It was only early afternoon, and by their estimation they were, give or take, three-quarters of a mile from the mall; a distance easily covered in a few hours, provided Mama Samaki’s assessment was right. Either way, they would soon find out as they packed up their gear and got ready to leave the hospitality of her improvised restaurant. Amadou had initially suggested taking the Landcruiser, but a closer inspection revealed its Diesel tank had been drained down to the last drop. Given they only had a mile to cover, Tom figured diverting to search for fuel would cost them precious time and pose a risk he was unwilling to take. This was home stretch to a staging point that had everything to offer they needed. And he would make sure they would get there without delay.
To enter Kabete Lane, they would need to cross the road first. Luckily, the second floor of the building offered a clear view in either direction, and Tom stayed behind giving the signal to the group in waiting behind the main gate, allowing them to cross one by one each time the coast was clear enough to do so with enough distance to the nearest wandering corpses. It took longer than he expected, but it reduced visibility and protected those either still waiting or already on the other side.
After an hour, it was his turn. As Amadou waved across from the side street Tom, too, made a dash for the service road, where he found things just as Mama Samaki had described them. A single-lane with the usual, virtually seamless continuation of compound perimeter walls all the way to the far end, it offered little in the way of surprises or, as it were, undead foot traffic. Less than a handful of corpses staggered around at the far end. Preoccupied with a turned-over dumpster further down, they represented no immediate danger. As was their habit by now, the group of survivors stayed low, hugging the walls as best as they could along the way.
Mama Samaki, due to her size, was struggling with the getting and staying low aspect of moving. Much to Amadou’s intermittent amusement, she instead tried her best to tip-toe along, now and then casting a wary eye over her shoulder. To his surprise, she remained nimble despite her circumference and kept up with relative ease. By the time they approached the creatures clawing at the dumpster, not only had they covered at least 300 yards, but they had done so in less than half an hour. Now with each step, a much-needed degree of cautious optimism returned to the group.
Amadou and Papillon nodded at each other and took the lead, slowly and stealthily making their way to the corpses still oblivious to anything but the metal box in front of them. Amadou flicked his tongue. The noise was enough to make the first creature turn around. Its eyes widened at the veritable buffet, but Amadou’s knife ended its existence before it could announce its find to the others. It collapsed where it stood, its head connecting with the dumpster in a gong-like strike. At this, the others turned and faced the two men, who deliberately retreated, in turn causing the corpses to stagger towards them single file. One by one, they dispatched the rotten forms, each one receiving a blow to the head with a rifle butt, spilling putrid brains onto the pockmarked tarmac, bodies crumpling into pitiful heaps. Amadou let out a whistle, and Tom and the rest of the group followed, a cat darting from beneath the dumpster as they passed. Within minutes they reached an intersection.
The last and final one from which access to the mall was but 100 yards away. Most of the widening road ahead seemed clear, but Tom was all-too-aware that things often went wrong just when everyone thought they were home and dry. For all they knew the mall was crawling with creatures and they were about to run into a dead maelstrom.
He signalled the others to pause and sent Amadou on a recce. Amadou had proven himself highly capable in urban environs and, the Mama Samaki incident notwithstanding, had done a stellar job at navigating from compound to compound. They took cover and peeked around the corner as the lanky Congolese make his way to the service road that would lead him to the back area and rear car park of the shopping centre. He ducked into the lane and disappeared from view.
They waited. A minute passed, then two. He did not reappear. Tom frowned. He knew he would explore the back properly, making sure no unseen dangers lurked, but as the minutes turned into quarter of an hour, he began to worry. He keyed his radio. There was no reply. He tried Amadou’s call-sign. There was no response. The group was out in the open and unease grew along with the awareness they could be discovered any minute. By the dead, the gangs or whatever, it mattered little in an environment where just about everything was out to kill them.
“I have contact.” A sudden burst from the radio nearly had Tom drop his rifle. It was Amadou. Finally.
“Copy. Contact. How many?” Tom felt his worst fear coming true.
“Contact with delicious croissants! And many!” Amadou appeared at the entrance to the service lane, waving around a piece of pastry.
“Asshole!” Papillon grumbled half-smiling.
They all quickly joined the Congolese, who by now was stuffing the last bite of a croissant into his mouth.
“What took you so long?” Tom asked angrily, but instead of responding, Amadou just indicated them to follow.
Opening a single door marked ‘emergency exit,’ he led them into the luxuriously marble-tiled portion of a hallway leading directly into the mall’s ground floor.
“I took the liberty of checking the entrances,” Amadou grinned, “and I am happy to report that they have all been secured.”
Tom shook his head in disbelief as he followed him to the first set of large glass doors at the front of the mall.
“Secured, huh?” Tom smiled as he tested the knot of the sheet Amadou had used to tie together the door handles.
“Well, kind of. As best as I could.”
They would need to find something sturdier, of course, but the few moments of anxiety waiting around the corner had been worth it. The mall, at first look, seemed clear. In fact, clear to the point that its pristineness seemed almost incongruous, considering the pandemonium that reigned outside.
“Any other exits, entrances?” Tom looked around.
