by Matt James
A chink in the armor, he thought, recalling the weakness the monster Talos had in the classic, Jason and the Argonauts. It had a literal Achilles heel. He looked to the gate and relaxed his grip on the SCAR when he saw that it was still in good order, closed and locked.
“How’s the M2?” Logan asked, turning to Jan.
The larger man shrugged. “It should be fine, but the constant firing almost cooked me alive,” Jan said the last part laughing a little, soaked in sweat, but when Logan didn’t join in he quickly stopped.
“Dada…”
Kel stepped up next to the others, looking at what was left of his friend. Mercifully, they could only see the bottoms of the dead man’s boots. His lower half had fallen backward, impeding their view of his insides.
“I’m sorry,” Logan said, placing his hand on Kel’s shoulder. “I know you were close.”
Kel just closed his eyes and recited what Logan knew was a prayer in Swahili, asking God to protect Dada in the next world. Logan did the same, also in Swahili, but added that he would appreciate some help eradicating the curse that has been brought upon his park.
“Logan…” a solemn voice said in his ear. It was CJ. “We contacted Manda Bay…”
Logan spun and looked up towards the large windows of the Observation Deck. Between the late hour and the tinted glass, he couldn’t see them, but he knew CJ and Adnan were standing there, looking down on the havoc.
“I’ll be up in a second.”
He turned to Mo and Jan. “Gas up the Rhino and reload the M2. I want it ready just in case we need to bug out and run for the hills.”
Both men nodded and hurried to the Hummer. Before Logan marched off to the front door he stopped and turned back to his men. “And thank you,” he said, looking to Mo and Jan. He then looked to Fitz, and then to Kel, who was still looking over to Dada’s body. “All of you.”
“Captain?”
Logan glanced to Kel. “What is it?”
“Are we just going to leave him there?”
Logan sighed, unsure of what to say. So instead of saying anything, he just walked over to Kel and placed a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder.
“Come on Kel.” Logan gently tried to turn him around. “There’s nothing more we can do—”
Kel shrugged out of Logan’s grasp and turned on him. “There is something we can do!”
“Like what?” Fitz asked, ready to step in if things went south between the two men. He knew Logan could kill the man before he felt the blow, but he also knew that Logan wouldn’t necessarily want to fight back. Better he gets his hands dirty than the captain.
Kel turned to Fitz with a look of rage. “We can kill them all!”
The two Aussies watched as Kel pounded towards the front entrance of the Bullpen, seething with anger, ready to slaughter anything that got in his way. Logan knew that people did stupid things when they were angry and not thinking straight. This would absolutely qualify as one of those times.
“CJ?” He needed someone to calm him down before Kel did just that.
“I’ll talk to him,” she answered, hearing everything. “I’ll talk him down from the proverbial ledge.”
Logan gave the third-floor window a half-hearted wave and followed in the direction Kel had just gone, Fitz in tow. They needed to regroup and re-up their ammo. This hellish night had only just begun, and inside he knew at this rate…they’ll all most likely be dead by the time the Americans arrived.
He stopped, feeling the copper-filled breeze at his back. The overpowering smell of drying blood made him shiver. It was the first time he had ever doubted himself as a soldier—as a fighter. It was also the first time he had ever doubted his own survival.
36
“Hand me the torch, will you, Mo?” Jan asked, reaching out with his free hand. He had the thin sheet of metal propped up against the passenger side of the Rhino. Luckily for them, they had some scrap laying around, stacked in a corner of the garage. Dada was a whiz with this kind of stuff and always kept usable junk stocked.
The thought of Dada made Jan cringe. The man had just died a horrible death. Although, he thought, better dead than one of those monsters. He didn’t believe these things to be the actual demons from his grandfather’s stories—the Nachzehrer. Just the thought of it gave him goosebumps, though.
Could it? It was a question left unasked.
Mo sparked the welding torch, adjusting it to its appropriate temperature, and carefully handed it to Jan. He then leaned into the makeshift door covering, helping hold it in place. It wasn’t the thickest piece they found, but it was the right size and light enough for them to lift. It wouldn’t be as effective as the actual door, which was somewhere out in the demilitarized zone that had become the grounds just outside the Bullpen, but it would do.
“Just like the Duke boys,” Jan said, commenting on the slight resemblance the sealed entry of the now un-opening door made to another vehicle he knew. “Have to climb in now.”
He glanced up to Mo, whose confused look said it all.
“Really?” Jan asked, flabbergasted. “You don’t know the Dukes—of Hazzard?”
Mo shook his head.
“The General Lee?” Jan asked, almost trying to coax the recognition out of the man.
“Who is he—this General Lee?” Mo asked, taking the legendary car’s name literally.
“It’s not a who… It’s a what,” Jan replied, shaking his head in disbelief. Even in Germany, the General Lee was renowned, and the Duke cousins, beloved. Their antics were known throughout the globe.
Except for Africa, apparently, he thought.
