Emile turned away and began to heave, his cheeks bulging as strings of spit and vomit pressed past his clenched lips. Breathing through his mouth as much as he could, Tom tried his best to ignore the stench and fight the acute gag reflex rising from the pit of his stomach. The Thai doctor, despite her fragile appearance, moved about completely unruffled and continued her examinations with the kind of professional curiosity otherwise reserved for coroners. She caught Tom raising an eyebrow and stood up.
“Boxing Day Tsunami, 2004. This is nothing by comparison.” She shrugged, and for the first time since they had met, Tom thought he could see the outline of a warm but sorrowful smile below her facemask.
He felt a little sheepish. There was obviously more to her than he had thought. Well over 200,000 people had died in the disaster, thousands of them in Thailand alone, and if she had been in the midst of things then, she would have seen some of the worst of human suffering, death, and destruction in recent memory.
He couldn’t help but feel a strange kind of kinship to her at this moment, here among the dead in this remote African village. Kinship, the kind he had not previously experienced in the civilian arena, where fellow veterans, policemen, and security contractors made up most of his social network. He nodded in acknowledgment and went over the other corpses to assist.
Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, Emile returned from his bout of projectile vomiting in the bushes. He shook out his arms and shoulders, cracked his neck, and composed himself before kneeling down next to a little girl. She wore what, despite the dirt, blood, and plant matter that covered it, still looked like a Sunday dress, the kind someone might have put on their daughter for a special occasion.
Tom’s heart sank as he thought of Anna. Dressed in her Sunday best, she had stood in the entrance to their new home in Nairobi and waved him good-bye, trying hard to conceal her fear at the uncertainty of yet another departure of her dad. He looked over the little corpse and, for a second, imagined her last moments as she lay sprawled out in the mud, having fallen where she had been struck. Struck by someone or something that had wanted her dead. Or had they? In addition to the large head-wound, there was something else strange and unnatural about her.
Tom leaned in closer. Her little hand still clutched a small bundle of human hair, bloodied stumps a grizzly reminder of where once two of her fingers had been. His eyes met the doctor’s. She, too, looked puzzled. Another nearby body bore the same hallmarks of smaller wounds and significant trauma to the head.
“Mercy killings?” Tom thought out loud.
“How do you mean?” She breathed heavily through her mask.
“Well, it looks like they all had their heads bashed in. Some of them have additional wounds, perhaps from struggling against their attacker. Olivier, the old man I met back at the compound, had mentioned rumours of witchcraft among the villagers. It would stand to reason that either this or fear of the diseased could lead people to do this.”
It was more a question than a statement, but the only explanation that even remotely bordered on plausibility. The doctor nodded and rubbed her chin, mulling over Tom’s theory.
“It’s possible,” she hesitated, “but the injuries are inconsistent. Not all of them are defensive wounds. Could also be wild animals taking a bite at the dead. But I am no coroner.”
“Don’t you think we should make a move?” Emile suggested, now staying well clear of the nearest body. “I mean, light is just about gone, and we haven’t figured out where we will stay yet.”
As much as his sentiment was driven by fear, it, of course, made sense. Sleeping out in the open, here between the corpses of these poor villagers, was not an option. Besides, they were yet to check the rest of the village for any survivors, or anyone else who might be hiding. It was not uncommon for remote villages to be fearful of strangers, especially here in the midst of the rebel- and virus-infested bush. No doubt, the arrival of the team, with its boxes, equipment, and packs, had not gone unnoticed.
The unease Tom had felt upon their first steps into the area now reached fever pitch, turning a hunch into a punchy gut feeling. Something was very wrong here, and whatever it was, it went well beyond the disease itself. Beyond the toll it inflicted on swathes of communities much like this one up and down the country. For the first time since his discharge, Tom wished he had a weapon.
They picked up their gear and continued moving deeper into the village, slowly, anxiously approaching its community hall. Situated in the town square, a large grassy area with red dirt paths extending from it into all directions like varicose veins, it was one of the few buildings of solid brick construction. Given the state and structure of the huts, it was also the only thing even remotely resembling any kind of meaningful shelter.
To the left and right, a little distance away from the main road, more bodies were dotted about like rotting mushrooms, twisted and bloated in the dirt, just like the ones they had just examined. They didn’t inspect them any further. Light was fading quickly, and out in the open was no place to be after dark. They had just about reached a small set of stairs leading to the double doors recessed into the red brick front of the corrugated iron-roofed building when something off to the right caught Tom’s eye.
There, virtually disguised by the dense foliage covering another short stretch of road sloping up and away from the village, there was a small light. Different from the fluorescence the jungle produced at times, where insects, fungi, and rotting trees seemed to compete for bioluminescent dominance, this one winked with the cool precision of an LED.
“What is this?” Tom put down the box of foodstuffs and took a few steps in the light’s direction.
The others followed. Squinting, they tried to make out what they were looking at through the lush foliage a few hundred yards ahead.
“Wait here,” Tom instructed, already walking towards the overgrown path.
He wasn’t about to let anyone else take up the task. No need for everyone to abandon the only bit of shelter around in search of what could well turn out to be something or someone dangerous.
