Cannibal Sacrament

 Cannibal Sacrament

By Roger C. Jones

Cannibal Sacrament, a.k.a. Feast of the Cannibal God, a.k.a. El Leopardo Blanco (1979)
Starring Alina Sobieski, better known for her roles in La Dame Coquette (1969) and Screams from the Attic (1974)

Dan Briggs put his boots up on a small, wood and canvass folding chair and took a long drag of his cigarette. He wiped sweat from his forehead as he exhaled.
"Fuck, when is it ever NOT hot here? I'll be glad to get out of this stinking hellhole."

Briggs was dressed in khaki military pants and a blue cotton shirt, stained significantly darker by the armpits. Most of his shirt was unbuttoned, and sweat soaked his chest. He was in his thirties, but "the rough end of thirty," as he often put it. He resented the places his work took him, but went to them all the same. The pay was usually too good to pass up.

"Yes, yes. You always say this," the other man in the tent said with great annoyance. "And yet you keep signing up for these assignments."
"Well, Doc, I can't help it if my services are so highly valued." Briggs grinned. "Besides, who would keep you eggheads safe out here in the armpit of the world?"
"Right," the other man sniffed.

Doctor Nathaniel Lewis was a thin-framed, older man in his early sixties. He wore simple clothing, a short sleeve, button-down shirt and denim trousers, accompanied by a dingy lab coat he miraculously seemed to keep clean. He was working with some test tubes filled with various extracts, scrutinizing them through eyeglasses that hung low on his nose. His bald pate glistened with perspiration, and what hair he did have stood out in curly gray masses from the sides.

"Hopefully, we will soon be free of this place," Dr. Lewis said to Briggs, not looking away from his work. "I am close to finding which strain of this genus produces the most potent extract so we may begin production."
"So it's going to be what, the next heroin?"
Lewis huffed. "Hardly anything so.. regulated. No. If anything, this compound most resembles ketamine in its purest form. It's a strong paralytic."
"Oh, like what the college kids are getting into these days. The stuff in cat tranquilizer?"
"Exactly. I'm impressed, Mr. Briggs. It seems you have some knowledge beyond bullying locals with the butt of a rifle.
Briggs shrugged. "I can read, you know. But the drug scene is pretty much common knowledge. I heard they're even starting to cook cough medicine these days.."
Lewis smiled in amusement. "Yes. It wouldn't surprise me. You mentioned heroin, and the opioid epidemic never seems to go away. I predict that the market for powerful prescription painkillers will guarantee that it doesn't."
Briggs pointed at him. "And that's where you come in."
"Precisely. Or rather, the pharmaceutical corporations that fund my work, or bid on the results of it. They spend countless millions trying to perfect new drugs in laboratories. Places like these," Lewis waved a hand around ".. are my laboratories. I simply find the ancient holistic cures and pluck them out of the stone age. Aspirin, penicillin, benzocain, cannabis sativa, all of these were used by ancient cultures. Knowledge given to them by gods, they maintained. Really, it's just trial and error. Some savage chews on a leaf, his headache goes away. He goes on to become the witch doctor of his village. Science stripped away superstition, refining these substances into the modern medicines we use today.
"Interesting.." Briggs muttered, although he was now staring at his Zippo, decorated with a bare-breasted woman in a grass skirt.
"Sooo.. where's that niece of yours been hiding all day?" Briggs asked, changing the subject.
"Oh, Tracy's been at that dig site with the paleontologist," Lewis informed him. Briggs made a brief grunt in annoyance. "She has this idea that she might find some residue of the flower within ancient funerary urns. She thought she might identify an earlier specimen and compare its genome."
"Fascinating," Briggs lied. "Don't you worry about her going around unaccompanied, with the hoobie-joobies getting feisty and the workers in that camp eyeing her?"

Hoobie-joobies. It figured that Briggs would have concocted some slur for the indigenous tribe. He always did. What had he called the Korowai of Papua? Lewis almost wondered how this offshoot of the Zulu tribe in KwaZulu-Natal had earned such a colorful appelation. The name of the tribe here, the Okanakele, translated loosely as "corrupt ones," although it wasn't a name they called themselves. It was strange that they should bear such a name, even among other tribes, since ritual cannibalism was still practiced to this day in various regions. What barbarous acts could they have engaged in that might have alarmed other cannibals?

