Bure, Ethiopia
Nearby Hide Site
(8° 18' 0.13" N, 35° 1' 54.86" E)
Four hours after both Deckard and Father Claudio drifted into la-la land, they were awoken with a startle at the sound of not one but two explosions, neither of which could have been more than a hundred meters away from their hide site. Quickly, Deckard crawled to the entrance of their hide site and pointed his pistol to the ground. The trees were echoing with movement as a great commotion came their way. The loud explosions had been joined by intermittent gunfire, which was both outgoing and incoming. Rounds snapped through the trees around the hide site every now and then and Father Claudio had taken up a position hiding on the floor, keeping his body low and his hands over his head. To Deckard he looked oddly at ease despite a visibly nervous look on his face. Had he had more time, Deckard would have thought a bit harder about it but he had to determine what was happening and quickly!
He listened to the area around the hide site. With a loud shriek, another bullet ripped through the trees near them. Its angle suggested that it was a ricochet versus an accurate shot. All right, they're not shooting at us. He thought to himself as three more rounds buzzed through, these much lower, accurate but missed shots. The commotion grew nearer and now he could hear voices but he didn't understand the language. They weren't mercenaries, or so he assumed. "Father stay down," Deckard ordered as he looked around the jungle.
"Oh I am, do not worry about that Mister Deckard. I'm keeping myself very down."
"Do you know who these people are?"
"Yes, yes I suppose I do."
"Well?" Deckard had not answered more and that left an impatient Deckard hanging on the edge of the hide site, wondering who they were. His impatience got the best of him as he saw two men emerge from underneath a thick bush and walk underneath the hide site. They didn't stop to look up and they were definitely hurrying away from the area but that didn't stop Deckard from keeping his pistol sights on them until they disappeared into the jungle again.
"They are Vosloo's troops, his men. They are searching the jungle for intruders."
"Why are they shooting then?"
"It seems they found some."
"Perceptive Father," Father Claudio saw two more men come out, both of them armed to the teeth with ammunition. Smoke drifted from their cigarettes. "How many are there?"
"He usually sends out teams of six. There could be two teams."
"What if they find this intruder?"
"They'll bring him back to the camp and torture him until he reveals whatever information Vosloo wants to know. If he doesn't yield, he'll die a painfully excruciating death."
"You've seen it?" Two more men appeared and quickly disappeared.
"I've seen it." They spoke in hushed whispers but through the noise of the jungle, it would have been impossible for them to be heard even at a normal volume. "It is most horrible."
"I bet. Listen, we have to get out of here. They might come back and find this place."
"Find it? They know it's here." Father Claudio laughed and sat upright. The threat had vanished and the commotion of the jungle subsided as the fifth and sixth man left their view. "Maybe they were hunting."
"For food?"
"They are a resourceful bunch yes. They know this hide site is here. They know where they all are. If they were looking for someone maybe they would have checked it, that is why I think they are hunting. Or playing. Sometimes they like to get into shooting competitions for money."
"Vosloo pays them?"
"No," Deckard sat back and looked back to Father Claudio, who was taking a sip of his water. "Vosloo lets them keep all the spoils of war though and that is why they are particularly loyal to him. He takes nothing from them and they offer him everything."
"The man has a unique leadership strategy huh?"
"You could say that. Listen, they will be back yes and they might check this place, yes."
"What if they find us?"
"Things will not be pretty. I cannot guarantee they will recognize me. I do not want to test their memory, if they aren't new of course. If they are new they will not know me. They will beat us bad before we ever get to the camp. I cannot suffer such a thing without whiskey, you see?"
"Yes, I do." Deckard ignored his own, seemingly insatiable desire to join Father Claudio in drinking himself to death. With that comment, it brought said desire back to the forefront of Deckard's mind. "So we'll move out then, we'll walk."
"During the day it is most dangerous but we have no choice."
"Where is the next site?"
"Oh it's far, very far. The terrain is rough and we're about to enter Vosloo's perimeter. Actually, one kilometer from here is where Vosloo's territory officially begins. These hide sites we've used are on the outskirts. He uses them to post sentries to watch for the approach of anyone. They alert the perimeter defense teams and they are ready before the interlopers ever get close."
"Why aren't they manned now?"
"That is a good question but do not think too deeply into it. Vosloo is a unique man and his decisions, while sometimes illogical and strange are always part of a larger picture that few people understand."
"All right, I'll accept that for now." Deckard started putting his gear back away. He had taken some pieces out during the night while he slept but now he was rushing to stuff everything back into his pack and to do so efficiently was proving a trifle bit obnoxious. He finished with a sip of his own water and shook the canteen. "Is there a water supply on the way?"
"Two kilometers away, maybe two and a half. We have to pass through it."
"Good. I can suffice that far on what I have. How is your water?"
"Low. I drank too much last night." Five minutes later, Deckard returned to the edge of the hide site and listened to the jungle. After a few minutes of focused and concentrated listening, Deckard gave Father Claudio a wave and began to descend to the jungle floor. When he reached it, he looked around and listened again. The jungle was still and devoid of any immediate, human presence but the drone of insects was particularly loud. All but the loudest and sharpest of sounds would be drowned out by it.
"Okay Father, lead the way." They took off walking at a bit of a brisk pace for the first kilometer. Deckard wanted to get as far away from the hide site as possible and he had also wanted to booby trap it with a tripwire and a grenade but Father Claudio had strongly urged against it and even went so far as to threaten to give Deckard to Vosloo rather than take him to Vosloo. Deckard capitulated and now they were approaching the territorial limits of Vosloo's circle of hell.
