by Greig Beck
The light was fading now, and some of the men moved around the edges of the camp lighting small fires to give comfort from the coming dark. They, too, stopped what they were doing and wandered over to Father González. He moved from group to group, nodding and listening as he went, sometimes reaching out to take a hand or touch a man on the head as though giving a blessing. Aimee could tell by the way the men reacted that he was winning them over. If he said to them, we are all leaving, they would all follow and she would be powerless to stop them.
At last, González made his way around the camp to appear in front of her, his hands tucked up into his sleeves. ‘I wish to take the men back to my church so I can conduct a mass for them,’ he said. ’You are welcome to join us, señora Weir.’
I knew this was coming, she thought. And then: That’s odd, he didn’t ask where Francisco or Alfraedo are, or whether he should consult with them.
‘I’m sorry, I can’t let the men leave the camp, Father. This area is in quarantine, and you are putting yourself in danger by being here. I suggest you wait until the medical specialists and their armed escort arrive shortly, then we can decide where and when it’s best for you to hold your mass. I’d hate you to be held personally responsible if any of the men leave while they are sick. Leaving now would also cause the men to invalidate their work contracts.’
Aimee kept her gaze steady but she was bluffing. She thought the men would go with him if he asked, and be damned their pay and the medical specialists. But as González remained silent, she thought that perhaps he hadn’t realised that yet. She decided to press her case.
‘I’m the senior science specialist here and it’s my call, I’m afraid. You see, Father, men are still dying, and until we know more about the disease that is killing them, everyone in the camp must remain under quarantine. You wouldn’t want the men passing anything on to your other parishioners, would you?’
She could hear Tomás translating for the men gathered behind the priest.
González turned to them himself and spoke in Spanish in a clear, strong voice. Tomás again started to translate, this time for Aimee.
‘Only the God can forgive your sins, and He will hear your voices loudest on hallowed ground. Only He can comfort you, and heal you, and save you.’
The priest turned to Tomás and put his finger to his lips before continuing with his speech to the men. Tomás immediately stopped his translation and froze in what looked to Aimee like fearful indecision.
When González had finished his little sermon, he glided closer to Aimee. Though she was tall, he had to bend slightly to come close to her face. Aimee could smell his mouth. The breath of a carnivore — the revolting thought came out of nowhere.
‘You are right, Ms Weir. The sick must stay here and be tended to. But all others will come to my mass. That is my call, I’m afraid.’ His bearded cheeks briefly pulled up in the semblance of a smile.
The entire camp had now gathered to witness the exchange. So here it is, Aimee thought. She had a decision to make. If she said no, there was a high probability the men would go anyway and her authority would be the only thing to evaporate in the humidity of the Paraguayan jungle. Or she could agree to let them leave . . . temporarily. After all, she expected — she hoped — it was only for a few hours. She agreed.
González didn’t say thank you; he simply turned away and threaded back among the crowd, touching a man here and there on the shoulder and speaking to him softly. Those he passed without touching dropped their heads slightly and Aimee guessed the priest had deemed them unfit to attend the mass. When he reached Tomás, he touched his shoulder too. Aimee was confused: the men he had left behind looked no different healthwise from those he had chosen to take with him. She couldn’t see any biological reason for the choice, other than the men he had selected looked younger and slightly larger than those he’d left behind. With the exception of Tomás, she thought. Strange. Can he tell who’s infected?
The camp quickly cleared as the men followed the priest into the jungle.
Tomás remained where he was, watching them go. ‘I can go to the next mass, señora Weir,’ he said and looked away shyly.
Aimee nodded. ‘Thank you, Tomás. Thank you for staying with me. Umm, tu eres mi amigo.’ She smiled at him and put her hand on his shoulder; the physical contact as important for her as it was for him.
While they talked, neither noticed that one of the workers who had been refused the mass crept out after the long train of men.
* * * *
Felipe found it hard to follow the group as twilight turned to darkness. Soon it would be pitch black until the moon rose and threw some shafts of silver through the jungle’s green ceiling. He didn’t think he was that far behind — maybe a few hundred feet — but it was difficult to hear the men as sounds were gobbled up by the normal noises of the jungle. Broken twigs, small depressions in the mud and other signs of humans passing were soon swallowed by the night. Felipe scampered ahead blindly and hoped he was on the right path.
He felt he had been travelling for hours when at last he broke into a broad clearing and saw the last of the men being herded into a small stone building that was almost totally engulfed by a mighty tree. Felipe sprinted, although he wasn’t sure what he would do when he got to the door. The padre had not chosen him, and he was afraid the holy man would be angry. But then again, his mother would be even angrier if he didn’t pray in the house of God when he had the chance. Even if the priest just allowed him to sit in the doorway, he would feel better. Of course he will permit it; he is a man of forgiveness, after all, he thought.
