by Michael Bray
The claustrophobic walls of the slums gave way to the rubbish-strewn banks of the river. The stench of the filthy water was almost overpowering, a smell that instantly triggered memories from her childhood. She couldn’t forget that stench. It had ingrained into her skin and even after leaving Mumbai for pastures new, it seemed to linger, somehow in her skin no matter how often she washed or tried to scrub it away. She watched from the bank as children who knew no better played in the rancid water which was in truth little more than an open sewer filled with human waste. It was little wonder disease was so rife. She approached the edge of the water walking through ankle high rubbish at its edge and disturbing mosquitoes and rats alike.
She pushed her jet black hair out of her eyes and slung her backpack off her shoulder. Inside were bottles of clean water and bread.
"Children, come here," She said, holding the bread and water up for them to see. She knew most of the children were orphans, either through abandonment or due to the death of their parents. As she had arrived back in the city she had seen them sleeping on the ground and in gutters, devoid of anything which might resemble pride. They flocked to her, eyes wide, grins plastered onto their emaciated faces. There wasn't enough for them all, it was impossible. She had only six bottles of water and there were twelve children.
"Share it around, share it around," she said as she handed the water to the children.
The ones who didn't grab the bottles were grabbing at those who did, desperate to get a taste.
"Hey, share it," Suvari said in the native tongue. "If you don't, you won't get any bread."
That seemed to do the trick, and she waited until all of them had taken a sip.
"Oaky, now the bread," She said as she began to tear chunks from the loaves and hand them to the hungry children.
She waited as they ate, feeling both elated and sad as she looked across the river. In the distance, through the perpetual shroud of low hanging pollution, she could see the tower blocks of the city. Although the Dhavari slums were right in the middle of India's financial capital, it was a place forgotten and ignored a place –
Her thoughts were broken by the flash of light across the water. The rumble of the explosion followed seconds later and she watched as a black edged fireball rose into the sky from between the tall buildings of the city chased by a thick plume of black smoke. She was starting to wonder if it was some kind of traffic accident or some other explainable occurrence when two other similar explosions happened within seconds of each other in different parts of the skyscape, and a fourth from behind, somewhere out of sight beyond the slums. Rolling across the still air, she could hear the steady chatter of gunfire, which was enough for her to know something was desperately wrong.
"Go, home to your families," she said to the children. A few did as they were told, running into the maze of hovel like homes, the rest stayed, watching Suvari, waiting for her to do something. She could tell by their dishevelled appearance these were the kind of children who had no homes or families – the type who were forced to live on the streets and faced an uphill fight every day to survive. There were six of them in total and although she wasn't sure where it came from, she felt an overwhelming desire to look after them.
"Come with me," she said to the children. “I’ll get you to a safe place."
Another explosion, this one much closer rattled the earth and Suvari felt a tiny, dirty hand grasp hers in fear.
"Come on, this way," she said, fighting the urge to run as she walked back the way she had come, leading the children away from the river. She met people coming in the opposite direction, curious faces interested to see what the commotion was. Two more unseen explosions rattled the city, and the people gasped. She looked over her shoulder just as one of the tower blocks on the horizon collapsed, throwing a huge cloud of concrete dust into the air. With increased urgency, she turned her attention back to the narrow streets and tried to push against the flow of people who were all now trying to get to the river for a closer look at what was happening. Suvari led the children through winding side streets, hoping they were still following and at the same time having no clue where she was even leading them. She had come to the slums via bus and had no transport of her own.
Another explosion erupted, this time uncomfortably close. Now those who were curious at the riverbank were unsure, and some were starting to double back, causing a bottleneck in the narrow streets. Suvari led the children towards one of the main thoroughfares through the slum. Dubbed ' 90 feet road' so named because of its alleged width (although most residents knew the neighbouring '60 feet road’ was actually wider). Here the noise was deafening, the street gridlocked with battered taxis trying to bully their way through traffic to reach their destination. Horns honked, and the air was filled with acrid black smoke spewed from sick sounding exhausts. She had hoped to find transport out of the slum from here, an idea which was quickly abandoned. She heard another dull explosion, although amid the constant drone of shouting, revving engines and honking horns it was barely audible. She saw their opportunity, a rusty flatbed truck idling by the side of the road, its driver leaning against the cab and smoking as he watched the traffic crawl by. She ushered the children to the back of the pale blue vehicle and started to help them inside.
"Hey, what are you doing?" The driver said. He was old and leathery, with a thick moustache, hard eyes and crooked yellow teeth.
"Please, you have to take us out of the city," She said, not stopping as she helped the children into the truck.
"No, I’m not a taxi. I can’t help you." He replied, then leaned inside the truck. "Come on, out of there," He barked, reaching for the child nearest him.
Before she could help herself she grabbed his wrist.
"No," she said, wondering if she had finally overstepped the mark. "Please, help us," She added, pressing a handful of money into his hand.
The man looked at the money, then at the children and back to Suvari.
"Where do you want to go?"
