Paradeisia: The Complete Trilogy: Origin of Paradise, Violation of Paradise, Fall of Paradise

by B. C. CHASE

  Bridges said, “What do you mean?”

  “I had ordered a shipment of this exact model to place in the habitats at Out of Africa up top. But I never received them, so I had to reorder. Oddly enough, the shipper was adamant that they had arrived.”

  “When did that happen?” Bridges asked.

  “I ordered the original shipment not too long after Andrews first disappeared.” Adriaan turned around to Doctor Kaufmann, who was standing distant from the group. In a charged tone, Adriaan said, “All right, Kaufmann, we've all had enough of your secrecy. Tell us exactly what happened after Andrews disappeared. I know you placed these cameras and I know they were destroyed, but what made you never return until now; now when you knew you'd have artillery watching your back?”

  Doctor Kaufmann tugged his collar nervously, “I told you guys, I've never walked beyond ground zero. I know nothing about this camera.”

  Bridges said, “Ground zero being where, exactly?”

  “The place where Andrews was last seen—the landing site.”

  Bridges sounded infuriated, but his face was only as severe as usual as he growled, “Look, you're giving me very little reason to believe what you're telling me is true.” Bridges raised his M16 toward Doctor Kaufmann, “And I'm losing patience.”

  Adriaan said, “Take off your boots, Kaufmann.”

  “Why?” Doctor Kaufmann looked anxiously from one angry face to the other.

  “Just do it, mate, before Tony loses all his patience,” Adriaan tipped his head toward the M16. Bridges nodded in support, and Doctor Kaufmann began to comply, slowly untying the laces. While he was doing so, Adriaan inquired, “Are you an avid hiker, Kaufmann?”

  “No.”

  “No? Because those are very expensive boots for somebody who doesn't enjoy a frequent romp in the wild.”

  “I've never worn them before.” Doctor Kaufmann steadied himself on a giant tree trunk as he kicked one off. “They are brand new.”

  When he was about to slip out of the other, Adriaan stopped him, “One will do.” Picking up the footgear, Adriaan examined the sole. He then took slow steps around the area, canvassing the ground. “Never wore them before, eh?” he said. “Then I suppose they strolled down here all by themselves? Take a look at that!” he slammed the boot down to form a perfect print in the dirt. As he pulled it away, it was clear that there were two identical prints. “There are footsteps all over this area, and not just yours. You had three other people with you, am I right?”

  Doctor Kaufmann studied the faces around him like a trapped animal. Finally, he said, “Yes. There were four of us. We placed the cameras.”

  “So what really happened?” Bridges said. “We need the truth and we need it now.”

  Bolivar, Venezuela

  Doctor Kamil reached for Bertrand’s rifle, but the crazed Yanomamo man spotted her movement and released his arrow. It impaled Doctor Kamil at the neck, sending her sprawling backwards. In an instant, he released a second arrow directly into her abdomen. As she braced herself with one hand and gripped the arrow in her neck with the other, the man lunged toward her and yanked the arrow out of her belly.

  “FATIMA!” Layla screamed. This drew the man’s attention away from Doctor Kamil and he knocked the dripping arrow and took steady steps toward Layla and the girl. Screaming in a rage, he released, the projectile plunging deep into the girl’s stomach. He lunged toward her and retrieved the instrument, raising it as if to gore her with it.

  The recoil of the rifle jolted Doctor Kamil flat to the dirt as the loud shot rang out. The man staggered backwards, a small red opening visible on his chest. He looked down at the wound, touched it, gasping for breath, then stared with disbelieving horror at Doctor Kamil and the rifle. He toppled to the dirt, still clutching his chest. The other village men had arrived and surrounded him as he gulped for air, wheezing loudly. Layla rested the girl’s head on the ground and seized the rifle.

  Blood had begun to soak Doctor Kamil’s garment where she lay on her side and was pooling on the dirt under her neck where the arrow was still impaled.

