Aethon Arises (Endless Fire Book 2)

by R E Kearney

  “Actually a very simple story. We told security that we were leaving Maelo’s when we heard them arguing…possibly about the plate of food splattered on the man’s face. So, we went into the woods to see what was happening. They fought. Each injured the other. Then, during the fight, the tall man accidently shot the paper wasp nest leaf off the tree onto themselves. All very plausible. Don’t you think?” Robert asks with a mischievous grin.

  “Did they believe you?” Zhou is barely listening to Robert as she concentrates on exchanging test containers.

  Robert glances down at his blood flowing into Zhou’s test container. He wonders if there is actually an Aethon cure hiding in his corpuscles. A cure worth killing and dying for, like the two men they left behind. “Well, nobody in the security detail wanted to venture too close to the swarming wasps to investigate the scene, so they were willing to agree with our explanation. Also, the head of the security detail is one of Rita’s cousins, so he accepted her story with minimal questions. Later, Rita and he talked for several minutes beyond my hearing, so I expect she may have told him the true details. When they finished their private conversation, he made it a point to return and tell me that he has seen stranger things happen. I guess to reassure me. After waiting more than an hour, two robot hospital drones arrived and airlifted the men out of the trees.”

  Robert shakes his head. “Both of those men appeared to be barely alive, when the drones hauled them away.”

  Zhou hesitates. Scowls at Robert and then slaps him. “How can you be so flippant about this? They were planning to kill us. I vomited three times in the glider before I arrived here. I’ve taken four tranquilizers, just to stop my hands from shaking, so I can work. Unlike you, I don’t think being threatened with death is humorous.”

  Zhou slaps Robert’s face again. Her hands tremble. She struggles to continue collecting his blood.

  With his free left hand, Robert strokes his sore, reddened cheek. “Sorry, but you don’t understand. If I dwell on these attacks, I’m no help to anyone. Right now, I’m more concerned with saving the dying than I am with actually dying. I don’t consider myself fearless, Zhou, but their attacks…these attempts by these amateur assassins to stop us…well, they’re telling me just how important our effort is. We’re not just fighting Aethon. We’re fighting the greed that would murder millions of innocents for money. At this moment, I refuse to fear my own death when so many others are dying. You can say, I’m following the old Chinese proverb that I’m certain you know. ‘When people are no longer afraid of death, there is no use threatening them with it.’ I’m no hero. I’m just outraged. I made a promise to Shengwu and I’m planning to fulfill it.”

  Relief slips into Zhou’s face. Her hands calm. Robert’s anger gives her strength. “Thank you, Robert. Thank you. I’m still afraid, but with your help, I shall proceed. We shall succeed.”

  “Sorry, but, enough is enough. I’m tired. I’m dirty. I’m sore. I smell so bad that I don’t like being this close to myself. Perhaps, I’m out of my mind, too. I just…” Robert is startled when the lab door opens.

  Shengwu enters the lab delivering Peter’s blood samples. Robert watches Zhou remove her final blood sample from his arm. While she is labelling Robert’s blood container, she directs Shengwu. “Set Peter’s samples next to my Manchineel sap and Robert’s blood, so I can compare effects on them.”

  “How is Peter?” Robert reaches toward Shengwu, attempting to console her.

  Shengwu drops her head. Her tears pitter patter upon the table. Her voice trembles. “He is very, very weak, Robert. Where have you been? What took you so long?”

  “Didn’t Zhou tell you? We were attacked…twice.”

  “Three times!” Zhou snaps.

  “Sorry, three times. Once on the passageway by two air-cyclists and twice by Americans. The Americans…”

  “Americans! I’ve had enough of them. All day today…whining and complaining…demanding and fighting.” Fuming, Shengwu straightens, grabs Robert’s hand and pulls him toward the door. “Come along. I must return to Peter.”

  Entering the room, Robert gasps. Peter’s skeleton lay on top the bed. Aethon emaciated. His yellowed skin stretched so thin, Robert sees Peter’s laboring heart beating through it.

  Scanning the bank of monitors, Robert immediately notices that Peter’s functional magnetic resonance imaging is indicating no brain activity. His blood pressure is critically low at fifty over thirty-three and his heart rate is registering a feeble thirty-seven beats per minute. Peter is a mechanically supported human husk.

