3zekiel (First Contact) Read online

  Beams of light reach through the trees like spotlights shining in the dark. In an instant, the sky beyond Petty Officer Garcia turns white, appearing far brighter than the sun, leaving me looking at what is akin to a freeze-frame paused in the middle of a movie. As I’m running up the track, the sight before me is confusing. Nothing moves. I’m moving, but nothing I’m seeing is in motion, even though I know it is. My boots slide on the mud, catching on roots, but the sight before me is as though I’m standing still, which is disorienting. Branches that appear motionless slap me on the face forcing me to a halt.

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I shake my head, wanting my vision to clear, but the image imprinted on my retina is overwhelming. Blood red shapes swirl behind my eyelids. I can still see Garcia even with my eyes closed, but his outline and that of the forest are seared on my retina as an afterimage. Like the photographic negatives of old, white is black, day is night. Rather than being light, the sky beyond him is as dark as coal. It’s as though a camera flash has gone off an inch from my nose.

  A thundering boom shakes the ground, rattling my bones.

  I blink, rubbing my eyes, still struggling to make out what’s happening. A fierce wind swirls around us. Trees flex and sway, all rocking in the same direction, leaning away from base camp, which is still easily a mile off over the hill. Sticks, twigs and leaves lift into the air, swirling around us, all being drawn in the same direction.

  “What’s happening?”

  I turn to face Jana. She’s a ghost, barely registering before my eyes, blending in with the vines and branches.

  “RUN!”

  That voice. It’s Garcia, but I still can’t make him out. A hand grabs me, swinging me around and pushing me on. Even with my eyes wide open, I’m struggling to see anything beyond the glaring impression on the back of my eyeball. The noise around us is like that of a jet plane roaring through the sky.

  Off to the side, I catch the blurred image of the jungle clearing as we run past. Trees sway as though caught in a hurricane. Leaves swirl through the canopy like a heavy snow. On we stumble, half falling as we rush down the track.

  “Run where?” I yell as my boots catch on fallen trees I cannot see. Whenever I look directly at anything, I’m blinded by the seething blur in front of me, a red haze seared on my eyes. To each side, I catch vague outlines, but little or no color.

  “Down there.”

  My shoulder slaps saplings and tree trunks as I pull myself on, rushing through the undergrowth, having lost the feel of the track beneath my boots. Branches scratch at my cheeks. The rush of wind is unlike any storm I’ve ever experienced, but there’s no rain. Above us, the jungle canopy reverses direction. Whereas moments ago, all the trees leaned out toward the stream, now they surge back toward the distant village. Birds tumble through the air, being thrown about within the jungle. I still can’t see clearly, but the sky above glows like the sun. Flames lick at the canopy. The ground beneath my boots drops away with each thundering step.

  Fire lashes the sky. Somehow I’ve got hold of Jana’s hand, or perhaps she grabbed my fingers to pull me on, I’m not sure, but we’re crashing through the forest together, flattening saplings and crushing ferns under foot. Flames rush through the trees, curling around trunks and consuming branches. The heat is intense, scorching the back of my neck. Burning wood and smoldering debris hurl through the air, tumbling end over end. My eyesight improves as the blur before me fades.

  On we run, racing downhill, with the ground dropping away beneath each plunging step. I’m running so fast I’m in danger of tripping and crashing into trees. The slope increases and then suddenly it’s not there at all. I’m not sure when I realize I’m falling, but my boots are still madly trying to gain traction on a hillside that’s no longer beneath me.

  The spray from the waterfall offsets the scorching heat sucking the oxygen out of the air. In that instant, we plunge headlong toward the rocks below. I let go of Jana’s hand, tumbling over my own boots, catching glimpses of the rock pool racing up to greet us. The cliff face rushes past but the tens of thousands of water drops cascading down the waterfall seem to hang motionless beside me. It’s as though they’re suspended in midair, frozen in time, but we’re all in motion, plummeting toward the rocks. Flames reflect off the pool, revealing a sky consumed by fire.

  Pretzel plunges into the water feet first, followed by Angela. I go to hold my breath, but I’m still tumbling, with arms flailing. Desperately trying to right myself, I crash into the pool, landing on my backpack. The wind is knocked out of me by the impact. Rather than feeling like water, it’s as though I’ve landed in a pile of sand. Flames roll over the cliff, rushing down toward me as water sprays outward. Before I can react, I sink into the depths, watching as fire rushes over the surface of the water.

