“Maybe. Maybe not… They didn’t take the main road. They travelled by the river and through the forest. And this hoard came marching across the bridge. Maybe they missed them.”
“Let’s hope so. Did they have any weapons?”
“Same as us. Few old guns, rifles… not much ammo.”
He looked at the girl. She was tall and skinny. He liked her calm but gritty bearing. They all looked exhausted and starved, but there was no show of desperation on their faces, not even on the youngest among them. It was like they came to terms with their situation. Just fatigued. For some reason, Presley credited their coolness to the girl, their presumed leader.
“What is your name?”
“Adaoma.” He liked her name.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Presley. Are any of you hurt, Adaoma?”
“Sybille. Badly, I think.”
“Where is she?”
“Downstairs.”
Presley looked around the room and saw the face he was searching for. Dwain was among them and, their medic. Right away he noticed the strap of a first aid bag hanging behind his back.
“Take this man to her. His name is Dwain. He’ll do what he can, for now. Show me upstairs. I need to see what is going on in the park.”
Giving orders came to him naturally, and he never hesitated to give one, and those who addressed acted accordingly, even those that never met him before. So the girl showed him the way upstairs.
They climbed to the second floor by the wide stairwell, which branched to the left and right side of the mezzanine, leading to different offices. So, it was a Town Hall, he thought. On the main floor there used to be a courtroom and a public service office, and upstairs were the staff offices. In each room upstairs, there were one or two kids beside the window, armed with old hunting guns, or carbines, prostrated on top of tables, pulled all the way to the windows or crouched behind, surrounded with empty gun shells and boxes with bullets and slugs.
“Is there another floor, or an attic? I need a higher point to be able to see farther away.”
“Yes. Come,” one of the boys said.
The youngster led him and Gunny to a steel ladder mounted to the wall in the center of the foyer. They climbed up to a small cubicle, just above the roof, with pigeonholes on its sides. The walls were made of bricks and concrete and could withstand gunfire.
“How did you end up in here? Where did all those beasts come from?” he asked the boy.
“They showed up one day and we hid in here. For a couple days they did not bother us, but then they wanted to come inside and we had to shoot them.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know… a week, maybe.”
“Did you all end up here?”
“No… two girls didn’t make it to the Hall. They probably killed them.”
“I am sorry to hear that. But you did well. I am truly impressed.”
“Thanks.”
“Especially since you are all so young. Who showed you how to fight”?
“It was Adaoma’s father. He was a soldier. He taught us everything. But then he got sick, like the rest of the old people. He died of the plague, that thing the old folks called dementia, some time ago.”
“He would be proud of you. You did well.”
“He warned us to always be on the watch. That’s why we saw them coming and had time to hide.”
“He was a clever man.”
Peering through the small openings, Presley realized he could only get a fragmented view of the surroundings, obscured by the leafless, but dense tree canopy and the roofs of the neighbouring houses. The blind spot around the building was too wide.
“Okay, let’s go downstairs.”
He summoned his men up and ordered one behind each window on the upper floor and then went down to the ground level, wondering if he made a mistake by coming into the building that, from the inside, looked like nothing but a trap. He looked through the window for a moment, thinking… Then he went down to the cellar and found Dwain, tending to the wounded girl. The cellar was lit with a single candle, stuck to a piece of a two–by–four above their heads, sticking out from the wall. She was conscious and looked better than he expected. Her head was freshly bandaged and Dwain was just about to finish binding her left upper arm.
“You okay?” he asked
“Yes,” she said in a weak voice.
“A bullet,” Dwain said, “Through and through. She’ll be fine.”
“Can you walk?”
“I think I can.”
“Could you run?”
“Maybe.”
“Up we go then, we have to move. Help her come upstairs, Dwain.” He climbed up and ordered everybody to assemble in the hall on the main floor.
“Is everyone here?” he asked. They all looked around and then started nodding. “Listen up, people!” he began. “We have very little time before the Pongos in the park find out that something is wrong and send over another gang of assailants. We have a small chance and almost no time to escape to a more secure location, if possible, unnoticed.” He looked around at the youngsters meeting each of their gazes for a moment. “I have no time to explain everything, or argue about it; and I will say this only once. Either you decide to agree with me and go along or you stay behind. But I suggest you consider coming with us. Dwain and Roger, you two will make sure this injured young lady does not stay behind. Carry her on your backs, if necessary. You, my young friends, leave behind anything that might slow you down. You may take your weapons with you, if you want, but nothing more than that. We have all you might need, not far away from here, just across the river. And hopefully, we’ll come back; once we take care of the beasts. Once this door is open, we will assemble a line and run towards the bridge. And run like mad. Are all in ageement?”
No one objected.
“Let’s go, then!”
