25

JET LAG. HE’D ALMOST forgotten about that charming detail. Was that nausea or fear hoping for a way out of his stomach? Was there even a difference? Jude found the nearest trash bucket and hurled. Felt like some of his organs might actually show up amidst the garbage that stunk almost as bad as the humid air.

He sat waiting for the second plane to arrive. He was informed that it’d be a smaller aircraft bringing him to Port-au-Prince, Haiti, but that the layover wouldn’t take more than a few hours. His previous airline dropped the passengers off in the small city port he was now forced to find shelter within, a site he didn’t bother attempting to pronounce. Santo-something. He could see cruise ships sailing away in the distance, though, and that put a slight glow inside his frustrated, impatient face.

He was on to something. He believed he’d find his answers on this journey. Fate seemed to be in his favor. Jude had purchased the last a.m. flight out to the godless country, so regardless of the chewing out the chief and Rachel would give him upon return, he was confident he’d made the right choice, albeit a dangerous one.

Jude’s luggage consisted only of a carry-on and some extra cash. He’d lost his suitcases on enough occasions to swear against bringing unnecessary items. Plus, so long as he had his way, he wouldn’t be stuck on this wild goose chase for very long. Get in and get out.

He tapped his fingers on the plastic seat that seemed incapable of finding balance, and it creaked no matter which way he sat. The room he waited in was concrete on all sides. No paint on the walls and singular, flickering light fixtures covered with webs and insects hovering less than a foot above his head. Some of the bulbs were cracked or broken completely. But Jude assumed the locals rarely employed the artificial light.

This place was a far cry from the crappy motels he’d stayed in during a number of weekend conferences over the years. He never thought he’d be longing for a cold beer, a grinder, and a stiff bed. He threw down some pills and forgot his hunger, the god-awful heat, and the plane that he kept doubting would arrive before dusk.

“What are you doing here?” he asked himself. “What if you don’t find anything?” The self-doubt was like slivers under his nails.

“Talking to yourself, my friend?” came a question formed by a broken accent several moments later. “Not best way to invite a warm welcome.”

Jude surveyed the man the voice belonged to—little more than bare flesh and bones, a baggy tank top, some ripped shorts, and worn-to-the-bottom sandals.

“Are you Mr. Jude Foster?”

Jude, taken aback, felt his jaw unhinge. “And you are?”

“I am your transportation to Port-au-Prince, sir.” The man tapped his chest. “Pilot.”

“You’re joking. Where’s the plane? And where’s the rest of your crew?”

“No time for jokes, sir.” The man paused at nearly every word, trying to articulate and pronounce syllables clearly. “I am all da crew one man needs.” He laughed, showcasing two rows of chipped, filthy teeth. “We should head out before dark.”

The man had no resemblance to any pilot Jude had ever seen. But then again, Jude hadn’t been raised by incestuous wolves in some backwoods country either.

“Be polite, Mr. Foster.”

“What, are you reading my thoughts? Can your people do that?”

“My people?” the man chuckled, some saliva spilling over crusted lips. “My people are knowledgeable ones, but no, we cannot scan da mind of a man. Not yet. We are…keen on foreign per…how do you say? Perspective. Your eyes tell what is in your heart. For some strange reason, you are at war wit me.”

“I’ve never seen a pilot like you before. It’s a bit of a culture shock, that’s all.”

“What is ‘shock culture’?”

“No, culture shock. Like, uh, well, it’s when you get to a place and…” Jude stood up and took in the dingy scenery. But he figured he’d refrain from digging a larger grave. “Things are just different where I come from.”

“Places different, perhaps. People da same. Can I take your bag, Mr. Foster? I can show you da way.”

“I can carry my own things.”

“As you please.”

With a shrug, Jude continued behind the short, bony pilot. He stopped after the man had brought him out of the small city, away from what civilization there was and into a field of dry grass and tall, thorny brush. When they reached the takeoff spot, Jude was ready to blow a gasket.

The aircraft’s frame was stained with mud, and the black and red paint looked like it had peeled away decades earlier. Plus, the scissor-hair metal at the top of the craft forced a gulp down his throat. “Is this the helicopter?” His knees shuddered at the notion of climbing into the cockpit. All rickety and falling apart. No way this clown was serious about Jude stepping inside.

“It is special, just for you.”

“I was under the impression we were going in a plane. You know, something safe?” He couldn’t believe he was doing that, using plane and safe in the same sentence. He’d loathed the idea of flying since childhood. The only reason he put that hatred aside was to get closer to the truth. Desperate times….

“Dis very safe for us.” The pilot tossed Jude’s bag into the cargo bay beneath what, in mere moments, would be their bucket seats. His stomach turned to bricks. This bony man was serious, and this far too small helicopter was the accommodation for short-notice passengers like him, apparently.

“Next time, book your vacation in advance, sir.” The pilot smirked and issued a roar of a chuckle. Jude clenched his fist and reluctantly slid into his spot.

