The Newcomers: a novel of global invasion , human resilience, and the wild places of the planet

by Pamela Jekel

  Two nights before, the pride which ruled this region had made a kill within close range of the rocks. All night, the brothers heard the lions snarling and growling, bones cracking, the jackals wailing and yapping, the hyenas whooping and cackling, and by dawn, the remains belonged to the vultures. Unlike the other predators on the plain, the cheetahs did not eat carrion, so they were not tempted to chase off the vultures and claim what little might be left. But they were reminded again that this land was crowded with killers.

  The heat on the plains increased daily now. The air grew thick with moisture, the fat white clouds piled up on the horizon, and the antelope grew still, tense, ears twitching, nostrils flared, waiting for rain. Soon, the clouds would grow darker and sheets of water would turn the plains to mud. Hunting would be more difficult then for the brothers; easier for the larger predators which depended more on ambush and slower-moving, mud-stuck prey. Mud and water only made the cheetahs chase more difficult. After the rains, the gazelle fawns would be hiding in the new grass and easy to find, but the brothers would have to make it through the mud season first.

  Last mud season, the cheetahs saw first-hand what an advantage other killers had in the rains. A young hippo calf was mired. Its mother tried to get it out of the mud, but its cries attracted the hyenas. The cow fended them off but then gave up and moved away and watched the hyenas methodically eat her calf, part by part. It screamed like the hyrax before its head was taken. She stood and watched until the sun moved low on the horizon. The cheetahs could never have bluffed off the hippo cow or defended the prey standing there, out in the open. They would always be at a disadvantage unless speed was the deciding factor, would never eat well in the rainy seasons, and the rains came twice each year.

  Although the cheetah brothers could not know it, they had one advantage that the prides did not have. America, like so many countries, no longer permitted the importation of the skin of any spotted cats, regardless of how they were obtained. This ban, of course, favored the leopard as well, their worst enemy. They were the fastest land animal, but they could not climb like the leopard; at one hundred pounds, they were lighter, less adaptable, less fierce, with shorter claws. Of all the big cats, the cheetah was the only one which could not roar.

  The cheetah had one evolutionary advantage over the leopard, however. The males were very social. A leopard would kill another male who entered his territory, if he could, for he preferred to walk alone. A cheetah would, instead, form a coalition, defending the territory together. Hunting by sight rather than by scent, the brothers could reach sixty miles per hour in three seconds, twice as fast as a horse, but if they could not catch their prey within a moment, they stopped and gave up. The respiratory rate of more than a hundred breaths per minute and the temperatures created by their top speeds could kill them, if they kept on. Exhaustion meant death. A team meant higher odds of success.

  Their coalition was even an advantage in mating. Last season, a female had come into their territory, and the brothers held her hostage until she was ready to accept them. They flanked her and kept her between them, no matter how she tried to escape. Finally, she let them mount her, one after the other.

  The brothers were hungry. Their last meal had been a shared spur fowl, not nearly enough to feed them both. Now as the gazelles moved closer, they slid down from their sentry post in the rocks, dropped their ears flat, and moved low in the tawny grasses, separating so as to come at the herd from different angles. They churred softly to each other; no further signal was necessary. When one brother reached within fifty yards of the gazelles and they had not yet sensed him, he quickly picked his prey, a fat doe at the edge of the herd, where he knew his brother waited. He leaped at her, immediately elongating his body to a full running speed, as she raced away for her life.

  The herd scattered, she turned sharply to try to evade him, but he used his long tail as a rudder, reached her, tripped her, and slammed his canines into her neck to suffocate her quickly. He held her for long moments, waiting for his strength to return, gazing over her body to where he knew his brother should be. They must eat quickly or lose their catch to a hyena, a lion, or the wild dog pack that crossed their territory. When the doe had stopped moving and he could release, he stood and chirped to his brother, calling him to the kill.

