Victor Methos - The Extinct

The day dragged on and the driving was rough as the paved road turned into a rough path that few cars had driven down before. Grass was growing again over the path and the earth was now fine red dirt, almost like sand. Eric took inventory of the supplies while they drove; the second jeep had all the food and water and the first was loaded with the gasoline. He wasn’t sure the food could last more than a few days for this many people.

At the base of a large green hill was another village. This one was larger than the last and had some of the tin huts made from scavenged metal found in the plains. The people dressed and looked different from those of the other village even though they were only a few hours away from each other. There was a monkey tied to a post near the edge of the village and a group of children were throwing food at it, their laughter a welcome sound after hours of nothing but roaring jeep engines.

The jeeps parked near the children and one of the boys ran back to the village and into one of the huts. A few moments later a man emerged with him. He was dressed in a dirty blue button-up shirt and jeans. He smiled widely as he saw Thomas approaching. “Namdi?” Thomas said. “What in God’s name are you doing here?” They shook hands and Namdi looked over the group. “Dangerous for tourists here, no?” he said. “Special group this,” Thomas said. Namdi saw Jalani and nodded. “How are you?” “Good, Doctor. You?” “Fine. What are you still doing with this old man?” “He pays too much to kill him.”

Namdi laughed and slapped Thomas’s arm. Thomas turned to the rest of the group and said, “This is Doctor Namdi Said, an old friend. This is Eric, Sandra, Will and Douglas.” Namdi bowed his head. “Pleased to meet you.” “So,” Thomas said, “you still haven’t answered my question. I thought you’d be in South Africa?” “I was doing some contract work for the government here when I came across the injuries. They led me here.” “What injuries?” Namdi gave him a puzzled look and then said, “Follow me.” Thomas looked to Eric, “Come with me. The rest of you wait here.”

They walked through the village, Eric lagging a little behind as he watched the faces of the people that peaked out of doorways to steal a glance at him. Many of them looked frightened and the rest looked aggressive. One small boy pointed at him and said something as he walked past.

Eventually they came to a massive tent. Namdi parted the hanging flaps that were used as a door and held them open for the others. “Actually,” Thomas said, “I was told you have a body, Namdi.” “We have many bodies.” “Fresh one from last night.” Namdi nodded.

They walked from the village heading south into the brush. Thomas explained to Eric that the dead were kept away from the villagers in case their smell attracted scavengers. In the middle of a thicket of green bushes was a path cut out that led to a small tin shack. Namdi opened the door which had a padlock on it.

Inside was the corpse of a man, at least what Eric thought was a man. He had to glance away and prepare himself before looking again. “Go and get Jalani,” Thomas said quietly. “He needs to be buried,” Eric said. “They don’t bury the dead here,” Namdi said. “Hyenas dig up and eat corpses. We burn the dead each night.” Thomas spoke softly and laid his hand on Eric’s shoulder. “Go get Jalani.”

Eric walked through the village, watching the crowds of women laughing and giggling as he walked by. Some of them appeared somber and averted their eyes. He saw his group drinking water and eating beef jerky by the jeeps. He called to Jalani and they walked back together

“What is the matter?” Jalani said.

“I don’t know.”

Jalani walked into the shack and inadvertently held her breath when she saw the corpse. She looked to Thomas. Eric watched them but didn’t understand what was going on. The corpse looked like he expected someone to look like after being eaten by a tiger. “Is this fresh?” Jalani asked. Thomas nodded. He stood up and walked out of the shack without saying anything. Eric followed. “I don’t understand,” Eric said.

“You didn’t notice the color of the flesh? That body had the blood drained from it before death; the animal had drunk his blood. Tigers don’t do that.”

“I don’t get it.”

“It means, young Eric, that we are dealing with a different type of animal. Are you familiar with the story of the lions of Tsavo?”

“Not really, just what Douglas said.”

“They were man-eaters that ate a hundred and forty people. They too drank the blood of their victims. They enjoyed it, as I think this animal enjoys it. If it is the same phenomena, these animals are killing for pleasure, not food.”

They walked back to the jeeps and Thomas began speaking with Douglas. Sandra and William were playing cards in one of the jeeps and the tracker was standing at the edge of the brush. Eric walked behind him. The man was squatting and in full concentration. He was staring into the tall grass unblinkingly, his muscles tense and his rifle slung over his shoulder.

The man didn’t move when Eric approached. He didn’t acknowledge him. He stood perfectly still, staring. Eric looked into the grass. It was longer than he’d seen, about chest high and a dull green-brown. The wind was whipping it back and forth and it had an eerie voice-like quality from its motion.

The man slowly raised one hand up to his rifle and began to bring it down. He froze mid-motion a few seconds, and then continued. Before it was near his chest Eric heard the grass split apart and a warm spatter of blood hit his face as a shot rang in his ears. Something knocked him on his back as the tracker screamed and was pulled into the brush. The world spun and suddenly Eric was staring at the blue sky, a puffy white cloud drifting over his vision.

The screams died down but Eric couldn’t hear anything. He didn’t hear Sandra and William standing over him and yelling or Thomas and Douglas running into the brush with their rifles ready. He didn’t hear the screams of the children as they ran for protection in their homes, or the roar that thundered through the warm air.

Eric floated from a mound of grass to a cloud that sat next to him. The cloud moved purposefully, turning at an angle to fit perfectly between him and the grass. He moved toward the sky and the sun was bright on his face.

“Son?”

Eric was in the backseat of a car. In the passenger seat was Jeff, staring at the road before them. His father was driving and turned back to Eric. “Son?”

“Yeah, dad.”

“You have to make sure there’s no water in your shoes. You can’t get trenchfoot. Wear your boots without socks and stop every hour and dry your feet. It worked when you were in Vietnam. Your grandpa saw you there.” “I will dad.” “There’s the dam.” A large dam sat in the middle of the road, water leaking from millions of little crevices. “Looks like it’s going to burst,” his father said. “Yeah,” Eric said. He looked to Jeff. On his head was a clear bowl of water with a scorpion floating inside. “Son?” “Yeah.” “We needed to take a detour.” “Yeah.” Eric felt a sharp pain in his head and it spread over his face, down his neck, over his chest and legs to his feet.

He awoke in a cold sweat, Jalani sitting by his cot applying a wet rag to the wound on his head. The side of his face ached and he felt the stickiness of dried blood running down his neck.

“Don’t get up,” Jalani said. “Dr. Said gave you some antibiotics. You will be fine, it is just a scratch.”

Eric thought back and remembered motion and warmth and slight pain in his head. He couldn’t slow the image down enough to see anything more than a blur. “Where’s the tracker?” Eric said. “Gone.” Eric reached up and touched his head. “What happened?” Jalani hesitated. “You were… you were bit, Eric.” Eric saw a flash in his mind’s eye. The red and brown of a tongue, and the sharp angles of yellowed teeth scraping his face.