The next station was the New Delhi Train Station. Kimberley checked her belongings and turned towards the door. The many faces staring at her startled her.
“What’s going on?” she demanded.
“We heard you have the virus,” a rough-looking fellow explained as he pulled down his face mask.
“So we’ve come to throw you out,” another said.
Kimberley was lost for words. She knew that even though these people looked fearful, unkempt and ignorant, nothing would stop them from carrying out their threat. And she had no option here. They were too many.
“Okay, as you can see, I’m about leaving,” she began. “But the train is yet to stop.”
“No problem,” a grumpy old man said. “We can throw you out of the window.”
Kimberley noticed the cabin’s open window. “Oh,” she said. “Never knew that was an option.”
“Go back to your couches,” the railway ticket officer who had met her before ordered the onlookers, pushing the grumpy old man aside.
“But she’s in our cabin,” the old man protested.
“Yeah,” another fellow said. “Where do we go?”
“She’ll soon drop off,” the railway worker said. “Then you can come back here. You won’t have to worry about her after she has gone.”
Kimberley scrambled. The window beckoned her. She slid through it and kicked the fellow grappling for her legs. A quick heave and she found herself on the carriage roof.
She could have reacted faster when she noticed something odd about the ticket man’s appearance. Yes, he wasn’t wearing a face covering this second time he entered her coach. A peculiar situation for him, knowing that he had hastily worn this piece of protection when he first assumed she had the virus.
Now, even if she had left the train at the next stop, the coach she’d occupied would have been sealed off, pending a thorough decontamination process by the relevant authority. No serious worker would allow passengers to reoccupy that cabin, and no reasonable passenger would agree to that request.
How stupid of her not to have realized all this early enough.
The bullet wheezed past her and she glanced backward as she ran, effortlessly hopping over carriage junctions. The three men had followed her, guns blazing. Typically what Carl Bain would do if he discovered she had the virus. His powers would be ineffective against her due to the disease, so he’d come for her without the help of his demonic masters. And since he alone was no match for her, he would naturally activate many goons to join him in the fight.
Another bullet swished past the Portwood officer. What an erratic aim.
A second train traveling in the opposite direction passed by and Kimberley jumped over to its roof. She grabbed a side pole and slid down on the train’s other side, hanging from the pole as the vehicle passed her assailants standing on the other train’s roof.
The men spewing death failed to hit their target. They jumped over the wide gap between the trains and moved to see the side of the second train. The woman had already entered a carriage through an open window. They knew this because someone kept coughing in a cabin near the pole. One by one, they stooped to grab the side pole and slid down on the train’s side. The old man with them lost his grip and fell off as the train increased its speed.
“Excuse me,” Kimberley told the cabin’s occupants, feeling guilty for spreading the virus as she made her way to the door. She left as her pursuers swung into the cabin, Carl Bain leading the way.
“Police business,” the human minion announced before heading for the cabin’s door. His cohorts followed him.
The bullet scraped Kimberley’s shoulder before she realized that a good marksman had joined her enemies.
Carl Bain.
She pushed open the door leading into the dining carriage and stumbled into a waiter carrying food and drinks. As the surprised man reacted to the accident, Kimberley raced across the carriage, avoiding diners whenever she could. Her pursuers shot at her when they rushed into this dining carriage, hitting some diners and stumbling into many waiters.
Kimberley fled into another carriage and locked the door behind her. This carriage had coaches and a long corridor. She felt the train slowing down, but kept going. Her assailants smashed the locked door’s window and she rushed into an open coach before they let off some shots. The occupants of the coach – a boy and two girls – stared at her as she walked over to the cabin’s only window and threw it open.
A scorched terrain greeted her eyes when she looked outside. This wasteland had no hiding place and she regretted her last move. She would be shot if she jumped out of the window. She could only stand her ground in that coach.
If only she had a gun.
The kids drew back when the door flew open and the ticket officer rushed into the cabin. Kimberley pounced on the man from behind the door as he ran to the window. They fell backward, crashing to the floor as the second man ran into the cabin and hastily put two bullets into his colleague’s chest. Kimberley shot this second hitman with the gun she wrestled from the dead ticket officer’s hand and trained the weapon at the open door, pushing away the dead man lying atop her.
The three children were crying.
No sign of Carl Bain.
“Quiet, please,” Kimberley told the kids and drew back to the open window.
Presently, the train slowed down at a station and stopped. Kimberley heard police whistles and quickly climbed out of the cabin through the window. She landed in a dark tunnel and tucked the gun into her belt before stepping out into the light all around the station. She strode into the crowd gathering around the train, hoping to lose whoever was looking for her.
“There she is!” someone shouted and she pulled out her gun. The shot threw the crowd into confusion.
Kimberley ran.
“Police! Freeze!” Carl Bain shouted before shooting into the air.
“We must protect the civilians, sir,” his deputy reminded him and he nodded grudgingly. The people running helter skelter didn’t help matters. He kept his eyes on the target as he meandered through the cacophony all around him.
