Matt Lock rode into town about midday. They had been riding for about two days, they were hopping from town to town through the Middle- East on their way to Asia. Unfortunately, the only thing between each town was sand, and lots of it. He had started off in London, and had managed to pick up a traveling companion as he was making his way through Oxford. Apparently this kid Don didn't get accepted to the illustrious college and couldn't face his parents. The kid was bright, and Matt could use the company. All they could afford concerning transportation was a couple of camels; he was about to buy some horses but his traveling companion and good friend pointed out the fact that a camel would be best suited for a short trek across the small desert. His friend, despite his youth, was incredibly bright. Sonny, as he called him, (seeing as he was old enough to be the guy's father) was about 5 '9 with sandy blond hair and a nice build; the kid wanted to see the world, and photograph it as well. His real name was Donner Watts, Don for short, but Matt just called him Sonny. As for Matt himself, he was mid-forties and had a nice beard growing. The heat was searing, and seemed to pierce the rags they were using to keep the sun off themselves.

There were several adobe style clay houses, all of which seemed to be empty. They called out for anyone who was around, but they were never answered. Soon they came to what appeared to be a marketplace, an area that should be filled with people, but was eerily empty. There were stands set up with dividers for different fruits, now all that was left were a few grapes, and olives. Most stands were shaded with sheets attached at each corner to a stick type pole. Most interesting was the pattern on one sheet, crimson spots, all over, some small, some large. Matt looked above the stand, to a second floor window, empty, unlit. The farther into town they rode, the more Matt was filled with a steadily increasing sense of dread. They came across a broken watermelon, which Matt's camel stopped to lick. Matt dismounted and suggested Sonny to do the same, they would continue on foot. At this point Matt was pretty desperate to find some sign of life somewhere. I guess it's true you should be careful what you wish for because about that time a rat scurried across the market place just ahead of him. Matt was filled with a sense of impending doom and suddenly had the urge just to turn back, to run, to hop on their camels and ride somewhere, anywhere but this ghost of a town. Matt decided not to let fear overwhelm him but to just think logically. He knew this place couldn't be totally empty. Houses were still furnished, had food and clothes in them. No one would just abandon all that! So they began checking houses systematically. Eventually they came to what appeared to be a storage building. He could hear grunting, a scratching, something being moved. It seemed to be coming from further in. Again Matt was filled with dread, the need to turn back, to run, but logic prevailed again, just barely. Sonny asked who it was, which was a stupid question. Matt said he didn't know. Quiet grunting continued but despite his eagerness to find out what was going on, and where everyone was, he slowed his pace to a mere crawl, edging forward and peeking around every corner. He came to a final compartment, and a fully cloaked figure gave one last push to a large brown box, it had something written on it, but it was in Arabic. The figure turned to them, brown eyes widening. Matt noticed a large red canister with a big X imprinted on its side. It took Matt a second to recognize the repugnant smell of gasoline, but he then realized that the last compartment seemed to be drenched with it. The cloaked figure, now recognized as a man fully extended his free hand, palm facing Matt and Sonny. Matt noticed his hand seemed to be covered in blood as if blood were seeping from every pore. The man let out a blood curdling scream, not out of pain, or fear, just a yell. A warning? The man then pulled a match from within his cloak, struck it on the box, and dropped it. The lit match seemed to fall in slow motion, below to a puddle of gasoline. Matt grabbed Sonny's arm and pulled him around the corner. The explosion was deafening and the heat unbearable. They escaped to the safety of the street, chased by a plume of acrid black smoke.

Sonny wanted to know whathadjust happened, but Matt didn't respect that with an answer.

"Why would he burn all that food?" Sonny asked. Matt stopped, how did he know it was food? Sonny explained that the boxes were labeled Export, Food. They could now hear a faint squealing from within the building, but it soon stopped. Matt insisted that if one person were alive, there must be more people. They ran through the street, until they came to an opening. On the left was a massive church, and there he notice a cloaked figure, hunched somewhat, walking with a cane. Ahead of the figure was a well, and at the well another cloaked figure, who was pulling a bucket up from the well. Matt yelled he needed that water to put out the fire. No sooner had he said that than the cloaked figure poured the water out into the dirt and quickly kicked sand over it. He now filled the bucket with sand and poured it into the well.