"Do you know, in Dante's Inferno that there are nine circles of hell?" Father Claudio asked. They were less than fifty meters from the edge of Vosloo's territory. "Sit down one moment, please."
"All right but we're not waiting for long."
"Have you read the Inferno?"
"Not since high school."
"It is a wonderful book. But yes there are nine circles of hell. The first is limbo, for the unbaptized and virtuous pagans. Perhaps some of your Layartebian brothers will be here. The next is for those who let lust control their lives. Then the gluttonous, the greedy, those consumed by anger, the seven sins yes?
"Heretics take the sixth, perhaps Layartebians will be here too?
"The violent take the seventh and within, there are three rings. There are those who are violent against people and property, those who are violent against themselves or rather the suicides, and then those who are violent against God, the blasphemers. More Layartebians perhaps?" Deckard eyed him with an irritating stare.
"Are you through yet?"
"Not yet. The eighth circle is for the fraudulent. Apparently, fraud is worse than violence or heresy. I disagree but you don't need to hear about my doctoral thesis.
"Finally the last is the ninth circle, which is for the worse sinners of all times, the treacherous. Traitors to their kindred are in the first area. Those who commit treason are next. Treason to a regime or country. Politics in hell huh? Traitors to their guests are third. You must always treat your guests with respect. Lastly, there are those who are traitors to their lords and benefactors.
"If you were to go through here you will find it to be brutally cold. Not hot but cold. People are trapped in ice. What a miserable existence don't you think? In the center of hell, there is only one, Satan, who committed treason against God. This is the worst and who could occupy the center but Satan? Satan too is trapped in ice and he wears three hideous faces. You know he cannot escape? He is unable to escape, trapped in hell for all of eternity."
"Cute story, we need to get moving."
"One more minute, allow me to finish." Father Claudio said, his voice full of disgust at Deckard's impatience. "This is important."
"Why?"
"Because we are about to enter the nine circles of hell Mister Deckard. Up ahead, fifty meters, is where Vosloo's territory begins. We will travel through nine circles. In the center, you will find Vosloo but unlike Satan, he can escape. He can move about freely and he is far from trapped. Satan who rebelled against the Lord is trapped in ice, in the center of hell, the deepest and most terrifying circle. Imagine the screams, the pain, and the torment one must endure just to get there. Dante and Virgil traveled there, fictionally of course. I don't suspect Dante is in hell.
"Satan is within the center of the Earth and of course we know that, scientifically speaking, this is impossible but think of the imagery and the broader picture that it establishes Mister Deckard. Hell is no picnic and the true hell that exists, where Satan is trapped in ice could very well be a metaphor, I must entertain that thought. It could all be a metaphor Mister Deckard. Hell is real though, do not grow easy with my words. Hell is very real. Dante's Inferno is real and it lies just fifty meters that way," he pointed ahead but Deckard didn't look. "I implore you with all of my will. We must turn back. There is no relief once we cross that barrier. I may be a man of God Mister Deckard but God's realm stops fifty meters that way," he pointed again. "I conclude there is no God within that realm. God cannot penetrate the blackness that lies beyond these jungle trees. Perhaps one day God will once again penetrate it and bring upon His light and glory but that time is not now. Vosloo is Satan on Earth. There is no man or beast that has been born of woman or created by Mother Nature that is as vile, evil, and wretched as Vosloo is.
"When we pass through these trees, into that blackness, into that world of darkness, we can never again return to the world of light the same way we were when we left it. I have been changed Mister Deckard. Deeply changed. I am far from the same man I was before I entered here for the first time and to go in a second time is but a dare of both Vosloo and evil themselves! Do not dare evil Mister Deckard. It is a dare that will consume you so completely that what you have now will be lost for all of eternity. You could never grace the Kingdom of Heaven if you were to proceed beyond this world Mister Deckard." Father Claudio was visibly terrified. His hands trembled though he did his best to hide them. His eyes darted back and forth and his chest heaved up and down with his labored breathing.
"I'll take my chances." Deckard said without a moment's thought. "I've been to worse places."
"No Mister Deckard," Father Claudio stood up and walked a few steps, passing Deckard before he continued his statement. "You haven't."
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June 25, 2011 - 05:30 hrs [UTC+3]
Seriti, Ethiopia
Nearby Hide Site
(8° 9' 5.72" N, 34° 59' 44.77" E)
Deckard didn't know it but they were only twenty-five kilometers from Vosloo's camp. They were close, real close but that was still a lot of land for them to cross and the jungle was decidedly hostile. They had walked throughout the previous day well into the night to get to yet another hide site five and a half kilometers south by east of Seriti. That night a heavy fog had rolled over their particular part of Ethiopia and as it descended over this particular part of the jungle, it enveloped the hide site in its entirety. The fog was cool and its moisture filled Deckard's lungs as he breathed in and out, sleeping comfortably in the air. They had walked hard the previous night, covering just shy of seventeen kilometers. The terrain had been rough though and they were forced to route around all manner of obstacles. There were downed trees, steep drops, impossible climbs, booby traps, and plenty of impassable areas along the way. Father Claudio had essentially given Deckard the location of the hide site, the obstacles were simply too great for him to lead.
Dawn came and Deckard stirred thanks to the sound of voices. Deckard quickly grabbed his weapon and moved towards the edge of the hide site. Father Claudio was awake and dared not move. Instead, he listened, moving his mouth as they spoke. "Praying Father?" Deckard whispered as he pointed the barrel of his rifle over the edge of the hide site. It was hard to see in the dawn hour but he could hear four separate voices. They were close and they were static, obviously a group of four men, soldiers, standing around conversing.