Lewis, lost in his musings, finally answered Briggs. "I'm sure she's safe under the watchful eye of Professor Darrington. He has armed men with him as well." Briggs grinned and seemed to scoff at the mention of the other camp's security. "But the hour is getting late," Lewis observed. "I would like to see her back before nightfall. We've come to certain.. agreements with the natives. But it would be unwise to linger in their sacred places at night. There have been animal attacks as well."
"Yes," Briggs agreed. "That poor bastard got picked clean. Must've been a real feeding frenzy. Leopards or lions, most likely."
"Perhaps," Lewis conceded. He knew there were other possibilities as well, but didn't offer those theories.

The tribal chant had already begun.
"Mkhonyovu.. Mkhonyovu.."
Briggs could hear it faintly in the distance. Was it the name of their tribal shaman leader, or their god, or their witchdoctor play-acting as their god? It hardly mattered to Briggs. If they had any ideas about being troublesome, he'd change their minds. He'd brought enough ammo to take out an entire village if he had to.
Dr. Lewis saw his companion's unease. He too worried that they might tarry too long and upset these people. He also believed they were quite unaware that he had been secretly harvesting their sacred plant. Should they discover this.. He did not fear their primitive rituals, just the threat of violence should he be found out.

"Mkhonyovu," Lewis echoed. "Their god of death. The Night That Eats the World," he explained to Briggs. "Every primitive culture worshipped such figures. Mictlantecuhtli, the Aztec god of the dead, sometimes called Tzontemoc, He Who Lowers His Head. The Egyptian Khonsu, hawk-faced devourer. The ancient Greeks had Hades, lord of Tartarus, whom the Romans called Pluton. Here, such beliefs still exist. We might laugh at these savages and their peculiar ways, but we should regard them with caution."
"Right," Briggs agreed. He didn't need to be told this. He treated everyone outside his immediate circle as a potential threat. The natives of any locale were always suspect to him. He'd deprived a number of men of their lives by erring on the side of caution.

"I'll check the camp to see if maybe she returned already without checking in," Briggs said as he checked his pistol and magazines. "If she hasn't, I'll check the other camp and worksites."
Lewis nodded and returned to his work.

Briggs hadn't gotten too far when he heard something behind him. Footsteps, perhaps? When he wheeled around to see, there was no one there. He had expected to see a laborer, but the camp had been very still. No one else seemed to be about. None of the campfires had been lit yet. Usually, he could expect to see some of the men about. The chanting could still be heard, perhaps louder or simply easier to be heard after exiting the tent. Briggs told himself he was just getting jittery. Don't let them get inside your head, he thought, scolding himself.

Another sound. Water splashing? It sounded like it was coming from Tracy's tent. Briggs approached cautiously, then moved a tent flap to open it slightly and peer in.
There was Tracy. She must have wanted to wash up right away. She stood facing him, but was unaware of his presence.
Tracy Stratton was of medium height, with medium-length golden hair and a deep tan that she had acquired in her time here. Her striking gray eyes contrasted with this. She was not overly voluptuous, but seeing her now wiping a wet cloth against her exposed breasts confirmed Briggs' suspicion that everything about her was exquisite by his standards. Even a less attractive woman would be a highly prized commodity here, but she would turn heads anywhere.
Tracy continued washing up, unaware of the spectator. Briggs opened the flap further, inserting himself into the tent.
Tracy looked up then, instantly startled, and reached for her blouse to cover herself.
"What are you doing?! Get out!!" she yelled at the intruder.
"Whoa, relax!" Briggs said, in a poor attempt to put her at ease. He had his hands raised. "Your uncle sent me looking for you. He was concerned. So was I.."
"Okay, well, you found me. You can report that I'm safe. I'll see my uncle shortly."
"Now, now. No need to rush," Briggs said with a smile. He stepped closer. "We don't really.. talk.."
"We can talk at dinner. I'll tell you all about genetic resistance to alkaloid potency. Go on.." and she made  dismissing gesture with one hand as the other hand clutched her clothing to cover herself.
"We can talk now."
Briggs made a move to touch her shoulder and Tracy squirmed away. His next move was more forceful, and he grabbed both of her shoulders, attempting to push her toward the small cot in the tent.
"Let GO of ME!" Tracy screamed.
"You're too good for the hired help, is that it?"
Tracy continued to struggle. She kicked Briggs in the knee. He winced, but it didn't deter him. Using the full weight of his larger, muscular frame, he forced her down onto the cot, stripping the blouse from her.
Briggs' mind was consumed by one thing right now. He had briefly  considered what consequences his actions might bring if discovered, but he had already resolved that they wouldn't be. Any laborers who heard anything would mind their own business. They already feared him. Tracy, poor, poor Tracy, would simply disappear if his attention wasn't to her liking. He could blame the predators, or even the natives. Her uncle hadn't even wanted her tagging along. "I couldn't guarantee her safety," he had said. And of course, the man had been right.

