The Virophage Chronicles (Book 1): Dead Hemisphere

by Landeck, R. B.

  'Pathetic. Repulsive.' The Frenchman squeezed the trigger.

  The creature fell back and disappeared in a mist of brains. Its weapon clattered to the floor alongside it, and for a split second, its trigger finger twitched as if trying to return the favour. Then it finally rested.

  “Walking corpses, fine. I can take it. But walking corpses with guns? That’s taking it too far!” Papillon stood over the body and spat on in disgust. “Sick and tired of these bastards.”

  “Amen to that.” Amadou had already covered the short distance and was standing beside him. “He seemed awfully interested in that door, though. What do you think? Take a look?” He nodded towards the service exit.

  “Can’t get worse than dead soldiers with guns.” Papillon shook his head, his anger slowly subsiding.

  “Age before beauty then?” Amadou elbowed the big man and winced as another jolt of pain shot up his arm.

  “You’re a funny guy, aren’t you?” Papillon grunted and pulled the door open. “Thank goodness these deadheads are a stupid bunch. Can’t even turn a doorknob!”

  With one kick of his enormous boot, he shoved the corpse out of the way and stepped through the opening. Much to their surprise, it wasn’t nearly as dark beyond the entrance as they had expected. A row of skylights recessed into the ceiling provided decent enough illumination to see the entire length of the corridor. The two stood still for a moment, looking, hearing, and smelling for anything untoward.

  “Seems clear!” Papillon broke the silence just as Amadou thought he yet again heard something.

  “Wait! Shhh!”

  The ambient noise of wind and rustling of paper and debris seemed amplified in the small hallway. And yet there was another sound layered below it.

  “I hear nothing!” Papillon shouted, the gunshot still ringing in his ears.

  Sure enough, the howling of the wind briefly subsided, and they could hear it. Another metallic sound, but this time more deliberate, more energetic. The rhythmic clank clank of metal on metal. Someone or something was trying to break something.

  “Doesn’t sound dead at all, does it?” Amadou grinned and stepped further into the corridor.

  Office doors lined its entire length. Small wooden signs next to them indicated the respective departments within. Neatly mounted travel advertisements occupied the walls in between. Papillon stuck to the centre, careful not to let his huge frame brush the pictures off their hooks, while Amadou placed his ear against the doors one by one, trying to find the source of the sound.

  The noise stopped briefly and then resumed with renewed zeal. Stopped. Resumed. Stopped. Resumed. With each door, Amadou looked back at Papillon and shook his head. Nothing. They reached a T-section at the end of the hallway. A small sign pointed towards washrooms to the left and right. Amadou nodded. The noise was coming from the women’s lavatory.

  “Ladies first,” Papillon winked, his Glock half-raised and at the ready.

  They now tip-toed, with Amadou in the lead. The stainless steel door of the washroom swung back and forth in the draft that swept through the building, the clanging ebbing and rising with each of its movements. Amadou placed his palm on the cool stainless steel surface. The noise suddenly stopped. He pulled back his hand. Whatever was inside had sensed their presence.

  ‘That’s just great.’ He fully expected the shuffle of undead feet to come next. After a few seconds of menacing silence, though, the clanging resumed just as it had before.

  “Only one thing for it,” Amadou whispered to Papillon, towering over him from behind.

  He put his weight against the door, careful to maintain control of his weapon. Barrel first, he went low and quickly stepped through into the tiled room, while Papillon leaned into the door behind him. Keeping it from closing, he trained his weapon on the space ahead of Amadou. For a moment, time stood still. The Congolese’s eyes grew as wide at the gaze that met him from the floor right in front of them.

  Next to a protruding water pipe near the washbasins, sat a woman. Her face pale and frightened, she frantically pulled at a pair of handcuffs latched to a lead pipe, beating it with the cuff’s frame. Sweat-soaked hair clung to her face, and she shrieked with fury as she tried to free herself, the metal only cutting deeper into her wrists.

  ‘Alive or dead?’ Amadou hesitated. She looked up at him with contempt and spat on the floor. ‘Alive.’ He lowered his weapon.

