December Dead

By Wayne Roux

From an amazing discovery in the jungle of the Amazon, to the serene mountain village of Hogsback in South Africa, something deadly has been unleashed, and the responsibility of ensuring humanity survives this unbelievable event has been placed in the unprepared hands of Amanda Hoyer and her twelve year old son, Jimmy. Lost in the unforgiving mountains of the Amatola, and up against a relentless military force led by the cold-hearted General Peterson, Amanda and Jimmy will have to dig deeper than ever before in order to find the courage to overcome the mounting odds! With Jimmy possibly the only thing standing between the world as we know it and total annihilation, Amanda has no choice but to ensure she protects him - at whatever cost! This December may be the last...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wayne Roux
• Release date: Nov 30, 2013
• ISBN: 9781310748172

Wayne Roux

I've always had a crazy imagination... I guess that's something you either bury or embrace. In my case I decided to embrace it with open arms, and worst of all - to share it with others! If you're expecting to download one of my books and enjoy a pleasant love story, or a tale of horses and handsome cowboys, I'm afraid you're in the wrong place. My inspirations are King and Koontz, but I probably go one step further than they do... pushing the boundaries of imagination until you find yourself completely, and believably immersed in my tales. If that sounds more like something you'd like to read, even if it's out of your comfort zone, then please grab a copy of one of my books! I'm sure you will not be disappointed!So yes, I'm new. And yes, you prefer authors who are famous... but there's no harm in checking me out by purchasing one of my books! You could one day say you were there before I made it. :) Be a star and support a humble and appreciative Indie author, and I may just take you on the most fantastic journey of your life.Love to you all! Wayne.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The heat was almost unbearable. It wrapped itself like a warm wet blanket around the small group as they made their way through the heavy undergrowth, swatting away the pesky mosquitoes’ that were insistent on sucking them dry at every opportunity, and avoiding the backlash of released branches and leaves from the tour guides that led the way. The canopy of the trees above them blocked out most of the sunlight, so the heat that enveloped them seemed to be coming from the ground upwards, a humidity that was almost tangible, laced with the rotting smell of decomposing plants that crunched under their feet as they walked. The main tour guide, a large dark-skinned man wearing a dirty white vest and knee-length khaki shorts, was doing his best to carve a pathway through the jungle ahead of him with a very large machete, skillfully slicing away the intrusive liana’s, a type of climbing vine, and the oversized heliciana leaves which wrapped around the bright orange flowers of the plant.

The rainforests of the Amazon seemed to be a living, breathing entity on its own, as the sounds of hundreds of insect species merged with the bonking sound of the occasional monkey frog, topped off with the strange and unique roar of the red howler monkeys in the distance. It was early December, a time of the year when this south eastern section of Peru experienced heavy downpours, interlaced with the incredible humidity that seemed amplified by the canopied roof of the forest.

How far do we still have to go? a panting, overweight British man in the group gasped from near the rear of the now single-file line of tourists.

The local white-vested tour guide, whose name was Roger surprisingly, paused in his hacking of a pathway and pointed ahead, Only five more minutes.

Thank God! the tourist replied. Who would have thought it would be such a trek just to see the Peruvian long-whiskered owlet!

Oh come on, Ian! the middle-aged English woman directly behind him exclaimed. It’s the first time it’s been spotted in twenty-six years! Can you imagine adding a picture of it to our photo album?

Yes dear. Ian sighed resignedly, deciding not to pursue his complaint any further, based on thirty-two years of marital experience.

It was hard to tell from their position on the jungle floor, but overhead above the canopy of trees, the sun was glaring down on the expansive Amazon rainforest, five and a half million square kilometres of mostly uninhabited land, split into two by the glorious Amazon River which was fed by eleven-hundred tributaries. It was a beautiful, sacred and incredibly dangerous place, a favorite destination for tourists such as this bird-watching tour group. They were based at Puerto Maldonado, a small village along the Tambopata River, at a lodge called the Wasai. The river itself was considered a Mecca for birdwatchers, and every year thousands flock to it on packaged tours in the hope of spotting that one rare bird that may never be seen again in their generation. This group was no different to any other, except that a few of them had heard about the recently spotted Peruvian long-whiskered owlet, which had made an appearance again after a twenty-six year absence, and they had paid the tour guide a fair amount to stray from the usual route for bird watching, to take them to where he believed they would be able to see and photograph one before leaving for home the next day.

