Moon Mask

by James Richardson

  His eyes flicked up to Raine. He didn’t know why, but something caught his attention, some shift in the man’s expression as Nebrinski mentioned U.S. Special Forces. His usual mischievous, irritating, take-nothing-seriously demeanour had been replaced by something else. Genuine concern. Even fear.

  “As the closest country equipped to handle a medical emergency of this scale, and with UNESCO interests at heart, the United States will be taking the lead in this operation, under the authority of the United Nations Security Council and the World Health Organisation. Once Sarisariñama is secure, all expedition members will be transferred to a quarantined medical centre in the U.S. for treatment.”

  “What about those of us who are not showing signs of infection?” Raine asked. King’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. The all-American-action-hero wanted to run away. But King suspected it wasn’t the virus he was running from.

  Nebrinski seemed shocked by this question. “Not showing signs of infection?” he repeated. “That’s impossible.”

  Nadia frowned. “Indeed not,” she protested. “The generally accepted method of transmission of Leptospirosis is through the ingestion of animal urine, normally through a contaminated water supply or a break in the skin. In fact, I find it far stranger that this virus could have infected such a large number of people in so short a space of time, than it is for two people to be unaffected.”

  There was a notable pause and King detected the merest hint of a stammer before Nebrinski replied sharply. “As I said, this is a previously undiscovered, new strain of the virus which has been identified by some of the world’s leading experts at John Hopkins-”

  “You’ll have to excuse my staff, Director,” McKinney cut in, shooting the Russian woman a warning glance despite her deteriorating strength. Apparently sucking up to the boss went beyond a life-and-death situation. “It has been a trying few hours.”

  “I don’t doubt,” Nebrinski replied, his voice back to its previous calm. “Just be ready for the medical team’s arrival. They should be with you inside of three hours.”

  King watched Raine’s face for any reaction. There was one, however subtle, but King couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was. Another flash of concern?

  “I think I speak for all of us here,” McKinney finished, “when I say we’re very much looking forward to seeing them-”

  All of a sudden, the Scott’s arm that was supporting her against the desk buckled. She folded forward, like a heavy sack of potatoes, and would have smashed painfully to the ground had Raine and King not both caught her.

  Nadia hurried around from the other side of the desk to examine her. She was unconscious, a dead weight slumped between them. “Quickly!” she barked at the two men. “Get her to the mess tent!”

  Airborne over Venezuela

  The three black and unmarked Harbin Z-9 helicopters roared across the canopy of trees. Their tear-drop shaped fuselages cast shadows across the treetops and gave the illusion of some swarm of giant insects homing in on the kill.

  Indeed, with twin 23 mm cannons and TY-90 air-to-air missiles, each helicopter was more than equipped to handle any violent confrontation. That, however, was not the choppers’ occupants’ primary mission.

  On board each helicopter were ten men kitted up in black NBCs. Often confused with the bright yellow or red hazmat suits worn by civilian services, the ‘Nuclear, Biological and Chemical’ suits were far more frightening. The black rubber totally encased the wearer and, unlike the large, transparent faceplates of their civilian cousins, the NBCs hoods and masks totally covered the head and face. Only the eyes were partially visible, protected by plasti-glass lenses which peered down the long snout of the breathing apparatus.

  As the last of the choppers’ occupants donned their hoods, their leader’s voice came through their communication earpieces, blunt and simple.

  “We are approaching the target. You have your orders.”

  The cabin lights dimmed and were replaced by sultry red beacons which reflected off their black rubber-encased bodies, casting a hellish sheen. Indeed, as they grasped their assault rifles and prepared for the active stage of their mission to begin, they looked like an army unleashed from hell. Demonic.

  The Demons of Sarisariñama had returned.

  Sarisariñama Tepui,

  Venezuela,

  “This is insane!” Raine seethed as Nadia pulled the sheet up to cover Juliet McKinney’s head.

  Despite trying to keep them at bay, a large crowd had gathered around the impromptu examination table that had once been a dining table.

  “We could have saved her if we got her to a hospital,” Raine said angrily. Around him, those well enough to be on their feet circled the professor’s body, caught in various degrees of distress. While the hard-as-nails Scott had not endeared many to her, she was well respected and her loss would be felt both here and across the academic world.

  But it was more than that, Raine knew, as he glanced at the stricken, tearful faces staring at him. Anyone could share McKinney’s fate. At any time.

  “Unlikely,” Nadia replied, shooing the sobbing people away. Her face remained hard and impassive, but Raine could see the strain of the last few hours creeping into her eyes. “I believe it was cardiovascular failure.”

  “A heart-attack?” Sid said. She stood to one side with King’s arm draped around her shoulders. Her face had grown pale and was now marked by teary streaks. Likewise, Nadia’s movements were growing slower and her exposed left arm was reddening.

  “Most likely it was a condition she already had which the virus merely antagonised.”

  Raine picked up on something in the way Nadia said the words. A lack of conviction.