  He heard an answering chirp in the grass, and he stood taller to try to see his brother, but he could not. Against all of his instincts, he chirped again and left the kill, quickly loping to where his brother must be. His brother was on his side, panting and licking his paw. He stuttered a greeting, tried to stand, but his leg gave way, and he slid to the ground again. His lunge had collapsed a mongoose burrow on the uneven ground.

  The cheetah trotted back to the kill, picked it up by the flank, and half-carried, half-dragged it back to the grass where his brother waited. Chirping with encouragement, he began to eat, pushing the gazelle’s flank to where his brother could reach it. They filled their bellies quickly, leaving the entrails as was their custom. Soon, other predators would smell the kill and be on them. They must get to safe cover.

  The brothers moved away from the kill, one walking slowly, the other limping as best he could towards the ruins of an ancient camelthorn acacia which stood between them and their rocks. Once in the shade, they rested once more. The injured brother licked his paw above the dewclaw, panting in pain. The plains seemed empty in the heat of the day, but the brothers knew that as night approached, the predators would gather.

  The uninjured cheetah purred and pushed at his brother’s head, encouraging him to stand. They kept to cover when they could, walked upright when they had no choice, and together made it back to their place of rocks before the wind began to shift and signal that dusk was coming. While his injured brother rested within their den, the cheetah watched the sun move to the horizon and darkness rise up from the plains. He heard the eerie howling of the wild dog pack signal the beginning of their hunt. He growled softly and inched deeper into the den.

  Chapter Nine

  Chase Cummings

  Nyeri, Kenya

  2029

  “We can have wilderness without freedom. We can have wilderness without

  human life at all; but we cannot have freedom without wilderness. . .”

  Edward Abbey

  News came frequently now, since the Provisional Government in Fort Hood, Texas was once more broadcasting over the Voice of America network. Chase sat with Asha and Desta and listened each night. Three representatives from each State had elected a President, U.S. Army General Donaldson, who had been in command of martial law in the country for the past five years. Electricity was available to some regions for limited hours, and in those regions, vehicles were delivering supplies. Land line telephones were still inoperable; some cell towers were coming back online, but the Internet was the primary method of citizen communication. There were no plans yet to bring the postal service back. Four airports in the country, Greensboro, North Carolina; Colorado Springs, Colorado; Waco, Texas, and Seattle, Washington were open to limited traffic, with talk of opening more in the East.

  “In five more years, it will be America again,” Desta said. “Bibi was right about them.”

  As nations began to recover, citizens clamored to be reunited with their children. Each country had a different reunion policy for refugees. American families could recover their children upon request. Orphans could return to the United States, but only if they agreed to be placed in foster homes until the age of majority and foster homes could be found. Those refugees who had no word from their families were considered orphans.

  Kenyan families also had decisions to make. Most wanted to keep their children, especially the youngest refugees. At times, there was division in a clan, with some wishing to retain their children,; others wanting them sent back to their home country.

  The refugees themselves had the most difficult decisions of all.

  Chase found it increasingly hard to finish the last two months of Form
Four. It was more than the normal apathy with which most graduating seniors viewed the end of their educational process; he felt like a rock in the middle of a flowing stream. Everyone around him was moving on, it seemed. He could not care.

  Kayla Sanderson, the other American at St. Mary’s, had stopped him in the hall the week before. “Have you heard anything about an American plane coming to Nairobi yet?” The first British Air flight had already come and retrieved thirty-two kids from Kenya, and a flight from Delhi was due the following week. One ship from Italy had docked in Mombasa.

  “No,” Chase said. “Aren’t you going to finish your exams?”

  She opened her blue eyes even wider. “Are you kidding me? I’m going home!” Kayla was a year behind him, and though they were both American, they were only casual friends. “I hear it’s coming out of Atlanta.”

  “I heard Charlotte,” he said. “Whatever. The Maloris okay with you going?”

  She shrugged. “Sure, they’re happy for me. I mean, they’ve been terrific, but I’m going home. Are you still staying?”

