Heaven's Conspiracy (Child of Man)

Child of Man Chapter 2

    The soldier turned from the scene again, unable to look upon the faces of these innocent peasants and the abomination that was consuming them. Some resembled half eaten carrion, devoid in some cases of an entire limb, their minds cognizant of the horror of their condition, slowly being consumed by a viscous green liquid clinging to their flesh.
    One particular man lying only a few feet from him on the ground, actually displayed exposed brain tissue where the horrid substance had pushed out through his skull and devoured part of his right eye. Flies and gnats swarmed around the repulsive creature that had once been a human being. He should have been dead, yet his left eye, though covered with a haze of green color, showed cognitive recognition regarding his condition and surroundings.
    Forcing his will upon the upheaval occurring in his gut, the new recruit to military intelligence turned again to behold the unholy scene. Mistakenly he looked back at the pitiful man, and observed the piteous fellow make a finger gun with his partly eroded right hand, place it to his head, and let his thumb fall forward. There was no mistaking the man's desire of the soldier, and Mehail wretched into his gas mask, turning to hurry from the scene toward the make shift medical tent that had been set up in the center of town.
    He had been in the service of the motherland for over two years, only within the last two
months reassigned to the service arm of military intelligence, due to his outstanding duty performance and upon recommendation by his superior officer. Mehail had trained and developed himself into a capable serviceman mastering the skills with which to kill his enemies and lead others. Privately he dreamed of glorious battles for the people and his bravery while in harms way, that would be spoken of by his peers and amongst the highest ranks of military leaders. It had been his dream since he was but a mere child.
    So what the hell was this, he asked himself, as he now ran toward the tent. Sitting
shotgun over poor peasants who were a threat to no one, especially in their current state. The only menace these wretched people could pose at all was in spreading this disease to someone in another town or village, and by the looks of things he doubted they could reach the edge of town, much less another populous region.
    Reaching the interior of the med tent he wrenched the mask from his face, spitting out the bile still lodged in his throat, finding a replacement mask hanging on a pole inside, where many others hung in waiting. Noticing the square cloth bin near the new mask assortment, his pride was somewhat rescued as he noticed that many others had fallen to the same condition before him. More than a dozen rejected masks lined the bottom of the container, and he added his discard to the pile.
    "Mehail"! The recruit froze where he stood, then snapped to attention and clicking heel to toe spun about and saluted the cold burly veteran Sargent Stretznois. It amazed the young soldier that even with the mask covering his face the man could project his voice with such force and authority.

    Stretznois returned the salute and said, "Report to Sargent Litzna third squad for recon assignment".
    Mehail hadn't even finished the salute of acknowledgement before his feet were carrying him through the tent flap, placing the new mask over his face to hide the relieved smile that had come to his lips. Anything he thought, even marching, would be an improvement over this scene from hell.
    Stretznois couldn't help but understand the recruits action. "No place for the timid", he said to himself under his mask. The grizzled old warrior had seen the true horrors of battle in the First Great War, and then again as a tried veteran against the Nazi war machine on the infamous Eastern Front. In those battles Stretznois had observed gruesome mutilations of the human body by bomb and bullet, their carcasses strewn about the fields of death where men fought for the right to rule their own destinies.
    Through all the sickening carnage Stretznois could recall nothing to equal the likes of what he saw in this place. On the battlefield there was at least the peace of death in its conclusion. Unlike this hell hole where you had no enemy to fight. He knew that whenever
he again heard the word Pusklava, it would only draw ugly images of hopelessness in his mind.
    The old veteran walked out of the medics tent placing the cold resolve of the warrior in his heart to accomplish the unspeakable act which he knew must shortly be carried out. From a briefing he'd just attended, all personnel below the Sargent rank were to be assigned to reconnaissance patrols throughout the surrounding hillsides, to locate any further victims of the disease. Stretznois didn't like the orders he had received from Captain Moval, but iknew that the Captain was only being practical, possibly even merciful considering the alternatives for this little town. With a heavy heart the Sargent loaded the full magazine into his carbine rifle, flipping the firing ratio hammer to full and converting the weapon to fully automatic. To legitimize the act he considered the proverbial walk in his neighbors shoes. Knowing full well that if he were in such a debilitated infected condition, as he observed these people to be in, watching themselves being inevitably consumed and wasting away in such an undignified manner, he would want someone to alleviate him of such a circumstance.
    The blood in his veins ran hot, but had no effect on the cold of his heart when he rejoined his peers and superiors, who each carried a weapon similar to his own. They milled around the infected civilians waiting for their signal.
    Third squad and the remainder of the small force sent to scour the countryside around the town had disappeared into the surrounding hillsides of woodlands and meadow, and as previously discussed during the briefing, all those assigned to carry out the heinous orders nonchalantly set themselves in array around the townsfolk.