"Listening, mimicking, understanding," Father Claudio said.
The voices remained for a good ten minutes and the sun rose on the eastern horizon while they spoke. Then something unusual happened. As Deckard pointed his rifle towards where he thought the voices were, a loud and earthshaking roar screamed overhead. Deckard jumped and so did Father Claudio. The whole jungle shook as thunder echoed all around them. The hide site shook and Deckard lost his sight on the voices, which went quiet. In the thick, heavy fog, it was impossible to find them again. The noise had been the thunderous pass of a fighter jet at low level, obviously flying near the hide site. It was too difficult to tell where it was heading and where it had originated but it had been low and moving fast, just underneath supersonic velocity and probably under three hundred meters. "Vosloo doesn't have fighters does he?" Deckard whispered and Father Claudio nodded. In the distance, the echoes of broken branches signaled the retreat of the "voices" from earlier. Deckard exhaled and moved back to his position. He rubbed his eyes and took in a breath, absorbing the creepy, thick, almost solid cloud of mist that clung to the jungle.
"Do you want to know what they were talking about?"
"Does it matter to me?" Deckard leaned against the wall and yawned. It was early and he was dog tired. There was something about the jungle that was taking most of his energy out of him. It was sapping it from him, drawing it out like the body heat of a hypothermia victim.
"They are looking for us."
"Us?" Deckard's eyes widened. "Why are they looking for us?"
"They think we are intruders."
"Do they know where we are?"
"No, they are looking north. Those four men are going north to help. Vosloo has them looking around the jungle for us."
"How many?"
"Forty or more, at least including two hunter-killer units." Father Claudio specified that because of a particular significance to it. "Vosloo's hunter-killer units are like Special Forces men. He trains them and leads some of them himself, sometimes. They do the Devil's work."
"I can imagine," Deckard said with a smile. His mind flashed to Belarus again and in the foggy haze of the jungle, his mind was a foggy haze. He was atop the roof of his apartment building, watching the war start in front of him. He flashed back to the hide site to the snapping of Father Claudio's fingers. "Will we have this fog all day?"
"No," Father Claudio said with a frown. "It'll break in maybe two or three hours and then turn into haze, we should wait until nightfall. We are too close to move during the day. They are to the north but we must wait." It was early, too early and nightfall was hours upon hours away.
"Wait? You know what time it is?"
"We must move at night only, it is too dangerous. We are too close, it is too dangerous."
"What did you do to them?" Deckard said. "Why wouldn't they be happy to see you?"
"I was a captive to them."
"And you escaped?"
"Yes."
"But didn't leave Ethiopia?"
"Because I did not find Father Peter and I cannot leave him behind."
"Father, I believe you are lying to me." Deckard said with a smile. "Actually I know you are lying to me. What is it about you that they fear so much? Why would they be so afraid of your return that they would want to kill you?" At first, Father Claudio didn't say anything. The fog and the mist clung in the air and dropped visibility to less than fifty meters. Inside the cool, moist cloud, it was quiet. The silence of the early morning surrounded the hide site along with the fog. The fighter jet that had passed overhead hadn't returned and no other's came.
"I killed one of them to escape," his voice dropped, carried shame, and fell to a near whisper.
"So that's it, they want revenge on you?"
"Revenge is what these men know best. You kill one of them; they kill twenty of you. I've seen then do it. Vosloo has said it will help win the war and for every soldier of their own that they have lost they have dealt twenty casualties to the government and to the rebel troops that encroach upon them. Mercenaries too! Mercenaries don't know much better though. They are the dumb ones, they wander in, think that just because the rebels and the government troops aren't there that it is their land. No group that enters comes out alive."
"Father, I want to get there today."
"We cannot, we are still too far." Anticipation built within him and he wanted to get there right away. He didn't want to keep waiting. "We cannot make it there today." He thought for a moment. "It is the twenty-fifth. We will walk today, throughout the night. We will get close. Tomorrow we will leave again and rest. We will go into the camp at dawn."
"Why dawn?"
"It is the best time. It is the safest time."
"And I'm to take your word on that?"
"It is all you have."
"Yet you've lied to me about why they are hunting you? How do they even know you are in here?"
"I do not know. They don't believe we are this far south. I must have been seen in Dembi Dolo. Maybe they were watching my house."
"I'm unconvinced Father," Deckard shifted to get more comfortable. He put the rifle in his lap and lowered his head, shutting his eyes. "Wake me up in a few hours then, if we're not going to go now." Father Claudio didn't respond to him, instead, he closed his eyes too. Deckard was awoken just after noon. Gunfire echoed from afar and rolled through the haze that clung to the air over the jungle, hiding the sky's blue radiance. The temperature had risen from when the sun rose but that was to be expected. The fog lifted as well but seemed to be stuck between the treetops and the sky. Deckard leaned out of the hide site after he awoke and emptied his bladder. The stream of urine fell onto the jungle below and he wondered if there was anyone hiding below.
In the background, the echoes of assault rifle bursts continued to roll over the terrain. A breeze kicked up here and there but the day came and went with little event. Aside from the rolling gunfire from three or more kilometers away, the day was quiet. No patrols came near the hide site and both Deckard and Father Claudio remained above the ground in the abandoned watch post. There was little in the way of conversation during the day. Father Claudio seemed to relish spending the day reading from his Bible, which was probably older than the Republic of Layarteb, which stretched back to the end of the eighteenth century. It was written all in Latin and he read from it quietly, taking extra care not to disturb Deckard, who seemed to drift in and out of being awake. He would nap for five, ten, fifteen minutes and then wake up and be awake for a while. He cleaned his assault rifle around five in the evening and counted down the minutes. "We're leaving at nineteen hundred," he instructed Father Claudio as they ate their dinner.
