by Mark Kelly
Simmons apologized. “Sorry, I didn’t expect the boat to move”
“That’s what boats do, sir, they move,” the soldier said crossly. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
Simmons nodded. Other than his hurt pride, he was fine.
“Take a seat, sir, and we’ll get underway.”
The soldier scampered up the ladder to the flybridge. He flipped the ignition switch, and the twin five-hundred horsepower Cummins diesel engines roared to life.
As the boat pulled away from the dock, Simmons glanced at Mei. Her knuckles were white with tension from gripping the edge of the tan vinyl seat she was sitting on.
“Are you okay?”
“I can’t swim,” she said, croaking the words out.
“Really? You can’t swim? I learned when I was five.”
“Don’t look so smug about it, Tony.”
He shook his head. “No, I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m just surprised. You never said anything while we were together. And there was that time we took Otetiani’s cigarette boat across the river. You didn’t look scared then.”
“I was too afraid of being shot to be scared of drowning.”
“I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” he said. “This is a big boat, and you have a life jacket. If we hit a rock or a log and you’re thrown overboard, the life jacket will keep you afloat. And if we do hit something, the river water isn’t cold enough yet for hypo—”
“Shut up, Tony.”
He shut up. If the tone of her voice wasn’t enough of a warning, the icy look in her eyes was.
He closed his eyes and sat with his hands folded together in his lap and made a list in his head of all the things they would need to continue the project. He decided he wouldn’t leave the base until the general agreed to back another scavenging mission. After a few minutes, he dozed off.
The boat captain’s shouts woke him. “Couple minutes until we dock. Looks like it’s going to clear up.”
Simmons rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Mei was motionless. It didn’t look like she had moved an inch the entire time they had been on the river.
He glanced out the window and saw the military dock. A pair of figures walked to the end of it. He recognized Sergeant Dines and the soldier beside her. Dines had her arms folded across her chest and wore the pissed-off look that was perpetually etched on her face.
The roar of the boat’s engines quieted and Simmons pressed his feet into the deck to keep from slipping off the seat as the soldier up front pulled back on the throttle.
When they were a few feet away from the jetty, Dines yelled to the soldiers onboard. “You’re late. I was about to call the coast guard, except I realized you’re the fucking coast guard, so fat lot of good that would have done.”
“Shut up, Dines. We had to go slow. It was rougher than normal.”
The queasy look on Mei’s face confirmed it. She pushed herself up and stood unsteadily while she unfastened her life-jacket and dropped it on the seat. Simmons offered her his hand and walked her to the stern where a soldier guided her off the boat.
“You okay, Doc?” Dines asked. “You look like you’re about to puke up a bag of chickens.”
“I’m fine,” Mei said in a barely audible voice. She swayed when the dock swayed and Dines grabbed her arm to support her.
With his earlier boarding still fresh in his mind, Simmons waited until the boat and dock came together before he jumped off. The young soldier with Dines grabbed his arm and steadied him.
“Thanks, uh…”
“Private Bennett, sir. We met at—”
“At the roadblock—I remember,” Simmons said. “You were the one who did the mouthwash experiment, right?”
“That’s me, sir. Are you coming with us, too?”
“No, I’m going to see General Leduc about organizing a scavenging trip.”
Dines gave Simmons the stink eye. “Better not be more cooking oil. It took me a week to get the smell out of my clothing.”
“No, nothing like that,” he said and started to recite items from the list in his head. “We need nitrogen, an autoclave, a portable thermocycler if we can find one, although we’ll probably have to visit a hospital or university to get that…Oh, and a supply of agar.”
The young soldier, Bennett, gawked at Simmons. “Are you trying to culture and identify bacteria, sir?”
Simmons nodded, surprised that Bennet knew what agar was.
“Cool—we did an experiment in grade eleven science class,” Bennett said. “I used a Q-tip and swabbed the inside of my mouth. The culture was yellow and brown, but I haven’t got a clue what kind of bacteria it was.”
