Redivivus Trilogy (Book 1): Threnody Read online

  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.

  Chapter 3

  September 10, 2015

  Natal, Rio Grande do Norte

  Brazil

  The meetings were the worst part of her job thought Dr. Lin San as
she sat manipulating her pen, momentarily distracted from the boredom all around her. Being employed by a government-sponsored agency certainly meant plenty of meetings. Thankfully those at the National Health Service in Brazil were not nearly as frequent as those her colleagues employed by comparable U.S. government agencies were forced to endure. In Brazil, the bureaucracy and red tape was simply not as thick, and for that, she was thankful.

  The man addressing the group, whom Lin had not previously met, was Dr. Juan Periera, a senior military research liaison with the NHS Emerging Diseases branch. He droned on about a recent incident involving one of the branch’s veterinary science teams. Though Dr. San was not directly affiliated with this branch of the NHS, her participation on the NHS Incident and Safety Committee mandated her attendance at the meeting. Apparently, the veterinary team had been sent to investigate multiple reports of unusual incidents near a rural village in a remote region of northern Brazil. Several attacks by what sounded like diseased primates, possibly infected with a rabies-like sickness, were reported in the area over the week preceding the expedition.

  “All communication was lost with the group less than thirty-six hours into their mission,” Dr. Periera continued. “We were in contact with the team during their ingress to the objective area, and our last communication with them occurred shortly after they reached their objective. While our communications team here was able to triangulate their approximate position at the time of the last transmission, the remote location and impenetrable jungle canopy has made locating the team by air impossible. We have not yet been authorized to send in a ground S&R team.”

  One of the more senior committee members raised a hand and asked, “Did the team give any information regarding the nature of these incidents, or those involved during the final communication, Dr. Periera?”

  “The information relayed in the last communication was minimal, as it was preliminary to their full investigation. It seems most probable that the incidents were due to attacks by sick primates, likely afflicted by a viral pathogen, though there was certainly more than one mention of maricoxi or mono grande by the natives. If the media gets ahold of this before we sort it out, such rumors will be all over the headlines. Here is the audio from the last communication with VS-1.”

  BEGIN AUDIO:

  “Dr. Pereira, this is VS-1 do you copy?” called the leader of the V.S. team.

  “Pereira here, copy VS-1. What’s the situation there? A bunch of ignorant, superstitious natives worked up about nothing?”

  “Sir, I think we may be dealing with something more this time. Our initial survey is just getting underway, but the grisly nature of some of the scenes coupled with the people's nearly uncontrollable panic makes it feel like there may be more at play. I hope to have the final report of our investigation within the next twenty-four hours. Thankfully, it seems as though all of the involved animals died within twenty-four to forty-eight hours of contact, and none of those attacked have shown any signs of infection. Whatever pathogen is responsible may not be capable of interspecies transmission. Maybe the speed of this thing will work to our advantage and it will burn itself out quickly like in the Ebola outbreaks. There are, of course, some natives who feel the problem originates in the supernatural realm, but that is to be expected I suppose. One particularly interesting report is that of a small metallic object apparently attached to a collar on one of the animals involved in the attacks. The animal was killed by one of the locals, but he was afraid to remove the object or the collar. He indicated he could take us to the animal. I am unsure of what this means. Why would an animal in the middle of the jungle be wearing a collar at all? I will relay updated information as soon as our investigation is complete.”

  “Very well, VS-1. Stay safe,” Dr. Pereira said.

  :END AUDIO

  The entire investigation, including travel time, was supposed to take three days round trip. The team was never heard from again.

  Chapter 4

  October 2, 2015

  The droning engine noise and the sound of the propeller effortlessly slicing through the cool evening air threatened to lull Dr. John Wild to sleep as he approached his destination. He was two hours into his flight home, cruising at 10,000 feet somewhere over Mississippi. Sleep loomed closer still as the sun lazily drifted down beyond the distant horizon, casting a grayish hue over the monotonous landscape, as it dutifully continued its procession toward the inevitable embrace with the black cloak of darkness. Thankfully he had flown this route countless times before and could do it with his eyes closed, he mused.

