Plague

by Matt James

  Where!

  It spoke again, demanding to know their location. It had obviously been in some sort of hibernation for some time. It probably didn’t remember where it was.

  Shetani looked into those menacing green eyes and thought the words carefully, forcing them to be vocalized.

  Af-ri-ca, he said, concentrating, hearing himself annunciate the word carefully. Each syllable was long and drawn-out. It sounded like the voice in his head—the one that told him things—the one that explained the world around him. His ancestor’s voice was higher and it spoke with an almost snake-like hiss mixed with a whisper.

  Africa, it said, repeating Shetani’s answer with what sounded like a personal remembrance of the place. It definitely knew the land before it slept.

  She-ta-ni, he said, carefully pronouncing his own name. He then held a clawed hand to his chest.

  The four-armed creature did the same, speaking a language that Shetani had never heard before, but a language his mind had somehow translated.

  Wustenfuchs, it said, standing taller at attention.

  After a seventy-year slumber, the Desert Fox was awake.

  * * *

  Logan watched as CJ and Jan entered the Observation Deck. The two were becoming inseparable. He didn’t mind, though, especially now. CJ needed someone besides him. She wasn’t a soldier. She was scared and needed a different voice whispering in her ear to stay calm. She would listen to Jan.

  He regarded CJ, noticing the red, swollen skin around her eyes. She’d been crying. Thankfully, Jan was there. Logan would have felt terrible if he was up here working while she was off, falling apart just under his feet. He respected the German even more now than he already had.

  “What is it?” CJ asked, noticing Logan staring at her.

  “We have a problem,” he simply replied.

  “Problem?” Jan asked, acknowledging Logan with a nod. “What kind of a problem?”

  “Oh, about a six-ton problem.”

  CJ lifted her eyebrow at Fitz’s comment.

  “Irwin?” she asked, knowing it was him. He was the largest of the bulls in this region of the Serengeti, never straying too far from the Pen.

  Logan nodded with a look of despair in his eyes.

  “Is he…”

  Logan shook his head no. “But he’s been attacked. Half of his family is either dead or on the run, moving farther into the park.” He breathed in, flexing his neck and back. “I think he’s coming here for help.”

  Now it was Fitz’s turn to lift his eyebrow. He and Logan had gone over the situation a few minutes ago, but his friend hadn’t voiced this.

  Thinking as he goes, Fitz thought, rubbing his beard. His mind really does never stop.

  “Logan…” CJ said. Her tone was unbelieving, but then she stopped, thinking. “But… I guess it’s possible?”

  Jan looked down to CJ. “It is?”

  CJ just shrugged. “Elephants—particularly Irwin—are amazing animals. They are extremely intelligent and Irwin has tested off the grid since I started studying him. He’s truly one-of-a-kind.”

  “So,” Fitz said, still not believing. “You think a twelve-thousand-pound pachyderm is coming to us for help?”

  Logan looked at CJ for confirmation and then to Fitz. The Reeds just shrugged together.

  “Whatever…” Fitz said, shaking his shaved head. “You’re the experts.” He then walked to the window, looking to the north where Irwin had last been tracked. “How do you want to help the big guy?”

  This is why Logan loved Fitz. The man could have easily dismissed the idea of helping and maybe defending a bull from the Nach, but instead, he just shrugged off the nonsense and got down to business. It really meant the world to Logan that his SAS mate trusted him that much.

  “How about the Wraith?” The three Aussies along with Jan, turned, finding Mo standing behind them, arms crossed. “We could bring along Fitz’s XM25 and make a mess. The Rhino’s ‘50’ needs to still cool some.”

  “We?” Logan asked.

  Mo smiled. “Neither one of you can drive worth a damn, so yes, we.”

  Fitz looked at Logan and grabbed his grenade launcher. “I’m down for a cruise around the bush.”

  41

  Logan was going over the plan with Fitz and Mo, figuring out exactly what they could do to help Irwin and whatever was left of his herd. Of all the animals that have been killed by this virus, the African elephant was definitely one they needed to protect at all costs. Its numbers were already dwindled down enough as it was. They didn’t need any help from anything else.

