Xenophobia (13 page)

Elvis paused on the last step. Stretching his arms out wide, he cried out, “Elvis has left the building,” and stepped down onto the road like royalty.

“You’re such an idiot,” Bosco said, slapping him on the shoulder.

The other soldiers appeared from down the long, open corridor and climbed into the Hummer, throwing the last of their packs in the truck.

Jameson glanced at Bower. Something in his eyes snapped Bower back to reality; he seemed to sense her glassy-eyed enthusiasm. She didn’t dare offer her thoughts to him.

Elvis was chewing gum as he called out to Jameson and Bower, saying, “Y’all still want me to come witcha?”

“You pulled the short straw,” Jameson replied. “You’re babysitting yet again.”

Elvis spat his gum out on the ground and climbed into the driver’s side of the truck.

Leopold stood there warmly waving goodbye as Bosco drove the Hummer out of the dusty courtyard, followed by the truck. Kowalski was in the Hummer with the rest of the Rangers, while Jameson and Bower sat in the cab of the truck with Elvis. Smithy stood in the turret of the Hummer with the lightweight SAW machine gun mounted on rails, daring a challenge. With her helmet, dark shades, bullet-proof vest and camouflage clothing she looked every bit a soldier. Bower had no doubt about her resolve.

The main street was already crowded, with Africans wanting to conduct their trade before the heat of the day made the city unbearable. The stench of raw sewage wafted through the air. As the two-vehicle convoy wound its way through the streets there was a sense of surprise at seeing Americans driving around the city. Some of the African’s waved, most just stared. Whether that was out of exasperation or indifference, Bower wasn’t sure.

Artillery shells rained down on the western suburbs. Clouds of dark smoke rose in thin columns in the still air. From what Bower could tell, they weren’t in any immediate danger as they were heading south and the barrage was barely audible over the sound of the rattly diesel engine, but the faces she passed had a sense of helplessness to them. What she’d thought was exasperation or indifference was neither, these people were resigned to being abandoned. In her mind, she found herself struggling with the identity of the people they passed. A woman not much older than Bower, with a young child in hand, stared at her with wide eyes longing for pity. Bower felt as though the woman could see right through her.

There were boys playing in the street, kicking a can around between them, oblivious to the murderous thunder creeping over the city. Old men sat in the doorways chewing opiates, spitting on the concrete. Young girls hung washing out of the windows, draping wet clothing over rusting poles and wires stretched out between the buildings. What did they make of a visitor from another world? They must have seen the mothership orbiting Earth. They must have known change was coming, but for them change had only ever meant renewed oppression.

What did the Africans think of First Contact? From what Bower could see, they were more interested in keeping their heads down and surviving another day. What difference would there be for them? None, really. If anything, life would continue to get worse not better. Without UN troops on the ground it was survival of the cruelest.

Jameson was quiet. Bower wondered what he was thinking. She would have felt better if he were talking, but he was focused on the road ahead, occasionally talking on the radio with Bosco in the lead vehicle.

Bower couldn’t look. She kept her eyes forward, watching the road, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone on the roadside. Donkeys, horse-drawn carts and rusted old cars meandered down the road, slowing the convoy’s progress. Bower found her eyes drawn to a makeshift flatbed truck coming down the road toward them. With no hood, the fan cooling the radiator whirled around dangerously, as did the fan belt. Black smoke seeped out from around the engine. As the truck passed, Bower could hear the rhythmic thumping of the engine, seemingly cobbled together with fencing wire. At any point, that truck could have shaken itself apart.

As they wound their way out of the city and into the thick jungle hills rising above
Ksaungu, the contrast of deep greens became a welcome break from the dusty, muddy browns.
The temperature dropped as they climbed higher. A cool breeze blew from the east.

Within a few miles, the concrete road gave way to rough stones and pebbles lining the track. Landslides narrowed the road at points, slowing them to a crawl as they merged with other vehicles making the treacherous journey through the mountains. Government soldiers trudged through the mud on the side of the track, their boots caked in dirt. With their rifles slung over their shoulders and their heads hung low they looked like an army in retreat.

