|
[The Sun Won't Rise] Passage I, The Setting
By RaptorHiss
The Sun Won't Rise, Passage I, The Setting
There they stand, the innumerable stars, shining in order like a living hymn, written in light.
-N.P. Willis, American Writer
He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.
-Friedrich Nietzsche, German Philosopher
A RaptorHiss fan fic...
Passage: I Date: September 8th, 1988 1:47 P.M.
Lucent sunshine streamed in through the back of a sizeable auditorium, flooding the room in bright illumination. The horizontal bars on the window projected numerable shadows on the objects in the large room, creating an eerie pattern across the entire expanse.
At the center of the gymnasium dozens of chairs were set up in loose rows along the painted lines that ran across floor. An audience member occupied each of the seats, many with notepads and pens in their hands, others just watching patiently. Eventually, everybody’s attention focused towards the front of the gym, where the drama stage was erected. On top of the platform, two men stood quietly, each with a small wireless microphone in their hand. One was fairly elderly looking, with fading gray hair and a gray beard to match. His brown eyes were pensive, hiding behind a pair of wire frame glasses. A small potbelly stuck out from under his suit.
The younger man standing next to him looked to be a complete opposite from the other. He was tall, slender and skinny; almost anorexic thin. Tiny beads of sweat were already beginning to form on his brow. He long arms dangled loosely from his tall body, and his foot tapped nervously on the floor.
After several moments, the older man walked forward slowly, facing the large crowd.
"If we can have your attention, we can soon begin," the older man announced in a calm, timid tone of voice. He stood still, his soft brown eyes surveying the crowd slowly. He brushed back his gray hair with his free hand, and adjusted his shiny black suit.
"You'll have to excuse my shyness, I've never been a fan of public speaking."
He smiled slightly, and motioned towards the technicians in the rear of the room. From up above, the house lights switched off, and everybody was shrouded in blackness. A metallic click sounded, and a stage light lit up the wooden platform. The audience sat back in their chairs, relaxed by the moderate darkness. On stage, the other, younger, individual stepped up into the light. His tall slender body jerked tensely as he walked, and a slight bead of sweat dripped from his forehead. As he approached the front, his green eyes darted rapidly across the audience, noting each detail.
"Okay dokey folks," he said excitedly into the microphone, “I think we can begin now finally.” He smiled nervously. Set along side the older man beside him, the two made an unlikely pair. The elderly man, serene and tranquil, relaxed in the situation, and the younger man, fidgety and solicitous, prone to the pressure of his emplacement.
The older man smiled at the audience and said, "Allow me to introduce ourselves." He squinted momentarily in the light, and resumed. "I'm Henry Langston and this is my friend and associate, Jeffery Condales."
***
Henry Alexander Langston was born in nineteen thirty-nine, raised on a rural farm in Virginia by James and Renata Langston. Both of Henry's parents worked in the field of medicine; his mother a physical therapist, his father a chiropractic physician. Growing up, he was a fairly shy person, but never timid enough not attend an important social event or extracurricular activity. He did, "What I had to do as a member of a student body," he recalls.
As a young pupil, he was an exceptional student for his grade and class, although he never gave a huge interest in his academics. Of course, his parents constantly lectured him on the importance of good grades. Henry was indifferent to those talks, however.
"Grades are grades. Like tuna is tuna. There's nothing important about tuna," was one of his favorite quotes.
He did however, felt strongly that academics were more important than, as he put it,” Running around, wrestling other guys in tights."
He went on with his schooling, indifferent as ever. The spark didn't come until his eleventh grade English class. Never before had he been showered with such rich and lavish ideas and skills; especially in the field of writing. Henry's English teacher, Mrs. Kainlew, offered him challenges and tasks to propel his mind even further beyond the usual. Every week, Mrs. Kainlew would assign the class journals, topics the students had to write about for a grade. The topics included easy questions such as "Do you enjoy school pictures?" and "Do you like the school lunches?" Simple questions for, as Henry said arrogantly, "Simple brains, the kind that's only function is to keep your bladder working properly."
Occasionally Mrs. Kainlew would, to his delight, assign the class a “free journal,” a subject for which you could write about anything you felt necessary to write about. Henry experimented at first, trying out different subject matters that he thought was important to write a paper about. After several weeks, and failures, he hit his mark.
Philosophy. The art of writing and describing the world and its reality. He then proceeded to start up his own succession of philosophical papers, for which he entitled "Humans." These essays, although simple in writing, described the peculiar behavior of the human race; its follies, its feats. Henry felt very strongly about the issue, and believed it was correct and legitimate, text for text. Although certainly not the first person to write about human function and operation, he felt he did make some very significant guidelines. He especially stressed the idea that society and its pressure only work to a certain degree, and breaking that barrier was the key to living peacefully in society.
In other words, Henry put the phrase, "Don't worry, be happy" into new content: If you simply do not worry about your troubles, but rather think through them logically, managing them becomes worlds easier. Although not a huge revolutionary idea, Henry followed the idea religiously. His friends always knew him to be calm, and cool under heaps of pressure. While others around him panicked and ran about aimlessly, Henry sat peacefully, watching critically. He would just smile, lean back, and announce, "Worrying is the absence of thinking, so why would anybody not want to think?"
After completing high school, he continued on to attend the University of Maryland at Silver Springs, Maryland. After five years of hard work and dedication, although still slightly uninterested in grades, but rather, the subject matter, Henry graduated with a Masters Degree in Psychology. Shortly after words, he packed his belongings, and moved to Seattle, Washington to locate a suitable job.
"The city fit my demeanor perfectly," he said, "Cold, rainy, negative, and throws a huge storm at you every once in awhile."
It was there that he became acquainted with Jeffery Condales for the first time.
The year was nineteen eighty-four. Henry was attending a small convention near his downtown apartment, entitled "Physics in the 20th Century." He had never expressed had a huge interest in physics, but, Henry's quote, "any knowledge is worth looking into and absorbing."
He looked around the large area, observing the models and presenters, sharing and discussing their various fields. One particular area caught Henry's full attention: A young man, easily twenty years younger than himself, was presenting a shiny metallic pipe, running water through its interior. Henry walked up to the station. He learned the demonstration was for a fairly recent field, called by the name of “Chaos Theory.” Henry found the idea of it extremely intriguing; that the basis for all physics was being thrown right out the window.
Afterwards, Henry decided to talk to Jeffery personally about his field. He found out that Jeffery was a mathematical prodigy. Only seventeen years old, he was already in his second year of college. However, he had been forced to drop out; the pressure and constant studying was far too much for him to handle. He was simply unprepared to face the world at such a young age.
