Chapter 61. Houses
Island of Boyuca, Bay of Honduras. The Dark House
Skip Drame entered the pitch black stone hut. They had said that each of the huts had a small hole in the roof, which would allow one to see if it was day or night. But Skip did not see any hole. All he could see was darkness. Of all the straws to pick, he certainly picked the best one. A dark house. Whoa. Spooky. All he had to do was take a nap and it would be morning. He felt guilty that his friends were facing jaguars and razor blades and other dangers, but he was secretly glad for himself.
Drame gingerly felt the soft tissue near his shoulder. He had thought he was going to die from that wound. That water was truly amazing. He could not believe they had come all the way here on what he thought was a fun wild goose chase, and had actually managed to find the Fountain of Youth. If he and his friends could just get out of here, and get some of that water, and get back to the United States, think how much money they could make. Then who would be laughing at him then? He pictured the People Magazine covers. “Skip Drame, the new Indiana Jones.” “Skip Drame, the next Louis Pasteur.” “Skip Dame, elusive billionaire.” “Skip Drame: How does he look so young?” All of them had good rings. His celebrity would skyrocket. The endorsement deals would fly in. And he could tell those studio executives who fired him on his last project to go suck it. That would be the best part of this whole trip. All of these thoughts were getting Skip very euphoric. He rested on the stone floor and thought about where his life would go from here.
It was so dark in here, like heart-of-a-cave dark. It was almost as if the darkness had layers, like you could reach out and put your hands in rolls of black velvet. He reached out his hands, and it felt as though he was rolling in black waves, like a man swimming in the ink of an octopus. For a moment, he thought he even saw an octopus. And then, sure enough, there it was. A large purple octopus, with one large eye, and suction cups all over its tentacles, was staring at him. The tentacles were floating now, floating all around him as if he was underwater.
Wait a minute, thought Drame. He wasn’t underwater. An octopus wouldn’t be in a stone hut. What the fuck was going on? It was almost as if he was on acid or something.
“Ahh, I see what they’re doing. I am on drugs. They must be pumping in peyote smoke or fumes through the walls or something.” Drame felt along the walls. After some searching, he found some small metal holes cut into the walls. That must be where they are sending in the peyote, he thought. Drame looked around the room and it seemed as though there were different colored lights, so rich and full of texture that he could almost touch them. He had seen lights like that before when he was on ‘shrooms. And then Skip Drame began laughing hysterically.
“Of all the people in the world to try and scare with a bad drug trip, they picked the one guy who has done more drugs than anyone on the planet!” he exclaimed aloud. This is going to be a walk in the park, he thought. Just then, Skip Drame heard a hissing noise coming from about five feet away from him. He did not make a move. He felt something move over his leg. That was no dream, he thought. That is real. The snake coiled around his leg but did not tighten. Skip thought he saw a huge serpent, almost like the one in Harry Potter, materialize in front of him, but then it got wide and misshapen like he was looking at a cobra in a funhouse of mirrors. Another snake moved over his shoulder. He suddenly began seeing venomous snakes everywhere about to eat him. They seemed real, but Skip knew he was on drugs. He tried to calm himself, thinking that this was just another test. If they wanted to put poisonous snakes in here to kill him, they could do that and there would be nothing to stop them. They must be non-poisonous, he thought.
Drame had been on many bad drug trips in his life, and he had learned through trial and error of many drugs, that the best thing to do was to just “go with it.” Sit back and enjoy everything, no matter how scary or unreal. So he made himself relax, and he laid back, staring into the darkness. When snakes moved over him, he smiled, thinking of the snakes as pets and his friends. “Hey, there, Snakey, Snakey,” he said. Then the octopus came out again, and it started speaking to him. Skip laughed and began talking to the Octopus as if it were his friend. The Octopus got mad and a tentacle went shooting around Skip’s neck. Skip relaxed and smiled, and gently reached for the large snake that had coiled around his neck. He placed it calmly on the floor of the hut. And for the next two hours, he smiled at the kaleidoscope of colors, and talked to the snakes, and told jokes to the Octopus, and generally had a very good time.
