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  He counted fifteen of the putrid things. The cadavers were in a horribly advanced state of decay. Their ghastly stench hit him as they passed below. Jerry’s eyes began to water, and he stifled a cough. The corpses slowed as they reached their tree. They seemed agitated; they shuffled and cast about; then, they slowly began to move again, moaning like lost souls.

  They filed past along the track. As the last cadaver passed underneath, Angel dropped the noose around its neck and jerked it tight in one smooth motion. He snapped the rope taught, crushing the corpse’s windpipe. The big guide pulled the weight of the body up, hand over hand, a foot at a time with each pull. The muscles on his arms and neck stood out like cables, but he made no sound. The rest of the corpses stumbled away, never noticing the attack. Angel pulled the cadaver up until it swung gently just below his branch, jerking and kicking like a possessed marionette. Jerry watched nervously while the cadavers below disappeared into the distance, then he let out a long sigh.

  “That was amazing,” Vogan commended.

  “I’ve done it before,” Angel grunted. He slowly lowered the cadaver until its toes could almost reach the ground, then he secured the rope to the branch and let out a sigh of relief. He sat upright and rubbed his arms.

  The guide helped Jerry back down to the ground while Vogan scampered down and approached their prize.

  The thing had been a man once; now, it was just an animated bag of rotting meat, lashed around a pile of bloody bones. Its intestines were long gone, and its backbone showed clearly through its empty abdominal cavity. Only sinew and bones held it together at the waist. The thing had no eyes, nose, or ears, and yet it jerked around to face Vogan as he approached it, and threw its claw-like hands at his face. The biologist gave it plenty of room.

  Jerry stayed far back, but Angel approached it closely. He stared at it, facing down his fear until it receded. “It was just a man,” he concluded. “Just a man.”

  Vogan laid a hand upon the guide’s arm. “A virus is driving the body to act, nothing more,” he stated.

  Angel paced away, watching the track. “Hurry, we may not have much time,” he warned.

  “Go with him, Jerry, give me some room,” Vogan instructed.

  The biologist walked away from the cadaver and approached it from its blind side, moving slowly forward until it began to jerk around to face him again. He moved away and repeated the experiment from the other side.

  Vogan stopped and gauged the distance. “The cadaver seemed to sense my approach at about twenty-five feet or so,” he stated. “So how are they tracking us?” he mused aloud. “This son of a bitch has no eyes, no ears, even his nose is gone.” Vogan paced slowly up and down on the road and tried to think.

  Jerry began to grow nervous. “How long should we wait?” he whispered to Angel.

  “Not long, boss,” the guide replied.

  Vogan backed away from the cadaver. He shouted to Angel, “Clap loudly.”

  Angel clapped as loud as he could. The cadaver jerked around on the rope to face the guide.

  “Somehow, they can detect loud noises,” Vogan exclaimed. “Sound can carry a long way. What else? Scent, heat gradient, thermal, air temperature, residual infrared?”

  Vogan backed away and lit his lighter. He slowly advanced, but got no different response.

  “What else? Chemical, electrical?” Vogan snapped his fingers loudly. “Electro-magnetic field manipulation, that’s it!” The biologist moved to the cadaver’s blind side and then joined the other two men.

  “Jerry, pull out your communications array and power it up!” Vogan insisted.

  “Why?” Jerry asked.

  “Just do it, man!” Vogan persisted.

  Jerry pulled his SPC Array from its shoulder bag and opened the screen. He spread out the solar panels and pushed in the power button.

  The cadaver went nuts. It jerked and twitched violently, kicking and clawing, spinning wildly around in a mad attempt to rend and kill.

  Vogan reached over and shut off the unit. “Put it away.”

  “What just happened?” Jerry asked.

  “I’ll tell you later; right now, we need to run!”

  A/O Regional Personnel Supervisor, Africa and Middle East Bureaus.

  Recommend immediate recall and full physical and psychological review of Field Agent Foster, Jerry N. currently assigned to Kinshasa, DRC office, Central Africa. Also recommend full drug screen.

