by Mainak Dhar
She blew out the candle and cut a big slice that she placed on a plate and kept it where Imran would have once wolfed it down in a few bites. She took a small slice herself and whispered.
'Happy birthday, darling.'
Tonight, as had been the case for more than a dozen years, Hina ate alone. Also, as had been the case all those years, the table had been set for four. One for Imran, the love of her life, who had been taken from her by a heart attack; and two for her children, now in distant America, with lives and families of her own. Arranging plates for them served to remind her of a family that had once been, and yes, also made her feel less lonely.
She finished eating and then booted up her Macbook Air. She was a sixty five year old Professor of History, but when it came to technology, she was not a second behind any of her students. She surfed the Net for some time, and tiring of reading more gloom and doom about the Afghan Flu, she began to write.
This was normally the one time of day when Hina really felt all her worries lifting. When it was just her and her imagination, and of course her trusty keyboard, over which her fingers were now flying, almost as fast as the ideas coursing through her head. This was also her little secret. Hina Rahman, stern History professor by day, was also the worldwide bestselling author of a number of historical romances, which had been praised for their writing quality and historical authenticity and in equal measure loved and hated for their explicit content. Of course, nobody who knew solid, dependable Ms. Rahman would guess her capable of it as she wrote under a pen name, Alice Flowers. Alice had been the name of her favourite school teacher who had first encouraged her to write; and Flower was the literal translation of her Urdu name.
However tonight her mind was not really on her writing. She kept thinking of Rumana, her daughter in Boston and Said, her son in New York. With the infection spreading so fast, she hoped they and their families were okay. She saved her work and then got up to call them to check, but then realized it would be early morning for them. So she brought up the browser and checked CNN.com. There was a lot of breaking news and none of it was good.
'Doctors say fatal levels of radiation and toxins found in blood of infection victims.'
'Fifty thousand infected worldwide.'
And then she saw a scrolling line that sent a shiver down her spine.
'All contact with Kabul and Peshawar lost. Last reports speak of hordes of Afghan Flu victims going on a rampage as the Sun set.'
Her children would not answer their phones, and she tried to sleep, knowing she had an early lecture to deliver the next morning. However, sleep eluded her. All night, she heard the sounds of police and ambulance sirens outside.
Could it really have spread to Delhi so fast?
Finally at six in the morning, she got up and turned on the TV. The night had been of a kind that Asia had never seen before. As soon as the Sun set, hundreds of infected people across countries in Asia had seemingly died and then come alive and attacked anyone in sight. The number of new patients was in the tens of thousands. Some of the original attackers had been caught and quarantined, but the vast majority had just slipped away at daybreak, not to be seen again. Tens of thousands of victims were in hospital, with no apparent cure and the authorities at a total loss as to what to do with them. If the cycle started at Sunset, as many were now guessing, she wondered what the next night would bring.
Then a thought struck her. The Sun was just setting in the United States. She turned to CNN and watched the images in horror. Whole cities were burning, and the streets were full of infection victims on the rampage. Through the camera of a news helicopter, she got her first look at them, and her blood froze. It was a large mob, moving in a stiff gait, and as the camera zoomed in, she saw that they were yellowed in color, and covered in filth and blood. For some inexplicable reason, they all wore black turbans. And then, they ran at dizzying speed, more like a pack of animals than men, at a group of people huddled inside a Starbucks. The camera mercifully panned away as they reached their victims. BBC showed that other parts of the world were no different and the reporters looked too scared to really be credible bearers of news. She was sure of that when a young BBC reporter said that the government had called the Army onto the streets, but soldiers had told her that their bullets had no effect on the mobs. The reporter said, with wide eyes, that after taking several bullets, the infected would just get up and resume their crazed attacks.
Then the channels started going off the air.
