Dream #1

Dream #1

Deep in the Amazon jungle, Dr. Beverly Clegg and Dr. Marianne Brooke were hard at work on a highly-classified project. Dr. Clegg was predominantly a microbiologist, although she also had degrees in anatomy and pathophysiology. Dr. Brooke was an epidemiologist. They hadn’t known each other before being hired for their current jobs, but found that they got along well, a lucky break since they were sequestered in what looked like a military camp in the middle of nowhere.

The laboratory that had been built for them, to both of their specifications and requirements, was state of the art and perfect. Dr. Brooke frequently thought of her colleagues back at both Johns Hopkins and The Center for Disease Control and how much they would have given to have the equipment and the budget she now work with on a daily basis. She hadn’t any family at home, being an only child who had already lost both parents: her father while she was still an undergraduate, and her mother after she finished medical school. Her colleagues at her former places of employment had become the closest she had to a family, and she still missed them all despite the exciting work she was doing.

Dr. Clegg had left behind her sister, a brother-in-law who was as close to her as a brother could be, and a pair of beloved nieces. She had a picture of the family tacked up in the cabin she shared with Dr. Brooke. Perhaps the word “cabin” didn’t do justice to their living quarters. They had a small concrete cube that looked like a miniature factory, as their home, but inside, it had been divided into a sort of duplex, with Dr. Clegg on one side, and Dr. Brooke on the other. They had independent entrances, and a retracting wall that could be extended from one side of the cube to the other if they wished to separate their living spaces, or left pulled in like an enormous pocket door, if they wanted to share the entire residence. Most of the time they left the expanse completely open, except for the one week when Dr. Brooke had come down with a cold and had insisted on separating their abodes until she was well again.

The routine they followed—being escorted to the lab by an armed Marine who met them at their front door in the morning, and then at the lab door again at five pm sharp, Monday through Friday—had become so ordinary that they no longer thought about the group of military personnel who shared their posting. All of the soldiers were armed, all the time, and neither woman went anywhere in the compound without a rifle-toting escort. They even became accustomed to that.

So when they opened the door of the lab precisely at five pm that Thursday evening, they were surprised to find that Corporal Andrew Mack wasn’t there to meet them, rifle in hand, with his customary serious nod for greeting.

“I doubt he forgot,” Clegg said.

“Of course he didn’t. He’s assigned to us.” Brooke looked around the grounds but failed to see their usual escort. “Should we just go by ourselves?”

           

“I guess. I hope he doesn’t get in trouble if we do.”

           

“He’d already be in trouble anyway,” Clegg observed. “He’s late. Come on. It’s too hot to stand around out here.” She began leading the way back to their little domicile, all the time looking for Corporal Mack.

“What’s that?” Brooke had stopped suddenly and was pointing at something lying on the ground a few yards away. They went to investigate and were surprised to find a combat boot. “Could that be his?”

           

“Why would he have removed a boot?”

“Why would he have removed a sock?” Brooke was pointing again, this time indicating a sock that was a few yards away from the boot.

The women walked in the direction of the sock, soon finding another boot and sock. The ominous discovery was a few yards beyond the second sock: Corporal Mack’s cap, upside down on the ground so that his name on the inside lining was visible. And just beyond that was his side arm.

Brooke put a cautioning hand on Clegg’s arm. “Listen,” she said, voice soft. “Do you hear anything?”

Clegg tilted her head, concentrating. “No.”

“Exactly. Nothing. And I mean nothing. Where’re the sounds of the other soldiers? Where’s the smell from the mess hall? No one’s cooking anything? No one’s working in the motor pool? Where is everyone?”

Clegg felt something cold run down the length of her spine. “This isn’t right,” she said.

“No. But let’s go a little farther. Maybe the corporal is up ahead somewhere.”

“Okay, but we have to be careful. If we’ve been invaded…”

They continued beyond the discarded gun, crouching a little as they scurried forward. And then they both stopped in shock.

Leaning against the tree was Corporal Mack’s uniform. It was positioned as if to give the illusion of someone sitting with his back against the trunk. There was the khaki shirt, the fatigues, and inside the clothing—

Neither woman was a screamer, but Brooke put her hand over her mouth nonetheless. Inside Corporal Mack’s clothing was what apparently was left of Corporal Mack. There was no blood. There was no mess. What they saw was flesh. Skin. The hollowed out face was tilted back against the tree and stared at them with eyeless holes. Two flaccid arms drooped out the ends of the sleeves, and two equally flaccid feet were visible at the cuffs of the pants.

“It’s like…” Brooke began.

“I know,” Clegg agreed, shock in her equally quiet voice. “It’s like Corporal Mack somehow shed his entire skin.”

This is what my brain does when I’m not working on a book…