Resistance (Nomad Book 3)

by Matthew Mather

  “Seen before,” Raffa said as they walked away, still struggling with the language. He swore softly in Italian as he tried to find the words. “Other families, more sickness, just like this.”

  “How many others?”

  Raffa shook his head. He didn’t understand.

  She spoke more slowly, pronouncing each word carefully: “How many…sick families?”

  Raffa set down his box, then held up two hands, displaying seven fingers.

  “Different tents?”

  He nodded, then picked the box back up. Concern creased his forehead, the same worry she felt, the thought going through her mind: was there some disease in the camp?

  When they arrived back at the clutch of shelters and tents that marked their small section of the encampment, she put the food parcels away and was about to duck inside the main shelter when she saw someone standing just to the side, waiting.

  “Ain Salah,” Jess said with surprise. “What are you doing here?”

  “May I come in?”

  “Of course.”

  He nodded with some uncertainty, then sat on one of the blankets. Hector ran over to him and seized him by the legs. Ain Salah knelt and took him in his arms. “I came to apologize. I didn’t offer you much of welcome.” He turned to Giovanni. “We had talked so frequently, I was ashamed to be so rude to you.”

  “I got the feeling it wasn’t your fault, Ain Salah.”

  He didn’t reply.

  “Why don’t you stay a while,” Giovanni said. “Eat with us?”

  “I would like that. I told them I was needed to make some adjustments to antennae located in a few of the irrigation areas. That was not true, so I have some time.”

  “What is it you do for the Zuwayya?” Ufuk asked. “What is it that goes on in that administration building?”

  Ain Salah tilted his head. “The oil is important. The Zuwayya control what oil fields remain operational across this region, and there are not many. They’re keen to retain control, but there are tribal groups to the south, in Chad and Sudan, with which the Zuwayya have been fighting for a long time, particularly during the civil war.”

  “You mean the Toubou?”

  “There are others beside the Toubou, but yes. As to my work, the Zuwayya feel communication within Al-Jawf, and eventually with the rest of Africa, is important. There are African Union representatives in other camps and surviving townships throughout Africa. Shaikh Faraj wishes to open trade negotiations with them. There are VHF receivers and transmitters, shortwave and CB. It’s my expertise, salvaging and operating equipment like this.”

  “Can you get us signed up to salvage duty? We have two trucks and we can defend ourselves. We could be useful to the Zuwayya.”

  “Ordinarily they will only allocate such duties to those they trust.”

  “Could you try? We could be useful to your people.”

  “The Zuwayya are not my people. I find myself here and I am useful to them because I have an education, but they do not trust me a great deal, as you have seen. Nor do they treat me as their equal. I am not one of theirs.”

  “Where is your family?” Jess asked. “Are they here with you?”

  The man’s face sagged at the question. “As with so many, the events of Nomad have…taken them away from me.”

  “They died?” Jess asked quietly.

  “They are alive.” Ani Salah’s face brightened. “I know that for a fact. We will be reunited soon. I hope.”

  Ain Salah’s face had delicate, fine-boned features—with dark brown eyes behind his heavy glasses—and a certain earnest innocence that seemed genuine. He didn’t look them in the eye as he spoke, but kept his eyes down, or looking out the opening of the shelter. Jess figured he afraid of those for whom he worked, of what the Zuwayya might think should they discover his presence here. Or perhaps it was simply who he was, his culture so different to hers.

  Her mind wandered to the image of the two children.

  “Is there sickness in the camp?” she asked Ain Salah.

  “There is, yes, but not cholera. Not even dysentery. It’s something we don’t understand yet. It doesn’t seem to be contagious.”

  “Nothing we should be worried about?”

  “As I said, it is not contagious.”

  That wasn’t reassuring.

  Jess decided to let it go at that, and question Raffa a little more about what he had seen and where, perhaps go and see it for herself. Having Ain Salah here benefitted them, with his contacts within the Zuwayya administration, but she couldn’t tear herself away from the thought that there might be an epidemic taking hold in the camp.

  Ain Salah told them he should leave, that his Zuwayya masters would soon be missing him. Ufuk walked him out to his car, and Jess made her way alone to the high dune border of the camp. She did this frequently, more from a desire for time alone than as part of any security measure.

  She spent some time there, perhaps an hour, trying to unravel the thoughts that had been troubling her. Was coming to Al-Jawf a mistake? Another in a long list of mistakes? This Zuwayya dictatorship reminded her of the Taliban regime in Afghanistan.

  And what was happening in the States? She first imagined places she had known as a child, now destroyed, or sheathed in ash and ice. Only later did she see places she had loved as an adult: New York, Chicago, Boston—what did they look like now? What was left of those once great cities and their people? Should she be working on getting back there? Or was Africa her home now?

  Chapter 14

  Al-Jawf, Libya

  Walking back from an inspection of the dune wall, Jess caught sight of Giovanni, running and shouting. She looked for Massarra and broke into a run. As she got closer, she heard Giovanni calling Hector’s name, over and over.

  “What’s happening?” she said as she caught up to Giovanni.

