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

by Landeck, R. B.

  The group spent the rest of the afternoon walking up and down topside, enjoying the life the warm rays of the Indian Ocean sun breathed into their souls and the carefree rekindling of what had been friendships forged under the ever-present threat of the walking dead. Tom played hide and seek with Anna in the limited space available, and they all laughed as Nadia conscripted a befuddled Amadou as her Jack Dawson to re-enact her favourite Scene from Titanic. The salty breeze ruffled their hair and, for a short while, carried away the cobwebs of uncertainty as the afternoon turned to evening, the day bowing out in a display of sunset splendour across the cumulus-speckled sky.

  The first stars, wrestling with the last remnants of daylight reaching out over the black of the sea, had already appeared when speakers mounted on the upper deck began to squawk with the monotone voice of a crew member announcing the imminent nightly lock-down.

  “Better head to our bunks and dog those hatches.” Nadia was the first to move back inside, and the others followed, Anna’s chin dipping in disappointment.

  The former crew accommodation was small but comfortable enough, especially given the past weeks’ sleeping arrangements, first in the APC, then at the mall, the medical facility, and anything in between. The showers were hot and the sheets surprisingly fresh, doing their bit to speedily send most off into an almost comatose slumber. In the faint glow of an emergency bulkhead light just above the door, Tom’s eyes refused to close. He heard the unnerving metallic creak of hatches being dogged down one by one and though ‘God knows what would happen in an emergency', the spectre of the confines of their sleeping quarters becoming their tomb now as strong as the ever-present feeling that something just wasn’t right about all this.

  None of them had had any contact with anyone except the doctors on admission and the odd civilian crew member too nervous to divulge anything meaningful. For all intents and purposes, they had disappeared from the face of the earth the moment their Humvee was blown sky-high. There were no televisions, no radio, and the coastline was but a slither on the horizon, apart from the occasional plume of smoke corkscrewing into the sky, offering no clues as to the state of affairs back in Mombasa. There were also no pamphlets, not orientation sessions, and no civilian liaison. They had watched a handful of new-comers board the vessel via retractable gangways that had been extended from a hatch near the waterline far below, but none of them had since re-appeared.

  Others – those who deemed virus-free - had unceremoniously been told to report to the main hatch, where Tom had observed them entering something of an airlock leading to the cleared side of the ship. From what he had seen on the upper deck, all other access points seemed to have been welded shut. ‘So much for Plan B.’ Tom smiled wryly in the dark and closed his eyes, waiting for sleep to carry him across the bulkhead, away from all this and back to Julie, wherever she was watching him from.

  The vibrating hum of engines springing to life deep within the bowels of the ship filled the air and rattled the toiletries on the small table near the head inside their cabin. The vessel’s lulling roll gave way to a gentle heave and drop of the bow, and a moment later, two deep, deafening blasts from the ship's horn vibrated through the passageways, announcing their floating refuge was officially on the move. Tom jolted upright and looked at his watch. It was 5.30am, just on dawn. The others, likewise torn from their slumber, clambered to get dressed, eagerly awaiting the general unlock at 6am. By the time they finally made it topside, the sun was well above the horizon almost directly ahead of them, its blinding rays reflecting off the water in front of the bow.

  “Well, we’re definitely moving.”

  Mama Samaki’s face had turned a greyish blue as she tried to fight the queasiness that rose and dropped from her stomach to the back of her throat in perfect tandem with the ship’s increasing pitch. She leaned over the railing and let out a sickly belch.

  “East, or at least away from the coast, to be exact,” Amadou pointed towards the horizon, shielding his eyes from the bright light.

  “And we’ve got company.” Nadia nodded starboard at a group of naval vessels traveling alongside them in formation.