  “I’m going to rub some of this on his chest.” Shengwu pulls a stolen bag of Zhou’s Manchineel sap from her lab coat and opens it. “It killed your Aethon. It will kill Peter’s. I know it will.”

  Robert grabs Shengwu’s hands. “No! No! You don’t know what you’re doing.”

  Shengwu struggles to wrestle free. The sap bag slips from her hands dropping to the floor. Smack! Manchineel sap spews from the bag splattering across the tiles. Startled, Robert jumps backward. She is free.

  “No!” Shengwu plunges to her knees. With her right hand, she scoops Manchineel sap into the palm of her left hand. Instantly, burning blisters bubble and boil Shengwu’s skin.

  “Stop! Don’t touch it!” Too late, Robert lunges forward, slamming his hands against Shengwu’s shoulders, hurling her away from the Manchineel pools.

  Sliding in the sap, Robert crashes against the bed. Blood spurts from a gash on his forehead. He slumps onto the floor.

  In a bleary daze, he watches Shengwu crawl on her elbows and knees through the Manchineel pool to Peter’s bed. Kneeling, she stretches her Manchineel wet fingers as far as she can reach. Onto the boy’s chest, she wipes a small circle of sap.

  “I love you Peter. I love you.” Shengwu sobs. She clasps her fiery red, blistered hands and collapses upon the floor. Excruciating pain knocks her into unconscious shock.

  “What have you done?!” Zhou demands, storming into the room. Instinctively, she slams her hand against the emergency alarm.

  “Help Shengwu!” Robert yells. “Her hands are covered in Manchineel. She is in shock. It will kill her, if you don’t get it off.”

  “What about you? You’re bleeding. Your face is covered with blood.” Zhou asks while she hurries to Shengwu.

  “I’ll survive. She may not.” Robert pulls himself into a standing position.

  Swiping some blood away from his eyes, Robert focuses on Peter. Scorching the middle of his chest is a pool of puss and sap. His mouth is gaping open in a silent scream of agony. He bucks. He jerks. He gasps. He falls silent. The flat line hums of his attending machines mourn his death.

  “Take her to emergency.” Zhou orders the emergency nurse-bots. “She has Manchineel burns on her hands and Manchineel poison in her blood. We have to hurry.”

  As Zhou starts to exit, she turns to Robert. “What about Peter?”

  “He is dead.” Robert chokes. Tears fill his eyes. “I fear her Manchineel finished him. But, don’t tell her that. Don’t ever tell her that. Promise!”

  “I promise.” Zhou disappears through the door.

  MEDICINE CRAZE

  Zap! Flinching, the young girl jerks. Zap! Eyes tightly closed, the girl’s mother shudders. Zap! A teenage boy yelps. Zap! At the speed of sound, magnetic jet injectors shoot nanobot micromotors containing Manchineel vaccine through the arm skin of an anxious Puerto Rican man. Before the man completes his blink, the nurse-bot is injecting his wife standing next to him.

  Across Puerto Rico, nurse-bots are rolling up and down row after row of young and old, male and female Puerto Ricans vaccinating them against Aethon. Each free inoculation requires less than three seconds. A startling sound, a sting and the nurse-bot moves to the next person. Five minutes after inoculation, the Aethon detection badge begins glowing green signifying preventative safety.

  “Puerto Rico is alive and well and preparing to share its medical mir
acle with the world. Just ask, and we will provide.” President Negocio announces in front of a crowd awaiting their visit with the nurse-bot. “In less than forty-eight hours, Puerto Rico expects to complete vaccinating all of its populace. That will leave more than six million anti-Aethon doses, which Puerto Rico is making available to anyone who needs it.”

  With his green badge glowing almost as much as his face, Negocio cheerfully broadcasts Puerto Rico’s success story. He is spreading his message early and worldwide, using all the methods available to preempt any additional interference or attacks. Also, he is enjoying taunting big pharma and the US on the international stage. To the world, his small, nascent nation is generously offering to save its big northern neighbor.

  But while he is happily and loudly telling them that Puerto Rico has what they need to stop their Aethon plague, he is not sharing the source of the vaccine with them. Why? Because, he does not know it. Only Rita, Zhou, Pion and Robert know the secret of the Manchineel miracle, and they have sworn to tell no one. Even, Rita and Robert do not know the vaccine’s final formula. That is a secret only Zhou and Pion share.

