This morning, this flight, felt different to yesterday’s and to all the days prior to that. It was as if they had turned a corner. Tess didn’t even dare hope the last bomb had now been dropped, and so the recovery could truly begin, but they were now talking in terms of weeks and months, not hours and days. They were planning convoys and bakeries, rather than walls and patrols. They were worried about steel for canning, not graves because of starvation. They worried about a political challenge, not a coup, and drunken pilots, not the undead. Yes, things were changing. Perhaps it was the uniforms, or the lack thereof.
Team Stonefish had lost their camouflage, and were now in shirts and blazers, slacks or skirts. Zach looked younger, as if he were on a school trip. Bianca, perhaps because of the jewellery, looked considerably older. Sophia looked more professional, while Clyde, somehow, looked less. Toppley, by contrast, still wearing camo, looked even less like the infamous photos from the Christmas news bulletins.
“No gunshots,” Tess said as she buckled her seatbelt. “There were no gunshots last night.”
“Hmm, sorry?” Anna asked.
“Don’t mind me,” Tess said. “What are you reading?”
“Notes on water usage,” Anna said, turning a densely annotated page. “These are suggestions of how we can reduce consumption. But you can’t ration visits to the loo. We certainly can’t tell people not to wash their hands afterwards. We have to plan for fifty million people who all need a home, water, and food.”
“Fifty?”
“I’m being optimistic. A census is not a priority. The Murray-Darling basin just won’t produce enough water, no matter what crops we grow. Desalination is one solution, as long as we can manufacture the new-style graphene filters. These pages explain how difficult they are to make. Want a try deciphering it?”
“Not on your life,” Tess said.
“Then you better read this,” Anna said, pulling a large bound document from the bottom of her pile. “It’s everything we have on the collapse of the Madagascan evacuation.” She picked up another, slightly thinner, bundle. “This is everything we know about the Atlantic. Leo has copies of all the videos uploaded to the internet before the power went down. Something for you to watch while you’re at sea.”
“Who put these together?” Tess asked.
“Admiral Shikubu and Chief Oakes,” Anna said.
“Shikubu is the Japanese spy, yes? Oakes?” Tess said, half turning in her seat so she could look at Sergeant Oakes. Yes, he did share a resemblance with the old police officer Tess had known in Sydney. It was a question to ask when they landed. She flipped through the pages. “This is a list of impact sites. None of these are very specific locations,” Tess said. “I’m starting to get a feel for the extent of the mission.”
“This is a letter signed by Oswald, a warrant, if you like,” Anna said, handing over an envelope. “And there’s a letter signed by Edith Vasco.”
“Who’s that?”
“The new Secretary-General of our equally new United Nations.”
“Was she an ambassador?” Tess asked.
“A Nobel Laureate from the Philippines, teaching at the university.”
“A scientist?”
“A poet and philosopher. Considering what’s happened, that’s who the world needs.”
Tess nodded, pocketing the letter, and then returned to the briefing packet. Inevitably, she fell asleep.
A hand on her arm woke her. “We’re landing,” Toppley said.
Even as she buckled her seatbelt, Bruce Hawker entered the cabin from the cockpit.
“We’re not expected, ma’am,” he said, addressing Anna as much as Tess. “The U.S. Rangers, and the C-5 Galaxy, were sent north. They’re aiding in the evacuation of the Andaman Islands.”
“That’s still on-going?” Anna said. “That’s good. We might retain control of the islands.”
“But it’s not so great if we want to fly west,” Tess said.
“They’re not expecting you, either, ma’am,” Hawker added.
“Good,” Anna said. “They won’t have had time to brush the crumbs under the sofa. I’m sure we’ll find you another plane, Tess.”
As soon as the wheels touched the ground, and the plane began braking, Tess stood. “Blaze, the Deputy Prime Minister comes off the plane next, everyone else waits.”
Hawker met her by the door, opening it for her. Outside, a Hawkei PMV was speeding towards them. On the parallel runway, an F-35 screeched skyward, nearly scraping the tops of the cranes. Hundreds of cranes, towers, and platforms filling every corner of the horizon.
