Tom looked at his watch. They had another two minutes. Going by the man’s demeanour, then all hell would break loose.
“Ok, listen,” he made sure he had everyone’s attention. “I hear you, and we are going to do a little bit of both.”
They formed a semi-circle as Tom began briefing the rough plan he and Amadou had hatched more or less out of thin air.
“We know two things. One, these guys will shoot us on sight. They are here to get what they came for, and they don’t need witnesses. Two, there are too many shamblers outside to ever make it through alive, but lucky for us, there is a helicopter waiting for us up top. We just need to get to it.”
He could see that in as much as the others hung onto every word, his last statement had them look at him as if he had gone insane.
“So here’s the plan: We let them come for us, but we will make them work for it. We draw them down towards the first floor. Meanwhile, Amadou and Nadia will hide in one of the stores on the upper floors. Once the main group is on its way to the lower floors, Amadou will take out whatever guard remains topside. These guys feel so superior, I doubt they will leave more than one plus pilot behind. Nadia, you will follow closely behind, but if something happens to the pilot, we need you, so don’t be a heroine. Papillon and I will do most of the firing. Now here is the important part: Mama ‘S’, while all this is going on, you will make sure the exit door of the emergency stairway from the upper floor is ajar. Once you’ve jammed it open, you and Anna make your way to the top. And please, as quietly as you can. When these guys reach the last escalator, Papi and I will high-tail it through the emergency exit and join you all on the roof. Questions?”
“What if they give chase?” Nadia seemed unconvinced.
“Trust me, they won’t,” Tom smirked. ”They will be very busy once they get down here.”
Realizing this was no time to address the finer points of their Hail-Mary move, Nadia just shrugged and checked her weapon.
“One minute to go. Amadou, Nadia, GO!” He needn’t have said.
The two were already sprinting over to the first-floor escalator. Anna looked pale and frightened, and Tom gave her as reassuring a hug as he could.
“We will be fine, my love,” He looked deep into her teary eyes. “Plus, nobody, and I mean nobody, messes with Mama here.”
He hugged her again and winked at Mama Samaki. Using her baton to prop open the door, Mama Samaki ushered her through the emergency exit and into the stairwell. Anna turned one last time and looked back at her dad.
“I love you,” Tom mouthed the words and blew his most precious a kiss, before racking his rifle and handing the Claymore to Papillon. “Let’s make this worth their while.”
The government agents kept time, and as soon as the hand on Tom’s watch ticked past the deadline, the microphone came back to live with eardrum-shattering volume.
“This is your last warning. Leave now, or we will be forced to deal with you as looters.”
“He has such a formal way of telling us we’re fucked,” Tom managed a tense grin.
They had positioned themselves on the second floor, flanking the two escalators that would facilitate their calculated retreat. A moment’s silence passed, and then the service door high above them flew open. The sound of hard boots on marble filled the air as a group of men fanned out along storefronts and took cover behind support pillars that interrupted the railing at regular intervals. Lying down behind the counter of a popcorn stand, Tom tried to get a headcount.
There were at least five, plus the man who had issued the warning. From the few details he had made out before ducking for cover, they wore fatigues and carried the army’s standard-issue G3 rifle. A powerful but antiquated assault rifle, it was unwieldy in enclosed environments, had less magazine capacity, and a lower rate of fire. Still, it was a fearsome weapon in the right hands, but going by what he had heard and seen, it was a lack of training that often let down most of the forces in this region.
Tom and Papillon waited as the soldiers yelled commands in Swahili, assessing their next course of action. A minute or two later, the men took the two escalators down to the next level without even bothering to check the emergency exits or nearby stores. These were regular troops, not trained in urban assaults, counter-terrorism, or even room clearing. Watching their haphazard approach, Tom began to wonder whether they were government troops at all or just some renegade band of ex-soldiers taking advantage of a power vacuum. Either way, whatever they were doing was playing right along with Tom’s plan.
