The Green Cathedral

by Kerry Mcdonald

  “And then men come in from the jungle with more,” chimed in the other, a smaller, skinny guy who sounded snide and sarcastic. “Mostly killed or maimed by animals. It’s crazy, like that devil woman was making them attack us.”

  “Why do you want to know, anyway?” asked the bigger man. “You’re the one who killed most of them. You think you’re going to brag about it or something? I got news for you. The Galvans—”

  “Take it easy,” said Abel calmly. “I had a job to do just like you. The DEA said to keep the cartel from occupying the island. What else was I supposed to do? I was the only one they sent. I found the devil woman, and she didn’t want anyone here either, so we worked together. Nothing personal, just like it wasn’t personal when your kind came after me. We’re soldiers, right? We do what the big boys tell us.”

  “Big boy is right.” The skinny guy laughed. “I can’t believe how well that fat man moves. Maybe he played American football, eh?”

  “I doubt it,” replied Abel. “So what did they do with the devil woman’s body, anyway, just throw it in with the others?”

  “Oh, no,” replied Skinny Guy. “She still lies right there where the fat guy killed her. No one dares to go near her. Everyone’s afraid she’ll come back to life as a witch or a zombie or something. Personally, I can’t blame them. She’s too spooky for me.”

  “Yeah, she was pretty spooky for me, too,” agreed Abel. He was relieved to get this bit of information finally. Rimi’s body would be his first priority of the night, and now that he knew she was still just down the meadow path at the gateway to the Cathedral, he could wait for the right moment, make his breakout, and get on with his tasks.

  ***

  That moment came an agonizing hour later when Big Man finally snoozed off into a deep sleep. Abel told Skinny Guy that he needed to take a piss before he fell asleep, and as soon as Skinny Guy got him up, Abel headbutted the guy so hard that he almost knocked himself out. Skinny Guy dropped in a heap. Abel took off the guy’s utility belt and put it on, then used the man’s knife to slit his throat, and then he did the same to Big Man. He felt bad for both of them in some part of his being and was glad in a way that he seemed to be, at long last, developing a conscience again, but his SEAL constitution quickly compartmentalized those thoughts and gave him perfect clarity as to what he needed to do.

  The utility belt, he noted earlier, had most everything he needed for his first tasks. There was a tactical flashlight attached to it, which he could use discreetly to find his way in the blackness, the knife, of course, and a Glock 19 semiautomatic with four extra clips. He started to head out but, on a whim, turned back to check around the area where the pier was being built. Hastily looking around by the light of the dying fire, he finally found something he was looking for. It was a tool, like a scythe, that was used to cut down tall grass. It had a long handle and a curved blade at the end. He grabbed it and was off.

  It wasn’t more than a minute or two of jogging before Abel was kneeling next to the lifeless, broken body of Rimi. Gently, he raised her up, then threw her over his shoulder and continued into the Green Cathedral. He used his light to keep himself on the path he’d cut through the shrubbery just a couple of weeks before. Here and there, his light flashed over the dead bodies of animals, monkeys, a sloth, a couple of jaguars. All had been shot to shreds by automatic weapon fire. He felt pangs of hurt, but he forged on. It took him ten minutes, with periodic thirty-second rest stops, to reach his stream crossing. Moving the flashlight over the water, he saw several dead crocodiles floating upside down, and then a reflection glinted off what he was looking for.

  Just as he’d anticipated, his cable for crossing the creek was still there but was dangling uselessly over the middle of the stream. Abel carefully laid Rimi’s body down, and using the long-handled tool he’d brought with him, he was, after several attempts, able to snag the cable and pull it back toward the shore. He picked Rimi up once again, grabbed the cable with both hands, took a little run, swung himself across the creek, secured the cable to the tree he’d used previously, and then continued on his trail alongside the vast wasteland of fallen trees. Finally, a half hour after leaving the beach camp, he arrived at the clearing in the woods where Bibi sat, just as he had the first time Abel had seen him. Abel hoped that the AI alien escape pod would still recognize him and let him in. Carrying Rimi, he walked to the pod’s side, and voila, they were in.

