by Mainak Dhar
Gladwell felt a hand on his arm. It was Jo. ‘Bob, ask the Marines to give me and Jane their handguns and tell us how to shoot them if we need to.’
Gladwell didn’t know what to say. His family was in as much danger as the rest of them but he had never contemplated little Jane and his own Jo carrying guns.
Jim, the driver, cut in. ‘Sir, she’s right. If there are as many Biters out there as they say, we’ll need every gun we can get.’
And so they began the wait for Randhawa and his men, watching the roads and slums nearby for Biters.
They did not have to wait long. Their position overlooked the Radisson hotel, and one of the Marines shouted out a warning that he had spotted some movement. Looking down from their vantage point, they saw the first of the Biters appear from among the decrepit shops that surrounded the area and then several more appeared from the shattered front door of the Radisson. As Gladwell watched, their numbers continued to swell till many hundreds of Biters streamed out of the buildings, heading towards the city. Gladwell’s first thought was that they seemed to be like a swarm of locusts, consuming everything in their path, but he knew they were much more dangerous, for with each victim they swelled their ranks till they were too numerous to stop or fight. He looked around him and realized that with their modest numbers and firepower, they would not have lasted more than a few minutes if that mob of Biters had been headed for them.
Deciding quickly that discretion was the better part of valor, he asked everyone to get down, and they all sat with their backs pressed to the side of the road, hearing the thumps and growls of the Biters as they passed under them. Gladwell had put down his gun and was holding Jo’s hand with one hand and Jane’s with the other. He had never been a particularly religious person, but this seemed like as good a time as any to send up a prayer for the safety of his wife, his daughter and their unborn child.
***
They had been waiting for about ten minutes when Jo whispered, ‘Some of them are on the highway.’
Gladwell didn’t know if they had been spotted, but a group of about twenty Biters had detached itself and turned onto the flyover where Gladwell’s group was huddled. With the SUV partially obscuring them, Gladwell wasn’t sure they had been spotted yet, but if the Biters got much closer then there would be no option left but to try and fight it out. Gladwell looked to Jim, aware that of all of them, he had perhaps the most field experience.
‘Jim, what do you reckon are our chances of taking them out before they get too close?’
Jim’s face bore a grim expression as he answered.
‘Not too good, Sir. If those were twenty humans, even trained soldiers, we could have ambushed them now and taken out half of them in the first salvo before they got a shot off. But we need headshots, and they’re about two hundred meters out. At that range, we can forget scoring head shots with our handguns, and the two boys with the M-16s aren’t exactly trained snipers either.’
‘Then we hide as long as we can.’
They huddled against the SUV with Jim lying flat on the ground behind a tire, watching the Biters as they approached. All of them were trying to be as still and as quiet as they could, and then Jane brought her hands up to her nose, trying to stifle a sneeze. Everyone looked at her in dread, the two seconds seeming like an eternity. As the moment passed, they all spontaneously broke out into smiles. And then it happened.
Jane sneezed.
The Biters stopped, looking right and left, and then Gladwell’s heart stopped. One of them looked straight at the SUV and roared, and they began shuffling towards the SUV as fast as they could.
‘Marines, fire at will!’
Gladwell’s roared command galvanized the two Marines into action and they stepped out from behind the SUV, their M-16s at the ready.
‘Single shot only. Aim for the head. Only the head.’
As the Marines took aim and began firing at the approaching group of Biters, Gladwell and the others took aim with their handguns. Gladwell ensured the safety was off on Jane and Jo’s guns and steadied Jane’s hands, pointing them towards the Biters.
‘Sweetheart, don’t worry about the heads. At this range, we won’t hit them with pistols. Aim for the legs so we can at least slow them down. Take a deep breath, count to three, aim and fire, and then repeat. Don’t fire blindly or too fast.’
And then the group opened fire in a deadly volley that would have massacred any human opponents. With the Biters, it had less of a dramatic effect. The two Marines were trying their best, but with the Biters moving, most of their initial shots missed their targets. Some hit the Biters in the chest and neck, and sent them staggering back till they resumed their approach. Then one of them scored a direct headshot and the Biter went down for good. The group cheered, but it was a small victory.
That still left almost twenty Biters now closing in on them. Jane and Jo were firing away and Gladwell noted with dismay that most of their bullets were pinging off the pavement around the Biters. With human adversaries, even such near misses would have sent them scampering for cover, but Biters did not seem to care. He was about to say something when he saw how badly Jane’s hands were shaking.
He took aim, focusing on a large Biter closest to them, a man wearing only a pair of shorts, his bare torso covered in blood and gore. Gladwell fired two rounds, one smacking into the Biter’s thigh, the second hitting him in the stomach. The Biter doubled over for a second and then straightened up and made straight for him. Jim and the Marines had been busy and at least three Biters were down but now they were less than fifty meters away and it was a matter of time before the Biters overwhelmed them.
That was when Gladwell did something quite extraordinary. Under normal circumstances Gladwell would never have worked up the insane courage to do something like this, but all Gladwell could think of was protecting his family and so he stepped into the middle of the highway and began to walk briskly towards the Biters. Jo screamed out his name and he did not look back as he replied.