Giving as much time as possible for the others to get into position, he and Papillon held their fire right until the soldiers descended towards the third floor. Once all of them were committed to the escalators, the two to fired and immediately ducked away onto the next set of escalators directly beneath. The soldiers unable to return fire with their long-barrelled weapons sprang into action. Leaping down the last few stairs, they immediately fanned out, taking up firing positions and letting off a volley of random shots, none of them even close to their intended targets.
Tom signalled for Papillon to ready the Claymore. One more floor and the real fight would begin. Patiently waiting for the troops’ next move, they both crouched behind a set of concrete planters sporting large plastic palm trees. In the absence of return fire, the soldiers again made their move. This time though, they staggered their descent, with three of them taking the first escalator on one side of their floor, while two of them covered them from the other side.
“Leapfrogging now. Clever bastards,” Tom smiled to himself. ”But not clever enough.”
Nodding to Papillon to provide covering fire, Tom sprinted over to the far end. Staying low, he slid to a stop just beneath the two soldiers covering their men’s descent. Papillon let off two short bursts, sending the soldiers on the escalator down onto its steel steps. Caged by the glass on either side, they crawled about like panicked crabs. The other two shooters, distracted by Papillon’s assault, didn’t get a chance to even take aim at Tom.
By the time he reached the escalator beneath them, their frustration was palpable. While the other soldiers clumsily still tried to crawl down to the next level, Papillon, bearing a wide grin, took a leisurely stroll over to where Tom was waiting. The two shooters on the floor directly above could do little but try to relocate to find a better angle. By the time they shot back, their rounds passed harmlessly above the Tom’s and Papillon’s heads. Two steps at a time, the two jumped down the last escalator. Tom nodded at Papillon. This had been a rather easy manoeuvre so far. But now that they had reached the ground floor, it would all have to come together. It was time to end it and get out.
Amadou jerked when the first rounds exploded with deafening thunder, shattering storefronts, and sending debris flying in all directions. Behind him, Nadia ducked next to a weight rack on display in the sporting goods store they were hiding in. They had seen the shadows of the men as they entered the top floor and, for a moment, thought their time was up when one of them took a greedy glance into the store. But much to their relief, none of them entered, nor paid further attention to the shop or its contents.
With the first shots fired and the soldiers’ sole focus on the shooters below them, it was time to make their move. With the agility and stealth of a cat, Amadou crept forward through the racks of designer clothes and equipment. Opening the entrance just enough to slip through, he immediately crawled right towards the service entrance. Nadia tried her best to mirror his well-rehearsed movements, equally staying as low as she could. Slowly opening the service entrance, the two slipped into the corridor leading to the roof stairwell. At the base of the stairs, Amadou silently indicated for Nadia to wait for his signal before proceeding. They were in his territory now, and he needed to do what he had learned to do most of his life. Sneak. Attack. Kill. Taking out rival leaders back in the Congo, the sequence engrained in muscle memory, it required little more thought than taking a breath. Nadia reluctantly complied, hiding b
ehind the metal stairwell as best as she could. She unholstered her pistol. If push came to shove, she would not stand idle-by. Amadou, seeing her take out her gun, cast her a contentious glance, only to be met by stern defiance. This was no time for argument. He shook his head and, within an instant, had silently disappeared up the stairwell.
A moment later, and he was at the door leading to the rooftop. Carefully placing an ear against it, he listened for a sign as to who or what was left behind to stay with the helicopter. There was nothing. He waited. Not a sound. Inside the mall, however, gunfire erupted once more, the noise traveling up through the atrium and reverberating around the building. Gently pushing on the rooftop exit, Amadou was relieved when it moved with relative ease. Fully expecting the first shot to come through at any moment, he cringed as opened it. First an inch, then two, then to a point where he could almost squeeze through. There was still no sound, no movement. Nothing to indicate anyone had taken an interest in it, let alone noticed his presence. Emboldened by the lack of response Amadou laid down on the floor and, rifle first, peeked through the opening.