  Throwing herself back and forth, she kicked at the men with bare feet, Amadou nimbly side-stepping each time, only adding to her fury.

  “Pizdets…PIZDETS!” The woman yelled at the top of her lungs.

  The two looked at each other and shrugged.

  “You done yet?” Papillon couldn’t help but grin as she continued her tirade.

  The two crouched a safe distance away and quietly watched until eventually, she ran out of steam.

  “I’ll be damned,” Papillon whistled through his teeth, pointing at the woman’s shirt, where a pair of black and gold epaulets dangled from torn sleeves. “She’s some kind of flight officer.”

  Out of energy and exhausted, the woman finally stopped struggling and instead clasped the cuffs, drilling into the men’s eyes with a wrathful stare.

  “Can we talk now?” Amadou asked as calmly as he could, fully expecting a resumption of hostilities at any moment. Instead, though, the woman just glared at him.

  “Odnohuystvenno.”

  “Ok, I take that as a yes.” He gave his best shot at a warm smile. “First up, do you speak any English or French? That would make it easier.”

  “Easier what? I give you nothing. Try to do anything to me, and you will see!” The woman sneered and fired back in a heavy Russian accent.

  “Whoa, whoa, hold your horses, lady!” Papillon put his pistol back into its holster and raised his hands.

  “We are not the bad guys,” Amadou reassured. “If you let us, we will help you. Help you get out of here.”

  “That is what the other ‘Hui s gory’ said before they tie me to this pipe!” She spat back, her anger about to reignite.

  “Ok, I don’t know what a ‘Huisgory’ is, but how about we move to introductions,” Papillon tried to moderate.

  “I am Papillon, and this is Amadou. We are part of a group of ordinary people. I could say ‘normal,’ but then I would have to exclude my partner here.”

  “Nadia. My name is Nadia. So now you know it. Now, what do you do?”

  Papillon’s attempt at humour appeared to have no effect on the woman.

  “I’d say that, if you let us, we start by getting you out of those cuffs and into some fresher air. Unless you cherish the ambiance here and would like to remain.” Amadou smiled nervously. Much to his surprise, the woman seemed to relax a little at his words.

  “Then what do you wait for?” She again yanked at her restraints.

  Papillon approached her with care, ready to retreat at any moment. Using an improvised key secreted in his duty belt, he opened one of the locks with a flick of his wrist and immediately took a step backward. Satisfied with his apprehension, she nodded. She unlocked the second cuff and rubbed her bloodied wrists.

  “You go first!” She ordered.

  The two complied, by now all too aware that any gallant attempt at helping her up would render them liable to receiving a kick where it would surely hurt.

  “Yes, Ma’am!” Amadou pretend-tipped his hat and indicated for Papillon to take the lead.

  They could feel Nadia’s eyes burn into the back of their heads as they walked through the corridor, occasionally stopping and listening for any changes before continuing on in silence towards the exit. There would be enough time for chitchat once they reached sunlight and the relative safety of the open apron.

  “Careful now,” Papillon called out as he pushed open the service door and stepped over the sprawled-out body of the dead soldier in the arrivals hall.

  “Yobannye Pasatizhi! This is one of them!” Nadia kicked the corpse’s side and spat on it
with gusto.

  “I think your other friend might be over there,” Amadou pointed at the construction worker they had dispatched earlier near the baggage belt.

  “Ublyudok!” Nadia shouted at the dead form.

  “I take it that’s not a term of endearment,” Papillon grinned as he watched her face distort with contempt.

  Nothing else moved as they made their way back through the terminal, and all three breathed an audible sigh of relief when they reached the apron, the bright sun providing a welcome change of atmosphere. The wind had died down somewhat, and for a moment, they bathed in the warmth, just standing there, sizing each other up like three gunslingers competing for treasure.

  Nadia was probably in her 40s, but deep lines across her forehead and sickly pale skin made her look at least 10 years older. Nicotine-stained fingers and yellowish lips spoke of a stressful lifestyle, and her recessed watery eyes told the story of someone who had roughed it for a good while. Her long blond hair, probably once well groomed, now clutched to her head in long sticky strands. Papillon, Amadou, and the rest of the group had been through a lot, but going by her state, what they had experienced didn’t even come close.

