by Greg Krojac
As they passed the low hedge in front of the large black sign that proclaimed the building as the Key Bridge Marriott hotel, a warrior approached them. He gestured at the helpless Roberta, who had obviously given up struggling and resigned herself to her fate.
“Atapemu enigniwm?”
Enak grinned.
“Oyidn. Iznizu enigniwm aw umadanib awk adanm. Akatmanuipaw?”
The warrior looked Roberta over more closely.
“Akewmuk ajomap an enignew, akitak abmuhc ahc imuk an enn. Anizal ilabukin, azewukis aununmuk eweynewm – eyey aituvuh onogn, kwa umadanawm.”
Enak joined in the banter.
“Adnepegnin aununumuk amak awukilin an asep. Imim teb eyey in abmotuk awbuk.”
The three Argons laughed heartily and the rescuers continued into the hotel foyer, thankful that Roberta hadn’t understood a word that they had said. It hadn’t been complimentary. They ignored the other six Argons in the foyer, focusing only on getting to the tenth floor. Fortunately there was an elevator already waiting and they ducked inside. Enak counted the buttons and decided – correctly – which button served the tenth floor. Their universal translators were great for translating speech, but he had no idea what the strange marks meant when human words were written down.[a40]
Upon reaching the tenth floor, the elevator doors opened out onto a corridor. Should they go right or left? Which way led to room 1014? A warrior was standing in the hallway. He couldn’t have been there by accident. They approached the warrior and Enak gave the traditional greeting gesture, the palm of the right hand placed over the heart. The guard reciprocated. Enak pointed at Roberta.
“Atun enigniwm awk ilija uney. Aodno abmahs al uvugn.”
The Argon did as he was bid and deactivated the force field, before meeting the same fate as the two sentries who had provided the rescuers’ uniforms. Recognising Enak and Eled, Miriam almost shrieked her excitement out loud but was stopped by Sitara’s hand covering her mouth. The two Argons reconnected their translator devices. Eled gestured that they should follow them, as Sitara whispered to Enak.
“There’s a friend of mine in the room next door. We have to take him with us.”
“We need the guard’s obmohc. His obmohc activated the force field, only his obmohc can deactivate it.”
Roberta, grateful to be back on her feet again, picked up an object that had fallen alongside the dead Argon.
“Is this what you’re looking for?”
Eled took it from her, thanking her, and deactivated the force field of room 1015. Roger Nelson was reluctant to come out at first, but when Sitara reassured him that the two Argons were on their side, he left his room. The only problem that remained now was how to escape the building. They hadn’t properly thought that out beforehand. They couldn’t bluff their way past the remaining seven Argons, as they had on their way into the building, not with the freed prisoners. Eled went into the Administrator’s room and looked out of the window. He beckoned Enak over to join him. He pointed at the swimming pool, whose water had just started to turn a light shade of green, nobody having cleaned it since the plague took hold.
“Do you remember playing Aput Ototm as a child? What do you think, Enak?”
Enak looked at the pool, then at the window, and then the pool again.
“It could work.”
Sitara joined them at the window.
“If you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, it won’t work. There’s no way that we can jump into the pool. It’s too far away.”
The two Argons grinned at each other. Enak explained.
“We are not going to jump. Well, you are not. We will throw you into the pool. Aput Ototm means throw the child. It is a game we used to play as children, we would throw our smaller friends into a lake, Eled and I can make the jump, but we will throw you.”
Sitara looked at the pool again, not sure that she wanted to be thrown out of a window. Eled pointed out the choices.
“It is either that, or you become prisoners again. The Argons want to sell you as sex slaves.”
That made Miriam’s mind up.
“Sitara. I am NOT staying here to be someone’s sex slave. Guys, I’m ready.”
Enak opened the window and carefully removed the frame from its mountings, with as little noise as possible, leaving a large gaping hole in the wall for them to escape through. Miriam smiled at Eled.
“I’m ready.”