"That is fine," Father Claudio said. His back ached and he wanted to start walking already. He was stalling, preventing Deckard from getting to Vosloo's camp but he was only stalling so that they could be ready for him. In truth, Father Claudio wasn't going to be slaughtered the moment he entered the camp. They had something different in store for him and Vosloo himself had issued orders to his hunter-killer and patrol squads that they were to capture Father Claudio alive and they were to take care not to harm the aging priest.
Throughout the day, the two men alternated between resting and talking. They returned to philosophical and religious debating, despite knowing that the other party wasn't going to change his logical reasoning. Despite speaking in hushed whispers, the two men were, on several occasions, forced to be silent and still while men walked beneath them. Just before 17:00, the two of them thought that they were going to be found. A small party of scouts, looking for government reconnaissance men, stopped underneath the tree and eyed their hide site with particular scrutiny. It turned out that all three of the men were afraid of heights and neither one of them actually wanted to climb up to the hide site. To remedy their suspicions, they tossed a smoke grenade into the hide site and as soon as Deckard saw it, he dove face first onto the floor and pulled Father Claudio down with him. They shielded their eyes and faces from the grenade, which popped less than two seconds later. Tucking their mouths and noses into their sweat-soaked shirts, they were able to breathe as the smoke filled their hide site and began to pour out of its windows and its entrance. Braving the smoke was no easy endeavor but Deckard and Father Claudio stuck it out, keeping their coughs suppressed, their bodies still, and their faces protected. When the smoke cleared over three minutes later, the scout party was gone, having been satisfied that no one was in the hide site, as they would have kicked the grenade out or left amidst the smoke. Deckard's quick thinking and instant identification of the grenade as a smoke grenade by the colored band on its cylindrical body was what kept him from kicking the grenade out and exposing his position.
Following the ordeal, the two men were physically worn and they made sure to wash their eyes, nose, and throats out with water, using up a good amount of it to keep themselves from being harmed by the lingering effects of the smoke's residue on their mucous membranes. They spoke little after the incident, opting more to let their bodies heal than to gab away. At 19:00, while they weren't ready, they set off, climbing down the ladder of the hide site to the ground. The sun was setting in the west and the sky had a colorful menagerie of colors to it now that the haze had largely dissipated. It was warm and growing more humid by the hour. The forecast for the night called for a powerful thunderstorm to hit the area and these few moments of clear, colorful skies would be replaced with tumultuous thunderclouds within the next three hours. It would rain of and off throughout the night and most of the day of June 26 with the thunderstorms finally dissipating by late afternoon. By then, Deckard hoped, they would be in Vosloo's camp but, then again, he didn't exactly know just how close he was to it. Had he known, he would have pushed on, regardless of Father Claudio's snail-like pace.
Dawn was a little over eleven hours away and Deckard wanted to bring Father Claudio up to a stronger pace. Up until then, not that he had any judging on distance, they had been traveling just under eighteen kilometers a trip but they weren't moving very fast. Father Claudio, on the other hand, knew exactly where he wanted to bring Deckard and how far it was. The next hide site was just under twenty-two kilometers away and it was within spitting distance of Vosloo's camp. They were already inside of Vosloo's "outer perimeter" and the next hide site was only about two and a half kilometers from the "inner perimeter" of Vosloo's camp; another three kilometers past there was Vosloo's camp. If they were going to get there before dawn, they had to cover two kilometers in an hour and that was a pace they had been well above throughout their entire journey. To this, Father Claudio had the advantage. Knowing just where he was taking Deckard and what time it was, he would lead Deckard there taking various detours so that as dawn approached and they were at risk of being detected, they would be right in front of the hide site, with no other alternative. This was Father Claudio's plan and he went to it right away as they set out from the hide site, moving southward.
"We need to refill our canteens, mine is almost empty."
"Mine too."
"I know a fresh water source three kilometers from here but it's out of the way, it's to the west. We need to go south."
"Where's the closest one to the south?"
"At least twelve kilometers away, now that it's night it'll get more humid. We'll sweat more."
"Let's go west," Deckard said, grumbling. Little did he know that just two kilometers away, to the south, was the same fresh water source as the one that was three kilometers out of the way. "We are inside of his perimeter, aren't we?"
"Yes we are, we are getting closer Mister Deckard, very close. We have to be careful, he will have the jungle booby trapped but I know where to go."
"Then we are in Hell, as you say?"
"We are through its gates."
"Then where is your God's protection?"
"God is everywhere Mister Deckard, even if you cannot see him. Remember what I said, He is not here." They walked past a gaping hole in the ground that was obviously a booby trap. The hole, at least one meter in diameter and two and a half meters in depth, was dug into the ground and it had disguised well. It was a bear trap, meant to snare large animals, or in this case, intruders. At the bottom of said pit, were long, sharpened spikes of wood. It was suicide to jump into the pit willingly and worse if you were unfortunate enough to step on its weak, twig-composed covering, which would break the moment you applied your body's weight. Deckard stopped at the edge of this pit and looked down into it. The frail and weak twigs that had been used to cover the hole were gone and at the bottom of the pit, impaled in a grotesque and bloody mess of rotting, decaying flesh was a man. He wore a military uniform, just like those of the Ethiopian government troops and he died with his eyes open and although half of his face was rotten away, pecked away by birds and insects, his eyes still stared straight to the heavens above, wondering what death was like. Emptiness filled this soldier's soul and Deckard looked at the four spikes that pierced the soldier's body and wondered where the rest of the pits were. "In nomine Patris et Filii et Spirtus Sancti," Father Claudio said as he looked down at the body. "Go with God," he added right afterwards.
