Threnody (Book 1) (2 page)

For Marcus, however, everything began to change a few months later, when their animal experiments became more and more cruel and ‘unnatural.’  His disillusionment further spiraled when Manuel, one of the lab technicians, decided to leave the facility.  As the mangled remains of his body were brought back to the facility, Marcus thought it looked as though he stepped on a claymore mine.  Marcus began to ponder not only the morality of the project, but the ‘true’ implications of their research as well.

“How do we even know those ICT bastards will allow any of the positive aspects of our work to be implemented?  Mr. Handler said what they wanted was an untraceable weapon.  Maybe they will erase everything leading up to that to better cover their tracks!  We don’t even know who
they
are!” Marcus said to Sanji during a particularly heated argument in their fifteenth month on the project.

While neither of them could deny the brilliance of their work, to Marcus, it all seemed increasingly wrong.  It
felt
wrong.  They were meddling in realms where humans were forbidden.  Creating a new chimera for the purpose of ending the life of another human being made him feel like the judge, jury, and executioner.  It felt as though they were trying to walk next to God himself, maybe even above him.  Though he was not an overly religious man, this thought frightened Marcus more than he considered possible.  Where at first he could see the Nobel Prize, now he could see nothing.  Absolutely nothing.

To his concerns, Sanji replied, “Marcus, you are being paranoid.  Look, I know safety concerns have always been a major hurdle in every lentiviral-based therapy to date, but the safety factors we engineered alleviate those concerns.  As far as the morality of this project, that is not mine to judge.  The creation of this pathogen is not the problem.  What they decide to do with it is not my decision or concern.  For enough money I would gladly work on mutating these monkeys into the Devil himself!”  Sanji paused before adding, “Marcus, you need a break.  Go outside, get some fresh air.”

Now, eighteen months after his arrival at the isolated ICT facility, Marcus sat quietly in the sunlight staring into the vast, beautiful jungle surrounding him.  Contrary to their intended purpose, Sanji’s words only proved to deepen Marcus’ concern, causing him to suspect that Sanji was in fact on
their
side. 
Was he the only sane person left, or was
the isolation slowly driving him mad as well?
  In actuality, he felt like both were true.

“I have to get the hell out of this place,” he thought as he began to laugh hysterically at the realization that he didn’t even have a clue
where
this place was.

He was still laughing maniacally when he retired to his living quarters that afternoon.  A couple of hours later when the female lab tech came to summon him to the lab, his mind was already set on his next course of action.  In one pocket he carried a syringe filled with 100 milligrams of pancuronium bromide and 300 milliequivalents of potassium chloride; in the other were two high-capacity USB microdrives, each containing an identical copy of all the files pertaining to their research to date.  While he wasn’t certain about potassium chloride, he was fairly sure pancuronium, a muscle-relaxing agent capable of inducing complete respiratory arrest via paralysis of the diaphragm, could be effective if delivered via intramuscular injection instead of intravenously. 
Either one should be sufficient to do the job.
  Marcus decided to give both in order to provide a little insurance.  A brief wave of sadness passed through him as he considered his companion for the last eighteen months in the throes of death after he injected the medications.  This sentiment, however, was cut short as his resolve to stop the madness they were creating returned.

“Marcus,” Sanji said without looking up from the microscope at his workstation, “how are you feeling?  You need to see the latest test results.  Specimen number four has shown some truly amazing findings.  I’m not sure you would believe me if I told you, so I will just show you.”

Sanji started to turn his head from the microscope to regard his partner. “And Marcus, about earlier…” His words were cut short by the stinging, burning sensation he felt in his left shoulder.

“What the hell!?” howled Sanji, as he angrily got to his feet after realizing Marcus was behind the pain.  Marcus was already backing away slowly.  Thankfully the lab tech had not followed him, and as it was dinnertime, there were no other techs in the lab.

“You bastard!” bellowed Sanji, “What the hell have you done to me?”  His words already sounded heavy and effortful, his breathing more labored.  He stumbled several steps forward before falling limply to the floor, eyes wide with the horror of what he just experienced.

Marcus cautiously crept forward still not completely able to grasp what he had done.  Slowly, he knelt next to Sanji’s crumpled form and uttered two simple words.

“It’s over.”

The next five minutes were a blur of activity, so fast that the ICT personnel tasked with monitoring the facility and the scientists were left powerless to intervene.  Marcus first closed and barricaded the door leading to the dining and living quarters, engaging the biometric lock installed as an emergency failsafe to prevent inadvertent pathogen release.

