Tess held out the binder Anna had given her. “It’s mostly about the evacuation to Madagascar. An evacuation which failed. Embarkation was at Beira in the north, and at the capital, Maputo, in the south. Inhambane, where we’re landing, is halfway between.”
“While it’s halfway between Maputo and Beira, it’s still in the south of the country,” Clyde said. “Beira is a port in the middle of Mozambique, and roughly contiguous with the mid-point of Madagascar. We’ll be about ten degrees farther north than Canberra.”
“You mean it’s ten degrees warmer?” Zach asked.
“The latitude,” Clyde said. “It’ll be about five degrees warmer.”
“Have you been to Mozambique before, Clyde?” Elaina asked.
“I spent some time waiting there,” Clyde said. “When you’ve finished your book, you read whatever you can get your hands on, and that was usually government brochures upselling the investment opportunities in the country. Why weren’t they using Nacala? That’s contiguous with the northern coast of Madagascar, and it’s one of the deepest harbours in Africa.”
“Fuel tanker blew up,” Tess said, pointing at the briefing book. “It’s assumed to be deliberate.”
“What went wrong in Madagascar?” Elaina asked. “Something did, didn’t it? I assume so or we’d be flying there.”
“Take a read and find out,” Tess said. “But all I know is that it was overrun by the infected. But we’ve still got a foothold at Inhambane. It’s possible someone might retake Madagascar, though it won’t be us. Get some rest, because when we land, I don’t expect we’ll linger long. Within an hour or two of arrival, I want to be underway.”
She returned to her seat, pulled down the blind, and closed her eyes, trying to remember whether or not the RSAS used the rank of major.
Catching up on a month’s sleep, one snatched hour at a time, she dozed fitfully until finally woken by a tap on her shoulder.
“Mick wants you up front, Tess,” Colonel Hawker whispered.
She followed him back to the cockpit where, below, the ocean’s surface was slick with wreckage and oil, and an occasional floating hulk. Ahead, smoke rose from a forested shore.
“Where are we?” Tess asked.
“About fifty miles due east of Madagascar,” Mick said.
“That’s Madagascar?” she asked. “I… I had an image in my head. Lush trees. Wide beaches. Sweeping rivers. Bright-coloured animals. Not carnage.”
“There’s nothing on the radio,” Hawker said, retaking the co-pilot’s seat.
“But people must be down there,” Tess said, trying to pick out details between the smoke. Smouldering shipwrecks dotted the beach. The fires had spread to the buildings ashore, creating a giant plume which merged with that rising from the blazing inland forests.
“Zoms,” Hawker said. “Down there. Has to be zoms. Nothing on the radio yet.”
“It’s worse than I was expecting,” Mick said.
“It’s worse than Brisbane,” Tess said.
“Twice over,” Mick said. “But I was thinking about alternate runways. We’re about an hour from Inhambane. We’ve enough fuel to hunt up and down the coast, but not to return home.”
“No worries,” Tess said, since the time to worry was before they’d taken off. “I’ll get everyone up and ready.”
In the cabin, only one blind was up. Leo was looking outside, but his hand still wrote. Avalon typed in time with the fast music leaking around the edge of her headphones. Clyde and Zach played cards. Elaina and Bianca were engrossed in a hushed, smiling debate. Oakes was reading a thick paperback whose cover was mostly an explosion.
“Everything okay?” Toppley asked.
“We’re above Madagascar,” Tess said. “We’re about an hour out from the airport. Take a look out the window. Get your gear packed. Get ready to leave the plane.”
A few more blinds went up.
“Strewth,” Elaina said.
“Vile,” Zach said.
“Dante’s Inferno,” Bianca said. “It truly is.”
“Get up,” Clyde called. “Eat up. Wash up. Pack up.”
Tess sat, bent, and tightened her laces, doing her best not to look outside. After Sydney, when she’d been recovering, she’d binged the ooh-pretty-animal nature shows. Madagascar had been a favourite since it could give Australia a run for most bizarre ecosystem in the world. Now, realistically, the aye-aye was extinct. The ring-tailed lemur was gone. The fossa had been wiped out. TV shows about faraway places were nothing but memories.
