Unknown Destination
Ethan Pietens
Copyright 2016 Ethan Pietens
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Table of Contents
The Paper
Jungle Fever
The Dead of Night
About the Author
The Paper
The clock ticks through the deafening silence as I finish the last details for the big presentation I’m creating for work. I glance at the clock, and know that in one minute, I will receive the same call I’ve received every morning since the night of the scandal. The clock turns to nine and my heart pounds. The sharp ringing of the phone fills my office. I pick it up.
“Hello, you’ve reached Luthor, how can I help you?” I asked. There is a long pause.
“I know what you did,” the voice said.
“Who is this? What do you want?” I said. There is a faint click as they disconnect. I slam the phone down and scatter the contents of my desk searching for a pen and paper. I extract a pen and paper from the mess and scribble words on the paper.
It’s done. I’ve written a note of resignation, though I don’t explain why. The truth is far too dark. For weeks, the guilt has eaten away at me. I grab my briefcase and hurry into the stairwell.
As I rush down the stairs, my head floods with memories of that dreaded night. I remember the man pleading with me. I knew what I was doing was wrong, but it had been the only way to save my career. I’m out of breath by the time I reach the parking garage. I sprint to my car, fling myself in, and lock the doors.
Regaining my composure, I pick up today’s newspaper off of my dashboard. Flipping through the pages, I find what I’m looking for. On page six, there’s an article titled, “I Know What You Did.” All my careful planning has been pointless; I’ve made a fatal mistake somewhere along the way. Skimming through the article, I can barely breathe. The article explained how my company has been dumping chemicals in the Sparkill Creek, how one local fisherman had been witness to it, and how he also saw the atrocious effects the chemicals had on the local wildlife. The man had watched the chemicals create horrifying mutations that were doomed to death. Finally, the article spoke of an unnamed employee who has tried to cover it up. Cold sweat runs down my forehead as I read all the excruciating details of how I broke into the fisherman’s home and stabbed him to death.
I crumple the paper and stow it in my briefcase. Time is short, and I have to burn the briefcase. It has evidence of all the horrific things my company has done, and my part in all of this. I start the car and slam on the gas. As the wind rushes against my face, I’m truly and utterly afraid. It’s all unraveling and I need to get out before the aftermath begins. I’ll flee the country to Canada.
My car screeches into my driveway, and I sprint into my house. I fumble for my keys, but I’m already too late. The air fills with blaring sirens. I turn to see five patrol cars roll into my cul-de-sac.
A voice shouts out from one of the cars. “Luthor Marcovich, you are under arrest. Get on the ground and put your hands on your head.”
I lay on the ground, and an officer runs up, hand cuffs me, and reads my rights. Just like that, everything I’ve worked so hard to prevent has come to fruition. All I can think about as they throw me in the back of a squad car is the phone.
It rings in my head one last time, and the faint voice says, “I know what you did.”
Jungle Fever
Seconds clicked away on the clock, and Marcus felt the cold beads of sweat form on his forehead and drip down to the linoleum floor below. Time was running out. He tried to focus, but he couldn’t take his mind off of the gunshots ringing through the air outside. He looked once again at the man kneeling before him. He removed the gag from the man’s mouth.
“You Americans are all the same.” the prisoner said. “You’re all arrogant and smug, thinking you know what is best for everyone. You come into countries where you don’t belong and interfere with our politics. Just wait until my squadron arrives. I think we both know what they’ll do to you.”
Marcus walked back to the table and picked up the butterfly knife. This was a highly classified black ops mission; if anyone found out what he was doing here, the government would denounce any involvement, and he would be left at the mercy of the Laos judicial system. Still, he couldn’t help but feel this was wrong. He had only ever killed to directly protect his life before, never someone who was unarmed.
“What do you think you’re going to do with that? Kill me? You don’t have the stones.” The prisoner gave Marcus a long, hard look before speaking again. “This doesn’t end well for you; I hope you realize that. Best case scenario is that you spend life in prison. However, it is far more likely you will be tortured to death.” The man smiled at the thought.
Gunshots rang out from the jungle, much closer than before. Marcus realized how short his time was now. Yet, he still wasn’t clear what he was going to do. He peered out the door of the small hut, and glanced out into the jungle. The lush, green hills go on for miles. If he left right now, Marcus could disappear into the jungle without a trace. He’d reach his emergency evacuation point and be gone long before anyone knew where he went. Still, Marcus felt a sense of purpose to his work. He knew the gravity of his mission; it was why he had volunteered for it in the first place. He looked at the man one last time. The man glares at Marcus.
“Any last words?” Marcus said, realizing how cliché it was as he spoke it. The man spat onto Marcus’ shoes. “Alright then,” Marcus said.
