The Club of the Bombastic Few

by K McConnell

  We won't need the sun,

  We won't see the moon,

  Don't need a gun,

  We die soon."

  Beau released him and slowly looked over at Brad who shook his head and walked away.

  It took Albert an hour to admit that he had no idea why neither one of the jeeps would start. Frustration ran through the crew. While everyone else began unloading the equipment Brad went on ahead up the trail a short distance to scout out the terrain.

  A loud crack from behind startled Brad, but before he could turn around something struck him driving him to the ground in an instant. An ancient rotting tree was pinning him face down. One arm was pinned under him, the other was only partially free. He could only manage a half-hearted yell, but it was good enough to bring the rest of the crew running.

  "Shit." Beau straddled the tree on one side of Brad. "Grab down there." He nodded his head for Punk. Albert knelt to help pull Brad out. The tree was moldy-moist and heavy. They heaved once, then a second time. It was quickly apparent they were not going to move the tree.

  "Brad?" Albert leaned closer.

  "I'm alright. Nothing feels broken. Just get this off?what's that?"

  "Try again. I'll pull from here." Albert said.

  Beau and Punk exchanged skeptical glances, but reached around the trunk for another go at it. Suddenly Punk jumped up off the trunk.

  "Ah! What the?" He was wildly brushing at his arms.

  "What's wrong with?ahh!" Beau leaped off the tree flailing his arms and beating at his pants.

  "What?" Albert looked back and forth at them.

  "Ahhhh. Get 'em off!" Brad screamed hoarsely.

  "Soldier ants!" Punk was still beating them off. There were millions of them now pouring out of the tree.

  "Ahh!" Albert rolled backwards as they swarmed over his legs.

  "Get 'em off! Get 'em off!" Brad's voice continued on until it became unintelligible. The ants were covering his head and back.

  They kicked at the tree, grabbed hold of branches as close to Brad's position as possible and pulled, but nothing would budge the tree. Twice they tried to jump in close and pull Brad, but the ants were on them in seconds and they stumbled away beating ants off and cursing madly. Brad screamed for about a quarter of the hour it took the ants to clean him to the bone. The others were forced to sit a dozen yards away and listen, staring blankly at one another.

  Albert made the mistake of momentarily focusing on the corpse. It made him jump up and stagger some yards further away and vomit. He was crouching near a small pool and when he was finished he splashed some water on his face. He washed the taste of vomit out of his mouth and even though the water was nasty tasting it was still better than acid taste.

  They returned to the jeeps, carefully avoiding the place where Brad's bones lay. Their heads were hung and there was sick feeling hanging in the air.

  "Let's go." Albert picked up a couple bags unloaded from the jeeps. No one wanted to hang around here and Albert was embarrassed about getting sick.

  Beau hesitated for a moment. He glanced in the direction of Brad's body and seemed to want to say something, but nothing came. Punk blindly grabbed a bag and trudged after Albert as if he were sleepwalking. Teu Geola had run off again and they would have to find their way through the jungle without a guide.

  Beau slowly nodded his head. Albert was right. There was nothing left to do. There were only three surviving members of the Club of the Bombastic Few.

  ***

  "Bah!" Albert kicked a tree.

  "What's wrong?" Beau spoke almost without emotion.

  "I know I've seen this tree at least twice now."

  Beau stared at it. "I don't know about that tree, but those vines," he waved off to his left, "seem pretty familiar."

  Punk stared at both, but said nothing. He didn't seem to recognize anything---trees, vines, people, anything.

  With a scream Teu Geola broke through the brush. He ran full speed past them blindly and into the dense jungle beyond them disappearing. For a moment no one moved. Beau and Albert exchanged surprised expressions. Then Beau took off after Teu Geola. Albert followed his lead. Punk straggled behind at a trot.

  Beau had only gone a short distance when he heard Punk's voice call out to him. He stopped hesitated for a moment then turned and crashed back through the vegetation almost stumbling over Albert and into Punk. Albert lay crumpled on the ground rolling in pain.

  "What happened?" Beau knelt at Albert's side, but looked up at Punk.

  "I don't know. He just?" Punk shrugged.

  "Albert, what's wrong?" Beau yelled into Albert's contorted face.

  "My?guts?" Albert convulsed, gasped and a trickle of blood ran down from the side of his mouth.

  "What the??" Beau looked up again at Punk who insisted on shrugging again.

  With a gargled yelp Albert spit a trace of blood. He rolled on to his back. His eyes were open, his mouth was open, but he was no longer breathing.

  "I don't understand this. Any of it. It doesn't make any sense." Beau shook his head slowly and stared at Albert.

  "No." Punk slumped down with his back to a tree. "It does."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "We asked for this."

  "What do you mean?"

  Punk looked as if he would cry. "We didn't believe anything could stop us." He shook his head. "But we're easy to kill. It's proving it."

  "What's 'proving' it?"

  Punk lifted his arms up and indicated everything around them.

  "I don't understand what you're talking about. You're just being ridiculous."

  Punk stared down at Albert's body. "Doesn't seem that ridiculous at the moment." Flies were starting to buzz around.

  "Shut up." Beau stood up and walked several paces away. Teu Geola had run off again. He couldn't even be heard crashing or screaming through the brush. They couldn't bury Albert's body since they were traveling light and had nothing with which to dig.

  Beau picked up a pack. "Help me with these."

  "We won't need them."

  Beau shot an angry glance over at Punk. "Fine." He threw the pack down. "Which way then?"

  "It doesn't matter."

  Beau started to say something, but, instead, turned and headed off into the jungle in a random direction. Slowly Punk got to his feet and followed. And then there were two. Raggedly they marched on through the jungle as the surviving members of the Club of the Bombastic Few.