Briggs unbuckled his gun belt and pants belt and then began to slide his trousers down while simultaneously kneading and licking Tracy's breasts. As she sobbed, he suspected she might scream again, and slapped her hard across the face. He began to busy himself by pulling his manhood free, and didn't register the quiet footfall of someone entering the tent barefoot.

Tracy's vision swam and her jaw hurt. The large body of Briggs and his leering visage obscured most of her view of the tent. She felt Briggs tug at her pants, then her underwear, beginning to dig his fingers in between her legs. Something appeared behind Briggs, blurry and almost chalk-white. Part of her mind seemed to recognize this form..

Rotten teeth sharpened to points dug into Briggs' neck, tearing a chunk of it free. The man's jugular had been severed, spraying warm jets of blood everywhere and bathing Tracy in it. She screamed once more. Briggs collapsed to floor of the tent, desperately clutching at the wound. Standing over him was one of the natives, naked but covered in both the white ritual paint reserved for the dead and the blood of Dan Briggs. Cloudy, unblinking eyes studied Tracy for a moment before descending on Briggs and sinking its teeth into the other side of his neck. Tracy could do nothing but stare in horror as the creature chewed away, detaching itself only briefly as it ripped veins and flesh away. The body of Briggs twitched uncontrollably as the creature feasted upon it.

The loud crack and flash of a gunshot erupted into the room. One side of the native's head exploded, showering Tracy with brain matter and gore. Standing in the entranceway of the tent was a tall, lanky man in his early thirties, wearing glasses and holding a smoking revolver. He surveyed the scene staring in disbelief for a few seconds, then stowed the revolver in a pancake holster on his belt and ran to the now hysterical woman on the cot.

"Tracy! Are you okay? I came to ask if you would dine with me, then heard a scream.."
Tracy didn't seem to recognize him at first, as her mind grappled with all that had just happened.
"Scott?"
"Yes," he confirmed. Scott Darrington grabbed her blouse from the floor and offered it to her. She hugged him tightly, gasping and still crying.
"What happened?" Scott asked, unsure if Tracy would be able to tell him. Moments later, Dr. Lewis burst into the tent.
"What the devil is going on?"
Then, he too noticed the grisly scene. Scott answered with what little he knew.
"I ran in here when I heard her scream. That.. THING was eating your man, Briggs. I wasn't in time to save him."
Tracy laughed a bit. "Good! Good!" she exclaimed, sudden madness tinging her words. The men were shocked by her sudden outburst, but neither of them pressed her for more details. They both suspected what else had transpired. The chanting of natives continued in the distance, unabated.