“A couple more emergency exits, but those are locked. Plus, another entrance at the opposite end. I have taken care of that one as well. The café with the terrace is locked, plus the terrace itself off the ground high enough not have anyone jump over the railing. No dead ones anyway.”
Amadou stood in the middle of the ground floor, arms extended and looking up to the large skylight set into the roof several stories above them.
“Surreal, isn’t it?”
“Sure is.” Tom’s mind was already wandering onto other tasks.
“No, I mean, look at me: Little old Amadou from the Congo standing inside Westgate Mall Nairobi. And I can have anything I want!”
“If you look at it that way, I guess you are right.” Tom smiled, and he and the others started to explore.
“I don’t have to remind you, but stay alert. The place may seem deserted, but that doesn’t mean that there isn’t someone or something here. If you have to go shopping, then in pairs only.”
He took Anna, still unsteady on her feet, and they proceeded to the lounge furniture of the centre court café.
“Oh, and please, let’s get back together down here in half an hour.”
But the others had already begun exploring, testing doors and accessing whatever stores they found open.
“You and I, we just take a rest here for now.” He put Anna in one of the extra-wide comfy chairs. “There will be enough time to get what we need.”
She looked at him as if wanting to say something, but a shadow cast over her face, and she fell back into silent contemplation.
“I know, Anna. This has been tough. It still is tough. And I am sorry I have not been there to protect you and mum.” He tried to explain, but the right words eluded him.
He could see she longed for an explanation, for something that would mend the broken pieces of her world, or at least make sense of it. But whatever he could think of or offer right now would barely approximate what she was going through. He held her hand, and both
sat lost in thought inside the large space, remembering Julie and what had happened to their little family. After a few minutes, Tom got up and took a look behind the counter. Emergency power was still on. Good.
“Hot chocolate?” He held up one of the large paper cups.
She smiled, and it was all he ever wanted to see. Soon the others came back from their various excursions, dumping their loot on the floor next to the café.
“You don’t do things in half measures, do you?” Tom looked incredulously over the enormous pile of clothes, jewellery, and other goods they had assembled in such a short time.
“We are going to be the best-dressed people to ever survive the apocalypse!” Nadia announced proudly.
”Or at least the best-dressed corpses if we don’t, “Papillon grinned.
“Gee, thanks for the optimism. “
She turned away and began trying on a pair of brand new sports shoes.
“What did I say?” The big man shrugged, and the others chuckled.
Their banter by now had become a daily source of entertainment, and it looked like it was not about to change anytime soon. Mama Samaki returned from a brief disappearance behind a divider separating the café’s pantry from the counter area. Wearing a tight-fitting purple jogging suit and sporting a duty belt complete with a long baton at her side, she looked ready for battle.
“Where did you get that thing?” Amadou pointed at the weapon.
“I guess the guards took the opportunity to shop a bit before they ran away. I found it hanging over the door of one of the fitting rooms.”
“Well, you certainly look the part now,” Tom tried to sound serious while trying his best not to crack up.
Her round shape and the tight fit of the purple suit reminded him more of a walking bubble gum. They all followed her example and, glad to get rid of the thrift store outfits they had worn since their pit stop with Justus, soon donned an eclectic mix of the fashionable and the tactical. An eclectic mix just as they themselves certainly were, Tom thought, as he looked over what by now he had come to think of as ‘his troops.’
They stretched out in the lounge chairs, and Mama Samaki busied herself making coffees and teas. There were boxes of biscuits behind the counter – the type that would probably never expire – which were equally appreciated by all nonetheless.
With the hours ticking away, Tom felt the urge to plan again, but going by what they had all gone through, he also realized that some downtime was probably not only warranted but essential if they were to be of any use going forward. It was no secret that their escape would, without doubt, be another battle against the odds. For now, then, he conceded, they would relax as best as they could. Perhaps they would even let off a bit of steam, whatever that meant, stranded in a luxury mall. But it would also be an opportunity for Anna and him to be still for a while and re-strengthen their bond. The wounds were fresh, and he would have little to offer to help her heal unless he made time to heal himself. At least for now, though, the rawness of the events still made the very thought seem irreverent, sacrilegious, even. He thus decided not to push the agenda and instead to let things be for the day. Nadia had brought a Maasai blanket for Anna and, tucked in on the large soft upholstery of the lounge, she soon fell asleep.
With everyone relaxing in comfort, Tom likewise took the opportunity to go for a wander. He had nothing specific in mind, but some alone time was warranted. Strolling along the wide walkways, first of the Mezzanine, and then the first floor of the expansive steel and glass interior, it was easy to pretend times were different. The atrium reached from floor to the glass ceiling high above, with each floor’s railing overlooking the courtyard below, giving the place a feel of lightness and infinity, of breathing space and freedom; something he hadn’t felt since the last time they were on his dad’s farm back in England.
Many of the stores were open, with cash registers closed and goods neatly displayed on shelves. People had left without panic and for some reason looting had not occurred to the extent he had fully expected to see. Instead, the entire mall with its glitzy displays, neon signs and elaborate storefronts, seemed eerily pristine. Amadou’s improvised bed sheet ties notwithstanding, someone had actually locked the front doors and then left through the emergency exit; an indication that whatever had happened here, had been executed in a controlled manner.