Within a minute, he reached the branches arching over the pock-marked road, a persistent state of disrepair having turned it more into an uneven walkway. He pulled aside the branches and stepped through. Much to his surprise, on the other side, the path eventually opened up and turned into a properly compacted dirt road. Someone had gone to some length, not just to conceal it, but to maintain it to a standard not ordinarily encountered in a village setting.
Nightfall was at hand, quickly draining colour from the surroundings and dousing everything in monochromatic shades. The road led further into the forest, the small light in the distance the only thing providing what still passed as illumination. Instinctively Tom retrieved the flashlight from a pouch on his belt but then decided against using it. This was no time to give away his position, at least not until he knew what or who controlled that light.
He crouched, taking great care to walk along the grassy, well-kempt shoulder of the road. He was close now. Staying low, he scanned the road, ready to dive into the underbrush at any second. Whoever was behind the killings, it would be foolish to assume that they, too, had eventually fallen victim to the disease.
‘Either way, this is not the time to get caught with one’s pants down,’ Tom thought to himself as he approached the blinking LED.
The sharp snap of a dry branch behind him had him pivot instantly. He ducked and raised up his arms in defense. Something was stalking him, moving almost parallel now. A shapeless shadow glided towards him.
With only a few feet to go, he took the initiative. Tom coiled and leapt forward, grabbing the thing with outstretched hands. Wrestling the form to the ground, he aimed low and landed a hefty punch.
“Ouch! Stop it!”
Startled by the muffled yelp, Tom stepped back, ready to land another fist.
“Tom!” Someone shouted from the dark of the forest.
He recognized the doctor’s voice and angril
y flicked on his flashlight. The bright beam shone straight into a familiar face on the ground before him. Emile grimaced, holding his nose, eyes looking as wide as a deer’s in the headlights.
“What the fuck?” Tom hissed, already feeling a little embarrassed and at the same time angry at the others’ stupidity.
“Yeah, exactly. What the fuck Tom?” Emile whined as he tried to stem the trickle of blood running from his nose and onto his Khaki shirt.
“Turn that thing off!” The doctor instructed sternly, covering her eyes as the beam hit her face.
“We figured it would be better to stay together. Plus, the driver was getting the jitters, threatening to run away if we didn’t follow you. He seems to trust you. God knows why!”
Angrily she brushed leaves and twigs from her shoulders and helped up Emile. Tom turned off the light. He wasn’t going to argue the point. ‘So much for stealth.’
They proceeded without any further conversation. Emile whimpered and even limped a little in what Tom judged was a poorly executed attempt at eliciting sympathy. The two fell in behind him, mirroring Tom’s movements as they went along.
CHAPTER 4
They soon reached the source of the light, a discovery which only added to their bewilderment.
On the side of the road stood a metal pole. Mounted on it was a solar-powered lamp, illuminating a small electrical distribution box at its base. A broken padlock dangled from its side, and its flap hung open, revealing several labelled switches. Tom again flicked on his flashlight and shone it into the box. There were five switches and a red button. In sequence, they read ‘Water Main’, ‘Storage’, ‘Hold 1,” “Hold 2” and “HVAC”.
Below the red button labelled “RTP” was a keyhole, the type that vaults, perhaps even nuclear silos used to prevent unauthorized access. They stood around the box and looked at each other quizzically. Something else had drawn their attention.
A hundred yards or so up the road, in the glow from another solar light, just enough to provide a hint of visibility, an enormous concrete building loomed in the dark.
“What is this place?” The doctor was the first to ask.
The giant multi-story cube was everything but traditional. Its square, clean-cut construction more akin to government buildings of the 90s, it was the last thing Tom had expected to find here. And yet it looked brand new, almost too new in a strange way. As they got closer, they could make out a polished white exterior that almost glowed in the light of a rising moon and the starry sky above. Like an alien structure, its perfect angles stood out from the only organic matter around it. With the increased ambient light, it was now much easier for them to navigate and identify objects.
The building’s outline grew in size with every step, and eventually, the road widened until a tall chain-link fence, blocked their path just before it entered into a cul-de-sac.
‘No unauthorized entry’ signs in English and French were prominently mounted along the adjacent razor wire-topped fence line. Slightly off to the right was a double-winged gate, constructed of diamond chain-link mesh just like the rest of the perimeter. To their surprise and much in contrast to the otherwise untouched appearance of both the building and its surroundings, the left side of the double gate was bent outward. Barely hanging onto its hinges, this created a wide opening. Smashed, discarded, and now useless, a thick steel chain and broken padlock lay next to it.
“I have a bad feeling about this.” The doctor broke the stunned silence.
“Looks better than the village though,” Tom rubbed his chin as he looked back and forth over the facility in front of them. “We’ve come this far, so let’s see if anybody’s home.”
Tom took a couple of steps towards the broken gate and then turned around to the others.
“And please, this time, for goodness sake, stay back.”
Emile nodded compliantly, not keen on repeating their previous experience. Both the driver and the doctor stayed by his side, watching on as Tom slipped through the opening and into the facility’s neatly manicured grounds.