  Unfortunately, Zhou and Pion have only been successful developing the vaccine. So far, their efforts to create a medicine to heal people already sick with Aethon are proving less effective. But, they are not stopping their research. At Stamina Vitae, Zhou and Pion are working without rest, striving to discover a universal cure.

  Nearing exhaustion, they are finding that Aethon is an elusive and wily organism. As Shengwu had observed, once inside an individual, Aethon spreads and multiplies quickly by hiding itself and mutating. How it proliferates and into what part of each body it invades is different for each victim. All they do know for certain is that the end result of an untreated Aethon infection is always the same. Death.

  Each Aethon sufferer’s reaction to Manchineel medication is also unique and unpredictable. To some, Zhou’s injection of a measured Manchineel serum is retarding their Aethon and strengthening their resistance. They are recovering. In other victims, the same strength serum is not repressing their Aethon as effectively while causing painful blisters and fevers. For them, the Manchineel treatment is slowing the Aethon progression, but the side-effects are almost deadly.

  Fearing that their Manchineel medications will unexpectedly kill, rather than heal, Zhou and Pion have halted all treatments. But, stopping their treatments has not stopped more and more sick Americans from flooding into the facility. They just keep coming, by the boat load. Crammed inside the lobby are the sickest Aethon sufferers.

  “We need Shengwu. Where is Shengwu? Why is Shengwu not here? Shengwu would know what to do. Where is she?” Frustration and fatigue are punishing Pion. She begins rocking and moaning. Before Zhou can react, she withdraws into stimming.

  Still, Zhou attempts to reach her. “Shengwu is in the hospital. She is ill. Robert is with her.”

  Pion continues rocking. Her eyes are closed. She does not respond to Zhou.

  “Shengwu will be back soon,” Zhou tells Pion, being more hopeful than truthful. “Robert told me that she is much better already.”

  As Zhou silently watches Pion, exhaustion crawls into her own body and captures her mind, drowning her thoughts in dreams. She staggers to Shengwu’s revitalization couch. Seconds after crawling upon it, she is unconscious in sleep.

  Beyond the protective walls of the Stamina Vitae workspace, in the lobby’s reception area, Rita and Obed are struggling to contain the anticipations and expectations of an increasingly restive crowd of Aethon infected Americans. When Zhou was still experimentally treating patients, she conducted a triage. Those still waiting watched some of their more sick friends or family vanish inside the clinic for treatment. But, they have not returned.

  Those waiting worry, “Where did they go? Why have they not returned? Are they alive? Are they dead? When will I receive some medical help myself? Am I going to die waiting in this room?”

  Their fears and agitation only escalates, as over and over again they view President Negocio declaring the successful vaccinating of his fellow Puerto Ricans. His optimistic statements cause their hopes to soar, but as their fevers rise and their bodies weaken, they begin questioning his promise to share his Aethon vaccine. They wonder if this miracle medicine actually exists, and will it truly be shared. Or is it Puerto Ricans yes and Americans no.

  “My baby is so hot! Why aren’t you helping her?” An Aethon infected mother angrily shouts at Rita. Cradling her feverish child in her arms, the mother staggers ahead. Weak and woozy, she stumbles and topples against another woman.

  “Get off me!” A fist flies into the mother’s face hurling her backward. She crashes against an elderly man. Both collapse in a groaning heap. A weak squeak escapes her dying child.

  “You didn’t need to hit her!” A strong slap staggers the second woman. Retaliating, she swings wildly, slugging a surprised, innocent man. He shoves her sprawling onto three children.

  A minor disagreement erupts into a riot. Flailing bodies fly into each other and fall to the floor. A father and his daughter attempt to escape the mayhem. With his shoulder, he forces the lobby door open, banging and bruising a man waiting outside. Fighting explodes and spreads like a wildfire into every corner of Shengwu’s complex.

  Shocked, Rita and Obed stare in horror as the fighting engulfs them. Rita grabs Obed’s shoulder shouting, “A juyir! Let’s get out of here!”

  Hauling Obed backwards, Rita accesses the inner hallway-door. Swish, the door slides open. She yanks him out of the lobby. Swoosh, the door closes.

