Hekura

by Nate Granzow

  "It means everything," Olivia affirmed.

  Cogar dropped the stack of papers, thanked the waitress as she placed his drinks on the table, and raised the glass of tequila to his lips. He sucked air loudly between pursed lips as the liquor blistered its way down his throat. "Obviously, there's only so much I'm going to be able to say about all this and those mutant…things you mentioned over the phone," Cogar said, tracing a corkscrew with his pointer finger, "without it sounding too bizarre for readers to absorb. But I think we can still get the point across, and maybe stir a few human-rights groups enough to let them take over the charge."

  "Yeah, how do you describe the hekura in a way that doesn't sound like you ripped it straight from a 50s alien-invasion flick?" Jeremy agreed.

  "Genetically augmented and disfigured researchers left to roam the jungle in a deranged miasma," Cogar said, suppressing a hiccup as he unscrewed the cap from his beer.

  "That's a lot of big words," Jeremy said.

  "That's what they pay me for."

  Cogar buzzed. Exploring his pocket, he withdrew his cellphone and held up a finger. "Sorry, it's my editor. Third call this hour, must be important. And experience has taught me that ignoring him only makes him more irascible." Cogar stood and began walking toward the busy street only to return for his beer. Smiling at Olivia, he answered the call. "Kailas, it doesn't count as a vacation if you're checking up on me more often than a parent on prom night."

  Jeremy turned to Olivia, his expression somber. "You know, I really thought we were all going to make it out of there." His voice betrayed how hard he found it to discuss the topic of their escape from the jungle.

  "Me too," she agreed. Reaching into her bag, she withdrew Christian's toy Tyrannosaurus and placed it on the center of the table. Pressing its button, the toy emitted a weak roar, its batteries dying. They both smiled feebly.

  "You didn't tell Cogar about the plants, did you?" Jeremy asked.

  Olivia absently slid one of her open-toed shoes off, and then began contorting her foot to slide it back on. "I didn't. If the public knew about the Taxus bromelieaceae, the jungle would be stampeded by desperate people looking for a plant they wouldn't recognize, and who would destroy thousands of other species in the process."

  "I still think those seedlings could have proven their worth if we'd only managed to get them back," Jeremy said, tipping Cogar's empty shot glass over and rolling it around the table. "It's a shame."

  "The plant's still out there," Olivia reminded. Leaning toward him, she whispered, "We could go back and get it."

  EPILOGUE

  Six months later

  Gran Melia Caracas Hotel

  Caracas, Venezuela

  Denver admired the muscular bronze body of the male companion lying asleep in her bed, illuminated by golden sunshine filtering through the room's roman shades. Withdrawing 400 bolivars in cash from her billfold, she placed them in a neat stack on the hotel room’s dresser, topped by a hastily written note on hotel stationary that simply read, "gracias."

  Venezuela was a singularly beautiful country.

  She'd never been in need of much passion in her life—her work had been her passion—but when the thirst became insatiable enough, she’d make the ten-hour drive to Caracas for a long weekend, carefully choose from the prodigious selection of male dancers at one of the local nightclubs, and solicit a night of unbridled intercourse.

  After the catastrophic events resulting from the failed expedition and the backlash that had destroyed the company from the ground up, she knew she needed a weekend away. Not only had the disaster at the Hygeia research facility been revealed to the public, but the Taxus bromelieaceae samples had been lost, too.

  Her plant. She breathed deeply as she imagined how everything could have turned out differently. She'd been so close. So close.

  But she wouldn't be deterred.

  Once things had calmed down and any investigations into the company's wrongdoings had concluded, she would lead an expedition of her own to recover the plant. It was out there waiting for her. Of course, she would have to be the one to bring it to the world; it had been her destiny all along.

  Staring for a moment longer at the sleeping man, she frowned. No matter what she paid them, they never looked her in the eyes during their coupling. Her scarred chest and gaunt figure frightened them. She was a freak they couldn't look at without feeling ashamed or disgusted. No matter how much she offered to pay them, this remained the same. The plant wouldn't change that, but it could save other women from a similar fate. That thought returned the smile to her face.

  Withdrawing a jar of moisturizer from her purse, Denver slipped past the sleeping man curled up amidst the bed's twisted sheets and onto the hotel room's balcony, closing the sliding glass door softly behind her.

  She turned her face up to receive the first rays of the early morning sun, just beginning to crest over the tops of the snow-capped mountains fringing the outskirts of the city.

  It promised to be a beautiful day.

  A light breeze tossed her hair and ruffled her skirt as she twisted open the plastic container in her hand. Scooping a tablespoon of the moisturizer with three fingers, she began rubbing it on her cheeks, eyelids, forehead, and neck.