  Lights came on instantly. Bibi greeted them.

  “Hello, Caleb Forrest. It appears that Rimi is injured. What has—”

  “She’s dead,” Abel interrupted. “Get out the medical thing. I want you to repair her and see if you can save her.”

  “You mean, bring her back to life?” asked Bibi.

  “Of course, I mean bring her back to life. Repair her and see if that can bring her back to life,” replied Abel impatiently.

  Bibi raised the medical cocoon, opened it, and Abel laid Rimi gently inside of it. Instantly, robotic tentacles appeared from the side of the pod and began to extrude the silky threads that would soon cover Rimi.

  “I have never made a human come back to life before,” Bibi said as he worked.

  “Have you ever tried?” asked Abel.

  “No,” replied Bibi.

  “Okay then, there’s a first time for everything, right?” Abel allowed himself to slow down and be weary for just a moment. “Look, do your best, okay? She hasn’t lost too much blood, so once she’s repaired, there should be plenty in there to revive her if her heart gets beating.”

  “But what about her brain?” asked Bibi. “I can tell already that there’s no activity at present, though structurally, it does seem intact. I have no knowledge of how to make it active again.”

  “Well, just try stuff, you know, shock her with electricity or something. That works in Frankenstein movies. I don’t know. Just do what you can. I’ve got to go, but I’ll try and stay around somewhere. We’ve got the crystal bracelets on that you made. If you somehow bring her back, I want to know.”

  “Staying close will not be necessary if you don’t wish. The range of crystal transmissions is normally over ten thousand miles,” instructed Bibi.

  “I’ll keep that in mind, but I’d still like to be around,” replied Abel. “I’ve got to go now. The island’s been attacked, and there are all kinds of strangers here on the other side.”

  “I’ve detected as much,” said Bibi.

  “They get really spooked by creepy stuff they don’t understand, so don’t hesitate to use those tentacles to scare up some inexplicable calamity if they ever get close. If they think this area’s haunted somehow, they should leave you alone.” Abel watched as Rimi was now completely covered in cocoon strands. “Take care of her, Bibs. I’ll be back for her whenever you get done. Now, I’ve got to go.”

  “Goodbye, Caleb Forrest,” Bibi answered. “I will do as you’ve asked. Oh, and there’s food in the bay of my duplicator if you care to take any along.”

  Food, thought Abel. He’d totally forgotten.

  “How’d you know, or is it days old from the last time I was here?”

  “I sensed it immediately in your thoughts when you came through my walls,” replied Bibi. “I hope you’ll enjoy it—it could bring back some happy memories.”

  Abel stepped over to the duplicator and opened its bay, and there was a plate filled with Belgian waffles.

  ***

  Five minutes later, after wolfing down his and Rimi’s favorite synthetic meal, Abel reappeared in Bibi’s clearing and headed back to the stream, where he once again swung across, but this time went up the river trail he had cut and up the side of the volcano, frequently using brief flashes of his tactical light to make sure he didn’t miss a step and end up injuring himself any more than he was already. Once he’d passed the pool of springs that was the source of the creek, it wasn’t long before he regained his
sniper nests—or what was left of them—and to his great relief found his backpack. Drawing out his Mk 16 and locating the hand grenades and other supplies he always took with him, he smiled. The first part of his busy night had been all about saving Rimi. The second would now be all about setting things right.

  Or is it really just revenge? Though that motivation was definitely present, what he was now planning was about so much more. It was about upholding the law and about saving both an environmental wonder and a peaceful community from those who would victimize them. It was about pride and honor, and the satisfaction of finally taking an irreversible stand to do right instead of wrong.

  Satisfied now as to his cause, he edged his way down the north-facing slope of the volcano, a somewhat more gently sloping hill compared to the cliffs just a little farther toward the east, using moonlight and an occasional burst from his tactical flashlight to avoid obstacles. There was the small inlet at the bottom where he’d anchored his small trawler after sending Rimi off with the Xilinium earlier in the day.