Their detour had taken them several kilometers from the banks of the Tambopata River and into the dense undergrowth of the jungle, to a point where they could no longer tell which way was east or west, and they had to rely entirely on the direction and instincts of their local guide. He seemed competent enough, as he smashed his way through the jungle, sweat dripping from his body as he swung his machete around with a vengeance. His arduous efforts seemed to have paid off, though, as they suddenly broke through the dense foliage and into a small clearing, where the sunlight streamed down and had them squinting their eyes against its sudden brightness.

We are here! Roger exclaimed proudly, waving his arm towards the opposite end of the clearing.

Good job, my friend! Stefan van Jaarsveld replied, patting the guide on the back gently. He was the only South African in the group, on a working assignment as a freelance photographer for the local travel magazine, ‘SA Travel’ back in his home country.

They paused for a water break at the edge of the clearing, and Stefan stood to one side, surveying the rest of his group as he quenched his thirst from a canvas-covered canteen that had been strapped to his hip. Although the trek had been tough, the rest of the group was not accustomed to the extreme heat and humidity, whereas it was only slightly more uncomfortable for Stefan than what he was used to back home. There were five other people in the group in total, excluding the two tour guides and Stefan himself. There was Ian and his wife Brianne, from England, a middle aged couple who had taken a few weeks off from running their own restaurant to pursue their hobby of bird watching. Then there was Damon and Lena, a young newly married Swiss couple who had decided a trip to the Amazon might be a good honeymoon destination, but from the looks of them currently, sweaty, covered in dirty streaks, legs scratched and bleeding from the pesky low branches and twigs that had littered the non-existent pathway up to this point, they may be having second thoughts! Finally there was Mark, the American from New York City, a recent divorcee on a getaway trip from his collapsed life, trying to find a reason for the existence of mankind, and hoping to find it in the remotest parts of the world.

The only thing the group of six tourists had in common was that they were all carrying cameras. Stefan was the only one who had a camera which still used film, while all the rest used more modern digital cameras. His Canon EOS 5QD was a relic in today’s modern world, but Stefan wouldn’t change it for anything. It had earned him several awards for wildlife photography, despite or perhaps due to, its old school charm. As the rest of the group rested up, Stefan took the time to prepare his camera by cleaning the lens and attaching an additional zoom lens to it. After a few minutes the group followed Roger as he made his way across the clearing towards a small outcrop of rocks near the other end. When he reached them he held his finger to his lips and pointed towards the nearby jungle excitedly.

The owlet was last seen in this area, nestled in the trees. Perhaps we will be lucky enough to see it from here! he whispered, and the members of the group began pulling out their cameras and setting up to scan the nearby tree line and bushes.

Stefan gave the nearby undergrowth a quick once-over through the lens of his Canon, but found nothing interesting. To be honest, he was hardly concerned with the Peruvian long-whiskered owlet, or any other bird, for that matter, and had merely tagged along with the suggested detour in the hopes of coming across something a little more interesting instead. As the rest of the group whispered quietly to each other, commenting on imaginary sightings of the reclusive bird, Stefan headed off to the left, towards the nearest shaded area at the edge of the jungle, trying to escape the overbearing heat of the sun. He found a fallen tree trunk just a few meters into the undergrowth, and sat down to cool off. From his vantage point he could see the others as they huddled together like silent unarmed hunters, and he had to smile to himself at their eagerness, the long and grueling walk through the jungle now forgotten as they focused on the reason they were there.

Stefan felt something land on his shoulder, and then bounce off again, a small object like a leaf or twig. He looked down between his feet, but the floor was covered with hundreds of dead leaves and twigs, all part of the decomposing plant matter that kept the jungle alive, and it was impossible to see what it might have been. He was about to look away from the ground, when the slightest movement of a dead, brown leaf caught his eye, and he bent forward to get a better view.