"He's already gone, by the looks of him; he's been there for a few days. I bet his buddies met a gruesome fate too. Let's get moving," Deckard looked away and began walking, leaving Father Claudio to hustle just to catch up to him.
"You do not respect the dead do you?"
"They're dead, they're gone. I'm not going to screw a corpse but what respect do I have to give them? Do you want me to stand there and say some words? Bow my head? Have a moment of silence?"
"You've misunderstood the point."
"Father if your God truly does exist than whatever has to be said is being said between his soul and God, I am not part of the equation."
"If you insist Mister Deckard, if you insist. The stream is there." The two of them walked up to the stream and Deckard eyed it for a few moments before he knelt down in front of it and reached into its lightly running water. The water was instantly cool and refreshing on his hand but he knew that it wasn't safe to drink as is. There was a process for them to do and while they couldn't waste time boiling the water, which would have been the preferable way, they would filter it first through a membrane designed to remove floating particles. From there, they dropped iodine and chlorine tablets into their canteens, sealed them up properly, shook them, and let the tablets dissolve. They couldn't drink it right away but by the time they got thirsty again, they would able to drink it. They filled up all of their canteens to the brim and set back off, Father Claudio leading them in the right direction this time. For how long though, was really a giant mystery.
Father Claudio led them in the right direction for eleven kilometers and on top of it, they made good time, which was counterproductive to Father Claudio's entire plan. Still, he didn't betray his demeanor and as they approached the eleven kilometer mark, which Father Claudio could tell by knowing exactly where he was in the jungle, he decided it was time to stall. "Hold, hold," he said, faking a weary panting. "I must sit down." He pulled out his handkerchief and began to dab at his forehead, which was covered in sweat but not from exertion, rather from the jungle and the weather. The air was very moist and the humidity level was well over ninety percent and they were in a brief period where the rain had ceased for the time being.
As Father Claudio sat down at a log, Deckard halted his pace and with an expression of disgust, turned to face him. "You've got to be kidding me, we've gone this far and you've been fine, now you need a rest?"
"I'm old boy!" He pulled out his canteen and took a sip. "Much older than you I say and in far worse condition. These bones need a rest."
"That's a load of shit and you know it." Deckard walked close to him and looked down at him, looking over him closely. "You're not even out of breath."
"My body is weak and exhausted; this pace, I cannot keep it up."
"This pace? We've been moving slower than a walking pace!"
"It feels much faster to me." Father Claudio recapped his canteen and took off his hat. His head was covered in sweat and he dabbed at it with his handkerchief.
"I'm going to check the perimeter, don't move."
"Where am I to go?" As Deckard walked off, Father Claudio smiled, knowing that he could burn an easy half-hour here. Deckard, on the other hand, was infuriated. He had seen some sort of benefit for to their pace but now with Father Claudio obviously stalling and for what reason he didn't know, the frustration came right to his mouth.
"Fucking fool!" Deckard said aloud nce he was out of earshot. With his pistol out and in his hands, he checked around the perimeter for a good twenty meters in every direction, making a sweeping circle, just to make sure that no one was following them. That sweep began uneventfully. There was little to see in the darkness of the night, especially underneath the jungle's high canopy. Deckard kept low to the ground and moved slowly, carefully placing every step to avoid making any unnecessary noise. Despite the insignificance of a small twig to the environment, the sound of stepping on one could be as catastrophic to his world as if the Earth were to erupt suddenly into a pool of molten lava. Deckard would move, stop, move, stop, move, stop, and so on, taking the care to listen intensely. He stopped irregularly and for the sole purpose of catching the noise of any pursuer who was following him. He heard little in the way of unnatural noise at first but that didn't stop him from continuing and he extended his perimeter out to forty meters as he came around to their rear, hoping to catch himself behind an enemy, if one were to be following them.
Deckard was highly displeased with the prospect of being led through Vosloo's jungle by a man he far from trusted just to get to the camp of the most brutal, bloodthirsty man who ever walked the planet. To Deckard, from the onset, this seemed like a setup. From the moment that they entered the jungle, Deckard felt uncomfortable with the ideal, despite his necessity for it. However, it was his only option and when faced with the prospect of a bad option with the potential for success or blatant failure, his choice was forcibly made for the former. Deckard didn't believe Father Claudio's story whatsoever. He knew the priest was hiding something or rather many things and he doubted that they were being hunted. They had left no trace of their presence behind and they hadn't been spotted once. If Vosloo was really hunting for them it was because Father Claudio informed him of it prior to their entrance into the jungle, which meant that Father Claudio wasn't exactly being hunted but rather sought out, at worst. The men walking through the jungle could have been from any group. They could have been from Vosloo's faction just as easily as they could have been from rebel forces, the government, or even the New African Republic.
Nothing made sense about this and Deckard tried to push the thoughts out of his head and focus on his voluntarily prescribed task of scouting his own perimeter but it was hard business to do such a thing. Alone where he stood, listening to the sounds of the jungle, Deckard's mind, overworked, exhausted, and weary, ran to the closest place it could go, which were the doubts he had about this whole ordeal. Deckard stopped again and listened. There was a groan in the distance and it immediately registered as unnatural on his reasoning. He listened, held his breath, and listened some more. It had been faint, at best, and further away rather than closer to where Father Claudio had dropped his "weary and weak" frame onto a log for a rest. The sound came a second later and Deckard snapped his head in its direction. It was definitely unnatural and clearing his head of thoughts, so that all there was in his consciousness was the sound, he continued to listen, continued to sit absolutely still, continued to search.
