by Dan Decker
Or you hoped some would die.
“It is time you understood the full purpose of your jumpsuit. It’s also important you learn to use your mind under the most crushing circumstances. Some might feel you are already skilled in this area. Perhaps you were doctors,” he looked at me, “or lawyers, or other educated professionals who felt like you knew how to use your mind.”
He paused but not for long.
“You are not prepared to do this.”
Jeffords stepped into the ravine.
24
At first I thought Jeffords was committing suicide, but there was no involuntary scream. There was no thrashing of a man trying to save his life after taking a step he regretted. He was merely in freefall and seemed to take it in stride.
We all leaned over the edge to get a better view. I could not see the bottom in the early morning light. The others were just as surprised as me, several coming dangerously close to following as they peered over. I could not help but wonder if it was tempting for others to end their lives to get out of this messed up situation.
The thought did not cross my mind.
It never would. I had to find my family.
Winston put a foot over the edge but he stepped back, apparently thinking better of it.
I shook my head. So much for thinking he was stable. He’d been my only potential ally.
I listened for Jeffords to hit bottom, but heard nothing. As the seconds ticked by I was not the only one who was uncomfortable, judging by the way the others shifted and looked around.
What would we tell our superiors if Jeffords had just committed suicide?
I imagined General Roth lining us all up and telling us we would be killed if we did not reveal who pushed him. I snorted when I remembered the ridiculous story she had told me about her father, earning a shocked look from the man next to me.
Roth would order us off the ravine, one by one, until she was certain of the truth.
I had no problem believing that.
Jeffords had given no instructions, no warning, and just stepped off. It was strange behavior. Suicide wasn’t likely, especially since he’d talked about flying. Some of the others looked at the horizon, as if thinking now was the time to run.
We must survive here, which means we have to play by their rules. I looked down at the dark abyss. This is a test. They want to see how we respond.
Jeffords expected me to run, wanted me to make an attempt.
Just in case my suspicions proved correct I stood with my back straight and my hands at my side. I mimicked what I had seen others do, both those from my own training group and others around camp.
I hoped they did have a camera on us because I was going to be beyond reproach.
The others fidgeted as time passed but nobody made a break for freedom.
Just as I was starting to wonder if Jeffords had killed himself to punish me—why else ask me to stand beside him before taking a plunge?—I heard a quiet whirr and turned my attention down to the ravine.
It was Jeffords, ascending as if he rode a magic carpet, only he had nothing underneath.
A few minutes later he hovered in front of us, slowly spinning while hanging in the air. His uniform, which was made from a material like our jumpsuits, was scraped in several places. In one spot it was torn, showing another layer underneath.
“You all thought Sergeant John Jeffords was gone, didn’t you?” A crazy smile broke his face. “But here I am, back from the dead. I’m surprised nobody followed. I usually get at least one.” I looked at Winston and so did the others.
Something tickled my mind.
It took me a moment to figure out what it was.
John Jeffords.
Only it wasn’t the name John Jeffords that struck a chord. I thought of another name. A name belonging to a sadistic serial killer I’d put behind bars back on earth during my time as a prosecutor.
John Jeffs.
I stared at Jeffords who had stopped his slow revolution. He now faced us while still floating above the ravine.
His eyes locked onto mine, a knowing look on his face. He had dropped his full name on purpose. I remembered how he had looked at me when he’d suggested some might have been lawyers.
That should have been my first clue. I should never have mentioned my full name to Dolores. I had gone against my instincts.
Earl Anders. Earl Anderson.
John Jeffords. John Jeffs.
Things clicked in place as my insides turned to ice. My mouth went dry. My hands clenched into fists. It was a good thing he was over the ravine because I might have really attacked him. My chest heaved as a flood of memories came back from the gruesome trial.
Why is John Jeffs here?
Had they recruited men from death row, thinking they’d make great soldiers? Why give Jeffs a second chance, much less command of recruits?
“This exercise serves several purposes,” Jeffords said to a bunch of pale-faced men. I barely processed his words as I stared. I could only see John Jeffs, though his present body could not have been more different from the one he’d had back on earth. Jeffs had been six feet tall with brawn and muscle and a gut to match.
There was no way to know unless someone told me.
If I’d kept my mouth shut things might have been easier. Everything changed the moment I said my full name.
“This exercise helps you maintain calm under pressure,” Jeffords said. “There is nothing like falling towards certain death to give you the most challenging circumstance of your life. If you can learn to master falling, there is little you can’t do.” He gestured at his uniform. “You’ll notice this fall was not without consequences. My suit is torn. Brambles, branches, and vines that were not here when this ravine opened three days ago have already grown in its depths. In two weeks, this place will be so overgrown we will no longer be able to perform this exercise here.”
