Off With Their Heads: The Prequel to Alice in Deadland

by Dhar, Mainak

  As much as she would have liked to not believe them, the documents were devastatingly clear. There were transcripts of conversations, emails, and minutes of meetings.

  What Protima, Stan and their colleagues had been working on had been a very small part of a grand plan that was both awe-inspiring and terrifying in equal measure. Vials of Sample Z had been taken to remote bases in Afghanistan for human testing. The men who had ordered the use of Sample Z in China had known its likely effects much better than Protima had realized. But in keeping the scientists out of the loop, it seemed they had totally underestimated how the virus would behave once it was transmitted from one person to another.

  Protima closed her eyes, her head throbbing. Could men really condemn millions to death for a plan that called for gradual repopulation to deal with the issue of scarce oil and other resources? Could the same men seek to quell rising discontent about the ruin the financial elite had brought to the West by creating such an environment of fear that people would gladly accept any form of tyranny? Was it possible that they had managed to forge some sort of partnership with sections of the Chinese government who were struggling to contain their own people’s calls for democracy? The documents in front of Protima made it amply clear that was exactly what had happened.

  The final contents of the package were two small vials containing a red liquid. Protima knew what they were. The vaccines they had been working on to protect against Sample Z. They were untested, but in sending them, Stan had at least given her a shot at life.

  A commotion started around her. Several men and women were standing, pointing at a TV in the corner of the lobby. The first case of the outbreak had been reported in India. With millions of people traveling by air every day, and many in the neighborhoods surrounding Lab 12 not even aware of the risks, there was no telling how far and how fast the outbreak would spread.

  Now that the outbreak had begun to spread globally, Protima knew she had very little time. She dialed the American Embassy to get an appointment with Gladwell.

  *

  ‘They say the disease makes people into demons who cannot be killed. My cousin saw a man at the airport who bit a dozen others and the police kept shooting him but couldn’t put him down. You’re lucky that your destination is on the way to my home. You are my last passenger for now. After I drop you, I’m going straight there and staying put with my family till they figure this out.’

  The last thing Protima needed was a talkative taxi driver. Protima just nodded, but that seemed to encourage the man.

  ‘I gave a lift to two Army officers, and they told me they were being called up for duty. But they also said they were getting contradictory orders. Nobody in the government has any idea what to do.’

  Protima didn’t envy anyone who was trying to deal with the unfolding situation. Any outbreak of a highly contagious disease, let alone one with such unpredictable and terrifying effects, was best nipped in the bud. Identify the core outbreak, quarantine those infected and contain the spread till the strain was better understood. In this case, it was way too late for that. The infection had spread globally, and after what Protima had just read, it was a fair bet some elements in the government had actively aided in its spread.

  As she looked out the windows, the streets of Delhi were packed with policemen. But she shook her head as she saw that they had come prepared for riot control, with batons and shields. If the outbreak spread here, they would be of little use.

  As the taxi turned towards the American Embassy, the taxi driver shouted, ‘There’s no way they will let me get any closer. You’ll have to walk from here.’

  Roadblocks manned by Indian policemen barred their entry to the approach road. Protima saw that the Marines who guarded the Embassy were now gathered at the gate, all armed with automatic rifles, and she saw movement on the roof, which could have been snipers. Clearly they were not taking any chances. As she tried to go towards the Embassy building, one of the policemen stopped her.

  ‘This area is now closed to the public.’

  Protima pleaded that she had an appointment at the Embassy but that did not seem to have any impact. Finally, she took out her American passport. ‘Look at this, please. I am of Indian origin but hold an American passport. You cannot stop me from going to the US Embassy.’

  The policeman looked like he was in doubt, but he was saved from having to make a decision by one of the Marines jogging over from the Embassy gates. ‘Ma’am, please come with me.’

  He jogged back without waiting for Protima and she walked as fast as she could. Closer to the Embassy, she saw the same emotion she had seen in the policeman’s eyes. Fear.

  The Marines might have looked intimidating from afar, with their weapons and body armor, but up close, most of them were very young, and they looked terrified. She was ushered into the main building, where she walked up to the receptionist.

  ‘Excuse me, I have an appointment with the Chief of Mission, Robert Gladwell.’

  The receptionist asked Protima to wait while she called Gladwell’s office. Protima sat down in the lobby, which was packed with US citizens who had come to the Embassy to seek refuge and try and get home. A woman was sobbing, her head buried in her husband’s chest as he tried to comfort her. Protima caught only a few snatches of their conversation before they passed her. ‘Martha, all flights are cancelled. We can’t get out for now. The kids will be okay...’

  The TV was playing CNN. The footage showed burning buildings somewhere and Protima walked closer to hear what was being said.