“Probably Streptococcus mutans,” Simmons replied.
Dines burst out laughing. She slapped the young soldier on the back. “Now, everything about you makes sense. Your problem is you’ve got mutant bacteria inside you.”
Simmons frowned at her. “You have Streptococcus mutans in your mouth too. We all do. It’s a primary cause of tooth decay.”
Dines ignored him and spoke to Mei. “You ready to go, Doc?”
The color in Mei’s face had returned to something closer to normal. “Do we have time for a quick stop?”
Dines winked and pointed to a blue Porta Potty at the end of the dock. “Hope you brought your own toilet paper.”
“No, not that. I want to stop and check in on Saanvi.”
“Sorry, Doc, no can do,” Dines said, shaking her head. “We’re on a tight schedule. The rest of the squad is waiting at the base hospital with the equipment and supplies you requested. General Leduc was crystal clear. We’re to take you to the clinic and then back here with no stops.”
“I’ll go and see her,” Simmons said.
“Would you mind, Tony? I’m worried about her. She wasn’t herself when I saw her last week.”
“Sure, no problem. I’ll go right after I see General Leduc, but what do you mean, not herself?”
Mei gave him a worried look. “She was aloof…and quiet.”
He reached over and squeezed Mei’s arm. “Go…don’t worry about it. I’ll let you know what I find out after I see her.”
13
The daughter of light
“Show the professor out and shut the door behind you,” Leduc said without looking up from his desk.
The general’s aide-de-camp, Cox, took Simmons by the arm and guided him towards the door with a quick tug. Simmons got the message.
Don’t push your luck.
To his delight, the meeting with Leduc had been quick, almost perfunctory. Everything he had requested had been granted, and a scavenging trip to Ottawa, the nearest large city, would be arranged in the coming week. It would be the last before winter.
Ignoring Cox’s warning, Simmons decided to ask for one last thing. “General, I’d like to borrow one of your men to help me in the lab.”
Leduc looked up and scowled. “Who? Abrams? Dines? Not going to happen. I need them both.”
“No, a kid named Bennett.”
“Who the hell is Bennett?” Leduc grunted. He glanced at Cox who quickly filled him in.
“Private Bennett arrived here for basic training two days before we closed the base, sir.”
“You want to borrow a soldier who hasn’t even finished his basic training?” Leduc asked Simmons, a perplexed look on his face.
“I don’t need him for his fighting skills, General. I just need an extra pair of hands to—”
“Done.”
Leduc look down at his desk—dismissing them, again. Cox grabbed Simmons arm and yanked harder. This time, Simmons let himself be steered out of the general’s office. When the door closed behind them, he glanced at Cox and said, “What’s up with him? He seems distracted.”
“The general has a lot on his mind these days,” Cox replied. “He’s worried we don’t have sufficient supplies stockpiled for the winter. He also just received bad news from a recon team that was down south. They reported sign
ificant biker activity on the highways. There’s a rumor the leader of the largest Toronto gang was killed at a meeting with his equivalent from Quebec.”
“Is the general worried the gangs will go to war with each other?” Simmons asked.
“No, the opposite. He’s worried there’s going to be a truce.”
“What? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“It does in a confused kind of way,” Cox replied. “If the bikers are busy fighting each other down south, it keeps them away from us.”
Simmons scratched his head. “I’m no expert on gangs, but wouldn’t killing the leader of the opposition normally be grounds for war?”
“Probably, but in this case the killers weren’t gang members. According to what the recon squad heard, the gang leaders were at a meet-up on the highway and one of them was killed by a man and woman who escaped on motorcycles.”
Lucia and Baker?
Simmons almost said their names aloud, but the idea they were responsible was ridiculous. “Should we be worried?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Cox said. “We’re too remote to be worth their trouble.” He glanced over his shoulder at the closed office door. “I need to get back in there, but would you like me to ask around and see if there’s a convoy or squad heading up the highway to the lab?”