“We must not lose her,” he told his deputy. “Put up road blocks outside the station.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And better still…” Carl Bain paused. “Never mind.” A diabolic plan just materialized in his head.
Kimberley ran out of the station like so many other people. She headed for a cloth store situated near the railway station. The owner had fled in the present confusion, so she easily stepped into the shop and threw on casual wear that made for a sleek disguise. She added a hat and glasses after some thought.
Luckily, the female cop found a car its owner left running and sped off; confident she would never be tracked in her disguise.
“Stop!” a police officer shouted when she got to the railway station’s gate, but she didn’t obey him, crashing through the barrier and speeding into the highway. How did they identify her despite her disguise?
As she drove down the highway, several cars made u-turns after passing her and joined a long line chasing her. Kimberley gaped at this spectacle through her rear-view mirror. She knew who was responsible.
Carl Bain.
No doubt about that.
Since the Booklords could not attack her directly, their human minion had galvanized a huge crowd of drivers to pursue her, thereby keeping her tagged. Now the police did not need to comb around for her. She had a lineup following her car!
The Portwood police officer swerved into another road and her pursuers followed her. She turned left some minutes later and all the cars behind her did the same thing.
Blaring sirens.
Kimberley spotted three police cars in the mix-up behind her. She thought hard about what to do and a brilliant idea hit her. One that needed a sharpie or a pen. Rummaging through the car’s pigeon hole, she found a pen. She hoped her theory would work.
Kimberley drove with her right hand while drawing ankhs on
her right arm with her left hand. She now drove with her left hand and drew ankhs on her left arm with her right hand.
The crowd behind her petered out. Moments later, only the three Indian police cars kept up their pursuit. Her plan had worked.
Obviously, Carl Bain had no other tricks up his…
The lightning came from nowhere, catapulting the car into the air and away from the highway. The vehicle crashed a mile from the attack, glass shattering all around its only occupant.
Kimberley took off her safety belt and crawled out of the wreckage before falling on the ground, breathing hard. Badly bruised, she felt she’d broken some ribs when she coughed out blood and felt severe pain on her right flank.
Even though her aggressor could not face her with his infernal powers, he could still attack her car with said power, which was exactly what he just did. She should have known better.
Two squad cars stopped behind the third vehicle, which sped up to stop some distance from her battered figure. A familiar character stepped out of this last car.
“I admire your fighting spirit,” Carl Bain said, stopping a few feet from his headache. “You know, other people would have given up by now.”
“Hate to tell you this, but I’m not other people,” Kimberley returned.
“We’ll make a good team, you know,” the American thug chided her. “You being my sidekick and all.”
“Go to hell,” Kimberley whispered between labored breaths.
“Not before you give me my stuff,” Carl Bain said. “The little box you can’t figure out?”
“Don’t have it.”
“We know that’s a lie, dear,” her enemy said.
“What’s with the cops in their cars?” Kimberley digressed. “Using magic on them as well?”
“Why not?” Carl Bain wondered. “They don’t need to know about my little box.”
“Why? What are you hiding?”
“Just hand it over and I’ll tell you.”
“Come and get it then.”
Carl Bain boiled. “You sniveling little…”
The blast killed him instantly, flinging him backward. He lay still as blood dripped from a gaping hole on his forehead.
Kimberley trained the gun on the first squad car. She wanted to eliminate that threat before the other police men could get out of their vehicles and run up to her position, but what she saw made her stop. One by one, the Indian officers were coming out of their cars and raising their hands in surrender. What changed? Did Carl Bain’s magic lose its potency as soon as he died? What of his infernal masters?
“You’re safe now,” someone said beside her.
“From the Booklords as well,” another individual said.
Kimberley turned to see seven locals wearing gas masks and carrying guns. Very unique guns.
Chapter 29: Rubbish Mountain
THE squad cars zoomed off and Kimberley breathed a sigh of relief. Her heart had been in her mouth ever since she shot the crazy man now lying before her.
She looked around at her rescuers and counted them. Seven individuals wearing jeans and T-shirts while showcasing sophisticated gadgetry. Of particular interest were the strange-looking semiautomatics hanging from their shoulders. These weapons had ankhs engraved all over them.
“You are badly bruised,” the Indian beside her said, stretching out his right hand. “Can you get up?”
Kimberley grabbed the man’s hand and gingerly stood up. Her ribs were on fire. She perceived the stench in the air for the first time. “What’s that smell?” she demanded.
“Rubbish Mountain over there,” one of her rescuers pointed out. “She’ll need a breather,” he told a colleague, who nodded and stepped forward with a gas mask. “It will also protect us from the virus in her system.”
Kimberley felt instant relief when she put on the equipment. “Who’re you guys?” she asked her first contact.
“My name’s Khan,” the fellow said. “These are my comrades: Avi, Dev, Raghav, Rudra, Ikshita and Diya. Raghav is Rudra’s twin.” As he spoke, Kimberley nodded at each new face.