    It was pandemonium from the first blast of the whistle, the assembled townspeople caught completely unawares when the lackadaisical assemblage of officers and subordinates became a line of raking destruction, unloading a barrage of flying lead into the hapless citizenry of Pusklava.
    Sargent Stretznois's only thought as he handled the recoil action of the carbine, spraying it's swift and sure death into the small crowd, was that it was what he would want if he were in such a condition.

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    Third squad fanned out in a half circle sweep of the hillsides looking for any sign of plague victims yet undiscovered, following the obvious human trails and roads, searching the landscape thoroughly. As one man the squad froze, their feet stuck to the dirt of the earth. Some actually distinguished the shrill pierce of the whistle prior to the cacophony of gunfire that reverberated through the flower covered meadow where they stood. The air shifted to the
silence of a tomb as the last of the shots were fired.
    Mehail, along with the rest of third squad didn't have to journey far in their imaginations to picture the altered scene they had so recently left behind. The only consolation they could find was in knowing the poor wretches below them were no longer in misery.
    Sargent Litzna barked out orders, and third squad resumed their search heading up one of the larger hills that encircled the town below. Their hearts were somber and no conversation was heard amongst the ranks as they surveyed the countryside. Reaching the crescent of the hill, Mehail began to catch what he thought sounded like a woman singing, a bright and cheerful tune somewhere off in the distance. The musical voice was melodic and inviting, and on any other occasion would have been welcomed. But to hear such beauty in a place which had so far held only misery and despair, just seemed to make the singing voice errie. The voice grew more audible as he passed the summit of the rise, and he spied a wooden cabin set atop a flattened knoll some distance away. From here the bright cheerful voice of a young maiden could be easily distinguished issuing from an open window of the log dwelling.
    The small force continued toward the cabin and Mehail listened to the continuing song recalling an old girl friend from home, dissipating some of the strain and hard concentration of current events. Entering the vegetable garden just beside the structure, Mehail hit the ground before giving his legs counsel to do so, followed by those closest behind him.
    The scream of pure torture still ringing through the air made the hair on his neck stand out, the piercing wail causing him to react, resorting to the basics of his military training, to take cover, then assess the situation.