A few years earlier during the infamous Westgate terrorist incident, the world had witnessed security forces at their worst. The plundering and looting, of the shops, the supermarket and even some of the victims had left a bad taste in everyone’s mouth since. Looking down from the first floor now, Tom was convinced that when the army sealed off the suburb, mall management had preferred to evacuate and close, rather than risk a repeat. There were no walking corpses here, no bodies of any kind. It was as clean and shiny as on opening day. For a brief moment the thought of staying for a while flickered through his mind, but he shook it off immediately. They needed to get to a safe place, and quickly, if they were to finally outrun this thing and find any semblance of a normal life again. For today, they would rest. Tomorrow it was all hands on deck again.
Tom continued his stroll, lost in thought until he found himself standing in front of a red-brick framed store entrance. ‘The Whiskey Shoppe’ in large golden cursive letters proudly announced the store’s offerings. He smiled. This was quite appropriate. Entering into the dimly lit interior, Tom passed shelves and shelves, rows and rows with bottles of Whiskey from every corner of the world. Behind the large counter made of barrels a glass display had the store’s most expensive drops.
“Now that’s more like it,” Tom slid open the cabinet and inspected the labels, before picking up a bottle and letting out a whistle. “Johnny Walker, Blue Label, 200th Anniversary Edition. Four thousand dollars. That’ll do.”
He pulled up one of the bar chairs placed around a large barrel, along with a couple of tumblers, and poured a large drink in each one.
“Julie.”
He clanked his glass against the other and wiped away the tears. Knocking back the golden liquid, he quickly poured another. Sitting in the cavernous interior of the whiskey shop, the silence was as soothing as the liquor. His elbows resting on the large barrel, Tom looked out into the glitz and glam of the empty mall. He had travelled thousands of miles, overcome the odds at every turn, and fought his way through masses of walking corpses, only to get home too late to save her. They had always said they would take time out to explore the city, to do what normal families do on weekends, and to go on a shopping spree with Anna to celebrate his return. Now Julie lay in a shallow grave in a backyard of what never had the chance of becoming their home. His daughter, barely recovered from a bite herself, was traumatized forever, and he sat in an empty mall drinking whiskey they could have never afforded. It was hard not to succumb to the irony, to the cruel sense of life’s timing.
Orange and red through the skylight high above announced the sunset and its reflection in the steel and glass blanketed the interior in an amber hue, and the survivors in a feeling of homely warmth, the kind none of them had felt what seemed like forever.
A knock on the shop’s door snapped Tom out of whiskey-induced thoughts.
“You alright?” Amadou’s head popped through the opening.
Tom pulled up another chair and waved him over. He tried to pour another shot, but to his surprise, he found the bottle empty.
“Aw well, there’s plenty more where that came from,” Tom tried to sound as sober a possible.
Amadou looked through the array of bottles and returned with one he liked.
“Not as expensive as what you are having, but I think it will still do the trick.”
Joining Tom in a couple of glasses, he, too, sat and relaxed. Anywhere in the world, this could have been a very normal scene. Two friends, brothers in arms, sharing a drink at a bar, righting the wrongs of the world, and toasting their successes past and future. Anywhere in the world but here in this mall, where i
f one listened carefully, the ghosts of victims past competed with the moans of the dead roaming the streets outside.
The mall had gone down in flames during the previous attack, and the terrorists had taken with them the lives of their hostages. How many, no one would ever know as officials, in full damage control mode, on the back of video footage showing security forces not just looting stores, but fleecing the bodies of casualties, had rushed to sweep as much information under the carpet as possible. Tom suspected that when against all assurances by the government, the virus jumped the border, they would have taken the same approach. These days it was not unheard of to pay your way through a security checkpoint or buy a firearm under the table directly from the police. The same would have applied to family members trying to get infected loved ones over the border and to safety. Money might have made the world go round, but in these parts, it more often sent it off the rails. And it was usually the civilian population, the ones who could not afford the exorbitant bribes, who always bore the brunt.
Now here they were, another group of people trapped in the mall, under siege by a different kind of enemy. Whether you believed in God, Allah, or any other deity, or in fact nothing at all, you had to admire its creation. A mere 80 nanometres in length. An 80 thousand-millionth of a metre and yet capable of raising the dead. It may have been man who helped it evolve, but it was the devil himself who now steered its spread.
“Your little girl is a fighter,” Amadou refilled his glass and peeked through the neck of his almost empty bottle.
“Anna? She sure is. It looks like she is out of the woods. Over the worst, anyway,” Tom smiled.
He had pushed worry and fear to the far corner of his mind and gotten on with what needed to be done. Now, taking stock over a few drinks and in relative peace, it was time to give in to the realization of how lucky Anna had been and how easily things could have gone the other way.
“You know what this means, though, right?” Amadou asked the obvious.
“And what is that?” Tom suddenly felt the need to be in guard again. Laying the cards out on the table, at least when it came to Anna, was not something he was prepared to do just yet.
The Virophage Chronicles (Book 2): Dead Hemisphere [Keres Rising] Page 18
