The Virophage Chronicles (Book 1): Dead Hemisphere

by Landeck, R. B.

  They had their dinner inside the compound, where they could move freely and speak with each other without risk of discovery, Amadou’s talent for looting apparently only matched by his taste for the good things in life as he opened a tin of imported ham, washing it down with a couple of shots of Black Label whiskey. Their conversation stayed shallow, banal almost, with neither still keen or able to discuss what they had seen, let alone what it meant or where it might lead them.

  The smell of burning tires wafted over the area every so often, and there was automatic rifle fire somewhere inside the town, but nothing that would have fazed either one of them, even if the dead hadn’t begun to walk.

  Tired and full, they returned to the inside of the bus via its roof hatch and put their heads down on the soft foam rubber cushions, letting the lullaby of war and the song of the dead wash over them as they drifted into a deep, dream-laden sleep.

  CHAPTER 14

  The night passed as uneventful as their return trip the evening prior, and Tom even felt refreshed in a way he thought impossible under the circumstances. There had been a few bumps against the bus’ chassis during the night, but knowing that lying low and quiet was their best protection, sleep had returned with ease each time the shuffling of a corpse interrupted it.

  ‘Strange how quickly we get used to changes, even when they fundamentally challenge everything we have known or experienced before,’ Tom thought as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and squinted into the bright light of a new day flooding the interior of the bus through its dirty windows.

  He looked to the back of the bus where Amadou had made his makeshift bed the night before, but footsteps on the roof told him that the young rebel was already on watch. Tom joined him, and the two screened the area, a habit which, even if either one of them had not already formed in their past life, would certainly have to be part of their new one or at least until they reached safety. The smoke from the fires was less pronounced now, and the giant herd they had seen moving away had since well disappeared to wherever their dulled minds had told them to go. By the look of it, the herd had drawn most of their dead friends from the town with them. As far as the eyes could see, there was not a thing, dead or living in sight.

  “Looks like the coast is clear again,” Tom said, ready to get back on the bus.

  “We should be making good time today then, with this old lady.” He affectionately tapped the side of their transport.

  “We will need to be careful, though,” Amadou cautioned, trying to focus on the horizon where they had spotted the mass of corpses the day prior.

  “We will be moving in the same direction as they did, at least initially. The last thing we want is for them to have made a turn somewhere and come at us from the flanks or the rear.”

  They got back into the bus, and almost with the same renewed resolve the night’s sleep had brought for the men, it came to live with an obliging purr. Tom turned the vehicle sharply and returned them to the bypass they had come from the day before. A handful of crushed corpses still wiggled and writhed, their mouths snapping vengefully as they watched their prey disappear for a second time.

  Tom followed the road until they reached an intersection, with signs indicating the airstrip to the right and the town’s centre to the left. The airstrip, as they could see even from a distance, had seen its share of battle with the dead, and there were bodies and detritus scattered about, intermingling with overturned vehicles, both civilian and military. Even if an aircraft of sorts had survived this, neither of them knew how to operate one; plus the runway in its present state wouldn’t so much as facilitate the take-off of a hot air balloon.

  Instead, thus, Tom took a sudden hard left towards the centre of town.

  “Where are we going?” Amadou asked with growing concern.

  “Well, I figure since that herd we saw has probably drawn just about every living corpse along with it, we might as well take a drive down High Street and see if there is anything else we might be able to use. It’s virtually the same distance to the other end of town as the bypass anyway.” Tom looked over and winked.

  “High Street?” Amadou shook his head. ”I don’t know this street.”

  Soon enough, they idled along the main road, lined by stalls, shops, and restaurants which had all seen better days, none having escaped the panicked rampage that had followed the arrival of the infected.

  Debris littered the street as it seemed to more or less everywhere, as did bodies and body parts. Dead animals, a donkey here and a sheep there, lay bloated in the hot sun, their limbs stiffly sticking up into the air like furry table legs. Occasionally a corpse, half dismembered and barely holding together, dragged itself along, leaving dark trails of ooze behind it, dead eyes immediately locking onto the shiny moving object that rolled past, moans of longing only adding to the destitution of the place and the deads’ own existence.

  “Looks picked clean,” Tom observed, having slowed down the vehicle to a crawl as they tried to look into the passing shops.

  “I think I know a place back there.” Amadou held up his hand, indicating for Tom to stop the bus. “A place that used to sell petrol in plastic containers and engine oil and things like that. Might be worth having a look.”

  Tom’s eyes followed Amadou’s extended arm, but it was hard to discern between the dilapidated structures. Tin roofs blended into one another, lining roads that could hardly be described as such. There were destroyed market stalls, their timber scattered about and torn-up pieces of cardboard, plastic, and paper covering every inch of ground around them. Tom tried hard to focus on the signs that still hung above the various little outlets, but all the posters, branded advertising, murals, and scorch marks on just about every surface made it next to impossible to see what they had been selling, let alone which one had been an auto parts hut.

  “Look out!” Amadou yelled, and Tom immediately slammed on the brakes.

