old woman with a cane could easily take over from here … is that not the case my Russian friend?
Perhaps he would share these thoughts with Abdul Medina. But for now, he felt he needed the assurance that there were more to his allegations than what mere suspicions brought to mind.
Chapter 8
~Dawn of the fourth Horseman of the Apocalypse~
… His name was Death, and hell followed him …
There were no roosters to crow this morning; any birds singing their praise for the new day, only a low droning buzz in the distant air above the ghostly city of San Antonio. The pale yellow sun peaked up from the east to shine through clouds of dust and grainy black clouds that shifted back and forth in odd directions forming shapes that puzzled the onlooking eyes of Scuba Bill.
Sipping his morning coffee, he stood on a hill, peering out over the city, while off in the distance the galloping sound of a horse’s hooves heading his way, rose small clouds of dust in its wake. Over the lower half of this horseman’s face, a white scarf flowed in the breeze. Scuba Bill’s eyes narrowed as he strained his vision to a stranger dressed in black … the white scarf was of all his head that he could see until coming closer; a narrow-brimmed hat held down by a cord around the outline of his chin.
The stranger stopped short of Bill by only a few yards. The white foam slobber of the stranger’s horse splattered out with a snort near his feet. This tall and thin stranger had been riding long and hard, and when he pulled down his white scarf, Bill noticed the man was wearing the collar of a preacher. The stranger raised his arm and pointed a bony thick-knuckled hand toward the city. “Look down there and tell me what you see,” the stranger said.
Scuba Bill knew it, but never gave it much thought. He looked back at the stranger who seemed fixed like a statue on a horse, his arm still outstretched to the city in the far distance. Scuba Bill replied, “I see death.”
“You see what life was, but is now delivering its death upon your door.”
“I don’t get it.”
“It is what comes to pass, and it comes, a plague of death.”
“Those shifting black clouds are getting bigger.”
The stranger concluded, “And on their backs they carry death.”
His horse moaned and jerked a step back. “I ask, are you the shepherd of this flock?”
Scuba Bill knew the preacher was referring to his convoy and though he wasn’t a religious man himself, he answered the man in black that he was.
“Batten the windows and doors that they cannot come in and leave this place.”
Hypnotized by the swarm, Scuba Bill stood there watching the thick clouds of cadaver flies heading his way. He threw down his toaster pastry and muttered, “Holy Shit!”
Realizing what he said, he turned to the preacher to excuse his bad language, but the preacher had vanished. It was a sign to Bill to get the convoy moving fast, and that he did. Trotting alongside the convoy vehicles, he rapped on the doors with the butt of his sidearm pistol. Alternately, he fired shots into the air and yelled until he became hoarse, for everyone to roll-out and head-out immediately. Tailpipes and engine stacks blew black smoke as the cold engines roared, eventually clearing themselves of the smoke as they warmed up. Coming back up the line of vehicles Scuba Bill issued orders for all windows and hatches secured shut until further notice.
Currents from the north were picking up in heavy gusts of cold air, yet the swarm blossomed steadily–riding on the wind when Scuba Bill reached the safety of his transport carrier. There were over a dozen such transport carriers including the one that housed the mobile medic unit Mitchel and Jess rode in that had only canvas coverings. The possibility that the swarm might find ways to get in concerned Bill. I hope they know to wrap themselves up in blankets.
Already the stridency of the insect storm was beginning to drown out the sound of the convoy engines. Scuba Bill batted a few of the flies away with his hand; insects, each as big as his thumb and with pale green stripes running across a black thorax. The hair on his neck rose with the sight of these ruby red-eyed giant flies.
The vehicles were beginning to roll, and Bill was the running in behind his transport when he took a dive forward into the rear opening of the truck. He yelled to the driver to ‘gun it,’ while he franticall
y secured the canvas flaps covering the back entry to the vehicle. There were a few of the flies charging and darting around within the confines of the vehicle. Scuba Bill whipped an empty duffel bag about trying to dispatch them where he could pin them down and crush them. With the confidence he had gotten them all, he slid down into the seat next to his driver. But his faith withered as he looked over to Stevens sitting behind the steering wheel, and saw a cadaver fly burrowing in his hair. Just as Stevens reached up to scratch his head, Bill snatched the fly in his hand and slammed it on the floorboard, following it up with a foot crunching stomp.