“No thanks,” Simmons replied. I’ll catch the afternoon boat later. I told Mei I would check in on Saanvi before I headed back to the lab.”
“Cox, where the hell are you?” the general’s voice boomed through the closed office door. “We aren’t done yet.”
Simmons grinned. “I’ll let you get back to it. There’s no rest for the wicked.”
“Or the weary,” Cox replied with a heavy sigh as he shook Simmons’s hand.
When Simmons stepped outside, the stormy weather from earlier was long gone, leaving a bright fall sun in the mid-morning sky. Rejuvenated by his success, he took the building’s steps two at a time and paused at the bottom, letting the sunlight wash over him. A languid smile spread across his face as the tension in his body ebbed away. When he opened his eyes, Abrams was standing a few feet away, a broad grin on his face.
“I was in the lab all night,” Simmons said, feeling the need to explain. “It’s nice to be outside.”
Abrams chuckled. “I didn’t say a word, Professor, but if Dines were here, she’d say you were having a sungasm.”
“A what?” Simmons frowned, unsure if he had heard Abrams correctly.
“A sungasm…It’s an orgasm from the—”
“Don’t be stupid. I told you I was in the lab all night.”
Abrams held up his hand to make peace. “I’m not making fun of you, Professor. Enjoy the weather while you can because in January it will be sunny too, except it’ll be colder than a witch’s tit. Never mind that, though, Did the old man give you the okay for the scavenging mission?”
“Yes, we’re going—Hey, wait a minute,” Simmons said, glaring at Abrams. “How do you know that’s what I came to see General Leduc about? Dines told you, didn’t she?”
Abrams grinned stupidly. “Yep, two minutes after you climbed out of the boat and mentioned why you were here, she was on the radio giving me shit and going on and on about fucking cooking oil.”
“It’s not for cooking oil. There are other things we need.”
“I don’t care what it’s for,” Abrams replied. “I want to make sure I’m the one leading the mission?”
“Why?”
“Seriously, you have to ask? We’re in the freaking middle of nowhere. Do you have any idea how good the pickings will be in the city? It’ll be like Christmas all over, except we’ll be taking, not giving. Where did you tell Leduc you wanted to go—Toronto?”
“Ottawa.”
“Oh.”
“Is there something wrong with Ottawa?”
Abrams looked away and his voice trailed off. “It’s just that I’m originally from Toronto and…”
Simmons understood immediately what was going through the other man’s mind. “Who did you lose?”
“My parents,” Abrams said in a quiet voice. “I only had a chance to talk to them once before the phone lines went down. I figured if we were going to Toronto, I’d stop by their house and check things out.”
“Do you think they made it?” Simmons asked, knowing the odds were one in a hundred.
Abrams shook his head. “No…probably not. That part of the city was hit bad by the pandemic and they were already in poor health.” He stiffened and threw back his shoulders. “In any case, Ottawa’s a better choice for a scavenging mission. The guys in the recon squad said there were fewer bikers on the road to the east.”
“You talked to the recon team?” Simmons asked, perking up. This was his chance to find out more about the mysterious couple who had killed the gang leader.
Abrams nodded. “They rolled in around 07h00 this morning. I was down at the main gate for the spectacle and saw them arrive.”
“The spectacle?”
“Jesus…you outta see it,” Abrams said, grinning. “I forgot you came down the river. They put on quite a show this morning and there’s more of them arriving every day. There’s a dude—their leader, I guess. He’s a small little guy with these long flowing robes—like what a priest wears. Anyway, they get a bonfire going every morning before dawn and he starts chanting. Then the others, men and women in these colorful shirts, they start chanting too. Pretty soon, they’re all walking in a circle around the fire like a bunch of lunatics.”
“And the general is okay with this?” Simmons asked, not believing for a minute that could be the case.