The ant was large, as far as ants go, at least two centimeters in length, black in colour but with a large brown head. Stefan recognized it as the Carpenter ant, a common species worldwide, with thousands of variations. In South Africa they were slightly smaller than the one he was looking at now, but still very similar in color and shape. Generally speaking they were quick little creatures, always running around crazily at full speed as they burrowed or foraged in the undergrowth, which was their preferred scavenging ground. They usually resided in the hollowed out sections of dead wood, like the type found in the thousands of trees of the jungle, and it appeared this one had just fallen from its perch up above somewhere. There was something unusual about the movements of this particular ant, and Stefan couldn’t quite place his finger on it at first. It was only while he watched the Carpenter ant as it headed away from his foot, towards the darker and wetter sections of the jungle, that he realized what it was that seemed so peculiar about its behavior!

The ant was walking in a completely straight line, totally out of character for their usual haphazard pattern of movement! Stefan found this fascinating, as he had never seen a species of the Carpenter behave this way before. As the ant made its bee-line path into the dark jungle, Stefan stood up to follow it, his group of tourist friends temporarily forgotten.

Chapter 2

Despite its size, the Carpenter ant moved with surprising speed. Stefan had to quicken his pace just to keep up. Like the ant, though, he also had to navigate several obstacles, including dense leaves, fallen trees and the occasional sticky spider’s web. The ant never strayed from its bee-line course though, headed in one direction and clambering over its own tiny obstacles as it did so. Stefan wasn’t sure how long he had followed the ant for, but by the time he looked up for a moment from tracking the little creature he found himself surrounded by dense jungle, with no sign of a footpath in any direction. He looked back briefly, and could just see a glint of sunlight in the distance, which had to be the clearing where the others were. He considered turning back then, before he went too deep into the jungle, but the peculiar actions of the ant had caught his interest, and the journalistic instincts in him, from years of experience and investigative action, were taking over and telling him to keep following it instead.

He looked back at the ground where the ant had been a moment ago, but it was gone, and his heart raced briefly. The slightest movement of a twig on the ground a few feet ahead of him caught his eye though, and he spotted the shiny brown shell of the creature again as it scurried along its path on the jungle floor. He ducked his head under a protruding branch and then continued his pursuit. The foliage seemed to be reducing slightly after a few minutes, and Stefan noticed that the amount of decomposing leaves on the ground had also decreased. There was a smell in the air as well, different to the familiar plant smell of the jungle, a little bit more decayed and ancient, it seemed. As Stefan glanced ahead he could see the jungle opening up into a sort of clearing again, but this time still canopied by the treetops of the jungle, and devoid of any direct sunshine. The Carpenter was headed straight for it.

He reached the clearing a few moments after the ant had entered it, and took a moment to stand up straight, his back aching from all the bending and climbing he had done. The jungle seemed to have grown around this little circular section of itself, deciding not to invade it with fresh vines or trees. Overhead the sunlight filtered through the occasional break in the canopy roof, letting in a wayward ray of sunshine which highlighted thousands of particles of dust in the air, like a spotlight on a Broadway stage. The clearing was about twenty meters from end to end, and almost perfectly circular in shape. The jungle hugged the edges of it, the trees standing watch over the mini amphitheatre, a silent and creepy audience. In the center of the clearing was a lone tree trunk, blackened and dead, yet still majestically stretching over 80 meters into the air to touch the top of the canopy roof. It was large, would probably take three men standing around it, fingertip to fingertip, to completely enclose its circumference.

The ant had continued its one-directional journey across the dark brown foliage that littered the floor of the clearing, and Stefan could see now that it was headed directly for the dead tree in the center of the clearing. He moved after it, his feet making a crunching sound on the layer of dead dry matter under them. The sound was loud and unnatural in the open space, as if the jungle itself was protesting the presence of a human being in this, its sacred sanctuary. As Stefan moved towards the center of the strange clearing, he paused for a moment, realizing that in every direction the watching jungle looked the same, and that if he lost his line of sight back to his entry point, he would never find his way back again! This was a frightening thought, and he was already imagining that he would wander around this immense jungle for weeks, eventually dying of starvation, or even worse, become a meal for a Lima or some other carnivorous beast. He focused on a gnarled knot in the wood of the solitary tree ahead of him, memorizing it fervently, and using it as a guide to find his direction back to the tour party when the time came.

