He adjusted his tie and left his room. As president, he had a lot of crises to solve. Moto was sure the Americans would want to get more involved in his country’s security affairs now, since one of their own had been killed. But that was only one of the little things. His country, and most likely the entire world, was on the brink of chaos, and it seemed nothing could be done to stop it.
11
Chileka, Blantyre district
“The place you are talking about is about fifteen kilometres from the roadblock. It is halfway between the roadblock and the power plant. As you can see, the road is not in good condition so it might take us a while to get there.”
Onani pretended to listen to the sergeant as the Land Cruiser drove along the dusty, potholed road. Besides Onani and the sergeant, there were five other soldiers in the tarpaulin-covered back of the pick-up truck. None of them spoke, except the staff sergeant, whose mouth seemed not to comprehend the meaning of silence.
Onani’s mind was still playing the myriad of incidents that had occurred in the last forty-eight hours. So many people had been murdered and Onani still did not know why. His suspect had been of no help, apart from informing him of the fact that she planned to kill him. Onani’s policeman instinct, however, told him that the army knew. But he was certainly not going to get any information from them.
“We are going to the power plant afterwards,” the sergeant was saying. “We lost communication with the men who were deployed there this morning.”
Onani grunted an acknowledgement. The sergeant was about to continue when the pickup suddenly ground to a halt. Cursing under his breath, the sergeant moved to the opening at the back of the truck.
At the same time, the driver spoke up. “Sir, I think you should see this!”
It took less than a minute for all the men to get out, the sergeant being the first. He stood there, speechless. It was one of his men who spoke first. “Dear God, what the hell happened here?”
State House, Lilongwe City
When President Moto walked into the conference room that morning, there was quite a large gathering already. The defence force commander was present with his deputy, as was the inspector general of the police service and his deputy. The president’s glare, however, was in a different direction.
“Where the hell have you been?” Moto asked his defence minister, his tone quite the opposite of his outward composure. Thokozani Kanjala rose from his chair. At six foot four, he was easily the tallest man in the room, but as he spoke, it became apparent that he was not the most confident of men at that moment.
“Well, Mr. President... I was in the Southern Region. In Blantyre district. And, with recent events, I felt it was not safe to travel. I just got back this morning. Principal Secretary Maloto has already filled me in.”
The president immediately turned to the secretary. “Any new developments, Limbani?”
“A few, sir. There have been isolated incidents in Mvera and Chipoka districts, according to the police and the army, but apart from that, nothing in the past few hours. It has been relatively quiet.” Maloto paused and looked at the president to see if he had any questions, he didn’t. “The Americans say they want to be more involved now. They say they are sending a few of their personnel to help us with investigations into the death of their ambassador. President Barry is supposed to call around 9am local time so that he can discuss it with you. I believe the Chief of Staff also has a few things to say.”
The chief of staff, a thin, hawk-nosed man in his early forties, rose to speak. Nicknamed Mzungu by his juniors because his nose resembled that of a white person, Malango Moyo’s shrill voice could be heard from across the room.
“Mr. President, Vice President Chona has been trying to contact you. He thinks that under the circumstances, he could help serve his country. He wants you to speak to the Attorney General and the high court about reviewing the terms of his house arrest.”
In spite of everything that was happening, President Moto could not help but be amused by his former confidante’s attempt to gain freedom. “Not a chance. He is accused of treason. The man is suspected of orchestrating an attempt on my life. He will stay where he is.”
Everyone at the table went quiet. Moyo, not at all surprised by the head of state’s answer, continued. “Sir, there is another thing. Crowds are beginning to gather in our two major cities’ Central Business Districts.”
President Moto immediately turned to Maloto. “Good God, man, did I not tell you to cancel the commemorations?”
“You did, Mr. President,” replied the principal secretary, “but these people are not gathering to celebrate the birth of the world’s eighth billion person. They are holding vigils in memory of the dozens of people who have been murdered recently and to protest against the country’s apparent lack of security. It is actually being broadcast live on our national television station. That is why I had this brought in here.” Maloto turned on the plasma screen that looked rather tiny in the wide conference room.
A look of disbelief was pasted across the president’s face as he watched multitudes of people gathering at the Lilongwe city centre. In Blantyre, a crowd had gathered at the Clock Tower roundabout, obstructing traffic. “Don’t these people know that they are putting themselves at risk?” He then turned to the inspector general and his deputy. “This is a little after seven in the morning. I want those people back in their homes by nine. I do not care how you do it. Is that clear?”
As the two men hurried off to give their own orders, the minister of defence sat next to the president and said quietly, “You know, Mr. President, it might not be a bad idea to leave the people out there. Safety in numbers and all that.”
President Moto was about to tell his defence minister how ridiculous his suggestion was when the chief of staff interrupted him. “Excuse me, sir, but are you watching this?”
Chileka, Blantyre district
All over the country, schools were closed. In Chileka, it was no different. At Chigoba Primary School, not a child was in sight. There were only a handful of soldiers and a few civilians, all lying on the ground, dead.
Onani froze. He had seen this before. “Sergeant, we should leave.”