“She’ll be kind to us. She likes foreigners, you will see this. You can stop shaking your leg.”

Jude glared defiantly at the frail pilot with leathery, molasses skin. The guy was lucky he’d put away that toothy, dirty grin.

The helicopter fired up in seconds, and after the pilot told Jude to buckle up, checked the control levels, and gave a thumbs up, they were high in the sky.

***

Jude was awake for most of the flying, to his dismay. The chopper hovered over the backs of the mountains and rolling hilltops with burnt grass and starving soil. His eyes slanted as he battled the glare of a hot, red sun.

The pilot chattered endlessly about some trite Haitian history. Jude didn’t much care, but there was no shutting this guy up. By the time they reached what was supposed to be the climax of the frail conversation, Jude realized he was too jittery to fall asleep. Not to mention, he wasn’t sure if this pilot would spiral this metal wasp into a tree and leave his foreign remains splattered on the mountainside.

The pilot steered intrepidly above jungles and skinny rivers. Everything looked so small from up high, so different. Jude felt removed from what looked like poverty stretched out before him down below. Like an author who couldn’t fall in love with his characters. This was the grand scene that hurricanes and earthquakes had left behind. Buildings collapsed and homes broken into by the fury of nature. It was far down still, but he could make out a little boy, clinging to a scrap of food like it was breath. Jude imagined lacerated hands and feet and bruises on his face from fighting to keep his hope alive.

He wasn’t in Kansas anymore.

The helicopter passed over the stories of so many. Pitiful lives the wind seemed to carry only so far. Perhaps their stories fell into the earth to cultivate the dying ground. Perhaps their tears ran into the rivers to drown. It was staggering what the human heart abandoned during times of desperation and woe in order to continue its fragile existence.

“Some of the slaves brought voodoo into our homes, you see,” the pilot added, unaware that Jude wasn’t all that interested in gleaning much substance from this wasted culture. “Our world is…bad, corrupt. No mistake, sir, none, and aldough we be free men—poor, but free men, we cannot escape da sins we brung here…da tings we have given life to.” The man continued as if Jude’s thoughts were with him the entire time. But they weren’t. His blank stare conveyed that much. “Pardon me. I talk too much, I afraid. So much time to ponder da sins of da past, I suppose.”

“No, it’s okay,” Jude said.

“You know, dere are dose who believe dis part of da earth is forsaken by da higher powers.”

“God?”

“Dat is one name,” the pilot answered, bringing the helicopter higher into the clouds. “Some believe dat long ago, ’twas known what tings men might do. Because, you see, all men possess secrets in dere hearts. Like prisons.”

“You seem to really be into all this spiritual nonsense.”

“Why call it nonsense because you do not understand it?”

“Oh, I understand it. Like you said, places may be different, but human beings are the same, rotten no matter where you live.”

“You have interesting ideas, my American friend. I wish dis were not so.”

As the rickety plane skated across a nearby mountaintop, it struggled to land smoothly. Jude could’ve sworn it had run out of fuel; the plumes of black smoke blowing out the back end of the helicopter were hint enough. But at last, the metal wings ceased their movement, and the loose aircraft was once more on the ground.

“Where’s my driver?” Jude asked, staring at the big-body car that belonged in some sixties noir flick. He almost didn’t want an answer.

“Judging by height of da red sun, it will be darkness shortly. Perhaps we should move quickly, friend.”

“What happens after dark?”

“Tings can get unkind in da forests and da villages. Grab your effects and move into car.”

“I want to be sure that you take me here,” Jude said, handing the man the photograph. “No mistakes, got it? The person I spoke with on the phone, the one who arranged this, said you could take me here.”

“What is in dis place dat you seek?”

“None of your business. I paid.”

“No one told me you want to go here,” the pilot said, handing Jude the photograph and stepping out of the helicopter to stretch his legs.

“What are you talking about? It was part of the agreement. I’ve been in the sky for hours. You’re taking me.” Jude could smell the rising stench from his own body. Too much sweat. Too much heat.

“Two hundred American dollars, or you walk to dat village. I am reasonable man, you can trust dis.”

“You know where it is? You know exactly where it is?” Jude removed his safety buckle and hopped out of the seat. “No tricks?”

“I have been to dat place, yes. But no reason to go back. No reason. Not in dis life.”

“What are you afraid of?”

“It is getting dark soon. We must go quickly if I am to bring you to dis location. Have you enough money for da journey?”

Jude shoved his hands in his pockets and pulled out a half-dozen bills. Fifties, twenties, tens all blended together. He’d meant to exchange them for local currency.

“I have money!” he shouted.

The pilot rubbed the short black hairs on his chin and with stubby fingers snatched the handful of bills from Jude’s hand. “Dis should cover it. Get in car. Village you seek is not close by. Many hills. Many people asking questions.” Jude rushed into the backseat and sank in, keeping his bag close.