He gave us a roguish smile. “Lucky for you new guys, ravines open all the time so we are always able to practice.”
He looked at me.
“Anders will go first.”
Another piece clicked in place. This was why he floated over the ravine and had all but told me who he was.
He was making me angry so I would jump and die.
I had expected him to make an example of me, but this took me off guard. When I saw him soaring toward us, I had assumed there would be something more he would teach, that there would be further instructions and that we would work up to what he had just done.
He expected me to hop off the edge and fall without knowing how to do any of this.
This was why his demeanor had changed at the infirmary.
I thought of how he had tried to send me into the dark without knowing how to protect against the crocks. It wasn’t his watch that saved him now, though he’d fiddled with it before jumping. I looked at his boots, thinking they made him levitate, but the air around them did not appear disturbed. Now that he was still, there was no sound. The whirring noise must have been caused by the air passing over his body.
Was it the jumpsuit?
That’s what he’d been talking about right before he’d jumped, but I hadn’t seen him do anything special.
“It’s a mad world, isn’t it?”
Jeffords’ smile showed teeth but had no mirth, he licked his upper lip. My last shred of doubt disappeared.
Those words were emblazoned on my mind for all time.
They had been written in a social media post by John Jeffs the day he’d slain his final victims. Something else tugged on my subconscious. It took me a moment to figure out what it was.
Jeffords’ smile.
It was that of victory. It was the same one he’d worn while I lay on the floor of the mess hall as I’d drifted into unconsciousness.
Like an avalanche revealing a hidden chamber, I remembered what I’d forgotten.
The connection formed again.
I’d seen a similar smile when I died. Not on the face of my sh
ooter, the mask had hidden everything but his eyes.
No, the victorious smile had been worn by Sam.
My associate.
My hands formed fists as I realized what it meant. My subconscious had been working on the question I had done my best to ignore, analyzing something I’d forgotten in the throes of death.
Maybe I didn’t want to remember.
My heart raced, my eyes narrowed.
I was back in the alley, seeing it all play out in my mind. Sam turning as I bled, the smile distinct on his face as an airplane passed by overhead. The hitman had left the water in the alley so Sam knew where to stop.
Sam hired somebody to kill me.
The thought was jarring.
Jeffords’ smile grew bigger, apparently assuming my anger was for him. It was, but only in part.
Little things came back. Comments Sam had made about my wife. How he’d say negative things about me in front of her. He’d often speak in jest, but with a kernel of truth at its core.
I looked at the other recruits and saw horror at what Jeffords expected us to do but was numb to what they felt, boys in men’s bodies or not.
I took control, forcing down the anger, but not pushing it away. It would never go away. Like red hot coals that turned black and looked dead, it would always be there.
My associate had betrayed me.
My friend had killed me.
As if I didn’t have enough reason already to find my family.
Closing my eyes, I willed down anger and forced myself to think. Jeffords wasn’t going to wait forever.
Think, man. Think!
I took a deep raspy breath and as I let it out I realized it had the effect of oxygen on a bed of coals. I did it again but more slowly, harnessing the tumult inside that threatened to overwhelm me and put me into a rage.
The only way out is through. The only way through is to think.
Flying had not been taught during orientation, judging by the other’s reaction. Sam’s smiling face came to mind, but I pushed it away. Even if I could figure out how to fly, what about protecting my hands and face? Neither Jeffords’ hands nor his face had any scratches.
He was waiting for me to respond.
It’s a mad world, isn’t it?
The words threatened to make me lose control, but I stuffed it away by focusing on Ricky.
I can do this. For him.
A memory of Ava came next as she held Ricky in the swimming pool while he kicked and splashed.
I can do this. For her.
For them.
“Yes, sir,” I said through narrow eyes. “The world is crazy as it comes.”
I looked at Jeffords, thinking perhaps he wanted me to ask how he had done it, how he had flown. I might have hesitated before but I did not now. The question came with far greater ease than the last one had about the crocks. Every shred of pride was gone. This was about survival.
I would follow his instructions and orders exactly, assuming they worked. I would do everything exactly … until I didn’t.
Until the moment came when I could execute the judgement he’d escaped on earth.
Maybe this is hell after all. Maybe Jeffords is in the right place.
Maybe we are all in the right place.
“What are your exact instructions,” I asked. “How do I fly?”
“Jump.” I could tell by Jeffords’ triumphant face there would be nothing more. “Do it now!”
I nodded. “Yes, sir!”
And did just that.
25
To: Lieutenant General Regina Adams
From: Brigadier General Katrina Roth
Log date: 00429.209-05:12:48
Re: Officer Training Protocol
General Adams,
I have discovered Sergeant John Jeffords and Earl Anders have a history. Was this an intended construct of your program?
Please advise.
