The Redivivus Trilogy (Book 3): Miasma

by Kirk Withrow

  “Yeah, I do. When I think about everything we’ve survived, I can’t believe there wasn’t a reason,” he said.

  Lin looked at Ava, and a single tear rolled down her cheek when she saw the little girl’s happiness. Beyond her, a lone, mangled rev shambled across the road in their direction. The dichotomy was not lost on her, as she wondered which of the two very different futures would prevail in the end. Although she understood there were never guarantees, she knew in her heart that they were going to be all right.

  A moment later, the rotor wash swept over them as the helicopter came to carry them to their new lives.

  EPILOGUE

  Year 2065

  Dear Bean,

  Since I’m away from your mother and can’t speak to you in person, I thought I’d write you a letter. Your mother and I don’t know if you’re a boy or a girl, so we don’t have a definite name for you yet. If you’re a girl, she says she wants to name you Ava, after her mother. I told her that’s fine as long as I can pick the name if you turn out to be a boy! She hasn’t gotten back to me on that one yet.

  When I found out about you, the doctor told me you were about the size of a kidney bean, so I’m going with Bean for now. I can’t begin to tell you how much you’ve changed my life already, and I haven’t even met you! My entire perspective has changed completely, all because of you. I want you to know that the world we live in is such a complicated place—both amazing and dangerous. It was like that before LNV, and it remains that way even now that the scourge of LNV has passed.

  Fifty years after the pandemic, so much—and nothing—has changed. I can’t help but wonder what things would’ve been like if the plague had never occurred. Having come into this world after LNV, I can only go off what others tell me. The older people say the plague set humanity back nearly four times as many years, and due to mankind’s constant fighting, we seem to recover at only half speed. Even in the face of a vicious and efficient killer like LNV, people still couldn’t come together as one. The plague was not fought as though it was a common enemy; rather, it became the backdrop for man’s perpetual power struggles. I guess, in the end, people are still people.

  Anyone who lived before the revs always says they imagined the future would be filled with spaceships and shit, but it’s pretty uncommon to see a car in some places these days (sorry about the language; I guess that’s something else I’ll have to work on). We’re certainly far from having to resort to horse-drawn carriages, but civilization is far from having the same technological prowess it once held. Sure, people clustered together from the beginning, and they eventually formed communities and cities. But it was, and is, a process steadily impeded by the very people involved in it. At the end of the day, we still have our humanity—I suppose. I’m trying to decide of that’s a good thing. Maybe you and your generation can do things better—work together instead of fighting to see who can come out on top. Here’s to hoping…

  I look forward to meeting you, Bean. Although I haven’t told your mother yet, when I get back, I’m going to find a new line of work. If it’s this hard being away now, I can only imagine what it will be like in a year. Until I finally see you face to face, take care of your mother and sleep well.

  Love,

  Your Daddy, Eddie

  Eddie Romero folded the letter and placed it back inside the ratty envelope. He had read it nearly a hundred times since writing it almost three months ago. Like virtually everyone alive, his entire life had been about fighting to survive. It was all he knew. Now, though, things were different. No longer could he think only of himself and Rebecca, who was more than capable of taking care of herself. Everything changed the moment he found out that Rebecca was carrying his child. The world suddenly seemed far more dangerous, and he far more vulnerable. There was so much he wanted to make sure his unborn child knew, and he constantly worried he would fail at that task. It was with that in mind that he began to write the letters to Bean.

  Having been born into a world where the ability to defend one’s self meant the difference between life and death, Eddie Romero learned to do just that at an early age. He excelled in this area, and had taken to doing contract security work to capitalize on his talent. His current assignment was different than any other for several reasons, not the least of which was that it was his first since learning he was going to be a father. It also required him to travel considerably farther than any of his previous contracts, something for which it paid quite well. That had played a big factor in his accepting the contract in the first place. With the money he made from this job, he’d have the financial cushion he needed to transition to a more “normal” line of work.

  Even beyond that, something felt different about this contract. He couldn’t put his finger on exactly what it was, but he sensed that he wasn’t exactly joining the moral side of the fight. Although the man who’d hired him was about as slimy as they come, it was readily apparent that his pockets ran deep. Whatever he and his company were involved in was lucrative business.

  The employer was the United Lumber Corporation, an American-based logging company that Eddie suspected was involved in illegal logging deep in the Brazilian rainforests. Perhaps it was the front for some other illegal activity; he didn’t know. His team was hired to provide security for the company’s assets on the ground in Brazil. Having suffered several losses in violent and bloody clashes with the local people, ULC felt it was paramount to bring in armed security personnel to protect their interests, and thus their profits.

  During their first meeting, the company man said, “My father started this company with a simple vision in mind: to make the world into a better place. Mr. Romero, let me be blunt with you. The situation on the ground in Brazil is a sensitive one. There are resources we need to recover in order to shape the new world, but unfortunately, not everyone sees it that way. Do you understand?”

  Eddie took in the man’s expensive three-piece suit and perfectly coiffed hair, and became instantly suspicious. While his words seemed plain to understand at face value, he had no doubt that there was much more at play than the man was letting on. That was the type of guy the company man was: slicker than cat shit on a linoleum floor, as his grandfather used to say.

