A shiver crept up his spine as temperatures dropped in the early morning hours. He looked at his watch. 2 am. He had been sitting, lost in his dreams for more than an hour.
‘Way to go, night watchman!’ He admonished himself, grabbed the flashlight by his feet, and smiled.
The big green plastic thing had worked for his very first shift only, then it had run out of batteries. Much like the rest of the equipment officially available at his post, and not unlike most other companies, items were purchased, but to fulfil contract requirements and maintenance or upkeep were alien terms in an industry where margins where paper-thin and competition was nothing less than cut-throat. Holding it up to his ear, he shook it and listened to something rattle around inside. He frowned. Lest he wanted to risk a failed spot check, he would still have to lug it around with him on his rounds. There was always someone waiting in the wings to take his spot; a fact the grimy night supervisor never missed an opportunity to mention. He sighed and strolled over to the guard box, the start of his every round.
The metal door creaked as he leaned in to retrieve the small RFID reader used to scan the various patrol points around the compound. He stopped. The door had never creaked before. He reached for the handle. Another creak. He felt a chill. The noise had not come from the door. Standing perfectly still, he listened into the night. There it was again. A faint screech. Metal on metal. He felt his ears tense, and his nails dig into the palm of his hand as his grip tightened around the light. The noise had come from somewhere outside the main entrance.
Quietly cursing the broken equipment, he inched towards the sliding gate, searching the impenetrable dark beyond for movement. There. A faint lumbering shadow, centre of the road outside. Then another. Stomach in knots, he was now close enough to the gate to touch it. Just off to the left, something brushed past the metal struts, sending a vibration through the metal. Whoever was out there was playing games. Standing in the faint yellow glow of the guard hut’s desk lamp, he suddenly felt weak. Exposed. ‘Fight or flight.’
“Hello?” He anxiously called out into the black with as much authority as he could muster.
But there was no response. Instead, barely visible, the shadows roused by the sound of his voice, now all seemed to flock together. The collective shuffle of feet drifted across the barrier. They were coming closer. Standing on his toes, he held onto the gate and stared into the black.
“Whoever you are. I am calling the Police!”
His mind raced, his gut feeling urging him to run. And yet somehow, he found himself unable to move. Mesmerized. His shriek cut through the night as a sudden lightning bolt of searing pain shot up his arm. ‘Machete!’ Blood ran down his forearm and soaked the sleeve, the warmth of its trickle sending him close to panic. He tried to pull away, but instead, something pulled him in even further, digging deeper into the fleshy part of his hand. His face already pressed into the bars of the gate, he struggled against the vice-like grip on his forearm.
Summoning all his strength, he braced his legs against the gate and pushed back as hard as he could. The sudden release caught him off guard. Clutching his arm, he landed hard on his back. Gasping for air, he held up his hand into the faint light from the guard hut. His eyes filled with horror. Whatever had let him go had not done so without taking something with it. Bare flesh and white bone glistened as more blood seeped through the gaping wound, drenching his uniform and covering the ground in dark pools.
Outside the gate, the night erupted in wails of sorrow unlike anything he had ever heard before. ‘What animals are these?’ Skin crawling and patches of cold sweat soaking through his shirt, he pushed himself further away from the gate with shaky legs. The question was answered almost immediately. Ashen and emaciated, the grotesque remnants of what once had been the face of a living person pushed through the gap in the bars where moments before his hands had been. Fresh streaks of bright red smeared across its features, leathery lips pulled back into a ghoulish grin, flesh still clung to the jagged edges of its broken teeth as they gnashed in seething fury. This was no prowler, no criminal, no crazed Mungiki member. This was something far more outlandish, wicked, hellish, even.
Black-bluish spittle and blood dripped from its lacerated jaw as its hands shot forward, twisted fingers stretching in his direction to no avail. Scrambling to his feet, he turned and ran. Away from the evil and into the relative safety of the building. Stumbling down the ramp into the unlit cavern of the underground parking garage, he could hear more creatures joining in, as a dozen hands began to shake the gate behind him.
He shivered. From fear or blood loss, it was hard to tell. Embracing the stream of heated air, he rested against the wall next to an HVAC outlet. With little to no ambient light, his hand almost looked normal, but the throbbing pain pulsating all the way to his shoulder told him otherwise. He slowly pulled his arm out of the sleeve and winced.
A first aid kit, or what his employer considered one, was still back in the guard hut. The guard hut next to the gate where ghouls were vying for his flesh. They had gotten a piece of him already. No matter what, he was not about to afford them another opportunity. Wrapping the jacket as tightly around the wound as he could, he was pleased when blood no longer soaked through the material. The bleeding had stopped. Contending with the worsening pain would be another matter.
He closed his eyes and grimaced, then shifted away from the vent. He was sweating profusely now. The air suddenly seemed hotter than it had been moments ago. ‘Rest for a moment,’ he decided, ‘then form some kind of a plan.’ His mind eased. Rest. It was all he needed for all to be Ok again.