  As slow as the bus had been going, its speed was enough to hurl Amadou towards the windscreen, where he impacted with a flat thump, just as Tom’s forehead hit the steering wheel.

  “Not again. What the hell did you do that for?” Tom rubbed his head, another small but pronounced lump appearing next to where the other one had only just begun to heal.

  Amadou pulled himself back up onto the dashboard and just gave a nod towards the area ahead of them.

  At first, Tom thought he had lost part of his vision as the front of the bus had suddenly gone dark, but eyes slowly readjusting he could now see what Amadou’s shouting had been all about. The bus had run into what looked like a tall stack of scrapyard cars. Some half-crushed, some completely flattened, the mountain of junkyard metal right in front of them rose to at least two stories high, stretching in length across the entire main road.

  Amadou got out of the bus and, having assured himself that the area was free of unwelcome visitors, inspected the barrier.

  “They must have known these things were coming,” he shouted back to Tom, who remained in the driver’s seat, tending to his bruise.

  “What do you mean, ‘they’?”

  He leaned out the small window and shouted as the lanky Congolese squeezed through an opening in one of the vehicles embedded in the wall. He reached in and, after struggling for a minute or so, retrieved a small item from within it.

  “NATO doesn’t have a monopoly on these babies. At least not here in the Congo.” He held up a couple of assault rifle ammunition casings.

  “Could, of course, have been the UN, but might as well have been the military. Or any of the militias. Who knows?! But they weren’t civilians, that’s for sure.”

  “Whoever it was, they didn’t want those things going any further in this direction.” Amadou was out of breath as he got back on the bus, pulled the doors shut behind him, and dumped the handful of casings on the dashboard.

  “So what now, Sherlock?” Tom quipped.

  He needed directions. Amadou squinted, much as he had done each time he tried to vis
ualize a thought and looked around them in all directions.

  “You know what? This actually makes complete sense.” He spoke, a theory slowly forming in his head. “By building a barrier here, they forced the herd to turn eastward, instead of south.” He actually smiled in appreciation for what he thought had been a great strategic move.

  “Meaning what, exactly?” Tom wasn’t following.

  “You see, south is where we are headed. Why? Because it’s the road leading to Lake Albert. It’s our evacuation route, so to speak. For us and probably for every other living man, woman, or child around here. But to the east…” he pointed out the front doors, “…the terrain forms a basin, half encircled by a ridge that on the other side drops off to the lake. If these things march on towards there, not only are they likely to get stuck for a while, but even if they make it across, everyone in this region will be long gone before they do.” Amadou felt proud of his insight. He had Tom’s full attention now.

  “And who knows, if the military, the UN, or even damn Uncle Sam chose to annihilate them, then it would be much easier while they are all bunched up there.”

  His theory, Tom thought, actually had merit, and he admired the young ex-rebel for his strategic thinking.

  A large group of infected with the destructive power they had seen so far, would cut through the Congo like a hot knife through butter. Not only that, but it would snowball as it went along, victims rising and following their fellow dead, increasing the herd’s number exponentially with each encounter of a population centre.

  With the outbreak still in its infancy, surely containment would be everyone’s first order, not least as dropping bombs on people probably still classed as infected, would not endear those in power to the international community. Corralling them, thus, while a sluggish bureaucracy waded through the red tape of multi-stakeholder decision-making seemed not only logical but prudent.

  “If they hadn’t built this thing here, the full herd would have moved south and, given the road is not all that bad, probably have reached the Lake in no time.” Amadou continued.

  “It also means that if we continue on the main road towards the lake, then there shouldn’t be much more of them,” Tom concluded the line of thought.

  They decided to follow their instinct and continue south.

  Tom threw the bus in reverse, and within no time, they had backtracked and found a way to bypass the barricade. They were now a mere thirty miles from Geti, the last village before reaching the shores of Lake Albert, and Tom put his foot down on the accelerator, sensing that finally, their getaway from the horrors of the last few days was within reach.

  The rest of the trip went almost without incident, as Amadou’s theory proved largely correct. With only a handful of creatures staggering around the landscape and rarely venturing into the vehicle’s path, they made good headway towards their destination. The small settlement consisted of little more than a cluster of houses and a church, and they were pleasantly surprised to find a UN Armoured Personnel Carrier at the crossroads to the lake, with UN Peacekeepers checking people’s papers and maintaining a security watch over the area.

  “How is it going here?” Tom smiled, addressing one of the officers through the driver’s window.

  The short Malaysian with insignia Tom didn’t recognize slung his rifle and leaned in, taking a look around the interior. His features looked beat, haggard almost. His normally brown skin now a chalky tan and his eyes sunken, he stared without emotion as if the life had been sucked right out of him.

  “You are traveling alone, Sir?” The officer asked with disinterest.

  “Yes, just me and my buddy here.” Tom tried to stay friendly and respectful, usually the best way in these kinds of situations. “It’s been quite a mission to get here, though. I’m afraid we no longer have papers, but we both work for an organization called ‘Feed The People’. Maybe you have heard of them?”