  Damn poachers are bad enough, CJ thought as she exited the Observation Deck. She sniffed her shirt, pinching the fabric, raising it to her nose. Ugh. This body needs a rinse.

  Her plan was to take a quick shower and freshen up as best she could. It had been a full day of sweat and stink and she needed to clean up the lady bits. It’s what she told Logan, making him blush. She just loved to tease him.

  She unbuttoned the top of her shirt a little as she began the short climb down the stairs, letting in the much-appreciated air conditioning. The wretched odor emanating from her sports bra was another thing altogether. It was pressed so tightly against her skin that she could almost feel the small pond of sweat that had formed between her boobs.

  She told Logan that too.

  CJ smiled, laughing inwardly at how easy it was to make her kid brother squirm. It was a relationship that grew stronger as the years went by, but when he moved out to Tanzania, it had strengthened beyond description.

  Logan never properly thanked her for saving his life, giving it purpose again, but she knew he understood what she did. He was thankful, she just knew he would never outwardly admit it.

  Men and their pride.

  Her boot found the second-floor landing and she continued around the inner wall for another fifteen feet, arriving at the hallway that housed her living quarters. It held four rooms—two on each side—concluding at a dead-end that sported a window with a beautiful view of the park. The rooms belonged to Logan, Fitz, Mo, and herself, the four original SDF members. They had taken up residence in these rooms, wanting to be within a close proximity to one another, just in case. There was another similar hall further along the catwalk where the other six smaller rooms were. They were originally built to be guestrooms, not for full-time members.

  She rounded the corner, turning right, and headed for the first door on the left. Logan’s was the first door on the right, across the hall. He thought it right that they be near each other. He jokingly said it was so he could keep a close eye on her when her door was open, but she knew he was just secretly lonely. He hadn’t been with, or talked to, a single woman since coming to Africa, thinking it would only cause a distraction.

  Funny enough, CJ half-agreed with him. Relationships could be a distraction if you cared for the other person enough that they were always on your mind, but they could also be a blessing—something to fight for. Either way, she was actually grateful for his steadfast belief in always being ready. They survived numerous encounters over the years because of his over-the-top preparedness.

  Like the handgun holstered next to the front door just in case someone unexpectedly knocks and you need a weapon. CJ shook her head. Just in case. It became his motto. Like the bloody Boy Scouts of America—Be Prepared.

  Then again… They never got visitors out here. If someone did knock, it was most likely trouble, to begin with.

  She entered her open door and sat on her bed. The only time they closed them was when someone was changing or sleeping. It was a house rule. If the door was closed… Go Away. She’d shut the door once she got her shirt off. Until then, there was nothing to be ashamed of.

  Everyone had seen her in her bathing suits in the showers. Some had even seen her in the buff on accident. That was mostly her not giving a damn and stripping down before she got in the hot tub. There was nothing to hide out here. Especially, with her guard dog—slash—guardian angel,
Logan, around. He would literally kill anyone that crossed her.

  Except for Jan.

  She was still unsure of how to tell Logan about their relationship. Fitz had indeed heard them several times in his room. Jan had warned her several times about her moans.

  Bloody walls, she thought taking off her shirt. She looked at herself in the mirror and smiled. Then she frowned, looking at her sports bra. Not looking forward to the tug-of-war match with you. Getting it off would prove troublesome for sure.

  She then looked at her flatish stomach. In her younger years, she would have been self-conscious about it, but now…not so much. She wasn’t as worried about her appearance anymore, not since being out here full-time. They were too damn busy and it was just too stifling hot to care. She hadn’t even worn makeup in years.

  Shutting the door to her room, CJ turned, sensing movement out of the corner of her eye. She looked at the foot of her bed, between it and her dresser. Nothing. She then bent to peek under her bed but stopped and smiled.