Mr. Handler was notified immediately when the monitor detected Dr. Johnson’s elevated stress level and Dr. Bhatnagar’s declining vital parameters.  Gazing at the remote monitors, he saw a flurry of activity within laboratory A but, one by one, the monitors went black as Marcus completed his second order of business: smearing the cameras with the thick grease he discovered in the maintenance cabinet just inside the lab’s main doors.

As Marcus stood on a chair stretching to reach the last camera, he lost his balance and crashed to the ground. Cursing loudly, his tirade was joined by frenetic banging on the outside of the lab door.  Despite frantic calls to several of his most trusted lab techs demanding they assist Dr. Bhatnagar immediately, Mr. Handler realized that in spite of all his preparations and all the vast resources at his disposal, he was powerless to control the situation unfolding before him, albeit over five thousand miles away.

Ribs aching and forehead bleeding, Marcus doggedly climbed to his feet and set to work on the next part of his plan.  Though he wasn’t certain, he assumed that ICT was likely archiving and cataloging all the data collected from their experiments.  He also assumed they could wipe all the data remotely if needed and planned for that possibility by copying a complete data set onto each of the two USB microdrives.  He would keep one in his possession as he fled the facility, but accepting his chances of escape were slim, he planned to try to get a second copy out.  He took the fire axe out of the case near the exit door and carried it over to the intranet mainframe.  With the force of a major league slugger and the fury of a pit fighter, he swung the axe again and again, smashing the large computer into a hundred pieces.  Satisfied it was damaged beyond salvage, he methodically moved through the lab obliterating all traces of their research.  As he finished, he hoped that in little more than five minutes he had been able to erase all they had accomplished over the last eighteen months.  Deep in his soul, however, he could not ignore the ominous feeling rising in his chest – the feeling that in some way it may not be possible to undo what had been done, to uncross the lines they had so recklessly crossed.

The last thing he intended to do before escaping himself was to free the research subjects.  He could not bring himself to smash and destroy the monkeys in the same manner in which he destroyed all the other evidence.  Instead, he hastily moved from cage to cage unlatching and opening each door as he passed.  The animals, in turn, tore from their cages like a shot and began howling wildly.  To Marcus, the uproarious sound was disconcerting, as he had never heard them all bellow so ferociously and in unison.  He ran to the fire exit leading to the small outdoor sitting area and flung the door open with a resounding thud.  Neither the door nor the sitting area was particularly secure, as there were other means by which to keep the residents of the facility in place.  The monkeys immediately scrambled toward the warm sunlight filtering in through the open door. Their howls threatened to bring the walls down with their feral intensity.

Almost as an afterthought, Marcus remembered the second USB Microdrive nestled securely in a waterproof, impact-resistant case in his right pocket.  He lunged toward the monkeys as they haphazardly burst through the door into the world outside.  With a single finger on his right hand he managed to snare one of the collars.  The monkey stopped its frantic charge instantly.  The sudden change in demeanor was equally as shocking as the primal rage he witnessed seconds before.  Hands trembling, he attached the case securely to the animal’s collar.  Staring blankly at the #4 on the monkey’s tag, Marcus said in a flat tone, “Go and save the world, Lazarus.”

He released the animal’s collar, but the monkey did not immediately rush through the door as the others had.  Instead, the monkey glanced briefly toward the door before turning back to Marcus and tearing a considerable chunk of tissue from his throat.  As he lay gurgling and unable to speak, in a pool of his own blood, Dr. Marcus Johnson watched Lazarus, a monster of his own creation, shamble through the door and into the jungle beyond.  His reeling brain was momentarily transfixed by the beauty of the sunlight reflecting off the droplets of crimson fluid raining down from the monkey’s gnashing teeth. For an instant, Marcus recalled the words Sanji spoke about #4 just before he killed him.  This was the last confused thought that crossed his fading mind before the blood loss ushered him into oblivion, along with all fleeting thoughts of what he had done.

Chapter 2

September 8, 2015

Javari River Valley

Amazonas, Brazil

The four-man security force trudged slowly through the dense, overgrown foliage of the Brazilian jungle as they escorted the medical team in search of the remote village described by the boy.  The medical team consisted of a physician, two nurses, and a clinical scientist whose job was predominately data collection for the NHS.  Two days earlier, a boy approximately eleven or twelve years old, was found wandering aimlessly in the jungle, covered in blood from head to toe.  It seemed likely he was from the previously uncontacted Wapachu tribe based on his language and the markings on his body.  The circumstances leading to his wandering alone in the jungle several miles from his native tribal land were unclear.

