The Embers of Hope: A science-fiction thriller (Hibernation Series Book 2)

by Nick Jones

  Chapter 45

  An hour later the helicopter turned and levelled out. Through the cockpit Nathan could see the outline of Dubai in the distance, huge skyscrapers glinting in golden sunlight. He looked out of a small window to his left to see shafts of light, like biblical swords slashing through the clouds towards the ground. It was an awe-inspiring sight, one he probably would have savoured in a previous life. He looked at Paul, who offered him a nod that said almost there, and they were, and that’s what made the sudden descent all the more frightening.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Paul shouted, communicating via an internal audio feed to the pilot.

  Nathan managed to lip-read that part but couldn’t see the pilot’s response. He looked over at Alex and Pascale. They were holding hands, fingers interlocked and white with pressure. Pascale was grimacing, her face paler than before, eyes closed. Alex met Nathan’s stare for a moment and then looked away.

  The chopper wasn’t moving forward; it was dropping in a controlled but aggressive manner. They were landing. It was too soon, the Dubai skyline tantalisingly close. The aircraft shook and lurched. Dust began to swirl and before any of them could say or do anything they were down.

  Paul stood. ‘Listen to me,’ he shouted. ‘Stay calm. Stick to the story. They can’t do anything.’

  The door slid open and dropped down to create a ramp. Nathan shielded his eyes from the fierce glare and joined Paul near the open hatch. ‘How often do these happen?’ he asked.

  Paul leant in and whispered, ‘It’s routine, we’ll be fine.’ But Nathan saw something in his eyes he didn’t like.

  They stepped out and were greeted by a team of people dressed in white body armour, their faces covered by helmets and reflective gold visors. Nathan counted five in total, three on the ground, two seated on bikes. There was a transport craft behind them. All were armed with rifles. The leader – tall and stocky, his left arm adorned with the badges of a senior officer – stepped forward and spoke.

  ‘I am Lieutenant Brandish of UNSF border control,’ he said, pointing at Paul, ‘and you are suspected of harbouring illegal immigrants.’ His voice was flattened out by a synthesiser and artificially loud. ‘Line up for scanning.’

  Paul stepped forward, his hands raised defensively. ‘There’s been some kind of mistake,’ he said. ‘We are working alongside Christian Aid. These people are all cleared and have a right to be here, they are needed for important relief work.’

  Brandish gestured to his right and a team of guards organised the group into a line. ‘If that’s the case, then you have nothing to worry about,’ he said. ‘Now get in line, you know the rules.’

  Paul glanced at Nathan and shook his head.

  What did that mean? Nathan wondered. This this will all blow over? Or really worry, we’re screwed?

  The guards began scanning, starting with the aid workers. Alex and Pascale would be next, then Nathan and finally Paul. The dust blew around them. Nathan could smell scorched sand. Dubai was barren, and the wind harsh. He wiped the grit from his eyes and swallowed. Pascale was making a strange sound, whispering to herself. Nathan carefully nudged her and shook his head. ‘We’ll be okay,’ he whispered as quietly as he could.

  She turned to him, eyes wild with fear. Alex was also trying to calm her down. One of the guards noticed and shouted, ‘Back in line!’

  Alex stepped back but Pascale remained. The guard strode towards them and shoved Pascale hard in the shoulder. ‘Get back in line,’ he repeated.

  ‘Get off her,’ Alex hissed, slow and strong but clearly backed up by fear.

  Lieutenant Brandish, who had been particularly interested in one of the aid workers, turned and gave his attention to their argument. He walked quickly towards them. ‘What is the problem here?’ he barked.

  Alex shot back at him with an ill-advised retort. ‘Tell your men to leave her alone!’

  Brandish tilted his head and Nathan wondered what he might look like under his golden visor. Was his face pulled into a vicious snarl or was he admiring the courage of a young man protecting his own? There were black slits in the side of his helmet, air vents, Nathan supposed, but it gave the look of a shark, one that had noticed movement and was now circling its prey, planning an attack.

  Shut the hell up, Nathan prayed silently. Just do as they say.

  ‘Got something to hide, son?’ Brandish asked, easing his rifle forward slightly. Even the robotic hum of the helmet’s voice box couldn’t mask the harshness in his voice.