***
Mayukh reached the breakfast table to see an emotion he had never seen before on his father's face-fear. A career bureaucrat in the Home Ministry, the elder Ghosh was used to wielding power and influence, not feeling powerless. Yet, this morning, he listlessly stirred his bowl of cereal, bloodshot eyes looking at the TV set. Mayukh had spent the evening playing World of Warcraft online and then listening to music. He had no idea of the chaos that was slowly but surely intruding upon his world.
'Dad, are you unwell or something?'
Being in front of his son restored some of his father's courage and he tried to compose himself.
'No, Mayukh, I just didn't sleep much last night. I was on the phone almost all night.'
Mayukh knew his father had a busy job, but even by his standards, it was unusual for him to be up all night working. His mother entered the room, and Mayukh saw that she also looked like she was on the verge of a breakdown. That's when he noticed the Breaking News scrolling across the TV screen. He digested it all in silence for about five minutes, taking in what was supposedly happening around the world. He saw the pictures and heard the words, but his mind refused to believe it. He turned to his father, seeking reassurance.
'Dad, most of the Indian news channels are full of crap anyways. Let's turn on CNN or something.'
Before his father could say anything, Mayukh had flipped the channel to CNN and then BBC. Both channels were off air, and instead of the usual programming, there was a multi-colored screen showing nothing but the three words 'Emergency Broadcast System.' Mayukh's father took the remote from him.
'All the Western channels have been off air since it all began last night. We know the US President is still alive and safe, and managed to fly out on Air Force One, but have no idea what's happened to the rest of their governments. Nobody is responding to our questions.'
Mayukh just looked at his father blankly. Stuff like this only happened in the movies, didn't it? Surely there was a misunderstanding somewhere. He began to sputter out some objection when his father silenced him.
'Mayukh, listen to me. I have to go to work. Whatever has taken the West will be upon us as soon as the Sun sets.'
Mayukh heard his mother break out into sobs.
'But Dad, why can't you just stay with us?'
His father gripped Mayukh hard around the shoulders and forced him to look into his eyes.
'You are not listening. If the US and Britain have fallen, we don't have much of a chance. Still, I have a responsibility to perform. If our government just folds up and runs, who will at least try and maintain some order?'
His mother was now bawling uncontrollably as his father continued.
'Mayukh, I know this is going to be tough for you, but this is the day when you need to stop being a boy and become a man. I will be gone, and I don't know when I will see you again, but you need to hold it together for yourself and your mother. Now come with me.'
He took hold of Mayukh's shaking hand and led him into his study. Mayukh may have looked tall and strong, but he was petrified and on the verge of tears. His father opened a safe in the wall and took out a small bag from it. Mayukh knew what was in it, and that recognition only made his fear worse. His father took out what was in the bag and placed it in Mayukh's palm. It was his father's personal licensed weapon. His father's eyes also looked to be tearing up, but he tried to be strong to try and ensure his son did not lose courage. Mayukh was old enough to realize this, and he cried out aloud, knowing that his life was
about to change forever. His father's voice was now soft, like it had been when he used to read stories to Mayukh when he had been younger.
'Son, remember what this is? Tell me. I need to hear it from you. Tell me everything you know about it.'
'It's a Smith & Wesson Bodyguard 380. Weight 335 grams, holds 7 rounds in its clip. And I can still outshoot you on the range.'
His father smiled, and held Mayukh close. He realized his son was trying in turn to give him courage. They sat together for some time, father and son's hands in each other's and on the small, black handgun. Mayukh's father had been a national level shooter before he joined the government, and being in the Police Service, had continued to have ample opportunities to indulge in his passion for shooting. That was one passion he and Mayukh had shared. Mayukh had been a natural shooter, with instincts that could never be taught, but he never had the discipline to compete, much to his father's disappointment. Today, however, he was just grateful his father had taught him how to shoot. Then, something struck him.
'Dad, my carrying this weapon is illegal, isn't it? And you being a cop and all, won't you get into trouble?'
His father smiled a tired smile.