  “I can’t find Hector,” he said breathlessly. “I was doing some work in one of the shelters and I told him to stay in our tent. When I returned he was gone.”

  “I’ll take the eastern part of the camp. Jess can take the north. If we split up, we’ll cover more ground.”

  Jess ran through the camp, heart beating hard. Thoughts cascaded through her mind, memories of the child killed by the Zuwayya militia on the dune wall that night. She ran faster, ducking into shelters, ignoring startled and indignant cries.

  “I’m looking for a little boy. Have you seen a little boy?” She spoke the words each time, barely hearing them as they tumbled out.

  Two huddled shapes, tossing a ball to each other. Hope surged and Jess ran to them. She grabbed the first, spinning the figure round, but found the face of a girl. A cry came from behind her, a startled parent maybe, but she ignored it and searched the face of the second. Still not Hector. A woman wearing a burka confronted her, gesturing and shouting, her face tight with confusion and anger.

  “I’m looking for a little boy,” Jess said. “Have you seen a little boy?” She indicated the children beside her, then patted her chest. “My boy, have you seen him, please?”

  The woman’s eyes widened in understanding. If she couldn’t understand the words, what lay behind them was clear to her. The woman took her by the arm and began shouting to others in the camp.

  There came a clutch of negative responses, then something more positive. More gestures to a tent.

  Jess found him sitting inside, playing with a girl his age. She ran over and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Where have you been?”

  He looked sullenly at the ground. “I was bored.”

  “We’ve been looking all over the camp for you. You can’t just run off.”

  “He won’t let me out of his sight for more than a few minutes,” Hector said, his voice shaking. “I have to stay in the tent. I have nothing to do. No friends. Even Raffa doesn’t want to play with me, and you are always busy.”

  “We don’t know if it’s safe—”

  “I am not a child anymore. I can look after myself.”

&nb
sp; Jess realized this small conversation was more words than she’d shared with Hector in longer than she could remember. Poor kid. But his English was improving dramatically. She pulled him into her chest. “I know you can, Hector. You’re a big boy now, I can see that.” She tried to calm herself. “Why don’t I talk to Giovanni? See if maybe we can get him to ease up a little?”

  Hector nodded and hugged her back.

  She took him back to their shelter and left Hector there, instructing him to wait, then went looking for Giovanni. He was furious.

  “Shouting at him is not going to get you anywhere,” she said.

  “Someone needs to act as a father for him—”

  “And you’ve done that, but he needs to get out. Let me take him to the town. We can’t keep him in forever.”

  “It’s too dangerous.”

  “Just to the market and back. He’s going crazy cooped up in camp.”

  Giovanni looked away.

  “He needs some normality,” she said. “Terrifying weeks on the run, then we get Sanctuary, and then that’s taken away, too. No parents. If I were him, I’d be catatonic by now, but he’s been great. Barely complaining, always there for us. If he wants to get out, I’m going to take him out.”

  Jess didn’t leave much room for negotiation.

  Giovanni took a deep breath. “Okay, but take care of him.”

  “Of course.”

  They took one of the pickups into town. Jess tucked a pistol tucked into her waistband, hidden by the folds of her coats and many layers against the cold. She tensed as they went through the checkpoint into the center of town, but they waved her through. She took him to the main market, and got out of the pickup to weave their way in and out of the crowds. He smiled and held her hand tight—perhaps, she hoped, with excitement rather than fear.

  Window-shopping in a post-apocalyptic African village.

  Jess managed to find a tiny bit of humor as they dallied in front of one stall and then the next. Hector found some baskets, battered and rusted, then squealed as he found some small toy cars and a plastic helicopter. Likely Hector had outgrown such things, but he took them anyway, giving her a broad smile and a tight hug as she bartered for them, offering her silk scarf in return. It wasn’t much use for keeping warm anyway. He played with his new toy as they walked, running it through the air as though it were flying.

  Beneath one of the balconies above the market, Jess caught someone watching them who abruptly turned away. It wasn’t unusual here, to be watched, but something about it caught her attention. An inexplicable feeling followed, deep in her stomach. Afghanistan had taught her not to ignore those instincts, to listen to the quiet voices that saw in the shadows.

  “Hector, let’s go see some more of the town. How about a little walk around? Maybe we can find another toy at one of the markets?”

  The boy smiled and nodded.

  Through the chaotic streets she led him, hoping he didn’t sense the urgency in her movements. Desperate for him not to notice the stolen glances over her shoulder and at the dusty glass of nearby windows. As time stretched she became certain of it. They were being followed, and not just by the woman, but others too. She looked for people who moved when she did, stopped when she did.

  Jess quickened her pace. Hector looked up, and she tried to offer him the reassurance of a smile, but he knew better.

  They were converging on her and Hector now, several men and women. Ghosts whispering through the crowd. A press of the crowd swallowed them. Someone jostled her. She grabbed her pistol, but lost her grip on Hector.

  He screamed.

  Then another scream, but this time from a woman in a burkha, just beside Jess. For a moment, Jess didn’t understand, then she saw the woman pointing at the pistol. Jess ignored it, pushing people aside.