  “Oh, my Lord!” Obed exclaims. “That woman is a member of my church back in Tennessee. I’ve never seen her act crazy like that. I fear, Satan has her in his grip.”

  Ignoring Obed, Rita accesses Negocio’s security officers appealing for help. “Send officers and paramedicos to Stamina Vitae immediately. We desperately need assistance here. Se formó un corre y corre! It’s a huge fight. Salpafuera! More than a hundred people are involved. Women are fighting. Men are fighting. Babies and little kids are being hit and hurt.”

  After she completes her emergency call, Obed and Rita press their ears against the closed lobby door. Loud arguing and yelling vibrates through the metal. Bang! They jump backwards. Something crashes against the other side. Bang! Bang! Bang! Desperate pounding. People are slamming their fists and themselves against the wall and door.

  Rita retreats deeper into the hallway. “This reminds me of those old zombie shows I used to watch. You know, where hordes of living dead bodies break through windows and doors and devour regular humans, like you and me. Ever watch those shows, Obed?”

  Staring at the loudly throbbing door, Obed lowers himself onto his knees. Squeezing his eyes shut, he clasps his hands together and begins bellowing Psalm 28. “Unto thee will I cry, O Lord my rock; be not silent to me: lest, if thou be silent to me, I become like them that go down into the pit. Hear the voice of my supplications, when I cry unto thee, when I lift up my hands…”

  Increasing, ceaseless, thunderous pounding on the door, yanks Obed’s attention away from his prayer, although he continues spouting the Psalm from memory. With each explosion against the door, he jerks and jumps, but his praying never ceases.

  His eyes exploding with fright, he scoots farther away from the door. “…and he is the saving strength of his anointed. Save thy people, and bless thine inheritance: feed them also, and lift them up forever. Amen.”

  Finished, Obed silently bows his head. He listens. His prayer did not succeed in soothing the demanding swarm beyond the door. Their beseeching banging intensifies.

  “Uh, Obed, you do realize that I was only joking about the zombies, don’t you?” Rita asks, unsettled by Obed’s sudden supplication shouting.

  Obed climbs to his feet and returns to staring at the rumbling, drumming door. “Yes, I figured you were, but I thought throwing a little of the Lord at them might help. I certainly feel better now. How abou
t you?”

  “I would feel much better if you had prayed for a stronger door.”

  WARNING WORDS

  Machete clutched in his fist, the broad-shouldered, dark-haired man advances toward Robert. He raises his razor-sharp blade. He grins. Swoosh! The machete slices through the air. Schwack! Deep into the shoulder it cuts. He yanks his knife free. Swinging again, he buries it deep into muscle again. Jerking his heavy blade back with one hand, he strips a chunk of meat from the bone.

  Closing his eyes, Robert sucks in lung flooding smoky air. He plunges into the smells surrounding him. With a smile and sigh, he licks his lips. The aroma of several whole pigs roasted over an open flame is intoxicating. Mingling and mixing with the roasted pork perfume is the bouquet of Puerto Rican rice and pigeon peas, yucca, morcilla blood sausage, tostones, turkey, chicken and a host of other local dishes. Robert swoons in the nose nectar.

  “I didn’t think it would be possible, but I think this is as good as Maelo’s Chicken Fever.” Robert mumbles to nobody in particular, as he slides his tray along the open-air serving line. “I do relish Puerto Rican food. Thank you Mugavus!”

  Alone in a crowd of sociable strangers, he is loving it. Just forty-five minutes outside of San Juan, he is hiding in plain sight in an open-air lechonera. Two days before Christmas and this tiny town of Cayey in Puerto Rico’s Guavate sector is crowded with celebrants. The smell of joy in the air is as intoxicating as the smell of smoked pork.

  Carrying his platter heaped high with food in his left hand and a cup of cold beer in his right, Robert wanders out of the restaurant. Leisurely, he meanders toward the row of sheltered tables behind the lechonera. It is a scenic sight. Shady shelters overlooking a mountain stream bubbling and burbling through a lush, grassy corridor of banana trees and palms. Robert pauses to inhale the natural beauty. With each breath, tension slides away. Flooding his lungs with a mix of roasted park and forest air, he closes his tired eyes and sighs. Oh, he needs this.