He had no idea how much time had gone by, but he woke up in the darkness, his clothes drenched in sweat. He was incredibly thirsty. He felt like he could drink an ocean. He suddenly looked up and saw a small shaft of…well, it wasn’t light exactly, but it was lighter than the total darkness of the hut. He stood up and felt a couple damp things fall from his legs (snakes?) and walked to the middle of the room. There was a hole in the ceiling now, and he could see up to the sky. It was still dark outside, but he could see some stars. His eyes had become accustomed to the dark now. The small amount of exterior light created just enough brightness to see the floor of the hut, which was covered in small green snakes. He looked at the heads of the snakes. They were not triangular, like the head of a rattlesnake. Poisonous snakes had more triangular shaped heads, because they had to store their venom in glands near the head. Non-poisonous snakes had heads shaped like spoons. These green snakes looked like the non-poisonous type.
Skip Drame had a throbbing headache. That was some kind of trip! He had never seen an octopus before on any of his prior trips. Now, he just had to wait it out until morning. It looked like the hard part (or for him, the fun part) was behind him.
The Cold House
Zach Morse was surprised that indigenous islanders on a hot tropical island could figure out the mysteries of refrigeration. Perhaps they had stolen equipment from other boats which had come to the island, he thought. Even so, he mused, that would require electricity. Zach Morse puzzled over this, but soon realized that he had more pressing concerns. He was actually in a meat locker. All around him, hanging from the ceiling on hooks, were the frozen cadavers of various types of skinned animals, wrapped in brown bags. He wasn’t sure what type of animals they were, and he didn’t want to guess. For all he knew, these islanders might be cannibals. These could actually be people strung up here in the bags. What he did know was that it was freezing in here. He rubbed his hands together and breathed. He could see his own breath.
Zach hated the cold. He had lived in California all his life, and enjoyed the ocean and the beach life. When it came time for college, Emory was not his first choice, but at least the temperature was warm . He had not gotten into UCLA or USC, so he had gone to Emory. His dad had known Charlie Winston, and that had helped him get in.
Zach searched for the warmest spot to sit down, and could not find anything ideal. Every place he tried seemed very cold, so he chose a spot in the corner and sat down. He wondered why he always let his dad talk him into going on these dangerous trips. The last trip he went on with his dad involved the search for the lost prophecies of Nostradamus. That trip almost got him killed several times. He had thought this trip would be nothing like that, a fun trip on a yacht with a famous movie star. A few “Days in the Rays.” If he had known the trip would involve his friends getting their heads chopped off, and encounters with panthers and snakes and spear-wielding savages, he never would have agreed. His dad seemed to have a knack for getting him in trouble. On the other hand, if he survived it, the stories would be pretty good. They were making a movie about his dad’s first book. Maybe they would make a movie out of this trip.
The first hour in the Cold House was not too bad, but time seemed to go by like a glacier. In fact, he felt like he was on a glacier. He looked out through the glass pane in the top of the hut and it was still daylight. How was he going to make it a whole night in here?
He decided to pass the time singing, but after an hour of that, his voice was shot. He looked at his fingers. He could not feel them anymore. His toes also had no feeling in them. He went over to the burlap sacks of meat hanging from the ceiling and ripped some of the bag off. He fashioned a hat out of the burlap, and tied it around his head to keep his head and ears warm. He tried running in place to keep his blood moving. He was a runner at Emory, so he was in pretty good shape. He decided to time himself, and see how long he could run in here. The exercise was good, and kept his heart rate up and delivered a little warmth to his body, but he could only exercise for so long. He looked up at the hole in the roof with the glass pane. He was maybe an hour from sunset. Then it would really get cold.
He remembered when he was young, his Dad had taken him skiing in Vermont. There was a blizzard on the weekend he went, but his dad had already bought the lift tickets, and insisted that they ski in the blizzard. At the end of the day, they had gone down the mountain and when they left the slope, the car wouldn’t start. They had to wait two hours for a tow truck. He never remembered being so cold. When he finally got back to the ski chalet, his Mom had hot mugs of hot chocolate waiting for them. Nothing had ever tasted so good. Zach started to think of his mother, who had died on 9-11 in the terrorist attacks on New York. He missed her terribly. He wondered if he died in here if he would see his Mother again. That gave him some comfort.