  John gazed down upon the countryside passing beneath him and saw only a single pair of headlights moving along the interstate below. He was returning from a two week volunteer stint at a Native American Reservation a few states over. He had done this each year for the last six years, having initially started doing it as a form of service as well as a way to honor his deceased father, who really embraced the Native American part of his heritage. While John had truly grown to enjoy his time on the reservation, the pace of his work there over the last couple of weeks left him exhausted. There was a full-time Native American healthcare provider on the reservation, but John sometimes felt like the people must save up all their problems for his arrival.

  The relative societal isolation experienced on the reservation always came as a welcomed reprieve from the hassles and stresses of his typical day-to-day life. This was particularly true this year, as the hysteria caused by the ongoing H5N1 flu scare caused a significant increase in patient encounters in the weeks prior to his trip. On the reservation, there was no television in his apartment and his cellphone only received a reliable signal in the northeast corner of the property. Incidentally, that happened to be the least populated area, and thus one to which John rarely ever ventured. He was secretly grateful not to hear the television reporters spouting off the latest numbers in the ever-climbing yearly murder count – a staple of the nightly news. Being able to tell his office that he would have minimal phone reception and limited access to e-mail always brought a satisfied smile to his face. While the clinic did have internet access, he seldom connected his laptop, favoring to embrace the temporary technological respite rather than suffer the painfully slow dial-up connection.

  Dr. John Wild was born to a fairly typical upper middle class American family. His father, Benjamin Wild, was part Native American and a former Vietnam sniper. After his time in the service, his father generally kept several jobs and frequently worked long hours while his mother tended to the business of raising John and his three sisters in Mountain View, California. John learned his father was ascribed the nickname ‘Bingo’ during his military tenure but knew little more about his time in the service.

  Ben Wild did not like to talk about his time as a sniper and did not take kindly to anyone referencing him by the old nickname anymore. He was a hard-ass, and he always expected John to follow his rules to the letter. While he never told John any of the specifics about his time in the military, Ben shared many insights, skills, and opinions that were certainly honed to a razor’s edge during that period of Ben’s life.

  As a child, John was fairly mischievous and often managed to find his way into any trouble that happened to be around. Despite his intermittent, albeit mild, scrapes with authority, he proved to be an exceptional student and ultimately attended Stanford University for undergraduate coursework.

  For six months prior to his decision to pursue higher education at Stanford, John gave serious consideration to signing up for military duty as his father had done. John admired the training and dedication of the military and law enforcement. The few stories his father saw fit to share with him regarding his time in service made the job seem very exciting and attractive to his young mind. The precision, efficiency, and valor of the well-trained soldiers in the stories reinforced his admittedly ‘Hollywood’ impression of military snipers. Often, he would long for the escape from the daily grind, wishing he could trade it for the ‘one shot, one k
ill’ mission-above-all-else mentality he felt he could still see in the depths of his father’s eyes. When other civilians reacted with horror to the latest military engagement in whatever ‘war of the week’ was raging, John secretly felt exhilarated and sometimes even envious of the soldiers he saw in the media.

  The possibility of acting on that interest, however, came to a sudden crashing end when he went to a marine recruiting office early one summer morning. John was immediately impressed by just how much his mindset clashed with that of the soldiers in the recruiting office. It was like wearing a black suit with brown shoes. They seemed so regimented and disciplined, but as they spoke, John could not tell if anything they said represented an original thought or if it was just regurgitated propaganda they were brainwashed with. When they showed him a video of recruits in boot camp, he knew ‘actual’ military life could never match his ‘ideal’ view of military life. He always felt he could excel in the military provided he was allowed to operate somewhat independently, in a manner that would allow him to be a ‘thinking’ soldier rather than one forced to simply followed orders unblinkingly. This was how he envisioned the old snipers such as his father – true or not. In his mind, they were free-thinking, somewhat autonomous entities who supported the greater military effort through their actions, but in that instant when he saw the reality of military life, he knew it could never happen for him. He turned and walked out the door. Directly across from the recruiting office he saw the front of Stanford University. He started his undergraduate coursework there in the fall of that year.

  Chapter 5

  October 2, 2015

  Natal, Rio Grande do Norte