The Virophage Chronicles (Book 2): Dead Hemisphere [Keres Rising]

by Landeck, R. B.

  “What happened to you, Jimmy? Did things get so grey back in the ‘Stan that you lost sight of the red line? Did the Hajjis get to you? What is it?”

  He could see something was paining Jimmy, who suddenly crouched down, holding his head as if to exorcise whatever was plaguing his thoughts.

  “I’m sorry, man. I know this ain’t how things used to be. Nothing is. That’s the point. The ‘Stan was good old times. You, me, and a case of bootleg. But this shit here is different. The things I’ve seen…the things I’ve had to do…Drove me crazy, Tom. Literally. Abso-fucking-positively drove me crazy.” Jimmy grimaced.

  Running his hands through his hair, he tore at it, coming away with bunches.

  Tom watched, unsure what to make of the sudden turn of events, but something inside him couldn’t help but think this was part of the ‘Theatre of Jimmy.’ An act he had seen him perform many times when the heat got too intense, and he needed to exfil. In most instances it had worked, too, with his opposites usually perplexed enough and at times even feeling guilty for having caused the man so much pain. But here in Omar’s little HQ, the performance had worn thin. And yet, he could not afford to let on it hadn’t. Not until he knew the situation was under control and their escape secured.

  ‘It takes two to play that game.’ He leaned back and faked a smile.

  “Go on then, Jimmy. Tell me about what it is that’s eating you.”

  Jimmy looked up. His face pale, and with deep rings under his red eyes, he looked pitiful as tears welled up in his eyes.

  “You have seen as much shit as the next guy back in the day. But then it was just the Hajjis against us, right? And it was just about sneaking a few bottles of booze behind the back of the CO…” He stared blankly at the wall as tears flowed freely. “But this here is some next level shit. Have you any idea what it’s like to see normal people, I mean as healthy as you and me, walk into that place…little kids, even. And a few days later I have to chuck ‘em in the meat wagon, all cut up and bloodied and their faces frozen in pain. That just ain’t right. It fucks you up, man. It fucks with your mind!”

  He was raising his voice now, poking his index finger hard against his head.

  “Easy, easy,” Tom tried to calm him down.

  He extended a hand, but Jimmy pulled away. The man was close to a breakdown, and this was about as wrong a timing for it as Tom could imagine.

  “Easy my ass, man. You have no idea what is going on!” Jimmy continued to stammer. “We have no beef with all these civilians. Heck, we got no reason to be here at all! So here I am playin’ good soldier, carryin’ corpses of whole families all day, all because brass back in DC are shitting their pants that this thing, this virus or something, is going to come knocking on their expensive doors back home and is going to ruin their pool parties. Meanwhile, millions of these poor fuckers stumbling around Africa are eating up their own, with old Uncle Sam doing nothing but to exploit the situation.”

  He finally sat down. His shoulders sagged, his head drooped. He looked defeated.

  “You know how much the USG has invested in actually helping these people?”

  Tom could but shrug in response. Jimmy was getting to the point, and he wasn’t about to distract by commenting.

  “Yeah, that’s right. About as much as it takes for the military to set up a few research stations. Hah!”

  Jimmy laughed hysterically, and Tom put a finger to his mouth, reminding him where they were. At this, he calmed down somewhat, and instead leaned forward and whispered into Tom’s ear.

  “Top brass want to own this thing. You and me, we are obsolete. Dinosaurs. Once they can get the dead to obey their command, they will be unstoppable. Or did you really think they were looking for a cure?”

  Tom knew Jimmy was telling the truth, but even he had thought the research underway was to find a cure, not a weapon, and he quietly berated himself to have bought into it all so quickly.

  “So here I am, the meat wagon guy, until one day I meet this dude in the free zone. An NCO from D-company. You know, the guys who fight fire with fire: half underworld, half angels. He tells me there is money to be made and a way out of all this. Tells me he and his buddies have been planning to go on extended safari for a while now. And waddaya know? By the tenth whiskey, I am suddenly part of the gang.” Jimmy calmed down a little more, and Tom almost felt pity for what amounted to a heap of misery in front of him. “So next thing I know, I am exfil’ing civilians and handing ‘em over to Omar and cohorts for a few greenbacks.”