A group of local foragers happened upon him and, fearing he might be seriously injured, rushed to his aid.  As the group approached, the young boy went berserk and attacked them.  They reported his attacks were feral and ‘defensive – like that of a frightened animal.’  They were ultimately able to subdue and calm the boy, after which they brought him to the regional military outpost less than a mile from where he was discovered.  Despite the substantial difficulties posed by the language barrier, the medical team at the outpost listened intently as the boy tried to explain what had happened using the unusual dialect of his little known language that had been fostered in isolation by his tribe.  He talked of brutal attacks filled with extreme violence, horrific abuses, and inconceivable atrocities.  Speaking in frantic, distant, and disorganized sentences, the boy sounded as though he might be suffering from PTSD or some other mental ailment.  The story relayed by the boy was incongruous with the information known about the Wapachu, as there had been no reported violence involving the tribe in many years.  Though there were previous isolated disputes and feuds between the various indigenous tribes in this region of Brazil, they were overall peaceful and reclusive people.

Dr. Vincent Cardosa, the outpost physician tasked with evaluating and questioning the boy, had studied the Arawakan language, but felt certain he was simply unable to accurately interpret what the boy was telling him.  What did seem abundantly clear was
something
horrible had happened to the boy’s tribe.  He spoke of 'monsters,' though he occasionally referred to the perpetrators of the violence as ‘my people’ or ‘those things.’  In addition, he displayed an irrational fear of essentially all humans – far greater than Dr. Cardosa had previously seen in any other uncontacted tribes he had encountered.  To Dr. Cardosa, he seemed to behave much like an abused dog, equating all humans with his next beating or torment. 
Had his village suffered an attack by another tribe in the region, or perhaps by an outside group such as one of the paramilitary guerrilla units or drug cartels thought to be active in the area?
  One thing was certain; something scared the boy beyond all reason.

Dr. Cardosa had been stationed at O.P. Maturaca for eleven months and was eagerly awaiting his rotation back home in two weeks when the boy arrived at the secluded Brazilian outpost.  His job in the last few months had been fairly uneventful, with only minor injuries to address and no significant military action occurring.  This, however, changed with the boy’s arrival, when he was asked to head a medical support expedition in search of the ill-fated village.  The medical team was to be accompanied by a military security force, with the entire mission slated to last forty-eight hours.  As he planned to transition to civilian life after this deployment, he realized with excitement that this would likely be his last mission.  Even so, the thought of what they might find at the village left him feeling unsettled.  His inquietude was further intensified when a unit from the Brazilian Special Operations Brigade arrived at the outpost and informed him they would serve as the security detail for the mission.

Every mission he could recall, including several he deemed far more dangerous than this one, had utilized a military squad from the outpost for security.  While grateful for the assistance of the highly skilled, elite soldiers, he was not certain what made this mission any different.  When Dr. Cardosa inquired about this, he was told the team simply needed additional field time and thus their presence was unrelated to the mission itself.  Though plausible, the explanation did little to alleviate his anxiety about the assignment.

The combined eight members of the medical team and its accompanying security force left the outpost at first light the following morning.  With no hint of danger or recent conflict, nothing appeared out of place in the rainforest as they continued toward the target area where the village was thought to be located.  Dr. Cardosa reveled in the tranquility they found as they left the obscure outpost but as they moved farther into the overgrown jungle, his sense of unrest returned, growing like a stubborn weed inside him.  While he saw nothing resembling the destruction described by the boy, he definitely sensed something was awry; the jungle somehow
felt
different that morning.  Though he had never been in this exact area, he was no stranger to being in the jungle.  At first he was unable to pinpoint the cause of his nagging feeling, and soon realized it was not what was there, but rather what was not. It was simply
too
peaceful.

The rainforest jungle is a vibrant ecosphere with an unbelievable amount of activity at all times of day and night.  Movement of animals, wind rustling through the canopy, birds calling, and insects buzzing are just some of the constant sensory stimuli abounding in the jungle environment.  Today, Dr. Cardosa noted, there was a relative paucity of such activity.  Sure, there was still the sound of the wind passing through the canopy as well as the incessant droning of countless insects, but a definite sonic void existed where there would typically be the sounds of monkeys calling and other myriad animal noises.  Dr. Cardosa could not recall the last time he had seen or heard a bird since they left the outpost early that morning. 