  He smiled one of his most crooked smiles when he saw the moonlight silhouetting the boat’s tall bridge as it bobbed on gentle waves. He had played a hunch when leaving the ship there earlier in the day and had ended up getting lucky.

  Bingo, he thought. Score one for Rimi and me.

  When he got to the rocky beach below, he even found that the rubber boat he’d used to ferry himself to the shore was still there, so he loaded it up with the supplies in his backpack and motored back out to the boat, fired up the engine, slowly moved around the island, and anchored himself a few hundred yards from where the big trawler that had brought the construction crew to the island now stood at anchor.

  Abel stuffed virtually every hand grenade he had in the pack into a watertight bag he kept on board, then slung the bag onto his shoulders, threw a pair of swim fins on his feet, and soundlessly slipped into the water off the stern platform and set out for the big trawler doing a short, steady breaststroke he’d used dozens of times on SEAL missions when having to haul munitions to a target without the benefit of a boat. Keeping his head up, he fixed his eyes on the bigger boat’s running lights, and fifteen minutes later, he was beside it.

  Not hearing anything from the deck of the trawler, he circumnavigated the entire boat, listening, peering up, listening some more. He finally moved to the stern and crawled up on its water-level platform. From there, he looked all over, wishing that he had night-vision goggles with him, but could neither see nor hear any signs of life. It appeared the boat was just sitting at anchor and that its crew had gone ashore. Carefully, he slipped the backpack from his shoulders, crawled over the stern rail, and then lifted the pack over. He was now aboard.

  With his knife in one hand and the hand grenades and some duct tape in another, he stealthily tiptoed along the deck until he reached the ladders amidships. One led up to the bridge, the other down to the cabin, the hold, and the engine room. Silently setting down his gear, Abel brandished the knife as he crept up the ladder to the bridge. The door was open, and Abel thought he saw something bulky sitting in the captain’s chair. Quietly, he crept up behind the chair. Yes, he was right. There was a man in the chair, asleep. Quickly visualizing his plan of attack, Abel in one lethal motion rose, grabbed the man’s head, pulled it back, and slit his throat. Blood sprayed all over the ship’s instrument panel as Abel silently snuck out. Dying without even knowing how it happened, not the way Abel wanted to go, but at least the poor bastard didn’t have a chance to feel anguish or fear.

  He crept back down the ladder and slithered down into the ship’s cabin. Another man there was also sound asleep. Abel moved into the cabin but stubbed his foot on the entryway. The man gave a start and looked around as if he’d been awakened from a deep, dreamless sleep. By the time he saw Abel, it was too late. Abel had already sliced his throat, then dived to the side to avoid the blood shower that ensued.

  Creeping back out and being careful to neither step in blood nor trip over the entryway again, Abel went down to the ship’s engine room. No one around. He climbed back up the ladder, grabbed his backpack, then slid back down. Scanning with his flashlight, he quickly located the engine block and the fuel lines that led aft to the fuel tank. He lashed several hand grenades to the engine block with duct tape. Once started, the engine block would start heating up, exploding the hand grenades. He put a couple of more hand grenades where the fuel line came into the engine room. Once the other grenades exploded, these would then explode, and then in quick succession, the fuel tank would go up as well. The ship would be blown to pieces so small there wouldn’t be anything big enough to use as a life preserver, and anyone on it, if they didn’t die in the explosion itself, would most likely be too injured to swim and would drown.

  Having finished this work, Abel found some bleach in the ship’s cabin. He hauled both bodies out from where they were and tossed them overboard, then went to work on the bloodstains. He didn’t want whoever came out to the boat to be tipped off that something might be dangerously wrong until it was too late. He scrubbed furiously using the ship’s cleaning supplies on the bloody floors and instrument panel and tossed out the bloody bedding from the cabin. In the dim light of his flashlight, it probably wasn’t the most thorough job, but for what he had planned, it didn’t need to be. Finally, he shouldered his backpack again, put his swim fins on, and headed back to his own boat. Once there, he climbed on, pulled out the rest of his hand grenades, checked his Mk 16, put on his bulletproof vest, then sat in the captain’s chair and waited for daylight, snoozing off and on. Three hours later, it happened.

