The Waterhole

by Warren Chazan

  Having been born in Johannesburg, Simon was in effect a South African citizen, even though political instability and crime had brought him and his family to the United States at the age of three. Nevertheless, getting back into the country at such a tumultuous time was not easy. The tracking bracelet did little to help him with that quandary.

  But he had managed to find a way to inactivate it, albeit for only a few minutes per hour. This had given him sufficient time to make it through airport security without setting off alarm bells, although it had almost been game over coming through Oliver Tambo International Airport, when a guard did an old-fashioned frisk, following a breakdown in their biometric scanners. The guard wasn’t particularly au fait with the bracelet, or perhaps with the ensuing chaos across the planet, he just didn’t care enough to question Simon.

  Once in the country, he’d managed to secure a vintage vehicle and booked himself into the Beach Lodge Hotel, a block back from the strand. The place was deserted, with holidaymakers desperately fleeing back home or inland. He was one of the few idiots who had ventured wilfully to the coast.

  Despite the dire predicament that his world was in, he felt rather upbeat about his life, even though he had resigned himself to the fact that within a few days he would most likely be dead. There was almost some comfort in the resignation that there would be no more need for worrying about anything after that. The only thing that still irritated him intensely, however, was wearing the electronic restrainer bracelet. He knew it was pointless to attempt to remove it. Even if he managed to do so, the sensors inside would no doubt activate an electrode, initiating a shock, meant not just to hurt him, but with a frequency that could actually kill. Although death was a certainty, he didn’t fancy dying by electrocution. So, as irritating as it was, he decided to put up with the stupid device for the time being.

  “Anything else for you?” asked a waiter from the hotel’s restaurant.

  “No thank you, Moses,” he said, reading off his nametag. “I’m just going to drink this and finish my book.”

  “Very well, sir.” The man nodded politely, and then walked back inside.

  He lifted his cocktail to drink and at the moment the wrist bracelet glowed a dim luminous green, and his heart did a leap inside his chest.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE

  “Is there anything that Jack and I can do?” asked Janine, sipping at a cup of lukewarm coffee.

  “I’m not sure,” replied Sheri. “I think all any of us can do is hope that we get Simon here ASAP and somehow manage to rectify the program, within twenty-two hours.”

  “What happens in twenty-two hours?” asked Janine.

  “That’s when Pasadena floods,” she answered.

  “And according to our latest intelligence reports, about ten minutes later, Russia takes out the facilities and starts World War III,” said Steve.

  “What?” responded Sheri, her eyes widening, frown lines growing on her usually smooth forehead.

  “And that’s our best estimate. Remember that the Earth’s rotation has sped up, which means so have the tides, so it may be even less than that.”

  “We’re completely screwed,” said Sheri, sitting down in her chair, elbows on the desk, hands supporting her head. It was at times like this that she longed for her father, taking her hand in his and telling her that everything would be okay. She needed him to tell her that it would all turn out fine in the end, that the sun would shine tomorrow. She stared blankly upward at the computer screen. “It’s futile, Simon will never be ready in time.”

  There was a heaviness in the room; defeat seemed inevitable. The professor gulped down whatever whiskey was left in his glass. Steve slid down the wall he was leaning against, and put his head down between his bent knees.

  The silence continued. Even Janine was quiet.

  It was Jack who spoke. “We’ve been toying with Mother Nature for hundreds, if not thousands of years, constantly taunting her and ignoring her warnings. It looks like she’s finally fought back. And perhaps we deserve it.”

  Sheri watched Steve’s face take on a blood-red color. He stood up and glared at Jack. “Are you a fucking idiot or something?” he spat. “You’re talking about the Earth as if she’s your mother. She is a planet, and she’s governed by physical forces, just as we are. There’s nothing revengeful about it, it just is what it is.”