He was so focused on the spot on the tree that he almost stepped on the ant he was following, but caught himself just in time, just as his foot was descending to crush the little creature, which had now come to a stop. He stepped back hastily, and then crouched on his haunches to study the ant closer. It had reached a point about two meters from the base of the tree, and had started climbing a small green protruding plant, one of thousands in the clearing, scurrying up the stem of it, and pausing at the underside of the first leaf, approximately 20 centimeters off the ground. As Stefan watched, the ant opened its impressive pincers and bit into one of the large veins on the base of the leaf. He was expecting the ant to eat or drink from the juice of the plant and then move on again, but the ant remained completely motionless. Stefan frowned and leaned forward on all fours to get a closer view. The layer of material on the ground stuck into his palms sharply, and he winced in pain as he lifted his hand up, studying the strange objects which had pierced his skin.

They looked like dry gnarled thorns, but as he pulled one out and held it up to his eyes, he realized with shock instead that it was the remains of a Carpenter ant! Its body was dried up and almost petrified. The space where its head had been was now a flower shaped bowl, and it was the sharp edges of this that had penetrated the skin of his palm. As he dropped the dead ant to the ground, he watched as it landed on the strange bedding that covered the floor all over the clearing, and his eyes widened. The foliage was actually the bodies of Carpenter ants. Thousands, no, millions of them! Spread across the entire floor of the clearing from end to end in a layer at least ten centimeters deep. Protruding up out of them were the thousands of small green plants, similar to the one the ant he had followed had bitten into, and he could now see that on each plant there were at least seven other Carpenter ants, similarly locked in by their jaws to the undersides of the leaves.

Stefan reached for his camera. This was a sight that he was certain had never been photographed or documented before! Such a mass grave of Carpenter ants, in this strange clearing in an overgrown jungle, surrounding a majestic dead tree, would make a fantastic feature in National Geographic, and he was lucky enough to be the one who had stumbled across it! His mind was already racing with thoughts of awards and accolades! Through the lens of his Canon, the true beauty and strangeness of the ant graveyard came to life. The filtered sunlight which occasionally glanced off the shiny brown bodies on the floor seemed to make them sparkle with an unnatural life, against this the backdrop of strikingly green stemmed plants, which he placed slightly out of focus in the distance. The pictures were amazing, and with each click of the button he knew he was photographing a sight that human eyes had never seen before!

He crawled closer to one of the plant stems, where three Carpenter ants had clamped down onto the veins in the leaves, and took a close up picture of it. One of the three ants looked slightly different, and as he zoomed in on the lens he could see that it was already dead, its body still held in position by the permanently closed mandibles. The body had already petrified, had become dry and brittle, and from its head a tiny brown stalk had protruded, about a half-centimeter long and topped with a bulbous round node. This was something new that he had not noticed before, and he focused the camera on the strange protrusion from the ant’s body. The bulbous ball at the top of the stalk was brown and laced with tiny hairs, and as he studied it through the lens he could swear the entire thing was moving! His hands were trembling from excitement, and he steadied them as he prepared for the close up shot, slowing his breathing at the same time, the way a hunter might do before pulling the trigger on a kill. A split second before he pressed the button to take the photograph, the bulb at the top of the stalk protruding from the dead ant’s head exploded in his face!

Chapter 3

Through the camera lens, the exploding bulb seemed enlarged and enormous, spewing out thousands of tiny particles that glinted in the dim sunshine momentarily, before dispersing in all directions, carried by the slightest of breezes. In reality though, and as Stefan jumped backwards, it really only made a small popping sound and the fine spores it released could not be seen easily with the naked eye without some effort. Stefan had been right up near it when it had popped, and the spores had covered his face and camera lens, and he was certain he had breathed some of them in! His throat tickled slightly and he swallowed saliva to clear his mouth of the prickly dry sensation that had formed. As he listened now, he could hear the faint popping sound coming from all around him, as dead ants all over the clearing, which were in a similar state, had also started exploding. Through the rays of sunlight filtering through the tree top canopy, Stefan could now see the glinting of thousands of particles were actually the spores that had been released into the air and not just common dust as he had first assumed.