Once they were clear of the city, Elvis lightened up. Jameson was looking at the map, double-checking their location and direction.

“Hey,” Elvis said, a grin on his face as he looked at Bower. “Check out the bag.” His voice had a conspiratorial tone, as though he were letting her in on the secrets of the universe.

Jameson looked up briefly, seeing Bower starting to open the canvas rucksack at her feet. He was too concerned with their progress. Jameson picked up the radio and spoke with Bosco.

“Top of this rise, you should see a T junction, we’re gonna head right, to the south-east, up onto the tableland.”

“Roger that,” came the reply from Bosco.

Bower rummaged around in the rucksack, bouncing slightly as the truck hit a pothole.

“Does Bosco know you took that?” Jameson asked as Bower pulled out the small, blue civilian band radio.

“No,” Elvis replied, unable to wipe the smile off his face.

“He’s gonna kick your ass.”

Elvis laughed.

Sitting there holding the radio, Bower was again reminded of the alien spaceship. She leaned forward, looking to see if she could catch a glimpse of the UFO flying through space but the jungle obscured her view of the sky. Dark green trees and vines hung down on either side of the road. Occasionally, pockets of blue broke through, but never enough to see more than a fleeting glimpse of the sky.

“Turn it on,” Elvis said, gesturing to her. Seemed pretty obvious, really, thought Bower, and yet holding the radio she’d felt mesmerized. What if the aliens are malicious? Did she really want to know before she had to? What good would knowing do? And yet the advocate within her pleaded for reason, telling her that learning more would be good regardless, as then she’d know what she was dealing with. What she was dealing with? Now, there was a thought. So self-centered, so singular in focus, so all consumed. Perhaps that was the problem with humanity, she thought, most days we can barely see past the end of our nose.

Bower wound the electrical crank on the side of the radio, giving it a good turn for a minute or so to charge the batteries and then turned it on. After a few seconds slowly twisting the dial to move between channels she picked up a signal.

“
... Gospel of John teaches us that there’s nothing to fear but fear itself ...
”

She kept turning and slowly music eked through the static, a distinctly African beat of drums with an electric guitar and a female singer.

“
... Love will keep us strong, forever moving on, never leaving us alone ...
”

Ordinarily, this was a station she would have listened to on a Sunday afternoon, regardless of whether she’d heard the artist before. The tune was catchy, but on she went, surfing the radio channels.

“
... highs of a hundred and five, with storms in the late afternoon, early evening ...
”

Three stations down and Bower was somewhat relieved not to have found anyone talking about the giant alien craft circling Earth. If anything, it seemed to suggest that life moves on, that not everyone was consumed by the alien presence. Then she found it.

“
... Georgia, where residents have banded together as a community, pooling not only food and water, but medical supplies
.”

A different voice spoke in a southern drawl.

“
We’ve been through a dozen hurricanes, we know what it takes to keep things moving when the economy stops. The sky might be clear, but we understand what it takes to get through a crisis like this, what it takes to kickstart a community and get back on our feet.
”

The reporter took up where the resident left off.

“
Across the United States, from Maine to Florida, from New York to Los Angeles, we’re seeing a ground-swell of citizen action in place of government programs. Here in Atlanta, Georgia, the residents know the government is largely consigned to the role of historian. As well-meaning as FEMA officials are, the size and scale of a country in turmoil means they’re ineffective.
”

Another resident spoke, only this time there was a distinct Mexican twinge in the accent and Bower got the impression this man was from nowhere near Georgia.

“
The police, they’re too busy. They’re running around trying to help everyone, so they can’t help anyone at all. They tell me, don’t take the law into your own hands. I say, I’m not taking the law, but I’m not standing by either. There are thugs. There are people who take the shirt off your back. When the wolves come, you need to be strong, show them you’re not afraid, you’re not no sheep. You’re not gonna let them take your stuff.

