The World's Next Plague

by Colten Steele

  There was no word for employer in the native language. “He owns me,” was the closest Pauley could come in translation. “He loves himself above all,” he added.

  “I have no patience for him. Tell him I will talk in the morning. I am tired.”

  “Can I have your name father? What should I call you?”

  “My name is Tanis,” said the old man.

  Pauley relayed the information. Rock stood without a word and briskly walked away.

  ~ Chapter VI ~

  Manon woke at first light to a bustling camp. Rock had Armando and the rest of the security detail awake and busily taking down their tents. Instead of rolling the tents up though, the men were laying them out flat.

  Manon walked over to Rock, who was digging through one of the big packs. “What is all the commotion about?”

  Rock continued searching and answered, “We are going to go see what happened to Pauley’s brother. If he is dead I am going to bury him. If he is almost dead I am going to capture him. I need you to get your equipment ready to go.”

  “Whoa!” Manon exclaimed. “You have no idea what you are getting into.”

  Rock found what he was looking for and pulled a hatchet out of the pack before facing Manon. “Look at the four of us my friend,” gesturing to the other muscular men working in the camp. “We could take down an elephant with our bare hands. This guy was less than half our size.”

  Manon shook his head and started to protest again, “but…”

  Rock interrupted, “Plus, we are going in prepared. If we cannot handle it, we will take him down,” Rock said smugly, patting the holster on his hip with the pistol.

  Rock walked to the nearest tree and started cutting a thick branch about the same diameter as his wrist. Manon followed closely behind.

  “What is the plan then?”

  “Since Pauley says his brother was dead the last time he saw him, the most likely plan is we dig a grave and throw the body in.”

  “What if he has changed though… become one of these… creatures?”

  “We surround the little guy, walk up, throw the tents over his head to avoid the teeth, and we take him down to the ground where we secure him. We all wear our long clothing to avoid any scratches. It should be over in less than a minute.”

  “Maybe the old man has some advice you can use,” Manon suggested.

  “I doubt it. Like I said, this will be quick. You should start getting ready to go.”

  A few minutes later Manon was putting on his long sleeved shirt, stunned he was actually getting ready to join the proposed lunatic expedition. The voice in his head warned him to decline the invitation. He set up the camera on the ground, and moved in front of it to record himself. The push of a button on the remote concealed in his pocket started the camera.

  “I feel like a passenger boarding a doomed airplane. I am standing at the gate. I checked my luggage and an annoyed check-in lady is looking at me impatiently with her hand out, asking me for my ticket for the third time. Passengers behind me are pushing and muttering expletives, but I just have this feeling the plane is going to crash.”

  “Eventually I give in to the pressure and get on the plane because it is the thing to do. I will not know if I made the right decision until either I am hurtling towards my death or the plane lands safely.”

  “Of course, the only people you ever hear this story from are the ones who listened to their internal warning and made the decision not to board the plane that crashes. They get interviewed afterwards and talk about the ‘feeling’ they had which caused them not to get on. Those who land safely never mention their foolish premonition to anyone.”

  From somewhere behind him and out of the picture Rock yells, “Let’s go, Manon.”

  Manon continued, “Those who board the plane, but do not land safely… well, we don’t hear from them either, do we?”

  Manon pressed the button to stop the recording. He stood up, gathered his gear, put the video camera on his shoulder, and started walking behind the departing party.

  Pauley and Rock led the way. Rock carried one of the tents. Manon could see Rock held the top two corners and had folded it for carrying. By extending his arms it would quickly unfold into a rectangle approximately the size of a small bed sheet.

  Armando followed. He was carrying a large wooden frame made from the thick branches Rock had been cutting, spliced together with strong parachute cord. The frame, consisting of ten horizontal and five longer vertical branches, was taller than Armando and wider across. It must have been extremely heavy, but Armando carried it behind his back easily. “They must be planning to lash Pauley’s brother to the frame,” Manon thought, “if necessary.”

  The other two large soldiers followed closely with two tents identical to the one Rock held folded loosely in their arms. All three of the men had their rifles slung across their backs.

  Manon noticed the old shaman, hands tied behind his back, lashed with a long rope to one of the nearby trees. The old man was pleading with him as he went by, but Manon did not understand the language and soon left the camp behind.

  After a short walk through the jungle Pauley stopped. He leaned close to Rock’s ear, whispering low enough not to be heard by the others. Pauley pointed ahead and to the right into the surrounding growth.

  Manon peered hard into the brush where Pauley was pointing, but the leaves were so thick he could not see even five meters ahead of them.

  Rock turned. He walked stealthily back towards Armando and gave him some instructions. Armando then turned to the other men and the three of them disappeared quietly into the jungle.

  Rock made his way back to Manon. “Pauley’s brother should be just ahead. I sent the other guys to surround him. When I give the whistle we all go in,” Rock whispered.

  ~ Chapter VII ~

  As he was turning away from Manon, Pauley’s brother burst from the overgrown brush to their right, directly behind Rock. In a moment the attacker was within reach and started yelling incomprehensively. Rock barely turned around in time to see the shambling creature before it crashed into him from the side. The little native was not large enough to tackle Rock to the ground, but did cause the larger man to stumble awkwardly.

