The Cygnus Virus

by Terry Zakreski

  “We’re with the NSS, Mr. Hill, and we just have a few questions about your buddy Andron Varga.”

  “I said all had to say to the police.”

  “That so…what if I told you you’re full of shit and that I think you know exactly where he is?”

  Hector is grinning. He’s grinning the wrong way. He’s standing the wrong way, too.

  “I’d say it ain’t your fault you was born stupid.”

  “You know…your buddy was a real squealer when we had him on the rack. I reckon you gonna squeal too, Cowboy…like a little piggy pig.”

  “Why don’t you fuck off?”

  Hector is standing inches away. His face is red. His eyes are black and bulging. The two are about the same height.

  Dylan can smell him. Not just bad breath. His pheromones enter Dylan’s flared nostrils and decode as contempt.

  Bad chemical reactions are happening.

  “Squealed like a piggy pig.”

  “You better watch your fuckin’ mouth and tell your buddy there to stay out front where I can see him.”

  Hector slaps Dylan hard across the face.

  “Pay attention to…”

  Dylan cracks Hector before he finishes the line. There are fractures. Dylan is hardly conscious of doing it. He’s standing with his fists curled inward in front of his pant pockets. Hector is lying on the ground. His jaw looks misaligned. Dylan’s hand may be broken.

  Wally tries to jab Dylan with a needle.

  He gets the needle in, but isn’t able to push the plunger down before Dylan grabs him. Dylan knows that man or beast can’t do as much damage to you if you keep them in tight.

  Wally is trying to punch Dylan in the side of the head with his free hand. He’s aiming for his ear. Dylan is punching Wally as hard as he can with his broken hand in Wally’s stomach and chest.

  Dylan is hanging on to Wally’s other arm like a rope around a bucking steer. His free arm flays back with each blow to Wally’s midsection. Wally is trying for elbow smashes to Dylan’s face.

  Until Hector comes to and jumps up with his gun drawn.

  The men separate. Their faces are red, hair messed, and clothing torn. Dylan’s mouth is bleeding and Wally is holding his chest.

  Wally steps aside to give Hector a clear shot.

  A bullet cracks by Hector’s ear.

  “I ain’t putting the next one by your earhole.”

  Hector looks up.

  Training takes over.

  Assessment

  Porch. Gun aimed. White thirty-five-year-old female, five feet six, auburn hair, 120 pounds. Pretty. Twenty yards away. Long fingernails painted purple. Holding a competition-style high-powered rifle. Still as a cheetah with a whiff of prey. Rifle barrel not wavering. Not even a millimeter.

  Decision

  Lower gun.

  “Now relax, ma’am. We’re with the NSS and we just want to ask your husband some questions.”

  “I don’t give a shit who the hell you are, I think it’s best you be going.”

  Hector and Wally walk backwards to their sedan. Hector is holding his jaw. Wally is holding an arm tight against his ribs. Dylan pulls the needle out of his arm and rubs his hand.

  The men get in their car. The car kicks up a lot of gravel leaving.

  Apparently..

  This was their first rodeo.

  “Hi, Dylan…hi, Carol.”

  Bruce is out of the tow-truck now, waving over.

  “They followed me. I knew you’d give them the what-for. I was ready to jump in if things got out of hand.

  “Where do you want her?”

  “Just put her in the driveway.”

  Dylan spits out some blood. He watches Bruce back his Cobra into his driveway. After it is released, he and Bruce walk around it surveying the damage.

  “Andi sure did a number on her…looks like the cops did too…whatcha going to do?”

  “Fix her, I guess.”

  “You don’t seem too pissed about it. If anyone else did this, you’d have shot and pissed on ‘em.”

  Dylan spits out some more blood.

  “Andi wouldn’t have stayed in the truck.”

  Chapter 28:

  The Hierophant

  Thomas is sitting at his desk, Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons, Winter is drifting out the studio-grade speakers recessed in the walls. He’s adding blue ink annotations to his sermon.