  The man had stopped breathing and was motionless. His companions now turned to gaze at Layla. Their eyes reflected the firelight in the darkness, wide with bloodlust. She pulled the trigger to fire a warning shot, but nothing happened. Examining the rifle, she realized she had no idea how to use it. It needed to be loaded, she knew, but how that was accomplished was a total mystery.

  She crawled up next to Doctor Kamil, pointing the gun at the men. One moved forward, but she jerked the gun at him, shouting, and he backed away. Her breaths were labored. Her eyes stared pathetically up at Layla, who said, “I need to get the arrow out.”

  Doctor Kamil raised her hand in disapproval. She managed to sputter, “Go,” blood erupting from her mouth.

  Suddenly there was a shout at the edge of the clearing. It was Doctor Katz. He, along with the rest of the hunting party, had just emerged from the trees running at full speed. When he arrived, he knelt by Doctor Kamil. Bertrand glanced disapprovingly at the fallen Yanomamo man and pulled the rife from Layla. “Come, we have to go,” Bertrand said nervously.

  “Not without Fatima!” Layla said, grasping the arrow in Doctor Kamil’s neck to pull it out. She looked questioningly at Doctor Katz. “Should I?”

  The men from the hunting party were listening intently, staring in disbelief at the scene, as their companions animatedly communicated to them.

  “C’mon! We must leave or they will kill us!” Bertrand shouted.

  Doctor Katz put a staying hand on Layla’s, “Don’t. You could cause more bleeding,” Doctor Katz said, eyeing the rapidly growing pool of blood.

  “She’s as good as dead anyway!” Bertrand yelled. “I’m leaving with or without you!”

  The Yanomamo men were all staring with hostility at their guests. Several who were not armed rushed for their weapons.

  One of the men stepped forward and took hold of Doctor Kamil’s leg. At first he was hesitant, but then he started to drag her back.

  “Bertrand shoot!” Layla cried.

  “Stay and die, you fools!” Bertrand said, turning to flee.

  Another man grabbed Doctor Kamil’s other leg and the lugged her backwards, her mouth opening in an appalling, bloody moan.

  “Layla!” Doctor Katz took Layla’s hand and pulled her toward the forest. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she ran with him, looking back to see Doctor Kamil at the center of the men as they jumped around her, arrows in hand, and mutilating her body with repeated gouges, her arms stirring in futile attempts to defend herself. One man looked up at her from the bloodbath and nocked his arrow. Her legs suddenly gained newfound strength seemingly on their own and they made it into the woods.

  The tropical jungle was alive with the sounds of frogs and insects as they crashed through it. “If we can make it to the canoe, we’ll be safe!” Bertrand said.

  As they kept running, Layla was relieved for the coolness of the night. What concerned her was the lack of visibility in the darkness. She suddenly tripped and fell. She looked to what had caused her to stumble and saw the bloody fetus.

  It moved. It wasn’t dead yet. There was no way it could possibly survive for long, however.

  She turned away, unable to keep looking at its little form. She tried to stand, but a searing, unbelievable pain radiated from her calf. With an involuntary moan, she gripped her calf. It was moist. She was bleeding. Doctor Katz rushed to her aid. “Bertrand, she’s shot!” called, but the other man was tearing through the forest far ahead, heedless of them. Doctor Katz groaned in frustration, then looked more closely at her leg. He pointed out a hole in her jeans on the back of her calf. Sticking fingers from each hand into the hole, he ripped her jeans open, revealing a bloody wound. He closely examined the injury in the moonlight. “It doesn’t look too deep,” he said. “You’ll be fine.” He rapidly slipped out of a shoe, pulled his sock off, put his foot back in the shoe, and wrapped her thigh tightly, though
not so tight as to be a tourniquet. He looked around on the ground, finding a broken branch, and handed it to her, “Use this as a crutch.” Helping her up, he said, “Go easy on it. Allow it to clot.”

  He helped her as well as he could, but it was much too slow and awkward. She said, “You go get help. Leave me here.”

  He shot her a warning glance. “Layla, that isn’t happening.”

  She said, “I don’t think they’re following us.”