  Paul stepped forward, and that’s when time seemed to accelerate. Nathan remained fixed as if the blazing sun had melted and then baked him to the spot. Brandish tilted his rifle up on end and snapped it hard into Alex’s face. A thin mist of blood sprayed upward and Alex dropped to his knees with a scream. Pascale backed away, her head shaking violently from side to side. Two of the guards trained their rifles on Paul as Brandish raised his again, this time pointing it at Pascale.

  ‘Do not move!’ he ordered. ‘You are under arrest.’

  Pascale continued to stagger backwards, her mouth hanging open, head still shaking in a constant and dangerous display of defiance.

  Alex screamed at her to stop, to stay where she was, but Pascale had the look of madness, of an escaped convict inching towards the edge of a building, knowing that they would either fall to their death or be shot trying.

  Brandish armed his weapon and pulled it tightly to his shoulder. ‘I will shoot if you take one more step!’

  ‘Sir?’ one of the guards said.

  ‘What is it?’ Brandish replied without turning.

  ‘Sir, we have a vehicle approaching. At speed.’

  Brandish turned quickly and followed the fresh beacon in his visor. Indeed there was a vehicle gliding across the desert towards them.

  ‘Watch her!’ Brandish barked, pointing at Pascale. ‘And shoot her if she runs.’ He strode purposefully toward the cloud of dust rising up from the approaching vehicle and instructed the two officers on bikes to dismount and cover him.

  The vehicle continued towards them. Brandish’s voice sounded as though it were coming from the heavens, echoing around them. ‘You, in the vehicle, stop immediately or we will open fire.’

  It was a small speeder, clear now, shining in the sunlight. It skidded to a stop a hundred feet away. The driver appeared to be alone.

  ‘Step out of the vehicle and approach with your hands up,’ Brandish ordered. ‘I repeat, get your hands in the air or we will shoot.’

  The driver stepped out and did as instructed, walking towards them with hands raised. Nathan peered into the searing brightness; the sun was behind the driver, but he could make out the shape of a long cloak and see that the person’s face was covered.

  Nathan heard a sound. It was Alex screaming. In all the confusion Pascale had seen an opportunity and was running, clouds of orange dust exploding behind her. Alex screamed again, begging her to stop as one of the guards knelt and took aim.

  Chapter 46

  The guard fired, but it wasn’t Pascale that ended up shot; it was the guard to his right. He fired again, this time felling the one on his left, leaving plumes of crackling blue smoke rising up from the bodies.

  Lieutenant Brandish announced his bewilderment to the world. ‘What the hell?’ He spun on his heels and prepared to fire. The two remaining guards raised their guns in response.

  ‘Lieutenant,’ one of them said. ‘I need you to lower your weapon and enter the transport vehicle.’

  ‘I’m not going to do that, Private,’ Brandish replied. He shook his head. ‘What was it, money?’

  The driver, covered in a dark brown cloak, spoke for the first time. ‘It’s not their fault,’ he said. ‘It’s mine.’

  Brandish turned. ‘You’ll pay for what you’ve done.’

  ‘They’ll live,’ the driver said simply.

  Brandish sighed as one of his men jabbed him with a rifle. He was ushered into the transport, quickly followed by the rest of his te
am. Brandish tapped the side of his visor and it shot up, revealing his face. He was in his fifties, with a short grey military crop and eyes that looked like they could light up in the dark. He scowled at the group but there was also a hint of confusion. His expression said, How the hell did you sorry bunch get the better of me?

  One of the guards punched a button on the wall and the cell doors closed. The wind whistled around them and for a few seconds no one spoke. ‘I don’t have a clue what just happened,’ Paul said, ‘but I’m not complaining.’

  The driver turned, his long cloak billowing in the wind, dark goggles glinting red under his hood.

  ‘Who are you?’ Paul asked.

  The driver removed his hood and pulled the goggles up away from his face.

  Nathan laughed as a wave of relief and emotion coursed through him. ‘George!’ he cried. ‘That was one hell of an entrance.’

  ‘Not exactly planned, but it worked out.’ Mohanty smiled.