No, he couldn’t think like that. He had to fight the cold, not give into it. That’s how people died in the cold, was giving up. His lips were blue now. He had the entire night to get through. If he was this cold now, how could he possibly make it through the night?
He again decided to try and get his mind off the cold. Zach decided to make up a rap. That always got him in a good mood. After a few minutes of thinking, he laid down a beat for himself:
Oonce, oonce, oonce.
Daddy said Zach, let me get you outa class.
Fly to Cancun, and don’t give me any sass.
Zach, you’re my boy, and it sure would mean a lot,
Plus we be ridin’ on this big-ass yacht.
The owner, he’s my buddy, and he sure got game,
An actor in the movies, he’s my friend Skip Drame.
A Professor named Charlie who just can’t be beat
And then there’s my boy named Mountain Man Pete.
There’s a dude named Ka’-an, who will speak on our behalf
And a chick named Bolinda, who is tall as a giraffe.
We go to the island, and we’re havin’ quite a ball
‘Til we find all these heads, see the natives killed ’em all.
And then they catch us, and we’re all about to die,
When Daddy says, “Dude, give us one more try.
You see, we’re the Twins, Xbalanque howdy-do,
And me, I’m a god, and I go by Hunahpu.”
So they threw us in a cave, and we made it up a wall
And then these three bridges just about gave us a fall,
We soon found ourselves in this tiny little crack,
And a hole in the floor helped us all get back,
Then there was a room with the sum of all fears
A bunch of scary dudes, and they all had spears,
Got past that, Zachster’s feelin’ pretty bold,
But then he was thrown in the House of Cold.
And even though Zach is so fly that he’s killin’
This is one time in life when it sucks to be chillin’!
Oonce, oonce, oonce.
He laughed at the last line. He tried to make more raps, about his favorite movies, like Lord of the Rings and Star Wars. But after a while, the cold was numbing his brain. He couldn’t think anymore. His body was shutting down from the cold. He had to get warm or he wasn’t going to make it. He didn’t have any matches, and there was nothing in here he could see to start a fire. He started thinking of books and movies where people were cold, like Jack London’s Call of the Wild, about the Alaskan sled dog. He thought of Alive, the movie about the rugby team stranded in the Andes Mountains and forced into cannibalism. Zach shuddered when he thought of that, and looked at the hanging bodies in this meat locker, wondering if any of them were humans. Then he had a memory from The Empire Strikes Back, when Han Solo places Luke Skywalker into the body of a Tauntaun to keep him warm and prevent hypothermia. That gave him an idea.
He approached one of the burlap sacks and took it down from the roof hook. A large carcass came sliding out onto the floor. Zach eyed the burlap sack. That could provide insulation for sure. He took down three, then four, then five of the burlap sacks of meat, emptying the meat onto the floor. He tied the five burlap sacks together at each end. The first and last sack he hung back to the hooks on the ceiling, fashioning a hammock. Then he went through the hut, removing all the meat from the sacks. He threw ten of the burlap sacks into his makeshift hammock. Then he hoisted his body into the hammock. The hammock held. Satisfied, Zach put his legs into one of the sacks like a sleeping bag. The stench was terrible, and it was a little damp, but it was better than nothing. Then he put that bag in another bag and another bag until he was wrapped up like a cocoon. Snug inside the hammock and the burlap bags, he felt some warmth coming back to his body. Shivering, he closed his eyes and tried to sleep through the cold. Within minutes, he was asleep.