Marcus drew the blade back, poised to strike, before lowering his wrist and sliding the knife back into its holster.
“Just as I thought,” the man said, “you couldn’t kill me even if you wanted to.”
Marcus snapped around and, with a swift kick, knocked the chair over, leaving the prisoner lying on his back. Marcus kneeled down next to the prisoner. He pressed the knife up against the man’s throat.
“You just don’t get it, do you? This is about more than you and me. I don’t give a shit about you,” Marcus said. “All I care about is doing what I came here to do. I was going to be merciful, but I’ve risked too much to let a loud mouth like you fuck it all up. I knew the risks of coming here, but it will all be worth it once I fix your backward-ass country. So, try not to take this personally, because your death will help bring about a better world for everyone.”
With a few swift movements of the butterfly knife, Marcus ended the prisoner’s life. He lifted the body onto his shoulders, and carried it out of the hut and into the brush, where it would soon be forgotten. As he retrieved his belongings from the hut, he heard voices from the jungle. They weren’t far now. He tightened the straps on his backpack and took off sprinting the opposite direction of the voices.
The Dead of Night
Aleks, a skinny but fit twenty-two year old with light blonde hair and a stubbly beard, and Devon, a short eighteen year old with dark messy hair, sit around a campfire. Aleks passes the pot of beans to Devon. “We can’t keep this fire going much longer, Dev. We are almost out of fuel.”
Devon stands up and starts to kick dirt onto the dying fire. “That’s probably for the best. We don’t need to draw more attention to ourselves. We don’t know what these things are capable of.” Devon picks up his backpack off the ground and fishes out a plastic container. He pours what is left o
f the beans in the container and stows it in the backpack before sliding it over his shoulder. Aleks pics up his backpack and takes a pistol out of it.
“There are no structures for miles,” Aleks said. “We need to keep our guard up.” Devon nods. The two begin to hike off into the surrounding fields. Aleks takes a canteen out of his backpack and takes a swig. “I’m almost out of water. We’ll need to find some more tomorrow.”
“That was our last can of beans,” Devon said. “We definitely need to find some more supplies as soon as possible. 6I think that it has been about three days since we left Carson, so we are only about halfway to Bismarck. We’re going to have to figure something out along the way.” A loud screech erupts from the darkness. “Shit, they are catching up to us.”
“C’mon,” Aleks said, “we are going to have to pick up our pace. There is nowhere to hide out here.” Aleks raises his pistol and breaks into a sprint. Devon follows suit, and the two run together further into the field. Devon stops running and keels over.
“I can’t run any further, Aleks,” Devon said. He lays on the ground clutching his leg. He lifts up his pant leg revealing a huge gash running down his shin. It is deep enough for the bone to be visible, and his leg is covered in dried blood.
“I know it hurts, but we can’t stay here, Dev.” Aleks grabs Devon’s arm and yanks him back up onto his feet. Devon’s leg immediately gives way to the weight and he falls back onto the ground. Devon tosses his backpack over to Aleks and draws the gun tucked into the back of his pants. “What the fuck are you doing?” Aleks asked.
“It’s time, Aleks. We knew this was bound to happen sooner or later.”
“I’m not leaving you here, Dev. You don’t stand a chance against those things.”
“Aleks, you have to leave me or we will both die.”
Aleks tosses his backpack onto the ground and loads the last of his ammo into his clip. “Well, if these bastards want us, then they better come and get us.”
Devon stares at Aleks. “You know what you’re doing is suicide. Why are you doing this?”
Aleks lights a small lantern and kneels down next to Devon. “What’s the point of running anyway, Dev? I’m so tired of fighting just to survive. I’d rather go out fighting.” Another loud screech erupts from the darkness, much closer this time.
“Well, it’s been fun. Let’s do this shit.” Devon takes his pistol and fires into the darkness. A dark figure falls to the ground screeching and crawls into a nearby heap of dead corn stalks. The screech rings out through the recently plowed cornfield. “Hell yeah! I got one.” More and more figure appear in the shadows around them. The two rapidly begin firing at the figures.
Aleks takes out his clip and looks at it. “I’m out, Dev. I guess this is it.”
“I’m out too,” Devon says. The dark figures charge forward. “Goodbye, Aleks.” The figures swarm the two men, who are completely overtaken. The lantern goes out, and the area is once again bathed in silence.
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About the author
Ethan Pietens is a writer and filmmaker. He has experience acting in several films and live theater shows. His film experience includes his work as the writer for Looking for Purpose and the assistant director of Cold&Alone. He has also done some professional videography. He is currently attending Full Sail University to earn his BFA in Creative Writing for Entertainment, and he is a writer at Free Fall Pictures.