Deckard raised his body ever so slightly on the third sound. It hadn't moved so wherever it came from, it was static. Looking hard into the distance, he squinted behind his night vision goggles, not that such an action would improve his vision, it was just an autonomic reaction as his brain tried to decipher what was out there. There was a fourth groan and Deckard could almost feel where it had come from, which was a spot less than forty meters away, which looked unnatural, which looked different, and which didn't blend so well with the scenery around it. He moved closer towards it, his pistol leveled in front of him, his eyes down the sights. He didn't have tunnel vision but he was focused ahead, focused on what grew less and less natural the closer and closer he got to it. He took each step carefully, looking ahead of him, to the sides, and to the sky. He wanted to make sure that he wasn't walking into a trap, an ambush, or worse.
All of that caution would have paid off, had someone or something been waiting but there was nothing there ready to pounce on him. There were neither animals nor humans watching him stealthily and carefully move through the jungle terrain. It wasn't until Deckard was less than three meters from the object of his attention that he realized that he was alone, that the jungle was solely playing its show for him. As the sole patron of this production, Deckard straightened up, improved his step, and came to a halt less than a meter in front of what he would later describe to Father Claudio as "the work of evil itself." Father Claudio laughed of course but knew exactly what this was that Deckard described. Sitting on top of the base of a tree that was at least two meters in diameter was an obelisk made out of that particular stump of that same tree. The stump and the obelisk were two separate entities however. The top of this obelisk was maybe three meters above the ground and a niche had been cut into the middle of it that was both wide and deep. It was what was inside of this niche that caught Deckard's attention, that enslaved his eyes, that cleared his brain, that brought the image of the bear pit and its sole victim to mind, making that particular image seem far less grotesque.
There were seven objects inside of the niche. Two of them were hands, two of them were feet, one was a head, and the remaining two were a fork and a knife. The hands, feet, and head were all significantly decayed and rotten. The smell was putrid and filled the entire area around the obelisk. Blood coated the inside of this carefully crafted niche and what looked like a human intense decorated the niche's edge like a border. It too was decayed and the source of a significant smell of its own, obviously of feces. To say that the remains here were a few days old was hard to say. In the heat and humidity of the moist, jungle environment, it was anyone's guess how long they had been there but they were definitely of a clear and conscious form. Two fingers were missing on one hand and one on the other and they weren't laid within the niche. The feet were whole but they had been ripped off with brutal force and not with a knife or other sharp, finely cutting instrument as the hands were. The fork and the knife had definitely been used and it didn't take a PhD to figure out how they had been used. The head was missing teeth and both of its eyes, which exposed just the empty, haunted sockets of a young child. All of the parts were from a young child, doubtfully older than a toddler.
Deckard felt sick to his stomach and he saw an inscription above and below the niche's opening. It was carved into the wood but it was in the language of the land, a language Deckard didn't understand and couldn't pronounce. He stared, open mouth for three, four, five minutes, it was impossible to tell. Not a muscle in his body moved and his eyes didn't blink. He didn't sneeze, and he barely breathed. The pistol in his hand hung limply at his right side and it could have been taken from his hand by a baby, perhaps even the same baby that was hacked to pieces, partially cannibalized, and left on display, probably as a warning. When Deckard returned to Father Claudio, he described what he saw and when Father Claudio asked to be brought to it, Deckard shook his head and flatly denied. "I never want to see it again." Father Claudio knew exactly what it was and what the inscription read as well but he didn't reveal this.
Beware the forbidden zone. You are not welcomed nor are you wanted here. He is still alive. His child is not. Father Claudio thought to himself, recalling what the warning said. He knew exactly what it was, where it was, and what that meant for their journey. They had crossed another demarcation line. They continued walking and Father Claudio wound them through the jungle, taking the next eleven kilometers just as he had planned, through the jungle, where Deckard avoided more bear pits, more booby traps, and where Father Claudio stalled twice more so that at dawn, they were forced to stop just where Father Claudio wanted them to stop, five and a half kilometers away from Deckard's camp, on the edge of the outer perimeter.
¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ | ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤
June 26, 2011 - 17:00 hrs [UTC+3]
Near Vosloo's Camp, Ethiopia
Nearby Hide Site
(7° 57' 27.90" N, 34° 57' 20.20" E)
The thunderstorms finally broke and with them came the fog. It was a heavy, dense, and thick fog that settled over the jungle as if the jungle were trying to hide itself from both those within and those without its confines. The jungle knew that Deckard was close, perhaps too close for its own liking and this was its defense. In fog this thick, aircraft would have been clearly unable to operate close air support missions and any men on the ground would be forced to fend for themselves. With visibility reduced to a hundred meters combined with the natural hindrances of the jungle, any confrontation was going to be within spitting range rather than rifle range.
Deckard and Father Claudio spent most of the morning asleep, the assault of the rain on their hide site's roof practically lulled the two of them to sleep. At noon, when Deckard awoke, the rain hadn't stopped. To pass the time, he stripped and cleaned his weapons, which he had done every day since their departure from Dembi Dolo. The afternoon was spent just as quietly. Both he and Father Claudio had exhausted practically every topic of discussion over the past few days and rather than repeat the same, never-ending story, they opted more for silence and inner reflection as the afternoon minutes ticked slowly away, one by one. Just after 16:00, when the rain stopped and the fog began to weaken ever so slightly, Deckard nudged Father Claudio, who had fallen back asleep while reading his Bible. "We leave in an hour," he said, his pistol lying in his lap, the magazine sitting on the floor next to him.