  ‘You two know each other?’ Paul asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Nathan replied. ‘He’s a good friend.’

  ‘They’ll know we’re here,’ Alex muttered, dabbing blood from his nose onto the back of his hand. ‘We need to move.’

  ‘He’s right.’ Paul gathered himself. ‘We need to go.’ He pointed at Mohanty’s speeder. ‘Will that thing hold us all?’

  Mohanty nodded. ‘Yes, I think so.’

  ‘Then let’s go.’

  George offered Nathan his hand but Nathan pulled him in by his shoulders and hugged him. ‘It’s good to see you,’ he said. ‘I can’t believe you came.’

  ‘How could I not?’ George replied. ‘We’ve got work to do.’

  Paul threw their bags into the back of the unexpected transport. ‘It won’t be long before reinforcements arrive,’ he shouted. ‘Can we save the happy reunion for back at camp?’

  Nathan nodded and Mohanty jumped in and fired up the engine. The speeder lifted a little, groaning under the weight of its passengers. Mohanty floored it, putting distance between them and the transporter.

  The rear of the speeder was open and the wind blasted against them. Pascale inched to the front and placed her hand on George’s shoulder. ‘Thank you,’ she shouted. George tapped her hand and Pascale sat back down. She looked at Nathan and Paul. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, sheepishly. ‘I panicked.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Paul said. ‘We made it.’

  The towering facade of Dubai peeled away as they approached. The once-magnificent skyscrapers were crumbling and derelict. Steel and glass victims of a world that no longer worshipped what they stood for. Nathan looked over at George and smiled. Thank God for you, George Mohanty.

  Nathan had felt the pulsing energy of the Histeridae in his backpack. It was almost as though it had been singing, like it knew that it was being used by a master. More than ever he was convinced it wasn’t just a mind control device. In fact he wasn’t even sure it was a device at all. The Histeridae made the world feel small and insignificant, something that could be controlled and tamed, conquered, even.

  George had come. There was hope after all.

  ‘They’ll know we’re here,’ Nathan shouted to Paul, who glanced back and shrugged.

  ‘It doesn’t matter now,’ he replied. ‘We’re over the border, there’s nothing they can do.’

  ‘What about going back?’

  ‘None of us are going back.’

  Paul held his gaze for a few seconds and Nathan felt a strangely liberating sense of certainty. There was no going back. They were all locked into their fate and it was accelerating towards them like the massive skyscrapers looming in the distance. Nathan allowed himself to wonder – to truly imagine – what it would be like to hold Jen again.

  Soon, he told himself. Soon. He closed his eyes, the rumble of the truck and wind in his ears a soothing distraction.

  Chapter 47

  They drove east across the sabkha plains towards the city, eventually joining a stream of hovering vehicles, jostling and bumping their way along a cramped road system. The vehicles came in all shapes and sizes, crammed full of people, some clinging to the outer edges like rag dolls hanging in a row. The heat was unbearable, a thick haze shimmering below a needled skyline.

  As they reached the outskirts of Dubai, the scale of the decline became more apparent. The once-glistening symbol of the super-rich was now a reminder of wealth gone mad, a relic of an age forgotten and unimaginable. Nathan remembered his wife calling Dubai ‘Hell on Earth’. As their speeder was swallowed into the belly of the beast, Nathan agreed. They passed busy markets, shaded areas filled with colourful goods and local produce, men dressed in white robes and women head to toe in black. It appeared that the souks of old were thriving again.

  ‘They’ve reverted to calling it the City of Gold,’ Paul shouted.

  ‘Gold?’ Nathan shrugged. ‘Why?’

  ‘I think they’re being ironic.’ Paul smiled. ‘I think it’s because it’s rusting away.’

  Their truck passed over a bridge and a large expanse of water opened up below them. Dubai Creek was teeming with boats known as abras, hundreds of them bobbing and darting across the dark brown water. Nathan was hit by the sour odour of waste, fuel and decay. ‘How many live here?’ he asked, staring out over the water.

  ‘Somewhere near a million,’ Paul replied, ‘but it’s impossible to say,’

  ‘And who’s in charge?’