As Matt started towards the church. Sonny began to protest, but instead decided to follow behind quietly. He walked up to the massive doors which were slightly covered by an overhang which sported an old style bell under a small arch. He pulled on the doors, but they didn't budge. Matt was a man of forty, but he considered himself in excellent shape for his age. The fact was, if this church were abandoned like the rest of the town, there was no reason it should be bolted or locked, which seemed like the only explanation for it to be stuck as tightly as it was. Sonny, seeing a chance to make himself useful, walked briskly up to the door, rolling up his sleeves and flexing his eighteen-year-old muscles. The door refused to budge, even when they both pulled together. Matt let his intuition take over, and he walked out from under the overhang. Reaching up to a small rope, he rang the bell.

A man came to the window just above the bell and began to yell at them, "You must leave this place!"

"Why?" Matt yelled.

"This is our sanctuary! You must go!" yelled the Arabic man.

"I want to pray!" Matt yelled, somewhat jokingly.

"I'm sorry, but I cannot allow it."

"What's going on here anyway?" Matt asked genuinely concerned.

"Allah is angry with my people! You should leave now, while you still can!"

Matt decided that that was the best advice he'd heard all week and headed back to town with Sonny close behind. When they got back to their camels, Matt noticed that crimson canvas and the empty fruit stand. He looked up at the upstairs window again, and he could see stains of a dark red, strangely familiar liquid dripping from the windowsill.

Blood dripped down all over the canvas below. Matt couldn't help himself. Even though he was overwhelmed with fear, he began walking into the house. The kitchen was in disarray; pots and pans, some metal, but most were wood or clay. To the left was a staircase, to the right were blankets on the ground, also stained with blood. He walked up the staircase and realized that Sonny was with him. He came to the top of the stairs and looked around. The room was completely unfurnished, with the exception of a single bed right by the window. What he saw now made his heart stop and his stomach lurch, although he hated what he saw, he had to see more. He walked up to the bed; each dreadful steps echo resounded about the room. All was silent but their breathing; it was as if the entire world stopped to pay its respect to this tortured soul.

The blood soaked blanket came to its waist. I say it because whatever it was, it was only the shell of a broken soul. Just by looking you could tell how painful the death must've been. Whatever the cause was for this gruesome death, it wasn't pretty. The cadaver was covered in blood, as if it had once seeped from every pore of this poor person's body. Patches of skin were missing, exposing muscle and bone all over. The back was slightly arched, the eyes squeezed shut, and the mouth twisted open, contorted into the eternal scream of a lost soul. It was now that Matt noticed a small portion of the blood glistened somewhat; it was still fresh. He realized that the room lacked the foul odor of a long dead corpse. This person had died recently; in fact, the flies had only barely begun to gather. Sonny was standing behind Matt with fearful recognition in his eyes.

He began to walk backwards shaking his head. "This- this can't be," he stammered.

"Have you seen this before?" Matt asked.

"Yes. Six months ago, in European History."

"What is it? What could do this to a person?" Sonny just shook his head.

"This can't be happening. I mean it hasn't been around since the 1500's."

"What! What hasn't been around?" Matt was now frantic, fear taking hold of him making his heart race.

"The Bubonic Plague!" Sonny screamed.

With that they rode out past the church towards the next town, Matt gave a last wave to the church and to whoever might be watching.

A few weeks later they arrived at the next town where they told the officials what they had seen. The officials would not confirm their suspicions; all they would say was that they would send someone out to see. Just to be safe, Matt and Sonny both had full physicals. They were fine.

Epilogue

The team came up to the church, where the doors were open and bodies were strung out in front of the church, as if the people were dying to get out. Their biohazard suits protected them from the bite of the flies that spread the disease. You see, rats carried it, and a certain type of fly sucks blood. When that type of fly feeds from a rat, (carrier) then the fly becomes a transmitter and whatever they bite after that becomes infected. The team sincerely doubted that the people of this town even knew what was plaguing them, or how to prevent it from spreading. What made this evident was the fact that the better half of the townspeople had locked themselves in a church to escape it. A church with windows, without any glass, as was traditional with this adobe style architecture if you can even call it that. Their bio-suits, unfortunately, did not filter the rancid smell of decay. The inside of the church was well shaded, and all sorts of bugs were gnawing at the bodies. The bodies were strewn about, their faces contorted with dying expressions. In the center of the church, atop all the bodies, stood a single rat.