He moved along the walls slowly but deliberately, checking for external access portals, all the while aware of the CCTV cameras that were placed strategically around the building in an overwatch formation. From what he could tell they were the Pan-Tilt-Zoom kind that would allow an operator to change angles, move and zoom the camera almost 360 degrees, offering a full and unencumbered view of the surrounds in all directions. Neither the little red sensors indicating infrared mode lit up, nor did the lenses adjust as they normally would when following an object of interest. The system was dead. Nobody was watching, or at least not anymore. He turned the corner towards the back and froze. There, a wall-mounted sensor had flickered to life. It pulsed in menacing rhythm.
‘I know you’re there.’ Blink. ‘I know you’re there.’ Blink.
Tom quietly cursed his complacency. ‘In your past life, this could have meant curtains.’
He stood still for a moment, gazing at the sensor in silent stand-off. Eventually, his shoulders relaxed, and tension eased.
There was no reaction, no alarm, no visible sign that anyone or anything, at least no living thing, had taken notice. He proceeded ever-more carefully, pressing himself against the still-warm concrete as he neared a set of glass security doors.
Recessed into the structure, they had once been secured by a key panel, which, ripped out of its mounting, now dangled from a set of wires. A big black scorch mark covered the wall above its mounts. Tom leaned over, taking a quick peek before flattening himself back against the wall. One of the glass doors had been smashed. A carpet of tempered glass fragments covered the floor in a wide radius.
It was obvious that whatever this place’s purpose was, something had gone very wrong here. Tom’s first instinct was to turn around and wait for daylight. The community hall, for all its grizzly surrounds at this point, was probably preferable to the unknown. Or was it? Curiosity burned inside him. ‘Indulge me,’ a little voice inside his head insisted. He smiled. After all, nine times out of ten, it wasn’t really curiosity that killed the cat, but a bullet, and edged weapon or a blunt instrument. And he had been trained to deal with either.
Nodding to himself with renewed confidence, he took a step through the broken door. The shattered glass crunched beneath his heavy boots and echoed through the building’s foyer. He went onto his toes and raised the flashlight above his head, ready to strike. But the dark recesses of the well-maintained building remained still. The sound of his own breathing seemed to amplify in the silence.
Waiting for his vision to adjust, he remained motionless as he scanned the interior. Aside from the broken entrance, not much seemed out of order.
Inside the small foyer, a metal reception desk covered in papers and all manner of scattered stationary reflected the single beam of moonlight piercing the dark, casting a soft glow over the rest of the hall.
‘Mood lighting.’ Tom chuckled nervously, listening and watching for any movement, the rush of his own pulse as loud as a steam train in his ears.
Minutes passed. An eternity in his mind. He made his way further in, leaving the desk to one side as he carefully pushed on a set of swinging glass doors leading to the next room.
This, too, was largely empty except for a vending machine, a small leather couch, a neglected pot plant, an elevator door, and next to it, a blood-smeared fire exit. Incongruous among the neatness of the facility, dark red fingerprints and brownish streaks sharply contrasted against white paint.
He pressed the button on the small panel next to the elevator, but it did not respond. He pressed his ear against its doors. The lift remained motionless. Satisfied that at least this part of the building was reasonably secure and free of surprises, he made his way back to the others who were eagerly waiting at the broken gate below, their eyes darting around nervously with every rustle of the forest.
Tom briefed them on what he had found, and they quickly decided they would stay in the building’s fo
yer rather than venture back into the village. After all, given the lingering questions around the villagers’ demise and the community hall’s proximity to countless corpses, not to mention the attraction these held for Jaguars and other animals in the area, the foyer, even with its mysterious stains, was still preferable to the village by a long shot, at east for single night’s stay.
They all returned and, after a brief inspection of the accessible part of the building, found places to rest for the night. The men let the doctor have the small sofa. As comfortable as it looked, it was no match for their bulky frames, but the perfect size for someone of her slight build. The driver and Emile sat with their backs to the wall opposite the fire exit, their eyes fixed on the smears of dried blood. Not entirely convinced that something wasn’t about to burst through the door and pounce on them with the same ferocity of whatever had killed the villagers, they stuck together and took turns at keeping watch.
Tom took up position behind the reception desk in the foyer, out of sight of anything coming through the front door, he figured, while able to react in time to warn the others.
CHAPTER 5
Sleep neither came easy nor soon for any of them that night as jungle noises slowly reached a cacophonous peak, and the occasional sound of snapping branches echoed through the rooms, magnifying as the sound bounced back and forth between the concrete and steel of the giant cube.
Confident the broken glass would herald the arrival of just about anything heavier than a rat, Tom eventually managed to nod off in the early hours of the morning; his dreams a wild mix of the familiar and the terrifying, the past, the present and the kind of future he, upon waking, was relieved to find out was but the product of a nightmare. His fears for Julie and Anna almost always featured, and the end was always disastrous, the violence inflicted on them an amalgam of everything he had seen and done in the past. The psychologist had warned him about it during his debrief sessions, but as most of the other unit members, all brawn and bravery, he had felt too big and ugly to acknowledge how deep some scars would eventually run.
The Virophage Chronicles (Book 1): Dead Hemisphere Page 5