“We're nearly there,” Escobar whispered like he was sharing a boyhood secret. Gary wanted to struggle and resist but he could not. He as physically exhausted and mentally overwhelmed. He could not conjure the strength to fight. He resigned to what was happening around him. He thought of his mother – of Mandy also. A smile must have appeared on his face because, despite driving, Escobar said, “You're thinking of someone sweet?” Gary nodded.
“Yes, she is the sweetest girl I ever met. We were on our first date a week ago. I'm pretty sure it won't last.” Gary was pretty certain he would not last. His whimpering death was inevitable in this absurdly backward, desperately unimportant place. Mandy would barely notice that he did not call. Perhaps she would find out weeks, months later. She would be shocked and pause for a moment or two but her life would go on and she would be happy.
“We're here.” Escobar pulled off the road and they were soon in between half a dozen rickety huts with a solitary tree towering over them. “The witchdoctor is in!” The pickup skidded to a halt and Escobar leapt out. He started squealing with excitement, waving his hands above his head and he danced in the yard outside the collection of huts. If anyone were in doubt, they soon knew that Escobar had come to visit and, although Gary understood none of the torrent of clicks, shrieks and whistles that apparently functioned as language, Gary suspected the arrival of a white man had been announced. At first nothing stirred and Gary began to question Escobar's assurance that the witchdoctor was home. After several minutes a face appeared, half-obscured, at the door of the largest, central hut. The face had particularly dark skin and dark, unfathomable eyes. A wiry man emerged with the gait of a stick insect. He was wrapped in a badly stained robe that had once been white. The robe clung to his thin limbs. He was mostly bald with a beard on the verge of turning white. This, reasoned Gary, was the witchdoctor. There was nothing intimidating about him physically but he gave Gary the chills and Escobar was mesmerised and yelled louder and waved his arms rapidly snapping his fingers. Gary half-expected to see Escobar to bow down and kiss his feet. Perhaps Africans would do that. Gary averted his eyes and, glancing across the cabin of the pickup, he spied Escobar's discarded jacket. There was a moment of hope. Gary edged his left hand over to the jacket an felt for the pistol. It was there. In his excitement, Escobar had left his gun in the pickup with Gary. The jacket was cast aside and Gary's hand closed around the pistol. It was heavier than he imagined. He took a few deep breathes to steady himself for what would happen next. He nudged the pickup door open and stumbled out.
Gary knew little about firearms. There were safety catches that prevented the weapon firing accidentally. He did not know how to disengage it. This was not the time to start fumbling about. Gary wished he had thought about this while still in the pickup. Now that he had begun to make his move, every instant counted. When Escobar saw his pistol in Gary's hand, a hurt expression consumed his whole body. His shouting and dancing ceased. He opened his hands, palms upward, and uttered.
“Gary, my friend, don't you want to silence the voices and sleep soundly at last?” Gary shook his head. His mouth was dry and he was too uncertain to speak. Gary raised the gun back up – his arms were drooping with the weight and the heat was sapping what strength remained. Gary flinched his head to check his dizziness. It would soon be decided. Escobar spoke again.
“Gary, I'm trying to help you. I liked you. I felt we understood each other.” Again Gary shook his head. This time he spoke.
“We have nothing in common, Escobar. I don't hate you but I know you won't let me just drive off. And I'm not going to let anyone drill into my brain. I don't have demons. I don't hear voices, Escobar.” Gary was surprised how softly and calmly he spoke. It seemed like he was listening, not to his own voice, but to someone else speaking. Escobar became agitated.
“Gary, what does this mean? Why? Are you bewitched just like Armando, my brother?” Escobar descended into rage. “You can't abandon me! Not you too! Don't leave – you must be helped!” Escobar began to edge forward closing the gap between himself and Gary. Gary backed off subconsciously and the gun rose and fell as he failed to decide what to do. Escobar leapt forward furiously. Without thinking Gary pulled on the trigger and a shot blasted into Escobar's leg. His onrush stalled as he stumbled, hopped and then pitched sideways, falling on the ground. His head flailed around in panic. Pain distorted his features. A desperate whine escaped from his mouth.
