The Pestilence

by Faisal Ansari

  Landing the south copter on the blue sedan had caused much of the force of the first explosion to be absorbed by the car. The north copter was an airburst which arced shrapnel in a 360-degree radius with viciously more intensity and killing velocity. Many were frail and infirm, the loss of life in front of the North Stand was catastrophic.

  Samuel was knocked to the ground, not by the blast but by a woman falling onto him. She had a large piece of shrapnel buried in the back of her head. Samuel instinctively reached for her face, but Dressler quickly hauled him to his feet; in this stampeding chaos there was a real risk of being crushed underfoot as the entire stadium hurtled towards the West Stand entrances. Samuel knew he could have saved her. He knew that all who had fallen could be raised, he knew all who were injured could be cured. The cheers and adulation that had greeted him earlier had been replaced by the wailing and sorrow of the injured and dying.

  Ashen panned the last remaining copter using the controller labelled “East” and the hi-resolution digital camera attached to the CineStar picked out Dressler. Ashen had watched Dressler as she breakfasted with Stefano that morning at the hotel. She was unmistakeable. He panned the copter a little more and clearly picked up the stumbling figure of Samuel Srour. He gave the CineStar a touch of left spin and brought Samuel into the centre of the display and calmly proceeded to guide the CineStar towards its target.

  Above the noise of the devastation Dressler knew they had been spotted. The last flying bomb was descending from the East Stand, swooping directly towards them. She looked to Samuel then pointed to the West Stand exit. “Run,” she screamed. “It’s coming.” She spun back towards the copter drawing her 357. The high angle was against Dressler, the speed of the approaching copter was against Dressler; even the position of the sun hanging just above the East Stand meant the copter was shrouded in its glare. It was an impossible shot. Dressler discharged two bullets in quick succession. The CineStar continued serenely on its trajectory. It was now forty metres away. Two bullets wasted in haste. Dressler took a moment to compose herself, spreading her feet a little wider, gripping the turf through her boots. She took a deep breath, held it and squeezed off two more shots. Miss, miss. Two rounds left, no time to run, no time to reload and no time to summon support. The CineStar kept on coming.

  As he ran across the turf, Samuel was centred in Ashen’s video monitor. He ignored Dressler’s valiant attempt to shoot down his flying bomb. His target was in his sights and Ashen was relentlessly homing in.

  Dressler was down to her final bullet, the copter was twenty-five metres away and closing. She looked down the barrel sighting the drone for the last time. Dressler tracked the 357 forward to shoot in advance of the fast approaching copter. She closed her eyes and pulled the trigger sending the bullet and a silent prayer on their predestined path.

  On Ashen’s monitor, Samuel’s image began to track right from the video frame. Ashen was sure Samuel was still running towards the exit so he compensated by nudging the CineStars’ rudder slightly to the left to begin a slow spin on its axis. The image now began to spiral, slowly at first then steadily increasing in speed. Ashen battled to stabilise the machine, but it was now corkscrewing wildly, losing altitude and plummeting to the earth.

  Dressler’s final bullet, a lucky shot, had winged one the CineStar’s eight rotors and she watched in delight as the copter span out of control and crashed into the technical area just beyond the managerial dugouts of the East Stand. The dugouts were full of people cowering from the attack. Dressler made up her mind rapidly. She checked behind her to ensure that Samuel was safe, but she couldn’t see him; she had to assume that he had made it to the exits. Dressler dropped her empty gun and took off in a full sprint towards the downed copter. There was something profoundly exhilarating about running at maximum effort; Dressler for a brief, blissful moment was flying covering the twenty-five metres in just over three and a half seconds.

  Three of the CineStar’s rotors were crumpled into the turf, the other four span on uselessly. Dressler yanked the machine upright. A little boy in the dugout began to wail a mournful, incessant cry rising above the sorrow-filled stadium. Dressler caught the eye of the father of the boy. The man was uselessly trying to shield his family with his body. They were less than five metres from the bomb. Dressler knew they would be shredded by an explosion. She saw the cell phone taped to the aluminium tray. Wires ran from the phone to a thin plastic cord which snaked into the container. Dressler reached into the workings of the machine to wrench the phone from its housing. As her fingers closed round the phone, its screen powered up to receive Ashen’s incoming call. Dressler didn’t even have time to shut her eyes before the device was triggered. Dressler and all those she was trying to save were instantly vaporised.