  Jack, who would in normal circumstances tower over Steve, shuffled closer toward him on his makeshift crutches. It was if a Jack Russell had picked a fight with a Rottweiler, albeit a wounded one. Sheri’s heart quickened. One punch from the big guy, and Steve would most likely be split in two. Jack’s injury may well have leveled the playing field somewhat, but Sheri didn’t like the odds.

  “Yeah well, if we hadn’t screwed around so much with these forces,” said Jack, “and just left things the way they should be, we wouldn’t be in this predicament.”

  “If we left things the way they were, you and I would still be catching our meals with spears, so why don’t you just get the hell out of here. You’re not helping!” Steve shot back.

  “Hey enough! Both of you,” yelled Janine, motioning Jack back toward her. “You aren’t helping. It’s happened, it’s done, and there’s no point right now in assigning blame.”

  “She’s right,” Sheri said. “If you want to blame anyone, blame me. I was in charge of this project. Now, let’s just put our heads together and see if we can do something about it.”

  “I agree with Sheri,” said the professor, slurring somewhat.

  It was then that Drew Murrey burst into the room. With all the drama that had unfolded, Sheri had forgotten they had left the man sleeping. He had no idea about the critical sequence of events that had just developed.

  “Hey, guys, why didn’t you wake me up?” he asked.

  “Sorry, Drew,” said Sheri. “We just haven’t had a moment. It’s been crazy the past few hours, so much has happened. I’ll fill you in soon.”

  She stood up. “This is Drew Murrey, he’s the chief scientific officer here at Stromlo.”

  “Call me Drew,” he said, putting his hand out to shake Jack’s. He turned his attention to Janine, his hazel eyes narrowing, his face paling somewhat.

  “Yes, Mr. Murrey, I believe we’ve already met. I’d like to apologize for my behavior the other day, but once you see for yourself what’s actually going on, I think you’ll understand why I had to do what I did. It’s all become a lot clearer in the past twelve hours.”

  “Apology accepted. I’ve got to admit you’re one gutsy girl.”

  Sheri noticed that Drew had something in his hand. “What’s that?” she asked.

  “Oh, just my old man’s laptop from twenty years ago. You know, the one that first decoded the alien signal,” he said proudly.

  After Sheri brought Drew up to speed, he asked, “Do you really think Simon can do this?”

  “There’s not a lot of good I can say about Simon,” she said, “but one thing I do know about the man: if there’s a way, he’ll be the one to find it.”

  Steve circled his arms around Sheri’s waist. She whispered into his ear, “I just wish I could wake up now, and this nightmare would be over.”

  “Me, too,” he said.

  The vidlink to NASA opened up. It was Wesley.

  “They’ve found him!” he announced.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY

  A thunderous roar shook the beach as the giant Apache helicopter’s blades cut through the muggy air. Beach sand jettisoned upward, creating a haze that almost obscured visibility for the pilots.

  “That must be him there,” pointed Lieutenant Gearing to a scrawny man sunning himself on the beach.

  “I concur, Lieutenant. Let’s land and dispatch the men.”

  Ten marines outfitted in battle fatigues and armed with semiautomatic machine guns and body armor were waiting patiently for the order to charge.

  “Looks like we have company, Lieutenant,” said Captain Howes, who was piloting the
giant bird.

  “Damn South Africans! There must be a whole damn army down there.”

  “We have our orders, sir. Kelly needs to be taken alive at any cost.”

  “Affirmative. Tell the crew to get ready. They know what they need to do.”

  There was an intense blast of machine-gun fire as the Apache, which had now had been set down, was inundated by a hail of bullets. Metal clanked and bits flew off, as the lead tore into the body of the aircraft.

  “What are they doing?” asked the lieutenant.

  “The same thing we’d be doing,” the captain replied. “They don’t enjoy surprise visits from strangers. They must’ve tracked us coming in, violating their airspace. Get the boys out!”

  The rear door of the helicopter roared open and ten marines charged out, firing frantically as they hit the warm, sandy beach.