  ‘Chinese and US naval forces have skirmished off the coast of Taiwan on the same day Israel claimed to have shot down two Iranian missiles. The President has ordered all US forces to be ready to deal with the unfolding crisis, and the Department of Homeland Security has reinstated the color-coding for the threat level to the US Mainland, declaring it to be red. In a separate announcement, the Department of Homeland Security has declared that many internal security duties are to be handed to the private military contractor firm Zeus, as US military forces were needed to deal with the multiple international crises that threaten to escalate to all-out war in Asia and the Middle East. One of the first actions of Zeus has been to forcibly disband all Occupy protests, saying that they suck up precious resources needed to control the outbreak and also that crowds spread the outbreak. Many civil rights activists protested, saying private armies cannot be used to silence US citizens’ fundamental rights to free speech and assembly. The spread of the outbreak continues unabated, and the Center for Disease Control has said it will stop issuing casualty figures as they are growing at such an exponential rate.’

  Protima sat down, her hands shaking as they gripped the package. The plans outlined in the documents Stan had sent her were unfolding right before her eyes.

  Someone coughed to get her attention and she looked up to see the receptionist. She was an aging Indian woman who had dark circles under her eyes and looked dog-tired.

  ‘Dr. Dasgupta, I’m afraid Mr. Gladwell is unable to meet you now. As you know, things are busy here and he has some urgent matters to attend to.’

  Protima felt her heart sink. ‘I had an appointment with him. I just need to meet him for a couple of minutes.’

  The receptionist was polite but Protima sensed she was being evasive. ‘I’m sorry, but he himself has asked me to cancel this meeting. I can’t help you.’

  There was no way she was going away without giving the documents to Gladwell. Protima tried again, pleading with the receptionist. ‘Please, please give me just two minutes with him. I don’t even need to talk to him. I just need to give him some very important documents.’

  ‘Dr. Dasgupta, I presume. Chief Gladwell asked me to apologize for not being able to meet you, but if I can help you in any way, please let me know.’

  Protima turned towards the deep, gravely voice to find herself looking up at a tall, bald man built like a tank who completely dwarfed her. He was wearing a military uniform and even ind
oors his eyes were covered by wraparound sunglasses.

  ‘Ma’am, my name is Major John Appleseed, and I can pass on whatever you wanted to give to Bob.’

  With the unthinking trust most people had for men in uniform, Protima held out the parcel, but as he grabbed it, she paused. Stan had told her to give the package only to Gladwell. She started to retract her hand, but Appleseed held on. There was still a smile on his lips, but his voice had a hard edge to it now.

  ‘I said I will take it from here.’

  Their impasse was broken when somebody shouted and Protima turned to look at the TV. A news channel was broadcasting live from the gardens surrounding India Gate, in the very heart of Delhi. There was the sound of gunfire and of people screaming and as the cameraman zoomed in, Protima saw a group of men walking in a shuffling gait, many of them covered in blood. The camera zoomed in again and she saw that one of them had half his face torn off. More people in the reception screamed, and someone bumped into Appleseed, throwing him off balance for a second. Before he could recover, Protima was running out the door, heading into a city that, like many others around the world, was now faced with its worst nightmare – a highly contagious, deadly virus that turned people into raging monsters.

  *

  Protima managed to get a cab that took her halfway to her hotel, but the driver refused to go any further, saying it was too dangerous. Protima tried hailing other cabs, but nobody stopped. As she walked along the road, she saw that the policemen outside had disappeared. Some small shops across the street were being looted and an old man was lying on the ground. There seemed to be no law and order in sight, and she realized that she was alone and defenseless in the middle of a city that had given into terror and anarchy.

  A commotion began further down the street and a man staggered onto the street. His clothes were torn and he was bleeding from a gash on his neck. He cried out to her for help but before she could cross the street, he fell to the ground. A woman emerged from the bushes behind him. She was covered in blood, with the shuffling gait of the infected, and her eyes were vacant and yellow. She shrieked as she saw Protima and began to cross the road to reach her. The wounded man, whom Protima had assumed to be dead, sat up and turned towards her. His eyes had a similar blank expression and he too screamed and got up to chase Protima.

  Protima was now running as fast as she could, her heart hammering. She stumbled and fell, scraping her right knee on the pavement. She turned to see the bloodied couple still following her, and she scrambled to her feet, ignoring the pain in her knee as she started running again. After a few minutes, she stopped to catch her breath, and saw that the couple were now far behind. Protima bent over, her breath coming in jagged gasps, thankful that the infected did not seem to move very fast. Protima saw an abandoned bicycle and began pedaling it, hoping that getting back to the hotel would mean at least some period of safety for her to consider what to do next.

  As she rode, she saw all around her the signs of a city that was tearing itself apart. Several pillars of smoke rose above the city’s skyline and people were running all around, and every now and then she got terrifying glimpses of groups of the infected, hunting people down like packs of wild animals. There were no policemen or troops in sight, though Protima wondered what good they would have been against an enemy that could not be killed.

  She finally met a small group of policemen huddled near a shop. The officer had a pistol in his hand, and the four constables with him were carrying rifles. The officer waved her down.

  ‘Miss, you can’t go that way, the entire neighborhood is crawling with Biters.’

  ‘I need to get to the Taj Hotel.’

  The officer shook his head sadly. ‘Miss, from what I hear, there are Biters running wild around there. Why don’t you go home?’