'I suspect that will be least of our worries. Remember, keep it well hidden and while I have four full clips and enough rounds for ten refills, don't fire unless you or your mother are under immediate danger. Understand?'
'Now, son I have to go. Be the man I always dreamed you would be.'
With those words, his father left. A few minutes later, Mayukh's mother walked in, and for all the times he had hated her for disciplining him, today he just hugged her close and cried like a baby.
After she had seemingly cried herself dry, his mother took charge. Mayukh had never seen her like this, and her determination and clarity of thinking galvanized him into action.
'Mayukh, we need to stock up on food. God knows how long this will go on, so we need to be ready. Take the car and get as much canned food and bottled water as you can find. Go now while I prepare the house.'
It never occurred to Mayukh that while he had literally pleaded with his parents in vain for months to be given a chance at driving their car, here the keys were being literally handed to him. When he drove out of their government colony, he began to see that they were not the only ones preparing for what was to come. Many of the stores were packed with people and here and there, frayed tempers had led to fights. Not fancying his chances there, he had an idea and drove to his usual store where he bought cigarettes. The shopkeeper, a fat old man whose name he had never asked, had his radio held close to his ears. He looked up at Mayukh as he came.
'Take what you want and go. Better an old customer than being looted by strangers.'
Mayukh didn't know what he was talking about but then saw smoke rising from some of the stores he had passed. He passed over a thick wad of cash to the disbelieving man. His small convenience store didn't have much by way of canned food, but had lots of chips, cookies, juices and bottled water-all of which would last a long while. Mayukh took as much as he could fit in the boot of his car and then drove back home. He was about to enter the colony when the windshield shattered, showering him with glass fragments. He flinched and almost crashed his car, recovering just in time to steer the car through the gate. He could see several people outside, no doubt envious at the relative security the government colony with its guards and high gates would provide. He wondered if any of that would be enough to be able to weather the coming storm.
***
David clutched his rifle and held his breath, aware that his hunters would give him no quarter if they got the slightest hint that he had got away. He could hear moaning and screaming all around him, and above all else, the shuffling noises of the hunters on the prowl. He tried to shake the idea out of his mind that two of them had till a few hours ago been men he would have trusted his life with. He closed his eyes, shrinking further behind the ammunition boxes where he had wedged himself. He kept thinking of Rose, to whom he had proposed just before this deployment. All he wanted to do was to be able to get back to her.
It had all started as soon as the Sun had set. David had brought back Mike and Rob after the attack in the hills the previous day. With both of them in excruciating pain, it had taken them four hours to get back, and during that time, David had been horrified at the changes the two men had gone through. Both had lost hair, and were bleeding from open sores, and their skin was beginning to turn yellow. He had barely slept that night, as at least five more victims of similar attacks came in from patrols across the province. The medics had been unable to do much for them, and the Ranger commander had already decided that the next morning, they were to be flown out. David had been in his cabin in the evening when he was told that Mike was asking for him. It had been just before Sunset and when he reached him, he found the once rugged CIA officer looking like a ghost of his former self. His teeth seemed crooked and his skin was yellow. The sores on his body gave off a terrible stench as did the vomit that covered the floor. David saw that the young medic attending to him was shaking. David had seen a lot of blood and killing, but he had never seen anything like this before.
Mike seemed to be calling him closer to say something but then arched his back and screamed as if he were in extreme pain. Two medics tried to hold him down in vain and then as suddenly as he had screamed, he fell back limply on the bed. David watched as the medics turned to him sadly and told him Mike was no more. David stumbled out of the cabin, dazed by what he had seen when he bumped into another medic who told him that all seven men who had been infected were dead.
Then the horror began.
