by Ellis, Tara
Fortunately, whoever shot the two men dressed in black had at least placed their bodies behind the garage, so she didn’t have as far to move them. Madeline quickly determined that burning them, along with the heavily soiled mattress, was the best way to dispose of multiple issues at once. And efficient. She was finding the clarity allowed by unburdening herself from any emotional hang-ups made the right choices obvious.
Carrying her bounty from the garden up the back porch, she paused at the top to look out over the property. While she didn’t experience the same feelings her favorite view used to produce, she could still appreciate the beauty. The silence and contrasting layers even mirrored her own thoughts to a certain degree, which the old Mads would have likely found some irony in.
Turning from the colorful vista, she entered her shadowy house. The power went out that morning. It wasn’t unexpected, but she’d hoped to have another day or two before it happened. Though prepared for outages, her extra fuel was limited and she needed to make it last for as long as possible. It was still uncertain as to how much time it would take before she was able to move forward with her plans.
Crossing the open floor space to the kitchen, she glanced down and noticed a spot where she’d missed some blood. Tsking, Madeline set the vegetables in the sink and grabbed the spray bottle of prepared bleach concentration she’d found the night she woke up.
Clearly, the Men in Black didn’t take the time to clean her home before inconveniently getting shot. No… her thieving visitors had already been there, and were waiting for them. Or, perhaps they were all surprised by each other. Yes. That was the most likely scenario.
“Yet, you came in through the front door,” she muttered thoughtfully, looking at where the rest of the blood used to be. “Which means you weren’t expecting to find anyone other than the hapless Dr. Schaeffer here.”
She’d been unconscious for three days. Only three days, and during that time someone had stolen her laptop, most of her research, the Libi Nati sample, and then left two bodies behind. Instead of anger, Madeline felt a deep, brewing kind of contempt. Not strong enough to be called hate, or even dislike, but a slight disdain for the absolute waste of time and resources. It was similar to how she used to respond to unintelligent students. A nuisance, but not worth the energy to work up an emotional reaction. Only now, it wasn’t a matter of energy or interest, but a lack of the ability to connect the synapses required for the feeling.
The most reasonable conclusion was that she’d suffered some sort of permanent brain damage from the prion disease. Which, would make sense. It had been theorized by more than one expert that a type of prion infection could be responsible for Alzheimer’s. In her research earlier that week, she’d located a study out of UC San Francisco from the year before that claimed to have proven Alzheimer’s was a double-prion disease. It therefore wasn’t a stretch to surmise that while her other neurological symptoms had dissipated, the part of the brain that fired off her emotions was left impacted in a similar way that memories were in Alzheimer’s.
Shrugging, Madeline knelt and began scrubbing at the dark crimson splatter on the hardwood floorboard. She couldn’t change what had happened, so instead she would adapt.
The bleach quickly discolored the wood, and standing, she studied it. Most every task she’d performed up until that point had a clear meaning behind it. Scrubbing the blood? Not so much.
“Interesting,” she said, looking at the stained rag in her hand. It was tainted with a mix of old blood and wood dye. Removing the blemish served no other purpose than to appease her previous obsessive behaviors that leaned toward a compulsive disorder.
Dismissing the curiosity, Madeline replaced the cleaning supplies and washed her hands before picking up a full bottle of drinking water off the counter, and an apple from a bowl. There would be no more whiskey. She no longer sought the escape it offered, so she’d used the rest of the case to fuel the burial pyre.
Taking a bite of the apple, she strode back outside and around to the side of the house where an impressive propane generator was hardwired in. It only took a flip of a switch, and she was once again operational. Her pace quickened on the way back to the office. She would spend the next several hours compiling more data and further casting a net. The rest of the evening would involve working outside in the gathering dark.
Her old laptop from the basement lab was set up on the desk. Retrieving it was one of the first things Madeline had done. She’d spent most of the previous night staring at it, patiently waiting for a few minutes of access in between the connection being picked up and dropped. She knew it was because of the increasing upper atmospheric interference from the ash causing the SAT link to fail, so there was nothing to be done about it. During the limited time she managed to get on the net, there was very little to be found. But it was enough. Enough to confirm that The Kuru was rampant and unstoppable. That it had a spread and kill rate of over ninety-nine percent, and that she wasn’t the only one to wake up.
There wasn’t much more to learn beyond that, and while she avoided trying to locate any of her ICONS connections, she was rather disappointed to find she couldn’t get ahold of any of her old colleagues, either.
Disappointed was probably too strong a term. Perhaps dissatisfied was a better way to think of it.
While the computer that was stolen had the bulk of Madeline’s work on it, the lab laptop at least contained the test results she ran on the Libi Nati water. She also managed to retrieve some of the more pertinent articles she’d compiled over the past week, and her wall of information was largely untouched.
Rising slowly, she went to stand in front of it, the half-eaten apple in her hand forgotten. She had already rearranged the chaotic mess into something more symmetrical and meaningful. Gone was the string and silly pins to mark events. They didn’t matter. Gone were most of the print-outs for the various eruptions and quakes. What remained was an outer ring of reports that pertained to the MOHO, Yellowstone, and The Kuru. In the center she’d stuck the article about the Libi Nati, and a picture of the scientist behind its research; Dr. Eric Davies.