    Seeing no immediate threat he regained a kneeling position, his rifle firmly gripped before him. He motioned the soldier to his right forward and pointed to the right side of the cabin door, then held up three fingers.
    The other soldier nodded the affirmative, and with measured step they approached the door, each planting a heavily booted foot squarely in the center of the entry with one effort.
The wood splintered and the door burst forward slamming with a sharp report against the cabin's interior wall. The soldiers rifles were brought to bear in the next movement, stepping through the entrance locating their target, then determining friend or foe. Their rifle muzzles dropped downward when they beheld the strange scene before them.
    A woman in a long night shirt stood with her back to the soldiers, busily working at something in the cabins small kitchen. She appeared to be quite oblivious to the fact that two heavily armed soldiers had just kicked in her door and stormed into her home.
    Beside the kitchen in front of the cabin's fireplace reclined a man in a large chair, also
facing away from the men. Mehail could see a scarf wrapped around the man's neck and a blanket draped atop his shoulders, his feet propped up on the hearth before a burning fire, apparently also unaware of the soldier's forceful entrance.
    The woman turned around then, and seemed quite startled that there were two masked gun wielding soldiers in her home. She gave them a warm smile and said, "Hello', then returned to her previous activity unfazed, and began singing again. Mehail noticed when she faced him that blood smeared down the front of her extended night shirt, staining the garment from her pelvis to her feet.
    The tap on his shoulder led Mehail to observe his comrade's pointing finger, aimed at the still seated man before the hearth. As his angle changed, moving around in front of the man, Mehail felt the bile again rising in his throat, responding to the sight of the degraded excuse for a human being that occupied the chair. Under the blanket Mehail saw that part of the man's left shoulder and arm had been tied on with string, it being obvious that the appendage had fallen off some time earlier, eaten away by the green oozing fluid that still continued to consume the flesh at the metacarpal bones of the poor soul's hand.
    The victim also had a gangrenous display of fluid flowing out from under the scarf tied around his neck. A festering pool of green, tinted with blood had accumulated around the depression in the chair where he sat, testifying to the fact that he had been in this position for quite a while.
    Mehail used the butt end of his rifle to push the man's head up, then watched in horror when his eyes focused their near lifeless stare squarely upon him. The man's eyelids closed slowly as sticky greenish tears clung to his cheeks, and a semi-clear film of green could be seen covering the retinas when he opened them again. His ghastly expression appeared to alter somewhat, to an understanding of recognition, like he knew the soldiers for who and what they were.

    The half devoured spectacle then to their amazement, lifted his right forearm from the chair arm and managed a pointing gesture with his hand, angled at the woman in the kitchen.
    "Kill it, Kill it". It was more of a sound than accurately pronounced verbiage. With the heavy hooded masks covering their heads, and the sucking sound the man made as he tried to utilize his deteriorated voice box, the words might have been anything, but both soldiers
interpreted the same meaning from his actions.
    The woman walked over to them then from the kitchen, stirring something in a metal bowl, intent upon her chore. She sat down on the hearth facing her husband and the two soldiers, absorbed in her actions. Pausing, she looked up seeing the soldiers and stopped.
    "Arreri", she exclaimed, "you should have told me you had invited guests, now I'll have to set extra places for dinner". She sounded perturbed, but gave the soldiers a sweet smile, and then said to them, "he's always forgetting to tell me these things". With that she returned to the kitchen, starting to remove items from the cupboard.
    Once more the decrepit man in the chair pointed to the woman and tried to say the same words, using more effort in the attempt, coming out something close to "Hillit". No emotion
was displayed on his eroding face, and in his condition it would have proven pointless.
    Mehail was beginning to experience sickness, becoming overwhelmed by the putrid scene before him, and the inhumanity of fate which had brought these simple people to this end. He took two steps toward the door, feeling the urge to breathe the outside air, but was stopped in his tracks when Sargent Litzna entered the doorway, bellowing out, "Report"!
    Mehail started to answer when the woman in the kitchen dropped a dish and screamed, making the men in the room flinch from it's piercing shrillness. All eyes turned in her direction as she repeated the wail grabbing at her mid section, the intensity of her grasp tearing her night shirt. Red fluid was visible at her calf, falling to the floor in batter-like clumps, and Mehail turned his eyes to keep his stomach under control.
    Mehail was not at all unpleased that the Sargent had arrived, and he figured the sooner he made his report the sooner he would be able to leave this repugnant asylum. The woman stopped screaming then and he took the opportunity to answer his superior, and let him determine the best course of action.
    He blurted out the facts to Litzna in short sweet detail, wanting to conclude the business at hand. "The man has the sickness, sir. The woman appears to be in labor, but seems unaffected by the plague, though I think she is mad. No one else here sir".
    Anyone paying attention to Mehail would have seen him tense, realizing he had just made
a false report, failing in his Point duties to assure the perimeter before briefing. Had he been
able to, he would have sucked the words right back into his mouth.