‘Keep shooting!’
He was now less than ten feet away from the nearest Biter, a thin man wearing a bloodied Superman t-shirt. Gladwell shouted back, though he would have no recollection of what he had said, though much later Jo claimed he had said something along the lines of ‘Eat shit and die’. Gladwell felt a stab of fear as the Biter came closer, and he tried to give him a name, to think he was a living, breathing enemy who could be killed, not some undead monster. So this one naturally became Superman.
As Superman howled, Gladwell put a bullet through his forehead, sending him flopping down on the road. Gladwell was hardly a crack shot, but at such close range, he did not need to try too hard. Another Biter, this one a woman with flowing long hair now matted with blood oozing from her neck, took his place and came towards him. Gladwell missed with his first shot, which hit her in the shoulder, but the second put Rapunzel down for good. Another Biter went down from a headshot, and he turned to see that Jim had joined him. The two Marines had also come to join them and at such close quarters, they were putting down Biters with almost every shot. A large Biter, who towered over him, came so close that Gladwell could smell his putrid breath and see the yellow gore on the corners of his mouth. He put a bullet in his mouth and as the Biter staggered back, Gladwell kicked him in the gut and shot him in the head.
Gladwell was suddenly aware that the Biters were no longer just in front of him but beside him. In the chaos of the battle, he was no longer facing a mob of Biters but in the middle of one. He shot another Biter down and took a step back as two more Biters reached out towards him.
That was when both Biters fell, their heads cracked open by direct hits from large-caliber weapons. The deep rumble of heavy engines rose and Gladwell looked up to see several trucks and one SUV. Men in the black commando fatigues of the National Security Guard jumped out of the trucks and began mowing down the Biters with precisely aimed shots to the head. The bearded and turbaned face of Randhawa peered out from the passeng
er side window of the SUV.
‘Gladwell, I thought you were a diplomat but you would put bloody John Rambo to shame. Come on!’
As Gladwell shepherded Jo and Jane into Randhawa’s SUV, he turned to see the two Marines and Jim looking at him with an expression he had not seen before. Till now, he had been the ranking diplomat. Now, he was respected. In the new world that faced them all, this was one of the subtle changes they would all come to adapt to – the ranks and badges of the past meant nothing. Respect, and indeed survival, had to be earned in blood.
***
They sat in silence for a few minutes, each of them quietly taking in how everything had changed. Gladwell was glad to see that a few stragglers from the Embassy who had arrived late had been picked up by Randhawa’s convoy. In all, they numbered about a hundred men, women and children, all headed towards the relative safety of Randhawa’s base.
Jo and Jane were in the back of the SUV with Randhawa’s wife and child and four armed commandos, and Randhawa had decided to drive the SUV himself, asking the driver to take a break in the back of one of the trucks. The terrified young soldier had saluted gratefully and jogged back to one of the accompanying trucks.
Unable to contain his curiosity any longer, Gladwell asked Randhawa if he knew any more about what was happening in the world. Randhawa looked at him with bloodshot eyes. ‘It’s really the bloody end of the world, that’s what it is. First we have these Biters crawling out of every frigging corner, and what they haven’t ripped apart, we will ourselves.’
When Gladwell asked what he meant, he got a chilling account of the multiple nuclear battles being waged. Contact with much of the Middle East had been lost as Iran and Israel engaged in a last orgy of mutual nuclear annihilation that engulfed much of the region. Chinese missiles were flying into Taiwan and India and Pakistan were at each other’s throats. Gladwell closed his eyes and sat back, wondering if this was all a bad dream, if he would wake up and find that his biggest worry was fetching American Chopsuey for Jo at odd hours. He opened his eyes, and seeing the abandoned vehicles littering the highway, he realized that the world he had come to take for granted had indeed died. What would arise in its place was a terrifying prospect and he wondered how long he could keep his family safe.
Thunder rumbled and Randhawa flinched before recovering. Randhawa grinned at him, and not for the first time, Gladwell wondered how he could manage to smile at a time like this. ‘Never a better time to get out of the city.’
Gladwell looked back and saw smoke rising in the distance from numerous fires that had broken out. He shook his head sadly. Even when human civilization was threatened, man’s baser instincts could not be tamed. The soldiers in the back were talking about how they had seen looters rampaging through the streets and with no apparent law and order, raping and pillaging at will. While Randhawa’s convoy had fought its way through a large mob of Biters, they had gunned down an equal number of human looters who were rampaging through nearby shops. Someone spoke out on the radio.
‘Sir, I see a bike approaching us at high speed.’
‘Who’s driving it? Are they armed?’
Gladwell could sense the hesitation in the man’s voice as he answered Randhawa.
‘Sir, there’s a young woman in the back, and it’s being driven by a kid wearing… rabbit ears of some sort.’
Randhawa slammed his fist on the steering wheel.
‘Just what we need. Some drunk kid out on a joyride wearing silly ears. If they come closer, tell them to back off.’
As the bike moved towards them, Gladwell’s hand tightened around his gun. The boy’s shirt was covered in blood and his face had a desperate look that Gladwell didn’t like. One of the soldiers in the back pointed his rifle at the boy.