After raking his fingers through his hair, Steven saw blood on his hand, “Think the bastard bit me!”
Somewhere in the back was a medic kit with antiseptic supplies and Scuba Bill bounced around in the back looking for it.
The convoy began picking up speed as it was apparent to Scuba Bill that all was beginning to understand what the urgency to get the convoy moving was all about. Stevens yelled back to Scuba Bill from the driver’s seat that they started pulling away from the swarm at around 10 miles per hour, and if they didn’t have to slow down for road blockage, they could be safe in approximately 20 miles or so. Paul and his motorcycle crew had already covered that much ground, leaving their camping gear behind. Scuba Bill moved to the rear of the transport vehicle and peeked out at the cloud of insects. The convoy was indeed pulling away from them, thanks to the advanced warning of the preacher man.
Sliding back down into the jump seat next to Stevens, Scuba Bill, armed with a bottle of alcohol and gauze kept his attention on preparing an emergency field dressing for Stevens’ bug bite. “Hold your head still and keep your eyes on the road,” he told Stevens.
Finding the area of the bite wasn’t hard; it still oozed blood against Stevens’ blond hair. Scuba Bill began dabbing away at the bite wound when he noticed some of Stevens’ hair fall away from his head. He paused a moment and bit his lip in the horror of how fast the bite wound grew and evolved into an angry looking boil. Out of all the most hideous sights to stimulate the gag reflex, Scuba Bill rated this high in any such aspect of his past wartime experience. We need Penny here A-S-A-P!
The convoy had put several miles between them and the pestilence of flies, determined to overtake and consume them. With every moment—with every mile that passed Stevens condition appeared dismal. So much so that Scuba Bill told Stevens to stop the vehicle and while he jumped out. He promised Stevens he would provide him with professional first aid when he returned, but in the meantime to retreat to the cot in the back. Stevens returned a confused glance toward Scuba Bill, but slowed the vehicle to a stop, and then clamored from his seat and stumbled back to the rear compartment.
Scuba Bill’s feet jump to the ground running until he was stunned by the sight of broad groupings of the giant cadaver flies clinging to the backs of the convoy vehicles. The flies seemed as though they were in a latent state of being, and did not seem to notice Scuba Bill as he quietly walked by. Nearly on his tiptoes, Bill finally came upon the JLTV. Once inside, Kat was riddling Scuba Bill with a million questions. He brushed passed her only to say no one was to step outside their vehicles until they reached their destination somewhere in the Chihuahuan Desert. Kat spoke, “Some of us need to eat, sleep and pee and not particularly in that order, sir.”
Scuba Bill found Penny peering down at something in a stainless steel bowl. A small headlamp illuminating the specimen she was studying through a magnifying glass. As he drew closer, he noticed she had incised one of the cadaver fly’s midsection with a scalpel.
Penny spoke in a monotone voice typical of a person engaged in a mind-bending research oddity, “Found this strange creature trapped under the windshield wiper. He was stunned enough for me to sneak up on him with a scalpel.” Seeing the insect was utterly sliced in half, he knew it was no threat to Kat.
“Leave it. Grab your medical bag of tricks and follow me to my transport.”
~~~~
Penny and Scuba Bill had to enter his transport vehicle through the passenger side door because the back of the vehicle had a half dozen or so cadaver flies still clinging in a state of what appeared latency. “This, I believe,” said Penny, pointing to the flies, “is the reverse of heat exhaustion. These flies are holding out further activity until their body’s warm back up.”
Scuba Bill reached out and pulled Penny up and into the vehicle. From in the back, Penny could hear heavy breathing, “Is this Stevens?” she asked, looking up to Scuba Bill who, only nodded his head in reply.
Penny knelt beside the cot Stevens was lying on, and while feeling Stevens’ forehead, she asked him if he’d been bitten by the large flying insect. In return, he neither spoke nor nodded his head. He just stared at her and blinked his eyelids twice. Penny looked confused, and while looking up to Bill, she told him Stevens was not running a fever. He seemed to be getting colder. “Paralysis has set in,” she said further, “and the bite wound has opened. His scalp is full of abscesses.” A look of shock on Penny’s face told Bill there was nothing she could do for Stevens.
“So you are saying—?”