  ‘The Dubai Government rule this place with an iron fist. We manage to stay on the right side of them.’

  They were heading towards the Burj Khalifa. Once it had reached nearly 3,000 feet high, but now its top half was crumbling and part of the spire protruded from its frame like a snapped finger hanging by a thread of skin.

  ‘Probably cost billions,’ Paul sneered. ‘Did you know they only built it to last a hundred years?’ He shook his head. ‘Fucking idiots.’

  ‘Is that where we’re going?’ Nathan asked.

  ‘No, not there, no one wants that anymore. We bought a place nearby, set up a kind of headquarters. It was the only place we could afford that was big enough.’ He paused as if considering whether to continue. ‘It’s easier to get property near the Burj because everyone thinks it will collapse eventually.’

  Nathan craned his neck and marvelled at the skyscraper. The sun ducked behind its broken shape, silhouetting it like a rusty nail, splintered at the top and ready to fall.

  Like me, Nathan thought, but shook the thought away quickly.

  As they passed the creek and cut north, Paul pointed to a set of buildings nestled in the shadow of the Burj Khalifa; two small towers that appeared model-like in comparison. ‘That’s us, down there,’ he said. ‘Standpoint Towers. Ideal homes for the younger generation.’

  Nathan managed a smile at Paul’s use of the old marketing jargon and realised Pascale was staring at him. She frowned. ‘What happened back there?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ll explain when we get there,’ Nathan replied. ‘Okay?’

  Pascale studied him for a moment and then nodded. She glanced at Alex, who put his arm around her.

  Nathan was tired, hungry and thirsty. He stared out at the markets, the sounds and colours. Life here was hard, but like in India, people had carved out an existence in spite of the attempts of the wealthy to own the land. He felt strangely at home. Dubai couldn’t be further away from familiarity; it was odd that he should feel that way. Perhaps it was the knowledge that somewhere nearby a replicator, loaded with Jen’s DNA, had already begun its work. Somewhere close, her body was being formed, her physical being stitched together in readiness.

  His thoughts continued to drift until finally the speeder lurched to a halt, shaded by the two towers that had seemed so small earlier. The left building was in relatively good condition; its twin wasn’t faring so well.

  ‘Welcome to Standpoint,’ Paul said, jumping out. ‘We’ve got running water and sanitation, which pretty much makes us a five-star hotel.’

  Chapter 4
8

  The hotel lobby was dark and smelt like wet newspaper, but it was cool and that was a blessing. Nearby, a group of men and women were being briefed, listening intently to a man barking orders. They didn’t look up. Nathan heard other distant conversations and the sound of drilling somewhere from within the guts of the building. Pascale placed her head on Alex’s shoulder and closed her eyes. Mohanty walked to a corkboard, tilted his head and began to read the handwritten notes pinned to it. They were silent, the four of them waiting at reception as if an imaginary bellboy might suddenly appear, eager to check them in.

  The lobby reminded Nathan of scenes from disaster movies, ones where earthquakes or tsunamis tore up whole cities. They didn’t make those kinds of films anymore, but if they did, this would be the part where things were returning to some kind of normality. The floor was streaked with muddy brushstrokes and in the corners, wood and debris was stacked high, evidence of a major clean-up. Nathan fumbled in his pocket – which also helped stop his hands from shaking – and squeezed the one remaining strip of pills. He tried to stay calm and glanced outside. Paul was saying goodbye to the aid workers that had accompanied them on their ill-fated trip. He was hugging one of them while the others climbed up into a truck.

  Pascale was looking at him again. She finally had some colour in her face, her cheeks a rosy pink, and Nathan noticed that her eyes seemed to be connecting with her environment again. Alex was holding her hand. ‘Guess they aren’t staying,’ he said, sounding a little fearful that their numbers were already dwindling.

  ‘Guess not,’ Nathan replied.

  A man was walking towards them, striding across the lobby. He was tall and heavyset with a thick beard and glasses. His shirt was unbuttoned and his chest hair burst out like dark candyfloss. He was dressed in khaki combats and boots. Thick, dark patches of sweat were visible under his armpits.

  ‘I’m Chad,’ he announced loudly. ‘Heard you guys had a rough time.’