  Chase’s plans to remain in Kenya had been, briefly, the talk of the school. Two other boys had made the decision to stay, one from Beijing, one from Berlin. Neither believed their families had survived the epidemics which savaged both cities. But Chase had evidence his family had lived through the camps at least, and everyone knew it. “Yeah,” he said. “I really don’t have any desire to go back to America.”

  “Why not?”

  He wanted to say, because I’m getting good at not giving a shit, but he settled for, “I like it better here.”

  “Well, hey, good luck with that,” she said, turning to move with the flow of kids to classes. “I’ll email you when I get home; we’ll keep in touch.”

  “Yeah.” He turned and went towards the biology lab.

  Because he had skipped a form up in several subjects, he had two free hours, and lately, he’d spent some of those with Father Omandi. Father had promised to keep his eye out for a used truck, pre-hybrid, that Chase might be able to get cheap, once he got his license. One of the many things they had in common was an admiration for the old cars.

  Chase knocked and stuck his head around the door.

  “Come in, come in,” Father said, waving him over. “Take a look at this.” He had a photo of a 2010 black Camaro on his computer screen, mint condition. “Forget the truck,” he said. “This little plum is just sitting in Nairobi with your name all over it.”

  Chase grinned. “Yeah. If I can find a bank to rob between here and there. The Church must be paying you better than I thought, if you’re drooling over that.”

  “Ah, a man can drool. Else what’s a heaven for? Any news from Baako?”

  “Yeah, emails twice a week or so. Seems to be doing okay. Likes the big city, from the sound of it. Have you heard about any planes coming from the U.S.?”

  “Have you changed your mind?”

  Chase shook his head. “Kayla Sanderson was asking, is all.”

  “Not yet. She’s going back, of course?”

  “The first chance she gets. Back into the manswarm.”

  Father Omandi grinned and leaned back in his chair. “Don’t tell me, don’t tell me.” He closed his eyes in concentration. “Thomas Wolfe?”

  Chase chuckled. “Thought I had you on that one.” Another pleasure they shared was traded quotes. Last week, Father had stumped him on Thoreau, someone he thought he knew inside and out.

  “Heard something new today. Do you know that ninety-nine percent of all species that have lived on the planet are extinct? At least according to Sister Rachel.”

  “I did know that,” Father said. “And plenty of them, because of man. So I guess we’re the original newcomers.”

  At that word, Chase looked away for a moment, sobered by the memories which always washed up on his personal beach. “Why, if there is a God, does He let such terrible things happen? What’s the answer, Father?”

  “You keep asking me that question a dozen different ways. What’s the point, what’s the moral to the story, what’s the reason for it all. The answer’s still the same. I don’t know.”

  “How many billions died?”

  He shook his head. “Past counting. But look at it this way. Probably a billion of them were children. And maybe all over the world, only about thirty thousand or so were saved. You were among that number. An act of mercy saved you. Two families saved you. Maybe the only real miracle is families.”

  “That’s pretty much what Desta says.”

  “How’s she doing? How’s Asha doing?”

  Chase shrugged. “Better than I thought they’d be, so soon.”

  The priest waited for a moment and then asked, “And you?”

  “I still miss him every day.” He turned away. “I didn’t think it would be this hard. I didn’t think I’d still be missing him so much.” He tried for a smile, but he felt his face twist. “Kinda thought I’d used up my ‘missing’ muscles.”

  “Those never get used up. There’s always something or someone to miss.”

  “When will it stop?” He looked down at his sandals. “When will it stop hurting?”

  “It doesn’t really stop; it just fades. And then, you feel grief because you can’t feel the grief anymore, and you think you’re forgetting them.”

  “That sucks.”

  Father nodded. “Grief isn’t the worst thing in the world. It doesn’t last forever, and usually you’re stronger after. Women seem to know that. You ready for your exams?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess,” Chase said, glancing at the clock on the wall. “Gotta run, Father.”

  “Kwaheri.” Goodbye. “Keep it real.” He turned back to the black Camaro.