When Felipe got to within a few feet of the church, he heard a strange grinding noise and saw an enormous slab of stone slide across the doorway. It didn’t swing or close like a normal door; rather it seemed to be lifted from the inside and jammed across the entrance. He leapt up the steps, ducked underneath the sheet of hanging roots and placed his hands on the cool stone. He had missed his opportunity. He placed his forehead against the stone and was about to pray anyway, when he heard faint sounds.
They became louder — voices — were they praying? No, they were screaming. Although muffled by the thick stone, the absolute terror of the wails was clear. He made out more and more voices, along with dull thumps, as though bodies were being thrown against each other. What could it be? Were the men fighting among themselves?
Felipe banged his fist against the stone, but knew the small thud wouldn’t be heard over the din on the other side of the huge block. He stepped back and placed both hands against its flat surface and pushed, but the mighty stone must have weighed several tons and probably would have take five men to shift. He was about to shout again when there came a deep roar from inside the church, an inhuman sound like nothing he had ever heard. Felipe felt his skin prickle. He backed down the steps — tripping over the last few and landing on the dry soil.
Santa Madre de Dios, the padre and all the men must be trapped inside with some beast from the jungle.
He heard more screaming, but nearer than before. Is that me? Be quiet, he thought, and closed his mouth to shut it off. His legs felt like rubber as he tried to run. He fell and crawled for a few seconds before getting back to his feet.
He was at the tree line when another sound rolled across the clearing - the deep grind of the stone slab being hauled from the doorway. Felipe didn’t turn; he knew what it meant. Whatever was in there with the men was now free.
He sprinted blindly into the jungle, and straight into the mossy trunk of a tree. He scrambled groggily to his feet, one of his arms dangling uselessly after the impact. He was dazed and his face felt wet; he licked his lips and tasted blood. Despite his injuries, he knew he had to keep moving. To stay meant meeting whatever it was that had roared like a hundred demons and made the men scream in terror. He staggered a few more feet, not knowing where he was, hopelessly lost in the dark.
He just had time to notice that the jungle around him had fallen silent when a large h
and closed on his neck. At last, Felipe remembered to pray.
* * * *
EIGHTEEN
I
t was just on dawn when Alex looked through the scope into the camp. Tents were zipped up and cabin doors closed tight. There was no power, the fires had died to embers around the camp’s perimeter, and there was absolutely no sign of any current human habitation.
Garmadia placed his hand on Alex’s forearm and looked sternly into his face. ‘We will stay here until we receive further orders, Captain Hunter.’
Alex ignored him and continued to scan the campsite. He and Garmadia were both captains, but Garmadia still believed he had been put in the charge of the mission. Sam rolled his eyes, probably expecting someone was about to receive a small broken bone.
Garmadia dropped his hand and spoke in a lowered voice. ’I will check in with Colonel Lugo when he wakes. Until then, we hold our position. I don’t need to remind you, Captain Hunter, that this site is under an executive quarantine order and —’
‘Call who you like, Captain Garmadia, but we’re going to take a closer look,’ Alex said.
He dropped his pack and pulled his rifle down from over his shoulder. The three HAWCs immediately did the same. Alex spoke over his shoulder. ‘Sam, left flank; Franks, take the right. Mak, you give us some rear cover and stay with the doctors.’
Just as they were about to step forward, Alex held his hand in the air. No one moved. Seconds passed then a zip went up on one of the tents and a man staggered out and walked to the edge of the jungle. He lifted one leg of his shorts and urinated into the foliage, tilting his head back, obviously enjoying the relief He finished with a fart so loud it made a coloured bird screech back at him from the tree overhead. Both Chaco and Saqueo sniggered from behind the HAWCs.
‘Well, that looks a little more normal,’ Sam said.
‘Can we wait a second for that gas to dissipate?’ Franks asked, seeing the man was on her right-side flank.
‘Negative. Just hold your breath, soldier. Remember: war is hell.’ Sam grinned as he checked the slide on his gun.
Alex held a finger to his lips then pointed with a flat hand into the camp. Sam and Franks fanned out left and right just behind the tree line as Alex stepped into the clearing. Although a large man, he moved quietly and with sure-footedness on the lumpy wet surface. Every ten feet he paused to listen, but it was difficult to pick up individual signs of life as the jungle was a cacophony of sounds, smells and small movements. It was like a living thing surrounding them and testing all of their senses. Alex knew Aimee was here - and alive — he could feel it. But he also sensed the presence of something else — something almost primordial, repellent and powerful.
He walked past the zipped tents and sensed the men inside. Some of the tents were full, and some only contained one person. Strange, he thought. If there are supposed to be around one hundred workers, there’s an awful lot of them missing.
One of the tents’ zips came down and a small brown head popped out. The man and Alex stared at each other for a few seconds. Alex smiled and winked, but the man’s eyes went wide and, like a magic trick, his head disappeared and the zip flew back up. Perhaps the sight of a giant in green and black camouflage clothing, carrying a lethal-looking gun, was a bit much first thing in the morning.