“I curse you, white man! May you be damned like the rest of these people. May you drink bitter water and eat putrefied flesh. I, Escobar, curse you, white man. You may lie in exhaustion in a bed of luxury but you will not find peace – my voices will keep you from sleep. I curse you. You will go to the Devil!” Gary's heart raced and, delirious under the onslaught of Escobar's curse, he fired the pistol again and finally set Escobar free from his demons. Escobar's body jolted and went limp. Blood spurted on to the dirt and formed a deep crimson pool around his head like a grotesque aureole. The witchdoctor stood over Escobar's body silently looking down into his vacant eyes. Gary wrestled with whether to shoot him too. One less witchdoctor was no bad thing. The pumping adrenaline in his veins urged him to do it. His conscience honed by weekly church prevented it. At last the witchdoctor looked up and almost devoid of feeling warned Gary.
“Escobar had legion of demons. His curse is no futile threat. Take care, white man. Yet it is fitting that he die under the chanfuta tree where his mother gave him birth.” With that, the witchdoctor began to intone some sort of lament over Escobar and he tenderly knelt beside the body and carefully arranged it in death. Gary looked round at the majestic tree towering just outside the ring of huts and then down at Escobar's blood splattered on his own clothes. He panicked and, with the single objective of leaving the place, Gary jumped in the pickup and drove off. Some way down the road he stopped and strenuously threw Escobar's pistol far from the road. Holding on to the pistol in some way acted as a beacon for Escobar's curse – the pistol would allow Escobar's demons to find him and haunt him. He needed to be rid of it.
Gary drove until he could turn south and head towards Maputo. He was uncertain where he was and after the adrenaline wore off he found sleep difficult to fend off. He dozed at the wheel and the pickup veered across the road, cutting close to oncoming traffic. It bounced and rolled into the ditch. Gary hung upside down, tangled in his seat belt – rigorously worn. The scene unfolded in his gaze but he was strangely detached and felt no pain throughout. Black faces peered in at him and smiled. No one spoke or, at least, even when their mouths moved and formed words, Gary heard nothing. At last, a medic of some kind arrived. He smiled widely to Gary through the broken window of the pickup. More people crowded round, some helping, but most just watching and clogging up the place. All were fascinated by the Gary – the white man. Gary was cut free and in the short drop to the ground he heard all the sounds since the crash compressed into those moments of free fall. The loudest sound was the crumple of metal as the pick-up rolled over. Moments later he was unconscious.
Gary's dreams were troubled and nervous. He could not tell whether he saw reality or a nightmare fiction. He could not make sense of the dark fleeting images. Was he visited by Doctor Campbell, Mandy, his boss, Escobar? He was not sure. He finally woke from utter blackness in a pleasant, well-lit room. It was a hospital room. He felt drained and his head ached. There were spots in front of his eyes and he winced and turned away from the light. After several moments he realised a man sat not far from his bed. He was dressed in a white shirt with sleeves rolled up. He rose when he saw Gary was awake.
“Good morning, Agent Sanders. How do you feel?” Gary groaned in response. “As good as that?”
“Where am I?”
“You're safe, Agent Sanders. You're in the Charlotte Maxeke Hospital in Johannesburg.”
“Johannesburg?”
“Yes, South Africa. You rest easy. I'll let Washington know that you're awake. I'm with the consular office at the embassy.
You were in a car accident, that's all. Our embassy in Maputo was contacted and arranged for you to be flown here.”
“My bag? A brown canvas rucksack. Do you have it?”
“Yes, it came back with you. Nothing in it but rags and rubbish. It's in your cupboard.” With that the nameless official left the room. Gary was left alone. He was nervous with anticipated fear. His mind filled with flicking scenes from the last few days: meeting Doctor Campbell, Nito's murder, Escobar... He heard Escobar's last words, the curse he put on Gary. Gary almost expected ghosts and voices. Nothing happened. He justified his actions. Escobar was a dangerous mad man. Gary felt sympathy and regret but he had to do it. He had no choice.
Chapter 14
National Secure Archive Facility
Julia finished her shift. Her body ached and her head was dull. She needed a caffeine stimulant and something to eat. More than that, she needed answers. All day she had been distracted with nagging doubts and questions. The man, Omar, filled her inner eye and encroached on her concentration to the point of obsession. Her focus was not on the job at hand, not in a physical place but outside her body in some quasi-spiritual place she had not encountered before. She could barely escape that place in order to live in the real world. Perhaps the real world was a lie – a clever deception. She felt something for Omar but she was neither ignorant nor naïve. She felt alive when close to him. She sensed every sight, sound, texture all the more. Every passing sensation held an unquenchable significance. With every breath she lived a moment longer and savoured it. She had read about what others called love and wondered if this was what she felt. She sensed the beginning of insanity and she sensed danger.
