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  “What are those?” Jerry asked.

  “A blow gun and darts,” Vogan whispered back. He pulled four wicked-looking steel darts from the pouch and deftly dipped them in the vial, being careful to shake the excess liquid from their tips. He held the bottle on the palm of his hand for Jerry to see. “This is the paralytic I told you about,” he explained. The liquid was thick, with a yellowish tint. He resealed the bottle and slipped it into a shirt pocket.

  “Follow me, and whatever happens, be quiet!” he hissed. “Any loud noises will bring them all after us. Angel, keep that cannon strapped to your back.”

  “Wait!” Jerry hissed. “If an insinuative poison works on the virus’ victims, it proves that they are alive,” he pointed out. “Poisons delivered by a dart are carried by the bloodstream, and as you know, that requires a pulse! You are disproving your theory right now!”

  “Dilettante,” Vogan growled. “Don’t lecture me on basic biology. This poison is extremely powerful. The dose on these darts would prove fatal to humans, but as you will see, it barely affects the infected villagers. Just watch and learn. Come on.”

  Jerry wanted to argue more, but Vogan was already moving slowly forward along the track. The biologist crouched low, and slipped smoothly from tree to tree. Angel followed him, a huge gliding shadow. Jerry did his best, but he was clumsy and loud compared to the two woodsmen. After a few minutes of stealthy movement, Vogan stopped. Angel and Jerry froze in place behind him.

  A single figure was moving slowly down the road towards them. His movements were jerky and stiff, and his posture seemed unnatural, even to Jerry. He approached their position slowly, then stopped and turned towards them. He was very close.

  Jerry gasped in shock as the man slowly twisted his face to them. His eye sockets had been gutted. The flesh of his face hung in tatters and strips, and his trachea was clearly visible in his shredded throat. His ragged clothing was stained with blackened blood.

  Jerry heard the blow gun as a dart streaked into the man’s left thigh. Before he could blink, another sank into the muscle of the villager’s right leg. The man took two hesitant steps and collapsed onto the roadway. He still sought to pull himself forward with his broken bloodstained hands.

  The blowgun sounded twice more and a dart stood out from each of the man’s biceps.

  Vogan stood slowly and looked down the lane. “Come on, we don’t have much time.”

  He approached the struggling victim and rolled him over onto his back with a shove from his boot. Jerry and Angel hesitantly approached; this time, it was Angel who held back.

  Vogan pulled out the vial and poured a small amount of the thick liquid on the villager’s face, torso, and abdomen. After a few seconds, the man’s struggles subsided.

  “Examine him quickly,” Vogan instructed the two men. “The paralysis will only last a moment or two.”

  Even from a distance, Jerry could smell the unmistakable scent of death. He had seen rotting corpses before; they were common in Africa. As he drew closer, he realized the man could not possibly still be alive; the decomposition of his flesh was well advanced. The carrion stench was almost overpowering. Jerry forced himself not to puke; he didn’t want to appear weak before Vogan, who showed no fear or revulsion. Angel stood behind Jerry and looked down in disbelief. The whites of his eyes were huge; it was as if a childhood monster had come to life before him.

  The corpse struggled to move, one of its hands still grasped at the dirt.

  “Well,” Vogan inquired. “Do you believe me now? This man is clearly dead, but still animated. A moment from now, he will get back up and try his damnedest to kill us.”

  Already, the man was showing signs of regaining movement. His legs jerked spasmodically.

  Jerry struggled to comprehend what he was seeing. “How is this possible? He has to be alive,” he insisted.

  “Watch!” Vogan hissed. He snatched up a thick broken branch from a nearby tree. The biologist pushed the wood through the victim’s chest with relative ease, puncturing the suppurated rotting flesh, and releasing a fresh discharge of trapped decomposition gases. No blood flowed from the wound.

  “It is the virus,” Vogan hissed. “The man is dead, but somehow the virus is controlling the body.”

  Jerry backed away, gagging and nauseated. Angel turned away and walked back down the track, visibly shaken.