An irresistible heaviness overcame every part of his body, and he welcomed it. Listening to the rhythmic woosh of his own breathing, his mind faded into a dreamlike state, to a very unfamiliar place.
He heard neither the screams nor the gunshots of the short-lived commotion outside the gate. The handful of creatures still reaching through the bars for their elusive prey barely paid attention to the olive-green truck or the soldiers it spewed forth in the morning haze created by a thousand Jikos and cooking fires.
◆◆◆
Clean-up was as swift as their dispatch, casually executed by men accustomed to dispensing violence on a much grander scale. The gate itself likewise offered little resistance. A well-placed shot into the intruder-proof padlock and the yard gave up its bounty of high-end vehicles, now theirs for the taking. It was the moist stink of a growling German shepherd’s breath that had him return to the present. His vision struggling to adjust, and the dog snarling at his face mere inches away, he straightened himself against the wall.
“We have a live one down here!” The soldier standing over him fought to contain the rage-filled animal.
The hand of another extended, but then quickly withdrew as their find raised his bandaged hand.
“You were bit?” The soldier barked.
“I think that’s what that was, yes. But I am alright now.”
He wasn’t lying. As much as he had felt feverish a few hours earlier, the reprieve had worked wonders, and apart from the dark veins extending from beneath the improvised bandage all the way up his arm, he felt just about fine.
“How long ago?” The soldier ignored his attempts at getting to his feet and instead took a step back.
“I don’t know. Maybe 2.15am? I lost track of time. But I am fine now. Really.”
The two soldiers looked at him with cold calculation, then turned away and talked to each other in hushed tones. He felt nervous. There was something about their demeanour he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Something dark. Something menacing. After a few moments, they turned back around. The first soldier finally withdrew the dog and started walking back up the garage ramp into the broad daylight of the entrance.
It was then that it happened. For a split second, fleeting, almost missable, the soldiers exchanged a solemn nod. His heart sank, and fear again tore at his insides with icy fingers. They had made up their mind.
“Of course. If you are feeling Ok, then you are free to go.” The soldier cocked his head, stepped aside, and smiled a smile somewhere between mercy and contempt.
He felt confused. A moment ago, the threat had been palpable, and by all accounts, his fate sealed. Now, this soldier who mere minutes earlier had been ready to set the dog on him, smiled and offered to let him leave.
‘Don’t overthink it.’ He pushed himself up, fighting not to grimace from the pain. His limbs ached, and his body felt stiff as wood. He took a few unsteady steps past the soldier and towards the exit, feeling the concrete already exuding the warmth of the sun’s early rays.
“What happened out there?” He needed to say something, anything, to break the unnerving silence.
‘Click-clack.’ The G3’s cocking leaver responded.
As he took another step towards the exit, he felt the soldier’s stare burning into the back of his head.
“You don’t have to do this.”
It was a futile plea, uttered into the silence of the underground garage.
He would not see home again.
CHAPTER 9
Laughter drifted across in waves and only served to exacerbate the throbbing pain pulsing through his head. His eyelids felt like lead, and his neck ached like it had been in a game of violent Twister™. He wiggled his toes and fingers and was relieved that his extremities still worked. Another bout of laughter echoed through the hallway, the cool of the tiled floor somewhat soothing his bruises.
In slow motion and with an audible groan, Amadou pushed himself up onto his elbows and looked around. It was, indeed, a hallway. Narrow, perfunctory, and uninviting. The kind of corporate corridor that held little attraction beyond being a place of business. Up ahead, a few doors to the left, Nadia poked her head around the corner.
“I thought I heard something. How is our sleeping beauty?” She grinned, but Amadou just threw her a dejected glance.
Pressing his hand against his forehead, he could feel a large bump just below his hairline.
“She did get you good, didn’t she?” Nadia knelt beside him, inspecting the bruise with curiosity.
She put her arm under his and helped him to his feet. Still groggy, he was thankful for the support, leaning onto her as they made their way into a brightly lit room where the others sat gathered around a large dark wood desk. Amadou squinted, the neon lights shooting another bout of agony through his brain.
The others were sitting in comfortable leather chairs in what appeared to be a senior management boardroom. Even Anna was seated upright against the wall, covered with a blanket, and now sipping a steaming cup of milk tea.
“Ah, here is the man himself!” Papillon got up from an executive chair and gave a wincing Amadou a hearty hug.
“She laid you out cold,“ Tom commented apologetically. “But I guess she wasn’t to know you are one of the good guys.”
Behind the large mahogany table covered with plastic plates of steaming food sat a rather large African woman. Her long curly weave tied together atop her head, sported purple strains, and her infectious smile made her round cheeks dance as she rejoiced with the others in his appearance. She, too, got up and barely squeezing past Tom in her tent-like colourful dress, made her way to greet Amadou. She flung her thick arms around him and embraced him in a giant bear hug. Feeling his lanky frame getting draped over her large belly, he struggled, but resistance was futile.
“I am sorry, my brother. Oh, look at that bruise… May the Lord forgive me!” She smiled the biggest smile he had ever seen and, after what seemed an uncomfortably long embrace, finally put him down.