  ***

  Chapter 18

  STEFANO lay numb beneath the eviscerated remains of his team. His ears rang and his vision was blurry. A piece of the CineStar’s rotor arm had cleaved its way through his hip severing his left leg just below the waist. Stefano, exhausted and bare-chested from the explosion, struggled to sit upright. His vision slowly cleared and he saw around him hundreds of dead and dying littering the stadium, attended by the few remaining Healed. Stefano felt his right rib snap back into place and watched in wonder as his abdomen ejected a succession of four-inch hardware nails driven into it by the explosion. He felt various bones re-aligning in his face and neck. He looked down at his shattered leg. New bone was growing out from his femur shooting down the length of his leg connecting to the patella, fibula, tibia and then the twenty-six bones that were forming in his left foot. Nerves, sinew, muscle and tendons wrapped round the regenerating skeleton sealed with a layer of skin. After a few minutes Stefano flexed the toes in his new left foot and to his relief they moved as he commanded. He cautiously tried standing, waiting until he was fully upright before tentatively shifting some weight onto the new leg.

  Stefano found himself in a sea of shrapnel, drying blood and human detritus. He looked down at his feet, the right shod, the other pale, bare and new. Stefano turned about searching for his left shoe the sudden movement caused him to sway momentarily. He turned again, slower this time and spotted his shoe a few metres behind him. It was still attached to his old left leg. Stefano grimaced as he fished for his leg, movement coming sluggishly. Stefano retrieved his shoe and placed it on his new foot; unsurprisingly it fitted perfectly. He hated the thought of leaving his old leg lying in the South Stand goal of the Teddy Stadium so he tucked it under his arm and went searching for Samuel and Dressler.

  Stefano wandered slowly across the pitch, tentatively making his way through the flesh and body parts. He stumbled through a slick of greyish liquid. His stomach churned as he realised that it came from the crushed skull of one of his investigators, trampled by the fleeing crowd. All around Stefano were the remains of strangers and friends. He had seen death many times but had never known the taste of charred flesh which now hung heavily in the air. Stefano’s comms link to the other investigators was gone as was his Beretta. He gingerly turned over bodies desperately seeking Samuel and Dressler.

  Standing in the centre circle he immediately noted the pattern of the explosions: To the south, destroying the car and the easiest escape route, then north, then east, channelling the able-bodied out of the stadium by the west exit. Stefano understood the attack pattern clearly and recognised instantly what was still to come. He broke into a trot, confirmed his new leg was functioning properly, then a full sprint as he charged into the West Stand.

  He could see neither Samuel nor Dressler in the annex between the stand and the pitch so Stefano pressed on through the turnstiles, his dread increasing as he ran.

  Outside the stadium the able were streaming away by road and over the footbridge into the Malha Mall. By the corner of the access road and the pedestrian bridge was a small knot of people; at its centre Samuel was healing. He saw Stefano emerge from the stadium and shouted and waved over the swirling crowd. Stefano
eased towards him and they embraced for a long moment.

  “Why are you holding that?” said Samuel pointing to the severed leg.

  Stefano forced an embarrassed smile. “It’s mine. Didn’t just want to leave it in there. Have you seen Dressler?”

  Samuel shook his head. “One drone came directly after me. She told me to run and I did. I haven’t seen her since.”

  “I couldn’t see her inside.” Samuel thought he heard a faint quiver in Stefano’s voice.

  “We will find her. I can fix this, I can fix everyone. I just need to get started.”

  “No, no, no,” said Stefano with a steely firmness. “The drones were sent to degrade security and remove you from a protected environment. Targeting you in the crowd was an opportunistic move. They herded us out through the west exit like fucking sheep. They did it for a reason, there will be another attack. We need to move. Now.”

