Cellular Activity- The Djinn

by Francesco Mazzotta

  Berber village

  The hut is small, barely large enough to contain a grown man lying down with outstretched arms. The sun filters through the cracks in the walls and the ceiling, drawing blades of light. Nobody pays any attention to small holes in a country where rain is an extremely rare event.

  Both have taken off their hats, a gesture of kindness allowed only in presence of intimate and trusted people. Yidir has a tired expression, deep wrinkles run on his face. Unkempt eyebrows seem tiny claws that curl to reach the lower eyes. «The greatest threats in the desert are those that you can't see. The sun and the cold can kill a strong and vigorous man, but also the thoughts can kill you.»

  «Thoughts?», echoes Ahmed.

  «The desert is strange», replies his brother. «It's alive. You can hear it talking, singing, you can see it moving, and it... well, it can watch inside you too. It can see your fears and make them come true before your very eyes. I saw men, as strong as few, crying like frightened children. The desert can show your demons, and trust me, especially at night, the demons in the desert are many.»

  «You want to mock me as the elder Mohamed does... You say this just to scare me, but I am not afraid, Yidir. I'm not!»

  «You should, Ahmed, you should. That's the difference between a boy and a man: a man accepts his fears and uses them. It's the fear that saves your life most of the time. Do you think I don't have any?»

  Ahmed is about to reply, when Yidir makes a gesture with his hand as if to dismiss the subject. Then he turns around, taking something from under a pile of rags left in a corner. «I can't prepare you for the meeting with your demons, Ahmed. Nobody can. However... There are other hazards to be aware about: scorpions, desert vipers, raiders...»

  Ahmed almost no longer listens to his brother, his attention drawn by the rough envelope which Yidir is slowly unfolding. The older brother watches the other's eyes getting bigger as the carefully stored object comes to light.

  An arm knife.

  While Yidir pulls the blade, Ahmed's gaze bounces from the liner, finely woven with stripes of different skin colors, to the strings that fix it to the arm. The handle is made with dark wood such as ebony. The elongated curved blade seems to come to life under the rays of the sun filtering through the breaches in the wall and seems to shine with a light of its own, while Yidir twirls his knife with skilled mastery. «Don't ask me about the meaning of the engravings on the blade, they belong to a language that was already too old and forgotten in our grandfather's days. When I received this knife I was as old as you are now, and since then a lot of time has gone by. Take it, it's yours.»

  Ahmed is completely hooked. He moves his hands slowly, almost afraid to touch that object of wonderful workmanship.

  He weighs it, realizing how light and thin it is, then he looks up to his older brother, watching him smiling.

  «Don't be fooled by its lightness, it's an arm blade. It must be light and not restrain your movement. Trust me, it's extremely durable and sharp, and in the right hands it can be really dangerous and deadly.»

  Suddenly serious again, Yidir takes Ahmed's hands in his own. «Ahmed, it isn't like here in the village out there. The world can be ruthless in most cases. To get caught can mean death without even realizing it...

  There are many things out there that can kill you.

  Be awake, my brother.

  Be ready.»

  Boeing 777

  «It's him», Camila says softly, reporting to the co-pilot the seat number where Amr sits.

  «Keep an eye on his moves and report on anything that seems noteworthy», he replies.

  When Camila releases the intercom button, Luis is talking: «I don't know what to think, that man doesn't convince me. He seems calm, affable... He was kind to help that old man. If he hadn't intervened the old man would have fallen to the ground, and I don't even want to imagine what else would have happened if he had reached that other passenger.»

  «He would have eaten him», Camila Jokes. «That guy is a giant.»

  The three girls hint to a smile through clenched teeth.

  «Anyway», says Luis, «he isn't exactly how I imagine a terrorist.»

  «Why? How many terrorists have you seen live during a flight?», responds July, whose r betrays her French origins. The third woman called by the commander is thin, and the look in her blue eyes shows a sharp intelligence.

  «Fortunately none», answers promptly Luis, «but that's not the point, it's just that...»