  There was no longer any home for her. Protima got on the bike and rode in a different direction, no longer sure of what she would do or where she would go. When she had learned of the plan outlined in Stan’s documents, she had agreed with his assessment that the men who had planned this were playing with fire. But now having seen firsthand what the infection did to people, she feared there was no real way to contain it. Like a wildfire, it would consume everything in its path before it burned itself out.

  She had been so lost in her thoughts that she almost did not notice the black SUV just a few meters behind her and closing fast. It careen towards her and she swerved out of the way just before it could hit her bike. The front windows were down, and she could see the driver and one more man. Both were Caucasian, wearing dark suits and wraparound sunglasses. She had seen many men like them during her time in Washington. Government agents.

  At first, she thought nearly knocking her down was an accident but then the driver leaned out. In his hand was a pistol. Protima was so startled that she lost her balance and the bike hit a bump on the sidewalk, sending her sprawling to the ground. That saved her life as the man fired and the bullet slammed into the wall over Protima’s head. The man was shouting something, but Protima’s ears were still ringing from the gunshot and she could not fully understand what he was saying.

  Protima sat against the wall, shocked. No US government agents would be openly shooting at someone in the streets of Delhi.

  The driver stopped the SUV and got out, walking towards her, the gun pointed at her. The second man remained in the car, but he now had a gun pointed at her as well. The man stood over her and said, ‘Dr. Protima, I believe you have a package for us.’

  Realization dawned on Protima as she recalled the confrontation she had with Appleseed back at the embassy. She stood up gingerly, feeling her ankle. The man’s expression was inscrutable behind his dark glasses.

  ‘Who are you? What right do you have to attack an American citizen?’

  The man smiled. ‘Look, Doctor, I don’t want this to be any more difficult than it has to be. You’re in way over your head here and you have no idea about just how far my bosses can go to get the material you have in your hands. Just give me the damn package and you won’t hear from us again.’

  It would be tempting to hand over the package, but could she live with the knowledge that she had done nothing? Tens of thousands had already died, and God alone knew how many more would die before it was all over. Her heart pounding, she took a step back. ‘Young man, I have no doubt you could take this from me, but I will not hand it to you.’

  The next thing Protima knew, she was on the ground, her head splitting with pain and warm blood flowing down the side of her face. The man raised his gun again.

  ‘Look, lady, I don’t take any pleasure in hitting old women, but I do need to do this.’

  He leaned down to grab the package from Protima’s hand. That was when his partner screamed from inside the SUV.

  ‘Greg, they’re coming. Hurry up!’

  *

  Protima looked beyond the man in front of her to see a crowd of at least twenty of the infected converging on the car. A couple of men in bloodied and tattered suits were mixed up with men and women wearing the rags of slum dwellers. They all had that vacant expression and many of them had blood from other victims running down the sides of their mouths. The man inside the car fired again and again, and three or four men went down, only to get back up within seconds. The man inside the car was screaming as he was pulled out and the crowd tore into him, clawing at him and biting into his face.

  ‘Goddamn Biters!’ the man in front of Protima growled. He shouted into his earpiece. ‘We’re under attack by Biters. Are there any other Zeus units nearby who could help?’

  Zeus. Protima had heard that name before somewhere, but she had no time to think as some of the infected now came around the car towards her. The man in front of her pointed his gun at the approaching crowd, shooting several times till his magazine emptied. All he did was enrage them further, and they began to emit a high-pitched screech as they surrounded him. Protima took advantage of the situation to get back on her bike, and she pedaled away
, forcing herself not to look back even when she heard the man’s screams and cries for mercy.

  Now all around her she saw signs of the infection spreading. There were several dead bodies littering the street, and two of the infected wrestled down and killed a large man who had tried to fight back. She realized that while they first tried to infect others by biting them, any significant resistance led them to kill their prey.

  Tears were freely streaming down Protima’s face as the world fell apart. When people at the highest levels of government had brought about such a catastrophe, what hope did a frail old woman like her have of fighting back?

  Two more of the infected crossed her path, and she turned her bicycle sharply to the right to avoid them. Biters. That was what the man who had attacked her had called them. She wondered, as the infection spread around the world and more and more people fell to it, would people give it a name? Some terrible infections in the past had been trivialized by the names they had been given – bird flu, swine flu. What would this scourge be called? Would there even be enough people left to give it a name?

  Now, further away from the open spaces around the Embassy, she had entered a congested market. Khan Market, if her memory served. The closely packed shops and cars parked in front of them had made it a deathtrap. Hundreds of Biters milled around and a few corpses lay around the front of the shops. A small group of policemen had tried to make a stand and Protima almost gagged at what remained of them – little more than the bloody shreds of their khaki uniforms.

  The front wheel of her bicycle caught on something and her bike buckled under her. She was thrown forward, landing hard on the ground. The wind knocked out of her, Protima scrambled to get up, but slipped and fell again. She had attracted the attention of a few Biters and they were converging on her. She felt around and found a rock the size of her fist. The nearest Biter was now no more than a dozen feet away, a thin man with half his face ripped off wearing a bloodied and torn suit. Protima threw the rock as hard as she could, and it hit the Biter squarely on the head. He staggered back, but then he looked at her with vacant, red eyes and screamed, blood tricking down the sides of his mouth. Four others joined him and they came towards Protima.