The Fallen (13 page)

He could just make out the numbers on the doors, 3… 5… 7…
9
.  He fumbled with the keys, unlocking the bottom deadlock first.  As he was about to place the key in the top Yale lock he heard a bang from down the hall, the opposite end to where he had just entered.  Peering down into the gloom he could see, two, then three figures silhouetted by pale light.  There must have been another way in, an open back door that led in from the courtyard.  They hadn’t seen him yet in the darkness; he focused, re-aligned the key and inserted it into the lock.  The door opened a crack and then clanged as something wedged against it from the other side.  A chair.  She must be inside, he knew she always took this added precaution; he was so close.  He rattled the door as if he was picking a lock, hoping to dislodge the chair from its tilted position against the handle, but the noise was attracting the pack down the hall, which let out excited calls.  He had no option but to continue rattling though the pack was drawing rapidly closer, loping down the hall like gorillas, howling and hitting walls and doors as they approached.  He rattled the door faster and with his full strength, they were almost upon him when he heard a wooden clunk and the door slid open, scraping the fallen chair backwards across the floor.  He fell inside and slammed the door behind him, catching the fingers of one of his assailants as he did so.  He threw his weight against the door, something snapped and the lock clicked shut.

There she was.  Lying on the floor, weak but alive, was his wife.  “Sarah!” he shouted, but to his despair she had the same vacant stare that he had seen so many times before; her mind had gone like the others. He repeated her name again and again.  There was no reply.  He didn’t know why he had hoped for more, he should have been glad she was alive but somehow finding her this way made everything that had happened since his escape from the mine seem suddenly true, as if it had become more than real.  They had been to many strange and dangerous places together before; travelling around Pakistan, Africa and the Middle East; and he had hoped against hope that this, terrible as it was, would be some sort of surreal continuation, made bearable if they could be together on their island of two. 

He broke, weeping hysterically, still saying her name.  The beating on the door and howls seemed to drift into the distance.  He couldn’t hold for much longer.  Should he?  Why not let them in and end it.  How many were outside now?  Three?  Maybe more.  He’d lost everything he knew, what was he holding on for?  He eased his shoulder back and waited for the final push.

A weak, unrecognisable voice spoke from across the room, “Teh.”  Then clearly she said it again.  “Tim.” 

It didn’t sound like her, but she had spoken and she had said his name.  He threw his weight back against the door.  In a flash, fuelled by the adrenaline that returned with a vengeance, much became clear to him.  The old man lying in the garage, the people in the streets of Gambella, the runners outside and now this; they were waking up; they were getting better.  When he was trying to reach her, he had been like a machine; focused on a distance objective; blotting out all else, but now he had something that he had not truly felt during that journey: hope.  The sight of his wife, hungry and defenceless somehow increased his strength and resolve tenfold, he almost had to stop himself flinging open the door and running savagely at those who besieged them.  He slid the chair towards him with his foot and propped it back against the door handle, while taking the key and locking the deadlock. It wasn’t sturdy and wouldn’t hold for long.  He wanted to run to his wife and hold her but he knew he couldn’t do that yet.  There wasn’t much furniture in the room, just a bed, a flimsy wardrobe and a small chest of draws, but he moved all he could against the door, even throwing her suitcase and backpack into the barricade.

The thuds, now muffled, seemed to gradually decrease in ferocity; they were losing interest he thought, either that or the pain in their hands was getting too great to continue their onslaught.  A final loud thud, as if a head had slammed against the wood on the other side, brought silence to the room.

“Tim,” Sarah said again, not to him, but looking almost through his face.   He ran to her and held her and like a child she grasped him tightly back, clinging to his body as if she were clinging to a ledge.  They stayed like that for what seemed like an hour, sobbing. He told her he loved her and that he wouldn’t let her go. 

