by Cervo, RD
There is the creaking of hinges as a side metal door swings open. For a moment, Peck’s squat naked form is silhouetted in the sun’s glare at the exit. Gulla walks out of the building. In the surrounding perimeter of the storage facility more dead military personal are laying about in the parking lot or slumped over in jeeps and Humvees.
The side door slams shut. Inside the facility, the sound echoes in the cavernous space. It is followed by an unnerving stillness. Then the frantic squawking on the field mic returns followed by the haunting cries of little old Litwin.
“I want to go home! I want to go home!”
CHAPTER 14
Dead Sea Highway
Israel
Noon
A LONG EMPTY STRETCH OF HIGHWAY CUTS through a landscape of rocky desert. The blazing midday sun bakes the earth and causes shimmering mirage effects in the distance. Highway 90 near the Dead Sea is geographically identified as the lowest man-made road in the world. Gulla finds the fact humorous and says aloud in a jovial tone, “Me and the good doctor here, were born to always take the low road in life. Never the high road. Only the low road.”
Pecks’ naked body is showing signs of rapid decay in the oppressive heat. Searing ultraviolet rays from the sun cooks the fishy white skin that is laced with black spidery blood-vessels. Like morphing tie-dye, Peck’s dermis is covered from head to toe with spreading blotches of pink, maroon, dark purple and green. Putrid hot gases are expanding in his gastro-intestinal tract, swelling his already fat belly. Millions upon millions of Peptoniphilus and Clostridium anaerobic bacteria are taking part in the rotting process. With each step of his chubby squat legs, Peck quacks loud wet farts that spray liquid cadaverine. The entourage of flies is growing and following the zombie on its journey.
Gulla mumbles, “The rigor mortis didn’t last long. It was hard to walk with those stiff hips. But now the good doctor is getting a bit soft and squishy. Gosh, I do find this interesting. I wonder how many miles I will get on this model before a knee joint gives way.”
The flesh under Peck’s bare feet has already broken down. Exposed ankle bones are starting to poke through both heels. A couple of toes from each foot have sloughed off and were discarded kilometers back on the hot asphalt.
In the moment, Gulla ponders, I notice it is easy for me to kill humans in this world but I can’t fix or mend their wounds. I can possess their dead bodies but I can’t bring them back to life. My power is limited to only doing harm. I guess I’m okay with that. This personal discovery is nice. Nothing like a good long mindful walk for self-reflection.
Up in the distance there is a car approaching on the highway.
Gulla mutters, “Here we go again.”
It is an old dusty blue Mercedes E class, full of dents and with a cracked windshield. The occupants are a Palestinian family on the way to visit a sick relative. A sense of sudden anxiety is felt by the driver and passengers as they observe a naked man walking on the side of the road.
“Close your eyes!” shouts the father to his wife and children, “may you not see the anything that Allah would deem shameful.”
Instantly, the wife and two small children obey and squeeze their eyes shut. The teen-age daughter that is in the backseat is defiant. She peers out through the slit in her bourka. Her liberal girlfriends have talked about penises but she has never seen one.
“He looks very, sick,” says her father, who is driving, “Allah says we must be merciful to the infirmed and those that are lost and wondering. I am going to pull over and offer him help.”
“Another fucking good Samaritan,” Gulla bitches as the oncoming Mercedes nears and begins to slow down. Gulla scans the minds of the people in the car and discovers the teen-age Muslim girl’s sexual curiosity.
Both she and her father are suddenly mortified as they see the naked man on the side of the road, lift his belly flab to expose a tiny, limp, blackened penis. He wiggles it with his right hand.
“Hey, Fatima,” yells out Gulla, “sorry dear, this is a poor specimen. Let’s send you good intentions for your future. May you feel the pleasure and pain of a-thousand-and-one giant Arabian cocks on your wedding night!”
The father stomps on the gas pedal to speed away from the horrible abomination on the side of the road but Gulla simultaneously sends out another telepathic death wave. Major blood vessels pop in the father’s brain, killing him instantly. The man’s wife and his two small children are also annihilated on the spot. Gulla spares the teen-age daughter for the sake of pure cruel amazement. She can be heard screaming as the Mercedes Benz swerves out of control and careens off the highway and into the open desert. Her dead father’s sandal-clad foot is still on the gas-pedal. Dust clouds kick up from the spinning tires.