  Vogan steered Jerry down the road until they were several yards away. “Wait, you must see this for yourself,” he demanded. “The paralysis will wear off in a moment.”

  Jerry watched in growing horror as the cadaver began to regain movement. It struggled onto its hands and knees, and began to crawl after them. Finally, it lurched to its feet and limped along the track, one bony, grasping hand outstretched before it.

  Jerry had never been so terrified. “I’ve seen enough,” he admitted.

  “Yes, we should leave quickly,” Vogan agreed. Beyond the cadaver, grotesquely bent figures were moving slowly along the road in their direction.

  The men retreated to the point they had stowed their packs. Vogan quickly retrieved his and turned to address the other two men. “We must hurry. I want to go to the Pygmy village, but I will need your help if we are to stop this virus. Will you help me now?”

  “Yes,” Jerry said. “I’ll do whatever I can.”

  They fled into the forest. Vogan led them away from the nightmares behind them.

  The light was failing; the sun would set in less than an hour. Jerry did not want to be in the jungle after dark with the dead.

  Angel walked apart from them. He looked ashen. Jerry wondered how he would react if a childhood demon had suddenly come to life for him. At least he had science to comfort him, cold comfort though it was.

  “Vogan, explain this shit to me, please! How in the hell is this happening?” Jerry urged.

  “I honestly don’t know,” the doctor replied.

  “You’re a biologist. You’re supposed to be one of the best in your field. What is happening out here? Dead people don’t walk around, it’s just not possible. Fuck!” Jerry insisted.

  “All I know is that the viral outbreak preceded the reanimation. I was in the Haet-Mombou doing fieldwork when I learned that a viral outbreak had occurred. The local man who drops off my supplies told me; he said it was very bad, and that many people had died. The symptoms sounded like Ebola, or a hemorrhagic fever. I must admit I was like you, I didn’t think too much about it at the time, but two days later, the Pygmies came to warn me. I thought that their stories were fantastic, but they seemed so earnest and so concerned that I finally decided to find out what was really happening,” Vogan explained.

  “The Pygmies knew about the virus?” Jerry asked.

  “They didn’t know the cause, only the effect. They are too simple a people to have any concept of viruses. I convinced them to show me one of the reanimated dead. They only did it out of friendship to me. I didn’t believe their stories, and I didn’t realize how awfully dangerous it was at the time. The Pygmies crippled one and led me to it. They assured me that the man had died from the same sickness that was sweeping the region.

  I couldn’t believe it at first. I stayed with that damn thing for three days, running tests and watching it decompose. But I didn’t have any equipment! It’s so hard to do real work in the field! I was at a loss, but it was amazing. I am still having trouble getting my head around how it all works! This is so exciting!” the biologist exclaimed.

  “Exciting?” Jerry shot back. “More like terrifying! What did you do with it?”

  “The Pygmies burned it. There is an old adage that fire cleanses,” the biologist explained, then continued. “It is only frightening because we don’t understand it. This is something entirely new to modern man; I have never heard of anything like this in all my studies and research. The rain-forests are a treasure trove of undiscovered life forms. That is why it is so vitally important that we protect them!”

  Jerry sighed. “How is it tha
t the Pygmies know about this?”

  “That is exactly what I need to find out,” Vogan responded. He looked at Angel. “Your guide’s people knew of this. They called the reanimated corpses the Kindu, but it seems they have discounted the stories. The Pygmies are a more primitive people, they still believe; perhaps they will remember something vitally important.”

  Jerry thought about what the biologist had told him; they walked along in silence for a moment. Finally, he asked, “How far is it to the village?”

  “I don’t know, maybe seven miles,” Vogan replied.

  “So we won’t make it before dark?” Jerry inquired.

  “No, I’m afraid not,” Vogan answered. “We will have to make a rough camp tonight, and push on tomorrow.”

  “Angel, can you lead us to the Pygmy village in the dark?” Jerry shouted.

  “No, boss,” the guide replied. “It is easy to lose your way in the darkness. Do not be afraid, the Kindu will not find us. They are far away.”

  Jerry was almost one hundred percent sure he was wrong.

