Off With Their Heads: The Prequel to Alice in Deadland

by Dhar, Mainak

  As he headed home, he wondered who Appleseed had been so interested in. He hadn’t even bothered to ask his staff, but then it was the principle that mattered. Gladwell closed his eyes and tried to wish away the throbbing headache.

  *

  ‘Honey, I’m sorry, but you need to listen to me when I tell you something. You are not going out today. Am I clear?’

  Gladwell had shouted much louder than he had intended to, but the accumulated stress of the last two days was beginning to tell on him. Jane sulked and ran sobbing to her room. ‘You made me miss my ballet performance in school. You know how much I’ve prepared for that.’

  Gladwell winced as she slammed the door to her room, but he had already vented enough at her to take her to task for this display of defiance. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘You’re beginning to scare me. First you tell me not to step outside of the home, now Jane, and why on Earth do you have a gun in our house? Will you please tell me what’s going on?’

  Gladwell took his wife’s hand in his and slumped against her, finally feeling himself unable to bear all the pressure and tension he had been under for the last two days. He asked Jo to sit down, and she sat down on his lap, trying to calm him down.

  ‘Do you know all the stuff that’s on TV about the virus in China and reports about something like it in the US?’

  When Jo nodded, he continued, finding that sharing what was plaguing him made it a bit easier to bear, though he was now passing on a terrible burden onto Jo. But if things were going to unravel as fast as he feared, she needed to be prepared.

  ‘The news channels are downplaying it, making it seem like something like bird flu or swine flu. But it’s not, it’s much, much worse.’

  ‘Do you mean worse in terms of people dying from it?’

  Gladwell fumbled for a while, trying to put into words what little he had learned. ‘This virus does something to people. It doesn’t kill them, but it changes them. They start attacking others. I don’t know much more, but I do know they are about to declare martial law in some parts of the US.’

  He could tell by the expression on Jo’s face just how difficult she found it to believe this. ‘I’m sure they’ll cure it. It’s just a virus…’

  Gladwell cut her off. ‘Jo, I don’t know a lot, but I’ve read some cables that show it’s spreading faster than anyone thought and its effects are like nothing anyone’s seen. Then you have half the planet going to war at the same time, and nobody has a handle on things any more. I heard the first cases in India are being reported so I want you guys to stay home.’

  ‘What happens now?’

  Gladwell stood up, gathering his coat. He was now on more familiar ground. While the danger was very real and imminent, he knew the emergency evacuation procedures were in place and his government would not let him and the other Embassy staffers down.

  ‘Don’t worry, sweetheart. If the shit does hit the fan, they’ll get us out.’

  *

  ‘I’m sorry to disturb you personally, Madam Vice President, but nobody seems to be seeing the gravity of the situation. There are cases in India now and the media is still largely ignoring the spread. All I’m asking is that we authorize an emergency evacuation of the families of Embassy staff here. I and a skeleton staff will stay behind.’

  Gladwell had sent many cables to Washington making the same request, and many of his colleagues around the world were making similar pleas. What was puzzling was that nobody in Washington seemed to care. It was as if they thought they could wish away the crisis by denying it existed. So Gladwell had taken the risky gambit of going all the way to the top. One of his mentors had been a White House staffer, and while he was unable to help directly, he was able to at least set up this call.

  Deborah Henfield’s voice boomed over the speakerphone.

  ‘I am Deb Henfield, the Vice President of the United States and I say that there is no imminent crisis based on all the information I have.’

  With that, all of Gladwell’s worries were dismissed out of hand.

  In just one day, things had spiraled horribly out of control. Many large cities in the US were now affected by the virus, and the government had reacted with a media blackout. Bizarrely, the Armed Forces had not been called out to help deal with the crisis, supposedly because they were needed to deal with crises overseas, Zeus had been appointed to deal with containing the unrest and chaos in the US. Regional wars had broken out all over the place and it looked as if the whole world had lost its sanity at the same time.