Korea was gone, and she’d never been. Persimmons were grown in Australia, but her mother always said they never tasted better than fresh from the tree in the safe-house north of Busan where she’d been debriefed after her defection. The world she’d known was past history, and the future of which she’d daydreamed was less real than the smoke clouds now buffeting the plane.
“Are you okay, Commissioner?” Toppley asked.
“First time out of the country for a while,” Tess said. “Couldn’t remember if I’d packed my towel.”
The intercom clicked. “We’ve picked up the beacon for Inhambane,” Mick said.
A muted susurrus of relief shot around the cabin.
“That’s an Anzac-class frigate down there,” Oakes said, looking out the window. “She’s firing her gun.”
Tess turned to the window and caught the glimpse of a freighter-ship, but she couldn’t see the warships.
“That frigate must be our ride,” Tess said. “I thought it was a Canberra-class ship. Someone must have got them mixed up.”
“Who were they shooting?” Elaina asked, as the plane shook.
“Buckle up,” Tess said, following her own advice. Her trepidation grew faster than the smoke below. Oily, dark, thick, swirled by the wind to obscure what looked more like a refugee camp than a war zone, but certainly wasn’t a secure military outpost.
A hard landing was followed by an equally hard deceleration, but before it was over, Hawker came from the cockpit into the cabin. “Perth was wrong,” he said. “There are refugees still here, and they were expecting an airlift. They’re engaged with the zoms.”
“Ah, hell,” Tess said, pulling herself up. “Clyde, Oakes, get ready to help refuel, or fight, and probably both. Bruce, did they say how many refugees?” she added, following the colonel to the door.
“They asked where the big planes were,” Hawker said. “So I’m guessing lots.” Just before he opened the door, the colonel raised his voice. “If they want to take the plane, we’ll let them,” he said. “We do not have sufficient fuel to return home, so we are not killing for the chance to drown in the Indian Ocean. We’ll retreat to a ship, or retreat inland. Bring weapons, food, water. Expect to never come back aboard.”
“You think it’ll be that bad?” Tess asked.
“Let’s find out,” Hawker said, threw the door open, and jumped down. Tess followed.
Smoke, oil, and oceanic salt seasoned a swirling miasma of blood, sewage, and burned flesh. The air reverberated with a thunderclap roar as the distant warship fired her gun. From the south came a muted applause of small-arms fire. Amid the smoke, she saw hints of barricades ringing the runway, but no other planes, and no tall buildings.
An open-top bus sped towards their plane. Duct tape held the cracked windscreen together. Muddy sand covered the pearl-pink bodywork. The sky-blue cloth sunshade above the passenger cabin had been reduced to loose rags, flapping and streaming as the bus sped to a hard halt just shy of the wing.
Oakes was at Hawker’s side, and Clyde was at hers before she’d taken another step.
“Friendly!” Hawker called. “Hold your fire!”
Tess didn’t know if he was talking to her team, or to the passengers on the bus. The figure who jumped out wore dark blue naval fatigues, a stained bandage on her forehead, and a Ta Moka tattoo on her chin.
“Kia ora,” Tess said, exhausting one quarter of her Maori vocabulary.
“When do the other
planes arrive?” the New Zealand sailor replied.
“We flew out of Perth,” Tess said, approaching the woman. “They said the refugees were gone. Only five thousand soldiers and three ships remained.”
“I’ve five thousand ready to go, right now,” the sailor said.
“You’ve got five thousand refugees still here?” Tess asked, as the ship fired its cannon.
“I’ve five thousand kids expecting an airlift which should have begun at dawn,” the sailor said. “There’s another thousand wounded, waiting in the cathedral, and twenty thousand volunteers who said they’d fight but only as long as the kids, the sick, and the old were taken to safety.”
“Damn,” Tess muttered. “Canberra doesn’t know. Clyde, get Mick.”
“I’m here,” Mick Dodson said from right behind her, with the rest of her team right behind him. “I heard. I’ve seen,” he added, pointing at the bus.
Tess followed his finger and saw the terrified faces of the children who were no longer crouched low in the seats, but were staring at her, and their far-too-small plane, with forlorn disappointment.