They met several more times in the future, for the pure enjoyment of discussing their fields. They each found the other’s area of expertise fascinating. Both were radical in their views and beliefs, and equally interesting. Henry taught him philosophy and forms of higher thinking, while Jeff taught him water turbulence and fractals.
After a couple of long years, both men began getting bored from their jobs, and resigned from their previous employments. Meeting up with each other shortly after, the two of them decided it would be in their best interest to present their fields to the public, giving lectures around the country.
"It would be like we're in a rock band, touring around the country," Henry said to Jeff, recalling one of his childhood rock star dreams. Henry even referred to the two of them, ”The Simon and Garfunkel of philo-mathmatical studies."
Essentially, they were fundraisers. On occasion, individuals spoke up and asked what exactly they were funding. Jeff merely answered nervously, "For further research and development," which in reality meant, "Paying us to travel some more."
***
"…And my associate, Jeffery Condales," Henry was saying. "We’re still not sure why he’s here," he said. The audience laughed briefly, while Jeff just smiled embarrassingly. He stood up from his chair, holding the microphone to his mouth.
"Well then, let’s begin," he said.
Persons who saw more than one of their lectures knew that they covered a variety of issues. But one could always plan on them discussing Henry's previous "Humans" philosophy.
Henry spoke to the audience, "As in the past, you may find some of our views negative, and that’s fine," he paused briefly, "But you’re the ones who paid to get in here."
The audience laughed again, not as enthusiastically, however.
Jeff added, "Seriously folks, here's a light warning for you. Our views are extreme, and maybe a little on the negative side. Negative is, of course, a relative word, but we won’t go into that until awhile later.”
Jeff loosened the collar to his jacket.
"Whoo, does anybody else think it’s hot in here?" he asked in a scripted voice.
The audience members nodded in agreement.
Henry stood up from the chair he was sitting in. "That brings us right to our first point," he said. "The human species is the most intolerable species ever to walk this planet. I’m sure some, if not most, of you in our audience are upset because it’s hotter than you would prefer. Boo hoo hoo. We, as in 'humans', are not used to being outside our 'comfort zone', because humans are not required to in order to survive. We do, however, entice and force ourselves to go outside our comfort zones, quite often; it’s called 'proper etiquette.' Whatever that may be." He paused, allowing the audience to absorb what he said.
"Now I don't want you to go imagining, 'Yay, we don’ really have to do all this worthless stuff to survive.' Technically, no we don’t have to at all. Unfortunately, the consequences would affect us indirectly. If the people of society suddenly ceased from attending school or work, the result would be the breakdown of social structure, and ultimately result in mass death. So sorry kids, you still have to go to school."
From the audience, a series of "awws", and "boos" sounded softly.
Henry grinned, and continued on. "So we must to learn to coup with it," he concluded. "I think I've said enough, so I’ll let the other guy do some the talking now."
The spotlight zoomed over to Jeff.
"Thanks Henry," he replied. "If I may, I would like to continue some more on the survival issue."
"Be my guest."
"Well, yes you are very very correct, explaining that if we halted doing what we don’t like to do, then yes, we would ultimately kill ourselves, or succeed in killing others around us."
Some of the audience member nodded.
"Now the reason for that is because we are emotionally unstable to handle such large changes. We would be intelligently stable, we could set up rules and regulations for example, but emotionally, we wouldn’t at all. It would just be too difficult for us. For example: when humans first invented nuclear power, we were intelligently sound enough to handle such a variation, easily if you may. But in typical human fashion, we were emotionally unstable about it. Instead of doing the intelligent thing, by telling ourselves, 'This invention will have drastic affects on the environment, and could potentially lead to many disasters, thus killing every last remaining life form on this planet,’ we instead let our emotions, namely greed, get in our way, and clog our intelligence."
He squinted in the light.
"But very quickly, we learned to live with it, because it was a positive change for us, even if it wasn’t good for everything else. We have such low tolerances, that we could never stand loosing such a valuable asset."
Jeff quickly sat back down in his seat, and Henry said to him and the audience, "Thank you Jeff. You bring up a very interesting point; humans are emotionally unskilled to handle our complex social lives perfectly. Sure, we somehow manage it, but it could be better, heaps better. Unfortunately, the process of creating a society is almost irreversible; we cannot simply start over and began with a new social structure. Getting back to our original point. The reason that humans are so intolerable is because we have become far to accustomed to living in total comfort."
Henry walked over the chalkboard, and pulled it up to the front of the stage.
"There is an equilibrium that every living creature follows." He drew a large circle in the middle of the board. “Except humans."
He then drew a straight line from the outside into the middle of the circle. "Humans are almost always present on the outside, where we find comfort and do not enter discomfort. But when we enter the middle of the circle, the area where discomfort and chaos occur, that’s when things really get fouled up. Things that change negatively, we find it very uncomfortable. And the reason terrible things happen to us is because we attempt to control the situation, and ultimately fail."
Henry walked up the front of the stage. "We will now take a short intermission, please feel free to have the cookies and coffee in the back."
The audience clapped politely, and the members began getting out of their seats, the metal legs of their chairs screeching harshly on the floor. Jeff and Henry ambled leisurely to the corner of the auditorium, to the athletic coaches room. They both walked inside it, and sat down at a small desk, wiping the sweat from their brows.
"I'd say it's been a good day so far," Jeff said. "Some of the people looked a little bored. I think I saw one sleeping in the back." He sounded worried.
"Don't worry about it," Henry replied to him, matter-of-factly. "People always fall asleep at our lectures. I think it has something to do with the darkness. Makes them relax too much."
"I hope your right,” he replied, biting his lip.
They both sat still, fairly exhausted from their lecture. After several minutes, a knock was heard. The door opened slightly, and a young woman poked her head in.
"Excuse me gentlemen,” she asked, "but there’s a man who is very anxious to see you."
Jeff glanced at her, and said, "Um, sure, send him in if you would."
"Yes sir," she replied, and the women left, closing the door behind her. A moment later, the door opened again. Through the door, a short stubby man with short black greasy hair walked into the room.
"Gentlemen, gentlemen, hello," he said quickly, "I can't thank you enough for seeing me." Jeff and Henry stood up out of their seats to shake hands. Jeff bent down to shake his hand, for the man wasn't quite level with him.
"Glad we could be of service," Henry said happily to him. "What can we do for you?"
All three men sat down in the seats.
"Allow me to introduce myself, the name’s Scott Eugene Travenski," he said. "People just call me Scotty," he said, smiling a childish grin.
Jeff looked over, and watched Scott carefully. He was wearing a regular business suit, with a corny red golf club tie, his shoes shined extensively. He had a short three-day stubble on his face. His eyes caught Jeff's attention: They were slightly blood shot, wide open, and seemed to almost protrude from his skull. Obviously, he had not gotten enough sleep, and had too much of his morning coffee. His hair was short, yet portrayed a sense of being tangled and split, even at its short length.