  Tom was getting impatient. They could be discovered at any moment, and it wasn’t Jimmy’s life that was at stake. It was time to make Jimmy cut to the chase.

  “So what? Smuggling civilians instead of booze? Still the same game, isn’t it?” Tom’s loaded the question with as much contempt as he could muster. It worked. Jimmy recoiled in disgust.

  “Are you for real? How can you say that? You have any idea who Omar is and what it feels like dealing with him?” Tom once again had to put his finger over his mouth, reminding Jimmy not to raise his voice.

  “You have any idea who this man is?” Jimmy again whispered, afraid to even say the old man’s name.

  “You seemed fairly chummy with the guy?” It wasn’t as much a question as a statement, and Tom knew it would elicit the response he was looking for.”

  “Fuck you, Tom. Seriously. Fuck you!” Jimmy hissed, spittle flying from his mouth. “Yeah, I know the man’s secret. And I also know he needs me. But don’t be fucking kidding yourself now: I ain’t licking his boots, no matter how much he has dangling over my head. I treat the raghead the way he oughta be treated. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  Tom had never seen Jimmy like this. The hatred that poured from him now was as profound as it was pure. He could see Jimmy was on the ropes, the place he had been manoeuvring him toward.

  “So what gives, Jimmy? What’s dangling up there over your head? Sell him out and be done with it. No harm, no foul, isn’t that what they say? Just give him up and walk away. Who would believe a skinny anyway, right?”

  “You still don’t get it, do you?” Jimmy asked with tearful eyes, ever more desperate.

  “Do you know what they give a soldier for collaborating with the enemy? That’s right: they hang you. And prompt smart, too. Now I know I’m no Robin Hood, but I ain’t no traitor neither. I have done my share of bad things, but I’m still true red, white, and friggin blue at heart. So what I’m telling you is: I may have Omar by the short and curlies, but he’s got me by the balls. I’m sitting on the devil’s back porch without a way off.”

  Tom wanted to believe the sincerity oozing from the man he had come to know as mostly superficial and able to crack a joke even in the direst of circumstances. Yet the theatrical display he was witnessing seemed simply over the top.

  “Tell me this, then…” Tom made no effort to hide his exasperation as he leaned forward and with both hands grabbed Jimmy, still sobbing, by the collar, “…and believe me, I will know if you are telling the truth. Would you be giving this performance if you hadn’t found me here in this room tonight?”

  His eyes drilled into Jimmy’s, who squirmed and wiggled, trying to avoid Tom’s ice-cold stare.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” he whimpered. “Why would I put on an act? I really care for you guys. You are not like the others, that…” Jimmy stopped mid-sentence and blushed.

  “The others that… what, Jimmy? You mean the others you have sold out to Omar and his wife’s Al-Shabab cronies?” Tom was seething with rage.

  Jimmy’s shoulders sagged, and his face turned ashen. There it was. The truth at last.

  “But, but…no way I would do that to you and yours…” Jimmy stammered, digging the proverbial hole even deeper. Tom had heard enough.

  With a wet thwack, his fist made contact with Jimmy’s jaw. He went down without another word, his head connecting with the floor with a dull thud.

  “That’ll do for today.”


  Tom stood over him with clenched fists, his anger slowly dissipating. He crouched down and removed the pistol from the holster on Jimmy’s side. It would come in handy if things didn’t go as smoothly as he had hoped. And going by what had just happened, chances were, they wouldn’t. He grunted as he bent down, picked up the unconscious man, and threw him over his shoulder. Tom paused for a moment, making sure the little interlude had not drawn unwanted attention from elsewhere in the house, then slowly made his exit and returned upstairs. He found a small darkened rumpus room at the end of the corridor. Seemingly unused, cobwebs covered its fixtures, a thick layer of dust lay over everything, and the windows had been carefully boarded up. He placed Jimmy onto the carpet, before gagging him and, using a handcuff knot, tying his hands and feet together behind his back. It would be uncomfortable, but that was the least of Tom’s concerns right now.

