Fevered Illusion by Albert Baker

No profit. Purely fanfic

The torn and bloodied jacket of the wounded sergeant hung pitifully from his fevered body as he walked through the heavy wooden door of the convent. A dank, musty odor hung in the air and the dampness made Saunders shiver uncontrollably. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he tried to check the barren room he had stumbled upon.

Nothing.

No enemies, no friends, no furniture—nothing was there. His Thompson dropped from his grasp and hit the cold, stone floor only moments before he did.

“Uhhhhhh shhhhhh uhhhhh SSssssss”

Soft, hushed movements awakened him. A slight brush across his arm caused him to jerk involuntarily and forced his eyes open.

“Who’s there?” he gasped, barely able to speak. He reached out, relieved to feel the cold metal of the Thompson at his fingertips.

“SSssssss”

The sergeant strained to drag himself to the wall, and pulled his battered body to a seated position. He felt his fever raging and grasped his canteen, grateful to find it full. With a shaking hand, he drank and then poured a small amount of water over his face. As the water ran from his eyes, he saw a dark, faceless form seated across the room.

“Who’s there?” he asked again, his voice clearer.

A soft hissing laughter came from the blackened form. “I am here.”

Saunders gasped as he struggled unsuccessfully to pull himself up. “Who are you?”

A long silence. “I am the earth, the darkness, the lowest of all creatures.”

The noncom squinted, desperate to see the stranger. “I…I need help. I’m an American.”

Again, laughter, and then the voice, soft and slurred began. “You are a young man, but your eyes are ancient and fierce. Your body is bloodied --scarred like a seasoned predator in the wildest forest. You are a killer.”

Taking a labored breath, the sergeant answered. “I’m a soldier. I’m fighting a war! What are you?”

“I told you what I am. I live here, under your feet.”

“Then you know the area. My men…they can’t be far. I need to get back to them.”

The blackened form hissed angrily. “You sit there on the edge of death and release, but seek help to remain here in this agony? You are a fool!”

The words hung in the air as the dark shape slid onto the stone floor and began to elongate itself and move toward the soldier.

Anger and fear gripped the wounded sergeant’s heart. Shaking uncontrollably, he used his last remnant of strength to turn the barrel of the Thompson toward the approaching darkness, and let loose a stream of death across the floor of the room.

The black form lay motionless as the fevered soldier lost consciousness.

* * * * *

“Cough.”

“There he is, Doc!”

The four privates moved across the smoky room to the side of their missing sergeant.

“How is he, Doc? “

“Well, he’s still breathin’, Caje. Far as I can tell, he’s got a bullet in his side. We need to get him to a hospital.”

Billy squinted into the smoky darkness, frowning. “What the heck was he shootin’ at in here?”

No sooner had he uttered the words, than a loud THUD echoed through the room as Kirby, carrying his BAR, slipped and fell to the floor. “#@$##!--Oh geez, will you look at the size of this snake!”

The men turned in unison, and as the smoked cleared they could see a large, dead snake, mutilated by the sergeant’s fire, coiled upon the stone floor. Kirby scrambled to his feet.

“Ooh, man, I sure wouldn’t have wanted to be in here with that thing slinkin’ around.”

Caje rubbed his chin and turned to Billy. “Well, look at it this way, Billy. If it weren’t for the Sarge shooting at that snake, we may never have found him in time.”

Doc finished rigging a litter and soon the squad was carrying their sergeant away from the darkened room into the light.

Where he would be healed and live to fight another day…

END