Plague

Chapter Twenty-One

The dismal cave haunted him. In the dim light, his lab equipment cast eerie shadows upon the rocky walls. At times, the glass beakers flickered, giving them the appearance of movement. He felt they mocked him, plagued him.

Plague—the dreaded disease reached out its murderous tentacles. Unmercifully it killed millions of people. Arastoo had not realized how quickly it could spread. Instead of remaining in San Fransisco, it moved into neighboring communities and swiftly took over. It knew no boundaries.

Arastoo Mazanderani should have known better. As a chemist, he should have realized the swiftness of the disease. Instead, he focused on destroying the LGBTQ community only. He could not have been more short-sighted.

Hatred caused him to seek destruction. Hatred of cultures he did not understand motivated him. Because he sought to please Allah, Arastoo took on the role of Allah himself. He decided to take command of life and death.

Arastoo realized he had sentenced his own people to a terrible fate. Around the world, multitudes of people died because of him. Across the American continents, in Europe, Asia, Africa, and Australia, death knocked upon the doors of the innocents. It crept into the Middle East and Iran.

Frantically, Arastoo's eyes roamed across his laboratory. Then, they rested upon Zeeba's deformed body. She slumped against the wall and fixed her dead eyes on him. They mocked and accused him of her murder and the murder of many people.

Arastoo's flaccid lips quivered. He sat on his cot and ran his hands through his jet-black hair. Angrily, he tore out two clumps with his clenched fists. Then, he shook his fists in the air.

"Arrrrrgooh," the chemist howled. His mouth formed a perfect zero. The sound flew down the long, cavernous corridors and reverberated hollowly back. There might have been three or four or five ghosts calling to him from their hidden lairs.

Fury overtook Arastoo Mazanderani. Leaping up, he charged his laboratory. Sweeping his arms across the tables, he cleared them. Equipment crashed around his feet; glass shattered. He swept his arms back, emptying the remains onto the floor.

A flying shard caught Arastoo in the left eye. Baying in pain, he clasped his hands over it, deepening the fragment. Another scream escaped his throat. Then, he turned and fell over the lab table. Collapsing to his knees, he crawled toward the wall.

Arastoo's shoulder encountered flesh as he slumped against the wall. His hand crept out and touched Zeeba's cheek. For a moment, he probed it with his finger. It traveled over her short pug nose and felt her slack lips. The nearness of another human comforted him. Then, he remembered she was dead.

"Zeeba," the chemist moaned tearfully. The bitter salt stung his wounded eye. He tried to blink it away. However, he only drove the splinter further into his eye.

In a different situation, Arastoo thought, perhaps he could have loved her. He could have taken her, used her companionship to please his carnal needs. However, his fanaticism drove him. It drove him away from other people. Thoughts of death and destruction consumed him.

Day and night blended. Time meant nothing to Arastoo. Relentlessly, he paced the cavern. Sometimes, he spoke to Zeeba as though she were still alive. In his mind, they conversed as they always had.

"They will come for you, Arastoo," his dead lab partner told him. "Stealthily, men from the West will come here. They know who you are; they know what you have done."

"No...no..." Arastoo emphatically denied it. "No one knows. How can they?"

"They will come, Arastoo," Zeeba's haunted voice breathed. "They have ways of knowing."

"No!" Arastoo threw his head back and screamed. The word echoed throughout the cave system.

Patiently, Zeeba waited for it to stop. She had always been patient and calm. As solid as the rock that surrounded him, Arastoo's partner kept hold of herself and him. Acting as his prop, she encouraged him to keep trying. Because of her, he succeeded with his plans. Instead of thanking her, he killed her.

He'd created the plague and sent it to the worst place on earth: San Francisco.

Could he say he loved her? Arastoo never loved anyone. His wife, Yasmina, filled a small part of his life. He did his duty as a husband--that was all. Three years had passed since he last saw her. If he focused on her face, he could not recall it. A drab woman, she did not hold his desire.

He desired...

What did he desire? Arastoo Mazanderani wondered. Nothing, he told himself, knowing it was untrue.

At first, Arastoo turned away from the world to study chemistry. It meant everything to him. Then, as he grew up, he realized the world's corruption. All his life, he had closed people out. At Oxford, students gathered from around the globe. All nationalities and all religions studied within those wonderous walls. He viewed them suspiciously if they did not believe in Islam and the Prophet Mohammad.

Curious, Arastoo journeyed into London. An unseen force brought him to Soho. At first, he felt appalled by the sight of gay men openly cavorting with each other. Then, a strange sensation overwhelmed him. He wanted to become a part of their lifestyle. A twinge stirred within him as he watched. If he could set himself free, he would happily join them.

It irked him, yet it urged him forward. Twice, the young Iranian nearly gave in to his desires. Then, he abruptly repressed them. The passion continued to well inside him. The only way to end it was to destroy the LBGTQ community. The satisfaction of ridding the earth of that ungodly menace would set him free.

"The plague," Arastoo muttered to himself. He would recreate the plague and set it upon them.

When he told Zeeba Bahrami, she listened carefully. Although she did not know of Arastoo's inner conflict, she fanatically agreed with his cause. She committed herself to helping him.

"And how have I repaid her?" Arastoo asked himself. "I have killed her."

Arastoo Mazanderani stood over her body and shook his head. Too late to say, 'I'm sorry,' he knelt beside her. His fingers combed her soft hair. Bending forward, he kissed her slack lips and muttered her name. He should have loved her. Instead, he destroyed her.

For the first time in his life, Arastoo Mazanderani considered love and hate. Hate had always raged inside him. He never attempted to temper it with love. If he had, his life would have been much different. However, the fire of hatred burned zealously within him.

Arastoo softened as he sat beside Zeeba. Clasping her cold hand, he brought it to his lips for a kiss. Then, leaning forward, he captured her lips with his. After a moment, he withdrew and wiped death from his mouth. What had he done? He could not love a corpse.

Wrapped in disappointment, the chemist stood. Hanging his head, he moved away from Zeeba's body. He cursed himself.

******

Remaining in a stupor for three days, Arastoo did not eat; he barely slept. Disillusion and doubt filled his mind. He had never felt more conflicted.

On the third day, he arose. His mind cleared. Opening his remaining eye, he glared at his surroundings in amazement. Martyrdom awaited him.

"Isha Allah," Arastoo muttered. Then, raising his voice, he yelled the two comforting words. Reassuringly, they echoed back.

The chemist scurried away from the laboratory and entered a winding corridor. Moving deeper into the earth, he hurried toward his destiny. Secreted far into the vast mountain lay a hidden lair. Only Arastoo knew about it. He had never informed Zeeba of its existence. Perhaps foresight told him she would not accompany him to his final destination.

A stash of weapons lay concealed within a small cave. Gleefully, the chemist prepared to make his final stand. The men from the west would come. He had no doubt. When they arrived, he would face them. It was not a case of his life or theirs. He planned on taking them with him.

Hurriedly, Arastoo Mazanderani strapped on his suicide vest. Grinning wildly, he organized his space. Grasping an M4 assault rifle, he propped himself against the cavern's wall. He faced the entrance. If anyone stepped inside, he would fire. Then, he would pull the suicide vest's cord.