  The Apache was quickly surrounded by a battalion of South African soldiers, and the Americans seemed hopelessly outnumbered. But these men weren’t regular soldiers, they were elite, selected from hundreds of top SAS men. Also, their weaponry was far superior to the South Africans’.

  * * * *

  Simon wasted no time. He quickly fled the scene, retreating into a public lavatory situated a few yards from where he had been sitting. Breathless and terrified, he considered his various options. None seemed particularly appealing. He decided that the best he could do was to lock himself in one of the stalls, hoping that the South Africans would come to his defense. He wasn’t looking forward to an extradition back to the States, which was obviously what this was about.

  Then he starting thinking. With all the chaos taking place around the world, why in hell’s name would the American military be wasting precious resources on repatriating an escaped fugitive? The general must have unfinished business with him. It was the only possibility that made any sense.

  As he listened to the hail of gunfire, he scanned around for an escape exit. The room was small, and the toilet’s self-cleaning system seemed to have failed. The stench of sewage was unbearable and made him gag. There were no windows, no other exits.

  He sat down on the toilet seat and buried his head in his hands. What had happened to him? Who had he become? This wasn’t how his life was supposed to turn out, a lonely alcoholic who’d sold his soul to the devil. He thought about his little girl, and how he’d most likely never see her sweet smile again.

  The gunfire was getting closer, it wouldn’t be long now. Then the shooting subsided, replaced by an eerie silence. Perhaps the South Africans had fended them off. He didn’t really believe that.

  A few more seconds passed, and he reached for the stall door but froze when he heard the approach of footsteps. He stood on the lavatory seat, desperate, and clinging to the hope that the soldiers might think he had escaped.

  “Game over, Mr. Kelly,” came a loud, deep voice with an American accent.

  He remained quiet, determined not to give himself away.

  “Are you going to come out from there, or are we going to have to drag your sorry ass out kicking and screaming? Either way is fine with us. It’s your choice, buddy. You have five seconds to decide.”

  The soldier began his count from five. As he reached one, Simon unlatched the lavatory door and opened it. Despite his disappointment, he was in some absurd way relieved that the game of hide and seek was over. In front of him stood three very large, solidly built men. All were dressed in full black battle fatigues, clad in body armor, and carrying intimidating machine guns.

  “Glad to see you came to your senses. Now, are we going to have to handcuff you or are you going to come quietly?”

  He didn’t need to think much about his ridiculous predicament. His IQ score in points may have been in the region of two hundred and fifty, but he weighed less than half of that in pounds. Resisting these men would simply be pathetic, never mind futile.

  He was marched back onto the beach, horrified by the number of bodies lying motionless in the sand. There must have been dozens of them, flesh hanging off bones, bits of skull and brain mixed into the beach sand like some sort of disgusting salad. He felt the bile stirring within, the queasiness turning his stomach over until he could no longer contain himself. He heaved and then felt the bitter liquid rising up, exploding over the back of one of his captors.

  “Fuck, man. What the hell are you doing?” spat the hefty marine, his sinewy face screwing up as he tried in vain to wipe the vomit off his back with the barrel of his gun.

  “Sorry, I couldn’t hold it in.”

  “Well I fucking hope you don’t get motion sickness. It’s a damn long way back to LA, even in this bird.”

  Simon clambered up into the helicopter and was immediately met and briefed by the lieutenant.

  “Mr. Kelly, you might already have some idea why you’re here, but in case you don’t, I’ve been ordered by General Denny Smith to deliver this document to you personally.”

  The lieutenant handed Simon a holographic board, then disappeared into the cockpit.

  “Hey, wait. What is this all about?”

  The lieutenant turned around and winked at him. “For your eyes only, Mr. Kelly, I’m sorry. Can’t help you there. My orders were to collect you, deliver this and then return you safely to NASA HQ.”