“What are they building?” Tess asked.
“Walls,” Hawker said. “We saw them from the air. They have walls everywhere. The city is growing bigger by the hour.”
By the time Tess had both feet on the tarmac, the military patrol vehicle had stopped, five metres from their wing.
A uniformed officer jumped out of the passenger-side. “You’re from Canberra?” she asked. It sounded like an accusation.
“Commissioner Tess Qwong. This is Colonel Bruce Hawker. Aboard is Deputy Prime Minister Dodson. She’s here on an inspection tour, and we’re here to catch a C-5 Galaxy with a hundred U.S. Rangers.”
“The C-5 flew north last night,” the officer said. “Only sixty of the passengers were U.S. Army Rangers. The other forty were civilians.”
“There’s no ramp, no lift,” Hawker said. “Wing Commander, yes?” he said, reading the woman’s rank. “Where’s the elevator?”
“What elevator?” the wing commander replied.
“Commissioner, I can rig a hoist, but it won’t be graceful,” Hawker said.
Tess, still more than half asleep, caught up. “It’ll be quickest,” she said. “Though the deputy prime minister will not be pleased.” She turned her gaze on the wing commander who simply ignored it.
“You need to get your plane off my runway,” she said.
“It’s the—” Tess began, but stopped as a second fighter jet tore into the sky. “It’s the deputy prime minister’s plane,” she said.
“I don’t care,” the wing commander said. “The fighter wing will need to land in forty minutes, with refugee flights expected from Broome in two hours. Who does your pilot think he is that he can set down without permission? I told you not to land, but you did anyway, endangering the entire city.” The words were laden with anger, but the officer’s eyes were sagging with exhaustion.
“What’s your name?” Tess asked.
“Wing Commander O’Bryan.” She turned back to the Hawkei. “Fetch the tug. Get this plane moved. Is that a wheelchair?”
Tess turned to look at the plane. The wheelchair, and half the team, were on the ground. Clyde had secured a rope somewhere inside the cabin. Tess turned back to the wing commander. “The wheelchair is for the deputy prime minister who was shot during the attempted coup. She’s here with a press team to see how the relief effort is going, find out what’s needed, and to make sure it gets delivered. The colonel and myself are here to link up with those American soldiers, and then head west, initially to Mozambique, in pursuit of the people responsible for the outbreak and the nuclear war. We intend to bring them to justice. Did you hear Prime Minister Owen’s address last night?”
“I was too busy,” the wing commander said, now staring at the plane. “The deputy prime minister was shot?”
“The world’s spinning fast, these days,” Tess said.
“You said you’re going to Mozambique? I don’t know if the runway is still open. It’s been a day since a plane arrived from there. We re-directed it to Canberra.”
“Yes, it arrived. Do you know if there are ships in Mozambique?”
“Three, I think,” O’Bryan said. “An African Union regiment is guarding the port. After the refugees were evacuated, we were told the priority was the northern Indian Ocean.”
“Told by whom?” Tess asked.
The wing commander just threw up her hands. “Look, we’re doing
all we can. There are eight million people here now. Eight! That’s nearly six million refugees. The governor— sorry, I mean the mayor. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? A local council led by a mayor. So the governor of Western Australia is now a mayor, but it’s not magically reduced our overcrowding. We’re already running a rescue of all shipping that lost power after those bombs, and then you tell us you need an evacuation of the Andaman Islands, so we send our planes north. Now you want to go west.”
“Everything needs to be done yesterday, doesn’t it?” Tess said.
“G’day!” Anna said, as the colonel wheeled her over, Mick a step behind. “Deputy Prime Minister Anna Dodson.”
“We weren’t expecting you,” the wing commander said, adding only a moment too late “ma’am.”
“No worries. I’d like to meet some people,” Anna said. “Enough people that word will spread that I’m here. Then I’d like you to show me the problems, and tell me what you’d like me to do to fix them. But I also need to get Commissioner Qwong on her way to Africa.”