As they continued the arduous task of navigating the unbelievably dense and difficult terrain, it was no surprise to Dr. Cardosa that the Wapachu had remained uncontacted for so long.  The team rounded a massive 150-foot tall Brazil nut tree and discovered the first hard sign that something terrible had indeed happened.

The four-man security team was arranged such that two of the special operations soldiers led point, while the other two brought up the rear as they maneuvered through the jungle.  One of the lead soldiers, Sgt. Cortez, tripped and stumbled to the ground, loudly cursing the wet root he slipped on.  As he regained his footing, he was horrified when he saw the ‘root’ was actually the remains of a severed human leg.  He stood speechless as his eyes followed the blood stretching like a grotesque trail of breadcrumbs from the leg back toward the village in the distance.

In that instant, the man likely responsible for the dismemberment caught sight of him, snarled, and lunged at the recovering soldier as the second point man skillfully put him down with a quick double tap to the head from his suppressed H&K G36.  It was difficult to determine what group the deranged attacker belonged to as he was completely covered in blood and had suffered fairly significant injuries in the prior engagement.  He appeared to be from one of the indigenous tribes, perhaps the Wapachu, and bore evidence of multiple penetrating injuries to the abdomen in addition to the two new holes in his skull.  Several loops of the man’s small intestine protruded from one of the wounds in his abdominal cavity and had become entangled on a tree root when he lunged for Sgt. Cortez.

Dr. Cardosa shuttered involuntarily as he wondered how a man with such injuries was even alive, much less ambulatory.

Cautiously, the expeditionary group followed the blood trail with renewed fear as they carefully scanned the forest in all directions for any further threats.  What they encountered as the village came into full view was beyond imagination.  Total destruction, unspeakable atrocities, and raw carnage pervaded the scene.  There was not a single living soul anywhere to be found.  Perhaps stranger still was that despite the apparent complete annihilation of an entire tribe, there was little evidence of a major struggle.  It was as if the majority were massacred without putting up much resistance.  Very few of the huts and buildings in the small village showed any notable damage, and the bodies were nearly evenly distributed throughout the village rather than at one or two ‘fronts’ as would be expected had they been defending against an attack from the outside.  Many of the bodies strewn about with limbs akimbo were so badly injured that they seemed to have been mauled by a pack of wild dogs or other animals.  Had this been the case, Dr. Cardosa thought, the carcasses would have been picked clean, and there would surely be at least some casualties from the attacking animals.  Also, animals generally attack to defend themselves or for food; either way they would not wipe out an entire village.

Some of the bodies bore more traditional injuries—gaping slashes, bludgeoning injuries, as well as the spear wounds he had grown accustomed to when dealing with injuries sustained during encounters with some of the isolated guerilla factions active in the area.  The global picture, however, did not fit with an attack from such a group either as they were unlikely to slaughter an uncontacted tribe for no apparent political gain.  Even the narcoguerillas and the drug traffickers, despite their notoriously brutal and ferocious tactics, seemed incapable of this level of destruction and complete disregard for human life.  While they often engaged their enemies with edged and blunt weapons, it seemed highly improbable that there would not have been at least some use of firearms.  There were no obvious bullet wounds or shell casings to indicate that any firearms were used in the attack at all.  To Dr. Cardosa, it appeared most likely that an indigenous group, or at least a crazed and deranged faction of such a group, perhaps operating with one or more animals trained to fight, was responsible for the genocide scattered all around him.

Dr. Cardosa and his team took notice of two particular findings that stood apart from all the blood and death that was now the sole inhabitant of the village.  The first was that one of the bodies, though badly disfigured, possessed distinctly different skeletal features and clothing compared to all of the others.  It – for its gender was unclear due to the extent of injury – was taller by about 8-10 inches, with a smaller frame and more European facial skeletal structure.  What little hair remained on its head was blonde – certainly not typical for a person indigenous to the area.  The body was barefoot like all of the other corpses and, while its clothes were largely nonexistent or in tatters, it wore the remnants of a long coat that resembled a lab coat albeit soiled, torn, and caked in blood.  The second, and perhaps most disturbing finding, was the presence of blood and tissue in the mouths and teeth of several of the bodies that appeared to have died as a result of severe intracranial injury caused by bludgeoning. It was as if they had been eating raw meat when they were killed.