He did not know what time it was, but it was very early in the morning, maybe three or four o’clock. He was absolutely frozen and was concerned he was not going to make it. He had woken up to the sound of glass breaking. Then he heard a loud crash as something came falling through the ceiling. He looked up and saw that the glass window pane in the roof had been shattered. Then he could have sworn that he heard his name. Was he having auditory hallucinations? He had no feeling left in his hands or his feet. He was sure he had frostbite. He got out of the burlap sacks and fell on his shoulder to the ground, as his feet had no feeling left. He felt his hair. It was frozen. He crawled over to the broken glass on the floor and looked up. All he could see were the stars, but the skylight had definitely been broken. Beneath the skylight on the ground was a pile of semi-charred wood and a Ziploc bag of dry matches. It was like a gift from the gods. Zach did not know what to make of it, but he did not have to be told twice what to do with the wood. He stacked the wood, making a bonfire beneath the burlap sack, and then lit the wood. Soon he had a good fire going. He warmed his frozen hands and feet over the fire and it felt wonderful. When he had thawed a little, he got back in the burlap sack, with the fire burning underneath him. He quickly fell asleep again, now certain that he could make it to morning.
The Jaguar House
Bolinda Jeffries lifted herself up, having been thrown roughly into the stone hut. She looked around the hut. There was a torch on the wall near the door where she had come in. She immediately grabbed that, feeling some comfort. Jaguars probably didn’t like fire. Her knees were knocking and her teeth were chattering. She was absolutely terrified.
She thought for a moment about her friends, and she couldn’t think of anything but contempt. Five men, and not one of them agreed to switch straws with her. Chivalry was dead, that was for sure. Out here in the jungle, it was every man, and woman, for himself/herself. Charlie Winston had offered her advice on facing the jaguars. If he knew so much about it, why didn’t he switch places with her? She was disgusted with the men, finding them to be contemptible cowards. Well, she had grown up on a small island in the Caribbean, without a dollar to her name, and she had made it this far. She would just have to face her own battles alone again.
She stood silently against the wall near the door, and held up the torch. The back part of the hut was covered in darkness and shadow. The torch did not light up that area of the room. Then she saw the set of yellow eyes, focused on her.
“Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, Oh God,” she mumbled under her breath again and again. She told herself not to act panicked. She did not want to look like prey. What had Charlie said? Don’t look them right in the eye. She tried not to, but it was damned hard. What if she was looking away when the creature lunged at her?
Within a few moments there was a second set of yellow eyes in the darkness, and then a third. How many of them were there? She saw movement, slight movement, and one set of eyes began moving. Suddenly, the head of the black jaguar came out of the shadows, staring at her. The creature stopped, made no sound, and looked around, as if it was bored, and then walked back into the shadows. Bolinda could not breathe, she was so scared. She continued staring into the shadows of the far side of the hut. There was no sound. Had they gone to sleep? She stayed exactly where she was, not moving an inch, holding the torch out from her a little bit to see if she could cast more light in the hut. Suddenly, she heard a wild jaguar growl, and she jumped. Two of the jaguars were down on the ground now, and had come out of the shadows, walking back and forth in front of her. She bravely held the torch out, as if to warn the creatures that she would fight back. Urine went down her leg. She knew that had to be a bad sign. These creatures had incredible powers of smell. Surely that would signal weakness. She cursed her bladder, standing up as straight and tall as she could. At nearly seven foot, she was toweringly tall, and she tried to use it to her advantage in these cramped quarters, making the jaguars think she was big and powerful.
“Nice kitty, kitty, kitty,” she peeped. One of the jaguars lay down in the corner where she could see him, and put his head on his forepaws, licking his mouth. He sat there looking at her for a minute, and then closed his eyes. The second jaguar went back into the shadows. Well, so far, the creatures had not decided to eat her. Maybe Charlie Winston was right. They just didn’t see humans as prey. Bolinda did not want to sit down. She was afraid she would fall asleep and the creatures would then perceive weakness and attack her. But it was tiring standing for so long, holding the torch. She put the torch carefully back in its bracket on the wall, so that she could give her right arm and shoulder a rest.
After another hour, she couldn’t stand anymore. She grabbed the torch again and then slunk down to the ground, with her back against the stone wall. She still saw the yellow eyes in the darkness, and the sleeping jaguar that she could see was only ten feet away. She held the torch between her legs. After a while, she suddenly realized she was asleep and she darted her head up, terrified that the animals knew she was asleep. But the situation was the same as before. She could not do that again. She could not sleep.