Father Claudio gave the pistol an errant and disapproving glance before looking back at Deckard's eyes, "No that isn't wise, we should wait for night."
"No, this fog isn't going away and I want to use whatever light we have left."
"It will be much safer at night."
"No it won't, we're leaving in an hour."
"I really must protest," at that moment, Deckard slapped the magazine into the pistol and disengaged the slide lock. Holding the slide to keep it from making noise, he returned it to its forward position with the pistol's hammer clearly ready to strike. "Fine, we'll go in an hour." Father Claudio said, seeing that Deckard wasn't putting the hammer back to its uncocked position. It wasn't until this had been said that Deckard did such a thing. This wasn't meant to be a threat but that it came off that way pleased Deckard greatly.
When 17:00 finally came, Father Claudio was still napping but Deckard doubted just how asleep he was. He concluded that the old priest had been stalling him for four days already and that was over, Deckard gave him a nudge and when he didn't respond, Deckard pushed him over, revealing that the priest was in fact awake. "Thought you might be awake," Deckard said slyly. "Let's go."
"Give me a few minutes," Father Claudio said as he sat up, "I have to wake up first, I have to remember the way."
"No you don't, you know it, let's go."
"Mister Deckard," Deckard leveled the pistol at Father Claudio's face and cocked the hammer back. "You'd shoot a priest? Then you'd never find it or salvation!"
"Salvation I could care less about and I'll find it, just might take me a little longer but I'll find it. Move."
"Fine!"
"Work smarter Father Claudio, not harder." The two of them left the hide site, touched ground, and stood there for a moment, listening to the jungle. The fog brought with it a strange silence that was even more unnatural than the obelisk was. "God I hate this jungle," Deckard said as they began to walk finally.
"I am sure it hates you just the same Mister Deckard."
"How far is it?"
"Not far."
"How far?"
"We will be there shortly. However, I cannot guarantee our safety, Vosloo likes this fog greatly."
"Good, that makes two of us." Father Claudio didn't know how true that was but he decided not to push the question. He led Deckard in the right direction and while Deckard set the pace, Father Claudio did lead the way. It was about five and a half kilometers away but Vosloo's camp would make its appearance long before they reached the end of their journey.
If yesterday's obelisk was any indication to what lay ahead, anyone but the stark raving mad would have turned back and abandoned the quest. Deckard might not have been stark raving mad, per say, but he was operating on a level of determination that not even the stark raving mad could best. For a kilometer, there was nothing to see but the tall trunks of trees, the jungle foliage, and the fog. Clinging to the air, the fog invited Deckard to take more and more steps closer to his destination. Even if he wanted to turn around, he couldn't, the fog had swallowed him, and it would pull him underneath, like a strong rip current did to a poor swimmer.
After a kilometer though, all bets were off, Vosloo's presence was as real as the trees. They entered a small clearing, barely thirty meters across. Had it been a clear day, they could have seen straight through to the sky above but in the fog, all they saw was the dense, white, rolling cloud of fog. In this small and seemingly misplaced clearing, there stood yet another warning to "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here." It was a small cemetery with mounds of earth freshly dug it seemed. Deckard counted nine graves but he wondered if there were more. None of them had tombstones but there was a sign in the middle of all of them that provided another indigenous warning. Deckard eyed it and noticed that it was covered in dried blood. "What's it say?"
"It says that these men were buried alive and that a similar fate awaits all trespassers."
"Vosloo sure likes his warnings."
"These aren't warnings Mister Deckard," they stepped through the cemetery and re-entered the trees. "These are vain accomplishments that he gloats to the world."
"So he puts these here not to warn others but because he is proud of what he does?"
"Precisely Mister Deckard, pride." With Vosloo's camp getting perilously closer, they pressed on, moving another eight hundred meters before the next warning or as Father Claudio's explanation stated, the next display of pride, appeared. It was there, that they passed four bodies hanging from a tree and three piles of bones underneath them suggested that others had been hanged here some time ago. The four bodies hanging were horrifically disfigured as two were missing arms and one was missing a foot. The rate of decomposition on them was significantly more than other bodies that Deckard had seen and there were no messages on display. This was Vosloo's version of the gallows but unlike the gallows, those hanged here weren't given the mercy of a broken neck. They were left to asphyxiate to death, which wasn't exactly the quickest or easiest way to die. Father Claudio stopped to offer a prayer but Deckard yanked him along, "You deny them too much in death; more than they were denied in life."
"We don't have time for this." Deckard said as they pressed on, now just thirty-seven hundred meters from Vosloo's camp. They were close enough to hear gunshots, had there been any. The jungle grew quieter and though the sun was setting, the pace at which the sky darkened seemed far more accelerated here. It was almost as if the jungle itself was reacting to the evil that Vosloo had pushed upon the world. Even the sunset seemed to be unnatural here. The sky was far from colored and despite the fog; those colors would have penetrated the fog to some degree. They walked another seven hundred meters until they came to a small stream, which had been the same stream that they got water from just a day earlier. Obviously, Deckard didn't know this but he had his suspicions as they stopped at its bank. The water was shallow, clear, and they could easily see the bottom.
"We must cross here."
"How far are we?"
"Not far."
"How far Father?"
"I do not know." He knew that they were three kilometers away and he knew that crossing this stream meant they were crossing into the final part of Vosloo's perimeter. He would likely have people watching them from this point on but it would be impossible for either of them to know it. They walked across the stream in just a few strides and now that they were back on dry land, they were face-to-face with another graveyard that extended at least a hundred meters but unlike the last one, these graves were a mix of both old and new. "Deckard buries his warriors here." There were no signs or warnings, no tombstones, no crosses, nothing to signify who was here but the telltale mounds of earth above each grave. "We must keep going."