Eled scooped the young woman into his arms, checked the trajectory, applied a little backspin and launched Miriam into the void. The sensation was exhilarating, what she imagined a theme park ride would be like, but she managed not to scream. Sitara, Roberta, and Roger Nelson landed in the water in quick succession, followed by Enak and Eled, who had expertly placed the humans so that they wouldn’t collide with each other in the pool.
The six clambered out of the pool, dripping wet, but safe and unhurt. Enak grinned at his friend.
“The skill never abandons us.”
They ran as fast as they could towards the bridge, turning only to watch as the hotel crumbled to the ground. Roger was wide-eyed.
“What the hell did you do?”
“We left an obmohc behind and created a reverse polarity gravity charge chain reaction. Basically, we separated the molecules holding the building together.”
A few minutes later, they were reunited with the rest of the group, who were still tucked beneath the arch of the Key Bridge. After celebratory hugs and fist bumps were over, it was time to return to the main objective, taking shelter on one of the top floors of 1812 North Moore. That was as far as they had planned ahead. Nobody had any idea what they would do next. They didn’t know how they were going to defeat the Argons - everything they did now was improvisation – and all they were doing was surviving. Each day that they didn’t die was a small victory, but could they win the war that was looming? The Argon’s biological pre-emptive strike had been so effective, and was going to rid the planet of almost 98 percent of humanity. Homo sapiens was no match for Homo neanderthalensis.
The day’s objective was still to reach 1812 North Moore. They certainly couldn’t stay under the arch, and if they didn’t go to the building, what else could they do? The Argons that had died at the Marriott Hotel would be missed. Enak had explained that they were probably a scavenging party from a much larger group and that when they didn’t return, there would be more Argons sent out to find out why. And if the humans defeated this next group, then more would come. To make matters worse, the Argons warrior groups that were scattered around the planet weren’t even the main invasion force. Millions of Argons could be expected to arrive any day. Even with a very liberal estimate of 160,000,000 human plague survivors, it still wouldn’t be enough to defeat the technical and numerical might of the Argon invasion. Those survivors would also be spread across the planet, many in remote areas, and couldn’t possibly be united to defeat the Argons.
Perhaps 1812 North Moore Street wouldn’t be the end of homo sapiens’ existence on the beautiful planet that they call home, but it could well turn out to be the last stand of Jason’s small band of survivors.
After a brief and thankfully uneventful walk from the bridge to 1812 North Moore, the thirteen humans and three Argons arrived at the the building and looked up. A Marine took his helmet off and wiped his brow.
“Damn, that’s a long way up. What floor are we going to?”
Marine Geek removed his helmet.
“Three hundred and ninety feet, including the antenna spire. Thirty-five floors. I recommend we go to the thirty-third floor; The floor space reduces after that. Plus it’s two floors less to walk.”
A third Marine didn’t like the sound of that.
“You mean you want us to walk up thirty-three floors, Geeky? Fuck that. I’m taking the elevator.”
“There was a standby power generation emergency system, an engine-driven 1,250 kW, 480/277V, three phase generator with automatic controls.”
“You
said was.”
“Yeah. There was. But it would have started up automatically when the main power went down. It had an eight-hour fuel supply. That will have gone now.”
Like the rest of the group, Jason was looking up to the top of the building.
“So, It’s Shanks’s pony or stay here, Marine Geek;”
“Shanks’s what?”
“Shanks’s pony. Use your legs. Walk.”
“Jeez. You Brits have some strange sayings.”
And so the long trek into the heavens began. Thirty-three floors would have been bad enough if they had been travelling light but, weighed down by rucksacks, it was an arduous climb. Jasmine was only six years old and did her best, but an ascent that was proving tough for the adults was almost impossible for her. She managed fourteen flights of stairs before she slumped to the floor, her little legs unable to take the strain for another nineteen flights. John, her father, started to carry her up the staircase along with his own heavily laden backpack, but gratefully accepted Eled’s offer of help. The Argon had saved Jasmine’s life in the massacre at L’Enfant Plaza and John knew that, much as he wanted to carry his daughter up to the thirty-third floor himself, Eled would hardly notice the additional weight.