  Manon had been in the process of bringing the video camera up to his shoulder when it happened. The camera never made it.

  To Manon, the short creature burying its teeth in the back of Rock’s hand had a wild predatory look. The pupils had grown larger than the iris leaving a pitch black hole in the middle of the eye. This pupil was surrounded by a pool of dark blood where the whites of the eye would have normally been.

  The blood spattered face appeared to be lifeless. The skin was hanging as if there was no more elasticity or muscle tone. It was more terrifying for the obvious pleasure the creature was experiencing while tearing a chuck of meat from Rock’s wrist. The yells coming from it had turned to moans of fulfilled gratification, almost sexual in nature.

  The television star screamed loudly and tried desperately to push the small man away, but it clung to him with supernatural strength. Within seconds Rock was no longer able to fight back. He fell, pulling his attacker down with him, and was writhing on the ground in a terrible seizure. The creature had torn away Rock’s sleeve and was now pulling mouthfuls of bleeding flesh from his lower arm.

  He saw Pauley bolt into the jungle wildly without a moment’s hesitation, but Manon was unable to bring himself to move. He stared dumbly at the unbelievable scene happening two meters away. Years of experience as a cameraman in dangerous situations caused him to instinctively move the camera to his shoulder and start recording.

  Manon started to back away, but had only moved a few feet before the two men holding the now unfolded tents burst into the small clearing. They nimbly covered the two struggling forms, pinning them down, and applying their entire body weight to the endeavor.

  Rock’s long legs stuck out below t
he bottom of the tent. They were unmoving. The creature on top of Rock was struggling mightily to free itself. The men managed to get first one tent, then the other, completely wrapped around it. Using all their considerable strength, they stood up lifting the struggling creature off the ground. The completely covered head was thrashing wildly, causing the tent’s thin material to whiplash into the faces of the men carrying it. The teeth could be heard crashing together through the layers of now bloody fabric.

  Armando had made it back and was directing the two men to come his way. He had a thick rope out and was threading it through the gaps between the branches in the frame he carried. The three men had the creature, still completely wrapped in the tents, tightly lashed to the frame within minutes. Thick ropes crisscrossed the treacherous wiggling captive in dozens of places. The bottom and top of the tent cocoon were tied off tightly preventing any possibility of escape.

  Manon noticed movement at the edge of his viewfinder and directed the camera back towards it. Rock’s legs were moving.

  Manon yelled to be heard over the now loud raging beast trapped helpless on the frame, “Guys! Rock!”

  The three men turned around to look at their ravaged leader lying just out of reach. Rock sucked in a deep choking breath, and his eyes snapped open. The head turned and Manon saw the eyes had the same large black pupils Manon had seen in Pauley’s brother.

  “This way guys, he has turned,” Manon called loudly. The three men did not need much urging. Armando picked up the two top corners of the frame and started dragging it back towards Manon. The other two raised their guns as Rock started climbing to his feet.

  The new threat turned to face them, and without saying a word, unsteadily moved their direction with arms raised before him.

  “Rock,” Armando called in a pleading voice. “Answer me Rock. Back off, man. Don’t make use shoot.”

  He came steadily towards them, moving faster as his body slowly recovered from its recent death. The blood weeping from his wounds had an unhealthy darkness to it and carried pieces of flesh and muscle as it ran down his arm. The jaws opened wider than Manon thought possible, elongating the terrifying face, and stayed opened waiting to be filled.

  “Put one in his thighs, guys,” Armando directed the other two loudly. He was moving backwards too slowly, still dragging the frame, and he started losing ground to the approaching figure.

  “We can’t, Armando, its Rock,” one of them said.

  “It is not Rock! I just need you to slow it down so we can get away. Do it!”

  The first shot seemed extremely loud. Though Manon was used to gunshots, he still jumped, causing the camera to jerk wildly. When he was able to focus again he noticed Rock had stumbled, but quickly stood upright again. There was a sizable hole in his thigh from the bullet. Only missing a step or two, he kept coming towards them, as fast, or faster, than before.

  The roaring of the creature strapped to the frame had previously drowned out any sound coming from Rock, but now he was getting close and load moans of overwhelming need could be heard. Upon hearing this Armando started to lose his composure.

  He held up the frame with the struggling cocooned figure between Rock and himself and stuck his rifle around the right side at shoulder height. At this close range it was child’s play to put three successive rounds in the approaching figure’s chest. Each round drove Rock back one step, but the shots did not stop the approach. The only indication Rock had been shot was the dark blood pouring from the wounds. Armando concentrated and put three more carefully aimed rounds directly into the heart. Again, this only caused a slight pause in the relentless approach.

  Rock was just a couple meters away.

  In desperation, Armando went for a headshot. His military training dictated shots should go to the torso unless there was time to aim. The body was a much larger target, thus easier to hit.

  The first shot hit Rock in the throat, tearing out a large portion of the right side of his neck and sending a great explosion of blood and tissue out behind him. Rock’s head jerked violently to the side with the impact. Armando let the natural rise of the gun position the second shot. It would have been perfect a moment before, but the head had now moved and the shot only managed to graze Rock’s cheek. The third shot completely missed.