Respectfully,
Brigadier General Katrina Roth
Monster Country: Recruit
Civilization collapsed when a plague of dinosaur-like lizards spread a virus that turned people into zombies. These lizards became known as zampys because of their close relation to the zombies.
Parry Peters is smuggling anti-venom when he runs into a nest of zampys. He starts to think he has the situation contained when a mysterious woman almost gets him killed through her apparent inexperience.
Everything gets worse when members of a heavily armed gang show up and try to capture the zampys.
If you love zombie and monster stories, you’ll love this exciting adventure yarn set in a world that is quite unlike anything ever before set to paper.
1
Parry Peters ducked down behind the rock when he heard the hiss, careful to keep the muzzle of his DPMS rifle out of the dirt and muttered under his breath. “Can’t the frickin’ Zampys leave one of my routes alone?”
It couldn’t have been more than two weeks since he’d last come this way and judging by the chirping sounds he heard responding to the hiss there was already a nest on the other side of the hill. The things bred more like bunny rabbits than lizards.
Should he go around the long way or just kill the cursed things?
He could avoid the nest, but that would take him several miles and hours out of his way, not to mention that he’d already had to dodge several Weston patrols already today and wanted to be rid of the anti-venom as soon as he could.
The thought of the so-called General Weston made Parry’s mouth curl in disgust, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. If there was no longer a United States how could there be a general?
The smuggling operation Parry ran had been much easier before Weston had come to the area several years back. Back then, Parry had been more of a courier than a smuggler.
Then Weston had to come and put in place his own restrictions on the sale of anti-venom which of course he ensured was always sold for an exorbitant price and only through his approved channels.
Parry's eyes narrowed when a small green lizard-like creature crept out of the bushes just ahead of him and looked at him with unblinking eyes.
He sighed and looked at his watch. He didn't have time to deal with zampys today. Why couldn't it have been zombies instead? The dimwitted monsters were so much easier to deal with.
The coded request from the Sullivan Compound for the anti-venom had first been broadcast a little over an hour ago. By his best guess, Parry had maybe another hour and a half before the closest smugglers started showing up. He had plenty of time, assuming that he could deal with the zampys and be on his way.
He looked down as the zampy nestling stared back up at him, unafraid and unconcerned.
Instead of the normal two nostrils most creatures had, this had four. Two at the tip of its snout and two a little further back. The ridge on its back wasn't as pronounced as if it had been a full adult, but it had already learned to walk on two legs. It was a little less than a foot and a half tall. It bared its fangs and hissed.
This was a quieter, higher-pitched hiss than the one Parry had just heard before and a chill swept over him.
He wasn't sure what scared him more, the sight of the fangs or the thought that the other zampys might have heard it.
He could deal with this nestling quickly as long as he didn't have its parents bearing down on him as well.
He looked up at the top of the ridge and hoped that the zampys on the other side hadn't heard anything. The odds were in his favor because not only was it still a fair distance to the top of the hill but the wind was blowing in his face.
The nestling took several more steps towards Parry, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he was looking at a prehistoric creature.
Official research that had been performed while such things had still been possible claimed that they weren’t dinosaurs, but Parry believed in calling things for what they were. If it looked like a dinosaur, what else could it be?
Common opinion had it that the zampys
had hitched a ride on the meteor that had taken out Denver. Others claimed that they were the result of an experiment gone bad that had escaped from their creators.
He didn't know which was true—probably something else entirely—but their origin didn’t matter. Whatever they were, every last one of them needed to be killed.
And if they are Aliens? Parry thought. Then all those movies got everything wrong but the color.
Zampys were green, but in every other way they were different and bore more in common with two-legged dinosaurs than the oblong head shaped creatures from outer space that had plagued the cinema back in the old days.
It was too bad that the zampys weren’t bunny rabbits, though, if they were, he wouldn’t need to be lugging around all the .308 ammo he kept in his pack. That, combined with the .45 more than doubled the weight of his bag. The stuff was heavy, but it was better to have too much than be without.
The little nestling continued to stare. Parry lowered his rifle to his chest and let it dangle from his three-point harness as he reached behind his backpack with one hand and pulled out his machete.
With the other, he unzipped one of the many pockets on his vest and pulled out a small plastic pouch of poison gas.
He'd use the pouch first and hope to kill it with that. If it came close enough, he'd try his machete, but by then it would be too late. He'd been looking for a chance to use the gas outdoors and see if it was as effective as indoors.
Parry set his jaw. He refused to waste his anti-venom on a nestling; besides, he needed the money he would get when he sold it at the Sullivan Compound.
I'll kick the little squirt if I have to, he thought. He shook his head. A vision of a screeching nestling, while it flew through the air, came to mind, and he realized that he couldn't do that either. Shooting it would have been the preferred method, but with a nest on the other side of the ridge, he couldn't afford to take that chance.