They opened the front door just enough to slide out, two of the men went left and right and then two more rushed forward, followed by the youngsters. Dwain and Roger with the injured girl between, then Professor and Presley being the last. They ran straight for the road and then towards the bridge. No one looked back. They almost made it to the bridge when Presley heard the first shots fired from behind. The bullets zipped above their heads or hit the ground around them. Their comrades from the surrounding hills responded with all the might they had. But, for some reason, the gunfire Presley and his party were exposed to gained intensity, and for the last hundred yards before they reached the bridge they had to sprint. Presley kept an eye on Professor and was worried that he would not be able to keep up the pace. To his terror, Professor actually began to slow down, and then simply fell on the ground, some twenty meters before the crossing.
“Are you hurt?” Presley asked, kneeling beside him.
“No. Maybe. I don’t know.”
“Let’s go then!”
“I can’t.”
“What do you mean, you can’t? You must!”
“I can’t! Leave me! I’ll hide and wait until it’s over.”
“There’s nowhere to hide, Sunny!”
“It’s ok! You go!”
The Pongos were closing in, wailing and shouting, paying no attention to the fire they were under. Presley could already see the whites of their eyes and he knelt on his right knee, getting in position to shoot, making time for Professor to escape. He shot the closest one and the next one, and he continued firing until the magazine of his rifle was empty. He drove his handgun and continued shooting, realizing it may be the last thing he did before he died.
The Pongos were now only ten paces away and, even though, they were falling, hit by his or his comrades’ bullets, more came to replace the fallen. Their numbers confused Presley. As he was squatting low to the ground, he could not see the dozens of hybrids that emerged from every house and shed in town. Even though they were easy targets for him and his comrades, the proximity and their sheer numbers were overwhelming. The Pongos did not shoot. Many did not e
ven have firearms. Instead they waved their hands holding knives and short swords. They were almost at arm’s length of Presley and Tagore. Presley was getting ready to fight them using his rifle as a bludgeon, for he had no time to reload it, shouting to Professor to get up and make a run for the bridge.
In a glimpse, Presley looked at Professor. He was being held by a Pongo Presley did not see come. The beast arched over him, its arms high above its head, gripping a long hunting knife, getting ready to plunge it into Professor’s chest. Presley was captivated by the expression in Professor’s eyes, wide and filled with fear, defeat and surrender, and yet full of disbelief and hope, like the eyes of a confined animal that finally succumbed to its fate.
“Abbuthagaleiah!” cried Professor abruptly. The Pongo stopped dead in his progression. Presley seized that moment and smashed the beast’s head with the butt of his rifle, splitting its skull.
“Abbuthagaleiah!” shouted Professor again and again; rising up and walking towards the approaching hybrids, watching them freeze like statues as he spoke the word. They all halted abruptly and assumed a posture of attention.
“What in the world…?” said Presley confused.
Professor Tagore went on walking towards the Pongos, wailing the strange word again and again, causing more and more Pongos to seize their movements and halt like they were dead, until he went so far back and found himself surrounded with dozens of frozen–like hybrids.
“Abbuthagaleiah!” he shouted once more, triumphantly, staring wide eyed at Presley. “That’s the word! A-bbu-tha-ga-leiah!” Presley jumped up and ran towards him.
“Fall in!” barked Professor and the Pongos started to file up in rows and columns in front of him, then stood at attention, gazing somewhere far away.
“That’s the word, my boy!” Professor turned toward him, smiling exultantly.
“What word?”
“A miracle word!”
“Professor, you’re not making any sense,” said Presley in the sudden silence that surrounded them. He reloaded his rifle and then his handgun, walking slowly towards the immobilized hybrids. A few more shots were fired and a couple Pongos fell dead, yet all the rest of them stood motionless, as if in a trance. Presley lifted his arms and waved, signalling seize of fire and, then, everything went completely silent.
“What is going on? What happened to them?”
“The word! The word keeps them at bay.”
“What word? I don’t understand.”
“A secret call, by which their human masters kept them submissive. Before they give them any command they had to say: abbuthagaleiah—the ultimate command that turns them into acquiescent drones. It means just that: pay attention or obey my orders. The word died, was forgotten if you would, after their last human commander disappeared, and that’s why they turned against all people.”
“Where did you hear about it? When? If you knew it, why didn’t you tell us while we were fighting them back in Kroynorth?”
“I didn’t know it then. I learned it only recently, from Nemyrof. While he was lying in his bed, sick. Those first days upon our arrival to his refuge, we did nothing but talk about all kinds of things, and he told me how they managed to subdue a host of Pongos in the resort. The Pongos caught them by surprise and his friend—that major; what was his name…—was deadly wounded but, before he died, he told him. After that, it was easy to eliminate the beasts, one by one, just by shouting the word every time they spotted them.”
“Why didn’t you blurt it out earlier?”
“Back then, I didn’t give it much of importance, since I thought all the beasts are long dead and gone. And, Nemyrof talked too much, and just about everything, but mentioned the bloody word only once, or twice. That is why it took me so long to remember. And, mind you, I was scared shitless. And then it came to me.”
“Well, better late than never.”