"That name sounds Russian," Henry noticed.
Scott nodded, and said, "That's exactly right! My grandparents and parents were born in Moscow, and immigrated here right after I was born."
Henry was fairly aggasted by his sudden enthusiasm, but didn't say anything, and just nodded. He then looked Scott straight in the eye, and asked "And what year was that?”
Across from him, Scott hesitated, and gulped. Finally, he said in a weak, yet arrogant tone, answered, "Nineteen...sixty...nine, I believe, yes, I believe that's it. Moved to rural Virginia. The family's been there ever sense." He laughed uncomfortably. He looked at the two men sitting across from him, expecting them to answer back. But they said nothing, only nodding politely.
"So...what can we help you with?" Jeff asked, breaking the silence.
Scott smiled, and replied, "I’ve got a very unique request for you two, and I think, and hope, you’ll find it extremely interesting."
Henry and Jeff exchanged glances. "Go on..."
Scott pulled out a small yellow notepad from his jacket pocket. "Well," he continued, "according to you and your lectures, humans are the most intolerable species on this planet. All too true, I'm guilty of it too." He laughed suddenly again, and added, "Of course, I would have to be, I'm after all, a human."
With no response from Henry nor Jeff, he continued on, flipping pages in his notebook.
"Ah, um, however, that can’t be proven very easily. I’ve come up with a unparallel way to help support that hypothesis," Scott told them.
"And what is that?"
More flipping of pages in the notepad.
"By taking humans, me and you two and a few choice others, to the most uncomfortable place we can think up. Of course, besides my mother-in-law’s." He giggled softly.
Henry and Jeff exchanged glances again.
Scott continued on. "Seriously though, I think this could be your guy’s big lucky break, and I’m willing to help you out completely, and without a doubt."
Henry asked him, "So you’re a philanthropist?"
Scott continued flipping through his notepad. "Technically," was all he answered. Henry nodded to his remark.
"Look, the point is," Scott said, almost annoyed, "is that I am willing to prove your theories and philosophies to a greater extent that you ever could dream of."
Jeff looked at him, and asked questionably, "And how exactly are you going to do that?"
Scott flipped to a new page in his notebook. "Well, I’ve managed to put together a small expedition to go into the heart of the Congo rainforest to document your theories in action."
Several minutes passed, with nobody saying anything. Finally, Henry said, "Why there, and for how long?" He showed no interest in knowing the answer, and took it merely as question to pass the time.
Scott pulled out another piece of paper from his pocket. "The rainforest is an absolute perfect setting, much better than the Arctic of Antarctic. Mainly because it’s easier to get away from coldness than the heat and humidity." He read his paper some more. "The time frame we're expecting...however long it takes, until we gather all the data we need." He kept on smiling as he flipped through his notebook.
Henry rubbed his beard thoughtfully. "I’ll have to talk it over with my partner," he said.
"Likewise," Jeff added meekly, "and we'll try to get back to you if we can."
All three men stood up from their chairs.
"Thank you from the bottom of my heart for your time gentlemen," Scott said. They all exchanged handshakes. "I’ll be eager to know what decision you come to," he said smiling. He walked out of the door, and was gone.
The heavy door closed with a dull thud, and then was quiet. The two men got up from their seats to stretch.
"Very interesting," Jeff said, "and if I may add, kind of creepy."
Henry looked at Jeff surprisingly. "Why do you say that?”
Jeff pushed his chair in, and replied, "Did you notice how enthusiastic he was? I mean, he acted rather...loopy, if you know what I mean. Something didn't click right."
Henry smiled at the young man's use of slang. "If you want my honest opinion, I think your being over analytical about all this." They both walked towards the exit, and paused in front of it momentarily.
"You may be right," he replied back, "but the sound of this doesn't seem entirely genuine. I just have a feeling." Jeff stopped as he walked through the entrance, choosing his words carefully, as to not insult him. Henry turned towards his friend, facing him.
"How long have I known you Jeff?"
Jeff signed, sensing the oncoming lecture, and answered, "Four years, this November."
"And what was the once thing, of all my advice I've ever spoken to you about, that I told you to follow through always?"
Jeff signed once again, and said, "Worrying is the absence of thinking, therefore, why worry, blah blah." He grinned at his own sarcasm, and added, "I know what you’re trying to tell me."
Henry walked slowly towards the stage, and said to him, "Then do it."
Several audience members lingered at the beverage counters. Jeff waved to them politely, and continued on.
"What exactly are we going do about all of this?" Jeff asked timidly. The rest of the audience was getting prepared for the second half of the presentation, and were waiting quietly in their seats.
"I think it’s rather quite obvious," he said smiling. Jeff trotted along beside him, as they approached the stage, walking up the tiny steps leading up to it.
"It is?"
The wooden stage creaked slightly as the two men stood on it. The house lights began to dim away, and the audience began sitting back in their chairs.
"Of course my friend," Henry said, "of course." And he smiled as he was shrouded in darkness.
Passage: I Date: September 15, 1988 Day: I 7:47 A.M.
A damp fog clung heavily to the wet morning air at the Nairobi, Kenya airbase. The metal hulls of the giant aircraft reflected the, already rising, morning sun. Camouflaged vehicles lined the concrete runway, the backs of them filled with crates and supplies. African men crowded the area, scurrying to unload the boxes from the green army jeeps. A small Fokker S-144 prop plane stood at one end of the driveway; around the aircraft, men began loading equipment from the jeeps into its cargo bay.
On the outer edge of the group, a tall black man stood unworking, directing the men, and barking orders in Swahili.
"Yes, Captain", one man shouted to him in Swahili.
The men quickened their pace, loading equipment onto the small craft.
The man's massive arms swung around wildly as he ordered the men around, beads of sweat dripping off his bald head and body, falling to the hot concrete. His blood shot eyes burned with anger, moving from one orderee` to the next. Thick veins protruded out of his large neck, bulging from adrenaline.
Standing a full seven feet, one inch, Akari Misulu towered over any man by more than a foot. His slender muscular build, added to his exaggerated height, made him a prospect for curious onlookers. They, however, soon learned to appreciate his excessive temper. Persons who knew him personally not only experienced Misulu's ruthless tantrums, but also his wonderful, if not bizarre, ability to motivate others under the gravest of situations. He had eventually made a career out of his hot head. Many avid thrill seekers and professional companies hire him frequently to lead their expeditions deep into the heart of the jungle.
A short man, dressed in safari khakis approached him from behind. "Mr. Misulu, I presume?" he said timidly. Misulu turned around, red in the face.
"What is it now!" he shouted. The man backed away, avoiding his sudden onslaught.
