Reanimators by Peter Rawlik Page B

the deep jungle. Fueled by the dry conditions and unhampered by any attempts to control it, the fire had driven thousands of refugees to the coast.
    The next day as the morning winds brought the heat and the stench of smoke to Fernando Po the residents awoke to find themselves staring at a most terrifying sight. Fed by the fire, great black clouds of ash were slowly creeping across the sky toward the small island. Lightning flashed within these unnaturally dark formations, causing the more superstitious to panic, and the more practical to gather up children and livestock. Perhaps most damnable was the slow pace at which the storm came towards them, like a cat stalking a terrified bird; the time only served to magnify the fear that ran rampant through the port. Long-simmering disagreements boiled over into heated arguments and soon the clinic was overwhelmed with injuries inflicted by domestic squabbles, bar fights and the like. When the storm finally came, a hot windy rain full of grey ash and soot, it was anticlimactic. The good people of the island did more harm than the storm itself, and those who had kept their heads were more than relieved. But this was only the first portent of things to come.
    That evening, as the sun set and the rains washed the last of the ash from the clearing sky, the population of the small island was witness to the formation of yet another massive cloud roiling over from the mainland. Unlike the previous storm, this one moved quickly and seemed to spawn strange curvilinear formations, like tentacles or tendrils that would reach out and then collapse back into the main body. There was a noise as well, a high-pitched hum like that of a mosquito but infinitely louder. As the strange cloud moved closer, it was apparent that this was no natural atmospheric phenomenon, and once more people began retreating into the safety of their homes.
    The sound of the storm rolling across the island was unusual. There was no wind to speak of, but the high-pitched whining hum had grown louder and was joined by a strange periodic squealing, as well as the sound of debris smashing through the upper branches of trees and thudding and skittering onto roofs. To Muñoz it sounded as if small coconuts were falling from the sky. Driven by an unquenchable curiosity, Muñoz, Torres, and their young companion went to the main door of their clinic and ever so slowly and carefully cracked it open.
    There was no storm. The sky was blotted out, and the air was full of things, black things the size of a man’s fist, swarming like locusts. It took a moment for the three men to realize what they were looking at, but as one of the flying, furry things careened past them, slamming against the wall, they all were made quite aware of what had come for them. Either threatened by the fire directly or by the sudden loss of food, the nocturnal predators that had once dwelt in the caves that dotted the mainland had been driven out, and swarmed to the nearest unaffected areas such as the coastal islands in search of new homes and food. Bats numbering in the hundreds of thousands had invaded Fernando Po.
    Slamming the door shut, Muñoz and Torres slumped into chairs, and after a brief moment of silence began talking about abandoning the clinic and fleeing the island. Young Englehorn protested, suggesting that they should stay and help fight the invaders, but Torres shook his head no. The island, he said, was going to be ravaged by a disease which it was already too late to do anything about. Bats were the primary carriers of rabies and the sudden influx of this many of the small predators onto the island made an outbreak probable. Even if people could be persuaded to avoid contact with the bats, the dogs, cats, livestock and wild animals were going to become infected. Transmission to humans on a large scale was inevitable. The epidemic would overwhelm the cities and villages; only remote outposts would remain unscathed, and only then if