As she sat on the floor, she remembered her near death drop on the rope bridge, and she thought of Pete, who had saved her life. He was dead now. He probably had people who loved him, and now they would never see him again. She thought of who would mourn her loss if she died here in the Jaguar House, and she could not think of many people. She started to cry, mainly out of sheer exhaustion, but she made no sound. When she thought of the rope bridge, she kicked herself for not realizing the oil smell when she went out on the bridge. It was so obvious now. And at that moment, her nose crinkled again. It was the same smell. A very slight oil smell somewhere in the room. Was her mind playing tricks on her? No, there it was. She smelled it more when she was closer to the ground. What could that be?
She looked into the middle of the hut, close to the point where the light met the shadow, and there, on the floor, was a ½ inch crack-line that ran the length of the room from wall to wall. It looked almost like the space between panels of a sidewalk. Could there be oil in the crack? If there was, she could make a wall of fire between her and the jaguars.
Just then, two of the jaguars came into the light in front of her. She stared at them intently, looking them in the eyes. Her torch fell to the ground between her feet. She was afraid that they might spring at any moment. She instinctively kicked the torch, which slid across the floor toward the jaguars, and caught on the oil in the crack. Instantly, there was a line of flame going across the room. It was not a wall of fire. The fire went up only about a foot in height. But it was enough to create a barrier. The jaguars immediately began growling. The jaguar that had been sleeping near her on the far wall leaped over the flame towards the other animals. Now that the fire was up, the room was filled with light, and Bolinda could see that there were six black jaguars on the far side of the flame, all lying or standing on a wall of large rocks. Bolinda slowly inched herself into a standing position. The jaguars were definitely angered by the fire barrier, but on the other hand, they were definitely not crossing the line. After a few minutes, most of them stopped stalking and walking and went back to lying down.
Pleased with her success, Bolinda slowly edged her way across the room and picked up the torch again. Then, step by step, making sure she did not retreat too fast to look like running prey, she made her way back again to the door. Now she could see them all. Bolinda stared at the jaguars and the line of fire, saying nothing and trying to think of nothing. The small hole in the roof told her that it was past sundown. She just had to last the night. Right now, the jaguars were silent.
She started reciting the Presidents in order to pass the time. Then the state capitals. Then the Books of the Bible. By midnight, despite her best intentions, she had fallen asleep. The yellow eyes stared out over the line of fire at the strange tall creature on the other side. At four in the morning, before the dawn, the fire went out. The jaguars, curious, began to walk toward a sleeping Bolinda.
Northern Minnesota. Three days after the government border lockdown.
It had been a great weekend for fishing. The men had feasted on fresh fish cooked over a campfire. Bergman and his friends shared stories about their nagging wives and their love of hunting, fishing, and Minnesota Twins baseball. No cell phones, no faxes, no e-mails, no news. Just four men in a couple of tents enjoying the great outdoors. In a few days, they would head home, back to their dreary lives. But for now, they could look out on a sky of thousands of stars and feel free.
Boston, Massachusetts.
Ron Fielding, Jr., soccer fan, microwaved some Lipton’s soup in the small Bank of Boston break room. The bank had been busy that morning, and he would only get a half hour for lunch. As he enjoyed his soup, he watched the television on the wall which was airing breaking news from CNN.
“Wolf, we have just received news from the White House Press Secretary that the terrorist attempt occurred in Brazil. The White House is confirming today that there is good evidence that the virus was released at a World Cup soccer game between the United States and The Netherlands in Natal, Brazil. Apparently, the terrorists were hoping that soccer fans returning to the United States would bring the virus home with them. So far there have been no confirmed reports as to exactly what kind of virus this is. However, our Dallas Bureau is reporting today that several dozen Americans who attended that game are being tested at a military base in Dallas, to make sure they have not contracted the virus.”
Fielding, panicked, stopped eating his soup and turned up the television.
“Mandy, have the terrorists made any demands?”