  Agent Foster is exhibiting signs of paranoid delusions, possibly attributed to sickness and or stress of current assignment, and has become increasingly erratic with communications to this office.

  Johannesburg, SA, Regional Supervisor Sharpe.

  Chapter 7

  05:52 p.m. Zulu

  The Road to Gatou

  The Congo

  Angel led them away from the road, back to the east the way they had come. They moved quickly, trying to put some space between themselves and the last batch of cadavers they had encountered. Jerry was winded within the first few minutes, but Vogan pushed him on until they had put a mile between themselves and the road. Finally, he stopped to allow Jerry to catch his breath.

  “What, happened, back, there?” the field agent panted.

  Vogan grinned happily. “It’s so simple; it’s just basic electro-magnetic field manipulation. I should have thought of it before.”

  Jerry shook his head. “Once again, need an explanation here. Try to remember we’re not all as bright as you think you are,” he growled.

  “For starters, we should probably take the battery out of your comm unit,” Vogan warned. “I don’t know how sensitive the virus is to the spectrum, but better safe than sorry. I can almost guarantee that is how they found us before.”

  Jerry removed his SPC Array and pulled out the battery. He carefully replaced the unit, securing the battery in a side pouch. He looked up. “Well?”

  Vogan was still grinning; it drove Jerry crazy, he wanted to slap him. The biologist explained, “There are species that use the electro-magnetic spectrum to find and identify their food sources. I believe the virus, and by transposition, the cadavers, are doing just that.”

  Jerry stared at the biologist, a confused look on his face.

  Vogan continued, “It is relatively simple. Take bees, for example. The earth’s atmosphere is positively charged; it carries a constant charge of around thirty volts at ground level. As bees fly, they pick up a small positive charge. The earth is ground, a negative charge, of course. Plants are grounded. Some flowers put off a stronger negative charge that allows the bees to identify them as a source of pollen. The flowers are manipulating the electro-magnetic field to attract the bees, and the bees are using the field to find the flowers.”

  “You’re theorizing here, right?” Jerry mused.

  “No, I’m not,” Vogan replied. “That has been verified under laboratory conditions. It is a fact. I am theorizing that the cadavers are doing the same thing, but it seems relatively conclusive, based on what we witnessed back there.”

  “It still makes no sense to me,” Jerry complained.

  “Look, your modern communication equipment puts off a huge electro-magnetic signature, compared to naturally occurring signals. Think about it. Your cell phone is an electrically powered device used to broadcast an electrical impulse through the air. Out here in the jungle, your satellite communications array doesn’t have much competition, you’re the only game in town. When you broadcast, it produces a huge electro-magnetic spike. Your signature stands out like a homing beacon.”

  “So we can’t use the SPC Array?” Jerry posited. “I can’t operate without it!”

  “Only in an emergency,” Vogan replied. “And just to be safe, we should take the batteries out of all our electronic equipment; our cell phones, your wrist watch. You don’t have a pace maker, do you?”

  “Fuck you, Vogan; I do not have a pace maker. This is just great,” Jerry complained.

  “Yeah, but see, we are making progress, we a
re figuring this shit out,” the biologist emphasized. “That’s why I love doing this!”

  “I need a drink,” Jerry moaned.

  Angel came back and announced that the way was clear ahead. He led them further to the southeast, into the deep jungle, away from the river and the village. After Vogan explained the electro-magnetic field theory to him, the guide removed the battery from his cell phone; there was no signal deep in the Congo, anyway.

  “Please tell me we are not going to the village today,” Jerry pleaded.

  “No, boss, it is too close to dark. We should go at first light,” Angel answered.

  “What about tonight?” Jerry queried.

  “We will sleep in the trees,” the guide replied. “Do not worry, I will strap you in.”

  They walked until Angel found a tree to his liking. He broke out his stove and made them tea, rice, and beans. They ate their supper below the huge mahogany tree’s branches as the sun sat in the west.