  * * *

  In November, Chase graduated from St. Mary’s and went to work full-time at the Maathai farm, under Peter’s supervision. In the long evenings, he continued to work on his house, and every pound he earned went either toward its completion or savings for the truck he hoped to purchase in January when he turned eighteen. On Sundays, he drove Asha and Desta to Mass in the Escalade with his practice permit. After Mass, they always visited Jomo’s grave, and he joined them for Sunday dinner. Asha kept his bedroom for him, although he usually spent the night at his own place.

  “It’s hard to believe it’s been a year,” Desta said over dinner one evening.

  “Your father would be so proud of you,” Asha said. “Proud of you both. How is the transplanting going?”

  As Jomo had predicted, this was the year the perennial pyrethrum needed replanting. “Good,” Chase nodded, helping himself to another slice of beef. “We should finish four more hectares by the end of next week. The plants look healthy enough, if we can just get the rains on time.”

  “And the markets?”

  He shrugged. “Have to wait and see, I guess. Two ships docked in Mombasa last month, but so far, nothing from China. I don’t think the Co-op can sell everything to Australia, but they’ll do what they can.” He looked up at Asha. “If money is a problem, I can carry some algafuel to town.”

  “That’s a good idea.” Asha said it casually, her eyes still down on her plate. At Desta’s look, she added, “After all, Christmas is coming up, and Baako’s been begging for some sort of vehicle. When he comes home for holiday, we’ll see what we can manage.” She turned to Chase. “Any news from America?”

  “Nothing for months,” he said. “It was easier to keep in touch when the military ran things. At least, the mail got through.”

  “No more emails?” Desta asked.

  Chase shook his head. “I don’t even know if mine got delivered.”

  “Jata has that box for you of old kitchenware,” Asha said. “I can’t think why you’d want it; some of it is just rubbish really.”

  “I can use whatever you want to give me,” Chase said. “Thanks.”

  “Isn’t it terribly spooky out there at night?” Desta asked. “Aren’t you afraid of lions?”
<
br />   “Sometimes. But I’ve got my rifle, and Neddy lets me know when something comes too close.”

  Asha smiled. “That dog has adopted you, dear. You’ll never rid yourself of him now.” She filled Desta’s cup with hot tea. “How is your history project coming, then?”

  Chase’s thoughts ran to old memories as they talked. He could remember so clearly the way his mother cut Mozy’s food, the way she looked up at his father when Miranda hollered about the man in the closet. For a moment, he was there again, grinning while his dad went to roust out the intruder. Where were they now? Probably not eating roast beef, he thought, feeling old guilt flood him. He pushed it away. That was then and this was now. He told himself that over and over. With time, he figured, he’d stop missing them. Maybe Father Omandi was wrong. Already, it was better than it used to be.

  He could remember when he was twelve and he thought all things were possible. There was nothing he couldn’t do or be, his father used to tell him. Dream big, he always said. A man’s reach should exceed his grasp, he always said. Everything’s possible if you believe it is. The thing about getting older was, he didn’t need to believe in possibilities anymore. He just needed some things to be certain. Once and for all, he needed to have something that he could know was his. His own land, a future that he defined, that was certain. Maybe it wasn’t much, maybe not what he thought it might be, but his, at least. Not likely to be taken away by something that comes out of the sky and changes the world forever.

  He remembered with pride each hammer on the boards that were his, each nail he drove, each stone he laid. Nobody could take that from him. The cabin grew according to his will and his command, and it was the first thing in his life that was completely his, completely up to him to create, maintain, and enjoy.

  That evening, he walked back to his house, carrying the bag of discarded kitchen utensils. As he came closer to the river, he heard the stomach rumble of an elephant, like a cart being pushed over a wooden bridge, low and long, carrying through the twilight. Neddy whined softly, looking to him for a signal. He waved him forward. The dog barked indignantly then, rushing ahead to clear the path of any trespassing animal. Chase tied the bag to his waist, shifted his rifle to firing position, and kept walking, but now more slowly, listening for a herd in the bush. He whistled Neddy back to his side.