âYour going to fail, you know,â my guide tells me as he turns to leave. âYou are going to end up dead, like all the others.â
We had just cleared the thick wall of jungle; slashing vines, bushes, and branches with our machetes. It had taken two full days to clear, stopping often from exhaustion. Once our water ran out, Javier and I began slashing with an extra boost of desperation, and that saved us. But we were far from out of danger.
We could see the faint foot path up ahead, and thatâs when a new wall hits us. Not made of nature this time; not natural at all.
Itâs fear. So palpable, Iâm currently second-guessing my previous assertion that itâs not physical. When I step forward, my mouth goes dry and I immediately have a headache. My skin boils over with goosebumps and my hands shake. I step back and it all fades away.
âThis is a mistake. Come back with me.You go that way, you will die,â Javier says.
âEveryoneâs already dying,â I say, starring forward at the path. âThatâs why Iâm here.â
Javier begins walking back the way we came. Without water, this far from civilization, heâll never make it. And the thing is, I know he knows that. But heâd rather die in the jungle alone than face whatâs ahead.
I hear him stop walking. I feel him looking at me, probably waiting to see me move forward, which I havenât done.
âThat way,â he says, âthat is where evil lives.â
No. I know who lives there. Iâm going to find him. Iâm going to stop him. Iâm going to help him. Iâm going to die trying.
Walking into the invisible force field of fear, all the pain immediately returns. I grip my machete with two hands. My steps are slow. There is a path, but the brush is still quite thick. I canât see passed five feet any direction. The trees overhead begin to meld together, blocking the sun, swaying in the darkness.
I begin to notice that I havenât heard any animal noises for a while. No birdsong, no bug sounds; the background orchestra of the jungle has gone quiet here.
*cRuNCH!*
I look down to see what I stepped on to create such an odd sound. Itâs a bird. Iâve crushed a bird. I look ahead and around and now I notice them. The dead ones: birds, insects, monkeys, all lifeless.
Itâs not surprising. Animals of all kinds have been dropping dead without cause for months. It was a world-wide phenomenon that no one could decipher. Of course there was concern and investigations were undertaken, but looking back, those feel like the salad days compared to what was next.
Because what came next was the people.
It didnât matter what country, ethnicity, health state, or religion. Everyone started dying. They werenât slow deaths like a virus or a cancer. It was more like the stories we heard as kids about spontaneous combustion. People were just dying where the stood (or cooked, swam, slept, whatever they were in the middle of).
And as the world searched fruitlessly for an answer, I began to realize I had it. I knew what was doing this. I knew who was doing it.
And as I cleared the final layers of jungle brush, I saw him.
He was sitting in the middle of a tiny village. Small earth and straw huts circled around him at a distance. He sat cross-legged with his back to me, in the middle of the road.
âSam,â I say, jumping right into it as if we havenât gone a day without talking, just ignoring the last twenty years of separation, âYouâve got to stop.â
âI knew youâd come,â Sam says, not turning around. âCharlie, my big brother, to the rescue!â
âSam, please,â I say, exhausted. I spent all I had to get to him, and now Iâm afraid I have nothing left to give.
âExcept, youâve never been there for me when I really needed it,â Sam says. âNot when they sent me away with the crazies, strapping me to a bed every night, not when Sherry left me, not when I was expelled from school, not when Dad and Mom split up, and not when..not whenâŚâ.
I know what he canât say. And I canât say it either. Things done to innocent kids, preyed on by adults, family members evenâŚitâs unspeakable.
I see Samâs shoulders shake and recognize that heâs crying. My brother, sitting in the dirt, in a remote village at the end of the world, overcome by the unfair amount of pain in his life.
âSam, Iâm sorry I havenât been there for you,â I say, slowly moving closer to him. âIâm sorry so many people let you down. Iâm so sorry.â
âThey all deserve it. Everyone of them,â Sam says.
âTo die? Sam, come on. You canât believe that. You canât do that!â I say, taking another step.
âOh, I can, you know I can. You are the only one on the planet who knows I have the power to kill by a thought and a word. You remember that day when we were kids with the frog? We never talked about it.â
We had cornered a small frog who had jumped his way into our backyard. Utterly fascinated, we watched it and prodded it for a long time. Maybe we were feeling that small dose of power for the first time. This tiny life was in our hands and we had the power to take it. We were just boys, experimenting with cruelty.