“No, Wolf, there have been no confirmed reports of any demands from the terrorists, or indeed, even who these terrorists are. We do not know if this is related to Al-Qaeda or some other group.”
“Mandy, how many people from the United States attended that game?”
“Several hundred, Wolf, but 112 people actually made it back into the United States before the border lockdown. The FBI has located all 112 of those people and has them quarantined at one or more military bases. The White House is assuring us that all 112 people are accounted for and that this virus is going to be contained.”
Fielding was puzzled. Why hadn’t anyone contacted him?
“What about the Americans who were not able to get out of Brazil before the lockdown?” asked the news anchor, Wolf Blitzer.
“Wolf, there are a few hundred Americans who are being quarantined at a special facility in Brazil, but so far we have no further details on their identities or where they are being kept.”
“Is the White House saying how the virus was released?”
“We do not know that, Wolf. All we are being told is that the virus was released at a soccer game in some fashion. Perhaps it was in food, or water, we just don’t know at this point.”
Fielding took out his phone and looked up the number for the FBI. After waiting on hold for fifteen minutes, and being transferred dozens of times, he finally reached a Public Relations Liaison for the FBI. The Liaison, reading from her talking points memo, assured him that all 112 people who were at risk for obtaining the virus had been quarantined at military bases.
“Yes, but I went to Brazil,” said Fielding. “I attended that game, and no one quarantined me. Am I at risk?”
The Public Liaison officer had nothing about that on her talking points memo.
“Sir, as I assured you, everything is under control. The public is not at risk. The FBI has this matter well under control.”
“Well, what if I am infected? Should I see a doctor? Is there a vaccine for this thing?”
Just then, Fielding’s supervisor came into the break room.
“Ron, there you are. Your lunch break was over ten minutes ago. Get back on the floor.”
Frustrated, Fielding hung up. He worried about the virus the rest of the afternoon.
Atlanta, Georgia. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.
Bjorn Jendel was concerned. It had been several days, and Murielle Winston was still missing. It was not like her. Something was wrong. Jendel began to fear that the terrorists had somehow kidnapped or killed her.
Jendel spun in his chair and hit the conference call button on his phone. On the call were Jacob Roessler in Dallas, Roger Tsung in Los Angeles, and a third employee in Boston from the CDC who had replaced Murielle Winston. Jendel began the meeting.
“How are the shots coming?” asked Jendel.
“About 45% of those who were in Brazil have contracted the virus. Everyone has been given AVI-6002,” said Roessler. “We are waiting to begin the tests to see if the AVI-6002 shots clear the virus.” Roger Tsung spoke next.
“Our figures are a little less than 50% of the soccer fans returning to the U.S. who are quarantined at the L.A. location have contracted the virus. Everyone here has been given AVI-6002. We are also waiting to see the results.”
The representative replacing Murielle then gave her report.
“Our results in Boston are similar to L.A. Forty-five percent contracted the virus, and we are awaiting the results of the 6002.”
“OK,” said Jendel. “And the barrier protocols, are they working? No one has been allowed to come into contact with these people, right?”
“Right,” said Roessler. Tsung and the Boston representative agreed.
“I’ve spoken with the President,” said Jendel. “We are not taking any chances with this group. They get quarantined for 21 days, and they have to be clean on Day 21 or they don’t get out.”
“Twenty-one days seems like overkill, don’t you think?” asked Roessler.
“Not when the lives of hundreds of millions of Americans are at stake. Those people will just have to endure a little discomfort for a few weeks.”
“What is happening with the Dutch?” asked Roessler.
“That is a total nightmare. They have not had any reports in hospitals yet, but we are only three days out. They have not tracked everyone down from the two planes that landed there. We will have to wait and see. England has several teams helping them and the President is considering sending our own team over there. If they get an outbreak, Jacob, I may have to send you to Amsterdam. By the way, has Murielle contacted you in the last few days?”
“No,” said Roessler. “And that is not like her. I am worried she might have met with foul play.”
“Well keep an eye over your shoulder, Jacob. I do not want any more of my best people going m