“Of course, ma’am,” O’Bryan said, switching to military formality. “You’ll need to speak to the governor, I mean the mayor. I’ll take you there now. But there are no planes here that can reach Africa. The passenger planes have gone north, except those we sent east. We’re stretched to breaking just rescuing the passengers from the stranded shipping.”
“Of course,” Anna said. “I’ll need to visit the docks, and the shipyard. But the commissioner does need to get to Africa.”
O’Bryan pointed at the USAF Gulfstream. “Your plane has the range.”
“They require military support as well,” Anna said. “Where are the U.S. Rangers?”
“By now? In Port Blair,” O’Bryan said. “Refugees arrived from across the Andaman Islands, and from across the coastal regions of the Indian Ocean. Port Blair is in danger of being overrun. Too many infected. Troops were requested, and those Rangers were already stood next to a plane. Over three hundred thousand civilians, ma’am. Broome won’t be able to cope. We’ll have to bring the refugees south, unless you can relocate them elsewhere.”
“We’ll find them a home,” Anna said. “And I think we can relieve some of the pressure on you here. Now, how will you help the commissioner get to Africa?”
“You want a hundred soldiers?” the wing commander asked, looking to the high walls under construction beyond the runway. “I can get them here in an hour. But a plane will take longer.”
“You’ve got a C-17 over there,” Mick said.
“It doesn’t have the range to reach Africa, when carrying a full complement of troops,” O’Bryan said.
“But it could refuel in Diego Garcia,” Mick said.
“Diego Garcia is underwater,” O’Bryan said.
“There’s been a tsunami?” Anna asked. “Here?”
“Not here,” O’Bryan said. “Localised flooding was reported among the islands to the west. We’ve had reports of mushroom clouds at sea. Twelve, so far, spread throughout the ocean, but nothing to indicate as severe an attack as in the Pacific. Our information is incomplete, but we’re not wrong about that island runway.”
“What about Mauritius?” Mick asked.
“Similarly unusable,” O’Bryan said. “The runways in Madagascar have been overrun. Inhambane is the only operational runway we know of.”
“We’ll take the Gulfstream,” Hawker said.
“What of the soldiers?” Anna asked.
“A cohesive unit of Army Rangers afford a number of tactical options,” Hawker said. “Conscripts are an entirely different proposition. Sailors will suffice for a shore-party. The ships will have a limited quantity of supplies, so better we don’t put a strain on them. I would ask if Major Brook can join us. He’s a force multiplier all on his own.”
“Do you mean Clyde?” Tess asked.
“According to the blokes who brought that refugee plane to Canberra, there’s fuel in Inhambane,” Mick said. “Were they right?”
“Frustratingly, there is an abundance in Mozambique,” O’Bryan said, unbending now it appeared none of her own people or resources would be requisitioned. “Supplies were sent to Inhambane to aid in the evacuation of Madagascar, but the island fell before the supplies were used.”
“But you said a regiment is guarding the port, and three warships are still anchored offshore,” Tess said.
“For all the good they’ll do there,” O’Bryan said.
“Oh, they will do us some good, indeed,” Tess said.
“Refuel my plane, and we’ll be out of here in an hour,” Mick said.
“No, Dad. You’re not flying to Africa,” Anna said.
“There’s no one better qualified,” Mick said. “Unless you fancy a trip west, Wing Commander?”
“I have plenty of commercial pilots here in Perth,” O’Bryan said. “Many from Africa.”
“But by the time we find one who’s flown a Gulfstream, and who’s flown to Inhambane, another day will have gone by,” Mick said. “I’m here now. There’s a job to be done, Anna, for which I’m best qualified. Our own interests have to be put aside.”
“You can fly to Africa, but no further. That’s an order,” Anna said. “Tess, you better take your team with you.”
“You still need a bodyguard,” Tess said.
“I’ve got Dan and Sophia,” Anna said, “and I have the wing commander and her air force. I want your team to make sure my father returns.” Another fighter took off. “Where are those going?”
“To the edge of the desert,” O’Bryan said. “They’ll lure the undead to bastions we’ve built far from the city. There, we’ll destroy them.”