  As the sun set, Jerry felt he knew how ancient man must have felt at dusk every day. He willed the sun to stay in the sky, just a little longer. They pushed on until darkness closed in all around them, and Jerry could barely see his hand in front of his face. Angel found them a spot, and set up camp.

  Jerry jumped at every sound. He cursed whatever it was that was screaming in the distance, but Vogan and Angel seemed unconcerned. He laughed grimly to himself; the dead didn’t scream.

  Angel lit his stove, and boiled water for tea. Jerry found the tiny blue flames somehow comforting. He pulled out his SPC Array and powered it up. He began to type in his report, then stopped as he realized how unbelievable the words on the page were.

  “Damn, no matter how I report this, the home office is not going to believe it,” the field agent complained.

  “Just make clear exactly what happened. You can mention my name in the report, and explain that I have verified the reanimation of the cadavers,” Vogan offered.

  “You don’t understand how the CIA operates,” Jerry offered. “No one will send this report up the chain of command for fear of looking foolish; it’s too unbelievable. It won’t be taken seriously until it’s undeniably proven. By then, it will be too late. I don’t even want to be the one who reports it. They’ll think I’m nuts. This is Roswell shit.”

  “But you know it’s real,” Vogan argued. “It’s your responsibility to report it.”

  “Yea, I know,” Jerry responded. “Let’s just hope my superiors at least look into it, and don’t just recall me for a mental evaluation.” He hit the Send button.

  Jerry was extremely unhappy about the whole situation. He pulled out his scotch and proceeded to put a dent in the bottle.

  Vogan turned on a flashlight and played it over Jerry’s face. “That’s not sporting, I didn’t know you had scotch,” he complained.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you had a flashlight?” Jerry demanded. “Let’s keep going!”

  ‘The batteries will only last a few hours, it’s just for emergencies,” Vogan explained. “And I only have the one.”

  “Damn,” Jerry cursed. He took another draw on the bottle.

  “Ahem,” Vogan coughed, holding out his hand.

  “Fine,” Jerry relented, passing him the bottle. They finished it, and washed it down with hot tea. Angel fixed them rice, beans, and canned meat. The three men wolfed down the meal. A large can of fruit cocktail went round for desert.

  Jerry began to feel comfortable and drowsy. He climbed under the netting and fell asleep, trying to forget about the terrors of the day. He hoped he would not dream.

  Angel shook him awake. At first, he didn’t know where he was. It was still pitch dark, and completely quiet. “What the …?” he began, but Angel put a huge hand over his mouth.

  “Be still, boss,” he whispered. “The Kindu have found us.” He gently removed his hand.

  “What?” Jerry hissed. Cold terror gripped him. “Where are they?”

  “Out there, in the trees,” Angel replied grimly.

  “Are you sure?” Jerry asked.

  “Can’t you smell them?” Angel asked.

  Faintly, it came to him, the stench of death and decomposition on the night air. Jerry felt his bowels loosen. He struggled to control his fear. “Where’s Vogan?” he murmured.

  “Right here,” Vogan answered from behind him.

  Jerry almost screamed; he bit down hard on his lip to keep his mouth closed. “Don’t do that!” he growled. “What are we going to do?” Jerry asked desperately.

  “Do you have everything, Angel?” Vogan asked.

  “Yes, I am ready,” the guide replied.

  “Vogan, what are we doing?” Jerry repeated urgently.

  “We are running, get ready,” he replied.

  Angel helped Jerry to his feet, and took his hand. Vogan flipped on his light. He shone it through the trees behind them to the east. It was still clear.

  An unearthly moaning echoed through the forest all around them. The dead came out of the darkness, howling for their blood. Vogan played the light over the advancing corpses; dozens of the rotting cadavers staggered towards them, attracted by the light. The putrid monstrosities lurched and staggered through the trees. All of them were in an advanced state of decomposition. Many had distended bellies and swollen faces caused by trapped putrefaction gases, while others bore horrible gaping wounds, white bone showing through their mangled flesh. Their horrible moans rose in volume, and were returned by more of the undead still deeper in the trees.