Dr. Lewis and Professor Darrington escorted Tracy to Lewis' tent. Scott tried to get her to lie down and rest after she had cleaned up a bit, but she simply sat on the cot for a long time with a blanket wrapped around herself despite the heat, gently rocking. She had said nothing more after her last outburst except to ask that Scott stay nearby and not leave her. He remained within view of her as he spoke to Lewis outside the tent.
"Where are my blasted workers? Did they run off when this happened?" Lewis wondered.
"What did happen? Any ideas?"
"Hm? Oh. Well, I imagine we've outworn our welcome and the natives decided to make that abundantly clear."
Scott shook his head. "No, there's something else," he offered. "When I shot that man, it's like there was no life in his eyes, like he was dead."
"Albo-coloratus pardus," Lewis said matter-of-factly, as if that explained everything.
"I study bones and burial sites, Doc. My Latin's a little rusty.
"The white leopard. It's a rare flower I've been studying. The Okanakele use it in their ceremonies. They believe it prepares the dead to return as sort of.. proxy mouths for their god, who then devour living sacrifices. It's a powerful paralytic. In its undiluted form, it slows down heart rate to be almost imperceptible. A person would appear to be dead. I imagine the person recovers, but is now under the shared delusion that they've died and been resurrected."
"Sounds like some Voudoun beliefs. A lot of it carried over from Africa."
"Yes. Undoubtedly. Tracy discovered that these people have even built up some resistance to the drug over generations. If either of us ingested the amount they do, it would likely cause instant heart failure. I suspect that it erodes brain function as well. Perhaps the cannibalism resulted from mental decline and their religious beliefs formed around it."
Scott pondered this. "I suppose it really is academic at this point. If there is some kind of uprising, it might be smart for you go to my camp, where we'll have safety in numbers."
"Yes," Lewis agreed. "Hopefully your workers haven't run off as well. But I think it would be for the best, seeing as Tracy seems very traumatized by her ordeal. My work here is finished anyway. I should try get her back home or at least to something resembling civilization."
Scott thought of something when the other man said 'civilization.' "You know my work here had been to study the ancient remains of these people. But you know what I've been discovering? As we dig deeper, we find evidence of an older, more advanced culture. Better tools, elaborate art, burial finery uncommon to this region. We don't have the equipment to carbon date anything, but everything points to a culture that was eradicated. We found weapons belonging to tribes from other regions, and evidence that large battles were once fought here. I can't say for certain, but we might have strong proof that there was a thriving culture here, long before Mesopotamia existed."
"That's preposterous," Lewis scoffed. "Surely there would have been evidence of such a thing discovered already. It doesn't fit with anything established so far."
"Still," Scott continued, "it looks like the more primitive tribes united and decimated these people. The
Okanakele may be the descendants of that ancient people who somehow survived and retained some of the old beliefs."
"Hm. They're all primitives. I've seen many similar tribes all over the world. They certainly don't exhibit any signs of retaining any semblance of some earlier magnificence."
"Perhaps not," Scott conceded. "But what they did retain may have once been considered so abhorrent that others sought to wipe them from the face of the Earth."
"Yes, well, we better get ready to move before nightfall. We can table this discussion for when we're safely away."

The two men gathered up some supplies and weapons from Briggs' stockpile. Scott gave Tracy his revolver and made sure she knew how to use it. She seemed detached, almost numb now. Her movements were mechanical, and she only acknowledged him with a slight nod. Dr. Lewis insisted on taking some of his samples and research materials with him, packing it all securely in a metal case. He seemed nervous about leaving anything of importance behind, perhaps fearing that he might not be able to return and retrieve it.

The sun was already starting to dip below the horizon when they set out. Luckily, the other camp was not far away. This land, which was a contrasting mix of arid desert, ephemeral grassland, and forbidding jungle, saw an immediate change with the coming of night. The animal sounds began to differ. Nocturnal predators called out, ready to begin their hunting. The steady drone of the chanting they had heard earlier continued. It was incessant, but changed now ever so slightly. It became louder. And from under every tree or lengthening shadow, the sounds of men trodding about seemed to menace them, yet no one could be seen.