"Now you want to keep going?" Deckard laughed at this strange turn of opinion from Father Claudio.
"We have crossed a barrier. We will be watched, I assure you. To turn back now would invalidate our task."
"'Our' task?"
"Mister Deckard, you will find out soon enough." Father Claudio straightened and led not only the way but also set the pace and he moved quickly through the graveyard, as if he was afraid that the spirits of the dead would rise from their graves and assault his body and his soul. Four hundred meters later, they crossed a part of the jungle that was scorched, torn apart, and beaten heavily by hard tools. It was a spot that had quite obviously hosted a battle. Blood and guts were still fresh on the leaves and the ground and swarms of flies clung to that which could be eaten.
"Where was this enthusiasm before?"
"I was hoping Mister Deckard that you would turn back but we cannot turn back now."
"Why?"
"You will see, let us keep going, you do not need your weapon in your hand. I can assure you that."
"I don't trust you Father," Deckard held the pistol tight in his hands, refusing to holster it.
"You'll appear as the enemy, that is fine with me and I will remember to pray for your soul." After another five hundred meters, they crossed the two-kilometer mark. The sky turned dark, gray, and frightening despite it being brighter only a few hundred meters away. The foliage grew thicker and the jungle grew quieter, as if that were even possible. "Look ahead Mister Deckard," Father Claudio said as they approached another area that had been cleared. Several stone pieces of furniture had been built, which included what appeared to be an altar. Candle wax covered most of it and it had dripped down the altar's legs to where it settled on the ground. The area was well trampled from the feet of men and two of the trees had strong scorch marks.
"A religious altar?"
"Not my religion Mister Deckard," Father Claudio said as he led them closer to Vosloo's camp. For the next nine hundred meters, the signs of human presence had all but dropped off the face of the planet. The jungle was as natural as could be and aside from being dark and eerie, it was no different than it had been ten, twelve, forty kilometers earlier. Deckard almost believed that Father Claudio was leading him away from the camp and was about to confront him when they reached what appeared to be a small trash dump except the trash was a pile of bones that were so smooth and so free of organic remains that at first glance, they appeared to be fake. "The bones of the eaten Mister Deckard, they are real. Do not count; it would be futile. There are many."
"How much further?"
"One kilometer Mister Deckard."
"So now you know?"
"Let us continue, there is more to see."
"I can't wait." They continued closer and closer, and the presence of the camp grew more and more pronounced and at four hundred meters from it, they could see it, its form looming within the fog, which seemed to be breaking right around the camp's entrance. Here, four hundred meters away, Father Claudio stopped the two of them and pointed ahead, to the camp. "That is it."
"Yes it is. You must holster your weapon now. Trust me."
"I think…"
"Do not think! Do!" Deckard put the pistol away and Father Claudio continued forward. They entered a wide path about two hundred meters later and would follow this path all the way to the camp's entrance. Had it not been for its "fence," the path would have been invisible but with this fence it was clearly defined. That fence was far from anything you'd see in suburban areas but rather a series of wooden stakes in the ground, all of which were adorned with the skulls and heads of human beings. "This is the Path of the Skulls Mister Deckard. You have come far."
"It smells something awful."
"It will smell worse; that is the smell of death."
"Death smells much worse here."
"So it does Mister Deckard, so it does. Let us hurry, they are waiting." Deckard looked up and at that moment, he saw a crowd of black bodies standing around the end of the path and along its perimeter. All of them had weapons and all of them were standing silently, staring at him with empty, soulless eyes. Many were shirtless and Deckard could see scars and wounds on their bodies. He said nothing to them but instead followed in Father Claudio's footsteps, doing his best to ignore the heads as he passed them on the path. Some were fresh, some weren't, some were so decomposed they didn't even resemble heads, and the rest were skulls that had been picked clean by a ridiculously thick cloud of flies that hovered around.
Father Claudio entered the camp first, stood in front of the black bodies of the Ethiopian men, and turned to look at Deckard, who stopped in front of him. Father Claudio said something to him in Latin, which he didn't understand and for a few moments, there they stood, silent, still, wondering. Deckard said nothing but his mind was racing and then, slowly, the crowd of black bodies closed in on him and a new darkness came over his eyes. They began chanting something at a whisper and Deckard instinctively reached for his pistol, only to find that it was gone. The crowd reached out and, with their hands, grabbed hold of Deckard who tried to wrest himself from their grip but it was just as futile as everything else had been. His screaming and yelling did nothing, and when his eyes fell on Father Claudio, he was shocked to see the old priest staring at him with a grin that was unlike any other that he had seen. This was a grin of true malice, of true evil, far from benevolence or priestly dignity. The crowd of black bodies turned him over, pushed him to the ground, which was nothing more than mud, and covered him in the filth, all the while continuing to chant in their whispered, native tongue. Whatever they were saying was something of a mystery to Deckard and he felt almost as if his own survival depended strongly on understanding what they were saying but those thoughts were fleeting. His useless pleas however, did not to abate the treatment and then, just as he was covered in head to toe in mud, the whole crowd took a step back.
Deckard was left on the ground and he got himself to his hands and to his knees, his breathing heavy, labored, and chaotic, just like the scene around him. "Mister Deckard, I must warn you that you would be wise not to resist." Before those words could register on Deckard's brain, a pair of black feet and legs as wide as tree trunks appeared before him. Deckard looked up to see a shirtless, black giant standing in front of him. The giant said something in his native tongue and with eyes as red as fire swung something down onto Deckard's head and then, in a flash of blinding, white pain, Deckard's world darkened.
