Mosquito

Status: 1st Draft

Mosquito

Status: 1st Draft

Mosquito

Book by: Derek Atkins

Details

Genre: Thrillers

Content Summary

Dr. Maxwell “Max??? Warden’s enjoyment of his dream position with the Center for Disease Control is short lived when the lives of a number of his friends and fellow researchers are lost in an outbreak of an unknown virus in Somalia. Max is soon thrust into a world of intrigue and danger, where an automatic weapon is as important as his microscope. He leads an operation into the heart of the unknown to rescue his friends, not sure if they are even still alive, and becomes embroiled in a terrorist plot that promises to rock the world.
 

 

Content Summary

Dr. Maxwell “Max??? Warden’s enjoyment of his dream position with the Center for Disease Control is short lived when the lives of a number of his friends and fellow researchers are lost in an outbreak of an unknown virus in Somalia. Max is soon thrust into a world of intrigue and danger, where an automatic weapon is as important as his microscope. He leads an operation into the heart of the unknown to rescue his friends, not sure if they are even still alive, and becomes embroiled in a terrorist plot that promises to rock the world.

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: October 25, 2006

Comments: 19

In-Line Reviews: 5

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: October 25, 2006

Comments: 19

In-Line Reviews: 5

A A A

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Chapter Two

 

 

 

The Somali commander eased pressure on the gun.  Slight, but noticeable. He did not back off, but continued his piercing gaze into Drew's eyes, inches apart.  Drew met his stare, watching as the commander assessed him closely. 

 

The eyes troubled him.  He inspected the nosebleed only briefly; it easily could have been the result of the American's capture.  However blood dribbling from both ears had no easy explanation.  A rising knot of angry flesh at the American's temple flagged the rifle blow.   Not far from the left ear...but far enough to make him unsure.  Could the blow have made both ears bleed?

 

"You don't live in the city, do you?  ...Mogadishu, I mean.   You live on the outskirts, not in the city."  Drew struggled to calm himself.  Maybe he could reason with this man, although the chance was slim.  Calm down!  Catch a little air and talk, dammit, talk!

 

"No, you couldn't live in the city or you'd already have heard about the sickness.  Haven't you heard of the people that are sick?" The words tumbled over Drew's tongue and fell from his lips.  Anything that came to mind flowed out. The commander's face gave away nothing.  He continued his inspection, a slow and methodical gleaning.

 

"Hundreds are sick, women and children mostly.  We're not sure why yet...we haven't had enough time."  He's not listening!  "I'm a doctor...we were asked to come here."  Drew fought against anxiety, his voice rising in pitch.

 

"People are dying in Mogadishu!" 

 

"People die every day in Mogadishu," the commander said without emotion.  "It is the way it is."

 

The commander no longer kept control of his expression however, his jaw muscles clenching and releasing repeatedly.  Drew noticed, but could not tell if this was good or bad.

 

"Not like this!  Hundreds have died in the last two days.  It's a viral infection, a new pathogen."  Drew realized at that moment the automatic pistol no longer pressed against his flesh, but now hovered lower, pointing ominously at his chest.  He stole a glance around him at the soldiers; it was clear they were unsure what was taking place, not understanding the words spoken.

 

"We were trying to help your people, dammit!  We're doctors...but the virus got us too." 

 

The commander became agitated.  "You are a liar!  Clever words will not help you! You are CIA, not doctors.  This is why we bring you back, you are a spy!"  He spat the word with venom.  But the commander's body language was noticeably less confident.  His eyes would no longer lock with Drew's; instead they flitted about, not lingering on anything or anyone.  Drew understood in that moment the soldiers had no idea why they were sent after him.  Something connected in Drew's subconscious; an intuition, an understanding of events.

 

"You haven't been home... have you?  Not for at least a week, right?  You've been on some kind of patrol...or maybe barracked somewhere out in the countryside.  You really don't know what's happening, do you?"  Drew paused for breath and then asked, "Do you have family in Mogadishu?"