The wave of emotion subsided and he tried to peel her hands from him to survey the room.  He laid her down on a pillow as her lips mouthed his name.  Empty packets of nuts and granola bars lay about, many of the packets looking chewed and half eaten.  A plastic washbowl lay on the floor with some dirty socks nearby, she must have been about to hand wash some clothes when it happened, but the bowl was now nearly dry.  The place smelt fowl; sickness had visited her in the past days, perhaps explaining her weakness.  He took out a ration pack he found in his pocket; peanut butter and vitamin mix, opened it and handed it to her, placing it to her mouth.  She ate ravenously and looked at him for more, but that was all he had – the rest was in the car.  The car; it was probably swarming with people by now. 

The imminent danger seemed to have passed but how could they get out?  With Sarah so weak, making a run for it through the hall seemed like suicide.  He went back to the barricade and started to go through her luggage, nothing useful except a bag of gummy bears and a carton of cigarettes.  I guess she never quit, he thought and smiled to himself – so pointless now.  He sat on the floor, with his back to the pile.  He opened the gummy bears and gave them to Sarah and took out a cigarette for himself.  After a few drags he saw her reaching for the cigarette so he carefully put the filter to her lips, she inhaled once but then grabbed for the lit end, burning her hand and crying out.  A thud and muffled grunt on the other side of the door let him know their assailants were camped just outside in the hallway, intentionally or not. 

They had to get back to the car somehow.  Then he remembered the thing he had bought her after Nairobi.  Did she still have it?  She had been difficult about carrying it and forgot it most of the time.  He scoured the room for her handbag and found it in the chest of drawers, he emptied the contents – there it was.  A small black canister, about twice the size of a lipstick case; the red writing on the side, just below a skull and crossbones read ‘
Pepper Spray - 5m Scoville Units – Maximum Strength
’.  He’d never used pepper spray before and wondered how effective it would be against mindless devils who didn’t even fear the sound of gunfire.  On the back it read ‘
Up to 20 Shots!
’ but he doubted the small can’s claims.  How many were out there in the street?  More than twenty, that was for sure.  He should have brought the gun; if he could have just got the car into the compound.  Then he recalled another item from the suitcase, a small bottle of nail varnish remover, he could use that to make some sort of Molotov cocktail, not big but it might work as a distraction.  He knew what he must do.

When night fell, he eased the room’s low window open, trying to make as little noise as possible.  Beyond the window it was pitch black, but a flash from the small LED light on his key chain illuminated a gap between the building and the compound wall, wide enough to walk down.  He helped Sarah to her feet,  “We are going to the car now,” he whispered.  She stared back but made no sign of acknowledgment and still weak, was reluctant to move. 

He had to half-carry, half-drag her through the window, then put his arm around her waist and walked quickly with her, clutching the pepper spray and feeling his way along the compound wall, hoping he felt nothing else.  After forty-feet of stumbling darkness his hand touched the metal of the gate.  He stopped and listened but couldn’t hear anything outside.  Now speed was going to have to take the place of stealth.  He felt the heavy metal bolt and slid it open. Still gripping Sarah tightly, he opened one side of the gate and holding the pepper spray in front of him, moved through the gap. 