“Did you figure it out yet, Peta?” Madeline whispered, leaning closer to the image. Reaching out, she traced the outline of the doctor’s hand, which was pointing to the pool of pristine-water, surrounded by a lush jungle.
She knew the woman and her entourage had been in her house. That they were most likely the ones to have taken her work. The jeep in her garage had provided the details. In it, she’d found evidence of several people having traveled a distance, based on the garbage and empty water bottles. In addition, there was a map with the name and address of a gas station stamped on it. That alone would have been enough information for Madeline to trace the direction of travel. Except, she didn’t need to, because under the back seat was a hat labeled as belonging to Hill Air Force Base.
She was alive. Dr. Peta Kelly was alive and still following the trail that Madeline had laid out. Only, The Kuru intervened. Although the old Mads would have seen the pillaging of her home and being left for dead as a setback, she instead accepted the new opportunities her unique situation provided.
The ham radio set up on the table next to the laptop issued a burst of static, followed by some unintelligible sounds. Raising an eyebrow, Madeline strode purposefully back to the desk and stared at it for a moment before making note of the frequency on a pad of paper. It was a growing list, and she’d managed to communicate with some of them and record their locations, along with pertinent details of their circumstances. Her eyes then flitted over to the computer screen, confirming there was yet to be a response to the few choice emails she’d sent out. One of them was to Eric Davies. She would remain dead to ICONS and the US government, but she and the doctor had some unfinished business.
Clearly, she had been written off for dead by the organizations. Otherwise, the house would have been “scrubbed”. It was all perfectly fine with Madeline. It was best that way. It made things…easier.
Chapter 3
JESS
Amazon Jungle near Kumalu, Suriname
Northeast interior of South America
Jess stood at the edge of the large, enclosed chicken yard for several minutes, staring at the carnage. She counted nine. Nine chickens torn apart and feathers scattered everywhere. The rest of the flock were still cowering inside the relative safety of their coop.
It had just happened. The squawking alerted Jess from where she was spreading hay for the cows and she’d immediately run over. Studying the mutilated limbs and how far the parts had been thrown, she took a hesitant step back and eyed the surrounding jungle nervously.
“What was all that noise?” Akuba called out as she ran over from the nearby gardens.
They were in what her dad used to call the “back forty”, although Jess had never really understood the reference. It was another cleared and fenced-in area beyond the backyard, behind the Van’s house and the barn. It was where the animals and gardens were maintained, as well as the additional buildings for the preserve.
Jess shook her head and wiped the sweat from her face. Though the sky was continuing to become thicker with a haze high up in the atmosphere, the weather was still a typical sweltering summer heat. “I don’t know. I didn’t see anything. Whatever it was took off before I got here.”
Akuba stopped abruptly as she reached her side, and gasped before grabbing at Jess’s arm to pull her away. “This is the doing of a large predator, Lobiwan.”
Jess had to agree. While they lived in the jungle and there was always a certain level of untamed danger you wouldn’t find elsewhere in the civilized world, they adapted to it. Other than some standard precautions and extra awareness, she had never really thought of her life on the Libi Nati as unsafe.
What they were looking at was something different.
“What would have attacked them in the middle of the day?” Jess asked, walking backwards slowly with Akuba. It wasn’t so much that the chickens had been killed. Stuff like that was bound to happen periodically. A gate wouldn’t quite get latched or the coop door was left open at night, allowing an opportunistic weasel-like animal called a Tayra to get inside. There were several other small predatory animals they had to take measures against, but the current slaughter they were looking at didn’t fit any of those patterns. It was…violent. Violent to an unnecessary extreme you didn’t usually see in nature, and definitely not in the daylight.
The netting that was spread and secured over the top of the enclosure was still intact, so it hadn’t come from above. As they passed the gated entrance to the wire fencing, both women paused.
“There,” Akuba whispered, pointing at the broken wires.
Finding the point of entry certainly didn’t clear up any of Jess’s fear. The galvanized steel mesh fencing had been ripped open. Literally torn apart and peeled back from the ground, creating a hole large enough for a medium-sized animal to get through.
“What could have done that?” Jess asked, her eyes wide. A cow bellowed, and her head jerked up. The other animals. She could still feel a malevolent presence. Whether it was her imagination or good instincts from growing up in the Amazon, she couldn’t tell anymore.
“We should go find Kavish,” Akuba instructed, without trying to answer the question. “Maybe he and Paul can come back and watch over the livestock.”
Jess nodded in agreement. They finally turned their backs on the messy scene, and she had to jog to keep up with Akuba’s brisk pace. The men had spent the first half of the day reorganizing the houses and barn to accommodate everyone and the supplies they’d managed to round up.
