His words seemed to have the desired effect. Nadia’s frown softened. Despite her best efforts to suppress memories of loved ones she herself had left behind in Russia when she traded the comforts of home and perhaps even the hope of one day having a family of her own, for the prospect of a well-paid job abroad. Now, Tom’s honesty was as compelling as the irony of her current situation was irritating. There was nothing left for her in this country that had turned her dream of overseas fortunes into a nightmare that had her clinging to sanity by a thread. At the same time, she was no pushover, and with her critical value-add to the group confirmed, she was determined not to be seen as one either.
“And what makes you think I want to fly into another storm of shit?” Nadia replied.
“Because there is nothing left here and from what we gather, Nairobi is the closest destination with anything resembling a reasonable level of infrastructure. Infrastructure we will need to outrun the virus, provided that is still possible at all. Unless that is, you prefer getting closer to where this whole thing started and choose Kampala.” Tom now tried to appeal to reason, and although Nadia wasn’t ready to admit it, she knew he was right.
She could easily try to weather the storm here in this deserted place, but sooner or later, the last surviving troops, rebels, or whoever else carried a gun, would come through with the same objective of securing outbound transport. And when they did, her days would be numbered in more ways than one.
"So, let’s just say I will do this thing for you. What is in it for me?” Nadia asked blankly. She had played poker with the best of them.
“There is a small cash supply in our office safe in Nairobi. Not exactly riches, but certainly enough to see you right for some time. You are welcome to it. Oh, and I’ll throw in the keys to this monstrosity over here if you choose to come back.” Tom pointed at the APC.
Nadia knew it was an offer she couldn’t and wouldn’t refuse, but decided to pretend deep contemplation regardless. She got up and walked away towards the runway, where she stopped and, back turned to the others, took time to ostensibly assess Tom’s proposal.
The suspense among the group was palpable as Nadia stood out there in the open, seemingly mulling over whether to pilot their motley crew to Nairobi. Tom smiled at Nadia’s theatrics. He already knew she would.
‘Willing or by force,’ he had promised himself the moment he had laid eyes on her epaulets. One way or another, she would be their ticket out of there.
After what seemed like an eternity and with the setting sun dramatically silhouetting her figure against a firestorm of orange bursting through a fleece of cumulus clouds, Liliana returned and nodded.
“We will leave first thing in the morning.” She announced and fought back a smile as the others shook her hand, thanking her enthusiastically.
The sat back down together and watched the remains of the day disappear in a splendorous display of colour. Conversations took a welcome turn towards the mundane, the ordinary that people used to lament now like a warm blanket in a world where uncertainty and ever-present death seemed the only constants. As always, the night’s watches were assigned, and Gautier took up his perch atop the APC from where he could see well beyond the low ancillary buildings and hangars, their grey forms lurking menacingly in the dying light.
Gautier always took the first watch. He felt privileged to spend the last hours of each day reflecting on what had been and was to come, and to give thanks to a God he still believed was out there. He sat and hummed melodies from his childhood. As much a lullaby for David as a comfort to the rest of the group, his gentle singsong drifted through the hatch and into the bowels of the APC.
Tom lay awake for a long time, his mind whirring with thoughts of his reunion with Julie and Anna, and the countless scenarios just waiting to derail it.
Eventually, though, letting the soft sounds of traditional songs soothe him, he yielded as he always did. To sleep and hope and the warmth that came with thoughts of the two people he could not imagine life without.
CHAPTER 27
Morning saw a flurry of activities as soon as the first light crept across the tarmac. With it, the dust devils sprang back to life, rising, falling, and zigzagging as if they had a mind of their own.
Amadou completed the last watch of the night atop the carrier. He stretched and yawned before crawling under a blanket in the dark recesses of the cabin below. It had been a largely uneventful shift, with only the rustling of papers and garbage tossed about by the wind here and there jerking him out of the stupor of the wee hours.
Had it not been for the events of the days prior, it would have been easy to think that nothing was out of the ordinary in this place where chaos was business as usual. As he had watched the night’s stillness, the void left behind by both the living and the dead seemed as tangible as the gun by his side, and he couldn’t help but contemplate just how much things had changed in the shortest space of time.
Amadou pulled the blanket well over his head, seeking shelter from the rising sun to spend a few more precious moments in reverie of fading memories of the family he had once been part of. His mind beckoned for rest, but rest, it seemed, had become a precious commodity in a world where anything and everything was out to kill or eat you, and not necessarily in that order. He could hear the others go through their morning routine.
The clanking of coffee cups being lined up next to a small fire made from abandoned aid crates, ready to be filled with the hot brown liquid that bore little resemblance to its actual name. There was excited chatter about the upcoming flight and much speculation about what they would find. Daydreams about abandoned luxury hotels, larders still filled to the brim and crisp linen awaiting their ragtag, once again rather smelly crew. Showers had been few and far between since they first embarked on this cross-country drive and the prospect of comfort too alluring not to fantasize about.
A heavy knock on the rear hatch told Amadou it was time to say good-bye to slumber. He cranked the handle and pushed, morning light instantly flooding the interior, forcing him to shield his eyes.