“Have you got fuel?” Tess asked. “Can you refuel this plane?”
“Of course,” the sailor said.
“Mick?”
“Ditch the cargo,” Mick said. “I’ll need webbing, ropes, straps, anything you’ve got to keep the kids in place.”
“Sergeant, unload the carbines. Get our gear off the plane. Elaina, Bianca, get those kids lined up and ready to board as soon as the pilot gives the go-ahead.” She turned back to the sailor. “When the plane arrives in Perth, Mick will organise the airlift. But it’ll take sixteen, maybe twenty, hours before the next plane arrives.”
“I was told the same thing by a pilot yesterday,” the sailor said.
“Perth thought the civilians were gone, so redirected the rescue-planes to the Andaman Islands,” Tess said. “Once Mick brings them this news, they’ll send help.”
The sailor nodded. “Our orders are to protect the refugees. We’ll hold until relieved,” she said.
“I guess we’re staying, too,” Tess said. “I’m Commissioner Tess Qwong, Australian Federal Police. We’re in pursuit of the people responsible for the outbreak, the nuclear war, and an attempted coup in Australia. We’re supposed to pick up a Canberra-class warship here.”
“Commander Kuara Tusitala, executive officer of the Te Taiki. We’re the only warship here.”
“There are no U.S. frigates?” Tess asked.
“One was sunk a week ago. The other set off in pursuit of the pirates,” Commander Tusitala said, just as a distant cannon-thunderclap echoed from the ocean. “We’ve two fuel-freighters, a lot of dhows, but we’re the only combat vessel.”
“You said pirates, is that with whom you’re engaged?” Tess asked.
“Zombies,” Tusitala said. “They’re approaching from the south.”
Tess turned to look. Having expected to rush from the runway to the ship, she’d only taken the briefest of glances at the map. She recalled Inhambane was on a curving, bulbous peninsula. Immediately to the north, and twenty kilometres to the east, was the sea. To the west was a wide river-estuary. To the south, the headland narrowed, but then joined the African mainland.
“Where’s your fuel supply?” Mick asked, coming over to the pair.
“Mick, when you get back to Perth, you need to organise an airlift,” Tess said.
“No worries,” Mick said. “I need this runway extended. Double its length. Knock down those buildings. Level the ground. Flatten it if you can. You’ve got sixteen hours. Plan-A is I find more planes which can land on this runway as it is. Plan-B is flying in with every 777 I can find in Oz. We’ll pick up the kids and fly them on to Diego Garcia.”
“The runway was submerged, Mick,” Tess said.
“But waters recede,” Mick said. “We’ll land, and push the planes into the lagoon. Or maybe it’ll be Mauritius. Depends on what and where we can secure. We’ll use as little of the fuel here as we can, because there’s no way there’ll be enough. I’ll get the kids out. Get the injured out. We’ll get a ship underway. Those two freighter ships I saw at sea, are those fuel tankers?”
“Diesel-transports,” the commander said.
“We need those ships, and that’s how we guarantee Perth listens,” Mick said. “So I better get back there before Anna leaves.”
“Who?”
“The deputy prime minister,” Tess said, relaxing an inch. “I’ll explain later, but I can guarantee this will get done. We’ve got M4-carbines, ammunition, and some Special Forces soldiers in our team. Where would they be most use?”
“The bridge in the south,” Tusitala said. “Luis can take you. I’ll get your fuel.”
“Check your boots, Tess,” Mick said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Tess took a deep breath, and turned around. Bianca and Elaina were each now carrying a bandage-wrapped child off the bus. By the driver’s door, the olive-green-clad driver stood, watching, his brow furrowed, his left arm rubbing his right which was held tight across his chest in a splint and sling.
“G’day, I’m Tess, are you Luis?” she asked.
“Luis Magaia,” he said.
“Bianca, Elaina, get the kids to the plane,” Tess said. “Everyone else, get those crates of ammo and carbines aboard the bus. We’re going to the front. Luis, can you show us the way?”
“I can drive,” he said.
“With your arm in a splint?” she asked.
“Perhaps I could drive, sir, and you could navigate,” Clyde said with practiced diplomacy.