  His office has its own washroom and shower. There’s a couch, loveseat and a meeting table shaped like a baby Steinway. His desk is made of ebony and Carpathian elm. He has a buttery, saddle-brown executive chair. He’s tapping his Montegrappa pen, thinking, praying, asking Yeshua for inspiration. For the right words.

  “Is everything okay in here?”

  Lilith peeks in the door and smiles. Triangular face, slightly plain, but with smoky green Egyptian eyes, full lips and framed by tight black curls. A bit too thin, almost six feet in heels, which she’s almost always wearing.

  Black ones, he notices.

  “I think I should be okay for a while.”

  “Well, don’t worry, you’re going to be great.”

  He turns in his chair to look at her.

  “Thanks.”

  She closes the door. He stares at where she was for a minute, absently taptaptapping the pen with the swell of Vivaldi’s cellos, then returns to his sermon.

  It wasn’t just the sermon. He had a meeting with the Tucanas that afternoon and a speech at the invitational gala that evening.

  Five years and this was his jubilant day.

  Five years.

  When he took over, the Church was bleeding money and faced having its status revoked. It was run like a museum. Intriguing idea, building a Church around an artifact and scrubbing Yeshua clean of all mythology. But hardly sustainable.

  He outlined his vision for the Church in The Three Pillars of Ecumenical Reform for the Church of the Holy Cloth that still sits on his desk.

  First Pillar…put the Christos back in the Yeshua.

  Push the mystical as well as the secular of Yeshua. Folks need something to believe in. So he changed Sunday services to include sermons and readings from the Gospel of Mary and Cloth.

  Know your brand, and work it.

  He encouraged rumors of miracles associated with the Cloth, especially after Yeshua’s blood was found on it. Collection plates substituted for entrance fees. Communal specialty wine was for sale, and silk-screened t-shirts with Yeshua’s image from the Cloth.

  No clearer sign of God’s blessing than cash registers ringing.

  The Second Pillar of Ecumenical reform…sue the shit out of everyone.

  The Church had a catalogue of estate bequests thanks to its heavy infomercial campaigning back in the 80s and 90s. But, it did little to collect on them. Any pushback from a lawyer and its resolve crumbled like the walls of Jericho.

  Thomas turned that around. When it came to lawsuits, he shored up the Church’s resolve with scripture.

  For the Savior sent us to be a great light unto the world and to reap what has been pledged.

  Gospel of Mary and the Cloth, 2:7

  Instituting the Second Pillar reeled Earthen Swan Genetics into the fold. And now they were on the verge of bringing Yeshua back. Not only had their membership exploded, Christosianity was on the rise the world over.

  All this paving the way for the Third Pillar…celebrity endorsements.

  Attracting celebrities into the Church is a sure-fire way to get more bodies into the tent. If they can bring Yeshua back, celebrities will be private-jetting to their door.

  Imagine how much you could charge for a personal audience with the Son of the living God.

  All arranged. All locked in. Just a few contracts to be signed.

  Done.

  Thomas hears the low murmur of the gathering faithful. He looks at his Rolex Presidential and sees that Yeshua’s time has arrived.

  He prays.

  Christos, please walk with me on this special da
y. Give me the words to reach them, so that I may be an instrument of your will and a channel of your return. Please forgive me of my sins. Amen.

  ~ The Sermon on the Cloth ~

  Thomas walks out onto the Altar. The church is quiet. The silence energizes him. He feels his electrons charging.

  He pauses in front of the Cloth. He bows his head and bites the top of his fist. He kisses the diamond-encrusted gold-plated crucifix around his neck. They bow their heads in unison.

  He walks to the pulpit. He opens the leather-bound book.

  A reading from the Gospel of Mary and the Cloth.

  He raises his palm up. The crowd stands. They chant in unison, she was the one who knew him, knew him as a man. It is right to give her thanks and praise.

  He finds 1:2.