“I’d like to see more of that,” Anna said. “Dad, you drop Tess off, and then you come back. Don’t make me have to come pick you up. Tess, stay safe.”
“You, too,” Tess said.
Blaze pushed Anna off the runway. Sophia followed behind, leaving the wing commander momentarily uncertain whether to drive after them, or walk alongside. Tess turned to her team. They were one short.
“Where’s Dr Avalon?” she asked.
“Still on the plane,” Leo said.
“Still? Fine. Listen up. Change of plans. We’re going on, alone and together, to Mozambique. Clyde, you’re now with me. Elaina, Zach, Bianca, you’ll make sure Mick comes home. The refugees have been evacuated. There are African Union soldiers holding the runway, and three warships in the harbour. But it’s an ocean away. Anyone who wants to volunteer to stay with Anna can, no judgement. Otherwise you’ve got until Mick’s got the plane prepped to find clothing suited for war.”
“Where we want to be isn’t always where we need to be,” Clyde said. “What about the ammunition and carbines in the hold?”
“We’ll take them with us,” Tess said. “I don’t know where the front line is these days, but we’re travelling far behind it.”
Chapter 6 - Out of the Fire, Into the Firing Line
Inhambane, Mozambique
When Mick announced they’d reached cruising altitude, belt-buckles clunked, cloth rustled, laces shuffled, and zips whizzed as her team changed clothes. Almost as loud was the hum of embarrassment generated by maintaining the polite pretence of privacy. Tess watched the view beyond the small window. Perth truly was a construction site. Walls were rising everywhere, but if the city had acquired six million refugees, floors and windows would surely be added soon.
The sea was speckled with white sails from yachts repurposed into fishing boats, but there were no larger vessels. She’d misunderstood the wing commander: the authorities in Perth were still engaged in the search part of their rescue attempt.
Her ears pricked as they picked up the end of a conversation two seats behind her.
“If you give me your clothes, sir, I’ll stow them overhead,” Sergeant Oakes said.
“Just call me Clyde, mate. I’m a long time retired.”
Tess stood. “Okay, listen up. I’ve got some briefing notes here
about Mozambique which will be of interest, but before we go any further, there’s one big question I reckon we all want cleared up.” She turned to Clyde. “Major Clyde Brook?”
“I’m just a charity worker,” he said.
“The Raging Brook?” Oakes said. “You’re a force of nature.”
“Want to elaborate?” Tess asked.
“Not especially,” Clyde said.
“Fair enough,” Tess said. “Sergeant Nick Oakes.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Was your father a superintendent in Sydney a few years back?”
“My uncle, ma’am. He told me about you. The copper who flew across the rooftops.”
“Would you like to elaborate on that?” Leo asked.
“Not especially,” Tess said. “All right, here’s the situation. We’re going to land in Inhambane, Mozambique, and pick up a ship. Either a U.S. frigate or the HMAS Adelaide, which will take us to Colombia. We might continue east with three ships, but that’ll depend on what level of on-going support the African Union soldiers require. Elaina, Bianca, Zach, you’re Mick’s ground crew, and will make sure he returns to Perth. The rest of us will sail around Africa, across the Atlantic, and to the Panama Canal, via Colombia. We’re going to the property owned by the cartel bosses who were linked to the coup and had some hand in the outbreak.”
“That’s the lead we got from Sir Malcolm?” Bianca asked.
“The very same,” Tess said. “Colombia could be where they created the virus. Ideally, Dr Avalon will get to rummage around inside the lab, but we thought we’d be bringing a hundred U.S. Rangers with us for onshore support. We’ll make a new plan when we’re at sea, when we know what ships we’re sailing with, and what kind of crew they have. Throughout the voyage we’re tasked with finding out what’s become of the world. That makes this a scientific expedition, so we’ll listen to Dr Smilovitz.”
“And he listens to me,” Avalon said, without removing her headphones, or even pausing the music.
Her back to the scientist, Tess gave a theatrical shrug.
“Did you say we had some intel on Mozambique?” Clyde asked.
Life Goes On | Book 4 | If Not Us [Surviving The Evacuation] Page 8