  Nervous twit, she thought, standing back up. She shut the door and removed her boots and socks. She was halfway done pulling down her pants when another skittering noise sounded from across her room, near her closet. She jumped at the sound but again saw nothing.

  Dammit, woman. Get a hold of yourself.

  She continued stripping her black cargo pants down, stopping at her ankles—when something lean and furry launched itself from the open closet door. With a yelp, CJ fell back on her butt, kicking her feet out.

  It’s what saved her life.

  A blur of black—an infected mongoose—dove headfirst into her pants, teeth bared, and got caught in the resistant fabric. They acted as the perfect net. She then quickly clasped her feet together, pinning it, and screamed.

  “Looogannn!”

  The thing bucked and squirmed, trying to free itself from the makeshift webbing, biting holes in the crotch of her pants.

  “Logan! Jan! Anyone!”

  Then, she heard them, the faint sound of pounding footsteps coming down the stairs, but when her door was thrown open it was Jan…and he was dressed in only a towel.

  He lunged for the creature with his bare hands, just as it found its way around her improvised trap. Logan arrived a second later as the waterlogged Jan gripped the things neck and squeezed. CJ slid the rest of the way out of her pants and quickly crab walked back, slamming into her bed and watched as the German repeatedly pounded the mongoose’s head into the floor. After the fifth strike, it stopped moving.

  With a final twitch of its tail the Nach was gone, its skull crushed. Jan let go of the now fully dead creature and fell back on the floor into a sitting position, breathing heavily. His eyes were wide with fright and what looked like a massive adrenaline dump. He was wired for combat and would need a moment to come back down off his high.

  “Cass?” Logan asked, stepping in. He helped her underwear-clad form to her feet and held her, kissing the top of her head. She shook and then started crying again. This was the boiling point. She already shed so many tears for her friends, but this was her own life that almost ended. It was the first time she’d ever been in a true life-or-death situation.

  “How the bloody hell did that get in?” Fitz asked from the doorway, Glock in hand. If Jan wasn’t able to kill it, Fitz most definitely would have.

  “Must have followed…the Rhino…in,” Jan said, attempting to stand. Fitz bent down and helped the bigger man to his feet. Thankfully, Jan was strong in both body and mind and was already coming around.

  CJ released herself from Logan’s embrace and dove into Jan’s arms, sobbing some more. Their feelings for each other were officially public and no one—not even Logan—said a word. He just looked up to Jan and nodded his thanks.

  “Captain?” Logan looked out the door and saw Mo, keys in hand. “Everything okay?”

  “It is now,” he said, heading for the door.

  He stopped and turned back to Jan. “Take care of her.”

  Jan stood straighter at the request and at the respect his captain—his boss—his friend—gave him.

  “You know I will,” he replied, nodding his thanks back to Logan. The two men were instantly bonded after what just happened—like brothers. Jan would do anything in his power to keep both the Reeds safe now, not just CJ.

  “Let’s go, Gray.”

  Fitz watched as Logan exited. He’d only seen a look of determination like this on Logan’s face once before. The day he almost killed our commander back home. It was the day he decided to quit the army.

  “Right then,” Fitz said as chipper as ever, turning to Mo. “Shall we go for a ride?”

  42

  Mo eased the Wraith from the rear garage door, watching for anything that tried to make its way in. Jan and Kel were also there keeping watch. They didn’t need a repeat of what just happened in CJ’s room. She was in the showers, calming her nerves, taking a much-needed break. She wasn’t alone, though. She brought a handgun too.

  “Gentlemen, are we ready?” Mo asked his two passengers. Logan and Fitz presented their driver with identical thumbs up, giving Mo the okay to proceed.

  The Wraith was Fitz’s idea and something Mo had a hand in designing. It was, in essence, part ATV and part motorcycle. Mo was straddling the center of the odd-looking vehicle, revving the engine. Logan and Fitz were strapped into dual sidecars, attached to either side.

  The body of the off-roader looked like your typical four-wheeler, except it was missing its rear wheels. Instead, there were two motorcycle sidecars attached. Logan in one, Fitz in the other.