Sam was getting rougher with the frightened frog. I told him not to hurt it. Sam began pretending that he could kill it with his mind. He gazed at the animal, copying the look weâve seen in movies and comics of people with mind powers. Then he said âDie!â and the little frog dies so suddenly that neither of us missed the connection.
In total shock, we stared at the dead frog for several minutes. It stayed dead. And when Sam looked at me, I guess he must have seen the fear in my face. He ran off and we never talked about it. Never brought it up.
We went on with our lives. Drifted apart. I hadnât thought about that moment in so long, I practically forgot it. After the dying had been happening for a couple months, I found myself online watching footage of people keeling over and their faces looked just like that frog. Somehow I knew it was Sam. It wasnât logical, it was some dreadful feeling that crept up the back of my neck.
âI remember,â I say.
âCome any closer and your dead too,â Sam says to me.
I stop.
âI was in denial about it for a long time. This ability of mine; just thought it was a coincidence when Jimmy Freedmenâs heart stopped while he was pounding on me on the playground. I didnât think it was me. But after a while, it became clear.â
Sam then finally stands up and faces me. His face⌠itâs not how I remembered it. Itâs worn. Itâs old, older than it should be. Itâs currently dirty, the tears drawing long streaks down to his neck.
âI tried to stop. Thatâs why I came here. I thought Iâd I run away from society, no one could hurt me anymore. Then I could stop wishing people dead.â
âBut you brought your pain with you,â I say.
âTurns out, out here, there was nothing else to look at. There was nothing to numb it. It all came out,â Sam says.
âThe people of this villageâŚâ I say glancing around.
âDead,â Sam says. âI just finishing burying them. But at least now itâs finally over. No one left to hurt.â
âOh, Sam,â I say, âYou donât know?â
âWhat?â Sam asks.
âThe worldâŚitâsâŚtheir dying, Sam. People everywhere, all the time.You cursed the world,â I say, tears now leaking from my eyes.
Sam slowly drops his head and stares at the dirt.
âHow many?â He says.
âItâs easier for them to count how many are left. They think thereâs only 2 million people left, world wide,â I inform him.
Sam stares at the dirt. He slowly nods.
âItâs going slower than usual, maybe because of the volume,â he says.
âMaybe,â I say. âMaybe itâs because of me.â
âYou?â Sam says, looking up at me.
I swallow and step towards my broken brother.
âThat day, with the frog,â I say, my heart pounding, âAfter you ran off, I stayed.â
Sam looks me in the eye for the first time as I continue.
âI spoke to the frog, too. I said the opposite word. I said, âLive!â And he did! He came back to life and hopped off.â
I watch Samâs face as a gust blows up the dirt around us. He shakes his head, but then he stops denying it. He knows Iâm not lying. This connection we have; he knows me and I know him.
âI went back to look for the frog and when I didnât find it, I thought maybe I had imagined it all,â Sam says. âCharlie, how could you? How could you not tell me and leave me to this alone?â
âIâm so sorry, Sam. I was scared too,â I say, closing my eyes, ashamed to look at his. âI wanted to forget as well.â
Silence, like the silence of the last twenty years, returns between us. We stand there, the wind howling now, the sky morphing to something stormy and crimson.
Sam slowly sits back down, cross-legged. He stares hard at the dirt, moving it around with his fingers. He finally looks up at me and what I see drains all hope from me. Any shred of warmth is gone. Any brotherly connection has been severed in his heart. Heâs gone cold and hard and I know Iâll never get through to him.
âSo your going to try and stop me?â He says.
âWe donât have to be enemies!â I plead. âI believe we can fix this together! We can fix each other together!â
âIâve tried before. I only bring death,â Sam says.
âI donât believe that! Thereâs a reason this happened to us and itâs not so that you can destroy the world! Letâs figure this out together! Please, Sam!â I say, hearing thunder crack across the sky.
âNo,â He says. âItâs way to late for that. Everyone will die, and Iâll finally find peace.â
I see now that Samâs lost his mind, lost in a jungle thick with pain and rage.
âI canât let that happen, Sam,â I say.
âWell, I donât think I can kill you,â Sam says, âI donât think my power will work against you, and also I really donât want to. But your not going to stop me.â
âWeâll see,â I say.
Sam gives me a crazed smile. My heart breaks. This is not what I wanted. But like it or not, this is now my mission.
And so the battle begins.
*James 3:8-10*