  Gladwell’s phone rang. It was Brigadier Randhawa, an Indian Army officer whom he had befriended during his stint in Delhi. The Brigadier was as blunt as ever. ‘Bob, our governments don’t give a fuck and things will go downhill soon. I have my men ready with our families to get to our base in Manesar. If you want, we’ll pick you and your people up.’

  Gladwell thanked him and hung up. Randhawa was a highly decorated soldier and was part of the National Security Guard, India’s elite commando force, and if there was one place where safety could be found, it was with him and his men.

  The next thing he did was to call the head of the Marine detachment at the Embassy. With outbreak cases reported across India, Gladwell had already asked the Marines to be ready for any eventuality.

  The Embassy was already full of anxious American citizens, many of them now stranded. Several international flights had already been cancelled as authorities panicked. At first, a few had been outraged at what was happening back in the United States, especially since Zeus mercenaries were in charge of law and order in the US. But now everyone had bigger things to worry about. Rumors that the first cases had been reported in Delhi had sent everyone into a panic and Gladwell was increasingly torn between staying at the Embassy to hold things together or getting home to be with Jo and Jane.

  He also saw with increasing irritation that Appleseed was back at the Embassy. As a serving Army Officer, he had every right to be there, but what irked Gladwell was the fact that he was bringing in a gaggle of black-suited men, who were on paper US citizens in Delhi on business trips. Again, going by the book, there was nothing Gladwell could do to stop them, but the fact that their employer was Zeus told Gladwell where Appleseed’s true allegiance lay and also made him even more concerned.

  ‘Dr. Dasgupta is here to meet you.’

  Gladwell normally would never have entertained a meeting request at a time like this, but this lady had called multiple times and had said that it was a life-and-death situation. He had done background checks on her and he could not figure out what had made her so anxious to meet him. She had recently resigned from some government-funded lab to come back to India.

  He finished a couple of emails and then was about to tell his secretary to send his visitor up when his phone rang. He sat down when he realized the call was from the White House. The President had been largely invisible in the preceding days and the VP had been the public face of the government. Remembering his last conversation with her, Gladwell hoped that she was not too ticked off.

  ‘I am calling you on an urgent national security matter that you need to know. We have been tracking a person of interest called Protima Dasgupta who we believe to have links with terror groups. Do not meet her or allow her access to the Embassy. We have men on the ground who will deal with her.’

  Then she hung up, leaving Gladwell flabbergasted. He found it odd that the Vice President would call about a matter like this, but then he also knew that he was hardly privy to all the classified operations sometimes going on under his nose. The last thing he wanted in the middle of all this chaos was a terror suspect loose in his Embassy. He dialed his secretary.

  ‘Tell Dr. Dasgupta that I’m busy and I cannot meet her today.’

  When his mobile phone rang, it was Jo, and she sounded terrified.

  ‘Bob, they’re calling these things Biters, and I’ve got calls from friends saying they’re right in the middle of Delhi.’

  *
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  ‘Sir, do we open fire?’

  ‘No, Jim, just get us home. Randhawa asked us to link up with his convoy on the way to National Highway 8, and we don’t have much time.’

  The SUV sped through the streets of Delhi, and not for the first time, the driver ran over a Biter who got in the way. Under normal circumstances, Gladwell would have been horrified at the thought of running over people in his rush to get home, but things were anything but normal.

  In the minutes following Jo’s call, all hell seemed to have broken loose. There were rumors that Biters were all over central Delhi, and Gladwell tried one last time to get through to his superiors and ask them to send help, but nobody was picking up the phone. The news was reporting that the President and Vice President had already been evacuated and that the US mainland was now teeming with Biters. Then came the news that tactical nuclear attacks had been launched on Indian Army targets by Pakistan, and that India was in the process of retaliating.