  I struggle to free myself from my backpack. My boots feel like lead weights. Darkness closes around me. My clothing is heavy, soaked with water, dragging me into the depths. With my lungs screaming for air, I kick, trying to propel myself toward the edge of the rock pool, but my efforts are feeble and down I go, sinking beneath the water as flames lash the surface, causing it to glow in angry, eerie shades of orange, yellow and a deep, burning red.

  Stage II: Contact

  Angela

  A hand grabs me, hauling me out of the water, dragging me into the shallows. Garcia staggers, slipping on submerged rocks as he struggles through the waist-deep water by the edge of the rock pool. He’s got the collar of my shirt in one hand and a firm grip on Angela’s forearm with the other. I cough, bringing up water.

  Garcia falls to his knees in the loose rocks and sand at the water’s edge, but the strength and determination with which he drags us on is astonishing. He leaves the two of us lying in the shallows. My feet bob in the water. Waves lap at my arms as I lie on the decimated beach.

  Petty Officer Garcia turns away from us, wading back out into the depths.

  “That’s them. That’s all of them,” Pretzel says from somewhere behind me and I watch as Garcia sinks to his knees, with water lapping at his shoulders. He faces away from us, looking at the waterfall. A fine mist drifts over the pool, but the water is filthy. Ash floats on the surface, mingled with broken branches and burnt wood. The cascading torrent slows to a trickle running down over the rocks.

  Pretzel grabs me. “You okay, kid? Kid, are you okay?”

  I nod. Given I just fell down a cliff into a rock pool, I’m doing surprisingly well. Everything aches, but it’s bruising not broken bones my body is complaining about. I’m stiff and sore, but alive.

  Brother Mordecai is sitting on a boulder, rocking back and forth, mumbling. Long, straggly, wet hair hangs over his face, hiding his eyes. He’s staring down at his trembling hands. I want to say something, but everything’s wrong—and it’s not just him. Jana is wandering among the smoldering ruins of the jungle. She’s lost in every sense of the word. Trees lie piled on top of each other, having all fallen in the same direction, lying before us like dominos. Torn roots, clumps of dirt, rocks, boulders—nothing is as it was. Smoke rises from scorched branches, curling as it drifts on the breeze.

  Above the cliff, a dark cloud lifts into the air, billowing and enfolding on itself, rising tens of thousands of feet in a column of smoke.

  It’s the silence that troubles me. No birds singing. No monkeys yelling. No insects calling. The silence of the jungle screams in pain.

  Pretzel drags Angela away from the water’s edge. “She’s not breathing.” He rolls her over, clearing her airway and pushing two fingers hard against her neck. “No pulse.” Initially, he panics, looking around for help from the others, but no one races to his side. “I don’t have a pulse. Nothing. Nothing at all.”

  Water dribbles from her lips.

  “No, no, no.” Pretzel lies Dr. O’Brien on her back. Rather than reacting and becoming frantic, he’s methodical, slowing himself down, calming himself. I can see his training kicking in. He positions one palm over the other and interlock
s his fingers, placing his hands with precision, just up from her sternum, and begins cardiopulmonary resuscitation.

  I’m in shock. It’s not that I’ve never seen CPR—Dad had me do a First Aid course back in Boston. We had dummies, just a naked upper torso with a bland, generic head, but this is different. The speed and rhythm with which Pretzel moves is bewildering. All around us, there’s nothing but devastation. Smoke wafts from the ruins of the jungle. Fires reach up into the sky, but there’s no life. Nothing’s moving, and yet there he is, thrusting up and down, hitting a rapid pace, far quicker than anything I did during my training.

  Pretzel is pushing hard, rising straight up and then driving down, using his body weight, not just his arms. Angela’s chest compresses back and forth, depressing by easily a third, which is alarming to see as it seems as though he’s crushing her lungs. For a thin, aging scientist, he’s astonishingly strong.

  “Come on, Ange,” he says. Bones crack under his relentless pounding, but he refuses to let up. I drag myself out of the water, pulling myself up on my knees and crawling to the opposite side of Dr. O’Brien. Her blue eyes stare up at the sky without blinking.