  «... he's a handsome man, even if that hair should be readjusted», intervenes Camila, while pouring a fizzy drink and preparing a tray for the man with the yellow shirt. «But this doesn't make him a saint, don't let your guard down girls.»

  Camila moves back to the passengers deck, heading for the black man. «Here's the drink you requested, sir.»

  The man doesn't answer. He looks at her, once again his expression looks dazed, almost sleepy. After a moment, still staring with a void look, he takes the glass from the tray and with a mechanical movement takes it slowly to his mouth. Meanwhile Camila exchanges a few words with the passengers seated nearby.

  The man with yellow t-shirt sends the drink down all in one go, with a curious gurgle, and then puts down the empty glass on the plastic tray on top of the food trolley.

  Meanwhile Camila observes Amr, with fleeting glimpses. The man has closed his eyes again, he seems resting.

  «I'd better head to the bathroom», the man with Bart Simpson on his chest exclaims suddenly, apparently awake again. «My damn arm... now it seems that I can't feel anything from my neck down. I absolutely have to move a little.»

  He gets up, and his huge bulk towers over the tiny Camila. The man moves from his seat, and he literally invades one lane between the rows of seats as he almost completely fills the narrow corridor. He heads limping towards the universal symbol that indicates the bathrooms, leaning his hands on the head restraints of the seats. Camila feels uncomfortable when he passes by, rubbing against her and giving off a smell showing how a dose of deodorant, however generous, can't replace a good shower.

  He finally toddles past her, slowly moving along. The flight-attendant looks at the man's back, wondering how he could sit in one of the passenger seats. He walks about two meters when he suddenly freezes in the middle of the lane. One of the other passengers shots a puzzled look to the flight-attendant.

  «Are you all right, sir?»

  For a few moments nothing seems to happen. The man is still in the middle of the corridor.

  «Sir?!? Are you okay?»

  A movement, followed by a liquid noise, catches Camila's attention. A low murmur raises from the passengers.

  A dark spot expands on the back of the man's blue shorts. A small trickle drips on one of the legs, to form a tiny smelly puddle between his feet. The liquid is dark, and the spots where heavy droplets hit the floor seem to have a lively effervescence, more akin to an acid behavior than a drink.

  «Sir, please», says Camila while moving to get closer.

  Something happens.

  Like a slow-motion movie, the huge mass of the man collapses to the floor, falling backwards and almost overwhelming Camila. The woman half-jumps back to avoid him but she falls to the ground, too.

  She recovers quickly, rushing toward a nearby intercom to report the incident to the co-pilot.

  The other women of the crew arrive at the place of the incident.

  The man lies unconscious on the ground, his eyes rolled back as a whitish, foamy trickle drips from a side of his mouth. His yellow shirt has raised to the navel, revealing a swollen huge abdomen and a stretched skin.

  July rushes, dragging a cart full of first aid tools. She is the first to provide assistance, giving a heart massage to the man. The woman is thin, her blows can barely move the skin of the man lying lifeless on the ground. One of the passengers comes forward, he is a man of about forty, looking strict and orderly, with a dark goatee and glasses that give him a gravedigger aura. «I'm a doc
tor», he exclaims. «I can help.»

  «I think it's a heart attack», says July, while working on the emergency tools to turn the defibrillator on.

  Meanwhile, the doctor begins the CPR, alternating the insufflations with vigorous pressures on the chest area.

  The doctor puts his mouth on that of the other, injecting air, before proceeding with another series of strong blows to the solar plexus.

  The other passengers observe the scene murmuring softly, while the capacitors in the defibrillator get charged and the hissing intensity increases.

  The doctor blows again in the mouth of the lifeless man, then he leans his ear close to his lips, trying to detect the slightest breath of life.

  Luis tries to calm down the passengers that move and get up, asking them to remain sitting in their seats.

  The doctor gives a knowing look to the flight-attendant who prepares the defibrillator, then he tries again to blow in the man's body lying on the ground.