“
If you’re strong, they go away, but that makes the problem worse. They know they can’t take nothing from me, but my neighbor, they think they can take her food. So we stand up for each other. We stand up for those that can’t stand up for themselves.
”

The reporter spoke again.

“
Although officials have refused to sanction local activists like Jesus San Jassan, the reality is, with the US economy struggling to find focus, such groups have taken pressure off the police, fire departments and hospitals. With large portions of the workforce refusing to return to work in the factories and farms around the nation, the National Guard has stepped in, filling a vital hole in the supply chain. Estimates of the flow of essential goods such as fresh food and processed meats are at 80% of normal supply, and yet the shelves are still bare.
”

A deep voice came through on the radio as the broadcast switched to another anecdotal testimony from what was intended to be the average man.

“
For the past decade, I’ve been flying from Miami to Dallas on business at least once a month, but I ain’t never seen anything like this, even during the hurricane season. Yesterday, there were three of us. Three people on a plane designed for three hundred. Hell, there were more stewards than there were passengers. We joked around that we should serve them the drinks. It’s crazy, man. Ever since this thing turned up, the whole country’s been spooked.
”

“
We can’t get our grain to market,
” another voice said, a woman talking over the sound of heavy machinery whirring in the background. “
We’ve had a few trucks through, but those drivers are pulling eighteen-hour shifts, working through all the farms in this region. The rest of the drivers haven’t been seen for dust. I called the distributor, but the phone just rings out. I’ve been talking to the factory, and they say they’ve got surplus for a week or so in the silos, so they ain’t too worried, but they can’t get enough hands on the factory floor. They’re getting stuff out the door, but even just a small drop in supply causes demand to skyrocket. It’s all out of balance.
”

The reporter spoke in somber tones.

“
US officials are understandably cagey when discussing possible military tactics in the wake of alien contact, and the presence of US fighters conducting daily flights over major US cities is intended more for human attention than as a show of force for the extraterrestrials. NASA officials have confirmed what is described as a ‘close working relationship’ and ‘cooperation’ with the Army, Air Force, Marines and the Navy, but what that means in practice is yet to be seen. Speculation is rife
.”

“
There is the nuclear option
,” a stern voice opted, and Bower got the impression that whoever was talking was ex-military. “
While that thing was out by the Moon it was untouchable, but if we can see her in orbit we can reach her. All we need to do is weaponize our existing rocket fleet, just like the President suggested. He’s our Commander-in-Chief, we voted him in, we need to follow him. I believe in President Addison. He’s a good man. The Supreme Court has no right to suspend democracy because a bunch of left-wing liberals don’t have the balls to make the hard decisions. We will rue the day we let Congress impeach the man for defending our liberty. Nukes are all we’ve got against these alien critters. If we don’t shoot first, we won’t be able to shoot at all
.”

“
Others, though, disagree
,” the reporter said. “
They point out that the use of nuclear weapons in space is likely to be counterproductive.
”

“
Nuclear weapons
,” said another male voice in sober, measured tones, “
liberate massive amounts of energy. They’re spectacular on Earth. A flash of blinding light, a hail of radioactive particles, and the blast wave; a wall of superheated wind and debris, but space is full of radiation and energy already. It’s a hostile environment. In space, thermonuclear detonations are nothing more than a mini-star shining but for a second. They’re largely ineffective because there’s nothing to compress. If we were to detonate a nuke on the alien craft the electromagnetic pulse would take out any nearby satellites, say within a thousand kilometer radius, and we could end up losing valuable communication satellites or GPS capabilities for our military here on Earth. Whether we would cause any damage to the alien craft is debatable. From what NASA has observed, the alien shielding is capable of dissipating nuclear fusion, so it’s unlikely anything we could throw at them is going to even scratch the surface, let alone cause a mortal wound. Nukes just aren’t the silver bullet everyone thinks they are
.”