He leaned in towards the plant he had been photographing, and could see the dead ant had now fallen from its perch, the tiny explosion releasing it from the plant and leaving only a dumbbell shaped incision on the vein of the leaf. Its body had fallen between the thousands of others on the ground below the stem, and was now indiscernible amongst them. As Stefan scanned the plants around him, he could see that the ants attached to them were in different stages of the strange metamorphosis, some still moved their legs, others had already died but were still freshly attached, others had decomposed and petrified, and then the rest had started forming the strange stalk and pod from their heads which contained the spores. There was something familiar about all of this, and Stefan tried to recall where he had read about these phenomena, but it remained just out of his mind’s reach.

Regardless of what he had heard though, he still knew that this was a unique photographic opportunity, and that it would have far reaching implications in the realm of the scientific and biological worlds! From the strange action of the ant – marching to its death from a distance away – to the almost cocoon-like transformation of its body, and even the contents of the pods that was released – there were enzymes and bacteria and life that needed to be examined and studied, and Stefan was going to be there on the front lines, documenting the entire thing! The excitement of his discovery was difficult to put into any easy words, so he wasn’t going to try. His art was photography, and his pictures spoke for him!

He was so wrapped up in what he was doing, that he almost never heard the crack of a dead branch as it was stepped on somewhere in the jungle behind him. He swung around quickly, trying to see what had caused the sound, but it was virtually impossible to see beyond the wall of the jungle that surrounded the clearing on all sides. He heard a voice calling out, and for an instant almost didn’t recognize his own name.

Stefan! Where are you?

The accent was American, and he knew instantly who it was. Mark, the divorcee from New York, was in the jungle somewhere, looking for him! For a moment Stefan panicked. If anyone else saw this place it was over! His discovery would be lost to the greed of the rest of the world! He had to make sure that he kept the American, and everyone else, away from here! He rushed over to the large solitary dead tree in the center of the clearing, his feet crunching over hundreds of dead ant bodies, the sound seeming almost deafening, and felt his way around the trunk until he felt the familiar node in the bark that he had forced himself to memorize earlier. He placed his back against the trunk at that point and marched quickly in a straight line towards where the jungle met the edge of the clearing. He ducked in under the nearest protruding branches, and rushed head first into the undergrowth. He could feel his face being scratched by the leaves and jagged twigs, but he was more concerned about leaving distance between himself and his secret discovery.

He had gone almost thirty meters when he heard the voice calling again, this time much closer. He paused briefly, and then called out in reply.

I’m here.

There was a muffled response from a point ahead of him, and then the foliage moved aside and the familiar face of the American appeared, the second Peruvian tour-guide at his side.

Oh thank God! he gasped, raising his hands in the air. We thought we’d lost you!

I’m okay. Stefan replied.

Are you crazy going into the jungle by yourself like that? Mark asked, a genuine tone of concern in his voice. You should know to never leave the guides!

Stefan nodded. Yeah, I know. I needed a leak. Got a bit sidetracked – and to be honest, a bit lost!

Shit, you’re bleeding! Mark exclaimed, turning Stefan’s head to the side with his hand and examining a long scratch left by a wayward branch.

It’s nothing. Did we get a shot of the owlet?

The change in subject seemed to work, and the American beamed with delight. We did! Well, at least, the Swedes did! He cursed briefly under his breath. They managed to get a shot of one before it flew off into the jungle, no thanks to the stupid Brits for shouting so loud they probably scared the thing into a heart attack!

Stefan chuckled, and then moved past the American and back in the direction from which he had come, hoping to lead him away from his ant graveyard. The big man followed, still rambling about the fleeing Peruvian long-whiskered owlet as they headed back towards the rest of the tour group. Stefan wasn’t listening to a word he was saying though; instead he was doing his best to memorize the path they took, so that he could return here one day and finish what he had started. He took particular attention of strangely shaped tree trunks, outcroppings of boulders, even the sounds he could hear around him… running water to the left, the peculiar shout of a bird to his right.