Tess was the last to board the bus, entering at the back, and found them two passengers too many. “Leo, I don’t think you and Dr Avalon should come with us,” she said.
“We’re no strangers to war zones,” Leo said, opening a crate of M4-carbines. “We’re where we need to be.”
“Ugh,” Avalon said, opening a crate. “You know I hate it when you talk like that. You’re implying some omnipotent hand has written our destiny.” She held up a bullet. “When it’s patently obvious to any student of recent history that fate holds a gun in both hands while loudly dictating her terms. Zachary, strip the magazines from those carbines. Leo, load.”
“It’s Zach, not Zachary,” he said.
“Zach has to be short for something,” Avalon said. “Since Zachariah has an absurd number of syllables, it must be Zachary. Why are we not moving?”
“Clyde?” Tess called, and moved to the bench row behind the driver. Oakes was stationed at the rear-right, standing upright and sheathing his bayonet having cut away most of the already shredded roof. Toppley was in the mid-left, with Hawker sat next to Zach, whistling the outback waltz as his hands patiently loaded a magazine.
“Are you a soldier, sir?” Tess asked of Luis Magaia as the bus began to move.
“A teacher,” Luis said. “These clothes were all that were available.”
“You were a school teacher here in Inhambane?” Tess asked.
“No one here is from here,” Luis said. “We are all refugees, and those who lived here became refugees elsewhere during the evacuation to Madagascar.”
“A lot of those children were injured,” Clyde said. “How’d it happen?”
“A stray shell from one of the pirate ships hit a van of cooking oil,” Luis said. “They are the survivors. Turn left here at the end of the runway. There is only one road.”
As they drove south, through the hastily fortified city, Tess developed a mental picture of how it must have been a month ago. A sleepy tourist town of pastel-painted cafes and small hotels, none more than three storeys high. Colonnades supported balconies overhanging the narrow road. It wasn’t so much a city in decline as an ancient one in retirement, enjoying the tranquil calm of the near-ocean life.
Their navigator was correct: there truly was only one road through the city. Not because it was so impoverished it couldn’t afford more, but because every alley and side road wa
s barricaded. Every ground-floor window, of store, cafe, or home, was blocked. Every rooftop was linked to the next with a new, rickety walkway built with whatever could be salvaged from inside. On those roofs were people. Civilians. Refugees. Passengers for an airlift yet to arrive. Some were armed with machetes and improvised spears, but only a handful held long-arms. Almost all of them watched the sky, looking for the rest of the planes they’d been promised were coming.
“What happened here?” Tess asked.
“Where does that story begin?” Luis replied.
“Start with the end,” Clyde said. “Who’s attacking us?”
“Morto-viva,” Luis said. “From Pretoria. From Johannesburg.”
“Jo’burg’s about a thousand kilometres southwest,” Clyde said.
“They follow the refugees,” Luis said. “We lost Maxixe yesterday. The town due west, across the river from Inhambane.”
“What’s our destination?” Clyde asked.
“The bridge over Rio Mutamba,” Luis said. “The river creates this peninsula. The bridge is the defensive line. Captain Adams wants to hold the bridge. It is thirty-five kilometres away.”
“E.T.A, thirty minutes,” Clyde said. “Hold the bridge, hold the peninsula. Keep the zoms from the town.”
“Until the planes come,” Luis said. “They are coming, yes?”
“Yes,” Tess said. The properties grew less numerous as they reached the edge of the small city. “It’s just going to take a little longer than you hoped. Is Captain Adams from the warship?”
“She is in charge today,” Luis said. “So many have been in charge. So many went to Madagascar. It is why I came here. Why we all came here.”
“Where did you come from, sir?” Clyde asked.
“Myself? Maputo,” Luis said. “A student told me of the evacuation to Madagascar. I told others. But the harbour was full of so many. The entire city expected to leave. We waited until refugees arrived from South Africa. They said Durban had been overrun. We decided to copy the South Africans and drive north. Myself, my students, their parents. We came here and found it empty. Sailors had taken to their dhows, while everyone else had been taken to Toliara.”
Life Goes On | Book 4 | If Not Us [Surviving The Evacuation] Page 9