  “Garcia.” Pretzel calls out, quickly switching, pinching Angela’s nose and providing two deep breaths before returning to CPR. He looks to the rock pool. “Garcia, I need you… Enrico... Petty Officer Enrico Garcia. Can you hear me?”

  Garcia doesn’t move. Water ripples around him, but he stays still, with his back to us. The hair on his head has been burnt off, leaving his skin blackened and peeling. Cuts and scratches line his neck.

  “Please, I need your help,” Pretzel says, but he’s looking at Angela. He’s fixed his attention on her chest, keeping his eyes locked on the back of his palms, watching as he drives down time and again with what is almost a mechanical motion. “Damn it, man. I need your help. Dr. O’Brien needs you.”

  Garcia turns. The skin on his face is torn and blistered. Blood seeps from the corners of his eyes. He’s looking at us, and yet he’s not. Somehow, he’s looking through us. He too never blinks. His lips quiver.

  “Josh,” Pretzel says.

  “Yes,” I reply, still trying to comprehend what’s happened.

  “I need your help. I need you to administer breathing, do you understand?”

  “Yes,” I say, positioning myself beside her shoulders.

  Without slackening his pace, Pretzel says, “I need you to breathe for Dr. O’Brien. We have to work together for her sake. We can’t stop, not for one moment. For now, we are her heart and lungs. In about twenty seconds, I’m going to pause. When I do, I need you to pinch her nose with one hand, grabbing her chin with the other. Tilt her head back and her mouth will open. Do you understand?”

  I nod.

  “Two big breaths. Deep breaths. Blow hard, like you’re blowing up a party balloon. Then stop. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “In three, two, one.”

  Pretzel sits back. I don’t hesitate, shifting her head back in the loose sand, locking my mouth over hers and breathing out into her lungs. I snatch another breath and exhale again, blowing hard. No sooner have I pulled away than Pretzel is back at work, lunging against her chest, moving hard and fast. He took those few seconds to rest and recharge. Now he launches himself back into a frantic pace, thrusting hard against her sternum.

  “Jana,” he calls out. “Mordecai. We need you guys.”

  ‘We,’ not ‘I.’ Pretzel’s appealing to Jana and Mordecai on my behalf, desperately trying to stir them to action.

  Brother Mordecai has his knees up in front of his chest, with his arms wrapped around his legs. There’s a gash on the side of his head. Thick, coagulated blood mats down his hair. He’s nodding, rocking like a child. His lips are moving, but no words come out.

  “Jana,” I yell.

  “Go and get her,” Pretzel says.

  I hesitate.

  “Go!”

  With that, I scramble to my feet and run.

  Jana is looking up at the sky, which has taken on a ghostly yellow hue. Tears run down her cheeks. She’s wandered among the fallen trees, oblivious to where she is.

  “Jana,” I say softly, jogging up to her. She’s in a daze, a dream, but she hears me. “I need your help.”

  “They’re dead,” she says, still staring at the sky, turning and looking at the mushroom cloud as it drifts to one side. “They killed them.”

  “Jana. Dr. O’Brien needs our help. Angela needs us.”

  “My mother. My father. My brother and sister. All of them. The scientists. The soldiers. Your dad. They’re all gone.”

  “Jana, please.” I reach out, taking her by the arm. She looks down at my fingers as though they’re not real, confused by the sense of touch. Her eyes follow the contours of my arm, the crook of my elbow, my shoulder, my neck and face.

  “Josh.”

  “Yes. It’s me. I’m here. I’m here with you. It’s okay.”

  It’s not okay. I’m lying, but lies are all I have.

  “Why?”

  I don’t know what to say to that. Before I ran up to Jana, she seemed lost. Now, though, I realize we’re all lost—me, Jana, Mordecai, Garcia, even Pretzel. I can feel her pain. The distress she’s in weighs heavily on me. In the background, there’s the constant crunch of gravel. Wet sand, loose pebbles and tiny rocks shift back and forth under Dr. O’Brien as Pretzel applies CPR with the rhythm and consistency of a musician’s metronome racing back and forth. I’m waiting for Pretzel to call me back. I look to him. Our eyes meet, but he too is in shock. He’s doing what he has to, what he knows he should do, but he too is just the shell of the man he was moments ago.