The sergeant spoke back, not looking at Onani but at his dead colleagues in front of him. “I have to report this. They are going to want to know as soon as possible.” He stared at a young soldier lying in the dust in front of what seemed to be the head-teacher’s office. His eyes were still open, and he had a metal rod harpooned into his chest. To his left lay another soldier, but his death seemed more flamboyant; a Colombian necktie. The gaping wound on his neck, with his dust-caked tongue hanging out through it, gave him an evil second smile.
“Sergeant,” Onani tried again, “we cannot stay here. These men are dead. There is nothing we can do for them. But if we hurry, we can save other men and possibly the power plant. We need to go and we need to go right now.”
It was at that moment that one of the sergeant’s men called out. “We have found one alive, sir! A civilian!”
But the sergeant was not listening to Onani or his man. “What is that? That humming sound, what is it? Where is it coming from?” The sergeant started to look around.
Onani heard it too. It had been faint at first, but now it was very strong, as if made by quite a large swarm of bees. The detective also looked around for a few seconds before finally pinpointing the source.
“You are looking in the wrong direction, sergeant,” said Onani, pointing and looking up.
State House, Lilongwe City
The conference room was abuzz with activity. Almost the entire cabinet were now present. Both army commanders were on telephones barking orders, while their police service counterparts were also busy trying to mobilise their men. One thing was clear; everyone in the room now realised the seriousness of the crisis that lay before them.
There was a sense of foreboding in the room as the president and his men watched the news screens, men and wom
en running in different directions, their plans for a day-long vigil destroyed, forgotten. The police had not even arrived at the scenes yet. The people were afraid of something else.
Even on television, the circular flying objects could clearly be seen hovering a few metres above the ground. They were white, their tops flat, and bottoms rugged and ridged like the underside of a muffin.
“What was that about safety in numbers?” President Moto mumbled to no one in particular, but Principal Secretary Maloto heard him. “It seems they also know that principle, Mr. President.”
12
Chileka, Blantyre district
Onani’s mind was racing but his body was immobilised. His head was still pointing towards the sky, eyes focused on the spherical shapes above him.
The sergeant recovered faster. “Back to the car! Now!” He slapped Onani hard across the face. “Get moving!” Stunned into action, Onani ran for the cruiser.
One of the soldiers was half-carrying, half-dragging the civilian who was still alive.
The sergeant moved to help him. “For God’s sake, man, hurry up!”
The soldier started to hurry, then let out a short scream of surprise. The sergeant staggered back and had already drawn his sidearm even before he saw the bloodied knife in the civilian’s left hand. The soldier who had played Good Samaritan dropped to his knees, uttering a few guttural sounds as blood spewed from his mouth. He then fell flat on his face and lay still. Only at that point did the sergeant fire.
The civilian was down on the ground within seconds, two bullets through his head. The sergeant did not take another look. He went straight to the driver of the cruiser. “We are going to the plant. I’m driving.”
“Just for how long are we supposed to stay inside? We should be out there fighting those things off!” Mavuto was agitated, fidgeting on the bed he was seated on.
“I have told you before, Mavuto. It is not a good day to go outside. Do not even think of it,” Sir Gregory replied, trying to control his temper. His eldest son had enjoyed testing him even before the revelation. “We will stay inside for now.”
They had all convened in the boys’ room before going back down to the secret room.
Mavuto was clearly against the idea. “These things, whatever they are, are not going to stop. You have said that yourself,” he addressed his stepfather. “So what good is hiding in there going to do us? We should be out there, confronting them!”
“Enough!” Sir Gregory’s voice was slightly raised. “I am not putting you and your siblings in danger by letting you go out there! You haven’t the faintest idea of what metsus are capable of.”
Nina jumped in, hoping to calm things down. “You have to listen to him, Mavuto. Those people are dangerous. You saw how strong that man was. Do you really want to put Joel in that kind of danger?”
Mavuto responded in a passive tone. “Nina, those things are dangerous and very strong. But, they can be killed. You have proven that. You have to understand that we can’t stay here, no matter what he says. We are dead if we do. They already know we are in here. We stay, we die.”
“And what do you know about killing a man? You think it is as easy as in those books you read? Stop behaving like a child and sit down!” said Sir Gregory, his patience expired.
“By the way, you are wrong about one thing, Sis,” Mavuto continued, ignoring his stepfather. “I do not have to listen to him.” With that, he stormed out of the room.
Everyone stood up at once. “Vuto, wait!” Nina was only a few steps behind Sir Gregory, who had already reached the living room and was just behind Mavuto. She reached the front entrance just as Sir Gregory, now outside, froze.
A few seconds later, he fell to the ground, volts of electricity running through his body. Dazed, Nina looked up at her brother, who was a few feet in front of her.
Mavuto had been staring at Sir Gregory. Now his head moved slowly up, towards his sister. His eyes looked pleadingly at Nina, as if he was asking for forgiveness. The teenage boy who had been defiant just a few minutes before was now a frightened little child.