  Rock slammed into the frame throwing it back to the ground with Armando underneath. The large beast flailed wildly in frustration, reaching with snapping jaws for the living flesh it could not reach just inches away. The tent covered creature on top of the frame frustrated Rock’s efforts with its continuous struggle.

  Rock’s arms reached for his prey, but could not find a sizable gap through the wooden frame dividing them. Only his fingers were able to reach through. The finger nails of Rock’s right hand scratched Armando’s cheek in multiple places, leaving wet red abrasions.

  Armando, who had never given in to fear in his life, lay crying in terror, unable to move. Rock’s dark blood streamed from the gunshot wound in his neck, seeping down onto Armando’s face. Dark red blood covered his nose and cheeks. It fell into his open mouth, and when Armando screamed, Rock’s blood spewed forth in a fine burgundy mist.

  The man who earlier shot Rock in the thigh was somehow still under control. He took careful aim at the twisting pile of figures in front of him. His first shot missed Rock low and tore a chuck of wood from the frame sending splinters flying. The second shot struck where aimed. Rock’s head disintegrated in an explosion of skull and brains. The impact threw the large body off of the struggling pile. The frame, still clutched tightly in one of Rock’s hands, fell with the body and ended balanced with one edge on the ground, and the other resting on Armando’s chest.

  Armando’s eyes had rolled back in his head. Prostrate, he trembled, shaking with a seizure for many seconds before his body collapsed limply, and lay perfectly still. One arm lay out fully to one side and at the end of it the fingers twitched spastically.

  The others looked on cautiously from a distance, weapons drawn, prepared to shoot Armando if he showed any signs of changing.

  A minute passed.

  Then another. The standing men looked around and at each other. Nobody moved.

  Armando’s eyes snapped open. He immediately threw the frame off of himself and jumped to his feet. Panicked, he sobbed, and frantically attempted to wipe the blood and gore from his face, only succeeding in smearing it everywhere.

  Manon, realizing Armando was not trying to attack them, stopped recording and put the camera down on the ground. He took off his long sleeved shirt and approached the blood soaked man. Manon poured water from his canteen onto the shirt, soaking it liberally, and handed it to Armando. The large man took it gratefully and, after a few minutes of scrubbing, was recognizable again.

  “Thank you, thank you,” he repeated. “Thank you.”

  ~ Chapter VIII ~

  The four men arrived back in camp carrying the frame and its struggling occupant with them. Pauley was already there ahead of them. He had untied the old shaman and was deep in conversation with the man.

  Manon, still visibly shaking, approached and sat heavily on the ground next to the two talking men. They ignored him. He brought his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, head hanging forlornly, waiting patiently to talk to Pauley.

  Armando removed his clothing and, using water from a canteen and a bar of soap, started a thorough cleaning. He and the other two men talked privately a few meters away. Constant snarling came from the creature on the frame where it lay on the ground on the edge of camp.

  After a lengthy conversation, Pauley turned to Manon. “He says there is a cure.”

  Manon’s head popped up, and he stared at Pauley. Lost in thought, terrified they had just killed Rock when there was a remedy available, Manon said nothing.

  “It won’t bring my brother back though.” Pauley paused. “The shaman, Tanis, says nothing will bring him back t
o life. His body does not function any more. The cure will remove the aggressiveness. In essence, my brother would be a passive body, unable to think for himself, without the need to experience happiness, or any ambition to do anything. He would feel no pain. He would not even make a good laborer or soldier since he would not take, or understand, commands.”

  Pauley hung his head, holding it in both hands as if it would fall off without support. He lamented. “He would not require, nor consume food and water… he would waste away like these poor souls around us. Years from now, when his body was unable to go on, he would collapse and just continue to exist, like the people in this camp have done.”

  The two sat in silence for a long time, each contemplating different thoughts. Pauley stared at his brother’s wriggling form.

  The shaman said something to Pauley.

  “He says if we move my brother to the other side of the camp he will calm down. He senses our presence even if he cannot see us. Our life blood calls to him, but distance will mute his ability to sense us.”

  Manon yelled over to the group of guys with the information. They picked up the frame and moved Pauley’s brother far away, leaning him up against a tree where they could watch him. They then returned. The figure lashed to the wooden frame struggled less as the men walked further away. By the time they arrived back in camp, the wildness had subsided and nothing could be heard from the Jombi.

  Manon was surprised how quickly his head cleared now that the snarling had stopped. He finally felt himself calming down and he was able to start assessing the situation.

  Pauley removed his hands from his head. He looked immediately refreshed as well. “I think it would be better if we just put him out of his misery. He is no longer alive anyway. That thing over there is no longer my brother.”

  Manon asked, “How does the shaman know about this cure?”

  Pauley turned to Tanis and the two shared a lengthy conversation.

  Eventually, Pauley turned back to Manon. “He says he created these creatures he calls Jombi. He claims it was an accident. As far back as the stories of his people go, they have always known how to bring the dead back to life, but those who return are murderous, attacking with an insatiable need to kill everything.”