"Oh, it’s just you," Misulu replied to the man. He turned around to the workers, resuming shouting orders.
The short man chuckled, and replied, "Well, I'm awfully glad to see you too," wiping sweat from his face. Misulu didn’t notice his remark, and walked off.
The sun rose over the horizon, ascending high into the sky. The man turned away from the group, covering his eyes from the brightness.
"Mr. Langston, Mr. Condales, welcome to Nairobi, Kenya."
"Thank you Mr. Travenski," Henry Langston said, trotting up to him. Jeffery Condales followed at his side and added quietly, "Yes, thank you for inviting us on this...little trip of yours."
Henry stuck his hand out, offering to shake hands with Scott. He didn’t hesitate, and immediately stuck his arm out too. The two men stood there for a moment, interchanging handshakes with each other. Jeff eyed Scott suspiciously, but he didn’t seem to notice it.
Henry butted in, "I'd like to thank you very much for inviting us to come on this expedition," he said quickly. He glanced at Jeff, as if to say Cut it out.
Scott gleamed, obviously enjoying all the attention. "No," he said, "the pleasure will be all mine."
His childish smile suddenly turned to an almost evil-like grin. He began to laugh very loud, almost hysterically. Jeff and Henry backed away from him, unaware what he was doing. Scott continued to laugh, bending his neck back from the intensity of it. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally stopped laughing. His grin, however, did not cease.
He looked at the two men, and said, "Just a little good luck humor."
Dumb founded, Jeff replied, "Uh huh."
Scott turned away from them, and began heading for the airplane.
"Didn’t you know its good luck to scare your invitees a little?" Still smiling, he walked ahead of them, literally bouncing from enjoyment. Jeff and Henry followed in sync behind him. They approached the tiny aircraft, where men were still busy loading supplies into the plane. They sang happily in Swahili, and joked around with each other as they loaded the crates.
Scott turned towards the two men. "Gentlemen," he said, "I'd like you to meet Akari Misulu, our expedition leader."
Henry saw a tall African man shouting orders to the men unloading the equipment. Although having dark skin, his face actually almost had a dark, almost maroon, shade of red to it. Henry smiled at the thought of this, glancing at Jeff to see if he agreed, but Jeff was not amused at all. Instead he repeatedly kept a close eye on Scott, never leaving his sight.
“Also, meet the seven porters who will be accompanying us, helping with all this nice equipment we’ve got.” He pointed towards the men who were unloaded and packing the boxes and crates. “They’re Kikuyu tribesmen, great porters, even if they never shut up.” He laughed as he watched the porters. “They’ll certainly make this expedition a jolly one.”
Scott walked to the front of the tiny group, at the nose of the airplane. "Give me that," he said rudely to one of the men unloading the jeeps.
The man paused, and looked at Scott scornfully, and clicked the safety off of his gun. Great Scott, Scott thought, He's going to shoot my head off.
"Pretty please," he added quickly. The African man smiled at Scott, and handed the crate to him.
Scott grabbed the crate and walked into the middle of the group. He then climbed on top the crate, with a slight amount of trouble. He stood higher than everybody, except for Misulu, who towered over all the men.
He shouted, "If I may have your attention please!"
The men stopped loading the equipment and crates to listen to what he was going to say. Misulu looked at them and yelled, "Get back to work!" All the men hastily began loading the equipment again, not wanting to get on his bad side.
"Thank you Mr. Misulu," Scott said, "that's excellent." He raised his head up, attempting to show the others that he was the leader of the group.
"Welcome!" he yelled to all the men. A couple of the workers whooped and shouted.
Hmmm.... Henry thought.
Scott continued talking, saying, "We are about to journey into the unknown wilderness of the Congo jungle. This marks a remarkable event in the history of philosophy and psychology, where instead of superstitions and beliefs, we will actually gather enough data to prove the thoughts of philosophy."
Henry didn’t like the idea of that. Of course philosophy and psychology could be proved, everyday life was one example. In fact, that was the common among people-
"But I must warn you," Scott was saying, "It will not be an easy task."
Some of the men nodded while they worked. Misulu eyed them angrily, signaling for them to get back to work. Scott smiled, and continued on.
"I know many of you are well experienced in what you are about to encounter." He beckoned and nodded to Misulu. "But for some of you inexperienced folks, I would like to prepare you for what you are about to embark on."
Henry turned to Jeff. He looked pale, with sweat dripped down to his brow. It must be the temperature, Henry thought. Or perhaps something else was bothering him.
"I'll tell you what you're going to embark on," he said. He paused, soaking in his small moment of glory. Finally, he said to the crowd, "You're about to embark on a journey of excellence, where the complex behavior of the human species will finally be exploited, and documented to its greatest extent."
Everybody stood still for a moment, absorbing what was just said. Scott remained on his podium, also absorbing what he had just said. After awhile the activity began again. All the supplies were gone from the trucks; the splinters from the crates were the only remains of them. Misulu signaled for the seven porters to get on the plane. They slowly moved from where they stood, and began to climb the metal staircase to the fuselage. Henry and Jeff stood idle for a moment before Jeff spoke up:
"Ahh, I think its time to go," he said in a nervous voice. He looked up at the bright morning sky. In the distance, a flock of birds flew in a V-shape formation. Jeff put his head back down, and sighed, as if it were his last. Henry looked around the area, seeing if anybody was around. Only a few of the men remained, gathering the last of the equipment that had yet to be loaded.
"Come with me," Henry said to him.
***
Jeff and Henry stood behind a large Boeing 747, the giant landing gear concealing them from any watchers. Twenty yards away stood the Fokker S-144. The engine had not yet started.
Jeff looked around and whispered, "What was so urgent you had to drag me all the way over here?"
Henry, still watching the area, said, "I thought I'd better tell you this before we took off. You know our friend, Scott Travenski?"
Jeff nodded. Henry motioned towards the plane.
"Well it turns out there is no, 'Scott Eugene Travenski,' at least not in the area he claims to be from."
Jeff looked surprisingly at Henry, gripping the landing gear, his knuckles white.
"What do you mean?"
A few men passed by them, watching them suspiciously. Henry nodded, and waved to them. The men shrugged, waved back, and continued on their way.
Turning back towards Jeff, he said, "I mean he flat out doesn’t' exist; I checked the records. There wasn’t any 'Travenski' family that immigrated to the United States in nineteen sixty-nine. I checked every possible way, and everything came back negative. The closest thing I found was the 'Ventraski' family, but they didn't immigrate until nineteen eighty-two. Plus, he said that he moved here in nineteen sixty-nine. That would make him only nineteen years old. He looks a lot older than that. Plus, no nineteen year old I know has a beard of stubble that thick. It must be a fake name, or a fake story."