  Sorrow tore her heart. She cursed the sky for its blue and its clouds for not crashing down. She cursed the multitudes for their chatter, for their laughter and carrying on. She cursed mothers for their children staring on. She cursed the street for allowing itself to be trodden upon. She cursed the walls for not crumbling down. She cursed the ground for not swallowing all. She cursed them. She cursed them all. They did not know what was done. Woe to them, woe to them all. They did not know that the day was wrong. They did not know that he was gone.

  He lets the words echo and fade as he pauses and looks up at the congregation, searching across the ocean of eyes.

  Mary’s words rip-uh us like a knife.

  The Savior is gone and we-uh are to blame. She calls out to us-uh with her ancient voice and she has-uh one word for us.

  One.

  He holds up a finger.

  Murderers.

  He grabs the leather-bound gospel and waves it in the air, striding across the Altar.

  O but we have heard your-uh cry, Mary.

 

  O but we have heard your-uh sorrowful call.

 

  And we-uh have an answer for you, Mary.

 

  The world took-uh the Savior away and we.

  He strides back to the pulpit.

  And we.

  And slams the book down.

  Are bringing him back.

  Everyone is standing, faces shining.

  Thomas clenches his fists into his chest.

  Friends, we-uh stand before a new age, a new chapter in our history. We are waking to a new dawn to a new-uh tomorrow. Never before has mankind stood where-uh he is standing now. Just like when man made his-uh first steps on the moon, we are courageously stepping out into a new world with-uh a new man.

  Friends.

  We are bringing back Yeshua Christos.

  He walks up to the Cloth throws out both arms toward it and shakes. He falls to his knees. Bites his fist again, savors the adoration.

  And then his voice is soft, pleading. He’s kneeling. He’s beseeching.

  Friends, we do this not to force-uh God to reappear. God commands us we don’t-uh command Him. But, I believe in my heart, with everything I am, that God-uh is commanding us to complete this task, so that we might know his Son again. The man himself will be in our-uh midst, in the flesh, with us and-uh for us. When he comes of age, he will lead us.

  We wish to meet Yeshua the-uh man.

  He stands. His voice loud, insistent. Confident. Tapping into a rhythmic cadence that goes back millennia.

  We wish to meet Yeshua the-uh man.

  Friends, when we bring back Yeshua — uh genetically the exact man whose agony and crucifixion was-uh etched in the very fabric of the Cloth we-uh have here behind me. Then the world will see his humanity and come to know him-uh, to love him and to-uh follow him.

  Where the world is divided, he will unite it. Where the world is in strife and in turmoil-uh, he will bring peace. Where the world hungers for the word-uh, he will give us the-uh word. Where the world craves-uh freedom, he will-uh set us free.

  Thomas turns to the TV camera.

  And shakes his head, pushes out his lip.

  Friends, we-uh deal in the actual. And we know that-uh faith and prayer alone will not cause-uh anything to be done.

  The crowd is chanting back uh-uh…no sir.

  We must act. We-uh must be generous. Because we know that-uh our convictions must be reflected in our donations. That our-uh donations are our love. That our-uh donations must atone for our sin, for our murder.

  We believe in it. We-uh subscribe. We click yes and select the highest amount. We give generously because we-uh want to be a part of it. The cost of the science to bring about this bold experiment is-uh enormous. But we have strength in numbers. And we have the conviction of the-uh truth. And we shall not stumble and fall-uh while our task is so near to completion.

  Because we.

  Because-uh we.

  The words come out as sobs. He’s shaking.

  Have heard Mary’s call.

  Thomas has tears rolling down his face. So does almost everyone in the crowd. They applaud with trumpet blasts that could have brought any Jericho wall down.

  They want more. He leaves them that way.

  He turns and swaggers off the stage toward his wife and sons waiting offstage. His sons break free from their mother and run to hug his legs. His wife soon hugs him, too, and they kiss.

  There’s a reception that evening that he and Angelica will attend. He tells her that he has to stay at his office to meet Juliette and Joe. He gives her a hug and a kiss. He pulls his children in close for kisses too and then watches them leave.

  She’s graceful, still, walking away with the children in tow. He’s struck at how little the years and two children have aged her, she looks every ounce the girl he watched strolling the halls of the college where he met her, fifteen years ago.

