“It looks like it was restrained,” Rock commented. “Maybe a prisoner?”
Manon contemplated a moment before speaking. “What if this one had caught some kind of disease, or went crazy, and they tried to capture him? Remember the long poles we used to capture the crocs last year in Africa?”
They had done a show the previous season about crocodiles encroaching on people’s homes in Egypt. A long sturdy metal pole with a coiled steel cable on the end was used. The cable had been slipped over the reptile’s heads in the process of capturing them for relocation.
“It does not appear they were successful,” Rock said, and smiled at his sarcasm. “That gives me an idea. Do you think we could take one of these back with us? The only thing better than the footage we have is an actual subject.”
“I believe that is the worst idea I have ever heard,” Manon replied. “Obviously, whatever is wrong with these people spread to all of them. Now that I think about it, what in the world are we doing this close without suits, or at least masks, on? We could be infected with some deadly disease already.”
Rock quickly replied. “I thought about that. I don’t think that is how this works. I think you are right about it being some kind of disease, but I don’t think it spreads through the air.”
“Answer this for me,” Rock continued. “If you saw others around you getting sick, would you not get as far away as possible to escape it? Yet here, about thirty people caught something so quickly they did not have time to leave. Even after they caught it, they stayed right here in the open. They did not go lay comfortably in their huts to get relief from the sickness or protection from the persistent rains.”
Manon continued the thought, “so if it was airborne and is as quick to infect as you are thinking, you and I would already be… what? Changed? Sick?”
“I don’t know. Infected. Maybe unable to move. Let’s take another look at the bodies after lunch. I think we will find they all have wounds on them consistent with bites. That might explain the reason all of the ones still moving continuously are snapping their jaws at us. It might be something similar to rabies.”
“I am still putting on a mask,” Manon said as they walked back over to the rest of the crew. “I still think taking one back with us is a bad idea.”
Armando spoke up when they arrived back in the midst of the other men. “The natives won’t come into the camp. They are afraid there is a curse.”
“For the first time in my life I might agree,” Manon replied. “This place is not right.”
Rock looked disapprovingly at him. “Look guys, we have been in dozens of situations more dangerous than this. I don’t see anything here that is going to jump up and attack us. There is nothing to be worried about.”
~ Chapter III ~
Just outside the camp the two native guides were also discussing what they had seen. The two men were brothers from a tribe hundreds of miles away. Many of the native languages were derived from the same basic dialect and they were often able to converse with other primitive tribes, although sometimes with difficulty.
Both men were significantly shorter than the other men in the film crew. Their age was impossible to determine with a look, and neither could answer with any certainty if asked. They each were wearing khaki shorts and button up shirts which badly needed a wash. A souvenir from the native heritage, any visible skin from the neck down was liberally covered with dark black tattoos running in perpendicular lines with various sized circles filling in the space between.
The men now lived comfortably in two worlds. They grew up in the rainforest, but early on decided to look for more than their isolated world had to offer. Together they migrated to the large village of Porto Velho as young adults. Moving to ever larger towns, they discovered everything they had been looking for. All of the elder’s warnings given to them in their youth had been accurate, and they rejoiced in the forbidden comforts of modern life. Their unique background allowed them to escort rich men from around the world into the forest and live in luxury compared to their native brethren.
Though never at a loss for words in each other’s company, neither was willing to discuss the things they had seen in the small village. In their native culture, speaking of evil was the one sure way to bring it into your own life.
The two sat silently in front of a small fire eating their dinners. Each carried canned meals in their packs, but preferred to eat the many fruits and roots they had gathered on the day’s journey. A small aluminum pot sat precariously on the fire heating water spiced with wild herbs and leaves.
Surrounding the pot in the fire were six large spiders with legs drawn in tightly to their abdomen. Periodically the men reached in to swiftly flip them over by hand. It was important to assure the long hairs, which could irritate the throat, were singed away and the spider was cooked all the way through.
“I think I miss the spiders most of all,” the older brother said. “Can’t find them anywhere in town. Maybe we should open up a stall in the market at home when we get back. They are everywhere here. I have never seen so many spiders in one place. We could come back here to gather them. They don’t even run away when we get near them.”
“Nobody besides us is stupid enough to eat these spiders,” the younger brother said.
“True… plus, I’d eat all the profits,” the other replied.
They pulled their meals out of the hot fire and set them down on small aluminum plates to cool. Each then reached into their packs for their pocket knives, which they would use to remove the head of the spider.
“You better put that one back in, it’s looking a little frisky.”
The younger brother looked down and one of the spiders was spasmodically twitching its legs on one side. He grabbed the charred spider, which was still too hot to hold onto, and promptly tossed it back into the fire, where the legs immediately curled back up next to the abdomen. “You’d think you would know how to build a hotter fire,” he said sarcastically.
After flipping open his knife with his fingers still stinging from touching the roasted spider, the younger brother started trying to stab at the heads of the spiders on his plate without touching their steaming bodies. Each time he came close, but the spider glanced off the blade and would spin out of the way.