The trio moved through some brush that choked the perimeter of the other camp. They began to make out the tents, now lit by lamps and the occasional campfire. But unlike the camp they had left, there was activity. Dark shapes moved quickly about. Suddenly the report of a rifle could be heard, followed by some small arms fire and the sounds of nen yelling in various languages.
Tracy held Scott's arm closely and shuddered. He noticed that she now had the revolver in her other hand, holding it low at her side.
Scott spotted a familiar face, a dark-skinned man holding  rifle. He called out to him.
"Maurille!"
The other man turned and squinted, and then his eyes widened with recognition. He been holding a hunting rifle, which he lowered.
"Monsieur Darrington! You are safe!"
"Yes, for the moment," Scott assured him. "What's going on?"
"Les diables! Ze men from ze jungle! They attack us! But we shoot.. and zey sometimes do not fall, coming at us like animals!"
As if to confirm his words, there were more gunshots, and the sound of a man crying out in agony.
Large shapes moved out of the darkness. They would be almost indistinguishable, had they not been covered in white body paint.
One of the creatures lumbered forward toward the group.
Maurille and Scott moved in front of the others. Maurille raised his rifle and fired, hitting one squarely in the chest. It lurched backward for a second, then shambles forward again, dark blood oozing from the wound. Maurille worked the bolt action to advance a round. Other ivory-painted natives advanced on them.
"My God, he's right, Lewis exclaimed. These things feel no pain. The drug, perhaps.."
Scott leveled an automatic rifle he had obtained from Briggs' footlocker. He was unaccustomed to this type of weapon, but it felt reassuring to handle.
"Aim for their heads," he instructed Maurille. I think it's the only way to stop them."
Scott opened fire, peppering the creatures with 5.56mm rounds from the M16 he now carried. The creatures danced crazily as their bodies erupted, but came at them still. When he felt confident in his aim, he managed to hit two in their heads, rupturing them. They fell and remained still, while the others continued in herky-jerky fashion. One creature, deprived of functioning legs, crawled toward them.
Maurille took one out, shooting one through an eye socket. The creature flew in a spiral before crashing to the ground. Scott took out two more and then finished up by decimating the crawling one.
"There's probably more of them," Scott estimated.
"The trees.." Tracy mumbled softly. "We didn't see the forest for the trees.. or the fungus on the flower.."
"What are you talking about, Tracy?" her uncle asked. "You're talking nonsense."
"Wait.. No," Scott interrupted. "She may be right. Tracy, tell your uncle what you discovered."
"Discovered? Yes.." Her voice seemed far away for a moment, as she struggled to focus. Then, clarity seemed to return to her.
"Yes, Uncle. Your recipe. You were missing an ingredient.."
"What do you mean? The extract is nearly perfected. Then we can leave the harvesting to others, or one day synthesize it.."
"No, you're not understanding what they've been using for many centuries. It's not just the flower. I wanted to analyze their blood, but it's forbidden. So instead, I analyzed the remains Scott had been exhuming. Do you know what I found? The presence of a fungus on the bones. It's the same fungus that grows on the white leopard flowers. When the men undergo this ritual, the fungus must do something to the brain. It must continue to animate them after death."
"This sounds like pure science fiction! No, there must be some other explanation."
"No, it's true. I know it sounds crazy, but.. at first, I dreamt of it. When they chanted at night, I had terrible dreams about the dead rising. These African tribesmen, engaged in their rituals, presided over by their spiritual leader. I thought I was just letting superstition frighten me, until I confirmed it. The remains of men who all died around the same age, not from any regular illness or injury.. the fungus was present on all of the remains. That's what we're seeing now."
Lewis looked unconvinced.
"Don't you see?" Tracy's words were more frantic now. "They won't let us leave now. We know their secret!"
Maurille came closer to them now.
"My friends, we must take shelter. Perhaps we can use ze radio and contact ze military. There are still favors I am owed. And failing that, the men, zey can be bribed. l'hélicoptère. We can request."
"Yes, we'd better go," Scott agreed.
"At last, some sensible talk."