  She caught sight of Hector through the throng, just as a man reached for her and tried to grab the pistol. He said something, shouted, anger etched in his voice and face. She tried to push him aside but something kicked her legs away. Her prosthetic limb dislodged. She nearly fell, but caught herself on one knee.

  She couldn’t see Hector anymore and did the only thing she could think of—raised her pistol and fired twice into the air.

  The crowd acted almost as one, an ocean of surprised faces that huddled low instinctively. Jess kept the gun out, waving it at anyone who came close. She couldn’t see the men and women who had been following her, but she couldn’t see Hector either.

  She searched frantically, calling his name. Again and again, shouting until she was hoarse. She tried to ignore the jackknifing pain of misaligned nerve-endings and whatever had hit her hard enough to dislodge the prosthetic.

  She saw him.

  Tears on his face, one hand still holding the helicopter, the other waving to her. Not far, just a few feet. Beneath a balcony. She reached him, stumbling, pistol still drawn.

  “They were going for Hector,” Jess said. “I have no doubt of that.”

  They were all sitting in the main shelter as sleet rain slicked against the roof. The place that had become their dining room and living space, a communal area where they could gather and seek comfort in companionship. Yet the mood had changed. A deeper tension clung to them, thick with the anticipation of a new threat. They sat on rolled out rugs and camp chairs, on boxes and crates. No one ate because no one had any appetite. Hector sat in the middle, next to Giovanni, still shaken but trying to offer a brave face.

  “I said not to take him into the town. So far, we’ve kept him hidden,” Ufuk said as he completed the final checks on the work he had done to refit Jess’s prosthetic. “He could be seen as our weakness. Perhaps they’ve been waiting.”

  “Who is they?” Giovanni asked.

  “Perhaps Mossad,” Massarra ventured.

  Giovanni frowned before replying: “Israeli intelligence? Does that even exist anymore? Why would they want to snatch Hector?”

  “As leverage over us.”

  “Why would Israeli spies want anything with us?”

  Ufuk inserted himself between them. “I think Massarra is making a wild guess, but she is right. There are people watching us. Who are scared of us.”

  “Perhaps Jess was right before,” Giovanni sputtered. “Perhaps we are better off separating. I think maybe people are watching you.”

  “We are stronger together,” Massarra said.

  Silence.

  “You must all see that the world is at war,” Ufuk said quietly. “A war for survival, for the scarce resources this planet still possesses. And those, like Müller, who want to control what is left. He started the narrative before Nomad, about Islamic extremists destroying Rome, and Jessica’s father for keeping Nomad a secret.”

  “Do you think anyone still believes that?” Jessica said quietly.

  “Nobody knows what to believe, but every war needs an enemy. Every knight needs a dragon. Müller placed himself in a position where he can be the savior.”

  “I’m not trying to stop him anymore. I’m just trying to survive.”

  “But we cannot let him gain primacy,” Ufuk continued. “Don’t you see that? His next step will be to control resources, the rest of the Sanctuary system, perhaps smaller networks like the Vivas bunkers. He’ll see Kufra and places like it as opportunities.”

  “He’s thousands of miles away. He’s got other things to think about than a shanty town in the middle of a desert.”

  “You think a man like Müller would ignore a place like this?”

  “I think you have a bit of a fixation.”

  Ufuk stood. “Perhaps we need some time to think. If you would prefer to do things your own way, I cannot stop you. We would be better working together, but that’s a decision you need to come to by yourselves. I can’t influence you any further.”

  He turned and left the shelter.

  Chapter 15

  Al-Jawf, Libya

  “Jessica, wake up. Something is happening.”

  “Huh?”


  She opened her eyes just in time to see Ufuk scamper out of her tent.

  Already awake, Jess was only pretending to sleep. Or wishing that sleep would come. Each morning she awoke with the first touch of light, usually after a restless night. Always the same questions: Was she doing the right thing? Could she trust Ufuk? Was this place really a home for Giovanni and Hector, and Raffa?

  At nights she watched Massarra and Ufuk in quiet conversation together, away from the camp. Ufuk spent much of the rest of the time on his tablet, or tinkering with electronics. He always took time every day to play games on the tablets with Hector, but maybe just to ingratiate himself with Jess. Whatever the reason, she appreciated it. Ain Salah’s visits became more frequent, and Ufuk would talk to him about the communications network the Zuwayya were trying to create.

  Jess blinked and rubbed her eyes. “Ufuk?”

  She jumped up from her sleeping mat and stuck her head out of the tent, but Ufuk was nowhere to be seen. Massarra wasn’t in the tent either, but then Massarra had taken to driving into Al-Jawf early and late each day, spending several hours there at a time. She wouldn’t elaborate on what she was doing except to say her she watched for telltale signs of surveillance to figure out who was watching them.

  Spy stuff. The Israeli seemed to relish it.

  After scanning the immediate area and calling out again, Jess returned to the tent and picked up the radio handset. She tuned to the channel Ufuk had set up for them, but she was surprised when it hissed to life by itself. Massarra’s voice crackled with interference. A dull thud echoed in the distance.

  “I can hardly make you out,” Jess said into the handset.