“Hungry?” Papillon looked up from a plate piled high with rice, ugali, and fish stew.
“Never had better,” Tom winked at the large woman smiling ear to ear, visibly pleased with the appreciation.
“Meet Mama Samaki.” Nadia felt it was finally time for introductions. “Mama ‘S’ is the proprietor of this here local restaurant, now relocated to these fine premises, thanks to a general customer change in taste, if you know what I mean.”
Mama Samaki performed a curtsy and then pulled up another chair for Amadou, who gladly accepted.
“Mama used to own a food stall outside, just next to this building,” Tom explained as Amadou dug into a stewed Tilapia, grinning as he savoured the spices’ exquisite East African flavours.
“But when you-know-what happened and everyone in the building up and went, she took over the premises.”
“This is good stuff. It is fish, right?” Amadou wondered aloud, wiping thick sauce from his mouth.
“Gacoki, the guard. He let me plug in a freezer in the basement where the Kenyan and Mzungu Sonkos wouldn’t see it. I guess he liked my fish.” She started out in a hearty laugh, but immediately stopped, remembering what had happened to her friend, now lying outside, released from his suffering. “I know I should have given him the mercy he deserved, but I just didn’t have the heart.” She wiped a tear from her eye and began clearing some of the empty plates.
“How long have you been here, like this, I mean?” Amadou asked through a mouthful of Ugali.
“Two weeks, perhaps more. It all happened before anyone knew what was actually happening. And when it did happen, it was all too late.” Mama ‘S’ gazed out the frosted windows into the car park.
“So you just kept cooking?” Amadou asked, surprised.
“What else can I do?” She shrugged. “My home is far, and I needed to feed myself. Plus, I was hoping that maybe, one day, rescue would come, or it would all go away just the way it came. God, my friend, works in mysterious ways.”
“That he does indeed,” Tom interjected. “And so here we are.”
They all helped clear the table, and Tom spread out the Pizza delivery map he had carried with him since their pit stop at the first strip mall near Kibera. It was time to plan the next move.
“If you don’t mind,” Mama Samaki looked around the group, “I would like to think that indeed the Lord has sent you. So if it is within your good grace, I would like to join you, wherever it is that you are going.”
She looked worried, fearful of being alone again, cooking for nobody but herself in a world full of creatures who cared little for her skill, let alone her product.
“Don’t be silly. Sit down and join us,” Amadou, visibly happy with the meal, pulled up another chair.
Tom gave him a guarded look of reprimand but quickly decided having one more in their group really didn’t matter at this stage.
“As we have already said, we will continue to move towards Westgate. Once there, we will resupply and figure out a way out. And when I say out, I mean out of Africa, or at least this region.” He looked around and was pleased as everyone nodded in approval. “The only question is: what is the safest and quickest way to get to the mall…”
He began studying the rough map, which he knew had far too little detail to be of real use. “We came up this way…” Using his index finger, Tom traced their approach to his house, before pointing at the spot where roughly the mall was located.
“But we have already seen what kind of traffic we can expect along the main road. And after what happened a couple of compounds back, I don’t even want to know what surprises might lay in wait in the next ones. Besides, there has to be a better way than to climb walls all day.” He turned to look out over the car park and rubbed his chin.
The others ostensibly continued studying the map, but in reality, none of them had any idea of where they were, nor what route to take. None of them, except Mama Samaki.
“You took Lower Kabete Road to get here? You are either foolish or lucky. Or both!” Her belly shook along with her head. “Why not take Kabete Lane? It’s narrower, it is hidden, and it will virtually get you
directly to the doorstep of where you are going. Well, the back door anyway.”
Tom turned around in surprise and watched as Mama ‘S’ finger followed her proposed route. He had never taken any of the back roads, mainly because he hadn’t had a chance. Between relocating and getting settled, there had barely been enough time for a few shopping runs before he had needed to leave. If the back roads were anything like the small service lanes they had observed along the way, then they would represent a real opportunity of making it to the mall with less effort and risk than their current approach.
“You think it’s safe to take that route?” He wanted to be sure.
“What is safe these days, my friend? I can only tell you that for over two weeks now all I have done is watch this road. I know how many of them come and go, travel through, or hang around at any time. I have counted their numbers, and I have seen their wounds. And I can tell you that from what I have seen, none of them seemed interested in exploring the area.”
With Anna to protect, Tom had sworn he would take no unnecessary risk. Now, more than ever, caution was his motto. But what Mama ‘S’ described was as good as information got under the circumstances, and their choices were limited.
“Ok, we will give it a try. Let’s hope you are right. But at the first sign of trouble, we are back hopping from compound to compound.” He felt uneasy letting this stranger take the lead, and yet there was something genuine about her telling him she could be trusted; perhaps more, even, than Nadia, whose reaction to Anna’s illness and initial stages of recovery he had been thoroughly taken aback by. It was with all the more joy, then, that he watched Anna improve by the hour, and more and more return to her former self.
The Virophage Chronicles (Book 2): Dead Hemisphere [Keres Rising] Page 17