He bit his lip as he said it. Jeff's eyes widened, and then he began to sweat even more. "I knew this guy was a fake, I knew it from the instance I laid eyes on him."
He looked at Henry, a tiny amount of anger in his eyes. "I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen, you just went ahead and did things your own damn way."
From down the runway, the sound of the Faker’s engine drowned out all the other sounds.
"So, what the hell should we do then?" Jeff yelled frantically over the roar of the engine. He looked around the airbase, thinking. He scanned the scenery beyond the airbase. A way to get out.
"We need to get out of here. Get as far away as possible. Yes. Get away. Fast," he said, talking to himself. Henry put his hands on his shoulder.
"Calm down," he yelled to him. "We don’t want to say anything or do anything at all."
Jeff pushed away from his grip, backing off from him.
"But we need to do something. Our lives are at stake!" he said.
Henry replied re-assuringly. "We don't know what their intentions are yet. Perhaps he changed his name, to make us feel more uncomfortable, to add the experiment, we don't know enough at this point," he said as quietly as he could, not trying to scare him. It was practically impossible; the sound of the aircraft made it extremely hard to speak soft.
"Aren't you even scared?" Jeff yelled.
He said, "Of course I am. But if we make any impression that we know, they might do something, or they might not. But we can't be certain about anything. What we must do is remain calm. Perhaps even I am mistaken."
Jeff nodded, agreeing with him.
From the airplane, Scott stepped out, looking around the runway.
Henry grabbed Jeff by the arm. "Remember," he said to him, "if you show in anyway that we are aware, we both might end up in trouble."
Passage: I Day: I 3:47 P.M.
Hours later, the tiny expedition flew over the eastern edge of the Congo rainforest. Below them stood a land of unyielding green. Everything, from the canopy of the trees to the grassy meadows, bore some shade of green. Everything besides the exceptions of a small muddy river, or a dirt path that wound endlessly through the area. The airplane dipped down towards the jungle below. The individual branches of the trees could barely be made out. Small flowers blossomed on their limbs, lightening the trees' complexity.
The Fokker’s noise rose up, and the plane ascended higher into the air. As the plane leveled out, the crew finally got a glimpse of the rainforest’s true beauty. Beyond the trees below, the forest extended out far into the horizon, giving the effect that it went on forever into the farness. It remained dense and unbroken the entire way, before finally meeting with the Atlantic Ocean two thousand miles from where they flew. The sheer size of it was astonishing. Covering a million and a half square miles, the Congo rainforest was a landmark of amazing magnitude, dwarfing many other landforms found on earth. Everything about it was massive, down to every scale; not only the total area of it, but also what was contained in it. Trees the size of small office buildings, animals, as tall as small apartments. The jungle’s size and contents were both unbelievable and simultaneously frightening.
The sun rose high into the afternoon sky. The dew that rested on the leaves soon began to evaporate. A light mist rose from the foliage, creating a light fog around the surrounding area.
Henry gazed out of the airplane window, fascinated by what he was witnessing. Below him stood a primitive world, untouched by the hands of civilization. That in itself is a small miracle. Unfortunately though, the rainforest was not entirely virgin, evidence shown as they flew over the jungle. In spite of all the changes, trees, two hundred years old, still stood as an example of the ancient life surviving in a vanishing forest.
Henry observed a flock of brightly colored birds fly up from the forest below, their wings flapping vigorously. Henry smiled thoughtfully at the sight of them. These birds stood as just one example of the many extraordinary creatures the expedition would hopefully encounter. Perhaps, if luck ran on their side, they would see an Elephant or Hippopotamus. Henry himself certainly enjoyed watching these animals at the local zoo.
Many other unique animals are also present in the jungle. Many man has not seen before. If fact, many undiscovered species were always being uncovered by science. He paused for a moment, trying to recall an example of a newly discovered species. He remembered reading about a "Blue Pig" that was discovered in the mid nineteen-forties. Not exactly recent, but perhaps they would get a run of luck, and encounter one themselves. Or perhaps even, they would encounter a rediscovery. Although not entirely likely, it was plausible. Examples like the aquatic coelacanth or Australian Mountain Pygmy proved that one might appear while they were exploring the dense rainforest. That reminded Henry of something. He stood up in his chair, looking up the row of seats.
"Mr. Travenski, a word with you," Henry said loudly, getting out of his seat. From up row, Scott got up from his chair, and walked into the aisle.
He said to Henry, “What can we do for you?"
Both of them now stood side by side in the middle of the aisle. "I was just wondering," he said to Scott, "You have the necessary equipment to document this little voyage of ours, right?"
Scott smiled slightly, and pointed to the cargo hold in the back of the fuselage.
"We’ve got several containers just for video surveillance and documentation," he said to him. "Everything in the latest LED and Night-Vision technology. After all, what's the greatest expedition in the history of mankind without proof it happened?"
He reached up and patted Henry on the back, and walked back towards his seat. "Don’t worry about it pal," he yelled back to him, "We’ve got everything covered. And I mean everything." With saying that, Scott sat down in his seat, and began reading a People magazine.
Henry stood there a moment, pondering Scott's remark. He then headed back towards his seat, and sat down, staring out the window again. Eventually, he became engulfed in his own thoughts once again. Scott's last statement made Henry somewhat nervous.
Don’t worry pal.
The fact that he referred to him as "pal" made him uncomfortable. Not only what he said, but how he said it; very sarcastically and malign. Perhaps he and Jeff's suspicions were true, Scott really was planning to do something with them, regardless if it related to the expedition. But for the time being, he seemed to be playing mind games with him and Jeff. Henry shook his head, as if trying to shake the thought from his head. But for now, he had to focus on the expedition's "fake" objectives, gathering and analyzing information for their hypotheses. Fake objectives, because collecting date was obviously not Scott’s true intentions for organizing this team. Whatever his intentions were though, he had to remain as calm as possible. The last thing he wanted was to arise attention to himself.
Across the aisle, Jeff stared out the window, his foot tapping the floor nervously. Jesus, he thought, as he looked out towards the jungle.
Why would anybody agree to come to the jungle, let alone coming with a psycho riding with them? I should have never let that fool Henry talk into this mess.
He turned, and watched Henry across from the row. He didn’t appear to be nervous at all, as he sat quietly, glancing around, smiling occasionally. Jeff turned away in disgust.
What's his secret? How can he remain so indifferent? What does he know?
Jeff looked up row, attempting to get a glance as Scott, trying to see what he was plotting next. Scott was sitting comfortably in his seat, a notepad and a magazine in his hand, whistling happily. Jeff turned away from him too, and thought: And if that damned Travenski doesn't kill us, something else is sure to.
He shuddered at the thought: expeditions going into the jungle, and never returning, getting ripped to shreds. Sweat began to mist down his face.