Alex could sense Aimee clearly now — he almost smiled with relief. He moved quickly towards one of the cabins and stopped twenty feet from the door. He hesitated, unsure why he didn’t just walk up and push the door open.
* * * *
Aimee pulled back the curtain and felt shock run through her body. Alex Hunter stood a few feet from her door like a green and black statue. He hadn’t changed a bit - same thick, black hair, same unwavering gaze from grey-green eyes. No, she thought as she looked harder, he has changed. His eyes were sadder, held more pain than she remembered.
A smile split her face and she went to launch herself at the door. Then something inside her yelled, Stop! She and Alex hadn’t seen each other for years, and she had walked out on him. He’d probably moved on by now, maybe even had another girlfriend. All she was likely to do was embarrass herself, and him. Her heart beat hard in her chest, and her stomach flipped and danced. Shut up, stay cool, she wanted to shout at them.
She raised her hand to her cheek and felt the rash pimpling the flesh. Suddenly she became very aware of her body odour and the greasy strings of black hair that hung over her eyes. Alex, as usual, looked perfect ... at least to her.
She sucked in a deep breath of humid air, squared her shoulders and pulled the cabin door open calmly and slowly.
I’m going to be relaxed and wait for him to come over to me. I’ll just shake his hand and maybe kiss his cheek, like old friends do. After all, that’s what we are now.
She stood on the top step, fidgeting. She felt as if time had slowed down. Oh, fuck it, she thought, and stepped to the ground with a casual smile and her hand outstretched. Her bare foot sank into a mud puddle. Yech, forgot the boots, didn’t you? She stretched her smile even wider.
* * * *
Alex’s extraordinary senses were concentrated on the woman coming towards him, and as she approached he absorbed every bit of information about her — her eyes, her mouth, her heartbeat and breathing. She swallowed, then swallowed again. Her heart was racing in her chest.
She was as beautiful as he remembered, but tired; she looked so very tired. He probably should have expected that — the quarantine order, the power failures, the heat and humidity. But there was something else he could sense within her: fear. Not of him, or the jungle, but of something else — an instinctive fear of something dangerous. The same thing Alex could feel all around them — a hopeless dread hanging over the camp.
He kept looking at her, trying to see deeper into her, trying to read the woman who had once shared his life. Sometimes he was able to pick up potent mental images created by strong emotions. Unfortunately, Aimee’s mind was clouded with fatigue, fear and stress.
Alex flipped his gun over his shoulder so it hung at his back, prepared to fold her in his arms - a reflex from their past time together. He quickly adjusted the action as her hand came up for a formal greeting. Surprised, he took it but didn’t shake; he just held her hand and looked into her eyes, their familiar soft blue.
‘Aimee,’ was all he said, all he could manage. She had once been the most important woman in his life. A bond had formed between them in the ice caves in the Antarctic, and it had grown stronger during the time they’d spent together after that. Even though their relationship was over, that bond refused to break, at least for him. It was still so strong that he would have sensed her death as keenly as if he had lost a limb.
‘Thank God you’re okay,’ he said, continuing to hold her hand.
She just stood there looking up at him, her mouth opening then closing without any words coming out. Seconds passed before they both heard someone clear their throat at the jungle’s edge.
Alex got the message. ‘Okay, come on in,’ he called.
The HAWCs stepped out from the jungle and Alex saw Aimee’s smile when she saw his second-in-command.
‘Samuel Jackson Reid, he dragged you down here as well?’ she said in delight.
Sam had become a good friend to Aimee when she and Alex were a couple, and later had offered a rock-solid sounding board for her anxiety about Alex’s rages.
‘Of course I came, young lady. The boss here said something about nature walks, tropical fruit and sunshine — and, well, who could resist?’ He gave her a wink and a smile.
The scientists and the two local boys had followed the HAWCs into the clearing.
Aimee turned to look at them, then nodded to Maria Vargis. ‘I’m hoping you’re Dr Vargis. Thank heavens you’re here.’ She stuck her hand out, but Maria had looked away and seemed to miss the gesture.
Alex introduced Aimee to the rest of the team. He noticed that Michael Vargis blushed slightly when he shook her hand, and that Casey
Franks also looked at her with admiration and interest.
By now many of the workers had poked their heads out of their tents, and their curious murmurs were waking the others. In a few more minutes, the camp’s remaining residents surrounded the HAWCs. A man wearing a creased piece of paper pinned to his T-shirt approached Aimee.
Maria Vargis’s shout startled them all. ’Keep them back!’
Captain Garmadia seemed to take it as an instruction. He shouted in Spanish and put one hand on his sidearm, waving his other hand at Tomás and then at the rest of the men encircling them.
‘Leave them alone!’Aimee shouted at the Paraguayan soldier. She waved Tomás closer. ‘He’s okay. He translates for me and has been very helpful.’
Tomás looked from Aimee to Garmadia, who kept his hand on his gun.
‘At ease, cowboy,’ Alex said softly.