Marine Corpse (Free Preview)

MARINE CORPSE

Mark A.J. Cristobal

 

Prologue: Interview with a Zombie

October 7, 1981.

Dr. Henry McDowell kept fidgeting by the pool and lit his tenth stick from his second pack of cigarettes. The noontime heat of the sun of Saint-Marc, Haiti hardly registered to the uneasy young neuroscientist, his mind was elsewhere. This idea of his has been his sole goal since he left the U.S. Marine Corps School of Infantry and found his true calling at the Harvard Medical School a decade ago.

“Dr. McDowell?” a staff of the Le Gou-T Hotel hesitantly approaches him.

“Yes?” Henry inhales his cigarette before flicking it off to the trash bin and turn to face the young Haitian.

“A Sergeant Major Hayes on the telephone for you.”

“Thank you.” Henry gave a nod and finally allows himself to relax. He finally felt the weight of anticipation diminish. He was suddenly aware of his surroundings, the intense heat of the sun and the warm touch of occasional faint breeze from the bay.

He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes the perspiration on his forehead, face and neck before following the Haitian inside the Hotel lobby where the receptionist handed him the phone’s handset.

“I’m sending my men to pick you up,” the crisp commanding tone of the marine officer said at once. “We have obtained your subject, he was rather reluctant. Meet you in the bunker in 1400 hours.” Hayes grunted and hung the phone.

Dr. McDowell went back to his room and took his briefcase. He’s been waiting for the Sergeant Major’s call for hours, finally things are moving forward.

When he got out of the Le Gou-T he saw no car waiting for him. He looks at each end of the road and at the passing vehicles from both lanes but none of them seemed to be heading his way. Then he heard a faint whirring sound from somewhere and it started to grow louder and louder until the dust around him swirled in the air. Startled he looked up to see a Boeing Vertol CH-46 Sea Knight transport helicopter, its medium-lift tandem rotors pounding the wind and deafening him.

A pair of Marines rappelled down on the rotunda in front of the hotel, once down on the ground one of them darted straight to Dr. Henry and shouted above the noise.

“Dr. McDowell, we have a problem. We must hurry.” The marine shouted as the second came and began attaching straps and hooks on the surprised and confused scientist.

“What are you doing?” Henry asked, he looked around him and saw a growing crowd watching the unusual scene before the hotel.

“Hold tight!” the second marine pats him on the back while the first one grabs him and tugs hard at the cable twice.

Dr. McDowell gave a startled yelp as he and the first marine was pulled up. As the ground recedes too fast below him, he instinctively tightens his grip on his briefcase. Two more marines grabbed him and reeled him inside as the first one went on to pull up the second one.

“I thought this was supposed to be a discreet operation?” Henry asked the marines seated around him as the bird flew across city and over the Canal de Saint-Marc.

“Your subject is having an episode Dr. McDowell, he may not last long enough for your interview!” the man beside the pilot addresses him. Henry was surprised he was not wearing uniform but a clean cut black suit.

“What do you mean by an episode? Who are you?” Henry frowned.

“Dennis Grand, project liaison officer,” the blonde man in suit gave a wolfish grin and offers a hand.

“Liaison? What division?” Henry’s brows furrows and shook Grand’s hand.

“CIA.” Agent Grand showed his badge.

“No shit.” Henry slumped back, “Are you here to oversee my work?”

“I liaise.” Agent Grand said flatly.

“Last night Sergeant Major Hayes said the site was moved to a bunker, where?” Henry inquired.

“There,” Agent Grand pointed ahead as Henry looked out of the window.

Before him was the Gonâve Island, and near the shores of La Cayene, Henry saw the Kitty Hawk-class super carrier CVA/CV-66 aka USS America. He’s been aboard that ship a month ago when he was introduced to Sergeant Major Hayes by his brother, Second Lieutenant Harold McDowell.

Its presence there could only mean that the project has been granted top priority by the Pentagon. It means full funding and all that he requires to get everything up and running. It also means that his father had a hand in it. Which means his old man will never stop reminding him how he takes care of everything for him. He suddenly recalls his psychiatrist’s advise; smile on the face of stress.

Dr. Henry McDowell was still grinning as they landed on Platon L’Étang.

* * *

“What’s wrong with my subject?” Henry said the moment he was escorted inside the underground facility.