As they moved from their position, thick growth parted to reveal more ivory forms. One came at Dr. Lewis, who fell backward. The creature moved to pounce on him, but was repelled by the large metal case Lewis now interposed between them. Scott hefted his M-16, trying to take aim, but couldn't get a clear shot with the case in the way.
"Doctor!" he called. "Lower the case so I can get a shot!"
"The hell I will!" Lewis yelled back and continued to struggle.
One of the creatures lunged at Tracy. She elbowed it as its jaws threatened to bite. She was still holding the revolver. As the creature flailed its arms toward her, she put the barrel under the creature's chin and pulled the trigger. A black geyser shot from the top of its head, and it toppled.
Another creature grabbed for Scott. He used the rifle to block its hands, then slammed it in the face with the stock. As it went down, Scott trained the weapon on the creature and opened fire. Its head, neck and shoulders blossomed with oily black micro-explosions.
Maurille had not fared as well. Two of the creatures had grabbed him from either side, briefly playing a game of tug of war as he fought frantically. His rifle went off, firing into the air, even as it was pulled away from him. He was then forced onto the ground. One creature bit into his neck, causing him to gargle out a muted cry of pain. The other dead thing bit into his stomach and ripped it open with dirty fingers. It then proceeded to pull out his innards and a length of intestines. Its face was stained bright crimson as it fed on him.

Dr. Lewis could not restrain the creature any longer. He felt his arms numbing with exertion. He thought he could roll away and gain some distance, perhaps using the case as a weapon. He had not taken a gun from the stash.
Lewis attempted his maneuver. As he did so, the creature grabbed him by one ankle. Lewis clawed at the ground with his free hand, desperate to escape. He still clutched the handle of the case in the other hand.
The creature sank its grimy fingernails into his thigh and Lewis cried out. It let go of his anke, then proceeded to rake its claws into his back.
Lewis forced himself slightly onto his back and slammed the creature in the head with the case. The jungle zombie was deterred only for a second. It then descended upon him fully. The case clattered to the ground. There was a frenzy of ripping and tearing. Tracy saw her uncle's innards plucked from his body.
Tracy screamed. "UNCLE LEWIS!!"
Scott lit up the jungle with the M-16. He was too late to save Lewis, but his killer disappeared in a red mist. Then Scott turned to the two on Maurille. They were too busy feasting to oppose him as he painted them and Naurille's coruse with a hail of bullets. There was some twitching of limbs afterward, then the creature's remained still.
"C'mon, Tracy! We have to get of here!"
"Uncle Lewis.."
"It's too late to help him, Tracy. We need to keep moving.

Grudgingly, Tracy turned and proceeded to keep pace with Scott at a light sprint.
As they approached one tent, a brightly-illuminated body sprang into view. It was fully engulfed in flames. It was hard to tell if had been one of the workers or one of the natives. As it passed, it ignited the large tent. This happened gi be where a quantity of dynamite had been stored.
"Tracy, get down!"
Scott pulled her down and partially covered her with his own body. Seconds later, there was a thunderous boom as the tent exploded. Debris rained down on them. After a bit, Scott and Tacy rose, brushing themselves off.
"Goddamit!!" Scott shouted. "The radio was in there!"

There were guttural moans from all around. Over crackling flames amd some distant yelling, chanting could still be heard. Those who had not yet sacrificed themselves to Mkhonyovu continued to intone the name of their dark master.
"Listen to me, Tracy. We can find a jeep. We can make it to a larger village, or one of the cities. The vehicles are over there.." he pointed. "If for some reason we get separated.."
"No, Scott.."
"If for some reason we get separated. Don't look back. Head for a jeep and take it out of here. And don't stop for anything. Don't stop until you see lights and can get somewhere safe. Do you understand?"
"Scott.."
"Do you UNDERSTAND?" he repeated, firmer this time.
"Yes!"

The pair ran for the jeeps. Tracy could make out their outlines. It seemed such a short distance away, but it seemed they couldn't run fast enough. It was as of the distance grew greater with every step.

"Mkhonyovu.. Mkhonyovu.."

Almost there..

"Mkhonyovu.. Mkhonyovu.."

Finally they reached a jeep. It was a battered old military model, caked with filth and road dust. When the two were safely inside with Scott at the wheel, he set his rifle aside and tried the ignition.
Click. Nothing. He tried again. Click. Click.
"FUCK! It's not turning over."

The sound of low moaning reached them. The chanting intensified.