    He watched now, praying to whatever fortunes smiled upon him that the Sargent found no one else in the cabin. Litzna checked the adjoining room, finding no one, and under his breath Mehail let out a sigh of relief knowing he would forego any punishment for the lapse in his duty.
    Sargent Litzna called out for two soldiers who entered the cabin and instructed them to remove the man from the structure. Mehail and the soldier with him assisted the other men, and they picked up the chair with the sick fellow, turning it sideways to squeeze the bulk out the cabin door. Litzna followed behind them, sticking his head outside and yelling, "Medics".
    His bellow was almost drowned out from behind him as the woman let forth another ear piercing wail. Three soldiers with medical field packs responded to the Sargent's call, following him into the cabin.
    "See to the woman", he said, stepping aside, then exited the structure to set up a grave
digging detail.

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    Arreri Susejeb sat in his cushioned chair only a few meters from his ancestral cabin watching dispassionately as five soldiers with field shovels labored to dig his grave. Though his mind was collapsing under the strain of his physical depletion, he was still lucid enough to piece together the last month, or had it been longer, time not being much of a consideration for him anymore, only the end that would soon come.
    Though he felt nothing now, he had been filled with sadness at the loss of his close friends in the village, and the knowledge that he would soon suffer a similar fate, leaving his beautiful Sulgosva to fend for herself and their newborn. For some time after the insect bites he had been able to function, tending to his dying farm animals, and completing his daily chores with a minimum of discomfort, all the while watching as his flesh disintegrated and fell away from his body. He'd continued on in this fashion until the sickness had deteriorated his shoulder so badly, that the bone of his arm began to slip out of the shoulder socket and only remaining muscle and tendon kept the appendage from falling off him. Shortly thereafter, he couldn't remember when, he had sat down one night in his chair, and he was still here, just sitting outside now.
    Sulgosva had begun to actually glow in her radiance following her miraculous recovery. From death's door she had seemingly awakened to be spry and cheerful, filled with the joy of life. He would return from his chores about the farm finding her busily tidying up the cabin, or cooking, singing with a perpetual smile clinging to her lips. She appeared for all the world to be happy and contented, conversant to him with anything he wished to discuss, with the exception of any negative subject matter.

    When he tried to bring up Pusklava or the inevitability of their future, she would merely stare at him as though she were a million miles away. When he finished, she would appear to come out of her self-induced daydream smiling sweetly, then return to whatever activity she was engaged in, or just start the conversation anew where the unwelcome conversation had begun. He had also noted that during this delirium of time, Sulgosva's eyes would flair from there hazed green on granite color to a dull yellow, subsiding after the negativity was finished.
    Eventually he'd given up on such subjects, seeing that his wife was happy, believing that Sulgosva had erected a mental barrier regarding the village tragedy and their current situation.
There was no reason to push her on the discussions because she would simply return to her previous state of denial, in the end accomplishing nothing.
    Days elapsed as his condition worsened, while his wife only seemed to grow more cheerful and distant from logic and the circumstances surrounding her. She would tend to the festering mass of greenish fluid eating his flesh, lovingly scolding him for not being more careful, even the day she had tied his arm back to a portion of his remaining shoulder, laughing at how clumsy he was. Mental rejection had dominated Sulgosva's rational mind, preventing her from seeing the visible truth, even as she cleansed the death overtaking him.
    During this time, Arreri had started to feel an unbeknown sensation. Each time Sulgosva
would come into physical contact with him or even be in close proximity, he felt a complete drain of his being. It wasn't only on a physical level, but somehow in who and what he was as a sentient soul. At first the sensation was mild, barely noticeable, becoming more pronounced with each separate contact. He told himself it was only depression, and the despair he felt seeing his wife's joyous demeanor while he sat rotting in his illness. But after
a short time her ministrations began to produce pain, searing and hot, not experienced through the nerves of his flesh but in the essence of his conscious existence.
    It seemed only a few days ago she had been tending to the festering wound on his neck, when she brushed her swollen abdomen against his remaining, mostly intact right arm. The coldness, like that of a roaring January Artic wind against exposed flesh clung to the spot where she'd touched him, seeping into his body and paralyzing his soul.
    His mind screamed for his mouth which could only mumble and he jerked spasmodically
against the pain. A debilitating frigidity grabbed him producing an arthritic anguish unlike anything he could have imagined, coursing through his flesh and that ethereal portion of his being. Fear nor terror were sufficiently descriptive to the agony which left him drained and shivering. Throughout the time he had been infected, he had experienced no readily identifiable pain from the consumption, there only being a sensation of itchy numbness.