  Squadrons of attack helicopters, fast and edgy like hungry hornets, flew directly above the flotilla of destroyers and support vessels completing its majestic appearance towering over the high sea. A handful of heavier Sikorsky Seahawks circled the ships, ferrying back and forth heavy loads like frenzied mechanized bumblebees. The hive of activity, the kinetic display of steel and engines churned the turquoise waters beneath into a seething cauldron of white spray and foam. Giant bows ripped through water, rivalling the force of the mighty ocean itself as they angrily ploughed its swell.

  “And whatever the destination, we are moving at speed.”

  The hair on the back of Tom’s neck stood up. The abrupt end to the lull, the powers that be had been careful to wrap around them like a comforting blanket, was as unexpected as the lack of information was disconcerting.

  Far up ahead, due east, a gigantic aircraft carrier entered into a slow turn, its wake the only witness to the otherwise barely detectable manoeuvre putting the behemoth almost perpendicular to their present course. It began to grow in size with every minute, its expanse soon dwarfing the destroyers that up to now themselves had seemed like giants of the sea.

  “Where are we going?” Nadia asked half to herself.

  Tom squinted and then turned back towards the disappearing coastline.

  “That I don’t know, but I have a fair idea why we are heading out to sea.”

  Before he could continue, the deafening roar of jet engines overhead drowned out all other noise. Anna covered her ears and shrieked, while the others followed the contrails of the coast-bound fighter group.

  “AU has lost the plot,” Tom began to shout, but quickly lowered his voice as the engines’ screams subsided. “The only way to make sure the deadheads don’t win is to throw a whole lot of military at it.”

  “A lot more than whatever is left on the continent, that’s for sure,” Amadou nodded in agreement.

  If the dead had been successful in breaking through the safe zone perimeter, it would stand to reason that this was no longer just a US assistance mission to its allies in the African Union. Instead, it would become a major operation aimed at containing the virus to the continent and secure continued access to the plentiful natural resources it still had on offer. Lost in thought, Tom glowered with disgust as the fighters disappeared from view, and the white streaks of their vapour trails dispersed into the ether.

  It was, of course, the perfect avenue to gain access without those pesky diplomatic relationships or the general population to worry about. Neither would feature in the new environments of a continent populated only by the dead; dead created by the very organizations that so ostensibly had come to help under the mantle of do-goodership, only to serve their governments’ hidden agenda. Throughout the afternoon, jets conducted a few more sorties to and from the carrier, passing close over the ship, where the survivors watched in awe as the Nautica and its entourage eventually passed in its shadow. Another hour and they left it behind just as they had the coast. The helicopters, too, had disappeared; presumably returned to base, their escort complete and fuel supplies exhausted.

  The sun was already low, casting its last warm glow across the stern and the group, tired from doing little but pass time on deck, got ready to face another less-than-inspiring meal below before it was again time for lock-down.

  “Even the US Navy is finished for the day,” Nadia commented casually, casting a last glance back as she followed the others through the hatch.

  “What did you just say?” Tom, already a few steps ahead, stopped in his tracks.

  “Nothing,” Nadia shrugged. “Our minders are going home for the day…”

  Before she could finish her sentence, Tom darted past her and back onto the outer deck. The others, uncertain about the cause for Tom’s alarm, followed suit. The fleet of vessels that had dutifully m
aintained its escort was slowly falling behind, with at least two of the destroyers already halfway through an about-turn and rapidly moving away from the cruise ship.

  “They are not just done for the day,” Tom frowned. “They are done. Full stop.”

  “What do you mean?” Nadia was the first to say what everyone else was thinking, but Tom gestured her to wait and instead of answering focused on something in the distance. There, barely noticeable, a small craft had detached from one of the destroyers and, now traveling alongside it with speed, was headed straight for the Nautica.

  “I mean, we better get off this thing at the first opportunity,” Tom finally replied, half to himself, his eyes fixed on what he could now see was an aluminium boat, low in the water and traveling at unusually high speed.

  “What is this? Another load of survivors?” Amadou had come up behind him, now looking over his friend’s shoulder.

  “Angular design, low silhouette, V-hull…” Tom had to think for a moment, but then the memory hit him like a brick. “An MK-V full of pipe hitters on mission. That’s what this is!”