Christ, I hope Henry knows what is going on, because I sure as hell don't.
The engines of the airplane droned softly as the plane flew on over the jungle. Eventually, it began descending from the sky, towards the green landscape. Soon, it flew just a couple of hundred yards above the tallest trees. Inside the cockpit, Akari Misulu sat at the captain's seat; beside him another African man sat in the co-pilot's chair. Misulu grabbed an intercom mic; his amplified voice said in a gruff tone, "We're about to land." He clicked the mic off.
Scott got up from his seat, and walked to the back of the plane.
"Show time folks!" he said enthusiastically to them, clapping his hands together loudly. He motioned towards the seven porters in their seats, pointing towards the rear of the plane. The men immediately stood up, and began getting the equipment ready to unload. They all sang and joking excitedly in Swahili. Scott watched their activity, and grinned happily at what they were doing.
Henry watched the porters momentary, before pulling out a small red notebook from his pocket and flipping to the front section. He drew out a pen from the breast pocket of his jacket, and began writing in the tiny notebook. Jeff noticed him writing in it, and stood up from his seat, having to hunch over because of height.
Looking over Henry's shoulder, he asked anxiously, "What’s...ahh, that
thing for?"
Henry paused a moment, before answering. "It's a notebook, traditionally used to write in. A pencil is primarily the instrument of choice used to do the writing, although a pen in my case." He laughed softly. "It's just a little memorabilia." He glanced up at Jeff. "Just to keep track of things going on around here."
Jeff nodded nervously, and returned to his seat.
Henry smiled at his odd behavior, and continued writing. His pen lingered a moment, before he dated the entry, "September 15th, 1988."
Scott stopped observing the porters, and walked over to where Jeff and Henry sat. "So," he said looking at Jeff, "You’re a Chaotition, am I right?"
Jeff glanced up at him, his head jerking back in surprise from the sight of Scott.
"Is something a matter?" Scott asked in a slightly monotone phony voice. Jeff sat up, and glanced over at Henry.
"Ah…no…. You surprised me, that’s all. Just surprised...” He looked questionably at Henry. He just shook his head, and smiled before continuing to write in his notepad. Jeff looked at the two of them, before continuing on.
"Yes, that’s correct.” He licked his lips as he talked.
Scott asked him, "Chaos Theory deals with unpredictability and stuff right?"
Jeff nodded hesitantly.
He continued on. "So the outcome of, say for instance...an expedition, can’t be predicted, if I’m not mistaken. From what little I've read."
Jeff nodded, then paused, thinking for a moment. "Ahh, yes," he said, "that’s correct, because they are too many variables to be able to accurately predict an event." He sighed; Jeff suddenly appeared more relaxed. His nervousness decreased and vanished as he discussed something that wasn’t alien to him.
He sighed again. "That's basically what Chaos Theory is based on, unpredictability and chaos." He looked around, seeing who was paying attention to his small lecture. Scott sat down in the seat behind his, trying to get a better location to hear.
His green eyes darted rapidly as he spoke. "In the past, scientists believed that everything followed strict Newtonian rules of force, motion etc. Tue, true, all individuals do abide by certain fundamental patterns. Apples fall from trees, kites fly, wheels spin. But it is a substance’s, rather that substance be a puddle of water or a jungle expedition, collective properties."
Henry nodded as he wrote in his journal, he knew about all this. Scott nodded also in agreement, although Henry doubted Scott knew if Jeff was actually right or not.
"Variables don't effect each other in the exact same way. For example: The rate of combustion depends on the speed of the reacting particles; but the heat generated by the reacting particles speeds them up. It’s a paradox really. So answer your question, yes, it would most definitely be impossible to predict the outcome of this expedition."
Jeff smiled a little, pleased at the idea that there was hope for this expedition. He and Henry could never predict what would happen. Good things could still happen. He slouched back in his seat, signifying that he was done.
Scott got up from his chair. "You truly have a talent for the unpredictable," he said, smiling.
Henry paused from writing and joined the conversation. "If I may add Jeff," he said, "from what I’ve learned, it’s slightly possibly to predict an outcome semi-accurately." Scott cocked his head in the manner a dog does when it hears a strange sound.
"How so?" he asked him.
Henry continued writing in the journal, but kept discussing. "Well, even though the end product of a happening may not be what you expected, outcomes tend to lie in a sort of pattern."
Jeff stared at him. How could he have forgotten such a trivial detail, especially when it was his own field? It's the entire situation; it's not letting me think straightt.
"These products lie in an area in around which the outcomes cluster, called an attractor.”
Jeff signed; he knew all of this.
Scott’s face showed a sense of confusion, and Henry noticed it.
He replied, “So what I’m saying is this: Although an outcome for a certain sequence of events may be impossible to predict, outcomes lie in a group of bases with the same properties and traits. They never repeat each other, yet never become absolutely haphazard."
Scott laughed, and replied, "You speak very fast, and use big words." Henry nodded; he’d obviously have to explain it better.
"You use the example of an expedition, something very unpredictable right?" Scott didn’t say anything, he just listened. Henry waited a moment, perhaps it would sink in. It didn’t.
"Fine, so an expedition to the jungle is hard to predict, very hard. However, sense it seems that a lot of expeditions usually have the same outcome, it’s reasonable to predict what may happen. That’s almost common sense."
Scott’s confusion disappeared from his face, he smiled now that he finally got it. Henry smiled along with him, although it wasn’t entirely genuine.
"I finally get it," he said. Scott got up from the seat behind Jeff, and began stepping back to his own. He stopped in the middle aisle, and added, "By the way, what generally happens to expeditions?" He grinned slightly as he said that, but quickly changed his expressions.
Jeff looked desperately at Henry, as if he didn’t want him to say anything that would provoke more discussion.
Henry looked at Jeff from the corner of his eye, and said, "Well, from what little information I’ve read, generally expeditions like these, either their motive fails, or the entire expedition fails."
"I see... " Scott replied. "Wonderful, perfect."
Henry sat back in his seat, and continued writing. Jeff stared at him, shocked at what he had just replied to Scott.
He whispered to him, "Christ Henry, you could of just asked him to murder us."
Scott turned away, and went back to his seat. Soon he began whistling Skip to my Lue.
Henry turned to Jeff and replied, "Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing." He patted Jeff on the back. Jeff turned away and looked out the window.
"You better pray that you do," he said under his breath.
The landing gear began to lower, the mechanical hum of the hydraulics ringing softly throughout the craft.
Misulu clicked the mic again, and said, "We’re landing, now put on your seatbelts." A succession of clicks immediately followed the announcement.
Scott turned around in his seat, and yelled, "Isn’t this exciting!" He turned around, his eyes almost literally popping out of his scull.