  Jerry wished he had a scotch on the rocks, but there was only warm water from one of Angel’s canteens. He wished for a lot of things he usually took for granted. The field agent had never gone this long without a shower, and he smelled like shit. His clothing was torn and muddy. Sweat was running down the crack of his ass and he itched everywhere. He had ripped the knees out of his pants, and his dirty kneecaps protruded through them. Jerry looked at his hands; they were scratched and bruised, and dried mud was caked under his fingernails. He looked like a fucking dirt farmer.

  He looked at the other two. They were dirty and sweaty, but neither one looked uncomfortably so. In fact, they both looked fine.

  “How do you fuckers stand being out here in the brush like this for days on end?” Jerry finally asked.

  “Excuse me?” Vogan replied.

  “I’m fucking miserable,” Jerry complained. “But you two seem to be enjoying yourselves. How do you do that?” he asked.

  “Just experience and perspective, I guess,” Vogan answered. “I spend so much time in the jungle that I’ve gotten used to it, I suppose. Plus, I always bring baby wipes.”

  “I like the jungle,” Angel replied. “But I know what you mean. I feel uncomfortable if I am in the city too long,” he laughed.

  “I really need a shower and some clean clothes,” Jerry advised them.

  “Careful what you wish for,” Vogan warned him. “It could rain at any time.”

  They finished their meal and Angel packed everything away. He hoisted his pack into the branches overhead and helped Jerry climb up after him. They climbed until they were a good thirty feet off the ground. Angel directed Jerry to a crook in the branches, where a hollow niche offered a semi-flat place to lay down. Angel rigged it with the netting. The field agent doubtfully clambered onto it, and lay on his back. It was more comfortable than he thought it would be. Angel and Vogan found their own spots nearby, and lay down among the huge branches.

  “I’m not going to be able to sleep up here,” Jerry complained.

  “Go to sleep, Jerry,” Angel instructed him.

  It was very warm and Jerry was very tired. He closed his eyes and said a quick prayer that he wouldn’t fall out. The sounds of the jungle lulled him to sleep.

  He awoke a few hours later. A downpour of lukewarm rainwater soaked him instantly. Jerry sat bolt upright, sputtering and flailing at the netting before he remembered where he was. Lightning flashed through the treetops and thunder rolled far off in the distance.

  “Angel, shouldn’t we climb down?” Jerry shouted in the guide’s general direction.

  “No, boss,” he yelled back. “Hunker down; the rain should pass. Just stay put.”

  Jerry huddled against the tree bark in a sodden mess. The rain-water ran over him, and fat drops splashed into his face and eyes. He sputtered and cursed, but the rain didn’t slacken, it just kept coming down from the pitch-dark sky. The only small blessing was that it was far too warm for Jerry to get cold. It was like lying in a warm shower with your clothes on.

  It was absolutely impossible for the agent to go back to sleep. He sat reclined against the tree where he spent the most miserable night of his life. Eventually, he grew numb to the rain. He tried to think of pleasant things, and swore to himself that he would never step foot out of the city again.

  After an indeterminate amount of time, it began to grow almost imperceptibly lighter, and the rain slackened away. The sun began to rise, and the jungle lay steaming all around him. Tendrils of mist rose through the tree-tops, and the smaller animals and birds filled the air with shrieks and songs. At that point, Jerry would have traded the whole Congo for a dry change of clothes and some bacon and eggs.

  Angel moved down the branch and helped Jerry climb back down to the ground. Everything was absolutely soaked. The jungle floor had turned into a carpet of clinging mud. Water dripped from the trees, and lay in deep puddles everywhere.

  Vogan climbed down to join them. He stretched and yawned. “Rough night, huh?”

  Jerry looked hopelessly around him. “I think we should leave now,” he suggested.

  “We will,” Angel answered. “Right after tea.” He set up his stove and began to boil water.

  “No, Angel, I need to go back to Kinshasa, now!” Jerry demanded.

  Vogan looked at him. “I know it seems bad after last night, but it will be okay. Just relax.”

  “I’m freaking out,” Jerry insisted. “I don’t belong out here!” he snapped.