  “Can’t say I have. But it doesn’t matter, really. We are just here to make sure anyone who wants to get out gets a chance.” The officer completed his cursory look inside the vehicle.

  “Go ahead. We’ll be off duty by midnight anyway. Congolese military is taking over. Our responsibility…is finished.” He smiled weakly, nodded at Tom and Amadou, and then gave the Ok to another officer manning a small boom gate.

  “Have there been many?” Tom leaned out the window, but the officer had already started to walk away towards the shade of a small tree nearby.

  “You will see….” He said without turning, “You will see.” He sat down under the tree and spat on the ground. The taste of defeat was bitter in his mouth.

  The boom gate lifted, and the officer in controlling it barely turned his head to follow their vehicle as it passed, now heading northeast again along a bumpy little road through dense foliage and steep rocky passes that would finally lead to Lake Albert’s shores.

  They had to slow to pedestrian pace, in part to manoeuvre the increasingly narrow passage leading through a mountainous ridge, in part to avoid colliding with the many civilians on their way to the lake. In the end, Tom decided to open the doors and allow people to get on board, giving many a much-needed reprieve from the miles and miles of hard trek they had undertaken to get there.

  It was but ten, maybe fifteen miles to the flats that formed the lake’s shoreline, but the road eventually narrowed to the point where the wide vehicle threatened to cut off any traffic to or from. As much as they disliked the idea, it was time to abandon their trusty piece of transport. They packed their gear and left the bus where it stood, doors open and keys in the ignition.

  ‘Let it save someone else’s life, just as it did ours,’ Tom thought as he cast one last glance back at the vintage vehicle, before joining Amadou and the small caravan of civilians in their final push to reach their evacuation point.

  CHAPTER 15

  Surprisingly it did not take long to cover the last few bends along the way, and only on a few occasions did the road get steep enough to have both men struggle to carry their heavy packs.

  As the grade sloped and the valley they had found themselves in widened, they caught their first glimpse of the massive waterway in the distance. Palpable relief overcame the entire group, and Tom could hear some sobbing and prayers as locals thanked God for having seen them through the worst unscathed. He couldn’t help but recall Epicurus’ trilemma. If their God, as their beliefs stipulated, were indeed all-powerful and all-good, would he not be willing and able to prevent this evil? Did this, then, not mean that he was neither? He had never subscribed to a nihilistic worldview, but going by what was happening, Tom started warming to the idea. And yet, it was hard to ignore the positivity that pulsed through the long line of people in search of refuge and in the end even he and Amadou high-fived each other as they rounded the last corner through a gap in the steep rock face on either side that had accompanied most of their walking journey.

  It was at that moment that both men came to a sudden halt. Amadou’s mouth fell open. Tom’s features drained, and he let out a barrage of profanities. Others fell to the ground exhausted and covered their eyes, trying to make believe that what they were seeing was not real.

  Down below, along the flats, almost a mile wide and as long as the lake itself were thousands of people. A sea of the living pushing forward in throngs towards the lake’s edge. It was impossible to make out individuals in what was one homogenous mass making for what Tom counted less than twenty fishing boats of various sizes, anchored but a few yards away from the shore. Here and there in the expansive crowd were large UN vehicles, dotted about like white mushrooms in the sea of people that moved as if it were a single organism.

  Under different circumstances, the peacekeepers’ presence would have seemed almost comical. Standing out like sore thumbs with their blue berets, they look like smurfs. From what Tom was able to tell from their vantage point, the UN soldiers had tried to form a cordon at some point, probably to facilitate a controlled exodus via whateve
r vessels were available on the lake, but this had obviously collapsed as refugee numbers grew and the scope of the operation had become unmanageable.

  Now, supply trucks and plastic barriers stood at odd angles, with some overturned or even pushed halfway into the water. UN personnel were still trying to run about in an attempt to control the crowd. He could see them barking orders to civilians whose tunnel vision prevented them from doing anything but move forward in search of a means of escape. The Armoured Personnel Carrier’s top gunners slouched over their weapons, no longer monitoring for threats, but instead waiting for the storm to pass. A few regular army units had taken up position to the south, trying to keep at bay the influx of civilians from there, but they too were struggling. Many had already mounted their trucks, just like their UN counterparts preferring to stay out of the way rather than becoming part of the problem.

  Tom and Amadou looked at each other, completely lost for words.

  “What’s that?” Tom finally said, first having cast his eyes over the entire scene and then further ahead over the lake onto the horizon.

  “Looks like another bunch of boats,” Amadou replied unexcitedly.

  After all, a few more boats weren’t about to solve this problem.

  “Not just any boats, though.” Tom leaned forward and squinted into the haze above the water. “They are white, and they are traveling with speed.”

  The vessels were definitely different from the small sailboats and catamarans, the local fishing boats that lined much of the shore. These were fiberglass and streamlined and probably large enough to carry a crew of ten. They had gun-mounts bow and stern and an array of antennas above the wheelhouse.