"Just get us out of the city.” As she said it, there was another explosion, this time, close enough to shake the buildings of the slums. The people were now starting to spill onto the street, and Suavari saw a flicker of understanding in the man’s eyes.
"Okay, come on," he said, helping the last of the children into the back of the truck.
Suvari went to the passenger side and was about to climb in when the man hurried around to where she stood.
"Wait a moment," he said, opening the door. The foot well and seat was covered in food wrappers and other assorted garbage which looked to have been accumulated over the years. The man scooped it out onto the street and then turned to her with an apologetic shrug.
"Sorry, I’m used to travelling alone."
She climbed into the truck, desperate now to be anywhere but there. She could see arguments breaking out as desperate people tried to find someone to give them a ride to somewhere safe. She could sense how things were just a hair away from spilling into chaos, and she didn’t want to be there when it happened.
The owner of the truck climbed into the driver’s side, cigarette jammed into the corner of his mouth. She thought it would be an absolute miracle if the truck even started, let alone was able to get them out of the city. Heated arguments were taking place all around them as those who had seen what was happening across the river grew increasingly desperate to flee. Some had already given up on securing a vehicle and were running, which in turn caused more confusion as people started to wonder what was happening.
"We need to hurry," Suvari said to the driver.
"Yes yes, just a second," he replied, taking a last drag of his cigarette and tossing it out of the window. He turned the key, and to Suvari’s elation and surprise, the truck sputtered to life at the first attempt. It sounded sick, but it was running. The gearbox groaned as the man found drive and inched them forward into the slow flow of traffic.
"What's your name?" he asked as he squeezed past a shirtless man on
a scooter.
"Suvari."
"I’m Rakesh," the man replied as they picked up a little speed.
The panic was palpable now, and more explosions came from the city. More disturbing still was the rattle of gunfire which seemed to be closer than ever.
"We need to go faster," She said, glancing at the older man in profile as he concentrated on the road.
"This is as fast as I can go in this traffic. What's happening in the city?"
"I’m not sure. I saw explosions and one of the tower blocks collapsed."
"Let me see if I can get something on the radio," He said as he narrowly avoided hitting a group of teens as they ran out in front of the truck. Cursing under his breath, he let them pass and turned up the volume on the radio, filling the cab with static.
"Broken?" Suvari asked.
"No," the man replied, frowning at the display. "That should be the radio station."
"What do you mean?"
"It’s gone. Whatever has happened, the radio isn’t broadcasting."
They sat quietly for few moments as they inched through the traffic.
"I think we need to get as far away from the city as we can," Suvari said as she looked at the increasing panic which was all around them.
"Yes, I agree," Rakesh replied. They broke free of the bulk of traffic and were, at last, able to pick up a little speed. As the landscape of slums rolled away, they were able to see the city and for the first time the full scale of the problem. The skyline of Mumbai was alive with multiple fires and thick plumes of smoke rising into the sky. Rakesh sucked air through his teeth as he watched another tower block crumble and implode.
"Terrorists?" He said as they navigated the traffic.
"I don’t know."
"We need to get out of here," he replied, picking up speed.
"We can’t go too fast. Remember the children."
"What's that up ahead?" Rakesh said, squinting through the filthy windshield to try and get a better look.
At the end of the street, a rough roadblock of sorts had been erected, and armed men with crew cuts and black tactical uniforms were pulling people out of their cars to question. The driver at the head of the crew was arguing his case to the man, who looked completely unimpressed.
"I don’t like this," Suvari whispered.
"Nor do I," Rakesh muttered, joining the line and putting the car into park. They watched as the man at the head of the line was ordered to pull off to the side and let the others through. Reluctantly, he did as he was told, letting the next car approach the checkpoint.
"Is it some kind of military coup?" Rakesh said, keeping a close eye on the conversation at the roadside between the driver and the black clad soldier. The soldier wore a plastic grin and nodded as the driver spoke and gesticulated.
Suvari couldn’t shake the swirling butterfly feeling in her stomach. Every instinct screamed at her to get away from these people, and she realised she feared them more than the explosions in the city. As she watched, more men clad in black started to line up behind the roadblock, all armed, all watching the snake of cars shimmering in the sunlight with apathy. There were just five vehicles ahead of theirs before they would reach the head of the line. She had no identification with her. No paperwork to say who she was or why she was there. How would she explain the truck full of children to them?
The answer came to her immediately, and it was one she had tried to deny for the last few minutes.
They don’t intend to let anyone go.
It all clicked into place then. The roadblock wasn’t to process people or to check their identification. It was to stop them from leaving until the rest of the black-clad men were in a position to open fire.
"Drive," she whispered, the words so quiet they barely left her lips.
Rakesh didn’t hear her. He was staring at the argument by the side of the road, which was growing more and more heated from the driver’s side. The man in black was still wearing the same Cheshire cat grin as he listened without reacting.
"Drive," she said again. This time forcing the words out.
"What was that?" Rakesh asked, turning his head towards her but keeping his eyes on the argument.
"I said drive!" she croaked.
"Drive where? Where can I go?"