  Angel handed him a steaming cup of tea. “Drink that down, boss,” he ordered.

  “I don’t want any tea,” Jerry shot back.

  “Drink it,” Angel growled.

  Jerry gulped the stinging black liquid down. He handed the empty cup back to Angel and wiped his hand across his mouth. After a moment, things slowed down, and he didn’t feel so bad. He was still wet and miserable, but he didn’t care so much. He smiled.

  “What was in that?” Vogan asked.

  “That is my special Kef tea, very strong black magic,” Angel replied. “The boss’ trip will be much smoother now.”

  “Yea,” Jerry agreed. “I feel great. Wait, was that pot? I can’t have pot.”

  “You should smoke pot every day,” Vogan suggested.

  They all had some of Angel’s special tea, then gathered their belongings and set out through the forest. The mud clung to Jerry’s boots, but his clothes soon dried out and he felt much cleaner than he had before the rain. The exercise loosened up his stiff muscles, and he actually felt a little better and a lot calmer.

  Once again, Angel went out on point, and he and Vogan hiked quietly along.

  “Do you actually think you can figure this virus out?” Jerry inquired as they walked.

  “I don’t know,” Vogan answered. “It’s a little outside my field of expertise. We really need a virologist, but I’ll do in a pinch. I’m pretty fucking brilliant, you know.”

  “That’s what I hear,” Jerry replied.

  They walked along in silence for a moment.

  “If I can discover the source of the viral outbreak, it will be greatly helpful in finding a cure,” Vogan stated. “You said your loggers were near Gatou, so we should be able to find them.”

  “I thought you said they were dead,” Jerry pointed out.

  “If they are still there, then they are dead,” Vogan retorted. “But sometimes dead men do tell tales.”

  They walked on through the morning and into the early afternoon. Finally, they caught up to Angel; he had stopped and was leaning against a tree trunk, patiently waiting for them.

  Jerry was starving. “Do you have anything else to eat?” he asked his guide.

  Angel rummaged through his bag; he pulled out two pieces of fish jerky and handed them to Jerry. The jerky was basically large pieces of fish that had been salted and left out in the sun to dry, or as Jerry believed, more correctly, to rot. They absolutely stunk. He pushed one into his mouth and chewed it, trying to ignore the taste and not breathe through his nose. He q
uickly washed it down with warm water.

  Angel gave some to Vogan, who ate his without comment.

  “The village is just ahead, through the trees,” Angel warned them quietly. “But it is not good.”

  “Why do you say that?” Jerry asked fearfully.

  “The people are like the others we saw upon the road, but much worse. They have all rotted. The guide pulled his hand over his face and down, as if it was gone. “And the smell is unlike anything I have ever seen. I was sick,” the guide admitted.

  “Are they active?” Vogan asked.

  “Yes, very active,” Angel replied. “It will be hard to sneak into the village.”

  “I want to see it,” Vogan declared.

  “Alright,” Angel agreed. “First, put this on your faces.” He dug into his pack and pulled out a small green bottle. He thrust his finger inside and dabbed a greasy yellow liquid on Jerry and Vogan’s faces.

  Jerry completely forgot about the fish jerky. The paste was horrific; Jerry gagged and almost puked. His eyes watered up, and he spit and cursed. “What the fuck is that shit, Angel?”

  “Water buffalo piss,” Angel laughed. “I put it on my boots to throw off my scent.”

  “Then why did you put it on my face?” Jerry demanded.

  “We won’t be able to smell the cadavers,” Vogan answered for him.

  Jerry regurgitated half his fish jerky. When he could talk again, he cursed. “You suck, Angel.”

  The guide led them forward very slowly. The trio crept through the brush until everything cleared away, and only a few large trees stood between them and the village.

  Even with the buffalo piss on his face, Jerry could discern the unmistakable stench of decomposing human flesh. The odor was so overpowering that he could taste it in the air. The nauseating, greasy smell clung to his tongue. He wanted to puke again, but there wasn’t much left. They crawled on their bellies for the last few yards, worming forward until they could clearly see the village of Gatou.