A Corpse to Die For

The body was relatively fresh. You could tell because its juices were still flowing out onto the grass. It was so fresh that even the flies and other scavengers had not realized it was theirs for the taking.

It was around three-fifty in the afternoon when they discovered the corpse. This particular Monday was typical for an August afternoon. The temperature was a sticky ninety-nine degrees in this central Texas town. Even the grackles were panting from the humidity.

They approached the body with hesitant steps as though it would arise and do them harm. After an advance of a few paces they would hold in their tracks and stand like sculptures facing a horde of unknown admirers. They began their final approach as though they expected the corpse to spring up at them; reminiscent of a grotesque jack in the box.

Suddenly they found themselves close enough to reach out and touch the corpse. It was at that point they realized the body was missing something. There was no head. In a panic only members of the feathered kingdom can exhibit, the birds flew off.

They had not taken nourishment since the chemical and biological attack five days past. As well as any one could remember, that was almost a week now.

They had not seen other signs of life for the last three days. The landscape was a burnt straw colored brown from the heat of the sun and the burn of the chemicals which lay upon the earth, akin to a possessive lover after the height of orgasm spreading their odors all about the countryside.

This small band of a dozen was the advance hunting party. There was not one caucasian in their group. It was just about humorous watching the negroid shadows cast upon the ground by the angle of the sun seem to bob and weave without purpose. Purpose was surely not wanting as their primary inspiration.

They had not eaten since the early morning assault. As they made their guarded advance to the headless body you could almost hear their stomachs rumbling like those of hungry vagrants standing in a soup line.

Suddenly they froze. They heard the crash of movement at the right flank of their column. There was momentary panic born from fear causing them to scatter like a pile of newly raked leaves agitated by an unexpected breeze. Their leader, somewhat larger and darker than the others, took command and instantly the column regrouped and prepared for combat.

They waited tensely for the arrival of their unseen enemy. The wait was definitely shorter than they desired it to be. From the growth appeared a second hunting party.

Only this was not just another hunting party. There, not more than a few yards in front of them stood their life-long enemy. Their ancestors farther than anyone could remember had fought to the death. But now the situation was overblown beyond all imagination. Both parties were obviously after the same thing. They urgently needed to retrieve the corpse and take it back to base camp for food allocation.

Not only was food scarce, there were instances where the survivors actually turned on each other and the victor and his immediate associates would dine on the prize. It was as if their entire world had reverted to primal times.

Without a sound the two groups of warriors rushed each other. The only sound being the almost inaudible rustle of the dried out landscape beneath their feet. The black warriors had always referred to this enemy as the red warriors. The red warriors wore no face paint or feathers. They were simply vicious. So much so, the sacredness of the eagle feather meant nothing to them unless there was some flesh attached so they could appease their hunger.

They charged one at the other with such force that some of the combatants were pushed off-balance and fell to the ground unceremoniously. The two leaders of the respective hunting parties were locked in deadly combat.

The first of the black soldiers to seize one of the red enemy thought he had the best of his foe. Without warning, his foe twisted his body sharply to the right and rolled free of the dark warrior's grip. The huge black male found himself in a choke hold he sensed was terminal. Try as he might he could not free himself from the death grip of this enemy.

A few minutes passed since the battle began. The injured and dead scattered on the battle site like blades of grass amputated and cast aside by a lawn mower. Some of the soldiers were still alive and their enemy made a final assessment and finished off any survivors.

The black soldier kept trying to escape from the death grip on his throat. The more he struggled the tighter the pressure on his neck. He felt himself growing weaker. The pain was unbearable although he did not utter a sound.

It was commonly believed the black and red soldiers were immune to pain. Maybe it had something to do with genetic programming. Maybe it was misinformation. At any rate, the black adversary certainly felt pain and he most definitely feared death. He felt his neck snap and as his head rolled lazily to face the late afternoon sun, his last vision was one of white clouds slowly herding themselves across the vast central Texas sky.

The victor released his grip on the dead soldier's neck and, immediately searching for another soldier, was imprisoned in the vice grip of the leader of the black troops. This one was unnaturally strong. He was as vicious as a caved she-cat protecting her young.

The black team leader broke his opponent's back and not being satisfied with that, ripped his abdomen open and tore loose one of his enemy's legs from its socket.

As suddenly as the battle had started so it seemed to end. The black leader noticed a wound on his body. His head rested at an awkward angle. He took two unsteady steps and fell dead. The battle was over.

Hungry and emaciated black scouts had been defeated by a stronger, superior enemy. To the victors go the spoils was not true in this case.

After killing all wounded, the survivors gathered around the headless corpse. They had completed their mission. Some of the soldiers picked up the body and the rest formed a cordon around them.

Weary combatants slowly moved along the trail in the direction of their camp. They ambled into camp. The place came alive with movement and activity. The excitement was almost tangible, like the humidity on this windless central Texas afternoon.

Relief teams began forming and preparing the corpse for distribution among the camp. There was jubilation in their camp this afternoon. You could almost hear the sounds of gastric delight and contentment as they dined on the corpse. Tomorrow would be a different story.

How could they know chemical and biological poisons had been ingested by the corpse just a few moments before he died? In a few hours the entire colony of fire ants was dead. Poisoned by the headless praying mantis they had so enthusiastically devoured just a short time ago.

THE END