  Satisfied that Jimmy wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry, he closed the door and returned to Anna, still sleeping soundly in the immaculately maintained guest room. He would have a chat with Jimmy in the morning before his absence could be noticed, and anyone suspected something was not quite as it should be. All going well, and unless Omar had other plans, they could still proceed with their own plan just as intended. He knew that despite Jimmy’s admission and performance, he could still rely on him not to sell him and the others out. For now, that was all that counted. Lying still, staring at the ceiling, Tom waited for morning, his thoughts wandering to Julie as they always did in these quiet moments, and to better times.

  It was the call to Fajr Prayer that jolted Tom out of his slumber. Sleep, unsurprisingly, had eventually overcome him. Now he rubbed his eyes and looked over at Anna, who had pulled her blanket all the way up over her head, the sheets moving up and down ever so slightly with each breath. He could hear movement downstairs. No doubt, Omar and his sons, along with whoever was in the house they had not seen or been introduced to, were heeding the prayer call. Tip-toeing out of the room, Tom went down the corridor to check on his captive. He slowly opened the door, letting the light from the hallway creep across the floor until it reached Jimmy, who, huffing and grunting, immediately began to struggle against his restraints. Tom stepped in and closed the door, once again casting the room into semi-darkness.

  “Stop struggling, Jimmy. You know I know how to tie a knot”, Tom said in as calm a voice as possible. “I’ll cut you loose in a bit, but first, we need to have a little chat. Are you listening?”

  A muffled ‘uhuh’ emanating from the floor confirmed he had Jimmy’s attention.

  “Alright then…” Tom sat down on one of the arms of yet another huge Chesterfield sofa pushed against the wall. “I am going to spell it out for you, so we understand each other: You will get us out of here and onto one of those ships anchored just offshore. Once you do that, you can go wherever the hell you want to. But until then, be very careful about what you say or do, because I will be right behind you, watching your every move.” Tom spoke slowly, emphasizing each word. “And just to be clear: The moment I so much as sense you are not playing by the rules, Omar and his posse will be the least of your worries. Mister nine millimetre here will make sure of that.”

  He stood up and towering over the wriggling form on the floor, pulled Jimmy up towards him.

  “Give me a sign you understand what I’m saying, you hear?” Tom growled, his face close enough to virtually taste the man’s fear. Nodding emphatically, Jimmy grunted in agreement, before being dropped back to the floor.

  “Don’t go anywhere now,” Tom grinned as he closed the door. “I’ll be right back.”

  It was still early in the morning and daylight slowly filtered through the covered windows in the living room. One by one, the survivors gathered, supplied with copious amounts of tea and Mandazi Mama Samaki had whipped up in Omar’s kitchen. Tom and Jimmy joined last, the latter, much unlike his usual self, looking pale, red-eyed, and somewhat shaken as he sat down on a chair in the corner.

  “You look unwell, Jimmy. Is there anything I can do?” Omar remarked as he entered, accompanied by his sons, who immediately took up the same positions as they had the day before, carefully monitoring the room and occasionally disappearing to check the areas out front.

  “Just a little hungover. It will pass.” Jimmy fibbed, feeling Tom’s icy gaze upon him from across the room.

  “I see…” Omar replied sarcastically.

  He was not a man that was easily fooled, and from where Tom was sitting, he could tell that he didn’t buy a word of what Jimmy was saying.

  “And how about you, Tom? Did you manage to have a quiet and restful night?” Omar had shifted his attention, but the sarcasm was now even stronger.

  Without missing a beat, Omar turned to the rest of the group who, completely oblivious, were chatting away in good spirits and joined their conversation, exuding warmth just as he had the evening prior.

  “Planes.” Nadia was the first to notice the distant hum, which had stayed levelled for a while, but now quickly increased in volume.

  The others looked up and around the room and then ducked instinctively as the engine noise reached a deafening crescendo. An Antonov passed low over the building. Then the hum returned and tapered off as quickly as it had approached. One of Omar’s sons ran out to investigate. He returned a few seconds later, breathless.

  “The military. They dropped these all over town.” He handed a crumpled leaflet to Omar.