"Anywhere. It isn’t safe here, it-"
Glass exploded from the passenger side window showering Suvari with broken pieces. The truck rocked on its tired old suspension as another car - presumably one from further back in the line - had also realised they were all queuing up to wait for their deaths. The rusty red Fiesta scraped down the side of Rakesh's truck, clipping the wing mirror and knocking it off as he snaked towards the front of the roadblock.
"Hey! What the hell?" Rakesh said as the red Fiesta picked up speed.
Suvari watched as if she were somehow outside her own body, hands trembling on her glass covered lap as she looked on in half fear, half curiosity to see what the men in black would do. Her answer came just seconds later.
As if they were some kind of synchronised swim team, the men behind the roadblock lifted their automatic weapons as one and started to fire at the car.
Screams.
Chaos.
Confusion.
All words which barely scratched the surface of how Suvari felt. Something in her forced her to react. Maybe it was the survival instinct which helped her to escape the slums in the first place, or perhaps some other unexplainable thing. She threw herself into the foot well of the truck, covering her head as bullets tore through the air. Glass exploded all around her. Something warm and wet hit her on the back. She glanced up to see Rakesh, limp in his seat, the top portion of his head missing where the bullet had hit him full in the face.
The children.
The children.
The children.
It was all she could think about. She couldn’t hear them in the back of the truck, and hoped the reason was simply because of the sheer volume of everything else that was going on around her. Something happened then. Something in her mind clicked and the fear was gone. She crawled over the foot well, ignoring the hair, bone and brain matter all around her as she leaned across Rakesh's body. The gunfire was incessant, yet she didn’t dare look for fear of what she might see. She reached across Rajesh's corpse, grasping for the door handle. She missed at the first two attempts, not quite able to reach. She lurched one last time, digging her feet in and shoving herself across his lap. The door clicked open. Suvari shoved Rajesh's body as hard as she could, blinking through tears as it flopped out onto the road with a wet thud, ejecting more brain matter from the exposed cavity. His legs were still inside the car, blocking her way. She grabbed the ankles of his trousers and shoved them out, then shuffled into the driver's seat, ignoring the fact she was sitting on brains and hair. Keeping her head low, she turned the ignition, praying the vehicle would start and half expecting the old horror movie cliché of the car refusing to turn over. The beaten old van sputtered to life, and she shifted into gear, still hunched down in her seat and hoping the general din of the gunfire and explosions from the city would mask the sound of the engine.
She risked a peek over the dashboard to get her bearing, and couldn't believe the devastation. Bodies littered the ground, smoke billowed from damaged cars. Broken glass glittered under the sun in the street. There was no resistance, and yet still the men in black fired indiscriminately, mowing down people who were too confused to know where they were going. Miraculously, the way ahead was clear apart from the three men with automatic weapons who stood in the middle of the road, taking shots at people as they tried to hide. She watched as one man somehow avoided being hit, and skirted past the black clad men. Rather than try to shoot him, the man in black charged after him and tackled him into the dirt, then in a single fluid motion, bit the man’s throat, sending a jet of incredibly bright blood arcing through the air.
The man screamed and writhed, then stopped moving altogether. Suvari was sure he was dead, an
other victim of the massacre. She flicked her eyes back towards the road, knowing there was no way she would make it, and even if she did somehow get past, they would turn and shoot, exposing the children to almost certain death.
It was the proverbial rock and a hard place situation. Damned if you do, damned if you don't. If she stayed, she would surely be picked off and murdered along with everyone else. If she went for it, she could still suffer the same fate but the children were at much more risk. As she battled over what to do, the day erupted with the sound of an explosion overhead. She watched as a military jet was hit by some projectile from the city – the smoke trail clearly visible in the still air. The jet lurched towards the ground, huge chunks of burning metal raining down on the slums. Now on fire, the jet slammed into the ground, slicing through the tired old buildings with ease and sending an enormous fireball into the air. Suvari's truck was rocked by the concussion wave, and a rush of hot air blasted through the shattered windows. The men in black were gawping at the spectacle, their guns by their side as they watched. She knew it was likely the only chance she would get. She floored the accelerator, the truck slewing across the road as she pulled out of the line towards the roadblock and freedom beyond. One of the men turned towards her as she accelerated, smiling at the vehicle and swinging his weapon towards her. She picked up her speed and hit the man hard, crushing him under the van which lurched as it drove over him. Blinking through tears, she scraped the van between the two cars parked across the middle of the street and then was free, speeding away from the chaos and the explosions. She waited for the rattle of gunfire to cut the van to ribbons, yet it didn't come. As she turned into the maze of city streets, she looked back towards the scene roadblock. The men watched her go, smiling and making no effort to chase her down. More disturbing than that, however - perhaps, even more, disturbing even than the explosions or the sheer violence and death which had surrounded her – was the sight of the man. The one who was chased down and bitten in the throat. She had been certain he was dead, and yet there he was. Standing with the men in black. Showing no fear, and them no aggression towards him. He too watched her go, a local from the slums who just moments ago was as desperate as she was to flee the city, and now stood side by side with his attackers.