Kavish had moved into the guest room in the main house, freeing up the small employee quarters in the other outbuilding for Paul, the British tourist. Amisha and her mother would stay in the Van’s old house with the little girl who hadn’t spoken yet. Though, Jess doubted Amisha’s mom would survive through the end of the day, in spite of the constant care her daughter was giving her.
“Do you think it was the jaguars?” Jess asked as they headed for the barn.
“No,” Akuba answered without any hesitation. “They wouldn’t waste their time with chickens. If they were looking to hunt for…sport, they would go for bigger game.”
Jess swallowed. That observation didn’t make her feel better about it.
As they approached the barn, she could hear a voice she didn’t recognize. Her step faltering, Jess braced herself for the possibility that her father had returned with one of his “friends”. She expected it to happen eventually. Akuba agreed that it was only a matter of time before they came back for more of the provisions that were carefully stored away.
Kavish rode a bike into town the day before, and after “borrowing” one of the many abandoned vehicles, had driven around to get a better idea of what was happening outside the Libi Nati Preserve.
It wasn’t good.
He estimated over three-quarters of the population was already dead. Of those remaining, it seemed to be an even dispersal of people who were sick, immune, and recovered. There was unrest amongst those who were left. Random violence, looting, and an air of desperation was created from being cut off from anything other than their own small island of death and fear.
One man Kavish spoke to passed on a rumor about more people gathering—or, as he had put it, being “rounded up” at the resort, led by Jess’s father.
She and Akuba hadn’t spoken much about what Jess and Amisha saw at the Libi Nati Sunday night. Not since she’d first described it to her after returning. Almost two days later, and no one else would acknowledge that her dad might be responsible for ordering the death of Mr. Van. Jess figured it was because Kavish and Akuba didn’t want to think about it, let alone try and decide what to do about it.
That was the reality of their situation, and it was becoming clearer each day. They had zero control over what was happening outside of the preserve. So, they focused on what they could control, and poured their energy into creating a safe place for as long as they could.
That was why the dead chickens scared Jess so much. Because they were supposed to be safe. The animals were supposed to be a part of their protective bubble inside the preserve, where they were immune not only to the Kra Puru, but also the fear that was spreading with it.
Jess focused on her racing heart as it increased with each step that took them closer to the on-going conversation. She felt like crying. It was all a mirage. They weren’t safe, and she didn’t know if they ever would be.
“I can’t speak for everyone, but I don’t think there’ll be a problem with you staying,” Kavish was saying, as Jess and Akuba rounded the corner of the barn and both men came into view.
The relief Jess felt when she didn’t see her father was almost enough to make her forget about the chickens for a moment. She smiled briefly, and then realized she recognized the guy. She didn’t know his name, but she was pretty sure he was from one of the neighboring villages. He was a middle-aged indigenous man with a backpack slung over one shoulder, and he appeared to be alone.
“Slaider,” Akuba said in surprise. She closed the remaining space between them and took one of his hands. “It has been a long time since I last saw you. What has become of your family?”
Slaider’s head dropped and he pulled his hand away to clasp at the strap of his bag. Taking a shuddering breath, he squared his shoulders before answering. “Half of my village is dead, including most of my family.”
Akuba glanced at Kavish before focusing back on the other man. “We are so sorry. Of course, you can stay here. There is room in the workers’ quarters, but you’ll have to share.”
Slaider nodded and offered a grim smile in thanks. “That will be fine, Akuba. Thank you.”
“What of the other half?” Kavish asked. When Slaider only stared at him, he pushed for more. “If half died from the Kra Puru, where are the rest of your people?”
Jess rem
embered then, which village Slaider belonged to. It was close to fifty miles outside of town, and the second nearest to the Libi Nati tribe. Though they had lived in separate villages for hundreds of years, most of the indigenous people in the region descended from the Arawak, and so shared the same history.
“Some fled,” he answered, though somewhat begrudgingly. It was obvious to Jess that it was hard for him to talk about it. He stared pointedly at Akuba. “I’m surprised to see that you and Kavish did not go to the Tan Presi Rutu with the rest of your village. I would have happily made the pilgrimage if it was allowed.”
Akuba shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. “We are where we belong,” she said without any remorse. “And the rest?”
Slaider stared at his feet again. “Many of those touched by the Kra Puru left with Doctor Davies for the resort, after he came through a couple of days ago. Last night—" he paused to clear his throat. “Last night, those of us that remained were attacked.”
Jess decided she didn’t want to hear the rest, but couldn’t figure out a way to leave without it being obvious that she was scared. In her new role as the confident, mature Jess who could handle pulling her own weight, she felt she needed to prove herself. Nervously chewing at the inside of her cheek, she reconsidered her choices.
“Attacked by who?” Kavish asked.
“Not who, but what.” Slaider looked up then, and it was apparent how terrified he was just talking about it. “In all my life, I’ve never seen anything like it. A shadow of jaguars. As many as a dozen. When they… finished, there were only a handful of us left, and we ran in different directions. I had heard of others being brought here from the hospital, and found myself walking in this direction without really thinking much about it. I didn’t expect to find you here,” he added, looking again at Akuba.