The pilot squashed an insect on the dashboard and cleaned the guts off his finger with his tongue before gunning the engine and peeling off down the hill.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Jude said under his breath.

“What’s so difficult to believe?”

“The helicopter was supposed to be a plane with a fully functional crew. Instead it turns out to be a man half my size who’s the pilot. Who also happens to be the taxi driver. Any other surprises I should be aware of?”

“Just one.”

“What’s that?”

“Keep your head down when I tell you to. Some men, men with weapons, do not take kindly to uninvited visitors in dis territory.”

“Why don’t we go another way?”

“One way. Only one way.”

As the car swerved its way around steep corners until its slow and steady halt at the foot of the mountain, Jude sat curled and tense. “Why are you so afraid of the village?” he asked a second time, hoping to dig an answer out of the man. “What’s there?”

“Some tings we should not talk of.”

“Things?” Jude asked. “I’m looking for a man, that’s all.”

“For what purpose?”

“Unfinished business.”

“A lot of men seem to have dis unfinished business. Be careful, sir. Revenge does not often bring peace.”

“You talk like someone who’s gone looking for blood.”

The man shrugged. “I have lost someting before as well, friend. But remember dat hatred and evil are real. Dem are broders. Very real. No forget. Like a curse, come dem, but only wit permission.”

Jude redirected his focus out into the plains and dilapidated homes to his right and his left. These were the unfinished stories he had read from above. Haunting and able to be felt. These stories had names. They had eyes. They were children left behind, mothers and fathers lost and trembling. For the few he saw comforted by their safe homes, he felt a whisper of fear climb inside him. This fear was for the ones who thought they were unaffected. The others, the sick, the ones without that hope of being okay, without such illusory safety, would bring reminders soon of their existence. He was sure of it. In time, their hands would run red, like the dying sun, and their palms would fill with the horrors of the innocent lives they took in order to feel again. Their bellies would swallow the cries of the splintered souls that bastard earthquakes and malnourished hurricanes forgot.

Lower now, the sun was beginning to lose its effect, the heat stifled by a slight chill. It was nearly dusk. The moon would rise soon, maybe.

Barren land stretched across the town outskirts for miles before Jude could see any more grass. It was a mystery how there seemed to be so many fields and trees from the sky, but maybe he just wasn’t looking hard enough for the barrenness. For the swamps and tourist traps.

The neighing of wild animals drifted in then through the cracked window. On the road, the car’s one good headlight flashed over infected, rabid dogs picking away the chunks of meat from an unlucky rodent. They possessed sinister growls, teeth matted with bits of flesh.

The driver lifted his eyes. “Hades be missing its pets perhaps, hmm?”

They had come to the point where Jude was required to lower his head and hide on the floor with a blanket over his body while the driver conversed with military. From what Jude observed, the men were more like rogue, rebel soldiers who fed off the desperation of locals. Jude couldn’t understand the men as they spoke, but he felt eyes drift over his back. He kept still. He didn’t speak. Tried hard not even to breathe. By the time he counted to fifty, the car was moving forward again.

“I told you it be okay,” the driver said calmly. “You listen. Wise man.”

Jude sat back up in his seat. Checked his pulse. He was still functioning as normal. Whatever normal was.

The wheels of the big-body car crunched the rocks and stones beneath it. The dirt road had ended minutes ago, and the car barely crept over the carved-out path.

Finally, the vehicle stopped.

“Dis is as far as I go. Next chapter is yours to explore. Please, be on your way quickly.”

Jude scanned the area through the windshield. It was a village, obsolete and technologically insufficient by the looks of it. “I’ll need a ride back,” he said.

“Phones are in da village, for a price. Everyting is a price. Here is my contact numba. Call me if, and only if, you desire to leave here. I will not negotiate price or make dis trip a tird time.”

Jude took the torn piece of paper with nearly illegible handwriting, and stepped outside into mud. “What’s your name?” he asked.

“Barnabas.”

“Thank you, Barnabas, for bringing me here.”

“You must go now. Dis is where we take our separate paths. My family waits for me. I hope you find a friend in dere soon.”

Jude’s bag came whirling toward his head. When it landed, he picked it up, tossing it over his right shoulder. He sighed and started walking, as splashes of black mud kicked up from the tires and stained his pants.

Before he reached one of the entrances to the small village, he stopped and glanced at the photograph one last time. His eyes moved up again to find the old, beaten tree in the picture. This was indeed the place he sought. He touched the tree just to make sure it was not a dream.

As he moved deeper, he caught a glimpse of a faded post; it barely kept its spike foot beneath the rough soil and read: DEAD. The English language was one of the universal tongues here. V-I-L remained above it, along with two other faded letters that were near scribbled beside, G and E. The word of was caught between these letters and the below word, DEAD.

Jude glued the loose ends together and spoke its name: “Village of the Dead.”