  “To all American and East African residents not yet registered with the stabilization forces. A large mass of infected approaching Mombasa County has been identified. Said mass is likely to significantly compromise the safety of persons in the area. Therefore by order of Central Command, all eligible civilians are called to evacuate Mombasa County with immediate effect. Shoreline transit stations will commence processing of non-combatants at 0800 hours and remain operational until 1800 hours today. Families, women, and children will be prioritised. This is not a drill, and all eligible residents are strongly advised to comply with these instructions. By order of U.S. AFRICOM, General William E. Dornhauser.”

  For a moment, Omar looked puzzled, but he quickly composed himself and handed the leaflet to Tom.

  “I guess we better get a move on then.” Tom passed on the piece of paper, the atmosphere in the room quickly turning from breakfast chatter to worried silence.

  “I know this doesn’t sound good,” Tom tried to allay their fears, “but the simple fact that they have enough time to drop these things and get everyone out tells you we can and will get to safety before whatever mass this talks about makes contact.”

  He heard the words coming out of his mouth and just prayed they sounded more convincing to the others than they did to him. It was an unusual move for leaflets like this to be dropped, and the vagueness of ‘eligibility’ only added to his suspicion that there was an ulterior motive at play. Could it be an effort to draw out persons of interest, or separate real civilians from insurgents? Military forces across the globe had a less-than-perfect record when it came to philanthropy, so why suddenly worry about a civilian population, a good percentage of which might already be infected? They were not questions he, nor anyone in the room could answer and, given their current predicament, priorities, at least for the moment, lay elsewhere.

  “That settles it then. We best get going.” Tom slapped his knees and got up, nodding for the others to follow, but Omar raised his hand in veto.

  “Before you all get on your way, could I ask for a brief word in my office?” He nodded towards Tom and Jimmy, politely signalling the others to stay. “It won’t take long, don’t worry. Enjoy some proper tea while you still have access to it. Americans and their obsession with coffee…” He managed a dry smile.

  Tom watched the sons’ every move as they shifted slightly as if uneasy about whatever was on the cards. He felt comfort at the weapon tucked into the back of his pants, but hoped it wouldn’t come to that. They both followed Omar as instructed, Tom keeping
an eye on his six as they entered his office. Once inside, Omar gestured towards the chairs in front of his desk as he himself took a seat behind it. A frown briefly flared across his staunch features as Tom remained standing with his back to the wall near the door, while Jimmy obliged.

  “Now, let us, as you foreigners say, get to the point, shall we? I am sure you will agree it is in everyone’s best interest.” Omar leaned forward, his expression hard as stone as he retrieved a small piece of paper from his pocket. “I could go into all manner of games here and weave a web of conversational traps to get to where I am going to take this, but you two gentlemen neither warrant the time, nor would it lead to a different result, so I will keep it at a single word.”

  Omar looked up into the far corner of the room where an ornate, gold-framed wall clock hung just above a filing cabinet. Tom and Jimmy’s eyes followed.

  “CCTV,” Omar flicked his tongue in contempt. “Not that I would have needed it given how sloppy you are in your methods.”

  He tossed the paper into Jimmy’s lap. Even from where he was standing, Tom could see what it was. He cursed himself for not having taken greater care, ensuring that he had returned the photo album intact. Now one small paper clipping was about to aggravate the dynamics of an already dire situation. His fingers twitched with temptation to end it right there and then, but with Omar’s sons in the other room, any false moves would inevitably put Anna’s and the others’ lives in danger. Jimmy looked nothing short of befuddled. Whatever the CCTV footage showed, surely Omar would see he was the victim. An honest business partner catching a thief red-handed.

  “Omar, I…” he tried to explain, but Omar cut him off abruptly.

  “Unless you open your mouth to affirm our usual arrangements, you will not say a word, Jimmy.” It was both a threat as well as an indication of what Omar had planned for them.

  ‘The usual arrangements.’ They would be sold off to Al-Shabab to be used as leverage, or cannon fodder, or whatever else sinister purpose would be bestowed upon them. They would disappear without a trace, while Omar, his wife, and Jimmy, all carried on with business.