  He’s still in love.

  ~ Lilith ~

  He’s at his desk again.

  The office door opens, closes. He hears the soft click as it locks. He has his back turned to it, but he knows who it is. He hears the rustle of clothes and long zips.

  His heart beats faster, pounding in his ears. Vessels are opening, dams breaking. He swallows. Vivaldi is playing again.

  She’s standing behind him now, reflected in his monitor. Lacy black panties, lacy black half-bra. Shinny black latex boots. Cherry-red lipstick. Her tight black curls, shimmering.

  He can smell her…candy floss on a summer day.

  She leans over, her breath a soft blowtorch. She slips a crimson silk scarf around his neck and yanks it hard and his temples throb. He feels the pressure in his brain, feels himself getting hard.

  She whispers in his ear, tongue tip razoring a hot line he feels in his knees.

  Turn this shit off and put on the Doors.

  His hand trembles on the mouse as he clicks to obey.

  Watch me in the screen, and don’t you dare turn and look, preacher man.

  He adjusts his monitor to see her on the black leather couch.

  The speaker cones vibrate with the baseline of Riders of the Storm and she’s doing freaky things to herself in the blank monitor screen.

  The scarf is tight around his neck.

  She’s got one hand inside her panties, the other she’s using to stroke her tight on-high breasts, her belly, her hair. She’s heaving moans. Deep, sultry and wild with the tumbling ethereal keyboards.

  She’s still staring into the monitor when she hits her sweet spot, bucking and shaking.

  Then she says.

  Stand.

  Now.

  Take off your clothes.

  Not the top ones. Leave those on. Just everything on the bottom, preacher man.

  He’s standing naked from the waist down. Like a street dog, all cock, ribs and raw hunger.

  Don’t look at me. Look at the mirror, preacher man.

  Grab him, hold him hard.

  Milk him.

  And tell me whose pussy you adore?

  “Yours.”

  He chokes. The scarf is too tight. He feels dizzy.

&nb
sp; “Yours.”

  Come to me.

  No.

  Crawl.

  He crawls.

  Eyes down to her black shoes, he buries his face and breathes leather and candy.

  Lick my boots, preacher man.

  He does.

  She grabs his hair. Hard. She pulls him up. Right to where she wants him. She controls how hard and soft, where and when, how fast and slow, with a fistful of hair.

  She reaches again.

  She grabs the crimson scarf still tied around his neck and pulls him up so he is in her. His face is red, wet and twisted. Street dog. He’s choked, hard, mad, naked below, shirt and tie above. She pushes him away. Puts her latex heel into his heart, twists around onto her knees. Arm up on the armrest. Pulling the scarf.

  Back in again.

  Jim is leading them over the edge. He’s reaching his crescendo in The End.

  And they are screaming.

  Beasts.

  ~ The Tucanas ~

  He has an appointment with Juliette and Joe. They’re coming to sign the consent forms and Technology User Agreement. He likes them. They are real salt of the Terra people.

  He’s cleaned up now. As though it never happened. Only the soreness is real. And the marks on his neck.

  He wants to rest. He calls Lilith and asks that no calls be put through.

  Of course, when shall I put them through again?

  “Fifteen minutes-uh ought to be enough.”

  The still-warm couch pulls him down into butter leather unconsciousness.

  Lilith comes into his office thirty minutes later with some tea.

  The Tucanas are here. I told them that you had some administration matters to take care of first.

  “Thanks, Lilith, you’re a godsend.”

  You’re welcome.

  She smiles.

  She leaves Thomas’s tea on the coffee table.

  The tea clears his head. He calls for the Tucanas.

  They come in with handshakes and smiles.

  Salt of theTerra.

  “So, how have you both-uh been keeping?”

  “We’ve been good. How about you?”

  “Well, I-uh have no complaints worth airing. Can I offer you a tea? I can have Lilith-uh fix you one. I just had one myself and can-uh testify to its benefits at this part of the day.”