STONE SOLDIERS: CITY OF BONES
Ayotunde Ihejirka, or Ayo, as his friends called him, licked his lips and reached for the enter key on his laptop. Soon, stupid Americans would be giving him their money. But almost as soon as he touched the plastic key, the lights in his small shack went out.
Ayo jerked as the shack plunged into darkness. He grabbed at a drawer, fumbling inside before finding a flashlight. Once he had light again, he went to the door and opened it. Bright sunlight poured into his meta l shack- the hot midday sun of his native country of Nigeria.
Ayo turned back to his laptop, trying to restart it- he wished that he had charged the battery after all, instead of relying on wall power. Stupid Americans and their stupid generators.
Ayo walked outside and looked around. No one was present in the dusty street of his new home town of Gwasera. For that matter, no sound could be heard. Which was doubly odd- given that the boomtown normally bustled with the activity of workers scurrying to and fro from work in the newly discovered oil fields to the north. In fact, pausing to listen more intently, Ayo realized he couldn’t hear the pumps from the nearby wells.
Ayo cursed under his breath and walked along the street, looking for someone he could co mplain to about the loss of power. His mass email couldn't be sent without power. It couldn't be received by all those greedy Americans who would give him their bank account information on the promise of millions of dollars- the scheme countless of his peers had told him worked beautifully.
Ayo scratched at one arm, realizing it was itching. He felt something wet under his nails and looked down at his arm. It was bleeding.
Ayo was more shocked than anything. It was as if he had scratched at a scab- a large scab. Blood was pouring down his arm from where he'd scratched. Which was odd since his arm hadn't been injured in the least bit. But he couldn't concentrate on that- his fingertips were itching now. As well as his legs, neck and face.
Ayo scratched at his shins, below the line of his droopy shorts, and watched in horror as great patches of skin peeled off like wet paper. The itching was more intense now, rapidly turning to a burning sensation.
Ayo looked around for help- he opened his mouth to scream, but realized his throat was raw and burning now as well. He took a step and felt his ankle twist on uneven footing.
He fell to the ground, his skin on fire now. Glancing at his feet, he watched in horror as the rubbery material of his sandals was liquefyi ng- turning to a sludgy ooze. Much like the skin on his feet and legs.
He held his hands up to his face and watched in terror as the flesh melted away- simply vanishing from his fingertips and up toward his palms, revealing gooey red bones. Ayo tried to r ise, but his legs were weak and the pain from the burning ravaging his entire body made it hard to concentrate. It was so unbearable he wished he could pass out- but the pain was too intense.
Then his eyes began to burn and Ayo finally collapsed to a shudd ering heap in the street. He could feel his mouth liquefying, his teeth falling out. Then he felt nothing.
***
Mitch Moore was getting impatient. It was nearly nightfall and the team he'd sent to investigate the Gwasera oil field had still not checked in . Mitch's hand hovered by the phone as he debated calling his local government liaison to request assistance. He hesitated because if rebels had attacked the site, the government would have reported it to him. Silence worried him, and he wondered if there had been another coup.
Gwasera had been quiet since noon- failing to report in with the daily reports on construction. And two of the trucks shuttling pipeline components to the site had failed to return. Mitch had quickly dispatched a team of locals to drive out and see what was the matter. But that was hours ago.
Mitch finally made up his mind. He would go himself.
Storming out of his hotel
Ayotunde Ihejirka, or Ayo, as his friends called him, licked his lips and reached for the enter key on his laptop. Soon, stupid Americans would be giving him their money. But almost as soon as he touched the plastic key, the lights in his small shack went out.
Ayo jerked as the shack plunged into darkness. He grabbed at a drawer, fumbling inside before finding a flashlight. Once he had light again, he went to the door and opened it. Bright sunlight poured into his meta l shack- the hot midday sun of his native country of Nigeria.
Ayo turned back to his laptop, trying to restart it- he wished that he had charged the battery after all, instead of relying on wall power. Stupid Americans and their stupid generators.
Ayo walked outside and looked around. No one was present in the dusty street of his new home town of Gwasera. For that matter, no sound could be heard. Which was doubly odd- given that the boomtown normally bustled with the activity of workers scurrying to and fro from work in the newly discovered oil fields to the north. In fact, pausing to listen more intently, Ayo realized he couldn’t hear the pumps from the nearby wells.
Ayo cursed under his breath and walked along the street, looking for someone he could co mplain to about the loss of power. His mass email couldn't be sent without power. It couldn't be received by all those greedy Americans who would give him their bank account information on the promise of millions of dollars- the scheme countless of his peers had told him worked beautifully.
Ayo scratched at one arm, realizing it was itching. He felt something wet under his nails and looked down at his arm. It was bleeding.
Ayo was more shocked than anything. It was as if he had scratched at a scab- a large scab. Blood was pouring down his arm from where he'd scratched. Which was odd since his arm hadn't been injured in the least bit. But he couldn't concentrate on that- his fingertips were itching now. As well as his legs, neck and face.
Ayo scratched at his shins, below the line of his droopy shorts, and watched in horror as great patches of skin peeled off like wet paper. The itching was more intense now, rapidly turning to a burning sensation.
Ayo looked around for help- he opened his mouth to scream, but realized his throat was raw and burning now as well. He took a step and felt his ankle twist on uneven footing.
He fell to the ground, his skin on fire now. Glancing at his feet, he watched in horror as the rubbery material of his sandals was liquefyi ng- turning to a sludgy ooze. Much like the skin on his feet and legs.
He held his hands up to his face and watched in terror as the flesh melted away- simply vanishing from his fingertips and up toward his palms, revealing gooey red bones. Ayo tried to r ise, but his legs were weak and the pain from the burning ravaging his entire body made it hard to concentrate. It was so unbearable he wished he could pass out- but the pain was too intense.
Then his eyes began to burn and Ayo finally collapsed to a shudd ering heap in the street. He could feel his mouth liquefying, his teeth falling out. Then he felt nothing.
***
Mitch Moore was getting impatient. It was nearly nightfall and the team he'd sent to investigate the Gwasera oil field had still not checked in . Mitch's hand hovered by the phone as he debated calling his local government liaison to request assistance. He hesitated because if rebels had attacked the site, the government would have reported it to him. Silence worried him, and he wondered if there had been another coup.
Gwasera had been quiet since noon- failing to report in with the daily reports on construction. And two of the trucks shuttling pipeline components to the site had failed to return. Mitch had quickly dispatched a team of locals to drive out and see what was the matter. But that was hours ago.
Mitch finally made up his mind. He would go himself.
Storming out of his hotel
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