The news that the DNA analysis proved Omar's paternal grandfather was Doctor Campbell shook her foundation. Doctor Campbell was the bogeyman of folklore told to children growing up in the Ark. If you were naughty, it was Doctor Campbell who would come for you. There were old legends in the archive about the Devil or Satan: pictures of a horned beast with scales and a tail presiding over a lake of fire to punish unbelievers. It was all paintings and poetry – mere mythology. There were no photographs and no news articles. Concerning Doctor Campbell, there were plenty of photographs, video clips and newspaper stories – hard evidence that he was real and the radiation on the surface was absolute proof that he had ravaged the Earth. He had all but exterminated humanity: seven billion men, women and children irradiated and exterminated. For all they knew, the Ark was indeed the sole repository of humanity. Except now for Omar...
Back in her room, Julia drank stimulant. She had agreed to meet Sarah who was due at any moment. She washed her face and changed. Before she could immerse herself once more in thinking of Omar, Sarah knocked on the door and pulled her back to reality.
“I thought I was the last person to see you alive. Really, when you went out, you were acting so weird I really thought you'd gone walkabout never to return.” Julia liked Sarah because she was one of the few in the Ark who expressed their feelings openly. “Tell me all about it! Everyone is asking.”
“Well, it was the most terrifying, best, craziest thing I have ever done.” Julia began to remember her visit to the surface which had been eclipsed by subsequent events. “I was not prepared for the topside. I don't believe we can be. It's unthinkable. We watch it on the camera systems – I did – quite a lot. But being there is different. It's intoxicating. I got dizzy and fell over at first. The ground is uneven and the sky is so, so bright. I want to go back.” Julia trailed off. She was unaware herself how true this desire was until she heard herself say it. She did want to go back – no matter what. “You have to go, Sarah. I've heard people talk about it but there is no way to describe it. You have to go.” Sarah looked less convinced; she had something else on her mind.
“But what about him? People are saying all kinds of things. Is it true that he is really sick – nearly dead, dying?”
“No, I don't think so. He's going to be all right – but it was close.”
“Is he … I mean does he have black skin?”
“Yes, he's lived in the sunlight. It makes the skin go dark. That's what Frank says. He has brown eyes too.”
“Brown?” Sarah was shocked. “What does that look like? Isn't it a bit … well strange?”
“It's different. But no different from having red hair.” The look of mild shock and disgust faded from Sarah's face. Julia had shared on several occasions with Sarah her self-conscious feelings about being the only person in the Ark with red hair. Others avoided the topic and perhaps avoided Julia. Sarah would know that it was a sensitive issue. “So, what else are they saying?”
“Oh, all kinds of speculation. That he's an alien – bizarre stuff like that. They ask where he could have come from. Mostly, we can't understand how he is able to live on the surface with all the radiation. Perhaps there is no radiation any more. Maybe we are kept here in the Ark to control us. Some of the guys whisper that sort of thing. I've heard a lot of talk. People are frightened. The only thing that keeps them from challenging the Patriarch is that they haven't seen the man – only a couple of the engineering crew, Edward and Josiah, have seen him. He's been put in the medical wing in isolation and no one is allowed in. Thomas has locked that place down. They say he is sick and highly radioactive. I don't know what to believe. What should I believe, Julia?” Sarah sounded entirely genuine in her plea.
“Honestly, I don't know what to think myself. He is sick. They don't know what's wrong with him. He was getting better but then he had a horrific panic attack and now he is sedated again in bed. He speaks English just as we do. He can't be an alien then I suppose. There must be more people out there like him.”
“Yes, there must.” Sarah became intense. “No one could survive alone – not for long. There must be others. But who? Where are they? Will they help us?”
“Perhaps they need our help,” Julia interjected.
“Perhaps so. There could be millions – a whole city just like the archives show. Who knows?”
“Now, Sarah, don't get carried away. They may be dangerous.” Sarah thought for a moment then replied coquettishly.
“A little danger...”