  Eddie had many questions after hearing the job’s description. He found it odd that the company needed so much security for what sounded like a bunch of lumberjacks. And why were they going all the way to Brazil for lumber? Weren’t there plenty of trees to be had much closer? Despite not having his questions answered, Eddie was sold the moment the man went into the contract details. Due to the distance from home and the unusual circumstances surrounding the job, it paid nearly four times more than the best paying gig his team had landed in years.

  Eddie Romero and his men signed a three-month contract, during which he was to serve as the point man for a security detail assigned to the “logging team” already on the ground in Brazil. The strange feeling surrounding the operation didn’t lessen even as the job neared its completion. They interacted very little with the team they were assigned to protect. Eddie’s men more or less provided perimeter security to ensure no one got too close to the company team while they did whatever the hell it was that they did. Although the members of that team were nothing like the guys on Eddie’s squad, they didn’t seem like the average, run-of-the-mill lumberjacks either. They seemed more than capable of taking care of themselves; especially given how little action they had seen. Nevertheless, the contract Eddie and his men signed contained a confidentiality clause, which stipulated that he and his men didn’t ask questions. Anytime the boredom or the secrecy threatened to become too great to bear, he reminded himself about the all money they were paying him.

  As the end of Eddie’s three-month contract grew nearer, so did his anticipation of finally returning home. He hated being so far away from Rebecca and the baby. Even the obscene amount of money ULC was paying seemed hardly worth it. The baby? It hasn’t even been born yet, and I’m already regarding it
as part of the family.

  Eddie was on watch the evening before he was to return home, when someone stumbled out of the shadows near their camp. The night felt darker than any he recalled since arriving in Brazil. Even his flashlight seemed to have trouble slicing through the inky blackness. When it did, he saw an old man partially obscured by the dense jungle foliage. He sensed no threat as he watched the apparently infirmed man’s uncoordinated movements. Probably just another native looking for free medical care…

  When Eddie called for the old man to halt, he continued trudging forward—slowly but deliberately closing the gap between him and Eddie. As he got closer, Eddie was able to see more details about the sickly man. He moved with a drunken gait, seemingly oblivious to everything around him. His face was slack and void of expression. Most disturbing of all were the man’s eyes. They were cold and vacant, causing Eddie to wonder if the man might be more ill than he’d initially suspected.

  “Hey, buddy, you okay? Stop right there. That’s far enough,” Eddie said to the man.

  If the old man heard him, he gave no indication, and he continued forward undaunted. Even when Eddie made a show of working the bolt on his rifle in hopes of deterring him, he was unfazed. The old man let out a low, guttural moan right before he tripped over a root, and slammed face-first into the ground. Concerned for the man’s well-being, Eddie rushed to his aid and was surprised when the old man started to rise almost instantly. As Eddie stooped to offer him a hand, the old man’s head shot up, and he let out a feral snarl before lunging for Eddie. At that distance, the man smelled rancid, and Eddie felt his disgusting secretions strike his face.

  Eddie moved far faster than the old man, and he leapt back deftly before kicking forward instinctively. There was a sickening crunch as his steel toe boot slammed into the man’s face. He swore he heard several of the man’s teeth strike a rock somewhere along the trail’s edge. The feeling of facial bones collapsing under the force of the kick reverberated through Eddie’s body and made him instantly nauseous. The man crumpled to the ground in an unmoving heap.

  Dropping to his hands and knees, Eddie retched several times before finally regaining his composure. It wasn’t until he wiped his mouth on his sleeve that he noticed the blood on his hand. He turned his attention to the man; the unnatural angle at which his head lay told him that his neck was broken. His ear was practically resting on his shoulder blade.

  Panicked, Eddie realized he had just killed an unarmed man who’d done little more than look at him wrong. Despite the fact that the man didn’t look like someone who would be missed, if anyone got wind of his death, there would likely be consequences in an attempt to preserve peace with the locals. Even though Eddie hadn’t intended to kill the old man, he knew this was the sort of thing that got people locked away in some shitty South American jail for life. He didn’t trust the man who’d hired him any farther than he could piss. With his slick suit, the man came across slimier than a politician. He had even refused to tell them his full name. Eddie remembered hearing one of the other company men calling him Handel or something similar. There was no way Eddie was going to take a chance on Mr. Suit having his back. The only thing Eddie Romero knew for certain was that he was not going to spend the rest of his life in a Brazilian jail.

  Thinking quickly, Eddie looked around and noticed that Bobby Summers, the other mercenary on watch with him, had not yet returned from the outhouse on the opposite side of the camp. As far as he could tell, no one had seen what had happened. Eddie grabbed the man’s emaciated ankles and quietly dragged him down the trail away from the camp before pulling him a good distance into the jungle. He was not going to let this bullshit get in his way of heading home. When he was satisfied that he was far enough off the trail that no one other than carrion scavengers were likely to find the body, he switched on his light to search for brush with which to cover the corpse. It was the first time he was able to clearly see the man he’d killed.