“Stop being a child and grab it,” the older brother said as he reached down to grasp one of the spiders in front of him. “Our sister is more of a man than you are.”
As he placed his hand around the large roasted spider in front of him it suddenly struck at the exposed skin between his thumb and first finger. The fangs went in deeply before the astonished man shook his hand viciously. The spider was thrown brutally into the trunk of a nearby tree, where its hairless brittle charred abdomen cracked open like the shell of a nut.
The pain quickly spread to the fingers before he put the bleeding pinpricks into his mouth and started in a forsaken attempt to draw out the poison. It was already too late. The venom spread like wildfire up his arm. The agony was so intense when it reached his shoulder seconds later he started screaming.
The fire intensified even more as it flowed into his chest and neck. An uncontrollable seizure threw his body savagely backwards and his head cracked brutally against the hard ground.
The younger brother stared transfixed a few feet away, hands frozen, still reaching towards the spiders in front of him… his dazed expression clearly mirroring the horror he felt. Fifteen seconds later, before he was even able to consider how to react, with the echoes of screams still echoing in the forest, the tortured figure of his brother lay nearly motionless except for small tremors running through his prone body.
Breaking suddenly from his immobility, he jumped up and leapt over the fire to his brother’s side.
“No. No. No. No.” He reached for the carotid artery in brother’s neck and, feeling no pulse, quickly pulled his hand away.
Through tear filled eyes, mo
vement from his left caught his attention. Glancing over he saw a charred spider climbing over the edge of his brother’s aluminum plate and unsteadily moving his direction.
Terrified, the brother jumped up and sprinted hysterically towards Rock and the rest of the crew.
~ Chapter IV ~
Tanis lurked warily out of sight watching the men in the Jombi village. It had been almost five years since the ancient man had seen another uninfected human, and he had never seen outsiders like this before. In his younger days the wrinkled shaman standing upright would have barely reached the shoulders of the powerful men in the clearing, however, now his crooked back kept him perpetually stooped making him even shorter.
He had not worn even a loincloth in years and was unexpectedly conscious of his nakedness when he first saw the men. Tanis had removed the many bone necklaces and bottles from around his neck and stashed them in the knot of a large tree to keep from making noise. With only his walking stick, he was silent and virtually invisible in the fading light of the rainforest.
The old man had been living alongside the Jombi for years and knew how to coexist with them, but tribal lore told him outsiders brought pestilence and death. For this reason he was determined to remain undiscovered. He liked to think of himself as wise, and knew the prudent thing to do would be to get far away, but his curiosity and years of loneliness overwhelmed all fear and reason. Using stealth he had developed almost instinctively from early childhood, he crept close enough to hear the men, who were now sitting around a campfire, talking in a language he did not understand.
He suddenly became aware of something large approaching at breakneck speed. It was crashing uncontrollably through the underbrush and seemed to be coming directly at him. The old man had nowhere to go, and was too slow to get away if he had. He squeezed himself deeply into a small patch of tall weeds and cowered weakly. His heart was beating uncontrollably. The unknown threat barreled towards him screaming hysterically.
The branches were shaking and tall brush was being knocked aside. Tanis suddenly was able to make out a figure hurtling out of the gloom just before one of the panic-stricken man’s knees collided with the side of his head. Darkness overwhelmed him and he flopped over onto his side unconscious.
The tripped running man went airborne, somersaulted, and crashed down to the ground head first, rolling nearly into the campfire. The men in the clearing were all standing up, weapons ready. Every one of them was startled and on high alert. It was a miracle none of them had shot the wildly sprinting intruder.
“It is one of the guides,” Rock exclaimed to the men. “Be prepared for whatever is chasing him.” Rock pointed his pistol into the darkness, swinging it in an arc from side to side, waiting for an unseen assailant.
The scratched and bleeding guide scrambled behind the line of men, joining Manon on the other side of the fire. None of them made a sound. The jungle was black and silent in the wake of the commotion. Only the crackling fire and the guide’s heavy breathing could be heard.
The men all continued to point their weapons into the murky bush where the man had emerged from, straining to make out any movement. After a minute or so with no pursuit and no approaching noise, Rock lowered his 9MM pistol and walked stealthily towards the darkness. It was then he heard a low moan coming from the underbrush.
He was barely able to make out the small semi-conscious figure buried in the darkest hole the night had to offer. The gnome-like creature seemed to be rolling over in an attempt to get to its hands and knees.
Rock strolled over warily while keeping an alert eye on the rest of the jungle. As he approached he glanced down and could see the diminutive wrinkled being on the ground before him was a naked old man. He snatched the man up by the arm, half lifting as he dragged him back towards the fire.
When they arrived back in the circle of men, Rock dropped the groggy man to the ground. “Pauley,” he called to the still wide-eyed nearly hysterical guide by his English name. “Is this what you were running from?”
Pauley continued to heave deeply, eyes scanning in every direction for a threat.
Rock moved in front of the guide, inches from his face. “Pauley!” Rock yelled at the man. Startled, the guide jumped and cowered in front of the much bigger man. “What were you running from?”