    Sulgosva has misinterpreted his shivers, going to the bedroom returning with a blanket and neck scarf. She wrapped the garment around him and bumped her extended girth against him once more.
    Tears erupted in his eyes this time when she made contact, momentarily cleaning the drainage of green from his tear ducts, running down his face. He squirmed and she held him
closer, believing he was only being uncooperative, no longer able to communicate his condition or the pain she was causing. Fire and needles spread through him, and his mind even told him there was pain in the portions of his flesh that were no longer there.
    Sulgosva finished getting the scarf around him, kissed his forehead and went to the bedroom to sleep. As soon as she'd departed he felt the cessation of the misery, slowly giving way to its normal consuming itchy numbness.
    "Don't worry", Sulgosva had said, before leaving, "you'll be all right after a good nights rest".
    The painful contacts had continued over the next weeks, days, he couldn't remember, only
recalling they had intensified during every occurrance.
    He had closed his eyes to escape the endless torture, his mind verging on mental collapse, and slowly faded to unconsciousness.
    Sleep held no escape from his torment, sporadic dreams of death haunted his subconsciousness, each one different and horrible verging on realism. He had seen specters
of light enter his body, then watched them as they burned his flesh to a bone darkened skeleton.
    Then he found himself falling landing in a small crevice canyon by a river choked with the blood and bodies of both man and beast. He tried to climb from the canyon and fell, instantly swept away when the river shifted it's course to ensnare him, dragging him into it's putrid swirl, rushing along in a turbulent flow. The river of death reached a whirlpool where it stopped, spiraling in a mealevolent cyclone, dragging him ever downward. Then seeing from a distance, he watched himself as the river descended into the gaping maw of a colossal dragon-like creature, a shade browner red than the bloody bilge it consumed.
    In an instant he was now standing hand in hand with Sulgosva outside their home, staring upward at the sky, watching a veil of blackest onyx spread forth obliterating the sun. Stars appeared in the veil, and they filled the eternity of the heavens, their number far greater than the sands of any sea.
    He stood above himself and Sulgosva, suspended in his visual interpretation of the scene, and felt sheer terror in his heart as the stars began to fall, raining down on them both like burning hail. The pieces that struck their bodies burrowed through their clothes entering the skin, and he watched in anguish as they were consumed from the inside out. The stars did not burn them as flame but more as if they'd been placed in an oven on a low setting, the total consumption of water from their bodies happening in minutes.
    Arreri then looked on in wide eyed astonishment as he saw a yellow eyed baby, demonic in it's appearance, tear through the burnt jerked husk of Sulgosva's abdomen. It glanced first at the fried husk of it's mother, then to Arreri. Placing his tiny arms across his chest, with the deep bellow of some otherworldly beast he threw his head back and roared with mocking laughter.