Shuffling forward and feeling the path ahead with his feet he was ready to fight if he had to and he could feel his heart pounding in his chest with the fear.  The metal of the spray canister clinked against something else metal; the car.  His fingers found the handle and he opened the driver side door.  As he did so the interior light went on, instantly illuminating the scene around them.  Bodies lying in the darkness started moving; groans, grunts, then a screech.  He pushed Sarah inside; she fell across both seats and he jumped in, sitting on her legs.  The passenger door was closed but he could see the windscreen wipers and wing mirrors were all now missing.  As he went to close his door the rancid face of the white woman from the gate appeared inches from his own.  Startled, he fell back on his wife, but springing upright he sprayed the savage in the eyes and she recoiled in pain screaming.  Slamming the door, he started the engine and the running lights lit up the street.  Although his eyes burned from the pepper spray, through the windscreen he could make out hundreds of black shapes getting to their feet.  He threw the car into reverse, not knowing if the situation behind was any better.  They shot backwards, hitting several people and rolling over them without slowing.  He tried his best to keep reversing in a straight line but it was hard in the darkness.  In front, as far as the headlights reached, he could see people running after them, mouths open, arms outstretched or flapping loosely at their sides.  He wanted to spin the car like in the movies but had no idea how.  Instead he tried to do a fast three-point turn, but quickly realised why they always span in the movies.  Halfway through the turn, the first of the runners caught up with them, slapping up against Sarah’s side of the car.  The Niva rocked upwards and for a moment he thought they might be turned over.  They crashed back down and he managed to gain traction, turning the car as he did.  Then they were free of the scrum.  He drove quickly but carefully to the outskirts of the city and then beyond, into the wide empty grasslands.  After fifteen minutes he stopped and switched off the car engine.  If any runners were out this far, they would most likely be dispersed and alone.  In the darkness he shifted his position, unpinning Sarah’s legs from beneath him.  He shifted her properly into the passenger seat, which he tilted backwards, then leant over and hugged her.  Despite the discomfort and the heat, for the first time something felt almost normal.  She knew him and that was all that mattered.  With his wife in his arms he eventually calmed and drifted away into sleep.

When dawn came he woke, wondering again where he was.  Sarah was still sleeping and for a second he thought they were back in bed in their Tunbridge Wells flat; he wondered why the bed was so uncomfortable and why he was sleeping in such a strange position.  He had kept the windows closed and the car was stiflingly hot.  They were on a small hill, although not as far from the city as he had thought when he had parked the night before.  He could see a few lone figures still wandering beyond the city limits but they were far away from the car.  He looked at the fuel gauge; the tank was nearly empty.  If they were going to drive any further they would need to go back into town to refuel, an idea he quickly pushed to the back of his mind.  He tried hard to think of a plan – where could they go?  He needed to take her somewhere safe until she got better, or the world did, or both.  From what he’d seen so far, he still felt things were going to get a lot worse before they ever got better.   

Scanning the horizon he saw an imposing structure surrounded by a high wall, topped with a double role of razor wire.  He squinted, he could just make out a flag fluttering from the top of the main building; stars and stripes - and the gate was open.  He looked at his wife, then at the gun that lay between them.

Chapter 23

“Captain Zakorski,” said the General, who was accompanied by his aides, the Brigadier and two concerned looking colonels.

“Yes Sir.”  Zakorski stood up from her consol and saluted the General while brushing back a strand of hair that had come loose from her bun. 

“You are the senior ranking officer responsible for space monitoring at NORAD are you not?”

“Yes Sir,”

“Well then can you tell us anything that that might make this situation we’re in any clearer?”

“No Sir, well…”

“Well what?” The General raised his groomed eyebrows, “The Brigadier here keeps telling me that someone hit us but your commanding officer is telling me you think something different?”

“Sir, as you know, our equipment is built to scan for planes, satellites and missiles; whatever hit us was none of those, as far as I can tell,” said Zakorski.

“As far as you can tell? What exactly does that mean Captain?”

Zakorski pulled a sheet of figures from the stack of papers on her desk.  “The data we have shows we lost signals from each of our sources at slightly different times.”

“And?”

“We lost the signals from the outermost satellites first – both ours, the Russians and the Chinese – and within twelve seconds we had lost contact with our terrestrial monitoring sites.  Whatever it was, it seems clear that it came from beyond the highest known satellites and at about three thousand miles per second moved inwards from there to ground level.”

The Brigadier, a stout man with a shiny face, spoke up, “Sir what she is saying is that it had to be a missile, detonated in the region just beyond high orbit.”

“That is not what I am saying,” said Zakorski, “If it had been a missile, our ICBM Trackers would have detected it.”

The Brigadier scoffed.  “They could have missed it, the Russian’s could have had something out there for decades.”

The General chewed his cheek as he thought. “Unlikely. But we can’t rule it out.”

“I hope you are not suggesting aliens Captain?” said the Brigadier smiling, while trying inconspicuously to look at her screen.