Up ahead, less than 15 yards away, the large helicopter rested heavy on its skids, its chin-turret angled forward at the ground as if asleep. Behind the windshield, oblivious to his surrounds, the scrawny, white helmet-wearing pilot was busy reading a chart he had spread over the instrument panel below. This was definitely not the man that had addressed them and issued the threat. If he or anybody else was still on the rooftop, they were outside Amadou’s current angle of view.
Lizard-like and guided but by his memory of the roof’s layout, he quickly crawled through the opening and around the corner, immediately taking cover behind an enormous air conditioning unit. He scanned his surrounds, but apart from a few satellite dishes and a handful of HVAC units like the one he was hiding behind, the area was clear. This only left the Northern part of the roof, where the large dome-like skylight occupied most of the space. There would be no cover or concealment, no stealthy approach. This, he was acutely aware now, would have to be done the hard way.
Two stories below, a large woman huffed, trying to suppress her coughs as she sputtered and heaved her weight forward one stair at a time.
‘Too much stew, not enough walking.’ Mama ‘S’ quietly cussed, berating herself for having let herself go, her anger driving her on as much as her mission to protect Tom’s little girl.
Anna, following closely behind her, had begun helping by pushing against the large woman’s back.
“You can do it, Mama ‘S’!” Anna leaned into her. “It’s only two more sets of stairs!”
Sweat poured down Mama S' back and quickly soaked her tight-fitting tracksuit. They could hear the second round of gunfire just outside the exit they had just passed. By her reckoning, there would be maybe one or two more before Tom and Papillon would come darting up the stairs en route to the helicopter. She knew that they would not be in a position to wait for her. Finding her like this was not an option. She would either dig deep into the reserves she knew she possessed somewhere inside or get eaten alive by the dead who would soon flood the building. Do, or die trying. She straightened herself, wiped a river of sweat from face and neck, and turned around to Anna.
“Don’t you worry, dear. Leave it to Mama Samaki.”
And with, as Anna’s eyes grew wide in amazement, she pushed herself off the railing, took a giant step up the stairs, and continued chugging on with the steady determination of a steam engine.
Tom and Papillon were now at ground level, readying themselves for the final elements of their plan. They would try to channel the soldiers down one escalator only, the one furthest away from the emergency exit staircase and closest to the main entrance. One floor above, they could hear the men regroup and take cover, for what they, too, assumed would be their final push in flushing out the enemy.
Staying low behind the café furniture, Tom swiftly made his way over to the bottom of the escalator, placing the Claymore into one of the planters next to it and retreating with the detonator as quickly and quietly as he had approached. Careful not to let the wire snag on furniture, he rolled it out all the way back to the by now all-too-familiar counter of the coffee shop, where Papillon tried his best to keep his large frame out of sight. Outside the main entrance, the crowd of corpses was furious. Able to see movement inside the premises, but unable to get to their meal, the creatures tore each other apart in just to be the first in line. The doors rattled and bulged, but continued to hold.
“Ready for it?” Tom looked over at his partner in crime, and Papillon raised his rifle with a solemn nod.
They could hear footsteps on the marble floor directly above them. The soldiers were on the move again. The footsteps once again separated, with some going left and some going right in an effort to leapfrog down to the ground floor. Metallic clanks echoed through the lower mall as their respective groups reached the escalators on both sides and boots connected with steel.
“Darn. They are all coming down at the same time,” Tom cussed.
He had planned to attack one first and then the other, but, as he reminded himself, no plan ever survived first contact. They still had options. Detonating the Claymore before they had made it to the emergency exit was risky. Having to wait until the smoke cleared enough to get through would cost them precious seconds, not to mention the ball bearings and pieces of glass, steel, and concrete, which were going to head their way at bullet speed.