  Sirens wailed in the distance and the injured and maimed were pressing round Samuel for succour. Stefano scanned the crowd for anything out of the ordinary. He turned 360 degrees scrutinising the clear skies. It was a chaotic, unstable environment and they were naked, without support and completely exposed.

  It took Stefano less than a second to make up his mind. “Back inside the stadium. I don’t know what’s coming. You can’t heal anyone if you’re dead. We can hide between the stands until the emergency services get here.”

  Samuel nodded.

  Across the footbridge came the roar of a high-powered motorcycle weaving through the escaping masses, horn blaring, engine revving, clearing an indiscriminate path through the pedestrians. It was too late. They were coming.

  Stefano sprinted for the bridge. The fleeing crowd parted for the bike and Stefano stood in the breach, a direct line-of-sight towards the approaching motorcycle.

  Black ducked into his seat and opened the throttle fully. The bike roared, throwing the front wheel in the air then hurtling forward. Black was the man Ashen had chosen as the harbinger of the last and definitive attack on the False Messiah. The motorcycle’s saddle-bags were laden with the remainder of the PETN. Black would usher in the eternal rule of the King of Light. The False Messiah was just over the bridge and Black wasn’t about to be deterred by a semi-naked man with a severed leg tucked under his arm.

  As the rider streaked towards him Stefano screamed and swung his severed leg with all his might. He put his soul into the swing, scything his old leg into the side of Black’s helmet. Stefano’s old knee shattered ripping the leg in two. Black tumbled off the bike and Stefano braced his body for the terrible impact. The motorbike was travelling at forty miles per hour and hit with such force that Stefano was scooped up and catapulted over the rail of the pedestrian bridge onto the highway below. Stefano crashed onto the roof of a passing lorry and was spun into oncoming traffic. In the seconds before he passed out again, Stefano realised he had failed and that Samuel would pay for his failure with his life.

  High above Stefano’s prone form, on the corner of the access road and pedestrian bridge, Ashen remotely detonated the explosives in the saddlebags.

  The blast of a great trumpet enveloped Samuel: A single destructive note rapidly increasing in volume and intensity, drowning out the searing pain which enveloped his body. Above him the clouds were parting and lightning streaked down from the heavens. Once more Samuel felt himself being lifted high into the clouds.

  ***

  STEFANO shuffled through the stadium in a daze, the landscape desolate and bleak. Save for the cries of the maimed the atmosphere was solemn and reserved. Paramedics were attending the wounded and the dead were being removed for formal identification. Stefano grimly checked corpses and ambulances for signs of Dressler. He moved like a man lost in a dream. Across the pitch by the centre circle, a metallic glint caught his eye. He drew towards it and discovered Dressler’s 357 lying empty on the grass, the epicentre of the East Stand explosion some twenty-five metres away. Stefano looked over towards the charred remains of the dugouts and he knew she was gone. He sank to his knees cradling the gun lovingly in his hands. He had held her most of the night and her smell was still on his skin. He could feel her lips on his neck, her hands interlocking with his. With Samuel gone, there would be no hope of bringing her back. He lifted the gun to his bare chest pressing it hard against his skin, the cold steel offering him no sustenance. He dropped the gun to the floor and curled up on the blackened grass. Stefano wept.

  ***

  Timeline: The Pestilence minus 1 day. Information source: Email intercept between unknown and Mariko Tanaka.

  Subject:

  White

  Our mission is complete. It is time for us to be reunited.

  Ashen

  ***

  Timeline: The Pestilence minus 1 day. Information source: Email intercept between Mariko Tanaka and unknown.

  Subject:

  Father

  I have witnessed your success. Tell me where and I will be there.

  White

  ***

  Timeline: The Pestilence minus 1 day. Information source: Email intercept between unknown and Mariko Tanaka.

  Subject:

  White

  Meet me in the Christian Quarter of the Old City. There is a cafe opposite the Damascus Gate. I will be there tomorrow at 7 a.m.

  Be ready to travel. We must leave Jerusalem to prepare for the coming of the King.

  Ashen

  Timeline: The Pestilence minus 1 day. Information source: Email intercept between Mariko Tanaka and unknown.

  Subject:

  Father, I will be there.