He went on to try and explain the concept of the famous T.V. show and the ever-glorious Daisy Duke. The famed character was originally played by Catherine Bach on television and then again by the seductive Jessica Simpson in the film. It had even coined the term, ‘Daisy Dukes.’ It’s still used to this day when describing short denim shorts.
Mo shrugged.
“Unbelievable!” Jan blurted, half-laughing, half-frustrated. “You don’t know who Daisy Mae Duke is?”
Mo didn’t get to answer. Instead, they got a call in their earpieces.
“How’s the Rhino?” Logan asked, from somewhere above their heads. Knowing him, he was probably flat on his back on the sofa in the living area, or at his station rechecking their weapons and ammo. The man either slept or worked on guns. He did what he could to stay occupied.
“Fine,” Jan answered. “We just covered the hole in the right flank. You are going to have to climb in and out, but it could have been worse. The rest of the truck is in perfect working order.”
“Right, mate,” Logan said. “Luke Duke it is, thanks.”
Jan looked up to Mo who was standing over his kneeling form and smiled, excited that Logan came up with the same reference as him. It didn’t surprise him, though. He and Logan would routinely sit with Fitz and watch classic American action films like Die Hard, The Rock, and True Lies. They especially loved when the hero, or the hero’s sidekick, would throw in some witty remarks and one-liners, adding just the right amount of humor into the movie. Hanging out in their down time was what first spurred Logan into properly introducing him to his sister.
CJ was an enigma to Jan. She was strong-willed and sassy, but compassionate and kind. She knew how to act when the situation called for it. It was a handy trick when stuck living with nine men out in the middle of nowhere for weeks—sometimes months at a time. They didn’t exactly get out much—unless by out, you meant, out in the plains.
Their first ‘date’ was dinner and a movie, watching Zombieland of all things. CJ had that quirky sense of humor and Jan didn’t mind. He actually really did enjoy it.
Thinking of a movie like that threw him out of his memory and back into the now of their situation. This was a real-life movie, except more along the lines of a horror film. No witty one-liners. No cheeky sidekicks. There was only blood and death in this nightmare. He just hoped that everyone left—
mainly CJ—would survive the night.
They all had jobs to do, but Jan would add keeping her alive to the top of it when the time came. He knew that between him and her brother, she would be fine. Logan was the best for a reason.
“Open the rear, please,” Mo asked. “Let’s have a look at the M2.”
Jan nodded and stood, knocking on the grade school welding job he did on the sheet metal. He knew how to use a welding torch, but it wasn’t exactly his forte. He was a retired demolitions expert—a field he rarely got to use out here in Africa. But he also knew one other thing…
He climbed into the open bed of the Hummer and inspected the .50 caliber machine gun. He knew heavy weapons very, very well. He had even recommended that Fitz try out the XM25, ordering it from a dealer he had known. Fitz was more like a kid with a new toy, where Jan was like a ‘man and his truck.’ He loved the big guns, but he also respected them, knowing all too well of their danger.
He sat in the bolted down chair attached to the floor behind the weapon and looked it over, seeing nothing wrong. He then slapped in a new cartridge, holding the belt-fed ammunition. “It’s fine,” he said, getting up and climbing down from the hatch. He slammed the bed’s door and turned. “We just need to be careful with how long we run hot. We almost burned it up this last time out.”
Mo agreed, mentally recalling the events of the last hour—really of the last few hours. The things they’d done and things they’d seen done were too much to comprehend.
He smiled, slapping the much bigger man on the shoulder. “Come… Let me buy you a drink so we can wash away all that we’ve been through tonight.”
“Es ist ein deal,” Jan replied, smiling.
Mo looked at him with a raised eyebrow.
“It’s a deal,” Jan said, translating his German for the Kenyan.
“Ah,” Mo said with a grin. “Well then… Mpango—deal it is.”
The two SDF men laughed, releasing some of the tension the night had brought, arguing over what type of scotch was the best. If either one of them would have looked twenty feet behind them, they would have noticed a small slender creature tucked in next to the garage door, doing its best to stay concealed in the shadows. Its recently acquired jet black fur helped in that regard. It, like everything else that had been infected, had attained the trait, proving useful in the low light.
The red-eyed Egyptian mongoose just watched, blinking against the large room’s illumination, waiting for the right time to strike. It would be soon, it just needed one of the men to be alone, and then it would attack. It had witnessed firsthand how dangerous the people were when they killed the much larger predator outside. It's instinctual gifts of stealth and cunningness would be perfect to get close. And when it did…
DESOLATION
“Frankenstein was all about the idea that, through electricity and the destruction of night, man creating light and darkness, we took on god-like powers and then abused them like gods, and we are only men. That's a story about man making a man in his own image. The inversion of natural order.”
~Benedict Cumberbatch
“Real victories are those that protect human life, not those that result from its destruction or emerge from its ashes.”
~King Hussein I
37
Tanzania, 1946
Mengele knew his life was over. The beast that had once been the highly-respected general had bitten him. It was only a nick—barely a scratch—but it would be enough. He could already see the skin on his hand darkening.