  “A what?” To Mama Samaki, this was just another boat, one of so many they had seen in the last few days.

  “I have seen one of these before, back in joint taskforce training. They don’t carry survivors, they carry Special Forces. SEALs, most likely.”

  What had started as a gut feeling turned to dread as Tom’s mind raced through the possible scenarios that had brought about the craft’s appearance.

  Cutting through the water with the surgical precision of a scalpel, the boat had picked up speed as soon as it had cleared the larger ship’s bow wave and was now already close enough to make out more details. The .50cals stayed unmanned and the operators low, preparing for what Tom assumed would be their landing next to the tender embarkation platforms a couple of decks below. Initially coming directly at them, the survivors gasped when with less than a few feet before impact, the speedboat, creating a virtual tidal wave, made a sharp starboard turn and settled nonchalantly into its position next to the extended pontoon just as the backwash splashed off the hull.

  A flurry of action ensued, with a tight team of operators quickly unloading several crates, carefully looking up and around them as if to make sure their landing had gone undetected. Tom quickly reacted and indicated for everyone to get low. He and Amadou crouched next to an empty lifeboat davit, peeking through the small gap between it and the metal railing.

  “What can you see,” Nadia whispered impatiently from behind, but Amadou shushed her with an annoyed wave.

  On the deck below, the men had just assembled around the three large pelican cases they had retrieved from their boat’s bow, when the familiar silhouette of the doctor appeared, casting a long shadow across the gangway leading down to them. It was hard to hear over the sound of the evening breeze and the splashing of the swell against the hull, but going by the doctor’s gestures, he did not welcome the men’s arrival. Angrily waving around his arms, he shouted and hollered at the operators as he approached the bottom of the ramp. One of the men stepped forward and met him halfway. This only seemed to increase the doctor’s agitation, and Tom couldn’t help but notice his yelling becoming ever more desperate, panicked, even.

  Meanwhile the lead operator just stood there, tilting his head to the side, studying the man’s outrage with the predatory curiosity of a cat. Tom saw the soldier’s finger flicker before the doctor did.

  Unleashed with deadly indifference, the 9mm bullet ended the doctor’s tirade and sent him toppling over backward across the handrail and into the sea. There he floated for a moment, his mouth agape, face frozen in one last expression of confoundment, incredulously staring up at his assassin. The operator squatted on the planks but a few inches away and with morbid interest inspected his handiwork until a moment later the body disappeared beneath the black waves, uttering a last slight gurgle in protest as the salty brine of the ocean filled his lungs.

  “We’re in trouble.” Tom addressed the others, trying to contain his anger while two decks below, the men carried their cargo through the hatch and into the belly of the ship.

  “What is happening?” Mama Samaki put her arm around a shivering Anna whose eyes once more grew wide with fear as she probed her father’s face for answers.

  “Can you please just tell us what is going on here?” Nadia asked again with growing impatience.

  Tom stood up and gazed over the dark, choppy waters. What he had feared was about to become reality. After a few anxious moments, he gestured the others to follow him, and they gathered close to the bulkhead offering shelter from the suddenly much colder gusts, harbingers of a storm front that was gathering on the tumultuous horizon.

  “There is no way they can or will let us go. The risks are just too great.” Tom replied distantly, already in deep thought and trying to plot a way out.

  “I thought we were safe here.”

  Nadia had never been the complacent type, but until now, there had been little, if any indication that their temporary accommodation would ultimately not lead them to safety, safety from the virus, the dead, and the war that raged, back where they had come from.

  Tom bent over the railing, making sure the wind wouldn’t carry their conversation back to the ears of an unseen operator below. The boat now seemed deserted, as did the gangway. The noisy passengers a few decks above in the ‘clear zone,’ entertaining themselves on what to most of them had become a cruise without destination, had barely noticed the shot. Tom took a deep breath.