  Jerry shut his eyes and groaned himself. Vogan stared in morbid fascination, but Angel had seen enough. The guide leapt away, almost pulling Jerry off his feet.

  They fled through the massive trees, running for their lives. Vogan played the flashlight’s beam before them. Jerry ran blindly; Angel pulled him along like a child. Roots and creepers snagged his feet. Each time he went down, Angel snatched him up and hauled him further. To stop now meant certain death.

  Adrenaline flooded Jerry’s veins, and cold terror gripped him. His arm was numb; he was certain Angel had sprained his shoulder. His ankles and shins were twisted and bruised, but he ran as fast as his slipping feet would carry him. They fled through a terrifying forest of death and rot. The dead pursued them like the nightmares of some mad mortician come horribly to life.

  Finally, the CIA agent could run no further. He yanked his hand from Angel’s grip and stopped in the darkness, gasping in great gulps of air and coughing horribly. He had never run so far. His heart hammered in his ears, and his head spun like his worst hangover.

  Angel returned instantly and attempted to draw him further along. The men struggled in the darkness until Vogan stopped them.

  “Listen,” the biologist insisted.

  The moaning came from a remote distance. It still carried faintly through the trees, but the cadavers had been left far behind.

  Jerry gratefully collapsed to the ground, and lay there, attempting to breathe without puking. Every muscle in his legs twitched and cramped spasmodically.

  Angel looked like a trapped animal; his arms trembled as he lifted a quivering hand to wipe away the sweat pouring from his brow. Finally, he mastered his fear, and walked a short distance away. He squatted down and shakily rolled a cigarette. Jerry realized that the big man had probably never run from anything in his entire life.

  Vogan switched off his light.

  “Leave it on,” Jerry pleaded.

  “We are safe enough for the moment,” Vogan replied softly.

  The darkness seemed threatening. Jerry sat upright and struggled to listen to the jungle around him over his own ragged breathing. He could still hear the moans of the dead approaching in the distance. He shivered in dread and got unsteadily to his feet. “How did they find us?” he demanded.

  “I don’t know,” Vogan replied. “I was just asking myself the same question. It seems that our dead f
riends still possess some sense of smell. They seem to be excellent trackers.”

  “That is insane,” Jerry retorted.

  “No, not at all,” the biologist countered. “Some animals can smell blood on the air for miles. Our own sense of smell is diminished, but still quite acute. Most people just don’t use it for its intended purpose. It can also be intensified through the loss of the other senses. Blind people often report a heightened sense of smell and hearing. Some of the cadavers following us had lost their eyes. Or maybe they just blundered into us in the darkness. I am just theorizing, I don’t really know.”

  “This is just fucking crazy,” Jerry coughed. “We need to get the fuck out of here and let the military handle this shit,” he concluded.

  “I don’t think anyone will believe us without proof,” Vogan countered. “And I am not leaving until I figure this virus out. Something like this occurs maybe once in a lifetime. This virus is absolutely amazing. Who knows what potential medical ramifications this thing has. I have to understand it. I have to study it further.”

  “The dead come back to life and you want to study it,” Jerry laughed dourly. “You’re fucking nuts, too. We need to get back to the capital.”

  Vogan paused for a moment, then he spoke from the darkness. “Agent Foster, as a CIA field agent, it is your sworn responsibility to defend the United States from all foreign threats. This virus has the potential to become a pandemic. I am an academic researcher, a trained biologist attempting to find a cure. It is your sworn duty to assist me in any way possible.”

  “Bullshit, Vogan,” Jerry replied bitterly. “You’re bucking for a Nobel Prize, and you don’t care if you get me killed doing it. You’d throw me and Angel under the bus in a heartbeat to advance your career and your agenda, and don’t think I don’t know it.”

  Vogan was quiet for a moment, and then he spoke softly. “I’ll admit I have some ulterior motives in this, but you must believe me. This is our best chance to stop the virus, now, before it spreads beyond any hope of containment,” Vogan explained. “The Pygmies must have dealt with outbreaks in the past; there may be some simple remedy they possess knowledge of. You must help me.”