“I'm not sure what you mean.”
“Oh come on! You know exactly what I mean. There are not many options here in the Ark and none that appealing either.” Sarah's tone changed from verging on frustration to something more suggestive. “I'd say you've been acting a little strange lately.” Julia felt herself blush. The game was up.
“I can't deny I've considered it. And you're right, the thought of partnering up with someone from the Ark is pretty distasteful.”
“Repulsive I'd say. This place is full of morons.” As she spoke, Sarah's face twisted hideously to demonstrate the extent of her revulsion.
“Present company excepted?”
“You know I don't include you in that. Anyway, what's his name?” Sarah had become serious again.
“Omar son of James.”
“Oh! So he knows who his father is?” Sarah was surprised. Julia had not fully grasped the significance of this before. Neither Julia nor Sarah knew the identity of their biological fathers. Sarah quickly added, “So what's Omar like?”
“He's very polite and civilised.”
“That's it? He's polite and civilised?!” Sarah put on her over-the-top indignant tone. She started laughing. “Not exactly my type, is he?”
“I'm not sure what your type is – just no one we know. Seriously, I barely know him. Most of the time he's been unconscious or delirious.” Sarah suddenly leaned forward and whispered to Julia.
“They say he's one of the Nephilim.” Sarah lowered her brow and looked at Julia questioningly. Julia hesitated. Omar was Doctor Campbell's grandson – at least that is what Frank said the DNA match found. If that were true, it was inescapable: he was one of the Nephilim.
“I guess so, he might be...” said Julia weakly.
“Whoa! So it's true.” Sarah's eyes widened.
/> “No one knows for certain... You can't tell just by looking at him.”
“We have one of the Nephilim among us. That's big. They're like superhuman. Some say giants.” Again Sarah probed Julia's expression.
“He's shorter than I am. You're going to tell me next that they can change shape or become invisible.”
“It would explain how they managed to evade the CIA for so long... So what are they going to do with him?” Sarah's reference to the Ark authorities was accompanied by a flick of the head and she spat that word out. Sarah held very little respect for those who controlled her life. Julia and Sarah had talked about it many times.
“I don't know. I honestly have no idea. I know this much: we won't be the same. There's going to be change. Our precious traditions – what we grew up being indoctrinated with – are already obsolete. That's the way I see it. It's my feeling. An instinct. But it scares me, Sarah. I dread what is going to happen but we're caught up in it now and there's nothing we can do to prevent it. We can't escape our destiny. All we can do is hope that we have a destiny and don't wind up dead.” Julia heard her own voice quiver and struggled to control it but lapsed into morose, morbid thoughts and looked away from Sarah. Neither spoke for several minutes. Julia felt the need to be busy – to do something with her hands so she got up and started arranging things around her room. From behind she heard Sarah's voice.
“Julia, whatever happens, we have choices. We are going to face this together. We can choose that. We'll get through that way.” They embraced and drew strength from each other. No other words were necessary. Finally, when Sarah was about to leave, she asked, “Can you get me in to see Omar? I just want to talk to him – just for a short while.” Julia was non-committal. It was a hard thing to do without being caught and that would lead to trouble. Julia promised to look at the possibilities.
Later, after Sarah had left, Julia sensed the trepidation and fear return. She recognised her exhaustion and need for sleep but her thoughts ran round and round her head and gave no peace. She dreaded the Patriarch and the directors. The Ark authorities provoked an uncomfortable anticipation of questions, interrogation, and unwanted responsibility. She thought of Omar. She felt peace but she was too cautious to trust it. She knew nothing about him. She could not conceive how he could help her escape her miserable monotony. What answers could he have? All he offered was the unknown – a wild chance with mammoth consequences. She felt she was losing touch with her sanity and only found relief when she immersed herself in searching the archive and reading about the old world before the Nakba. She glanced at the topside camera which had shown her Omar struggling in the water. It was night. The ocean was clam and there were jabs of light in the sky. Stars, countless and unchangeable, that the ancient sailors knew and read to navigate across uncertain and hostile waters. She needed fixed points of light to set her mind straight and help her make sense of her inner turmoil. The external, for the time being, remained calm. The Ark went on. People worked their shifts. They ate their meals and even told jokes and laughed. That would change soon enough.
The Nephilim Protocol Page 8