  “Maybe not yet, but they’ll come.”

  He suddenly stopped, “Have you any idea the way to the canoe? I have no idea where we are.”

  She searched the foliage. Everything looked the same in the jungle. Then she said, “Listen. A waterfall. Wouldn’t it be near the shorter waterfall?”

  “Yes, and that one was loud. That must be it.” He smiled, “Smart.”

  It took them what seemed like hours, but they finally made it to the top of the waterfall. They couldn’t see the place where they had beached the canoe from there, so they proceeded down to the bottom. When they emerged from the woods onto the sandy shore, Doctor Katz groaned in disappointment, “Unbelievable. He took the canoe.”

  “I never trusted him.”

  Doctor Katz grinned, “You never trust anyone.” He knelt down to examine her wound for the hundredth time. “At least the bleeding stopped.”

  She was silent, staring into space. She was trembling.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  She felt a knot in her throat as she tried to speak. Swallowing it away, she said, “Fatima.”

  He spoke in a detached tone, “I know.”

  She was taken aback by his lack of emotion, “How can you be like that?”

  He stood, defensively asserted, “Like what?”

  “So stoic. Like you didn’t even see it.”

  “I’m worried about our survival.”

  “Our survival? But what about her survival. We just left her! It was horrifying what they were doing to her.”

  “Yes.”

  “We shouldn’t have left her.”

  “Layla, there was no other option. The rifle was out of ammunition, and Bertrand wouldn’t use it anyway because of his ideas about contaminating the indigenous. At least not for our sakes. We had nothing to fight with.”

  “But we could have tried! She deserved our help!”

  “There’s nothing we could have done.”

  “There’s nothing we can do for ourselves!” She pointed into the wilderness across the river as words from an overwhelming sense of panic spilled out like water off a precipice, “The nearest town is over 100 miles away and those men will come after us—I know they will! And when they find us do you have any idea what they will do to me! You’ve seen how they treat their women!”

  He held her arms firmly and looked directly into her eyes, “Listen, Layla, I will protect you. We will get out of here alive.”

  She shook her head, her lip trembling.

  He drew her into a close embrace, cradling her head under his chin.

  She said, “I don’t thi—”

  “Shh!” he silenced her, listening closely. Without warning, he threw her down under himself just as a nearby shot cracked the air. In an instant, he was back up, hauling her toward the vegetation lining the beach. The sound of a rifle being loaded could easily be heard from the opposite side, close to the water. Looking closely as she scurried, she caught the glint of the black barrel as it was lowered, aiming at them. They crashed into the brush just as a bullet splintered a hole in a trunk directly over their shoulders.

  “Bertrand!” Doctor Katz whispered, leading her up to higher ground. He stopped, put a finger to his lips. Then he pointed to her and motioned deep into the forest, away from the waterfall. Pointing to himself, he pretended to tackle an imaginary Bertrand. He wanted her to be bait so he could catch Bertrand from behind. She nodded in agreement, started off into the woods. She couldn’t go very fast because of her leg and the makeshift crutch, but at least it aided in making as much noise as possible. She heard someone else crashing through the foliage behind.

  Bertrand. The killer.

  She wondered if this had been his plan all along. To take Doctor Katz’s money and make sure they never returned to civilization yet claim to the world he had not contaminated the uncontacted tribe. And in doing so assure that the revelation of the despicable deeds he had allegedly done as a priest would never see the light of day. He had probably moved the canoe when David had made the accusations and he had run off. He had left them in the forest with her wounded leg to retrieve ammunition from the canoe where he had hidden it. Then he waited for them to arrive at the beach, looking for it.

  The sounds of his pursuit were getting closer. He was gaining on her. Where was David? Why hadn’t he attacked him already?

  Suddenly the sounds behind her ceased. Silence, except for the roar of the waterfall. She slowed, then stopped to listen, ducking low to the ground below the undergrowth.

  Nothing.

  No sounds of a struggle, so David hadn’t caught him. Bertrand must have realized his mistake.