  “Think about what we know so far: This thing, the virus, was engineered. Whether its effects were known or not at the time matters little by now. From what I have seen, chances are greater that they were, and that this isn’t some backwater Congo outbreak having jumped the border. This is geopolitics’ ugly crowbar. A sure-fire way to finally seize control of the continent’s riches. Control, without having to deal with corrupt governments constantly shifting goalposts, control without those pesky aid recipients and without having to pump billions into the bottomless pit of development year after year, decade after decade.” Tom’s anger returned, and he welcomed every bit of its raw invigoration.

  “By accident or design, this is a game-changer they will not want to lose. And the last thing they need is for the virus to jump across the ditch or their dirty secret to wash up in the international media. Make it look like a humanitarian operation, an exercise in global crisis management, not a military crusade, get it?” He was on a roll now.

  “What does that have to do with us, here, in the middle of the ocean?” Mama Samaki’s naiveté was endearing as occasionally irritating.

  “Let me spell it out for you,” Tom had to force himself to slow down. “Where are they going to take us? Why take even the smallest risk of the virus leisure-boating onto their own shores? Why risk leaving anyone behind to tell their story to scandal-hungry international media? If you want to get away scot-free, you cover all your tracks, tie up every loose end. Which brings me to us, because that’s exactly what we are to them: a loose end.” Tom’s face flushed red with ire.

  “These men down there, they are operators. I bet my last cent they are busy rigging this ship to blow. Not just that, but rigging it to make it look like an accident. ‘Floating refuge sinks after fuel tank disruption,’ ‘Disaster strikes humanitarian vessel.’ It’s not hard to come up with a headline.”

  “So, what do you suggest we do?” Nadia pressed, unsuccessfully trying to hide her growing franticness. If what Tom said was true, they would soon literally sit on a time bomb.

  “Firehoses,” Amadou mumbled matter-of-factly.

  “Firehoses?” Nadia asked, somewhat befuddled.

  “Firehoses,” Amadou repeated.

  “You’re right!” Tom exclaimed, his thoughts instantly aligning with his Congolese friend’s.

  “We use one of the firehoses to get to one of the lifeboats in the clear zone.”

  With quarantine section cut off
from the rest of the ship by hatches that were dogged from the outside, there was no other way in or out.

  “Do I look like I can swing around on the outside of an ocean liner, high above the sea, hanging onto a hose? Not to mention this little one…” Mama Samaki held Anna and, looking down at the growing swell, vehemently shook her head.

  “She’s right, you know.” Nadia jumped in, and Tom nodded reluctantly.

  “Only one thing for it then,” Amadou resolutely stepped over to the fire hose reel and began unrolling the hose.

  “I’m not following,” Tom admitted while admiring his friend’s nimble handiwork.

  Amadou unscrewed the hose tip from the valve and tied the hose end to the empty davit closest to the barrier separating their section from the rest of the ship.

  “If the mountain won’t come to you, you must go to the mountain. Or something like that.” Amadou grinned as he tied the other end of the hose around his waist. “You guys move down to the airlock. I’ll meet you on the other side.”

  And with that, he elegantly swung himself over the railing and instantly disappeared from sight. The fire hose whizzed past the group, extending to its full length with a strained creak as Amadou braced his legs against the hull before pushing off. Shuffling across in rapid side-steps, he quickly reached the other side of the barrier on the deck below, where he grabbed the railing and, in one swift motion, untied the hose. The others leaned forward as far as they could, but within a split second, Amadou disappeared from sight.

  “Let’s go,” Tom urged, and the survivors made their way below as instructed.

  CHAPTER 16

  Much to Amadou’s relief, the immediate area was deserted, with most of the passengers revelling on the upper decks during the early evening as usual. It was now almost completely dark, the soft glow of cabin lighting through the portholes the only illumination along the fake teak-lined promenade. Staying below them and close to the bulkhead, Amadou slithered across to the nearest opening. Inside, a passageway ran the width of the ship, traversed by several others along the way.