 

"Shut up!"  The commander barked orders to the men; they spun Drew around and manhandled him over the crest of the sand berm.   Three SUV's, each modified with a fifty-caliber gun turret in the rear, were positioned a hundred yards away.  They formed a crescent around what was left of the Toyota Drew commandeered in his escape.   The Somali's had taken great pleasure in turning the little pickup into scrap with the large caliber guns.  It now squatted like a frightened tortoise on the remains of shattered wheels.   Black smoke billowed from the top as fire licked skyward through a myriad of bullet holes and broken glass.  Drew was helpless to resist as they dragged him toward the wreckage, his shoes leaving snake trails in the dust.   A half dozen ragged soldiers, some without shirts, waited their approach.

 

"You have to help me get to the north coast, to Djibouti!" Drew shouted over his shoulder to the commander.  "It's our only hope of getting help.  Your leaders are doing everything wrong!  They're going to let your families die rather than do what's right!  Mogadishu is dying!"

 

The commander barked orders and Drew was thrown to the ground within the circle of heat from the burning Toyota.  Drew struggled to sit up, turning his back to the flames.  The heat was unbearable.  He crabbed himself forward several feet, only to receive a boot to the chest, knocking him backwards.  Once again Drew forced himself upright.

 

"Why do they want you dead?"  Drew barely rasped the question over the spitting sounds of burning plastic, trying to keep the commander thinking instead of blindly following orders.  "You and your men have done something terrible...why else would they send you to your death?"  The commander could not stand still, becoming a creature of motion.  He paced back and forth in front of Drew, saying nothing, apparently in deep turmoil. The soldiers shifted from foot to foot, taking in the commander's behavior. 

 

"It's not just my blood that's infectious, it's everything...my sweat too," and then Drew caught a flash of the commander's eyes, the next words stopping him in mid-step, "...and my breath!"

 

The commander spun on his heel and covered the distance to Drew in a few strides, jacking the slide of the automatic pistol, thoughtlessly ejecting a fresh cartridge in the process.  He had made up his mind.

 

Shit!  ...oh, shit! 

 

"Don't do it man, listen to me!  You need me alive."

 

The commander barked gibberish.  The soldiers near Drew backed away.

 

He's moving them away from the splatter!   

 

"It's not too late for you," Drew pleaded.  "...we can still save your family, but we have to get to Djibouti now!  The doctor's there can work with my serum.  They can find a way to fight this thing!"

 

The commander pointed the pistol at Drew's face.  Drew couldn't bear to look down the barrel and turned away.  Time spun away from his grasp.  He let go of his fear somehow, replaced by a deep sadness.  Sadness for his wife Lynda and all their plans left unfulfilled.   Remorse for putting her through such a rough marriage, remembering their struggle to make ends meet while he was in clinic crafting a name for himself.  It all seemed so important then.

 

Drew realized that he didn't hate these men.  They were living their lives as best they could.  Following a fate set for them before they were born.  Drew watched the men milling about, knowing they wouldn't think twice about his death.  His would be just one more body in a world of death.  Still...he couldn't hate them.  Drew turned back to face the commander.

 

"Don't let those men get exposed," he said quietly, signifying the soldiers that had stayed with the SUV's.  "Keep them away from you and these men.  Send them home to take care of their families before it's too late."  Drew felt compelled to try and save their lives if he could, even though they would take his.

 

He waited for the bullet.

 

The commander held the automatic steady...and then slowly lowered it to his side.  He once again spoke to his men.  There was a mixture of reactions.  Fear, anger, confusion; the emotions were as varied as the men that held them.  But within a few minutes the six soldiers that were not exposed clamored into a single SUV and sped southward, kicking up a plume of red dust; the final rays of sunlight casting the plume into a surrealistic rainbow.

 

 

The remaining men gathered their gear and stowed it into the remaining SUV's.  The commander holstered his weapon and hauled Drew upright, guiding him to the vehicles.  Once all were ready, the commander signaled departure, the American doctor seated next to him.  They turned northward.

 

"What's your name?" asked Drew as they picked up speed.

 

"Nickubu."

 

Drew leaned his head against the doorframe, breathed in a lungful of the twilight air, and thought of Lynda as he closed his eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

 


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