  He glanced at the people who were still milling around, distraught and terrified, then clutched her elbow and led her towards the exit. They ducked through the tent flaps and stood under the canvas awning attached to the exterior. Rain continued to beat down heavily upon it. The view across the mountaintop was obscured by the slanting sheets of the downpour and the sheer edge of the table mountain was swathed in a wreath of mist and cloud. Above, the muted halo of the sun could be vaguely discerned in the sky but the sodden camp remained in perpetual gloom.

  Along with the zombie-like groans of the dying, their vacant expressions, wan complexions and often bloodied clothes, it felt like he had stepped into a horror story.

  Indeed, he supposed he had.

  “You don’t seem convinced,” he accused the Russian as King and Sid stepped into the awning with them.

  Nadia frowned. “I am relatively certain the professor’s death was caused by cardiovascular failure-”

  “But you don’t think it was caused by the virus.” It wasn’t a question. He had seen the doubt in her eyes as Assistant-Director Nebrinski had described the expedition’s affliction.

  She sighed and ran her hands through her dark hair. King and Sid studied her closely.

  “No,” she finally admitted. “Something just doesn’t seem right about it. The symptoms are similar – aching joints, flu-like illness, and severe skin irritation.” She scratched her own arm subconsciously. “The deaths, also, are fairly consistent with the virus. Organ failure-”

  “Then why the scepticism?” King cut her off.

  Nadia glanced at him. “Leptospirosis is generally caused by the introduction of animal urine into the system.”

  “Sounds yummy,” Raine joked.

  “But if that was the case, why are you two not infected?” she glanced at Raine and King. “I presume you are still not experiencing any of the symptoms?”

  “I feel fine,” King replied.

  “What can we say?” Raine said. “Benny and I are just your shining example of manliness. Right, Benny?”

  “I guess,” was King’s only reaction. Raine had noticed the other man’s coldness towards him return following the sobering events of the morning. When Nebrinski had mentioned the deployment of U.S. Special Forc
es he had tried to keep his expression neutral, but he had noticed King’s intense gaze fall on him. He was sharp and focussed. Right now, that could be a problem for him.

  He tried to steer the conversation back on track. “So, if Benny and I have some sort of immunity to this bug, can’t you just replicate it or something?” he asked.

  The Russian arched an eyebrow. “If only everything was as simple as your mind, Mister Raine,” she said scathingly. Several sharp responses bubbled up inside of Raine but he kept silent, watching Nadia’s beautiful features. “The truth is,” she continued, “that while everyone but you two are showing symptoms of the illness, there is no indication of the virus in anyone.”

  Raine saw his own shock and confusion mirrored in King and Sid’s faces. “What?”

  “How’s that possible?” Sid asked.

  “I do not know,” Nadia admitted. “The blood tests I have done are basic, I’ll admit, and I’m sure the professionals at John Hopkins have access to much more sophisticated equipment than we have here.” In truth, the expedition had little more than a glorified first aid kit. “Nevertheless, I find it difficult to believe that I would find no traces of the virus in any of the infected people. Not even the dead ones.”

  “That is because there is no virus!” a new voice descended on the conversation. They all turned to see Raphael del Vega push out from behind the tent flaps where he had been eavesdropping. The wide shouldered Venezuelan militiaman had an ugly boil on his left cheek and his every step, his every word, seemed to deplete his dwindling energy reserves.

  “You should be resting,” Nadia scolded him. After he had helped them bring McKinney to the mess tent, the exertion had severely weakened him.

  He ignored her though. “It is not a virus! It is not an illness!” His wild, bloodshot eyes settled on King. “It is a curse! I told you to return the mask to where you found it! You have awoken the Evil Spirit!”

  “There are no Evil Spirits and there are no curses,” Nadia told him sternly, obviously in no mood to entertain the local superstitions.

  “Yes there are,” Raine said before he even realised what he was saying. He felt everyone’s eyes shift to him. “The Curse of the Moon Mask.” He nodded at King. “You said that when that slave ship reached the New World, all the crew was dead, killed by some unknown disease. They even had boils or blisters or whatever on them.”

  Nadia’s irritation only increased at the mention of the Moon Mask. “You believe that the mask you found yesterday is cursed?” she asked King incredulously.

  Raine could see that this was not the first time King had considered this, but with so much going on he had not had the opportunity to voice his opinion.

  “Not in any mystical way,” he defended himself. “But, what if, I don’t know. . . What if there is some sort of bacteria on the mask which produces these blisters? Or fungus? Or . . . something?”

  “What about radiation?” Sid asked. “Could the mask be radioactive at all?”

  That was something Raine hadn’t considered. It seemed stupid to him now that it hadn’t occurred to him earlier.

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “Vomiting, blistering . . . all the symptoms are just like radiation sickness.”

  “It would explain why Karen got ill before anyone else,” King added. “She was exploring the section of the tunnels nearest to the mask.”

  “But if that’s the case,” Sid frowned, glancing at Raine and King. “Why aren’t you two both affected? You both touched the mask. You should be more ill than anyone-”

  “This is all very interesting conjecture,” Nadia cut in, glancing at the bewildered looking del Vega and back again. “But I have already considered radioactivity. Geiger counter readings were negligible.”

  “But have you scanned the mask itself?” King insisted.