    Each terror he experienced in his dilapidated state always ended with a final theme before he woke up. He held in his hands the small delicate form of an infant, it's eyes closed, involuntarily squirming and kicking it's tiny legs in the air. Arreri would hold it gingerly, love filling his heart for the child as he tenderly hugged it against his body.
    Transition was spontaneous, and the child would become a poisonous viper striking him in the face over and over before he could repel the creature. Again the yellow eyed demon child would reappear to laugh at his misery, replacing the serpent's form. The message from
his subconscious was clear. His child must die!
    His heart pounded furiously in his chest, and greenish droplets oozed from his pores in the place of sweat when he jerked suddenly, startled awake at the sensation of pain when
Sulgosva brushed her hand through his hair.
    "Good morning", she said, smiling cheerfully, looking as if she had no cares in the world.
    Arreri noticed it was far along in the morning, and attempted to raise his head from the chair, finding that the muscles in his neck had deteriorated to the point that he could no longer make it function. Shifting his eyes to meet his wife's, he made out the undulating misty green color that had almost completely covered her natural silver granite.
    Suddenly Sulgosva's expression turned bland, and it appeared to Arreri that she was looking through him rather than at him. She turned away, and he watched her as much as he could by shifting his eyes, seeing her walk zombie like to the kitchen cupboards. She removed a large pottered mug and kettle from the cupboard, filling the container and returning to his side, placing the kettle on the cook plate. After stoking the coals and adding some
wood to the fire she waited until she had enough of the burning embers to shovel into the
cook plate. In a few minutes the water had come to a boil, and staring at her husband as if she were staring at a blank wall, she filled the mug and leaned toward him.
    Grabbing the back of Arreri's head she tilted him forward and proceeded to raise the steaming mug to his lips.
    Arreri stared on in helplessness as she raised the scalding liquid to his mouth and began pouring the burning liquid out. He didn't have the strength or mobility any longer to resist, and greenish tears issued from his eyes when the water hit his remaining pain sensors, the areas covered by infection registering no discomfort. He focused on his wife's eyes through the crying, seeing pinpoints of yellow engulfing her cornea's, appearing as an internal light, dispossessed from the form it inhabited, yet in control of her physical being.
    Sulgosva registered no facial expression at all, seeming oblivious to her own actions, slowly pouring the contents of the mug onto Arreri's lips, running down his chin into his shirt and finally pooling in the seat of his chair. The yellow pinpoints of light in her eyes intensified during the torture, and he captured the gleam of radiance reflected there, returning him to the vision of his nightmares. He couldn't tell for sure if Sulgosva's lips were actually moving, or if it was a trick of his infected eyes, but there was no mistaking the voice which came to his ears. It possessed the same unearthly quality of his dark dreams.
    "You must drink all your broth poppa", he heard it say, the tone condescending with sinister intent, veiled in a voice of youthful innocense. Sulgosva's head snapped back then, and a riotous cackle of demonic laughter exploded from her lips while she continued the
painful scalding.
    Sulgosva's head came down slowly, stopping to look directly at him. She blinked as if trying to focus on what she was seeing, then put the empty mug down on the hearth.
    "Oh, Arreri, now look what you've done", she said, rushing to the kitchen and getting a hand towel, letting her husbands head fall forward to his chest, returning to dab at his swollen red lips. "Now that's better, please be more careful", she said, returning the mug and
towel to the kitchen.
    Arreri sat still, hoping that his wife would not return, or that death would take him from this living hell before she did. A short time later he reflexively jerked when his wife let out a high pitched shriek. He strained his eyeballs to the corner of their sockets trying to see what had happened. Visible only from feet to stomach looking from his head down position, he made out the reason for her travail. She grabbed at her crotch and stomach, while red tinted water flowed down her leg and onto the cabin floor. She staggered toward him, then apparently delivered of the pain, turned around and started working in the kitchen as if nothing
had transpired. 
    Arreri stared into the filthy pool in which he sat, his feeling of helplessness complete, knowing he could do nothing for himself or his beloved wife. For what seemed hours he stared into the ruins of his body collecting in the large chair. Sulgosva would sing in the gayest of voice, a musical lilt toward nirrvana in its collective composition, and without warning punctuate the ensemble with skin crawling shrieks and wails, that would continue for minutes at a time.
    He didn't even flinch when one of his wife's screams was followed by a resounding crash, as the cabins front door was rent open behind him.
    He sat now in the barnyard feeling the utter darkness of his condition pressing upon him. The screams from the cabin were more frequent now, having increased in pitch as his wife labored in delivery pangs. The wail abruptly ceased, and Arreri heard the high pitched squeal of a newborn waft to his ears, sending terror into his heart.
    The noise covered the cocking of Sargent Litzna's revolver, and Arreri Susejeb slept.