Hearing him say that, Jeff said sarcastically, "Oh you bet, I’m having the time of my life." He turned away, and looked out the window, snorting to himself.
Henry smiled at his sarcasm, and sat back in his seat. The airplane dipped down, and descended towards the forest below.
Passage: I Day: I 7:47 P.M.
After several minutes, the aircraft made its final decent towards the jungle below. They touched down in the middle of a large meadow on the outskirts of the forest. The landing gear squeaked slightly from the impact, and the plane slowly came to a rest at the far end of the clearing. Far off, rolling hills protruded out of the landscape, and black sheer cliffs were visible to the naked eye.
Inside, the crew remained still for a moment while the sput sput of the engines slowly died away. Eventually, the porters stood up and continued unloading the equipment from the back of the plane. They unclipped the heavy wooden boxes, and stacked them one by one on each other in the middle of the aisle, strapping them together. Up in the cockpit, Misulu pulled off his headset and sat it down on the dash. He got up and walked into the fuselage, immediately hollering more orders at the men in foreign tongue. The porters walked by him, indifferent to his tyrannical shouting, laughing with each other.
Henry lingered in his seat, watching everybody resume their activities. One of the porters opened the door of the fuselage, and walked outside. Bright sunlight streamed into the interior, basking everybody in illumination. Henry squinted, and opened the journal that was sitting on his lap. Several of the pages were torn around the edges, and the red cover was fairly worn. On the inside cover was a small written note. In partial smeared red ink, it read:
"To my best student Henry, never stop writing! Love, Mrs. Kainlew." And below it a happy face was scribbled in. He smiled at the tiny note, and continued to flip pages, before finding his bookmark.
The group was beginning to grow impatient sitting and waiting. A few of the porters lingered in the back of the plane. One of them broke out a bottle of whiskey, and passed it around to the others. Each of them took a gulp, and laughed loudly. Scott stood up from his seat, and walked to the front of the plane to where Misulu was still standing. He stood by him, and the two men traded whispers. The tall African man eyed Jeff sitting in his seat. He was staring anxiously out the window, and picking at his fingernails.
Scott turned towards Misulu, and whispered, "This is absolutely perfect." Misulu nodded back to him. Outside, the porters were finished unloading the crates. They sat around on the boxes, smoking cigarettes and joking with each other excitedly.
Misulu saw them from inside the craft, and mumbled, "Don’t they ever shut up." He walked outside, ducking his massive body below the top of the door. Scott watched the scene for a minute, and then turned away.
With everything set, the equipment situated, the men ready, it appeared the expedition was completely ready to set off into the unknown wilderness. Henry closed his journal, and placed it neatly in his jacket pocket. He looked out the window, hoping it would pass the time and give him a chance to think.
Noticing this sign of impatience, Scott spoke up. Smiling, he said loudly, "Okay everybody looks like we’re ready to gooooo." He brushed his short black hair back, and turned to go outside with the rest of the crew.
Smiling also, Henry got up, and walked towards the door.
Jeff mumbled to himself, "Ah, shit," and scowled unhappily. He got up from his seat, and followed Henry out the door, into the sunlight.
From the back of the plane, a tiny beep sounded, and a red blinking light flickered on.
***
The entire group stood knee high in crisp golden green grass. The wind brushed through the grass, whipping harshly at their arms and legs.
At the head, Scott continued talking to Misulu, mumbling silently to him. They had heavy pack backs slung over their shoulders, and Misulu had a machine gun resting at his side. They continued talking for several more minutes, while the others sat around.
Finally, Misulu shouted, “Let's go," and pointed east.
Reluctantly, the group got up and started making their way across the clearing to the edge of the forest. Misulu led the pack, followed closely by Scott. Henry and Jeff stayed in the middle, surrounded by the porters and their heavy crates. As they hiked on, Misulu shouted, "Let's hurry it up ladies, I want to set camp before nightfall."
With saying that, he looked up at the afternoon sky, the sun already beginning its decent into the western horizon.
From behind the group, an enormous explosion erupted, and a fireball of flames flew up into the air, followed by a hellish booming. The entire group turned around toward the explosion, gasping in shock.
"What in the hell just happened!" Jeff screamed.
In front of them, a ball of fire and debris engulfed the plane. Metal and plastic flew everywhere in the air, landing in smoldering ashes on the ground. The entire craft was completely destroyed; the cockpit, the fuselage, the cargo bay. The debris spread out for fifty yards in all directions before finally resting on the ground.
The group stepped back a moment in disbelieve, and then ran towards the wreckage. Misulu stopped and scanned the scene carefully. Henry watched him, scratching his beard thoughtfully. Jeff bit his nails, and paced back and forth nervously. Scott remained on the outside, watching them all closely.
"It must have been a gas leak, " Misulu yelled loudly. “A leak in one of the hoses. Son of a bitch! Destroyed everything."
He picked up a piece of metal debris, and quickly threw it down, swearing. It was still hot.
"Yes, it must of been a fuel leak," Henry repeated, staring forward. "Nothing else expect a small explosive could have destroyed it to this degree." He perked his eyebrows up and looked at Scott and Misulu, eying them closely.
Several minutes passed with everything standing quiet and still, staring in disbelieve at the wreckage.
Jeff spoke up, "Maybe we can find the little black box. They're 'spose to be impenetrable. If we could find that then -"
"Mr. Condales," Misulu interrupted, "do you think that these small prop planes carry black boxes? Those little black boxes are only used on large commercial airliners." He sighed irritably and turned away from him.
Jeff frowned and put his head down.
Henry said to him, "Jeff, even if such a box existed, and even if we could somehow locate it, what good would it do?" He patted him on the back. "You’re not thinking too straight. Now then, come along."
Jeff nodded, and turned away.
"Well, let's look at the bright side guys, " Scott said. "At least we got all the equipment off before it happened. And even better, we were all off before it exploded. Someone could of been hurt of killed. " He smiled cheerfully.
"There's nothing we can do about it. We move on, " Misulu said sternly, picking up his backpack. "Now, if we're done gawking, let's get moving." He shouted loudly in Swahili, and motioned for the porters. Everything hesitantly picked up their packs, and began walking away from the wreckage and towards the jungle.
***
The expedition made their way along the rolling hills, traveling in an easterly direction. Sprawled below them was the majestic sight of the Congo rainforest. Even pending the disaster that just occurred, they couldn't help but pause involuntarily, gaping at the beautiful view. Even the porters ceased their chatting to observe the awstriking landscape.
Misulu urged them onward, yelling, "Stop gawking ladies! We have things to get done." He motioned towards the east, and the crew trudged forward along the grassy hills.