‘Sir, I will shoot if you do not move away from this convoy.’
The girl sitting behind the strange boy with bunny ears raised one of her hands and pleaded.
‘We need help. I’m trying to get to that safe zone at the airport, and my boyfriend needs medical help.’
Jo murmured behind him, ‘Oh my God, could that be Neha from the foundation?’ Jo pushed down the rifle the soldier had pointed at the bike and pleaded with Randhawa to stop. ‘Please, please stop. I think I know that girl from the Make-A-Wish Foundation. We can’t just leave them here.’
They were tight on space and Randhawa seemed to be mulling the question over in his mind. Finally, he barked into the radio. ‘Stop, everyone stop. One of you in the back go and check who they are.’
One of the soldiers disembarked and went over to the bike, which had stopped alongside the SUV. He talked to the girl, and started to lead her back to the SUV. The girl was sobbing and pointing to the boy, whose eyes had started yellowing. Now that they had stopped, Gladwell and the others got a closer look at him. There was no question about it – he was transforming into a Biter, yet he had somehow got this girl to safety, knowing he was doomed. Gladwell felt a lump in his throat. In the middle of all the madness and hatred, this simple act of sacrifice reminded all of them that being human was still worth clinging on to, still worth fighting for, still something to be proud of. Gladwell thought he saw Randhawa’s eyes moisten as well, but the grizzled soldier blinked it away, though he did give a curt nod of respect to the boy. The girl was still sobbing uncontrollably as Jo took her in her arms and then the convoy sped on towards its destination.
***
Gladwell was surprised, though perhaps he should not have been, that the first predators they had to fight off were human.
With the outbreak came a lawlessness that nobody had ever planned for. Initially there was some looting, but soon people realized that money was of little value any more. Prison doors lay open. Serial killers, sociopaths, rapists – the worst of man came out to wreak their havoc.
Three days into their stay in the base, Gladwell and Randhawa had started seeing small groups of civilians escaping from the madness in the city. They had taken them in, though soon enough supplies and food would be a real issue. Then came those who came not to take refuge, but to prey upon a well-stocked settlement. A settlement with food, supplies and women.
The first attack had been smashed before it had really unfolded. Ten men armed with swords and cleavers had tried to enter the complex at night. The American Marines and Indian commandos, by now trained to aim for the head after all their battles with the Biters, had mistaken the intruders for Biters and felled four with headshots before the others screamed in terror and ran away into the night. The next attack had been more serious, with two jeeps full of armed men, members of a paramilitary unit that had decided to use their weapons and training to their advantage. The firefight had lasted more than thirty minutes before they were driven off. But after that, attacks by looters ceased. Word had spread that this particular settlement was occupied by people not to be messed with easily. In the second attack, Randhawa had been seriously wounded, and by consensus, Gladwell was appointed the leader of their small settlement.
That night, Gladwell sat down next to Jo, who was singing to her unborn daughter, hoping that innocent rhymes would register with her instead of the gunfire and screams that she heard all day.
‘How are you doing?’
‘She seems to like the noise. She’s been kicking all day.’
Gladwell kissed her lightly on the head and then sat down to take stock of their situation. They had plenty of ammunition, but at the rate at which they were attracting new members, they would have to organize some sort of effort to get food. By now, nobody believed that things would get back to normal. Gladwell had organized small patrols to scour the neighboring areas, and they all spoke about Biters running rampant. The Internet was down, and there was nothing on TV, but they did manage to pick up radio transmissions from military channels and from private radio operators.
The picture they painted was terrifying. Most of the world had been laid waste by the wars that had erupted, and by the Biters. There were reports that many g
overnments had authorized nuclear airbursts over major cities in a last-ditch, desperate attempt to wipe out the Biters and reclaim the cities. Gladwell shuddered as he considered what would be happening to the human survivors left in the cities.
The ground shook and he wondered whether on top of all the other catastrophes they had endured, an earthquake was next. That was when Jo screamed out to him. He rushed to her, and Jane came into the small room that they shared with three other families.
A mushroom cloud billowed over the city of Delhi. There had been air strikes on the city for the last couple of days and Gladwell had assumed it was another one but the cloud told him that Delhi had joined the list of cities that had succumbed to this madness.
One of the soldiers had told him that if governments were indeed using air burst nuclear weapons then the risk of residual radiation was small. Moreover, they were almost fifty kilometers away from the city center. That was little consolation to Gladwell as he held his family tight and watched another mushroom cloud join the first one. When they stepped out of the room, all the people in their group were standing there, tears in their eyes. If any of them had still hoped that they might go back home, there was no question of that now.
Gladwell heard someone mumble next to him, ‘We killed the world. It’s all dead land out here now.’
That evening, their settlement was eerily quiet. Randhawa was still unconscious and Gladwell realized that no matter how low people felt, Biters and human predators would not stop coming. So he spent several hours making a schedule of who would be on guard duty and also scheduling firearms classes for everyone. In the new reality they faced, they would need every single one of them to be able to fight if needed.
Mentally and physically drained, he joined Jo at night. As he walked in, Neha, the young girl they had picked up on the highway, left.