Khan’s bold face and stoic neck fitted his muscular built. A bald head gave him that irresistible stamp of leadership he presently exuded.
Avi had bright penetrating eyes that looked deeply into one’s soul whenever he encountered anyone. His long hair beautified his handsome face as it cascaded down his shoulders, and ankh tattoos covered his arms.
Dev looked like an Indian movie star who loved designer brands. His cropped hair and dark glasses gave him an artificial air of confidence he never failed to showcase. Hence, he came across as a selfishly pompous adventurer whose wild arm tattoos of nude girls underlined the fact that he didn’t care about the Booklords and the two books so much as he cared about the health risks the Ghazipur landfill posed to local residents of the current vicinity.
The twins, Raghav and Rudra, had so much in common that Kimberley could only differentiate them from the way they carried their weapons. Same T-shirt and jeans. Same tattoos and hairstyle. Same earrings and piercings. Same weapons and gadgetry. Same face and physique. Same everything, except that they carried their guns differently. Raghav preferred hanging his weapon from his left shoulder while Rudra hung his from his right shoulder.
And then the remaining two individuals could have never been more different in everything. Ikshita’s lean nature contrasted sharply with Diya’s obesity. While Ikshita had tattoos, the other woman’s skin had never gone under the razor. Diya carried a modified AR-15 semiautomatic, but Ikshita held a strange-looking handgun. And so on.
Kimberley stopped to study Ikshita’s ominous face.
The slender Indian woman glared at the American. “Is there a problem?” she demanded.
“No, your face reminds me of someone, that’s all,” Kimberley admitted, looking away. “Thanks for saving me,” she told Khan. “I’m grateful for you and your group. My name’s Kimberley. Kim for short.”
“We’re Bookmakers, Kim,” Khan said. “But then, you must have known this by now.”
“No, but I believe you,” Kimberley said.
“We also keep the Booklords at bay,” Dev revealed with a smile. “How do we do that, though?”
“Our guns are designed to project ankhs on their transparent bodies all the time,” Rudra said.
“So, the ankhs are projections?” Kimberley asked him, closely studying the graphics.
“Sure thing.”
“Why not drawings? Is that not better?”
“We have rifles with ankhs drawn on them, but those are not so effective against the Booklords,” Rudra replied.
“And how’s that?”
“We waste money on ink redrawing those ankhs when they fade,” Diya replied. “It’s that simple.”
“And the cops?” Kimberley began. “Why did they leave?”
“They’ve heard of us,” Raghav said. “But they don’t know we stay here.”
“So when they saw us here, I think they got frightened,” Ikshita said. “Now, they’ll have to stay clear of the Rubbish Mountain.”
“And what about this ‘Rubbish Mountain’?” Kimberley wondered out loud, turning towards the huge landmark atop which hovered many vultures.
“What better place to hide our headquarters than a refuse dump higher than the Taj Mahal?” Khan began.
“Why did you choose this place for that?” Kimberley asked him.
“Can’t you see?” the woman, Diya, said. “Nobody would want to visit a rubbish dump like Ghazipur.”
“Landfill already takes up more than 50 football pitches of land,” Khan chuckled. “That, right there, is why New Delhi is called the world’s most polluted capital.”
“Noted,” Kimberley said dryly. “Can we go now?”
“No problem,” Khan said. “After you tell us why you killed your friend?”
Kimberley remembered the dead man lying at her feet. “Oh, him?” she began. “He’s a servant of the Booklords.”
“
Interesting,” Rudra said.
“We need to take his body with us,” Kimberley added and Khan frowned.
“And why is that?” he wanted to know.
“He’s not dead,” the Portwood sergeant said. “Once we leave him here, his masters will revive him and put him back on our trail without his powers.”
Khan nodded at Raghav, who came forward and effortlessly flung Carl Bain’s body over his right shoulder.
The group’s leader followed a trail his colleagues joined. Kimberley walked up to him.
“We’ve been trying to retrieve the white book for many years now,” he narrated, swinging his rifle to and fro. “This after we came to the conclusion that I was a Bookmaker.”
“And how did you find that out?”
“For years, I had a piece of the white book in my possession, and one day I discovered by accident what it could do.”
“So, you’re the only true Bookmaker in your group?”
“Yes, Kim,” the Indian confessed. “The others learned Shurabi and Kabbalah Ma’asit online.”
“You don’t say,” Kimberley exclaimed, eyeing the arrogant Ikshita.
“We also studied the history of both codices before setting out to attempt their retrieval from a particular era using Albert Einstein’s theory of Relativity.”
“Let me guess, you’re yet to succeed,” Kimberley concluded. No need prolonging the lecture.
“Not yet,” Diya said. “Your appearance showed us errors in our calculations and we just have to recalculate those miscalculations using improved formula we must derive from the data we’ve obtained from your time and space projections.”
“I really don’t get all that,” Kimberley confessed.
“She just said we need your help to retrieve the books,” Dev said.
“Oh,” Kimberley let out.
The White Book Page 34