  Camila looks up from the scene, looking for Amr. The man is no longer in his seat, neither among the passengers moving to see what's happening.

  At that moment, a shuffling sound comes from the body of the unconscious man, like the gurgling of a clogged sink that is suddenly released.

  July emits a groan of anguish. Everything seems to take place quickly and in slow-motion at the same time. Something is happening. Camila turns to watch, following the gaze of her colleague. The doctor's body shakes, as by effect of an electric discharge. The man tries to get up, to pull his lips from those of the passenger lying on the ground, but he can't. Something is holding him.

  Under the astonished gaze of those present, the black man's mouth opens slowly, while the head of the doctor sinks more toward his face, dragged by something that has taken hold on his skin.

  The face of the unconscious passenger deforms, his mouth gets even more wide open, emitting a very distressing and prolonged lament, and fully embeds the head of the doctor, which sinks rapidly.

  The flesh of the face of the unconscious man seems to flow, covering the doctor's head with a pink mass of blood vessels and capillaries, which crawl quickly, penetrating the ears and piercing through his skin.

  The lying man's face deforms grotesquely, almost like it's badly modeled with melted wax. His eyes move independently of each other, as those of chameleons. One of them points to Camila, with a look that has nothing human. She is sure that an obscure awareness is watching her right now.

  The flight-attendant tries instinctively to take a step back, but one of the huge man's hands snaps at her. His arm extends beyond the possible. An iron grip grabs an ankle, knocking her backward. The woman screams desperately and struggles, for the man's grip is like a hot burning iron, and it begins to liquefy the flesh of her leg.

  Passengers are frozen in terror on that creepy vision. They look with horror and disgust at the man's yellow t-shirt unnaturally swelling and tearing.

  For a moment, the figure of Bart Simpson on the man's chest is deformed by the pressure inside.

  Then, with a liquid sound, his abdomen explodes.

  Washington

  Pentagon

  «Commander Green, Thompson here, what's the situation?»

  «One of the passengers suffered a sudden illness, the crew is providing first aid. Actually we're about ten miles south of the coordinates that you have provided, we will begin descent loops shortly.»

  «What kind of illness, Commander?»

  The sound of electrostatic discharge echoes the words of Thompson, taking away the audio for a while. After a silence that seems to last forever, a chaotic set of sounds emerges from the communication system, drowning the voices of the commander and his co-pilot and reaching Thompson and his staff.

  «Commander, do you copy?»

  The noise grows louder. A mixed background of screams of terror and fear, the howl of indefinable animals and a sound that resembles the hiss of a rattlesnake.

  «For God's sake, Captain, can you hear me?»

  After a long moment, the voice of the commander is back to bite. His tone has changed, what emerges from the speaker is the voice of a terrified man. He shouts to drown out the chaos.

  «Something is happening in the passengers deck! They are screaming and we hear weird sounds. My God!»

  «Green, Green, can you hear me? Keep talking, Green!»

  The hideous sounds grows in intensity. The voice of the commander of the Boeing seems uttering incomprehensible phrases.

  «Someth... hitting...inst the door tha... isolates the cockpit!»

  «Green, what can you see?», Thompson screams.

  «It deforms! The bulkhead......reaking! It's com......nside, it's...»

  «Green, for heaven's sake, Green!»

  For some terrible moments terrifying sounds come from the speaker, like unleashed hell. Screams, guttural sounds, hissing, barking of wild animals.

  Janet's voice is barely audible above the cacophony. «Sir, Captain Clark online.»

  Thompson and the staff are almost hypnotized.

  «Sir!», Janet raises his voice, and only then the man recovers.

  His expression is bewildered, swallowing before speaking. «Captain, what's going on?»

  «Sir, the Boeing tilted, it's losing altitude. It seems out of control, it's plummeting. We await instructions, sir.»

  Some moments elapse in silence. They all look the screen with two green flashing dots heeling a red one. The latter slows down and deviates slightly from its route, while the other two are overtaking it.