With a shrug, Gulla continues inside Peck’s body. Many kilometers behind them is a Volvo Truck in the middle of the highway along with numerous vehicles stalled here and there, including an ambulance. All the occupants are dead. They too, had stopped and tried to come to the assistance of the naked man walking along the side of the road, followed by the swarm of flies.
Gulla ruminates out loud as he trudges on, “An hour ago, I killed a whole mini-bus full of rabbinical students. Both Jews and Palestinians have stopped to try help me since I started my lonely march on this highway. Shouldn’t those two tribes be busy exterminating each other and not trying to save naked strangers? What is this world coming to?” Gulla laughs aloud through Peck’s anatomy, emitting a foul stench from the zombie’s mouth. A long strand of custardy drool comes to dangle from his chin. Black flies are buzzing about in front of his scabby lips and crawling up his nostrils and into his ears.
More time passes. The heat is relentless. There a sense of lifelessness in the vast desert that stretches along both sides of the highway. A greater pronounced clicking sound is heard as his fully- exposed calcaneus bones hit the hot pavement with each step.
Gullah says, “I finally wore both heels away completely. Pretty soon I may be walking on stumps.” Looking up to sky, Gullah thinks, I can easily hitch-hike a ride to my destination, but I’m smart enough to stay out of vehicles. Today, I don’t want to deal with any drone strikes. Not all humans will want to rescue me, especially when they discover I have been such bad boy.
As if on cue, there is the far away thumping of an approaching air craft. A Boeing AH-64 Apache attack helicopter is part of a massive of counter-offensive. Both Israeli and US governments are unsure and confused regarding the source of hostility against their people.
“I’m your vector,” Gulla whispers, while knitting the decreased Dr. Pecks eyebrows in a gesture of intense concentration. Dead black blood leaks from both tear ducts and streaks his cheeks. The minds of the pilots in the Apache are infiltrated in the next second. Alarms go off in the cockpit as the safety systems are overridden, and the aircraft takes an abrupt dive straight into the earth. Gulla feels the shock-wave of the impact before hears the explosion of the crash. Smoke bellows up in the distance behind stark desert hills.
Gulla smiles using Peck’s grey lips and says, “I have been locked away for so long. I have so much time to make up. So many things to do! Maybe I will try to have another child.”
High above in the sky, there is quick pulsating flash in the suns’ glare.
The smile suddenly drops on Peck’s face. Gulla sighs, “Well, they now know I have escaped.” A malicious grin returns. There is a burning yellow glint in the dead man’s eyes. Both irises then turn pure red. Gulla says, “Catch me if you can. I need to a make a run to the Jordan River. I feel parched. I need to take a dip in the water.”
CHAPTER 15
Yardenit
Israel
Morning
A GAGGLE OF AMERICAN PENTECOSTALS IS gathered at dawn on the Yardenit baptismal platforms. Other Christian sects for Arminian, Greece and Russia are also present. The site is on the bank of the Jordan River. Reverend Pastor Jim Jeffrey from The Church of the One True Salvation, raises up his hand like a tour
-guide and announces, “Folks in my group, we will enter first. Remove your shoes and socks but feel free to go in the water with your clothes on. We will drip-dry on the bus. This is the one type of sogginess you will not mind. You will want to be drenched in this divine wetness forever. Behold, you are at the exact spot where John the Baptist baptized our Lord, Jesus Christ of Nazareth!”
Many in Jeffrey’s group holler back “AMEN!” and have tears of joy. They are part of a small congregation from Creeland, North Carolina, on a spiritual pilgrimage to the Holy Land. For most, it is a life- long dream to walk were Jesus walked. A large, obese woman in her fifties, wearing a curly red wig, is the first to go in the river. She is clad in a brightly flowered muumuu dress. Three other church members strain themselves as they help her waddle down the stone stairs and into the brown murky shallows.
“There you go, Betty,” says Jeffrey, while laughing, “may these special waters heal that diabetes type two and your bad knees. You don’t need to diet. You don’t need no gastric-bypass; all you need is faith in Jehovah!”
There are more, “AMENS!” from the crowd.
Jeffrey then shouts out to a young- nineteen- year old female parishioner, “Go in next, Molly. Don’t be scared in gettin’ that beautiful long auburn hair wet. God don’t like vanity.”