  They, in turn, sat on an extended rear axle, having the third and fourth tires on the outside of each car. Technically, it was still considered a four-wheeler, but its obvious modifications made it look like a scaled down death machine.

  Its name, Wraith, was Fitz’s idea too. Most of the time when naming things out here, they would use words that fit the bill or described things out in the plains, like Kipanga, Bullpen, and Rhino. They all meant something, but Fitz said Wraith just sounded ‘badass.’

  Logan, armed with his trusted SCAR assault rifle, sat in the left-hand sidecar, while Fitz was in the right car, armed with his new best friend, the XM25 grenade launcher. Normally, Logan would think the weapon to be overkill, but as of now, he wished they had another for him. He remembered what the thing did the last time they went for a drive.

  As they neared, Adnan opened the gate from upstairs. The Wraith didn’t have a button like the Rhino did. It just wasn’t a good idea for the driver to take either of his, or her, hands off the steering column’s crossbar to open it. Maybe with just him zipping around, it would be okay, but not with two other people’s survival on the line.

  Mo throttled up on the heavily modified Arctic Cat: Thundercat, throttling its specially designed 1100cc engine. It had plenty of power to cruise around the grounds outside the Bullpen, even with three grown men bouncing around on it. The original 950cc engine block just wasn’t adequate enough for what they needed. So, with Logan’s permission, Mo called in some help. He asked someone he knew from his previous life—someone who was a whiz with engines—come out for a week and put this thing together. They pre-ordered what was needed for the upgrade and eventually, a man named Claude showed up one day.

  “Claude,” Logan asked. “Claude, what?”

  “Just, Claude,” the other man said. “Let’s just say… I have some discrepancies against me that I’d like to keep under the radar.”

  Logan looked at Mo who just nodded, giving the newcomer his blessing. Logan backed off and let the two men work.

  Four days later, the Wraith was all but done. They gave it their customary flat-black paint job, perfect for night recon, and took it for a spin.

  “Can you hear me, Logan?”

  Logan looked left, seeing a grouping of uninfected wildebeest off in the distance and smiled. He was really going to miss the serene view around here if the God Blood spread any further.

&
nbsp; He keyed his earbud, yelling against the wind and roar of the Wraith’s engine noise. “Logan here. Where’s Irwin?”

  “He’s a couple miles northeast of your current position and heading straight for you.”

  “The question is…” Fitz added. “Is he still Irwin?”

  There was silence over their comms. No one could answer that now. They just needed to hope, and in some of their cases pray, that he was fine. It would devastate everyone beyond their current state if they lost the unofficial SDF mascot too.

  “Keep us posted, Adnan,” Logan said. “We’re going in hot.”

  And with that, Mo throttled up even harder, accelerating to an absurd speed for this kind of vehicle.

  The Wraith didn’t have a standard display. Where the instrument panel—including the speedometer—was, was now a GPS system. It was the same software that Kipanga used, being able to track the known territories of the surrounding plains.

  Please, please, please, Logan thought, biting his lip. He pleaded with God—if there was one—that Irwin would be spared. CJ believed in a higher power—not necessarily religion—but something bigger than just us lousy humans. That’s what she called humanity as a whole. We were basically a virus that infected and killed a larger, greater, being—Earth.

  “We are parasites to Mother Earth,” CJ had quipped, beer in hand. She was already two in and being an extreme lightweight, she was half in the bag. “We destroy for the sake of living until the host is dead and we ourselves die.”

  We ourselves die.

  The words resonated in Logan’s mind as Mo skirted around the previous battlefield. They didn’t need to experience that again. There has been enough blood spilled so far tonight, and traipsing through the still drying remnants of the grounds wasn’t going to help anyone’s attitude.

  HRRRN!

  Logan flinched, looking up at the sudden foghorn-like noise. It came from straight ahead, literally shaking his fillings loose. It sounded familiar, but there was no way it could have been that. It was just too damn loud.