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    Sulgosva felt the gloved hand gently grab her arm as she removed some plates from the kitchen cupboard. She turned to stare at the masked soldier, confusion reflected on her face.
    "Are you one of Arreri's friends too", she asked, smiling at the medic.
    The soldier had been informed by the Sargent of the womans apparent mental condition, so he spoke as softly as possible through the bulky mask about his head. He had some
experience in the effects of shell madness, a psychological condition experienced in battle, where a soldier would lose his ability to mentally sustain the horrors of warring conflict, and become an illogical dysfunctional human being. They displayed every range of mental disturbance, from total withdrawal curling into an immobile statue, to single handedly charging an overhwhelmingly superior force with total disregard for life and limb. The symptoms were never the same, but the condition was usually derived from a singular traumatic experience.
    The medic's voice came soothingly to Sulgosva, and she allowed him to lead her into the cabin's small bedroom, where he coaxed her into lying down on the bed. She had barely gotten prone when a gut wrenching pain assailed her and she launched into another screeching wail, sending the medic rocking backward, thankful for the flap covering his ears.
    When the pain subsided, the medic got her to lie back with soft spoken words saying, "lets see how your baby is doing", as he lifted Sulgosva's night shirt up over her hips.
    Sulgosva placed her index finger to her lips and giggled, saying, "I hope Arreri doesn't catch us".
    The soldier's eyebrows crinkled under his mask at the woman's remark, as he observed the fully dialated portion of her birthing canal. Calling to one of the other medics who was standing just outside the bedroom doorway, the attending medic instructed the other to remove antiseptic and medical gloves from his field kit.
    The woman lurched forward once more, yelling at decibels which penetrated the mask flaps covering the soldiers ears, causing them to place their palms squarely against the side of their heads until the screeching stopped. When the woman screamed the medic saw the ushering of blood and greenish water from her uterine cavity, indicating as far as he could remember from the one training film he'd seen, that she was about to dispense with a new member of society.
    Quickly scrubbing his hands in alcohol solution, then donning the gloves held by the assisting medic, he called for the third medic to enter and hold the woman down as she began to thrash her body, thrusting her pelvic region in an up and down motion on the bed.
    Between screams, the woman began to laugh, reaching a maniacal level of volume while
the two assisting medics attempted to restrain her gyrating form.
    The delivery medic felt of Sulgosva's swollen abdomen, attempting to access the position of the baby. Unsuccessful in his attempt, he reached into the woman's uterus to get a better diagnosis of the birthing position. The soldier's hand struck what felt like a waxy membrane as he explored the unborn's posture. He definitely didn't remember any of this from his training film on delivery.