Molly winces and gives a nervous smile. Her intuition tells her that something is not right with the man. She thinks, I never did like the way Pastor Jeffrey looks at me. Dear Jesus, I don’t want to bare false witness but I think he is a pervert. I hate when he hugs me. It is always so tight.
Reverend Jeffrey is also in his late fifties, six-two, bean-pole thin, with a salt and pepper crew-cut. His black-framed coke-bottle glasses make his intense hazel eyes magnified and distorted. Most times he wears dungarees and denim shirts like a folksy farmer. The older women in the church swoon when they are in his presence. With slick con-man skills, he offers them a pitch full of platitudes and can take greedy bites out of their retirement accounts and monthly social security checks.
Apprehensively, Molly removes her flips-flops and dips a toe into the water. It feels oddly warm. In the next moment, she hears others, praying aloud in a different language than her own. Nearby are a group of elderly Armenian nuns unwrapping soiled badges off the arms of a sick brethren in a wheelchair. The old man’s skin is covered with seeping decubiti. She gasps and thinks, Ick! I better get in the water then get out before he gets in!
With a flirtatious smile, Jeffrey again calls out to Molly, “come on girl! Get wet! Get wet with God’s love!”
The others in her church group clap their hands and cheer her on. Troy is standing with the others but remains quiet. Painfully shy, he is a thin, gawky seventeen-year-old with shaggy blonde hair and bad facial acne. Like Molly, he too grew up in foster care. Troy thinks, I love you Molly! I love you so bad! I wish you knew!
For a moment, Molly locks eyes with Troy and he quickly looks away. She thinks, He is so sad! I don’t like the way Pastor Jeffrey picks on him. Cringing, Molly steps down into the river and instantly sinks up to her waist. The silt bottom gives a slimy and soft sensation on the soles of her bare feet. Her blue jeans are water-logged and feel heavy as she takes a few steps. There comes an explosion of droplets, as Jeffrey quickly does a cannon-ball into the river, also fully clothed and with his pocket-Bible still clenched in one hand. Reminiscent of a pool party, others in his group impulsively follow him in with hoots, laugher and playful splashing. Many of the old nuns on the embankment of the river are mortified with the irreverent behavior of the American church group.
Doused, Molly winces from getting sprayed in the eyes. She is still waist deep and she continues to hold her arms up as if being mugged at gun point. Like a shark, Pastor Jeffrey swims under the water then unexpectedly pops up next to her. She attempts to protest but he grips the top of her head like a bowling ball and pushes her under with savage force.
“I BAPTIZE YOU IN THE NAME OF THE LORD!” Jeffrey yells for all to hear. His statement takes on a strange reverberation that carries and echoes.
A half a kilometer away, upstream, Dr. Peck’s carcass is stuck in the reeds. The body is supine and partially submerged, with a giant green-blackish swollen belly sticking out of the surface of the mire. Peptoniphilus and Clostridium anaerobic bacteria have multiplied into the trillions. The entire gastrointestinal tract is inflated with putrid gas that keeps erupting from the body with even louder flatus and belches. Wasps and gnats join in with the swarms of flies that frantically are laying eggs in the exposed rotting flesh. Dr. Peck’s feet are mangled with one remaining big toe on the left foot. Both of his dead eyes bulge like white ping-ball balls from his bloated grey-blue face. A large Culex mosquito carrying the West Nile Virus lands on one of his eye-balls to feed. The insect injects its proboscis into the sclera and then starts to draw out fluid from the glistening orb. At that moment, Gulla allows a replication of its genes to be transferred into the mosquito. Gullah thinks, okay my little pest, suck it up good and go spread my disease to the world. Fuck your puny West Nile Virus. I will be more famous then malaria and Zika.
As the mosquito proceeds to fly away, Peck’s eyeball implodes in a dramatic send-off for the insect. A second passes and Gullah deliberates; I need to ditch Ole’ doctor Peck’s body for good. He was a faithful mount, but I can’t stay here stuck in the mud. I think I grew enough bacteria in this corpse to cause a decent pandemic. Time to take a trip down stream and make some new friends.