The man who was holding Mavuto’s head in his hands did not seem to care about all that. He was smiling, his pearl-white teeth contrasting against his dark-brown skin. His hands held Mavuto’s head firmly, and, as Nina watched, the man’s hands twisted slightly. Mavuto’s head snapped and he gave a slight convulsive jerk and was still.
“No!” Nina screamed and started running toward her brother but something hard crashed into the back of her head. She started to fall, just as the man in front of her, still grinning, let go of her brother’s head. Mavuto’s body collapsed to the ground, and so did Nina.
State House, Lilongwe City
Principal Secretary Limbani Maloto looked like someone who had just taken a cold shower against his will. His face was contorted and his whole body was shaking. If anybody noticed, however, they did not show it. At that point, nobody in the room was paying attention to what anyone else was doing. All eyes were on the plasma screen.
It was total chaos. People were now screaming for their lives, and justifiably so. The flying objects were now releasing people. Or, at least, they looked like people. Whatever they were, it looked like killing humans was easy to them. Those who were slow in getting away from the gatherings were being slaughtered.
Thokozani Kanjala, minister of defence, was trying to say something to his boss. The president, however, just stood, paralysed, as he saw a man being bent in half and then torn apart.
The minister then turned to his principal secretary. “We need to move the President. He cannot stay here, it is a security risk. I will coordinate with the generals while you get the president’s staff together. We have to act fast.”
“Yes, I agree,” said President Moto, startling everyone. “We have to act fast. We need to get our men ready and out there.” He then turned momentarily to the army generals and police chiefs. “Get your men out there now!”
The president was about to turn his attention back to the defence minister when something on the television caught his eye.
One of the metsus had landed on top of the Clock Tower. Then, stretching itself to full height, it launched itself from the tower like a bird and went straight for a woman below.
The woman was sent crashing onto the tarmac road and the child she was carrying on her back went with her. The metsu was not finished. In one swift movement, it ripped the woman’s right arm out of its socket, and with its foot, crushed the toddler’s head.
The cameraman had seen enough. As blood gushed from the woman’s gaping wound and the baby’s head, the camera fell to the ground, still filming. Although the viewers could not hear her, they could tell that the woman was screaming. The metsu then slammed a fist into her neck and she fell back and lay still.
A sharp pain hit President Moto in the right side of his chest just as he was about to speak. It felt as if something was squeezing his heart, catching him off balance, and he put his hands on the large cedar table in the middle of the conference room to steady himself, without success. His chief of staff asked him if he was alright, but he just fell wordless to the floor.
He loved his country. He loved his people and he loved his family. On the day he had decided to run for president, Herbert Moto had made a promise to himself that he would put his country first, that he would do his best to serve and protect his people. And he had done exactly that, to the best of his abilities, until the past few days. Now as he lay face up on the plush carpet with his friend Limbani Maloto shouting for the state house doctor, President Moto was filled with an overwhelming feeling of failure.
13
When Sir Gregory opened his eyes he was disorientated. The first thing he saw was two of his stepchildren a few feet away from him. His mouth was dry and there was a distinct sound of African drums playing in his head, which brought immense pain. Nina and Joel were not moving.
Sir Gregory tried to go to them but as he got up, something heavy and rubbery sl
ammed into his back, sending him back on the floor.
“I would advise you not to move again, muhiri,” said a voice.
Sir Gregory looked up and the face that stared back at him only intensified his rage. With all the strength he could muster, he lunged at the man but only got a few feet forward. The stranger, with coffee-brown skin and a tall, lean body
immaculately dressed in a grey suit, only laughed.
“I always did like your combative spirit, Kanoni. I hear the people around here call you Sir Gregory? Quite different from what we used to call you, eh? You still remember that your real name is Kanoni, don’t you, muhiri?”
Sir Gregory managed to get up to his knees. “I am not your brother, Mushani. And if I could get to you right now, I would kill you.” He looked around. They were in the same church he had been in only hours before. Father Fletcher was there, as were six of Mushani’s men.
“You have to learn to let things go, muhiri. You knew this was going to happen. You have always known. It is actually the reason you are on this planet to begin with. The past is the past. Let it go and let nature take its course.” Mushani smiled at the last part. “Yes, Kanoni, old friend, I have also been studying the ways of the gumas on this planet and their sayings. Writing the number ‘eight’ in roman numerals was actually my idea. I was hoping one of the gumas on this planet would figure out what it means. They seem more intelligent on this planet than the ones on ours.”
“Let it go?” Sir Gregory was now getting his strength back. “After what you did to my family?”
“But we are your family, muhiri. You are one of us, remember?” Mushani walked over to where Nina and Joel were slowly beginning to stir. “But of course, you mean this family, your gumas. And they are waking up just in time, it would seem. I think they are badly in need of a short history lesson, don’t you agree, muhiri?”
Chilinde Barracks, Lilongwe City
She could tell something was happening. Her guards had been cut down to two, and the high-ranking officers who had frequently come to question her were nowhere to be seen. Outside the door, she could hear orders being given and there was the sound of heavy boots hurrying about. It had started. She had to move.
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