“Are you done, sleeping beauty?” Papillon’s large frame eclipsed the sun.
He stuck out his paw-like hand and helped the dazed Congolese across the threshold. The two began checking their weapons and filled the rest of the spare magazines with the ammunition stored in the back of the APC. It was a morning routine that had become second nature. Satisfied they were as ready as they could be for whatever the rest of the day would throw at them, they joined the others who were finishing up packing their bags. ‘High speed, low drag,’ Tom had emphasized several times during his morning brief, reminding them that anything they carried, they would need to be able to lug with haste if things turned out as bad in Nairobi as they had been at the lake.
Besides, they stood a better chance of replenishing supplies in the city than out here where, even during times of relative peace, scarcity was the norm. A backpack each, a rifle as primary firearm and spare magazines was all they would need for now. Tom and Papillon took a Glock each as their secondary. As leads, they would be most exposed, most likely to expend their rifle ammunition before anybody else did.
Tom had offered one of the pistols to Nadia, but she had refused, instead pointing towards the Cessna and the 'little piece of insurance' she kept in the glove box for special occasions.
“We could use some tools, though,” Nadia had suggested.
After all, none of the ones they carried were particularly useful for airplane maintenance. They decided to explore the two hangars closest to where Nadia had parked the Caravan and where normally smaller planes were serviced. The Cessna was in good working order as far as Tom could tell, but something as simple as birdstrike, a loose nut, or a corpse staggering into their path could quickly change things for the worse.
Soon the APC and its cargo of excited passengers sped across the apron, past the glistening glass panels of the new terminal. The monument of once much-admired South Sudanese progress,
now unlikely to ever see another living passenger.
Papillon enjoyed getting the heavy machine up to speed in the unrestricted open space and grinned as debris crunched and crushed under its heavy wheels. Sending everyone in the back reeling left and right, he manoeuvred around the larger pieces before taking a sharp turn around the rear corner of the last hangar, where he brought the APC to a grinding, sliding, expert halt.
“Thanks for that!” Amadou emerged, rubbing his forehead.
“I just hope Nadia flies better than you drive,” Tom shook his head as he reached for the hatch.
“You bet!” Nadia flicked her chin and smirked.
The Cessna Caravan looked small against the backdrop of aviation giants parked along the tarmac. The imposing C-130 Hercules and even the streamlined Embraer 190s made their upcoming mode of transport look like a flimsy toy.
“It is not big, but you believe me, it does the job,” Nadia reassured, noticing the worried glances by the rest of the group.
“Hey, that’s Amadou’s line!” Papillon joked, earning him a less than amused look from the lanky Congolese.
“Mr. Comedy here, and I will check out the second hangar,” Tom pointed at Papillon.
”Amadou and Faith, you take the one closest to the plane. Gautier, Nadia and David, start transferring gear to the Caravan.” He was in mission mode now, and everyone knew their part.
Nadia had briefed them on what to look for. At first, she had wanted to go herself, but Tom wasn’t going to take a chance. He had decided the moment they had found her, that weathering the storm and risk getting trapped again inside the metal box they had been calling home for far too long, was simply no longer an option. If anything happened at all, she was their primary ticket out of there. For now, keeping her safe was the number one priority. Her place was with the plane.
They inspected the area, but much like the previous day, nothing moved. A few wandering figures at a distance, reduced to lumbering dots in the landscape, too far away to pose a threat. Barring the roar of the APC’s engine, the group had maintained noise control the best they could, and it had paid off. Tom figured town probably still crawled with corpses, but the rows and rows of UN containers and vehicles covering every inch of free ground between the airport and the city’s outskirts, not only acted as a sound barrier but also kept prying eyes well out of reach and with it their shambling owners from dropping in for a bite. Still, he couldn’t help but cringe when Papillon’s giant hands yanked at the second hangar’s sliding doors, which opened with an almighty screech.
“Geeze!” Tom hissed and brought up his weapon.
The heavy steel doors settled into their tracks, and the two remained static as they listened for a reaction from the inside.
Their eyes still adjusting, they stepped through the opening and into the shaded interior. Swirls of dust danced in the light cutting through the gloom, just far enough to see halfway into the large space. Tom felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
“Smells a little funky,” Papillon sniffed the air and grimaced. He didn’t need to say it.
As stifling staleness gave way to a rush of hot air from outside, the ripe smell of death, sickly sweet and forbidding, assaulted their nostrils in a pungent huff. Tom taking the left and Papillon taking the right, they fanned out. In well-rehearsed movements, understood like a universal language among soldiers, they started clearing the room.
Tom took a step forward but then paused to adjust his weapon's dovetail mount before flicking on the flashlight. Slowly bringing up the barrel to scan his side of the small hangar’s interior, he pivoted on his back foot, his eyes following the surgical beam creeping across stacks of crates like the ones they had seen outside. There were oily rags and hoses and old tools scattered on the floor between them.