The morning sun is hot and glaring. It raises the air temperature one Pico degree Fahrenheit enough for the expanding gasses in the dead body to breach the confining limits of the rancid vessel. In the next moment, Peck’s swollen abdomen pops like a gigantic blister, spewing mutant bacteria in a shower of cadaverine. A foul toxic bloom permeates the surrounding marsh. The discharge soaks into the mire and rapidly leaches into the ground water. Quickly, the horde of bacteria finds its route into the main river. The crazed buzzing of the flies is deafening. They are like banshees sounding the alarm of the impending apocalypse. Gulla’s essence unifies the exudate into a slimy, semen-like mass. Staying low to the river’s bottom, it travels south. Replicating. Replicating. Again, breaking the rules of the natural biology of this planet.
Molly is screaming underwater with a bellowing of bubbles. She is reaching up, trying to pry the vice-like hand that is holding her head down. Finally, there is a release of pressure and she surfaces with a coughing gasp.
Reverend Jeffrey continues to loom near, dripping and grinning. “I have baptized you with the same waters used on Jesus Christ! How do you feel?”
Trembling, Molly, shouts, “Don’t ever touch me again.”
Flashing with sudden anger, Jeffrey keeps smiling but says with a bit of a low hiss, “Be obedient, Molly. Many are watching.”
Her nipples are sticking through the front of wet t-shirt. She senses Jeffrey impulsively glancing at her breasts and she hugs herself with revulsion. Troy is knee-deep near the stone steps and is glaring with hatred but is too cowardly to intervene. Internally, Troy rages, I know he wants her, but I want her! WHY CAN’T SHE BE MINE?! WHY?! WHY?!
“Pastor Jeffrey! Pastor Jeffrey!” cries Betty, with excitement. “Can you dunk me under too?! Can you baptize me next?”
With a clenched jaw and fleeting squint of loathing, Jeffrey looks over at the fat woman in the water, wavering her hands. Quickly, his smile returns and he replies in a superficial happy tone, “But of course, sister Betty. I will swim right over.” Jeffrey gives a parting wink to Molly as he turns away. One of the old Armenian nuns stares at the American preacher man and scowls with distain while doing the sign of the cross on her chest. Molly is left alone for a moment and feels a growing sense of dread. She clutches herself tighter and shivers.
Far in the distance there is a buzzing sound. It is growing loader. Fifty meters away there is a rippling in the water. Small fish are starting to jump out of the river and on to the embankment. Something f
ast is approaching under the surface of the Jordan. It now arrives at the Yardenit Baptismal site. Molly shudders as she observes her fellow church members drink straight from the river.
“If you truly believe, nothing in this water can hurt you!” Jeffrey exclaims with his arms outstretched. “Gulp it up. Swig and swallow the water that Jesus bathed in!”
Molly watches as people on the stairs are also starting to fill up both plastic water bottles and vials. Troy is still near the stone steps. He abruptly stiffens. There a swirling current around his knees. Robotically he leans down. Raising back up, he drinks from his cupped hands.
In the next second, a sudden sense of nightmarish panic strikes Molly and it freezes her vocal cords. In her mind, she screams, I GOT TO GET OUT OF THE RIVER! It is too late. Her will is no longer her own. She dunks herself under the surface to meet Gulla.
The mutant bacteria have entered Pastor Jeffrey’s body through his urethra. With morphing pure red irises, the reverend tosses away his small soggy pocket Bible. He shouts with glee, “I DON’T NEED THAT BOOK NO MORE! I GOT A NEW SPIRIT FLOWING THROUGH ME!”
CHAPTER 16
Six Months Later
Creeland, North Carolina, USA
9:00 PM
TROY CONTINUES TO STAND IN THE MIDDLE OF THE CARNAGE. He is wearing a tactical vest and black cargo pants and equipped with the familiar arsenal of a spree killer. Blood is leaking down the back of his leg and into the top of his boot. A couple of .25 caliber full-jacketed bullets embedded in his medial deltoid appear benign but occasionally radiate a sharp burning sensation.
During the last two weeks, Troy’s appearance has changed. His head is shaven totally bald along with his eye-brows and wispy blonde chin hair. Swirling, intricate tattoos of scorpions and constellations cover his face, chest, and skinny white arms. Very few recognized him when he initially entered the dining room of Lloyd’s Famous Steak & Lobster Family Buffet.