    Calling upon one of the other medic's, the attending soldier asked for the scalpel inside his field pack. The medic closest to the pack, happy at the chance to take a break from the struggling woman, retrieved the instrument and handed it to his comrade. His mission complete he returned to help his fellow soldier in the wrestling match with the woman.
    Taking the scalpel between his fingertips to protect any unnecessary cutting of the blade, he inserted the tool, making a slight incision along the membranes surface. He barely had time to remove the instrument before the head popped out, followed by the shoulders and the rest of the newborns healthy little frame. The woman's gyrations ceased when the remainder of her child exited, and she laid deathly still, barely breathing.
    Anticipating the next step in the procedure, the soldier held his scalpel ready to cut the umbilical cord and wrap the child in towels contained in his med kit.
    Holding the newborn in one hand, he pulled the child toward him, already completely detached from it's mother. The medic's smile at the life he had just delivered into the world faded at the repugnance of the following scene.
    A large yellow sack, reminiscent of a giant cucumber seed followed the child's exit from his mother's womb. When the leathery, waxy shell husk struck the outside air, it shriveled up like an oven dried raisin, disentegrating to an ash gray powder before his very eyes.
    He recoiled from the woman the next instant when a disgusting mix of blood and green mucous issued out of her body, covering the end of the bed and running onto the floor.
    Distracted momentarily by the sight, the medic's attention reverted to the fragile life he hugged closely to his chest. He used his gloved finger to clear some of the remaining mucous from the infant's face and turned the child over, exposing his buttocks. A quick slap
to the baby's posterior was rewarded by an ear splitting wail as the child experienced his first sensation in this new world, pain.
    The report of a single revolver shot echoed outside the cabin walls while the soldier wrapped the innocent babe in a clean white towel, then tucked it warmly in a woolen blanket he pulled from a small cabinet in the room. The child cried bitterly from his first treatment in this other world, being handled and moved about without his consultation or permission.
    The delivery medic then pushed past his comrades with the bawling infant, eager to show the mother her new child.
    As if the day had suddenly been called to an end, the room's interior went almost black, shadowed by dark roiling clouds which seemed to materialize from the sky above them. In the dimness of the room's interior the soldier held the baby at an angle that caught the filtered
light, allowing the woman to see her newborn.
   
    For a moment the mother's face reflected an indomitable sorrow, as if she were responsible for some great injustice which she could not face, for the wickedness that surrounded it. Complete recognition and a look of pure terror seized her expression, and the
soldier backed away with the child seeing clearly in the dim light the olive green radiance swirling in the woman's eyes, massing and pulsating, appearing as if it would explode from within. Greenish ooze began to seep out from every pore in the woman's frame, covering her body with the putrid fluid. The substance began to work like acid eating away at her flesh, blistering and popping to leave a gelatinous pool of green ichor where she had lain.
    The three soldiers watched on in horror filled disbelief, stunned by the sight of the disintegrating figure before them.
    They heard the throaty bark of Sargent Litzna, bellowing "Report", as he reentered the cabin. All three medics simply pointed to the now indistinguishable goo on the bed, as it continued its rapid decomposition being absorbed by the bedding beneath, as the liquid became watery.
    Sargent Litzna's nose twisted up under his mask and he asked, "the child", looking to the medic holding the bundle next to his chest.
    "He appears to be in good condition sir", the delivery medic responded, turning the infant around for his superior to take a look.
    "Take him outside, rejoin the squad", Litzna barked.
    When they were gone, Litzna looked around the cabin locating several oil lamps. Removing the wicks, he spread the flammable liquid about the cabin, then picked a burning log from the fireplace. He walked to the cabin entrance, spying a book laying on a shelf adjacent to the entryway, bound in dark leather and embossed with the Russian name of
Susejeb. He tucked the book into his uniform jacket, then tossed the burning coal upon the oil soaked interior. He stepped from the doorway as flame began to spread through the wooden structure, licking hungrily at the cabin's contents.
    The fire soon raged on the hillside overlooking Pusklava and the winding banks of the Omolon.
    Its light was in contrast to the darkness that had enveloped the region. Thunderous rumbling sounded continually about them, though no lightning was observed, and Litzna, though worried himself at the unexplainable happenings, was far more concerned with the mood of superstitious tension building in his command.
    Seizing upon an idea that came from Litzna knew not where, he approached the medic holding the infant, and took the child from him. Hoisting the babe in the air with one hand, he spoke loudly so that his voice would carry to all his men.
   
    "Comrades", he began, "even among tragedy and darkness, surrounded by unconquerable death, let it be known that we shall overcome such adversities, for we are Russian, and like this child we shall conquer all our enemies, though the gods of heaven stand against us".
    A cheer rose from the ranks of third squad to the Sargent's words, but was drowned out by the thunderous answer to Litzna's challenge from the dark ominous sky above them.
    With less than bolstered courage from their Sargent's proclamation, third squad fanned out and took their patrol positions, continuing to search for other victims of this vile plague, every one of them hopeful they would find none.