By now, it had become second nature for Jason to take the lead and for Enak to follow the group from the rear, so the pair dropped into their positions without a second thought. Any threat was perceived to come from the rear, but they couldn’t just assume that the building was unoccupied and relax, Caution was definitely the better part of valour. It took over forty-five minutes for the whole group to reach the thirty-third floor; the climbers had varying levels of stamina and fitness, and those that found it easier than the others were forced to continually stop and wait for the slower members. But nobody was irritated by the frequent rest stops – recent experiences had fused the two groups together.
Jason didn’t really know what he might see upon opening the door from the stairwell at the thirty-third floor, but it didn’t really matter. He knew from checking the list of tenants in the lobby that the floor had been occupied by a large multinational insurance company’s sales division, so he wasn’t expecting anything other than a commercial environment. The centre of the floor space was taken up by the reception area, the elevator lobby, a file room and two copy work rooms. The rooms that each of the survivors were most interested in, however, were the lunch room and the restrooms – that was where any comfort lay. An outer ring of thirty-six workstation areas gave way to an outer perimeter of thirty-five small individual offices, broken only by two conference rooms on the eastern side of the building. It would probably have felt more welcoming if it had been a little more open-plan, but at least this way everybody could find some privacy if and when they wanted it.
The rest of the group exited the stairwell and half of them made a bee-line for the restrooms, bladders desperate for relief, before gathering in the reception area to agree on their next step. Once everybody had returned, Jason sat on the reception desk and addressed his small congregation.
“The main reason I wanted us to find a high-altitude refuge was so we could see if any Argons are approaching. It’s a centuries old strategy; the defenders in the old days always looked for a high geographical location, as it’s much easier for us to defend a higher position point than for them to attack one. That gives us an advantage.”
John, his daughter Jasmine having dozed off on his lap, was understandably worried about the future; he was the only one who, if it came down to the wire, had to think about someone else other than himself.
“How long do you see us staying here, Jason?”
“Maybe two or three days. I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to get too settled here. I’m thinking of this place as a temporary stepping stone, until we decide where to go next. The views will give us a good opportunity to check out which is the safest direction. I don’t think it’s a good idea to stay in the big city too much longer.”
The group seemed OK with that. Enak also had a strange but valid point to make.
“I think that we should be prepared in case we are attacked again, before we leave. I suggest that we unplug the electrical equipment.”
One of the Marines quipped.
“What are we going to do with them? Throw them at the Argons?”
Enak nodded.
“I sense that you are making a joke, but that is exactly what we will do. A computer monitor or computer is a primitive weapon, but it may afford you valuable seconds of life.”
.
DAY TWENTY
13 May
The night was peaceful, as was the group of survivors. They hadn’t been able to relax for days, and even now the sense of calm that appeared to run through the group was but a mask, hiding the true feelings of trepidation. What did the future hold for them? Could the Argons be defeated? Were they simply postponing the inevitable, trying to eke out the last vestiges of life?
Little Jasmine was the lucky one. She didn’t understand the recent events and could only take them at face value – those which her mind allowed her to remember, that is. She had seen her mother ripped apart in front of her eyes, and had almost suffered the same fate herself before being rescued by Eled. She didn’t need to remember those experiences and her young mind had taken a decision to blot out the memory. All that she was fully aware of was that her daddy was with her, and if daddy was there, then everything would be alright. He’d look after her.