  37

  —

  Fat Monti woke from a peaceful slumber on the beach like all the rest of his men did—to the sound of automatic weapons fire.

  Bullets zinged in horizontal rows along the beach just meters from where the fire had been and where people were sleeping. Then there was an explosion that blasted a hole in the deck of the half-sunken swift boat. Instantly, the beach became a scene of confusion and panic. Men dashed back and forth, trying to find shoes and guns, or get out of the way of bullets. Another spray of automatic weapons fire blanketed the fire pit, this time bullets striking some of the men who’d crashed out there. Monti quickly gathered his wits. It seemed that at this stage anyway, he was out of range of the bullets. That meant they were coming from the ocean. He scanned the bay, and it only took a few seconds for his eyes to fall on something very familiar—his own small trawler, the one he’d given to Agent Caleb Forrest to use to get to the island and back. It was standing less than a half mile offshore, just at the mouth of the bay. He grabbed around until he found his binoculars, then trained them on the boat.

  No, it can’t be!

  At that moment, someone ran up to him. It was Ron from the community patrol.

  “Monti, Abel’s gone, and the guards are dead!”

  Monti stared again through the binoculars. Yes, it could be.

  More bullets spattered the sand about twenty-five yards away. Ron ducked and covered.

  “Is it—”

  “Agent Forrest? What do you think?” interrupted Monti, a look of godlike fury on his face. He saw just enough of the man on the deck of his boat to know that it was his former prisoner before the DEA agent dashed up the stairs to the bridge and gave his boat some gas, and the ship began to flee out to sea. But both Monti and Agent Forrest knew that the small trawler was not a fast ship, not near as fast as the big ship that had brought in the construction crew. Monti cast about for his bullhorn and finally found it.

  “Now hear this! This is Monti Ruiz! Stop what you’re doing. The danger is over, and we’re about to teach our former prisoner a lesson he’ll not forget. This man has killed enough of us for a hundred lifetimes. Now, we will have him at last. Soldiers and crew of the trawler, to the rubber boats! We’ll be off to our own ship, chase this little fly down, and smash him like the nuisance he is. Bring the
RPGs and your assault rifles. Our boat sails in five minutes. The rest of you, prepare breakfast! When we return, we’ll have another celebration.”

  Instantly, the entire camp sprang into purposeful action. Soldiers grabbed guns. A couple went back and found the RPG launcher. The big trawler’s crew were in their rubber boat inside of a minute and had set sail for their boat. One by one, the motorized rubber boats took off, filled with armed men. Monti looked at Ron.

  “Come with me, my friend. You’ll not want to miss this!” He hauled Ron up, and they both dashed for one of the last boats headed for the trawler. Even as they did, though, more machine-gun fire splattered the water twenty yards out into the bay.

  “Curse that fucking man!” yelled Monti. “I’ll chop his head off myself if we don’t blow him up with his boat first!”

  When Monti’s boat arrived at the trawler, the deck was alive with crewmen and cartel soldiers. Some were hauling out a 20mm Gatling gun that was stored below. Others were setting up its mount on the foredeck. The captain had fired up the engine.

  “Cast off!” yelled Monti to him, and the captain opened the throttle, swung the big boat around, and set his course straight toward the smaller trawler, which was chugging away from them about a half mile up the coast and a mile from the mainland.

  “Get that gun ready! Be quick!” ordered Monti. He left Ron amidships and tromped up to the foredeck. As he passed soldiers, he ordered them to fire at will when they felt they were in range. As he stepped on the foredeck, he saw that the Gatling gun was mounted and a couple of soldiers were rigging its ammo belt. Monti stepped behind the weapon.

  “Clear away,” he told the others on the foredeck. “When you’ve got that all cocked and loaded, show me how to shoot it. I’m going to blast that man and his little boat into a million pieces! You hear! A million fucking pieces!”