  Gladwell took an hour to ensure that the staffers got transport home, in many cases relying on the Marines to stop taxis for them. He wished there was more he could do for the US citizens at the Embassy, but after talking to Randhawa, he was told that there were only five trucks, and there was no room for others. Gladwell had agreed on a rendezvous point with Randhawa and asked all his staffers to get there with their families. He only hoped most of them would get there safely.

  Gladwell had initially been skeptical about the rumors about the Biters being bloodthirsty monsters who could not be killed. But in the ten minutes since they had left the Embassy, he was more scared than he had ever been before. All around him, small groups of Biters, covered in blood and grotesque wounds, roamed through the city at will, attacking anyone they saw. He saw a couple of police posts that had been overrun, and his stomach had churned at the sight of what had remained of the policemen.

  The SUV screeched to a halt outside Gladwell’s home and the two Marines at the back stepped out, their assault rifles at the ready. The driver was also armed, but he kept the engine running as Gladwell sprinted inside and came out a minute later with Jo and Jane. As he herded them into the vehicle, Jane saw a trio of Biters walk towards them and she screamed. That got their attention and they increased their pace.

  ‘Get inside now!’

  Jane was now crying in terror and had to be bodily lifted inside the vehicle. The driver backed away and began the journey to the highway where they were to link up with Randhawa. In theory it was only a twenty-minute drive, but now they were going to drive through a city teeming with Biters.

  *

  ‘Sir, the road’s too blocked with cars. There’s no way we can proceed!’

  Between the driver’s increasingly panic-stricken updates, Jane’s continuous sobbing and one of the Marines’ loud prayers, Gladwell was having trouble concentrating on keeping all of them alive. This was the third dead end they had hit in the last ten minutes, and he was beginning to regret having taken the SUV in the first place. True, they comfortably fit into it, but with the streets littered with abandoned vehicles, it was that much tougher to find a way through the maze. On the flip side, they had managed to store some stocks of drinking water and canned food in the trunk, but Gladwell was pretty sure by now that they were at more imminent risk of dying at the hands of Biters instead of thirst or hunger.

  The first time he had seen one of the Biters’ victims get up and join in the rampage, his heart had nearly stopped. He had turned around to see if he could somehow shield Jane, but he found her watching with tear-filled eyes. He did not know if he could protect her physically, but he knew he had already failed to shield her from the horror unfolding all around them.

  There were bodies strewn around this stretch of the road, as a company of troops, who had rushed into action without knowing what they were up against, had been torn apart. Gladwell had noticed a couple of things so far – one, that the Biters massacred anyone who tried to resist, and second, that for all their terrifying invulnerability to bullets, they could be killed. Two Biters lying in pools of blood near the scene of this battle told him that. But for now, he could not contemplate what that weakness must be, since there were at least a dozen Biters bearing down on them.

  ‘Back off, we’ll find another side street!’

  Gladwell was trying to sound confident, but he knew that they were lost. In trying to get around the maze of cars and trying to avoid large groups of Biters, they had strayed too far from the main roads, and were now trying to find their way through a warren of smaller side streets. The two Marines had their rifles ready, but there was no way they were going to roll down the windows. By now Jane had pretty much cried herself into silence, and truth be told, the one who had most kept her wits about her was Jo. She had her left hand on her belly, saying soothing things to their unborn daughter, and in her right hand was a map of Delhi, with which she was now trying to guide them. She caught Gladwell looking at her and he just smiled and patted her knee. He wanted to tell her how proud he was of her strength and how looking at her was making him feel braver than he really was, but for now that little gesture said more than he could have hoped to have said in many minutes.

  ‘Go straight and then turn right at the next traffic light. We should get onto a major road and then you can find your way to the highway.’

  ‘Yes, Ma’am.’

  The SUV careened down the narrow street and for a moment Gladwell thought that they had finally got a lucky break. The street seemed to be abandoned. That was when the four Biters ran into their path.

  If the driver had maintained his speed, he could have run over the lead Biter, but he panicked and swerved the SUV hard to the left. They hit one Biter and flung him to the side but brought the SUV to a halt. As he fumbled with the keys to start the engine again, the other three Biters started banging on the windows.