Others were not so lucky. Jasmine’s father John was wracked with guilt, questioning himself as to whether there was anything he could have done to save his wife, Annette. She had suddenly gone into mother tiger mode, prepared to die in order that her daughter might live. She had put her own body between the Argon and Jasmine and paid for it with her life. To her, it wasn’t a choice and nor was it a duty. It was just Nature. Her daughter must survive, no matter the cost. John had had problems of his own, having been thrown against a wall, stunning him momentarily, and had come back to full consciousness to see the final seconds of his beloved Annette’s life as her head was ripped from her body. The next thing he remembered was suddenly seeing his daughter flying through the air towards him and his instincts took over as his arms unconsciously moved into position to catch the young child. It was only when he dived into a side room and sat down against a wall, cradling his crying daughter in his arms, that he realized that it was Eled who had hurled her away from certain death.
Samuel and his sister Miriam were struggling with their own forms of guilt. They were suddenly free of their Amish constraints, the invisible ropes that had bound them ever since their return from their respective rumspringa. Samuel had loved the enormous rumspringa parties in the woods that he had attended and was missing the opportunity to drink a beer now and again. He’d got really drunk on a couple of occasions but had certainly not enjoyed the hangover the next day, learning quickly to drink in moderation. He wasn’t craving beer, but he did like the taste, and quite fancied a cold beer after climbing all those stairs.
Miriam felt double the guilt of her brother. She hadn’t experimented with alcohol or gone to any woodland parties, but she had entered into a sexual relationship with Hannes, a young lad from the Geauga County community of Ohio. Nobody knew about this relationship – not even her brother – and nobody could ever know about it. The couple knew that it was a sin, that their parents would never have accepted the intensity of their relationship, but they couldn’t help themselves. They hadn’t intended to fall in love, much less to have suddenly found themselves exploring and enjoying each other’s bodies, but their emotions and feelings had somehow managed to ride roughshod over their strict Amish upbringing, an invisible mutual connection and desire that couldn’t be denied. Although they had both returned home to their individual communities, they’d kept in touch by using fake accounts on Facebook and WhatsApp, using cell phones that were kept hidden well away from prying eyes. They chatted at least twice a week via video call and
had even tried having video-sex a couple of times.
Miriam had been trying to sum up the courage to tell her parents that she wanted to leave the community and the religion for some time, and now she had been robbed of the chance to be honest with them. She hadn’t wanted to hurt them, but she had to think of her own life, her own future. Added to that, she now had no idea if Hannes was dead or if he was still alive. She had no idea what his blood type [a41]was; it wasn’t the kind of thing that you talked about while making love. She prayed – she still believed in God, even though it wasn’t in the way that her parents would have approved of – that Hannes was alive, that his blood group was B Negative. She hadn’t had the chance to fetch the phone from its hiding place before they left the farmstead, not that it would have helped much even if she had it with her. There was no electrical power and, ipso facto, the cell phone networks were down. Plus, the phone battery wouldn’t have lasted forever. The group had passed a few shops in their travels where she could have stocked up with spare batteries, enabling her at least to look over past messages and the dozens of photos of the couple that were stored in the phone’s memory, but it would also have meant admitting the tryst to her parents and almost certainly led to a full-scale argument [a42]– something she wished to avoid. She would have told them about Hannes when the time was right, but the right time had never arrived. Now it never would.
Sitara had abandoned her Ramadan fasting, not through choice but by necessity. It was impractical to not eat during the day – nobody could be sure where the next meal was coming from – and practicality trumped religion in these circumstances. She was certain that Allah would forgive her; he knew what was in her heart and would understand that changes to how she followed her faith had been necessary. A long conversation with Roger Nelson and Jason had diminished but not erased the guilt that she still felt at having been instrumental in the spread of the pandemic. She sometimes wished that the Bering Sea had swallowed her up and taken her down to a watery grave, but obviously that hadn’t been Allah’s will. But had it been the will of Allah to sentence ninety-eight percent of the world’s population to a torturous death? Surely he couldn’t have wished that upon his children. What had they done to deserve that? It was becoming more and more difficult to reconcile the fact that Allah had allowed the Argons to send the plague to destroy humanity so cruelly. Jacob had said that Argons were also Allah’s children - had he really chosen them over mankind?