  Simon shook his head, plugged the earpiece from the pad into his left ear, and swiped his finger across the glowing screen. An eleven-inch hologram of the general materialized above the pad and began to speak. Simon listened intently to the briefing, just as the Apache dipped its blades into the headwind and soared over Table Mountain. Within minutes it had crossed over Robben Island and was cruising over the Atlantic Ocean.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE

  “Can you let me the hell out of here, you idiot?” Denny called. He was held captive inside Wesley’s office, handcuffed to a chair, the door closed.

  “Whatever the hell for, General? So you can stir up more chaos?” responded Wesley, who Denny knew was sitting at his computer terminal a few feet away.

  “Because like it or not, someone still has to be responsible for maintaining the peace, while your team sort out this nightmare. I’m sure the last thing you need is a bunch of crazy psychos storming this place.” His neck was still rough and sore after the throttling, not to mention the agony once again playing up in his groin. Denny wasn’t used to playing the role of the victim. It gnawed at him.

  “As much as I hate to admit it, he’s right,” said Sheri over the vidcom. She’d been listening in.

  “It just seems so wrong to let him go,” Wesley said.

  “You’re not letting him go, just untying him and giving him access to his phone. That way, he can make himself more useful, while you make sure he stays put in your office.”

  “You’re probably right, Sheri. We don’t need a bunch of lunatics setting this place ablaze or anything, especially now.” Wesley gave a long-suffering sigh. “Okay, General, you win, but be warned. Try anything dodgy and I’ll have no problem finishing off what I started earlier!”

  The general grunted under his breath. He had lost all control, and he hated it. “I’m not going anywhere. Despite what you may think of me, I still have a duty to my country, and I’m not going to abandon it now. Besides, do you really think you overpowered me back there?” he said, his voice laced with arrogance. “Do you honestly think I would’ve organized to get Simon back if I could solve this crisis by myself? I may be direct and some would say ambitious, but I’m no fool. Why do you think I did everything in my power to stop you idiots from shutting EMB down? I knew what was at stake.”

  Wesley raised his voice. “Yeah and you certainly came clean about it, didn’t you? You could’ve saved us all a lot of time if you had. We’re just damn lucky Janine turned up when she did.”

  “Okay. Maybe it was a mistake to try to keep such a key thing secret, but now that you know everything, I need to help, and I can’t do that while I’m tied up.”

  Sheri interrupted, “Wesley, stop engagin
g with him, just let him do what he needs to do. Speaking of which, how’s he doing with getting Simon back?”

  Wesley said, “They found Simon on Cape Town’s Muizenberg Beach and dispatched an Apache helicopter from the USS Obama in the Atlantic. I believe there was some trouble with the South Africans, but I doubt in this global crisis it will come to anything.”

  There was a pause as a message beeped on Wesley’s phone. “I’ve just been informed that he’s been transferred from the USS Obama to a new-generation F14 semi-orbiter, which should have him arriving here within four hours, provided of course the plane doesn’t crash. Anyhow, that should give him a good twelve hours or so to work on a program before the place floods.”

  “Great work, Wesley,” said Sheri. “Keep me informed of any new developments.”

  Sheri ran her hand through her fringe. While she desperately tried to fight off the curtain of sleep, her mind was tormented with nightmarish images of nuclear explosions, radiation and calamity. She put her head down on the desk and eventually succumbed, drifting off into a troubled, restless slumber.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO

  Janine pulled her buzzing phone from her pocket. She instantly recognized the number—it was Kath.

  “Nuuns, oh my god, are you okay? Is everything alright?” asked Janine, relieved to hear her sister’s voice.

  “Not exactly,” Kath answered.

  “What do you mean? What’s wrong?” She dared to ask the question. “Is someone stalking you?”

  “Of course not, why would you think that? Are you alright, Jay? Last time we spoke I thought you were having a nervous breakdown or something. I tried calling you back, but I couldn’t get through. You’ve had me so worried.”