His thoughts winged back to that night, the memory as cold and dark as the look in a shark’s eye when it bit into your flesh.
Unforgiving.
Merciless.
Cruel.
***
Saul poked at the fire with a stick, evening out the hot bed of coals. He propped two spitted chickens over the burning embers, the skin turning a crisp brown as the fat underneath sizzled and popped.
Across from him sat Tara, one hand casually draped across her knee. Tendrils of hair had escaped from her ponytail and clung to her damp forehead. Even at night it was hot in the jungle. Hot and humid. She studied him with dark eyes, a smile playing across her lips.
“What are you so happy about?” he asked.
“You won’t believe how tired I am of fish,” she replied. “I can’t wait to sink my teeth into a big, fat, juicy drumstick.”
Saul laughed and looked around at his team. They were gathered around a trio of fires, each with a couple of chickens roasting over the coals. They were laughing and making jokes, their perilous journey forgotten for the moment. The smoke drove away the mosquitoes while frogs sang in the background, an amphibious choir. “Between you and me, I think we’re all sick of fish and of the boat.”
Tara grunted. “Don’t talk to me about the boat. If I never see it again in my entire life, it will be too soon.”
“Hey, now, don’t be mean. That boat saved our lives. Besides, you’ll miss it tomorrow when you have to trek through ten miles of swampland. Enjoy this moment while you can,” Saul admonished.
He knew far better than her what awaited ahead. After spending a week on the river, they’d reached a dead-end caused by lack of rain and intense heat. The channel narrowed until it became impassable, and they had to abandon the boat.
After carrying all their stuff onto the nearest shore, they met a couple of tribesmen from a nearby village. They traded the boat to these people for a few chickens and other provisions. It wasn’t much but would see them through the final stretch of their journey.
Unfortunately, the area they had to cover on foot was swampland. A nightmarish maze of stagnant water, snakes, crocodiles, and other creatures. Mosquitoes and gnats swarmed around in black clouds, and it was easy to get lost.
On the other side waited salvation: A privately chartered plane sent to pick them up and take them to the Agostinho-Neto International Airport at Pointe-Noire. From there, they’d fly to Cape Town and go their separate ways. Tara would return to the US, and he’d go back to his unit in the army.
At least, that’s what the authorities believed, but Saul had no intention of returning to his home. He was sticking with Tara, accompanying her to the US. She held the key to the virus, and he believed that without her, everything would be lost.
After all he’d seen and heard, he had no doubt that the Vita virus spelled out the end of mankind. Could a few survivors hold out against the zombie hordes? Sure, maybe. People were tough, and some might survive the coming apocalypse. But if they were to have a future, they needed to beat the virus. Crush it like it crushed its victims. We will prevail. We must.
“I’m starving,” Tara said, breaking into his thoughts.
He pulled out his knife and cut into the thigh of the chicken. When the juices ran clear, he nodded. “You’re in luck. It’s ready.”
After removing the chicken from the spits, he cut the plump fowls into pieces and arranged them on a platter. He and Tara ate their fill before passing the rest around to the men. Around the other fires, their actions were copied and silence fell as empty bellies were filled with succulent meat.
Tara leaned back with a groan of satisfaction, one hand patting her stomach. “That was the best meal I’ve ever had.”
“I doubt that, but hunger is its own seasoning,” Saul replied as he licked the fat from his fingertips. “I’ll be right back.”
He got to his feet and did a quick round of the camp, pausing next to his second-in-command. “Mokoena, make sure the guards are relieved and get a chance to eat.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Once his men were taken care of, he moved away from the camp toward the tree-line. There, in the thick shadows and shielded by foliage, he emptied his bladder. Afterward, he stood still, studying the jungle surrounds.
He was about to return to Tara when a sixth sense warned him something was wrong. He hunkered down onto his haunches and moved deeper into the shadows, one hand resting on his R4 rifle. His eyes searched for the source of his concern, and then he realized what it was. The frogs were silent.
Suddenly, ululating cries split the night in two. Figures rushed into the camp carrying clubs, sticks, knives, machetes, and guns. Shots rang out, and several of his men fell, taken off guard. The rest were quickly rounded up and disarmed. The entire exercise took a couple of seconds, at most.
Saul swore as he recognized a few of the attackers. Villagers. The same ones they’d bartered with earlier. His lips peeled back in a snarl. “Traitorous scum.”
He glanced to the left and spotted one of the sentries, Johannes. He crawled toward the man who was hiding behind a bush. “Johannes, where are the other guards?”
“I don’t know. Probably dead. I was stationed over there, but moved a few minutes ago because of ants.” Johannes pointed at a spot several feet away, and they watched as two of the villagers milled about in the place, searching for him.
Saul nodded. “They must’ve been watching us, waiting for the right time to strike.”
“Cowards,” Johannes muttered. “What do