Their comrades, along with the youngsters from the town, started to gather beside them, watching in astonishment the files of motionless Pongos. There must have been at least a hundred of them.
“What are we going to do with them?” someone asked, once they all learned how Professor tamed the beasts.
“Good question,” said Presley.
“What do you mean, what are we going to do?” said Gunny who just arrived. “Kill them all, like the bastards they are, and forget about it.”
“Well; now that they are tame I have no desire to kill them. Maybe there is another way.”
“What other way?” asked Gunny in a frustrated tone.
“We could use them,” Professor suggested.
“Use them how?”
“For work,” he said. “Or for protection.”
“Nah. I don’t wish to have them anywhere near us.” Gunny was firm.
“We’ll think about it later. Send someone back to our people and bring them over. Professor, take your army and file them up in the park, then we’ll disarm them and decide what to do with the bunch. I don’t know what’s worse: having them as enemies, or as prisoners.”
“Attention!” barked Professor, causing everyone to laugh. “Right face-hut! Right face, forward march!” The Pongos were, at first, confused by the commands, but then marched back towards the town.
It was early afternoon when their party arrived to the settlement. They all went to see the captured Pongos, like it was a circus menagerie. No one showed any particular emotion towards the creatures, neither hatred nor disgust, but mainly indifference, and before nightfall everyone went about their business. The two girls that were missing and presumed dead were found in one house. They were hiding all along and looked very frightened, but otherwise fine.
This turn of the events, the fact they had to deal with a whole host of captured Pongos that did not have to be killed, created an ethical dilemma for Presley. What to do with the bloody creatures? He could not bring himself to order a slaughter of the beasts, since they no longer posed a threat, but he did not want to be fraught with their presence either. Yet, Professor unburdened his worried mind with a surprising assessment.
“I think I understand now. I believe the Pongos’ behaviour has to do with the last command they were given, before they were abandoned by their human commanders, ergo: fight, attack or kill, retreat, make a camp, guard, exercise… These Pongos here were less aggressive than any of the ones we encountered thus far, plainly because this crowd was not part of a regular military formation, but was assembled only by chance, over time, and from many different units. Maybe they simply stumbled upon each other, who knows from where and from how long ago, and formed into this large group. Some of them were in attack mode and some were not. It was evident, even if we did not realize it, that not all of them were inclined to fighting. I would say most of them demonstrated some kind of non–combative conduct. Majority of them mingled in the park, camping and lounging, and many chose to stay indoors. That is why these kids were able to survive among them. So, do we need to exterminate them? Of course not. We could give them some specific order and leave them to it, so we can be on our merry way, and forget about them. We could also keep several of them, take them with us, and use their strength and obedience to our advantage. I would say it may be prudent, but it is up to you.”
“Out of the question… So, did you find out how come these Pongos survived?”
“They are all from an early contingent, some of them more than twenty years old, hence long before even we knew they existed. So they do not have an expiry date in their genes.”
“Very encouraging.”
By nightfall, all trees were swarmed with hundreds of ravens and crows. The next morning there would be a feast; dead Pongos were on the menu. The stench that filled the air around them surprised Presley. Then he suddenly became aware of how unusually warm the day was.
Chapter XVII
The next day they left the town. The stench of a hundred dead and decaying corpses, and the clamour of thousands of birds that came over to feed on them, was overpo
wering. Even more uncomfortable was the presence of the living beasts, even though they were disarmed and apparently harmless. No one wanted to stay a minute longer than necessary, and after they searched the place for bottled water and canned food, medication and anything else that might be useful, yet, to no avail for the town was ransacked long time ago, they took the road. Professor, after a lot of persuading, managed to convince everyone they could benefit from taking at least a few of the hybrids with them. So, with great unease, Presley agreed and Tagore selected a few, less menacing looking creatures, and brought them into their camp, keeping them under his command. He picked half a dozen, three males and to everyone’s surprise, three females, as it was not widely known that there were both male and female hybrids. It was nearly impossible to make a distinction. Professor was delighted that there were some females in this large pack of beasts, since there were only a few ever created. He mused that even though the hybrids, by design, were unable to procreate; they still had sexual drive. But, in the end, after many voices of apprehension, Professor, concerned with the effect the beasts may have on the group, especially the youngest ones, dropped the idea and, with great regret, let the beasts loose.
They left more than a hundred Pongos in the town, to their own devises. At the bridge they left a board with a hand–written note that explained how to handle the Pongos, that they were now tamed and harmless, set to assist, and to be left alone. The question of someone misusing the creatures was raised. Professor’s opinion was that chances for something like that were minute. Tagore was quite convinced there was no one else left that knew about the code word that had to be said before giving the command. And since it was not mentioned it in their note; he could not see how could anyone manipulate the beasts’ behaviour. “There are not many people left around any way,” he said laconically. “The hybrids will probably die out before anyone stumble upon them.” Presley asked him, when the two were alone: “If this is really true, if there really aren’t so many people left, why do we have to leave the entire continent and go across the sea to start our new life?”
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