"Mkhonyovu.. Mkhonyovu.. Mkhonyovu.."

"We have to try another one," Scott informed Tracy. She looked behind him to see a number of forms silhouetted against lamplight and burning tents.
"Scott.."

"Mkhonyovu.. Mkhonyovu.. "Mkhonyovu.."

Scott and Tracy exited the jeep. Several feet away, a similar vehicle was parked. They jumped into it. There was another brief click.. and then the engine rumbled to life.
"Yes!!" Scott worked the clutch to get the vehicle rolling. And then one of them was on him. It had climbed onto the jeep. Scott attempted to fend it off and keep control of the vehicle. It snapped at him and threatened to fall off the jeep, which would surely pull Scott with it.
Tracy tried to hang on and pulled the revolver free. She tried to steady it and aim at the creature.
The jeep suddenly hit a large rock and hopped onto two wheels. The gun flew from Tracy's hand onto the ground. Scott continued to push the creature away, but it bit onto his arm, taking ragged flesh away with. Blood flew into Tracy's face and stained one of her uncle's shirts she had changed into earlier.

"Mkhonyovu.. Mkhonyovu.. Mkhonyovu.. Mkhonyovu.."

The jeep now swayed violently. Scott slumped over the wheel. The creature was now fully in the jeep and poised to attack Scott further. She felt he jeep speed up, and low-hanging growth slapped at them. Tracy pulled at the M-16, but it was pinned under Scott. The creature lunged at her then, but she batted one of its hands away. She pulled at the shoulder strap of the weapon..

"Mkhonyovu.. Mkhonyovu.. Mkhonyovu.. Mkhonyovu.."

Finally, Tracy was able to pull the weapon free. She aimed it, and started to pull the trigger..

"Mkhonyovu.. Mkhonyovu.. Mkhonyovu.. Mkhonyovu.."

The jeep broke through some brush and veered off the road. The vehicle flipped and began to tumble, spilling her from it. The world became a dark, spinning vortex as her body spun like a ragdoll. Then she landed hard, her head smacking against a stone outcropping and she saw no more. She didn't see the jeep continue it's descent. She didn't see the bright burst of flame as the vehicle exploded, nor did she hear it. Darkness consumed her.

*****

Tracy awoke in a small bed as a strange woman dabbed at her forehead with a cold, wet rag. She was in some kind of large space with peeling white paint on the walls. Something about the color unnerved her as she struggled to comprehend what had happened and memories flooded her mind.
The woman tending to her was an older white woman who wore a nun's wimple on her head but had the traditional clothing of a nurse or hospital attendant.
"Wh.. Where?" Tracy's mouth was sore on one side and it was difficult to speak. She tried to sit up, but instantly became dizzy. She attempted to move hair away from her face and found that some bandages had been applied her head.
"St. Mary's in Pinetown," the woman answered quietly, with a trace of a French accent.
"I'm still.. in Africa?"
The woman smiled and nodded.
"Who.. Did anyone else survive?"
The woman bowed her head slightly and paused, as if in silent prayer.
"I'm sorry. I do not know. I was told only that you were lucky to be found alive."
Tracy could not hold back her tears. The nun put a hand on hers gently, to comfort her.
The woman turned her head, as if straining to hear something.
"Do you hear it?" She asked.
"I don't.."
"These devils and their pagan ways. They never abandon them. Listen.."
Tracy could hear voices faintly from an open window. They grew steadily louder.

"Mkhonyovu.. Mkhonyovu.."

Tracy's eyes snapped open. She was in a dimly lit room, a cave perhaps. White shapes, indistinct, hovered nearby. She was on some sort of stone slab and felt as though she couldn't move.
Her naked form was completely covered in white paint.
A negro man painted similarly, wearing shamanistic decoration approached her. He wore a headdress of dark feathers, with a bleached human skull perched atop it, jaws open.
Hands grasped at her mouth to pull it open as the leaf of a white flower, dappled with fungus growth, was forced inside. She tried to scream, but no one would hear her. The chanting was very loud now.

"Mkhonyovu.. Mkhonyovu.. Mkhonyovu.. Mkhonyovu.."