  “Why did they do this, Josh?” Jana asks.

  “I don’t know, but Pretzel needs us. Dr. O’Brien needs us. Angela, remember her?”

  I take Jana by the hand, leading her back to the beach. She stands on the shore beside us as I drop to my knees, again positioning myself beside Dr. O’Brien.

  “Ready?” Pretzel asks.

  “Yes.”

  “In three, two, one.”

  Again, I mimic the precision I’ve seen in Pretzel. There’s comfort to be found in a sense of purpose, in following a carefully defined set of motions. My fingers pinch Dr. O’Brien’s nose. I push her head back, opening her airway, tilting her head and take a deep breath, turning after blowing out, making sure I can see the rise and fall of her chest, feeling the air rush back from her lungs onto my cheek. Not only am I helping her, I’m giving Pretzel a moment to rest before he launches himself yet again into action.

  Dr. O’Brien’s lips are cold. He checks her pulse. Nothing. Her skin is clammy, almost plastic in appearance and I’m reminded of the lifeless mannequins we practiced on. Back then, I never thought I’d perform CPR on anyone in my life. Back in Boston, the thought of locking lips with someone seemed creepy, repulsive. Now, I only hope it works.

  I’m not sure how long we administer CPR, but the shadows grow long. Our clothes go from wet to damp to mostly dry. Jana sits on the beach, leaning against a log, but neither she, Mordecai or Garcia move, which is more than a little unnerving given the frantic pace Pretzel is keeping. I try not to think about them. Like Pretzel, I’m focused on keeping Angela alive, but I can’t ignore them.

  Garcia is still in the water. His face is a mess. Sores weep, oozing with puss and blood. His eyes never move. He still hasn’t blinked, not that I’ve noticed. It’s as though he’s a statue, caught somewhere between life and death.

  Pretzel has his back to Mordecai. Not deliberately, it’s simply the way he dragged Angela from the water, but he knows the missionary is there, not more than five feet from him, perched on a boulder.

  While I’m breathing for Angela, I occasionally see Pretzel turning his head to one side. It’s as though he’s trying to make out what Mordecai’s saying, although I don’t think the missionary’s speaking English. From what I can tell, Mordecai is mumbling in either Latin or ancient Hebrew. That proba
bly tells Pretzel all he needs to know about his mental state.

  I expected Jana to crouch beside us and offer to help, but she’s numb, sitting just a few feet from Angela’s head. Jana’s seen death before. We all have. In the jungle, death is inescapable. Perhaps it’s how close we came to dying that’s rattled her, that and the loss of her entire family. As for me, I’m too busy to think about what happened to my dad. I hope he escaped. I hope he was still on the other side of the mountain when they struck, but hope is an illusion. I guess it’ll hit me later, but at the moment, every minute or so, I’m breathing for another human being. That’s my focus. I never knew breathing could be such hard work. I guess Jana’s mind has shut down or something. If she was coherent, I’m pretty sure she’d help, but she doesn’t seem to even notice us here on the beach.

  Pretzel rocks back, breaking away from CPR, and like a well-honed machine, I take my cue and assume breathing again, only this time it’s different. Instead of sitting there or shifting his weight to keep blood circulating through his legs, Pretzel gets to his feet. I’m confused but still focused on forcing air into Angela’s lungs.

  A hand rests on my shoulder.

  “It’s over… We did all we could.”

  Tears stream down his cheeks. I sit back and Angela’s head rolls limp to one side. Pretzel crouches, pushing his fingers hard into her jugular vein. Neither of us speak. I’m waiting, hoping, but he releases and then gently closes her eyelids.

  “Four, maybe five hours, Josh.” He gestures toward the sun hanging low on the horizon. “We tried. We were gallant, my friend. We gave her the best shot we could. But—but...” He sniffs, wiping tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand. His arms are trembling, shaking from fatigue. “I’d hoped for a rescue flight, someone in a helicopter looking for survivors. I thought, maybe if we could keep her alive until someone arrived with a defibrillator, but no one’s coming for us. There’s nothing more we can do. Night will fall soon, and we have to care for the living.”