Towards the back of the structure, the outline of a DC-3 loomed in the shadows. Tom’s light hit its polished metal exterior, and it refracted. The sudden disco ball-like effect sent a myriad of tiny beams cutting through the gloom. Confused by the display, Tom averted his eyes and shifted his aim. In the middle of the hangar, the plane’s nose hung open, agape like a toothless mouth. Its wings half drooped off their mounts at an odd angle, it sat there like a dejected bird. A fossil of aviation, a sad reminder of days gone by, and at the same time, Tom thought, an oddly appropriate symbol of a world that was now coming apart at a rapid pace.
The sound of an object skidding across the floor off to the left had Tom snap back into the moment. He spun around just in time for a pair of lifeless eyes to appear in front of his iron sights. His finger jerked, but he recoiled at the same time, the bullet barely grazing the creature’s skull and disintegrating on the back wall. He felt the barrel of his rifle being yanked upward, the flashlight now aimlessly shining into the roof space above. The crunch of breaking teeth chomping on metal told Tom he had missed his target. He tried to push himself away but could already feel the hot steel of the curved hangar roof against his back. The frenzied creature broke the rest of its teeth on the steel of rifle’s barrel as it leaned in with its full weight. Tom struggled to free himself, the weapon the only thing between him and the corpse. Attempting to drop the rifle, he felt for his sidearm, but the corpse relentlessly leaned in, pinning him to the wall.
Intertwined in a deadly tango of teeth and stink, they wrestled, shuffling sideways as Tom tried to push back in vain. He could smell the foul air escaping its mouth as with each effort, the creature threw its torso against him with renewed zeal. Jagged edges where rotting teeth used to be, scraped across the M4’s exterior as the corpse’s putrid skull sled towards its target.
Tom was left with no choice. He let go of the weapon and, in a single move, ducked and side-stepped. The snapping jaws shot past his ear, missing him but by an inch. The creature let out an angry wail. Frenzied, it chomped, its hands wildly flailing in search of its living target. Then it readjusted its stance and, with uncanny agility once again lurched forward. Tom could do little but to look on in horror. In a split second, it was again on top of him, this time its weight pressing down from above, now threatening to pin him to the floor. Triumph flickered in the creature’s eyes as it brought down its jaws for the first and final bite. Black ooze drooled from leathery lips, and Tom could feel its cold skin against his as dead fingers grabbed his hair, pulling him in ever closer.
A loud thwack from somewhere behind the creature’s head and coagulated blood and brains splattered across Tom's face. Tom’s vision blurred instantly. The corpse staggered forward and collapsed on top of him, its open skull dangling from the rest of its body like a useless tetherball. For a moment, Tom lay still. Sucking in air, he tried to regain his breath, ignoring the stench of rotting flesh invading his every pore.
“One day, you’re going to have to learn to do this on your own.” Papillon’s grin appeared above.
His hand followed, yanking at the corpse and casting it aside like a ragdoll. He offered his other hand, but Tom chose to sit for a moment, resting his back against the sun-heated steel. He felt embarrassed, inept even, at his inability to deal with what essentially had been nothing but a lumbering bag of dead meat.
“I don’t know what happened.” He looked up at Papillon, who, against all urges to crack another joke, just gave him a nod and a smile.
“We’re all focused on getting out of here. That’s what happened.” He stretched out his hand again, and this time Tom gladly took it.
Not wanting to risk any further surprises, they explored the rest of the hangar side by side. There were some emergency supplies inside the DC-3, but otherwise, the structure was devoid of anything useful.
‘Rifled through by every man and his dog when things turned to custard,’ Tom thought as they emerged from the hangar and squinted into the bright of day outside.
Relishing the heat, he let the shock dissipate, and life resumed.
“Looks like a sand storm is brewing.” Papillon patted him on the back, indicating it was time to head back.
The big Frenchman nodded in the direction of the row of hangars behind them, where, in the distance, a virtual wall of dust was gathering momentum, growing in size by the second. There was something odd about it, Tom thought for a second, but then quickly joined his companion and the two made haste back to the Caravan, which looked like it would just about reach capacity, once all the gear was transferred and everyone on board.
Nadia conducted her final checks, and Gautier and David were storing the last of the packs and what little food supplies they had planned on taking.
“You look like shit.” Nadia cast Tom a sideways glance, barely looking up from her clipboard.
“And a good day to you, too.” Tom grinned. He was slowly warming up to the Russian’s coarseness. “Been keeping an eye on the sand storm?”
He nodded towards the buildings behind him. Three to four miles away at best, the churning plume of dust drew continued to grow in size, drawing ever closer.
“What sandstorm?” Nadia sceptically looked up from the board. “Have you ever seen one? They move fast. Very fast. This one doesn’t. No sand storm.” And with that, she returned to her inspection.
Tom looked at the others. Gautier and Papillon shrugged.
“So if it’s no sand storm…” Papillon stopped mid-sentence as he realized what they had been looking at. “...you mean, it’s them?”
“And by the look of it a whole lot of them, too,” Tom frowned.
They could weather a sandstorm, but there was no way they would survive an onslaught by another horde. At least not a horde the size of the one coming straight for them.
“When did you first notice them? Why on earth would you not have called us all back?” Tom felt angry at the pilot’s nonchalance.
The Virophage Chronicles (Book 1): Dead Hemisphere Page 31