  This was the closest Gladwell had come to a Biter so far and he looked at the bloodied face staring at him from just a few inches away, separated only by the glass of the window. The man was wearing what had once been perhaps an expensive pair of designer sunglasses, but now the shattered remains of those hung from one ear. His eyes were vacant and drool and blood were streaming down his mouth. He had been bitten several times on his neck and shoulder, and blood from those wounds joined that from his mouth to almost completely cover the front of his shirt. He was banging on the window with both hands and, not able to make much headway, he began banging his head against it.

  Gladwell was carrying his gun, a small .25 Guernica he had acquired a license for a few months ago after the attacks on diplomats intensified. The glass cracked as the Biter kept banging his head against it, and without thinking, Gladwell raised his gun and fired a single round straight into the Biter’s forehead. The Biter rocked back and fell onto the pavement, and as blood seeped out of the single hole in the middle of his head, he did not show any signs of getting up. Gladwell screamed to the Marines in the rearmost seats.

  ‘Shoot them in the head! Aim for their heads!’

  Galvanized into action by Gladwell’s words, the Marines selected single-shot mode on their M-16s and fired a single round each into the heads of the Biters attacking the rear windows. Both Biters went down and did not get back up. By now, the driver had recovered enough of his wits and started the SUV again.

  Everyone sat in silence, watching the alleys around them for any further signs of Biters. Gladwell gripped his pistol in both hands, scanning both sides of the road. He knew that they still had a long way to go, but at least they had learned one important lesson – Biters could be defeated.

  *

  ‘I can see three more cars!’

  The cry from Jo got everyone’s attention. They had proceeded relatively unmolested for the last fifteen minutes and were now close to the rendezvous point agreed with Randhawa. This was at the point where the road intersected with the National Highway, and Gladwell was heartened to see three cars already there. His spirits rose at the thought tha
t the staffers and their families had made it. There was no sign of Randhawa, but then Gladwell expected that they would make slower progress in their trucks. One of the Marines opened the door as the SUV stopped and was about to step out when Gladwell stopped him.

  ‘Not so fast. Something doesn’t seem right.’

  He recognized at least one of the cars as belonging to his staffers, but there was no sign of anyone there, and a couple of the cars had their doors open. He asked the driver to keep the engine running and stepped out, followed by one of the Marines. The other Marine stayed in the vehicle to provide some cover for Jo and Jane in case there was any trouble.

  Gladwell had his gun in his hand, and try as he might, he could not stop his hand shaking. He had seen combat up close in the Balkans, but that was many years ago, and he had been facing men, ruthless mercenaries but men like himself, who would bleed and die, not ghouls of the sort that now roamed through Delhi. Something moved behind one of the cars and he readied his gun, holding it in both hands, both to steady his aim and stop his hands shaking. He motioned to the Marine to give him cover and then he peered around the car. He was in no way prepared for what he saw.

  It was, or rather had been, Jonathan, a young staffer at the Embassy who had been there for less than a year. His blond hair was matted with blood and his lean, dimpled face that had once set many a woman’s heart aflutter at Embassy parties was pulled back in a grotesque grimace. His eyes were closed and his breath came in ragged gasps. The front of his shirt was covered in blood. As Gladwell leaned closer to see if he was okay, his eyes snapped open, and instinctively Gladwell took a step back.

  Jonathan’s lively blue eyes were gone, replaced by a yellowed stare that Gladwell had seen earlier in the Biters that had attacked their SUV. Jonathan’s mouth opened, and for a second Gladwell hoped that he might say something, that his humanity might yet be preserved. Instead, he emitted a low growl that was more animal than human. He bared his teeth and snapped at Gladwell, who jumped back. Gladwell’s gun was pointed at the figure in front of him, but Gladwell could not bring himself to shoot someone who had till a few hours ago been a friend.