SEAL warrior or not, nothing had prepared David for what followed. There was the constant din of guns firing, and of soldiers screaming as the seven men tore into those who had been their colleagues and buddies. Initially unable to fire on those who had been friends, David had finally unloaded a full magazine into one of the rampaging Rangers, but then realized what all the other soldiers at the base were realizing. These creatures that their friends had transformed into could not be killed by bullets. Then he did what he had to do to survive. He hid as the frenzied attack continued all around him. A bizarre detail David remembered was that in the midst of all the carnage, the infected men had stopped when they could to tie crude black turbans around their heads.
He saw a sliver of gold next to him, which soon grew into a broad beam of light as the Sun rose. He realized then that the attacks had stopped. But it was far from quiet. All around him, he heard the sounds of wounded men. He stepped out from his cover and found a scene straight out of Hell. Wounded American soldiers littered the base, all bleeding from bites to their bodies. One or two who had presumably tried to fight back the hardest were dead. One of the dead was the Ranger commander. The man had dwarfed any of the other men at the base, but he was now lying on the ground, his neck snapped, his body tossed away like a rag doll.
David leaned against a wall for support when he saw Dan lying on the ground, bleeding from several bites. His old friend was looking at him, pleading for help. But after what he had just seen, David knew there was nothing he could do to help him.
He entered the Comms room, and tried to radio for help. He then realized that their base was hardly the only one to be hit. Bases across Afghanistan had been attacked, and there were reports of mobs of infected people attacking thousands of victims in Kabul and other cities. Wounded men on board US Navy ships off Afghanistan had also gone on the rampage, wounding dozens. He could hear one of the voices on the radio, stammering in fear and confusion.
'Man, it was like being in a zombie movie.'
David turned off the radio, realizing that everyone was too shell-shocked and had problems enough of their own to be able to help him. He did radio in a situation report, asking for medics to come in and care for the wounded men at the base.
That was when he got the one sliver of hope he received that morning. Someone from on board the USS Kearsage, t
he command ship for the Special Operations forces in Afghanistan, spoke up.
'Soldier, everyone's in a world of pain, and I don't know how much we can do for you but we are sending choppers out to get folks like you to safety in Pakistan. Be there by Sunset.'
David noted down the coordinates. It was a good twenty mile hike. He could easily make it there by Sunset, but not knowing what to expect along the way, he took his time preparing. He stuffed his pack with MREs. Many new soldiers hated the Meals Ready to Eat packs, but David had learnt, if not to like them, then to accept them as inevitable. He took as many extra clips for his M4 assault rifle as he could, and then he set out for his journey to the extraction point.
At the best of times, this part of Afghanistan presented a bleak landscape, but today what made it infinitely worse was the presence of injured and bleeding people littered around the roads. Clearly the American bases had not been the only places to be attacked the previous night, and David shuddered as he wondered what was to come when the Sun set again. The Americans could at least try to quarantine the injured soldiers, but for these villagers, there was nothing to be done.
What was eerie was the total absence of the infected people who had gone on the rampage the previous night. They had seemingly disappeared though more than once David got a feeling that hidden eyes were watching him. Once, while passing an abandoned village, he took out his M4 and was about to go into a hut where he was sure someone was watching him. But then, remembering the events of the previous night, he decided discretion was the better part of valour and continued on his journey.
Even with the weight he has carrying, he reached the extraction zone by four in the evening. He radioed his position and then sat on a nearby perch, his weapon at the ready. At five, a pick-up truck rumbled into view. David's senses went into overdrive. The black turbaned men riding on the back, carrying AK-47s and RPGs could be nothing other than Taliban warriors on patrol. There must have been at least six of them, and David knew that sitting in the open, he would be a sitting duck. Even then, he was not going to go down without a fight. In less than a second, he had his gun's safety off and the M4 was tracking the cab of the truck. He was about to pull the trigger when the truck stopped less than fifty meters away, and he saw that the Taliban were making no move to attack him. One of them got down and looked at him. David put his rifle down when he realized that the Taliban were not looking to attack him. If anything, they looked terrified. The man looking at him simply pointed to the Sun and then they were on their way.