Abrams gave him an are you kidding me look. “Fuck no, he’s not okay with it. When he found out, I thought he was gonna blow a head gasket. He ordered us to get them away from the base, so we moved the whole lot of them down the road closer to town. Didn’t make any difference though, every morning they show up again and do their thing.”
“It sounds like a cult,” Simmons said. “What are they chanting about?”
“The British girl, Saanvi. But they don’t call her that. They call her Ushas.”
“Then how do you know it’s her?” Simmons asked, a feeling of dread building in the pit of his stomach.
“Because they ask for the daughter of heaven, and that sure as shit ain’t Dines. Then they asked to be cured.”
Simmons swallowed hard. Deep in his gut, he knew it was just a matter of time before word of Saanvi’s immunity and her curative powers leaked out.
“Look, I know what you’re thinking,” Abrams said, “but the girl is safe here. She’s inside the wire and the general has issued orders to keep her away from the main gate. The freaks are harmless, but even if they weren’t, there’s no way they’re getting past our men.”
Simmons raised an eyebrow. “Not getting past your men? It’s happened before.”
“That was different. Langdon’s guy was one of us.”
No, he wasn’t, Simmons thought. James O’Neal had never been to the base before the day he kidnapped Saanvi. He was as much one of Leduc’s soldiers as some random person off the street.
“Damn it…the general should have told me.”
Abrams shrugged. “He probably didn’t think it was worth bothering you.”
“He still could have said something. I was just in his office five minutes ago. I’m going down to the gate to see for myself.”
“Suit yourself, Professor, but there won’t be much to see. Just a bunch of losers, and at this time of the day, they won’t even be putting on a show.”
“I don’t care about a show,” Simmons said sharply. “It’s Saanvi’s safety I’m worried about.” He turned and marched down the road, leaving Abrams behind.
As he neared the gate, a guard moved to cut him off. “I’m not going outside. I just want to look.”
The soldier nodded and backed away, leaving him alone. Simmons searched the crowd for the people Abrams had mentioned, but all he saw we
re refugees in tattered clothing huddled around a bonfire. Disappointed, he was about to leave when he spotted a man wearing a gray monk’s robe standing alone at the bottom of a small hill.
Simmons placed his fingers on the chain-link fence and rattled it. “Hey, you, come here. I want to talk to you.”
A man and woman from the crowd turned and walked towards him. “Not you,” Simmons said, shooing them away. “Him…I want to talk to him.” He pointed to the man in the robe and shouted again.
“Is there a problem, Professor,” the soldier who had approached Simmons earlier asked.
Simmons glanced at the soldier’s name tag. Then he pointed to the man in the monk’s robe and said, “Corporal Chenney, I’d like to talk to him. Can you have someone bring him over to the fence?”
Chenney whistled sharply at another soldier who was standing outside the gatehouse. “Hey, O’Reilly, the professor wants to talk to Mr. Sing Song. Go get him and bring him over here.”
The soldier walked over to the robed figure and after a brief argument, took the much smaller man by his arms and frogmarched him to where Simmons stood.
The first thing Simmons noticed were the man’s eyes; gigantic oval saucers with tiny pupils so dark they were like a pair of blackholes absorbing everything that crossed their path. He blinked to free himself from their gaze as the man spoke.
“How can I help you, Professor?”
Simmons felt his mouth drop open. He studied the man, certain they had never met and said, “You have me at a disadvantage. I don’t know who you are, but you seem to know who I am.”
“I have many names, but you may call me Ethan,” the man said.
“What do you want?” Simmons asked warily as the hairs on the back of his neck prickled.
“My friends and I have traveled a great distance to pay homage to Ushas. Through her body and spirit, all of mankind has been given a second chance, a resurrection from the dark times that proceeded her arrival on this earth. Each morning, we bare ourselves so we may be one with her as she brings dawn’s new light. We pray for forgiveness, and to receive her gifts if she should choose.”