So, he sat to write out a warning and explain what was happening. He would reveal to the world—whenever they found this—what the Wohn Tod was attempting… And why.
Sweat dripped from his scrunched brow as he sat, slumped over his typewriter. The pain wasn’t just around the wound, it radiated through his entire body like he had the worst illness on record.
It’s not too far from the truth.
He pulled open a drawer in his desk and reached in, trying desperately to find a single sheet of paper, but instead found something else. The relic that started it all, sat there, staring up at him. Its empty eye sockets, along with the fang-like teeth, emitted pure hatred.
I remember you, old friend.
A searing pain burned through his arm, stopping at his shoulder. He was just about to slip into unconsciousness, feeling as if his blood was boiling. Then, it released him from its deadly grasp.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Banging erupted from his quarter’s door, followed closely by screams of fright and of agony. It sounded like a battle was waging through the facility, but he knew better. True battles were fought between two opposing forces. This wasn’t a battle… It was a slaughter. Something was loose.
Probably Dr. Albrecht, Mengele thought. He had been the first one to be bitten. They had been fools to think only simple ropes could contain the creature. Thankfully, the guards on hand secured a second, thicker set.
But Albrecht was done for. He had sustained a bite to his neck. It seemed the worse the bite and the closer it was to a major artery, the quicker it took effect.
Gunfire erupted in the hallway behind him, followed by a feral scream, and a wet splat. Two sets of footsteps came booming down the hall, stopping abruptly. Through the thin metal door, Mengele could hear one of the men muttering a series of curses. Some were towards the creature they had just shot. Most were directed at the situation as a whole.
“Doktor?” one of the men asked, checking on Mengele. “Bist du verletzt?”
Am I injured? Mengele thought, mentally repeating the question with a laugh. No, not injured. Dying maybe, but not injured. Injury meant a possible cure.
He quickly dismissed the men, stating that he was fine and unharmed. It’s not like they could get in. The heavy dresser in front of the door would see to that. He needed to be alone for what he was about to do.
Pushing the skull away, he resumed the task of writing his… Memoir? he thought. No, not memoir… A confession. He pulled his last sheet of blank paper out from underneath the skull’s usual resting spot. He didn’t have the nerve for it to be out in the open, glaring at him from across the room. So, he kept it stored away in his desk’s bottom drawer, hidden from his sight.
He slipped the sheet into the platen and rolled it into place. His fingers hovered over the keys, not really knowing where to start. So, he started at the obvious place—the beginning.
As he typed his fingernails slowly turned black and began to elongate. The virus, now starting, was carrying out Phase One of its invasion into his body. He had witnessed this dozens of times before—even on multiple human hosts, but never did he think he would end up like the countless test subjects buried above him. He had always figured that the Allied forces would eventually find him and put a bullet in his head.
The thought of death was actually a peaceful one. He wouldn’t be caught and tortured by his enemies. He would be undone by his very creation.
A fitting end to the Angel of Death.
He knew his nickname around the world. He originally hated it, but as time had passed, he had begun to embrace it, using it to instill fear in those he sought to control.
Like the men here.
He flinched as he heard a moaning from the other side of the door. Apparently, Albrecht was still alive. Alive... The word wasn’t right, but neither was dead.
More voices erupted from down the hall, yelling warnings to the others still here. They sounded desperate, unable to kill the creature that was once his colleague.
Once…but no longer, he thought, finishing the first paragraph. His grammar wasn’t perfect—it’s not like he was an author or anything. Doesn’t matter. The message would be good enough to get across the everyday happenings here.
He kept typing, frantically, as the virus continued up his arm. The veins in his hand were already starting to glow a little and the skin was black as night. He needed to finish this letter before it fully took control of his mind. He would not become o
ne of them.
Gritting his teeth against the blinding pain, Mengele pounded out the body of the warning. He wasn’t trying to type out any one thing. He just wanted to convey the clearest of pictures. He even laughed a little as he typed the words.
Dr. Josef Mengele—the Angel of Death—writing a warning to those he set out to condemn. The sheer notion was utterly ridiculous, but he was the only one who knew the truth. The other scientists here knew some of what he did, but not everything.
It’s then the screams gushed throughout the first level…along with blood from the sounds of it. He grinned. If only they knew to aim for the head. They can’t function without an intact brain.
“ARRRGH!”
Mengele shouted his own blood-curdling scream, his entire arm black. The pain was immense, more than anything he had ever felt before. He felt as if his heart would burst. He had watched his patients go through the same, but he had never once felt sorry for them. But now…he completely understood what they endured. Then, his vision blurred and he felt his jaw tighten. He knew what was coming next.
Not if I can stop it first, he thought, content.
He raised his Luger to his right temple and pulled the trigger.
38
Tanzania, Present Day
Taking the elevator had never felt so right. He was bruised and battered physically…and the same could be said for his mental state too. Logan’s knees ached from exertion and his feet were killing him. If he had any time, whatsoever, he would take another dip in the hot tub.
A shower and two soaks, he thought. Would break my record.
“Captain, we need you up top ASAP.”