  ***

  They knew they were now headed in the right direction because the terrain grew a bit more rugged. Hills and swamps began to appear and they recognized this as the lands just south of the Benue and Garoua. Without Teu Geola they couldn't be certain how far east or west of Garoua they might be. At least, though they knew Garoua was out this way somewhere.

  They reached the bottom of one hill through prickly thickets that ripped and pulled at them.

  "These thorns are tearing me up." Beau said as he yanked his arm past another one opening up yet more small wounds.

  Punk said nothing. He was like a walking zombie now.

  "Punk, you just can't quit. That's not an option." Beau stopped to look back at Punk, but nothing had changed. "Well I'm not going to just give up and die." Beau surged up the next hill. His anger temporarily numbing him to the abuse the surrounding vegetation hurled at him.

  Punk trudged on. His resignation was unabated.

  Beau reached the top of the hill and cursed. Punk joined him there and the two of them stared down the nearly sheer embankment at the swamp below. The water was clear and shallow, but the mud beneath was visibly thick and soft.

  With a sigh Beau turned to the east and began following along the ridge seeking a way around. They had gone only a short distance when Beau held up a hand.

  "I thought I heard something." He whispered.

  They stood silently for a moment. Then it came. From down the hill, opposite from the swamp, there was a crashing of brush and a babbling voice. T
hough the jungle still obscured their view both Beau and Punk knew who and what it was. Beau for the first time since their trek started was pleased at the sound of Teu Geola's mad ravings.

  Even Punk was moved sufficiently to attempt to catch sight of their guide. He leaned to his left and in an instant he disappeared.

  Beau had to stare at the spot where Punk had been for a moment before the realization set in that Punk wasn't there. There was a minor splash of water somewhere. He hustled back to where Punk had been just a moment before. Obscured by the brush the edge of the embankment was right there. Beau caught himself before he too plummeted down the embankment. Below Punk's lower legs stuck out of the mud and stiffly kicked. Beau quickly looked around for a way to get down to where Punk's ankles were quietly sliding beneath the still water. A minute more and there was just a swirl of muddy stagnant water to mark Punk's passing. It struck Beau suddenly that Punk had not made a sound when he slipped. He just went.

  Beau realized Teu Geola was squatting next him also staring down at the splash of brown on the water's surface. Beau and Teu Geola exchanged looks. Beau's a resignation to his pain. Teu Geola's amused confusion.

  With a ragged hop Teu Geola was over the back of Beau and scampering further along the ridge. Beau scrambled after him. He really needed Teu Geola now. The swamp was blocking his way. Of the path back to civilization, he did not have a clue. He was the last remaining member of the Club of the Bombastic Few.

  ***

  Despite insanity Teu Geola proved once again that he knew the terrain. They were now moving along a recognizable trail. In addition, the surroundings were beginning to become familiar to Beau. He was certain they couldn't be more than a couple of miles from Garoua.

  Teu Geola was several paces in front of Beau when he came to a stop. He stared straight ahead, motionless.

  Beau came up next to him. "What's the problem?"

  Teu Geola shook his head. He babbled for a moment in some obscure language and pointed ahead.

  "In English. What is it?"

  Teu Geola pointed again. "The end."

  Beau stared ahead trying to see through the vegetation. "Garoua?"

  Teu Geola said nothing.

  Beau was anxious to get to some kind of civilization. The jungle had claimed all of his comrades. His only desire now was to put the jungle behind him. Even if it meant having to face the Gimbabu again. He looked down at Teu Geola again, but he remained motionless. Sometimes it was impossible to tell if Teu Geola actually sensed something or if he was just giving in once again to some insane impulse.

  "Well, I'm not going to just stand here all day. I'm going on to Garoua. Come if you want." Beau went on ahead. A few short steps ahead the ground disappeared beneath him. Before he knew what was happening he landed hard. As the moment of surprise passed he heard Teu Geola standing at the edge of the pit laughing insanely.

  He was wedged between loosely placed sharpened stakes that stood upright around the floor of the pit. An animal trap of some kind. He had been lucky enough to land sideways in between several stakes, though somehow, he didn't feel all that lucky.

  Teu Geola circled the pit and stood on the far side. He stared down at Beau for a moment longer then, cackling, took off somewhere on down the trail.

  "You?" Beau thought of numerous things to call Teu Geola, instead he tried to throw one of the dislodged stakes up at Teu Geola, but it was a futile gesture. Besides that his ribs hurt. He rolled over on to his back knocking over more stakes with every movement. He lay there for some time realizing that the air was stagnant and stifling. Consciousness slipped away from him.

  When Beau awoke he had no idea how much time had passed. He was covered by a layer of sweat and there was a faint strange clattering sound. He had heard this before, but he wasn't quite sure when or where. It grew slightly louder and it came to him. He had seen natives beating sticks together to drive animals out of the brush. It was this sound he heard.

  Suddenly there was another sound. A crashing of brush, wild scratching sounds, then a flurry of dirt and debris falling down into the hole. Beau rolled to his right to avoid the avalanche---plowing over more stakes. There was thump behind him and he rolled around to get a view. The spot where he had been laying was now occupied by a very disgruntled black leopard.

  Beau and the leopard exchanged unfriendly looks.

  "Uh-oh."

  The leopard had nothing to say, he just charged.

  K McConnell

  ###

  Other books by this author:

  To Not Be In Hamlet, Book 1 in the Hamlet Mystery series

  The Art of Hamlet, Book 2 in the Hamlet Mystery series

  A Conspiracy in Blood, a thriller hunting for a madman

  Symbiotic Puppets, Who are we really? Some Scifi fun...

  The Plague, Is our true identity buried on Mars?

  Please visit www.HamletMysteries.com for information about this author, more other stories from this author, including the Hamlet Mystery series and free fiction to download...