Bill watched as it seemed unexpected that Penny got up from her bedside visit and swiftly moved to the forward seating position in the jump seat beside the drivers’ seat. Bill followed, gingerly swinging himself around to lean on the doghouse cover. Facing Penny, Bill asked if Stevens was going to get better on his own. To which she replied, “I cannot address his symptoms to any medical, applied science.” Penny lowered her voice to a whisper. “It is as if Stevens is decomposing … while he is still alive.”
Scuba Bill turned his head aside. He gazed out the driver’s window as Penny continued, “We can keep him warm and make him as comfortable as possible, but—”
“But we need to get this convoy moving.” Bill could see that those vehicles in front of them were long gone from sight. Penny tried to follow Bill’s thought.
“Yes,” she replied. “Before these flies warm up and begin swarming around us, we should get going.”
He saw a few flies beginning to buzz around outside and wondered if hanging around might not be a bad strategy. Once these flies become mobile, the rest of this convoy may take off and leave them behind. He pointed out to Penny that the flies are beginning to gather themselves together and she should remain with him and not go outside.
“No problem there, sir,” she said while staring out at the rear-view mirror. “But what of that big swarm heading up behind us?”
Scuba Bill had forgotten about the swarm and at the thought of that suggestion said nothing. Instead, he slid in behind the wheel and rammed the gearshift lever forward. Stepping off the clutch, he gunned the accelerator. Alternating glances between the rear-view mirror and the road ahead, he watched the rest of the convoy follow in behind him.
The wind appeared to boost up, wheeling itself in weird directions and kicked up so much dust that it was beginning to get hard to see. A dust devil sprang up and danced across the road twice before disappearing into a sandy chasm off the wayside. Scuba Bill had never seen such that dust devils developed in quite the numbers that were now happening around and ahead of them. The transport truck reeled from side to side and even at one point rammed head-on in a wind blast that nearly stalled the engine; causing Bill to grab a lower gear to maintain forward momentum.
All at once Scuba Bill heard Penny clap her hands, “They’re gone!” she exclaimed. “Swept away and dispersed in the tornadoes.”
It was too loud inside the troop carrier with the noise of the engine and the winds that howled. But at that moment with all menacing creatures being gone so also, was Stevens.
Chapter 9
The needle on the fuel gauge was resting on the stop pin over the word ‘Empty.” Scuba Bill and Penny would have made it to the Vietnam reservation monument sooner and with fuel to spare had it not been the winds that battered the vehicle head-on.
From the recollection of different comments and conversation
s with Paul (the Ratchet) Monroe, Scuba Bill was confident they had reached the trail leading to the reservation. The only problem was, most of the convoy vehicles, including his, would run out of fuel long before getting there. From here, they would need to travel in about 35 miles before reaching the veterans’ trailer park where the underground armory was located.
Scuba Bill pulled over and shut off the transport vehicle. “What are we doing?” Penny asked.
“We’re shutting down before we break down.”
“You mean we are out of gas?”
“Gas and diesel fuel, yes.”
Penny rolled her eyes back. “Tell me the fuel tanker trucks are traveling with us.”
Scuba Bill jumped out without answering Penny and walked to the front of the vehicle. Penny followed; meeting up with Bill. They both stood, silently studying the many tire tracks in the dusty trail before them. He pointed to some tracks that looked more like a sidewalk imprint, “Abrams tracks.”
“Tank treads,” Penny smiled. “I’ll bet the tow vehicle and the fuel trucks made it up to the reservation by now.”
“They’ll be back to check on us. We just sit and wait.”
“What do you want for Christmas?”
Scuba Bill just turned and looked at her for a moment; then replied, “Far as I know, it’s been postponed.”
She sniffed and looked off into the distance to nothing it seemed. The silence between them, interrupted by the subtle wisp of a breeze that moved a chill through her. Turning back to Scuba Bill she batted her eyes in disapproval of what he had said. “I think not.”
Penny was about to return to her place in the truck when she saw Kat walking up. She was waving her arms and yelling that they were on the way with fuel. It seemed evident to Penny that Scuba Bill thought that because all handheld radio units were in the section of the convoy that broke away from them previously, they would have to wait until someone got the idea to go back and search for them. “They’re on the way,” she yelled back at Scuba Bill as she could see he had begun hiking up the trail. Penny nearly doubled over in laughter and was still laughing when Scuba Bill arrived back.