Panting, Pauley struggled to answer. ”My brother,” he spat. “Spider…”
“Who is this?” Rock pointed towards the old man.
Pauley, still out of breath, shook his head and focused. “Don’t know… tripped.”
“Alright man, settle down.” He turned to the three men still with their weapons poised to fire into the darkness, eyes scanning the trees. “Go make sure there is nothing out there, guys. Take lights and stay together.”
“Manon, get your camera rolling. Take a look at this guy.”
Manon did not think he had ever seen anyone so ancient and decrepit. The man was nearly as feeble as the creatures lying on the ground all around them. The wrinkled skin hung off his bones. “He must be over a hundred years old. He reminds me of Yoda.”
Rock bent down near the old man. Tanis had mostly recovered. He was sitting balled up with his knees pulled tightly to his chest. The eyes poking through his wispy gray bangs showed fear, like a trapped mouse looking up at the hawk streaking towards it. A thin trickle of blood ran down the side of his face past his ear.
“Are you okay?” Rock asked.
Tanis sat silently, staring.
~ Chapter V ~
The three men returned a short while later to a quiet camp. Manon was writing in a notebook. Tanis was still sitting in the same spot staring into the fire. Pauley was crouched as closely to Manon as possible, with eyes still scanning the darkness. Rock got up to meet the incoming group.
Armando reported, “We did not see or hear anything. We walked the perimeter for fifty meters in every direction. Nothing is moving except for the spiders.”
“Keep an eye out,” Rock said and then walked over to Pauley.
Crouching down near the native guide, perched on his toes, he paused briefly, placed a comforting hand on the man’s shoulder, and then asked, “What were you running from?”
The man’s head was hanging. His answer was given just above a whisper. “The spiders… they bit my brother,” he paused, eyes watering, words faltering. “He… he is gone. Died. I think.”
Rock looked around and noticed everyone was listening intently, except the old man who had managed to creep a few feet closer to the darkness surrounding them.
Pauley continued, “The spiders had been in the fire, roasting. They survived. They should have been dead. One bit Jaurus.”
“Armando,” Rock said casually without taking his eyes off of Pauley. “Make sure that old man does not go anywhere.”
“Pauley, can you lead me to your brother?” Rock asked.
“No,” Manon exclaimed loudly from the other side of the fire. It was the first word he had spoken since dinner. Everyone turned to look at him. “His brother is dead. He is not going anywhere. Let’s wait until morning.”
Rock stared sternly at the cameraman. He was not used to hearing an opposing opinion to anything he suggested. With an icy smile he said, “What if he is not dead?”
“An even better reason not to go,” Manon replied. “We do not know what he could be now.”
Rock leaned his head back and laughed heartily. “You have no sense of adventure.”
“Someone here is certainly lacking sense,” Manon joked, smiling with relief that Rock was not going to dissolve into one of his uncontrollable fits of anger. He picked up his video camera, and walked to the other side of the fire. “Let’s see what the old man has to say.”
“Good idea,” Rock relented and sat down near the ancient shaman. “Pauley, join us please.”
Pauley walked over and sat down. He was still visibly shaking, but seemed to calm down now that he had a task
.
“What is your name?” Rock asked the old man.
Pauley translated. The resonance of the language originated from the jungle itself; as beautiful as the songs from the birds in the trees and flowing as effortlessly as a slow stream. The old man’s head snapped up to stare at him. There was a curious look on his wrinkled face. He did not answer.
Pauley asked again, accompanied this time by a sweep of his right arm which indicated respect. “Can I know your name, father?”
“I have not spoken to anyone in a long time,” the old man croaked in a heavily accented dialect. “What is your name?”
“In their language I am Pauley. My family knew me as Papino. I am sorry I tripped over your head father. I did not see you.”
Rock broke in. “What is his name?”
Switching back to English Pauley replied, “He has not told me yet. It will take a minute. I need to gain his trust first.”
“I will call you Papino. Why were you running Papino?” The old man asked.
“A dead spider… bit my brother,” Pauley replied sadly. “He died so quickly I could not help him.”
“Jombi,” the old man said and shook his head solemnly. “You are fortunate you were able to get away from your brother. He is not a man any longer.”
“What is Jombi, father?” Pauley queried.
“The living dead. You see them here in the village, though they are harmless now. They were not always so harmless.”
“Is my brother gone, father?”
“His spirit is gone, Papino, though his body has been possessed by a creature intent on consumption, and death.”
“Enough!” Rock spat. “What is he saying?”
Pauley switched back to English and translated what had been said. The old man stared hard at Rock while they spoke.
“Ask him what he is doing here,” Rock demanded.
Pauley again translated.
Never taking his eyes from Rock, the old man replied, “My enemies show more respect. The monkeys do not howl as loudly. Who is this young iguana?” To the jungle natives, the iguana was the least respected inhabitant. They lay high in the trees, motionless all day, never accomplishing anything.
The World's Next Plague Page 2