By the time they reached the clearing with the others again, he was fairly certain he could find his way back to the dead tree from there, and he was glad to see an easy marker in the form of the tree trunk he had taken a seat on earlier, which would highlight the direction he would have to take. Confident that he would find it again, he turned his attention to the babbling group of tourists that had surrounded him now instead.

Brianne, the wife of the overweight Brit, Ian, was the first to rush up and fuss over him.

You scared us beyond belief! she cried, her oversized safari hat knocking Stefan on the head as she tried awkwardly to hug him. Stefan hugged back briefly, smiling.

I’m sorry, Mrs B. He said, and then turned to take the outstretched hand of her husband Ian, who pumped it up and down furiously.

Good to have you back, old chap!

Damon, the young Swedish man slapped him hard on the back a few times, sending puffs of dust into the air. Have you been rolling around with someone in there? he asked, laughing.

Stefan shook his head and smiled. I’m okay, everybody. Sorry for the fright I gave you all. I needed the loo, and got a bit lost, but thanks to Mark here, I’m alive and well!

The gaggling group turned their attention onto Mark now, praising him for his bravery. The American loved it, of course.

Roger, the main tour guide, had been standing to one side during all of this, and now, as Stefan was separated from the rest, he strolled over and stood next to him.

Did you see anything interesting? he asked, his accent thick, but the words pronounced perfectly. He nodded his head towards the jungle. In there?

Stefan’s heart raced for a moment, and he could swear his cheeks and neck were starting to redden. Could this man know what he had found in there?

Nah. He replied calmly, trying to hide his nervousness. Just leaves and trees.

The big man nodded solemnly. It’s not that which we can see which kills us. It’s that which we can’t.

Stefan had no idea what that meant, but it sounded foreboding enough coming from the serious man. Roger stood at his side for a few more uncomfortable moments, before he chuckled and stepped away, calling in the rest of the group to follow him back through the jungle to the river, where their boat waited. Walking away from that clearing was tougher than Stefan had imagined it would be, and he spent the entire two hour trek back to the Tambopata River replaying the images of the secret clearing and the dead ants in his mind, while he kept his camera firmly in his grip, determined to protect the valuable images it contained at all costs.

Chapter 4

The Wasai River Lodge was situated on the banks of the Tambopata River, a short walk from the jetty to the main lodge and the cabins. The tour group arrived back at the lodge at around four pm and they all split up as they headed for their individual residences. Stefan was staying in Lodge Number fourteen, which was a large open plan house on short stilts, wooden walls and floors, with a thatch roof that was open around the edges, to let in fresh air. This early in December it was already blisteringly hot and humid, and without the ventilation the accommodations would have been unbearable. As he entered the lodge he pulled open all the lace curtains which covered the doors and windows, to try and get some air circulating, before tossing his camera case on one of the two double beds with their green and red duvet covers, framed by a lace mosquito net. There was a small fridge in the corner, which only worked between six and ten pm each day, as that was when the lodge ran the generators to provide electricity, and Stefan reached inside to find that the six pack of local beer he had placed there the day before was still fairly cool. He took one can out and headed for the porch.

There were two camping recliners on the porch, and he flopped into one of them and looked out over the nearby valley, sipping his beer. Although it was a few hours to sunset, the sky had already begun darkening due to several large banks of clouds that had started rolling in. Summer in Peru was the rainy season, and here the rain could last for several days, pouring down buckets and buckets of fresh water to resupply the flowing Amazon and its tributaries. He had been here for four days already, and the plan was to leave tomorrow. He knew that he needed to change those plans somehow, so that he could have more time to get back to the graveyard. As he studied those ominous clouds and the thick mist over the tree tops that seemed to accompany them, he began to doubt that he could make that happen.

He was on a photography commission from SA Travel magazine, a Johannesburg based publication which relied almost entirely on freelance photographers and journalists. They had commissioned him to do a one page article on the bird-watching tours in Peru, and to accompany the article with some photographs. He had already done most of the legwork during the first three days, and had stashed three rolls of film containing not much more than pictures of the local bird wildlife, the lodge and the banks of the Tambopata River. Those would be more than sufficient for the article he had to write, which would pay him