“Plan B!” Tom gave the command, and Papillon immediately shifted aim away from the escalator and towards the main entrance.
In tune with the soldiers' steps down the stairs, Tom counted down.
”Three. Two. One. Go!”
Amadou, having heard the last round of volleys ring out through the mall, knew they were once again out of time. He readied his rifle and stepped out from behind the large HVAC unit.
Now facing the northern side, the expanse of the roof seemed to stretch all the way to the horizon. In its middle, a basketball court-sized dome of glass took up most of the room while the rest was covered in in soot and gravel in all directions.
There, less than 15 meters in front of him, a man was leaning over the rounded glass of the skylight, looking into the abyss that was the mall’s atrium. His back turned towards Amadou, he, much like the pilot back at the helicopter, was oblivious to the Congolese’s presence. Amadou shifted his weight onto his back foot, his front foot searching for a clear piece of ground to continue his stealthy approach.
The gravel responded with a crunch. The man’s back stiffened, but he did not turn.
“You may think you have me, but if I were you, I’d think again.”
The man’s voice was just as menacing without the aid of the speaker. Amadou took careful aim but hesitated. The man, dressed in digital pattern army drab and a dark green beret, made no move to draw the pistol that hung holstered from his duty belt. Shooting him would solve one of their immediate problems, but what if Tom and Papillon found themselves outgunned and defeated? They could use the kind of bargaining chip this man, the commander of the troops down below, could provide. Amadou’s mind started racing. He took another couple of steps forward, all the while careful not to let his aim stray from the back of the man, who made no move to turn around and face his would-be assassin.
“You can kill me, but your men will not make it out alive. And neither will you.”
The man’s arrogant conviction began to grind at Amadou’s patience.
“If you lay down your weapons now, we will not hold your previous acts against you. We are civilized men, after all.”
Each one of the man’s words stung like acid, and Amadou’s finger hugged the trigger even firmer, increasing the pull ever so slightly.
“Civilized, huh?” He heard himself respond. “As civilized as you were towards the hundreds of thousands of people you annihilated today?” Amadou was seething with rage.
Nobody needed to tell him about what it meant to be civilized.
Sometimes you could know the very nature of a thing by intimately knowing its exact opposite. And he had lived his entire life on the other side of the coin of ‘civilized’ behaviour.
“You mistake me for one of these animals. But I assure you, I am not. My men and I are what others would call deserters. Although, personally, I find the term rather offensive.”
The man raised his arms and slowly turned, prompting Amadou to take renewed aim across the ironsights of his AK.
They now stood facing each other. Amadou cocked his head, inspecting his opponent. The man appeared to be in his 50s. Leathery skin, stretched tightly across bony features as black as Amadou had ever seen. Beneath the beret, a deep-set pair of beady, piercing eyes exuded a mix of detester and indignation. Amadou could see the man’s fingers twitching, yearning to draw his weapon.
“So you are looters then,” Amadou grinned. The man grimaced in response.
“We are free agents in a world that has been indelibly changed. Soldiers of fortune in a new world order that will be born from the death of the old.”
Amadou wanted to shake his head but remained steadfast in his aim. The man’s arrogance was only trumped by his delusion. He, as it were, had heard enough.
“Whatever you want to call yourself, you are here to loot. And according to someone I heard recently, looters by law are to be shot on sight.”
Amadou could feel his index finger on the trigger as it reached nearly full pressure.
“And,” he once more adjusted his aim, “I am looking at one right now.”
At this, the man reached for his gun. His eyes grew round and bright with disbelief as the round tore through his upper cheek, exiting the back of his skull in a bright red mist. His body stiffened, and he fell backward like a wooden board, landing atop the skylight with his eyes staring up into the grey sky. Amadou squeezed the trigger one more time, and the glass beneath the man’s body shattered, sending it hurtling into the mall below.
“You should not have done that.”
The Virophage Chronicles (Book 2): Dead Hemisphere [Keres Rising] Page 20