As the day endured on, the temperature grew colder, and the air grew wet, adding to the group’s dismal gloom. High on the rise, fierce winds tugged at their shoulders, and whipped the long grass that surrounded them. Henry reached into his pack and pulled out a sweater. He put it on, zipped it up, and continued walking. Faraway, gray storm clouds gathered in the sky, altering the landscape's lightness.
Scott observed them also, and shouted, "Looks like it's gonna storm tonight." There was no sense of dread in his voice. He then put down his pack, and reached into it, pulling out a plastic bag. He opened it up, and took out a small white pill. Smiling, he popped it into his mouth and swallowed it.
"What’s that?" Henry said, walking behind him.
Scott jumped at the sound of his voice, his head jerking back in surprise.
“Is something the matter?”
“Ah…no... You surprised me, that’s all. Just surprised...” He bent down to put away the back.
“What do you have there?” Henry repeated.
Scott hesitated a minute, before answering. “Allergy medicine…ya know, for my allergies. The jungle isn’t a good place for allergies.” He laughed, and then walked away, leaving Henry standing there.
From the front, Misulu turned to the group and said, "We have two hours to get to that rise in the distance. Two hours before the storm hits, two hours before nightfall." He pointed to the tallest hill in the distance. It protruded higher than the rest of the hills, offering safety from the jungle below. On the top of it was a cluster of trees, offering protection from the elements. Jeff shivered, and rubbed his hands together.
"We're ‘spose to get that far in two hours?" he whispered to Henry. It looked an eternally far distance to him. The sun was already beginning its decent under the horizon, the sky's lightness beginning to diminish.
"If Misulu says we can make it, I'm sure we can," Henry replied. He smiled, "Don't worry about it."
An hour later, a loud clamor erupted from the front of the group as they were walking along the hills. Misulu whirled around, facing the crowd, and shouted, "Get down!"
Everybody immediately ceased walking, and bent down behind the long grass. The porters dropped their loads, and crouched in the grass along side them. Several of them opened the crates and passed out machine guns to everybody. A series of muffled clicks were heard as they switched off the safeties. Misulu motioned with his hand to move forward, quietly.
Jeff whispered to Henry, "What's going on up there?"
Henry shook his head. Everybody remained crouched for nearly fifteen minutes, waiting. Jeff looked around nervously, wondering what was going on. The steady wind dampened any noise to be heard, scattering the sound from its source. His legs burned painfully.
Jeff was about to saying something when Misulu got up from hiding, gesturing for everybody else to stay down. He walked towards the edge of the hill, and looked over the rise. He then yelled something not in Swahili, his voice echoing loudly off the hills. From down in the valley, a raspy noise called out loudly.
Scott's face turned to a horrific look, and he cried, "Oh my God, what is that!"
Without hesitation, he began running down the hill, pushing the tall grass aside. Misulu followed closely, catching up with Scott, and beckoned for one of the porters to follow. All three men scurried down towards the valley below. Eventually, they disappeared below into the valley, unable to be seen or heard.
The rest remained still, awaiting for their arrival back, their thighs burning with tension. Dull soundlessness filled the air.
Henry scooted closer to the edge, careful not to rise above the grass. He peaked over the hill and looked down in the valley. In the fading evening light, he saw the three men, clustered around a dark mass: An elderly African man. The short elder stood in the middle of the meadow, his body extremely skinny, skin hanging sickly from his bones. His gray matted hair clung illly to his head.
Scott and Misulu held his arms, steadying him from falling over. He stood there for a moment, mumbling non-sense to them. Tears ran out of his eyes and down his cheeks, as he continued rambling on. His arms waved around wildly, making gestures in the air. He then cried out suddenly, and collapsed into Misulu's outstretched hands. The elderly man stayed in that position, his arms flopping frantically around. His pitiful, raspy voice could be heard all the way up upon the hill. Then a dead soundlessness washed over the valley. Misulu looked down at the elderly grimly, and laid him gingerly onto the grass. Henry turned away from the scene in dismay.
The three men slowly made their way back up the hill to the others. Exhausted expressions soddened their faces with looks up grief and sadness. Scott sat down on one of the crates and sat still. The porter grabbed his pack and talked to the other porters about the incident.
Henry walked towards them, asking quietly, "Who was he?"
Misulu looked back down into the valley where the elderly man lay still in the grass. His gray hair and limbs flapped sickly in the wind.
"We don't know. He was very confused and didn't have a moment left when we found him," Misulu replied. He turned away. Henry nodded back and said nothing.
Jeff said, "Were there any others? Any others with him?" He sounded scared.
"No," Misulu replied, "He was the last and only one."
Everybody stood still and quiet. The wind brushed through their hair, fluttering their jackets and clothes.
Jeff spoke up. "Makes you wonder why he was the last one..."
"Maybe because he was old. A wise old man," Henry replied thoughtfully.
"Or because he was black."
"Or perhaps ‘cause he was short."
"Maybe because he was skinny."
Henry butted in, "Enough, enough. We best get going. Those clouds are getting quite close." He pointed to the far sky, and then put his head down.
Everybody bowed their heads along with him, paying respect towards the death.
"Amen," Misulu said softly, breaking the silence. He grabbed his backpack, and walked to the head of the group. The porters resumed carrying their loads, and everybody began hiking on.
"Wait, what exactly did he say?" Henry spoke up.
Misulu paused, and stood there, his jacket fluttering nosily against the wind. Scott and Misulu exchanged glances, and both stood there motionless, not saying a word.
"Well?"
Misulu turned, and looked towards the orange setting sun in the distance, its pale streaks of light fading away gently into the night.
"He was warning us."
Jeff eyes widened. "Warning us about what? What is there to warn us about?"
Misulu paused a moment.
"He said that when the sun sets over the land, all life looses its existence. That we should stay away from this jungle, or we will suffer greatly, the same as he and his people did. If we are to live, we must leave this place now, or face the storm of the darkness."
Everybody remained silent, unable to grasp the meaning of the warning. Henry glanced up at the sun unwillingly.
"It's just old tribe legends," Scott said re-assuringly to them, "now let's get the hell out of here."
Misulu shouted in Swahili, and the expedition began hiking on towards the hills.
They continued on, walking along the broad rolling hills of the tropical forest. Behind them, the setting sun in the background, the brilliant pinks and purples vanishing as the tropical sun set behind the endless horizon, casting a luminous orange shine onto the forest around it. Henry looked up at the evening sky, just as the last arch of the sun dipped below the rise, and the last waves of light stroked his body. Tiny points of light immerged from darkness, and the full white moon rose high into the sky as the nightness crept over the Congo rainforest.
As always, comments are greatly appreaciated.
The Sun Won't Rise, Prolouge
10/2/2005 4:50:37 PM
Comment on this fan fiction!
|
|
|
