Chapter 3 – Awakening
Somewhere in the Bolivian Jungle
A team of marines trudged through the sweltering swamp, led by Captain Herk Johnson. The humidity was oppressive, sweat trickling down his weathered face. Scars marked his experience, a testament to countless missions.
"We're three clicks from the village," he said, handing the map to Private J. Peterson. The youngest marine, fresh from boot camp, had the look of a child but was an exceptional marksman.
"Jesus, Peterson, roll the maps, for Christ's sake," Corporal Wade Tucker barked, slapping the forgetful marine on the head. Tucker, built like a tank, with tattoos telling the story of his life, had the muscle and brains essential for the team.
They walked deeper through the jungle.
"Cap, I can see the village," Tucker said, binoculars in hand. "Looks pretty quiet."
"What do you think, Doctor?" Captain Johnson asked, glancing at the beautiful blonde woman with them, Doctor Catherine Heins, the client had sent their leading microbiologist. She carefully picked up an insect from a leaf. "Genus Api, a clade known as Anthophila," she noted.
"Huh?" Tucker grunted.
"A bee," Peterson translated.
"Very good, Private," Catherine smiled, placing the bee in a small test tube.
"The kid knows about bees but doesn't know to roll a map," Tucker scoffed.
Peterson mentioned his father owned a bee farm, explaining his knowledge of bees and their etymology. He was born and raised in Idaho and lived life as a country boy. His father didn't want him in the military he had bad feeling about his boy's future.
"Quiet," the captain commanded, spotting a villager in the distance, walking in a slow, dazed circle. "What do you make of that, Doctor?"
Catherine moved closer but the captain pulled her back as more men gathered around the villager. They wore military uniforms, and the captain needed to ensure everyone stayed put.
"Any sign of her, Tucker?" the captain asked, hoping the target had been spotted.
"No cap, nothing," Tucker replied, awaiting further orders.
The team's mission was to locate and extract a target, a girl, without much information. Following orders, extract, and leave—that was their task. The rumblings on who the girl was by the team was some bigwig's daughter who had got lost on a backpacking trip. The captain didn't like being in the dark about a mission but followed orders to the letter.
"Who is this kid anyway?" Tucker asked.
"Tucker, I know as much as you do, let's get her and get the hell out of this jungle before it rots our minds." Captain Johnson replied watching when it was safe to make a move.
The men in the distance began kicking the circling villager. Tucker thought back to his biker gang days. He saw himself being the attacked and the attacker. He was glad to be far from that life and hoped the military would bring him what he wanted in life. A new chapter from a new beginning.
The captain and Tucker swiftly knocked out the attackers.
"Hey pal, are you OK?" Tucker asked, offering his hand to the beaten man, who wore tattered rags. But the man turned, fire in his eyes, and bit Tucker, ripping into his flesh. The man hung on to Tucker's hand, a yellow-coloured patch of saliva formed on his teeth and it seeped into the wound.
"Christ," Tucker exclaimed, punching the man away. "I'm trying to help you, buddy. What the hell's wrong with you?"
The unconscious men began to convulse, slowly rising to join the attacker, dragging their feet menacingly.
"Doctor, what the hell is going on?" the captain demanded, drawing his weapon. "Get on the ground now." A warning shot did nothing. One of the zombie-like creatures picked up a shovel and lunged. The captain took him down with a single shot.
A bee flew towards Tucker, hovering near his face. He swatted it, but it stung Catherine's neck. She felt her blood boil, veins bulging, her face cracking. Tucker turned as she lunged at him.
Having no choice, Tucker shot her with his shotgun. The boom disturbed the jungle, and the murmuring of an approaching horde grew louder. An army of villagers raced towards them.
Firing their weapons, the marines shot down as many as they could, retreating to a large garage and barricading themselves inside, using furniture to block windows and doors.
"Cap, what the hell is going on?" Tucker asked, holding his bitten hand.
"I have no fucking idea," the captain replied, surveying their surroundings. With no escape in sight, he cocked his pistol, ready to fire at whoever came through the door.