  ***

  Chapter 19

  Timeline: The Pestilence day zero. Information source: Published interview with Dalia Srour, mother of Samuel Srour. Interviewer: Bill Irons.

  Bill Irons: These last few days since the attack must have been difficult for you and your family.

  Dalia Srour: These last few days have been the hardest I can remember. I’m leaning heavily on those around me. Samuel has returned my son to me.

  Bill Irons: I don’t follow.

  Dalia Srour: My eldest son who died fighting in the war. He has been returned to us.

  Bill Irons: His body? What do you mean, Dalia?

  Dalia Srour: No William. As well as healing the sick, Samuel’s power had grown so that he could also bring back the dead. My son, Samuel’s brother, was killed fifteen years ago and Samuel restored him to us, exactly as he was when he passed.

  Bill Irons: So the rumours surrounding the little girl in Jericho were true, he did bring her back.

  Dalia Srour: Yes they were. Mariam and I were unsure and thought it best to keep it private.

  Bill Irons: Could he raise anyone?

  Dalia Srour: Samuel was just beginning to fully explore that side of his abilities before the attack. I believe he said that all who have fallen or have passed leave something behind. The dead haven’t truly gone, their auras are still with us. He could if he wished simply pull them from the ground. You know, I guess it may not matter now.

  Bill Irons: I understand that Samuel is at the St Luke’s Hospital in Jerusalem.

  Dalia Srour: Yes, that is correct.

  Bill Irons: What is his condition?

  Dalia Srour: Well, his medical details have been leaked to the press by someone in the hospital so his condition is common knowledge. His body was undamaged by the final explosion at the stadium; I believe the lightning which protected him from the airstrike acted in some way to shield him from this blast, but for some reason known only to God, it failed.

  Bill Irons: I’m so sorry, Dalia. I know this is hard. There are millions who are keeping Samuel in their thoughts and prayers. Is there no hope?

  Dalia Srour: Hope exists always in my heart for my beautiful son. He was the best of us, he truly was but the doctors say he has a complete and irreversible loss of brain function. A ventilator is breathing for him. The doctors think it’s only a matter of time before his heart will stop. Seeing
him like this… it’s no life. All I have is a limp carcass of the man who was once my son.

  Bill Irons: Are the police any closer to apprehending those responsible?

  Dalia Srour: I don’t know, they tell us little. Some twisted, murderous cult saw my son as a threat, God only knows why. Now we may have lost him. This may be the end of the man but William this isn’t the end of his legacy. Samuel has healed over 150,000 thousand people and those people are every day making good on the second chance they have been given. You know, our organisation which started off when a chef and three veterans travelled to Haran to clear the rubble from my farm is now operating in over a hundred countries. Our projects will provide housing, schooling, social care and poverty alleviation. We will be helping millions. It’s ordinary people not just the Healed donating their time, their skills and resources. We are facilitating a connection between those who are willing and those who are in need.

  Our management structures are unique, evolving from the Haran camp and have been replicated across all our projects, whether we are building schools or orphanages or painting someone’s fence. We’re not happy to delegate responsibility to others. Everyone in our projects is active and engaged. The Palestinian Municipal Authority surrounding Haran is now being run on those lines. It’s only a matter of time before larger governmental and non-governmental organisations will follow.

  The good we are doing in the world won’t stop because Samuel may soon leave us.

  Interview ends.

  ***

  STEFANO sat in the corridor outside the hospital room where Samuel was being kept artificially alive. He stared at the drab grey wall opposite. He had spoken to Dressler’s father earlier that day. It was not an easy conversation. He had to tell a man who he had never met that his daughter’s remains were still being identified by forensic officers and it would be days, even weeks before whatever scraps they could find of her could be boxed and shipped back to Germany. The thought of Dressler scattered throughout the stadium and of Ashen still whole, still free, sickened him. Stefano wrapped his arms tightly around himself and doubled over in his chair. Dressler’s strength, her refinement and intelligence had been taken from him in an instant by Ashen’s merciless drones. Stefano was stuck in a continual feedback loop of pure fury. He crawled over the same merciless desire time and time again; cold, ugly, brutal, revenge.