“Dr. McDowell, we have sedated and placed the subject in restraints as the Sergeant Major instructed, his vitals suddenly surged and attacked our interns. The securities subdued and bound the subject, they are now waiting for your instructions,” a female staff answered.

“James?” Henry took the clipboard from her and turned to face his military counterpart.

“The subject will regain consciousness in a few minutes then you may administer your… methods.” Sergeant Major Hayes nodded, his Cuban cigar dancing in his mouth as he speaks.

Henry followed the female staff to a one-way mirror where he could see from the other side a male Haitian, sedated and unconscious and bound on a gurney. A pair of armed Marines stood by the door inside and another pair in the outside.

Henry took out his glasses from his coat and put it on and squints through the dim light to read the subject’s dossier.

Clairvius Narcisse. He is believed to have been drugged with a dose containing a mixture of tetrodotoxin and bufotoxin that induced him in a coma that mimicked the appearance of death. He was buried in May 2, 1962. Traces of hallucinogenic datura were found in his system and investigators attributed it to his passive state after he was dug from his grave and was taken to a sugar plantation to work.

Henry rubbed his eyes as he reads on, he learned that after sixteen years of mindlessly working on the sugar plantation he wandered off after his master died and two more years after that the hallucinogen’s effect faded due to lack of regular inducement. He retained his awareness and made his way home.

Henry looked up to the unconscious subject and nodded to himself. Perfect.

Sergeant Major Hayes, Agent Grand and Dr. McDowell along with his assistants are clustering on a different room after the subject regained consciousness and was moved there for the interview.

Henry had called for a translator as he made his subject recount his experience as detailed as possible. During this interview, his assistants attached wires on the subject and monitor his vitals and scan his brain activity.

The thorough interview lasted three hours and the Haitian cooperated and answered calmly much to the disbelief of Sergeant Major Hayes, he was rather expecting the so called zombie to fall into another violent episode and die afterwards.

“’tis a mistake, good doctor,” Clairvius Narcisse suddenly said in heavily accented English.

Henry was already by the door and halted. He, Sergeant Major Hayes and Agent Grand turns around slowly and regarded the Haitian quizzically.

“What mistake?” Henry frowned and looked at the translator and the medical aides by the monitoring equipments.

Clairvius slid off his hands from the shackles as if it was too loose to hold him down then his hands move to unstrap the restraints on his chest, waist, knees and legs.

Hayes and Grand slowly move their hands by the gun on their respective holsters while the two Marines inside the room raised their Caliber 5.56 mm rifles and aimed at the Haitian’s head.

Clairvius smiled, “’tis a mistake, good doctor,” and with that the Haitian snarled and lunge for Dr. McDowell, the pair of Marine Privates let out a single burst fire hitting Clairvius’ chest but he kept coming and were over the neuroscientist struggling to get a bite at him.

Hayes’ M1991 pistol and Grand’s AMT Hardballer simultaneously spat bullets on the head of Clairvius Narcisse.

Dr. McDowell shoves the dead body of the Haitian while Hayes and Grand moves in to help him up. Henry shrugs off their hands and shouted at the two.

“What have you done? I need his brain intact!” Henry cried out in frustration then turn to look at the corpse of his subject.

“And we need you intact, Dr. McDowell.” Sergeant Major Hayes snapped at him.

“Dr. McDowell, did you get the necessary data you needed from him?” Grand asked him as they were ushered out of the room so the cleaning unit can work inside and haul the subject out.

“I needed his brain, compare reactions, study inhibitions and…” Henry groaned.

“Did you get the needed data?” Grand repeated.

“I needed his brain…” Henry trailed off.

“DOCTOR!” Grand grabbed Dr. McDowell by the shoulders and shook him.

“Yes. Yes, I got the basics… but I needed a…” Henry said weakly.

“Then we shall acquire more subjects for you.” Grand finally nodded in satisfaction.

The agent’s answer seemed to have snapped the doctor out from his initial shock, “More subjects? Clairvius is the only case…” Henry frowned.

“The only case made public. Did you actually believe that his zombie case is an isolated event?” Grand grinned like a schoolboy.

“What do you mean Agent Grand?” Hayes frowned, locking gaze with the CIA Agent.

“Boy you two are in for a treat.” CIA Agent Dennis Grand was smiling like a freckled faced school boy in a Texan county fair.