  “I’ve scanned the people who have died, Ben!” Nadia snapped angrily. “I’ve checked the people who are still dying! There is no sign of radiation,” she stated firmly.

  “But there is no sign of the virus, either,” King pointed out.

  “It is the curse,” del Vega interjected.

  Nadia glared at them each in turn, silencing any further discussion. “There are almost two hundred sick and dying people in here,” she pointed back inside the mess tent. “We have no properly qualified physician. I am all these people have, and you want me to neglect them whilst I investigate some ancient curse?” She shook her head, exasperated.

  No one said anything further and for several seconds they all simply stood there, listening to the hammer of the rain on the canvas. Then the Russian turned and headed back into the tent to tend to her patients.

  After a few seconds, del Vega went back inside, followed shortly after by King and Sid. Raine remained outside. He turned to take in the obscured view. The luscious green of the Amazon was totally concealed by the blanket of the storm. Things here were going from bad to worse. With the death of the expedition’s leader, they were only going to deteriorate until their knights in shining armour arrived in their helicopters.

  But the expedition’s saviours were his enemy and they were out there now, hidden in the clouds, closing with every second.

  One thing was certain. He had to get off this mountain top before the soldiers arrived, virus, radiation or curse be damned.

  Checking that the tent flap was closed behind him, he darted out into the storm.

  Airborne over Venezuela

  The black plane battled through the storm, its propellers working hard as it banked lower towards the tree-line. On its radar screen, three blips indicated the positions of the enemy’s helicopters closing fast on the summit.

  The leader of the assault team knew he didn’t have to be concerned about those choppers seeing them. The modified Catalina Flying Boat had been retrofitted with stealth technology, rendering it almost invisible to radar. Nevertheless, he was angry that the enemy had almost beaten them to the target, and even angrier that his attack plan had been disrupted by the storm. Had it not, his team could still have beaten the helicopters to the camp, parachuted in as planned, secured the target and evacuated before the choppers got there.

  Now, however, they had needed to go to Plan B.

  “I have the river in sight,” the pilot called through his communications unit.

  “Okay, take us down. Get us as close to the north face as you can.”

  He felt the plane drop from under him as the pilot dived through the storm towards the snaking line of the river which circled the island in the jungle.

  With the summit’s heavy vegetation, there was nowhere to touch down and parachuting through the storm would be too dangerous. Now they had to land on the river and scale the north face of the mountain and hope they made it to the target before the enemy.

  “Sir,” the co-pilot called. “I’ve just picked up another helicopter on radar, closing from the north.”

  The leader had expected this and he felt the exhilaration of the chase begin. While his team had beaten his two competitors to the mountain, he had been hindered by the storm.

  As the Flying Boat’s hull touched down upon the river and the pilot shut down the engines, the leader knew that the race was now truly on to be the first to unravel the secret of Sarisariñama.

  Sarisariñama Tepui,

  Venezuela,

  Nathan Raine took one last look back through the mist-shrouded trees at the outline of the expedition camp. A surge of guilt swelled up through him but he forced it back down. They would be fine. The medical teams were less than an hour away now. Besides, he wasn’t a doctor. There was nothing more he could do.

  Nevertheless, he had trained for years to never leave a fallen man behind. Tucking tail and running now felt wrong.

  He slipped on his head-set and reached up for the Huey’s overhead controls. His control board lit up, the chopper’s wipers swished across the windshield, pushing aside the water to reveal a sodden form staring at him from o
ut in the rain.

  A gun was levelled at him through the glass.

  “Don’t!” Benjamin King warned, raising his voice to be heard over the pounding of raindrops.

  Raine felt a laugh escape him. He should have known that King would have been watching out for him. The archaeologist was more paranoid than he was! For whatever reason he didn’t trust Raine and, caught red handed, he couldn’t really blame him.

  “Hey Benny,” he called out a casual greeting. “Need a lift?”

  King ignored him and yelled back. “You heard what Nebrinski said! If this disease gets outs into a wider population, the effects could be-”

  “Believe it or not, Benny,” Raine cut him off, “I wasn’t really just going to fly back to Caracas and infect the entire city’s population.”

  “I suppose you were just, what . . . dusting, then?” King indicated with the gun the overhead controls. The movement afforded Raine a better glance of the weapon and he realised it was actually a flare gun.

  “You gonna shoot me, Benny?”

  “If I have to!” King’s voice was firm but Raine could see the lack of conviction in his eyes. The rain hammered down on the archaeologist, running down his dark skin and he had to keep wiping his eyes clear.

  Raine sighed. “Look,” he said as he removed his headset and rubbed the bridge of his nose. The effects of the previous night’s whisky session and the hellish day since had swelled into a killer headache. “I’m not an idiot, or a selfish murderer for that matter. I’m not going anywhere near civilisation. I’ve got enough fuel to get me to a safe house I know in the jungle. There’s food and water enough to survive on for two weeks and it’s over a hundred miles to the nearest settlement. I’ll hole up for a fortnight, make sure I don’t get any of the symptoms before-”

  “What are you running from?”

  The question seemed to come right out of the blue, despite it being an obvious one to ask. “Who says I’m running from anything?”