  «Sir, we await orders!»

  During some endless second, the two green dots run through a slow loop to move back again behind the red .

  «Campbell, is there a way to bypass the controls of the plane and fly it remotely?»

  «I'm trying, sir», replies another operator, intent on typing alphanumeric codes on a screen that looks like an old green DOS display.

  «Sir, we await orders!», Captain Clark urges again.

  «As for now, there's nothing you can do, Captain. Stick around and control the situation. You are our eyes now.»

  «Roger.»

  «Campbell, what about you?»

  «The control system of the plane is closed and protected, sir. I can get through, but the signal is discontinuous and it takes time. However we have no guarantees that it's fully controllable from the outside.»

  «Gilmour, check if in that plane there are surveillance cameras that we can use. Janet activate the CdC Team, you have to wipe out all flight records and plane communications from Cape Town. I want absolute fog around that flight right after its takeoff.»

  Meanwhile, time flows very slowly. The green flashing dots show the F14s performing slow loops around the red one that represents the Boeing, which now appears almost stationary.

  «I'm inside!», shouts Campbell. Time is running out, while the operator works at incredible speed and his screen shows an endless sequence of numeric codes. «The motors stalled, there is no thrust. The system indicates damage to the control structures in the cockpit.»

  «Is there a way to turn the autopilot on?», Thompson asks breathlessly.

  «Negative, sir, the feedback I get from the system is inconsistent and constantly changing. It's impossible to turn the autopilot on. The plane stopped responding to any control.»

  A deathly silence falls in the room, to emphasize the situation's inevitability.

  After an interminable time, a set of three beeps marks the Boeing's disappearance from the screen.

  «Sir», Captain Clark's agitated voice, «Sir, the Boeing crashed. I repeat, it has crashed on the ground. The plane exploded on impact.»

  Thompson swallows, although his mouth is fully dry. «Captain, leave the area immediately, return to the aircraft carrier asap.»

  May God have mercy for the passengers and the crew...

  «Janet, contact the CdC team again, tell Crowe I want full coverage of the media for the next 24 hours.»

  «Sir, bef
ore the crash I got into the plane's internal video surveillance system», says Gilmour. «I captured a snapshot from the internal circuit cameras in the passenger compartment. It's just a single image before we lost contact with the airplane.»

  «Send it on the screen, Fred, thank you.»

  The silence falls again in the room, while all eyes stare at the screen on which a picture captured by a surveillance camera comes slowly to life. The image is blurry and of poor quality, and at first no one can understand what they are looking at.

  The compartment is a chaos. Some passengers huddled, as hiding, behind the seats. The interior walls stained with dark spots, some of the sections overhanging the corridors are opened, spilling the contents all over the area. A group of people is standing, pressed against the door leading to the area only accessible to staff. Their faces appear terrified. Their eyes, wide-open with fear, are all looking in the same direction. On the opposite side of the picture, where the patches on the wall are larger and where the faces of the passengers seem to look, there is something strange and grotesque. There is a man, although just remotely looking like a human being. In the photo his head is the only visible part, and it's suspended high up, at the height of the overhead storage compartments. The head is abnormally elongated and appears highly asymmetric. The cranium is bald and shiny, showing a long and pointed ear. His mouth is open in such an impossible way that his chin seems to have reached the arm of one of the seats. His neck is also considerably longer than a normal human neck and winds like a snake for about half a meter, up to the side edge of the image. The rest of the body is not visible.

  It's one of the staff women who breaks the oppressive silence. «For heaven's sake, what is that?»

  Only after a few seconds one of the technicians speaks again. «Unfortunately, we have no other snapshots. It might be just a bias due to poor image quality, although the rest of the elements of the picture appears correctly proportioned.»

  «I don't take it», adds another agent. «Those dark spots on the walls seem like splashes of blood, people seem terrified beyond words, that seat seems ripped... I would say that a bomb explosion occurred in there, but there are no signs of depressurization.»