  The old man was dressed in the usual rags worn by the native people. He was dirty, and his face was significantly swollen from the trauma he’d endured. Eddie didn’t want to look at his grotesque features. Instinctively, he searched the body for anything that might be able to identify him. He was surprised to find a sun-worn plastic ID that seemed wholly out of place amidst the man’s few possession. The person on the card was unrecognizable, but he was certain it hadn’t belonged to the old man. Aside from the letters ICT printed across the top, the text was unreadable.

  “Well, what do we have here? Where did you get this, old man?” Eddie said as though he actually expected the dead man to answer. In truth, he found the sound of any human voice to be comforting amidst the jungle’s darkness and isolation.

  Not wasting any more time, Eddie tossed the old card onto the body before covering it with several plants he chopped down hastily. Five minutes later, he was back at the edge of the camp. As he approached, a voice called out.

  “Eddie? That you?” Bobby asked.

  “Yeah, Bobb-o. For God’s sake, don’t shoot. I thought I heard someone sneaking around, so I went to check it out. It was nothing, just an animal or something,” Eddie added.

  Bobby seemed to accept his answer and didn’t question him further. He was a good soldier but not the sharpest knife in the drawer.

  “Eddie, I tell you. I just took a shit the size of a midget’s leg!” Bobby said.

  “Dude, there is seriously something wrong with you,” Eddie said, as he stepped into the light.

  “Shit, Eddie! You okay? You look like you just seen a ghost or something,” Bobby asked with concern on his face.

  Easing back into the shadows, Eddie said, “You know how the jungle is; shit gets to you after a while.” He let out a small chuckle, hoping to convey an attitude of nonchalance.

  “I heard that, man. I’ll be glad to get the hell out of here,” Bobby replied.

  Their contract stated that they were to report any contact with the indigenous population to the site supervisor immediately. The company spokesman had made a big deal about that point, and stressed that it was essential for them to make their case that the locals were behind the clashes of violence. When Eddie thought about it, he knew there was no way he would be allowed to leave in the morning if he reported the incident. There would be paperwork and an investigation at a minimum. He decided it was something best kept to himself.

  Eddie’s satellite phone rang, shattering the still of the night and derailing his train of thought. He glanced at the number and saw that it was his girlfriend, Rebecca. Knowing her dislike for his line of work, and particularly his current assignment, he thought it best not to mention what had happened. Nobody was going to miss the grizzled old man. He certainly wasn’t worth inviting Rebecca's wrath, especially when Eddie was so close to going back home. He answered the phone as though nothing at all had happened. At the end of the conversation, Eddie said, “I’m excited to see you two tomorrow. The concert is going to be a blast.”

  “Hopefully your flight will be on time. We need to get there early. The show is sold out, so it’ll be packed,” Rebecca said. “You’re sure you’ll feel up to going so soon after you get back?”

  Without hesitation, Eddie said, “I wouldn’t miss it even if the world was about to end. I'll see you tomorrow, Rebecca. I love you.”

  Thirteen hours later, the airplane touched down on U.S. soil. Eddie had begun feeling ill several hours before they departed from the rundown airport in Brazil. The flight had been a turbulent one, especially during the first hour. All the jostling had Eddie’s guts feeling as though they were about to turn themselves inside out. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his teeth chattered from the chills racking his body. During one particularly rough stretch, the plane dropped several hundred feet as it encountered an air pocket. When the plane’s lift was restored, the sudden jolt caused Eddie to bite down hard on the tip of his tongue.

  “Son of a bitch!” he bellowed, as several drops of blood sprayed onto the back o
f the seat in front of him. The metallic blood taste mixed with that of the bile rising in the back of his throat, and he was forced to focus all of his effort on not vomiting on the guy sitting next to him. At least one of his men had already puked, and several others looked like they weren’t far behind.

  Hold on, Eddie, just hold on. Another thirty minutes, and you’ll be on the ground. An hour or so after that, you’ll be done with debriefing and on your way home.

  As if in answer to his prayers, the remainder of the flight was mercifully uneventful. Eddie was out of his seat and staggering toward the forward exit before the plane had even taxied to a stop. The sun had just set, and the cool breeze that hit his face when he disembarked the plane was the most amazing thing he’d ever felt. He and his men were directed toward a small building adjacent to the tarmac, where their debriefing would take place.

  Once inside, Eddie wasn’t surprised to see the company man that had hired them sitting on the opposite side of the table, as patient and calculating as a cold-blooded viper waiting to strike. The man’s eyes held a distinctly menacing quality that Eddie found unsettling. Despite everything he’d seen and endured, something about the man sent a chill up his spine.

  Having been in the field with limited access to shower facilities, Eddie’s team brought with it a rather pungent aroma. The well-dressed man noticed it instantly, and his nose wrinkled in disgust.

  “Things got a little dirty in Brazil, I take it?” the man asked condescendingly.

  It took Eddie a moment to realize that he was referencing their smell and unkempt appearance rather than any of his team’s actions.

  “Uh, yeah. You could say that,” Eddie replied.