  He is waiting for David. Listening for him.

  Knowing that Bertrand already knew her location, she thought it safe to try to move as silently as possible. Fortunately, the ground was wet from the falls’ vapor, so she was able to creep low to the ground silently as long as she made no sudden movements. She wanted to see if she could spot Bertrand. Maybe she would have to be the one to attack him. That thought made her nervous. He was old, but his impressive physique had exhibited formidable strength. Alone, she probably couldn’t master him. Of course, once she attacked, David was sure to join in the fight. Where was David? Why hadn’t he attacked?

  A shot exploded from nearby, followed by a crash in the forest.

  Bertrand had shot David, she thought. I’m alone with a murderer.

  paradeisia

  fall

  OF

  PARADISE

  FALL OF PARADISE

  PART THREE OF PARADEISIA BY B.C.CHASE

  THE COMPLETE PARADEISIA TRILOGY:

  ORIGIN OF PARADISE (PART ONE)

  VIOLATION OF PARADISE (PART TWO)

  FALL OF PARADISE (PART THREE)

  B.C.CHASE is the internationally bestselling author of Paradeisia: Origin of Paradise, Paradeisia: Violation of Paradise, and Paradeisia: Fall of Paradise. His titles have consistently reached the number one slots of science fiction, thriller, and medical bestseller lists. His mastery of combining hard science with edge-of-your-seat suspense has earned him a reputation as a writer of authority.

  Copyright © 2016 B.C.CHASE

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Corporations, characters, organizations, or other entities in this novel are the product of the author's imagination, or, if real, are used fictitiously without any intent to describe their actual conduct.

  In Memoriam

  J.M.C.

  CHARACTER LIST AND EXTENSIVE AUTHOR’S

  NOTES ENCLOSED AT END.

  The Charlie Rose Show

  Season 9, Episode 14

  September 22nd, 1995

  Featuring Michael Crichton, author of Jurassic Park

  Charlie Rose: “Have you thought about the notion of Bosnia and the kind of brutality that takes place, still. You know, there’s Rwanda. I mean it’s just extraordinary to me to hear stories of a soldier bringing a family together and in front of the children raping the mother, slitting the throat of the father. I mean just, for us, a concept of, you know it’s a thing about the mind that’s another level than you can conceive of.”

  Michael Crichton: “You know I think we live in a rarified world. I think that’s the world. That’s the world. One third of the population of Cambodia killed: two million people out of six. For what, for what? Mass graves for little childr
en. It seems to be—I mean there’s been a lot of that in this century. And I think at some point it gets harder and harder to say well that’s this special case or that’s that special case or that’s because of Stalin or because of Hitler. It keeps happening.”

  Charlie Rose: “It…”

  Michael Crichton: “It’s us.”

  Preseption Logic Corporation

  Keelung, Taiwan

  Gary paused where he stood half-stride, breathing. He had suspected it wasn't going to be as easy as walking out the door with Jeffery in his arms, but now he was terrified from the woman's warning. He turned slowly to ask, “What do you mean, 'he will die?'”

  She sighed, looking down at her feet, “I tried to tell you, he is a Preseption. His biology has been dramatically altered. He is not the son you once had. His neural structure is developing at ten times the normal rate for a human. Within a year, he will have the mental capacity of a twelve-year-old. They have planted vectors within his neurons. His cognition is transferred to the others as they mature. What he knows, they know. What he learns, they learn.”

  “Who are 'they?'”

  “The young, in the nursery. The next generation.”

  “The next generation?”

  She nodded.

  “The next generation of what?”

  “Only God knows,” she replied.

  “So you're telling me that my son will not survive outside this building?”

  “Not for long. Because his genetic makeup has been altered to artificially increase his metabolic rate, he must be supplied with a cocktail of specific hormones. And the vectors in his brain could cause hemorrhaging if not monitored. He cannot leave.”

  “Who can fix him?”

  She raised her eyebrows in surprised, “He is not broken: he is enhanced.”

  “If he can't go home with his father, he's broken.”