Another shot fired.
Wright, his heart pounding away in his chest, looked down the corridor and saw a dark shape stumble out of a room and tumble onto the carpeted floor. Fighting the fear gripping his stomach, Captain Wright ran over to the body lying face down on the floor. A dark stain of blood was already seeping out from underneath the man. Slowly, Wright turned over the body and saw that it was his junior radio-operator, a bloody hole now blasted into the poor man’s chest. Laying the body back down, Wright stood and cautiously walked towards the open radio room. Stopping at the door, Wright could hear the sound of someone inside smashing the radio sets to pieces. It was as if the man did not care if anyone heard him.
Summoning up his courage, Wright took a deep breath, stepped inside the door, and froze. He could not believe his eyes. Standing there with an axe grasped tightly in his hands was Lord Seaford. His red hair was a mess and his deep-green eyes were ablaze with a maniacal look.
“My God, sir what are you doing?” said Wright as he looked around at the destroyed radio equipment.
“I’m sorry, Captain,” mumbled Seaford. “I had to do it. I had to do what needed to be done.”
Not a word of it made any sense to Wright as he carefully edged forward, his hands at his sides. “What needed to be done, sir?” Wright calmly asked Seaford.
Seaford suddenly raised the axe above his head. “Stay where you are, Captain!” screamed Seaford, spittle flying from his mouth. “I’ve already killed tonight. Don’t make me kill you too!”
The ghastly image of the dead radio operator filled Wright’s mind. His fear faded as anger swelled inside his chest. Had the man gone mad?
“Easy now, sir,” said Wright, trying to get the lunatic to lower his axe. “Why don’t you tell me what the problem is, and I’ll see what I can do about it.”
“It’s too late for that now,” sobbed Seaford, as tears welled up in his bloodshot eyes. “No one can know what has happened here.”
Wright inched forward. A flicker of sadness registered in Seaford’s eyes. The axe lowered slightly. In a flash, Wright launched himself at Seaford, grabbing the axe in his hands. In an instant, the two men tumbled from side to side inside the tiny room, trying to wrestle control of the deadly weapon. Wright was the larger of the two, but Seaford fought back like a man possessed by a demon. Back and forth the men staggered, smashing into overturned chairs, while destroyed radio components crunched under their feet.
“What the hell is going on in here?” yelled a voice from outside.
A second later, a crewman stepped inside and threw himself into the fight. Seaford struggled in vain as the two men soon overpowered him; the axe was forcibly taken from his hands. Captain Wright, his heart still beating wildly, ordered the crewman to first tie Seaford up. A minute later, with Seaford firmly tied to a chair, the crewman headed off to wake the sleeping master-at-arms so he could break out a pistol and a set of handcuffs from the airship’s tiny armory.
Captain Wright put the axe down on a far table, removed his tunic, and placed it over the body of the unfortunate radio-operator. Saying a quick prayer for the man, Wright turned and looked towards Seaford and was surprised to see tears streaming down the man’s face.
“Sir, pull yourself together. What the Devil is going on here?” asked Wright, shaking his head at his employer, a broken man.
Seaford said nothing, meekly lowering his head in shame.
Wright bit his lip in anger and frustration. What could have possibly made Seaford want to kill a defenseless man and try to stop any communication of the event? A sudden chill ran down Wright’s spine. Stepping out from the room, Wright looked down the lengthy passageway towards the back of the airship.
A low rumble echoed throughout the Goliath, followed a second later by a violent explosion that rocked the massive airship from side to side, throwing Wright off his feet and onto the floor of the radio room. Struggling to rise, the captain did not need to be told what had happened. Somewhere in the bowels of the ship, a catastrophic explosion had just occurred, and Wright knew who had caused it. Looking over at Seaford, he knew the man was mad and had doomed them all.
From the tail section of the airship a ghastly wall of fire and destruction raced, picking up speed as it shot forward, instantly breaching and tearing apart the gas cells that held hundreds of thousands of feet of highly-flammable hydrogen. Like a creature bursting from the pits of hell, the bright orange wall of flame consumed all before it.
Captain Wright clenched his fists in frustration and anger. He knew that it would be mere seconds before the Goliath would lose its structural integrity and begin its death spiral towards the ground thousands of meters below.
Already, the once-proud airship started to list forward, tilting its nose downwards.
“What the hell have you done?” yelled Wright angrily at Seaford as the horrible noise of the craft tearing itself apart filled his ears.
Seaford raised his head, looked into Wright’s rage-filled eyes, and mouthed one word: “Sorry.” An instant later, scorching flames ripped through the cabin, incinerating Wright and Seaford.
Far below, a massive sandstorm whipped across the desolate and rocky terrain while burning debris rained down from the night sky like a bright, unexpected meteor shower. The Goliath plummeted down to the ground, her crew and passengers lost in the vast expanse of Africa for decades to come.
3
The sun slowly crept below the green hills surrounding a small camp nestled against the banks of the swollen Cagayan River. Long shadows crept along the ground, soon covering the encampment as the once bright world turned to dusk. With the darkness approaching, the jungle slowly came to life. The local wildlife called to one another, filling the air with a cacophony of noise.
Jennifer March stepped out of the large green military-style tent that she and several other people had been using as a makeshift office. Standing there, her hands on her hips, she took in the symphony of the night. Running a hand through her short caramel-colored hair reminded Jen that she had not had a decent shower in over a week and was not likely to get another one for a few more. Her lithe physique was hidden under a pair of baggy khaki-colored shorts and a loose-fitting shirt tied up around her taut midsection. Brushing some dirt off her warm brown arms, Jen began to wonder if she would ever feel clean again.
Just shy of thirty, Jennifer March had recently thrown herself into her work with a renewed passion and vigor to avoid having to deal with the messy implosion of her two-year relationship with an older colleague. It had been comfortable at first but ultimately it was doomed. Jen wanted to know that it was going somewhere; however, her boyfriend would always avoid the issue whenever she raised it. One day, six months ago, she’d had enough. Packing her bags, she moved back in with her mother in Charlotte, North Carolina, and steadfastly refused to talk with anyone about her decision to leave. At the expense of everything else, her work had now become the only focus in her life.