  That's when the burning began.

  It was a subtle sensation at first—like a sunburn. But it grew.

  And grew.

  Dropping the jar from the balcony, Denver scratched urgently at her face, the pain rising to unbearable levels. It felt as though her skin had been burned with battery acid and doused with vinegar.

  Her fingers felt scalded, too.

  The moisturizer. It had been tampered with.

  She attempted a scream, but her throat had swelled so much, it came out as little more than a squeak. Her breathing became labored. She gripped the railing, doubled over in agony.

  Unable to see, speak, or breathe, she stood still, her hands shaking from the intense pain.

  She had to stop the agony.

  Denver hesitated a moment, and then in one desperate movement, swung herself over the balcony railing. She plummeted headfirst to the parking lot pavement five stories below.

  Clayton, lying prone atop a conference table on the sixth floor of an adjacent office building, set his binoculars down after verifying Hygeia's branch manager was dead.

  "That one's for Alex, you lying bitch."

  The manchineel tree extract had done its job better than he had planned. It had been meant to give Senske a taste of the excruciating pain she'd caused his men by sending them into the jungle to face their deaths at the hands of the hekura. He hadn't expected her to jump. His man hadn't even needed to use the suppressed pistol Clayton had staged in the hotel safe.

  The companion's face appeared between the curtains and nodded toward Clayton's position. Dressing quickly and unscrewing the pistol's suppressor before shoving the weapon in his waistband, Clayton's man moved toward the door. Pausing, he returned and grabbed the money from the nightstand, stuffing it into his pocket. Glancing at the simple note of thanks Senske had left with the cash, the mercenary grinned and said, "De nada."

  You're welcome.

  AFTERWORD

  The premise for hekura may seem too bizarre to be anything but fiction, but it didn't stem entirely from my imagination. The inspiration for the demonic hekura comes from an actual Yanomami belief, where their tribal shamans are said to call forth and command invisible, violent spirits. The Yanomami are a warrior tribe, and the shamans summon these spirits to help wage war against their enemies.

  So how does one root a legend as interesting, yet obviously superstitious, as this one in fact? The answer came to me in the form of an ant. In the Amazon and other tropical environments, a parasitic fungus known as Ophiocordyceps unilateralis infects ants and alters their behavior—a fact alluded to in chapter 27. The ant falls from the tree where it normally lives, climbs the stem of a plant, bites onto a leaf, and dies there. The fungus consumes the ant's tis
sues and grows outside it, releasing spores. I took some liberties with this idea, postulating that such a parasite, if it could control a host animal's behavior, could also alter the DNA of the host animal and cause growth abnormalities such as those seen in the hekura of this novel. Such a fictional blight opens all sorts of opportunities to aggrandize and bastardize existing jungle life into terrifying and violent creatures, such as the ants in the outpost's maintenance tunnel (based on giant Dinoponera ants) or the frilled shark in the underground cavern (based on rare deep-sea dweller described as a 'living fossil', its lineage going back as far as the Late Jurassic period, said to be the foundation for some long-held sea serpent myths).

  Fiction aside, I'd like to think this novel also touches on a few very real issues worthy of consideration. For instance, encroachment by the modern world into the Amazon, such as the garimpeiros mentioned in chapter 21—gold miners entering tribal land, sometimes clashing with and killing Yanomami tribesmen—pharmaceutical companies and their pursuit of the next profitable panacea, and the trend toward using genetically modified food supplies (also touched upon in chapter 21).

  However, the most important point to consider, I think, is that despite the countless hours of research I poured into this book, I barely scratched the surface of the Amazon and its splendor. It is truly an extraordinary environment, and one well worth preserving and learning more about. I can only hope that this novel—for its obvious intent to entertain—also instills in my children the same wonderment I hold for such far-away places, these last remaining refuges for true mystery and adventure on earth.

  —NG

  Want to meet the reporter who broke the story of the

  hekura? Follow the adventures of Grant Cogar, international war correspondent, in the Cogar Adventure Series (links to each novel at nategranzow.com):

  #1 - Cogar's Despair:

  Cogar covers what the world predicts will be the second coming of the Korean War, only to end up at the center of a Chinese drug-smuggling operation.

  #2 - Cogar's Revolt:

  Hunted by a sadistic Syrian mercenary and working to win the heart of a beautiful young woman, Cogar struggles to find time to complete his assignment covering the Arab Spring uprisings in Cairo, Egypt.

  #3 - Cogar's Crusade:

  Presumed dead by his employer, Cogar goes missing for 10 months, lost in the Syrian Civil War. His editor—an old friend and mentor—decides to go retrieve him. Only, Cogar doesn't want to be saved.