  “So, what is your story, big boy? Your mother stretch you?” Nadia asked with a smirk, looking up at Papillon, whose enormous figure cast a giant shadow over her.

  “You are a bit lippy for someone who was just pulled out of a toilet,” Papillon smirked, looking her up and down.

  “Is your Ox always so charming?” Nadia turned to Amadou, and he couldn’t help feel he was about to be next on her target list.

  “He has his moments,” he grinned, first at her, then at Papillon.

  “Better strong as an Ox, than to look like a two-bit crack addict.” Papillon wasn’t going to let her insult go without retort. But before he could bask in his own wit, shooting pain cut off any further thought. He doubled over, and stars danced before his eyes as he clutched his lower leg. Nadia’s kick to his shins, delivered with speed, had been well-placed.

  “You two better get a room.” Amadou cracked up as Nadia readied herself for another strike.

  “Time out! Message received!” Papillon, now level with the much shorter woman and still writhing with pain, held up his hand.

  “You mess with me. I mess you back.” Nadia crossed her arms and smiled triumphantly.

  “Ok boys and girls, now that we have that out of the way, how about we meet the rest of the group and swap some stories. You know, like nice people do?” Amadou stepped in and ushered the two in the direction of the APC.

  Nadia followed, striding with regained confidence, while Papillon sheepishly limped along a few paces behind, for safety. Tom and Faith had returned to the APC as soon as they had heard the first shot from inside the terminal, and they had all observed with interest the goings-on since the trio’s emergence from the building.

  Tom was the first to extend his hand in welcome. Nadia briefly hesitated, but then reciprocated.

  “I can see the three of you have already made introductions,” Tom winked at Amadou. Papillon grinned a cheeky grin.

  “I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but it looks like you have been through quite a rough time.” Tom made no bones about Nadia’s state.

  “How about we let you freshen up a bit first?” Faith invited Nadia to follow her, and the two women disappeared around the back of the APC.

  “Found her in one of the washrooms inside the service area,” Amadou explained. “She was cuffed to a pipe, for insurance, according to her. Only problem was, the guys responsible caught the virus soon after. We met them in there…” Amadou made a finger gun and clicked his tongue.

  “Looks like she is a flight officer of sorts.” Papillon finally re-joined the conversation.

  ”Maybe just what we need. If she really does know how to fly one of these things…” Tom raised an eyebrow.

  “Feisty one, though.” Papillon inspected his shin.

  “Well, if the situation here is anything to go by, she’ll need balls where we are going.” Tom rubbed his chin.

  For all he knew, as of this moment, this stranger, this dishevelled woman was potentially the only hope he still had of getting to Julie and Anna in time. The only opportunity to outrun this thing that by now was sweeping the region, moving with the speed of a wildfire and with the same malicious ferocity. Given where they had come from and what they had gone through, finally getting on a plane and back to the two people he loved most in this world would be yet another major feat. He prayed for the first time in a long time that the supply of miracles hadn’t run dry.

  After a short while, the two women returned. By whatever magic and with the limited means available, Faith had managed to erase all but a trace of Nadia’s ordeal from her features. The men’s conversation stopped as soon as Nadia rounded the corner. Refreshed and bright-eyed, her hair tied in a single braid, she bore no resemblance to the person that had left minutes earlier. Even her clothes, courtesy of Faith’s personal stash, were clean and neatly pressed.

  Papillon’s jaw dropped, and he sat down with his mouth open.

  “You can close that thing!” Amadou teased, and for a brief moment, the big man seemed to blush.

  “Welcome back,” Tom offered Nadia his canteen and a seat on one of the UN crates they had gathered up in a circle. “Not exactly homely, but the best we got.”

  Nadia relaxed a little for the first time as he introduced her to everyone in the group. David took an immediate shine to her and sat by her feet as she shared her story, but was quickly ushered away by Gautier when the talk turned to the more harrowing details of Nadia’s own journey. She had never had the desire to have a family of her own. Children had somehow always made her uncomfortable, and she thanked him with an awkward smile.

  Nadia had been working in South Sudan for the last three years, initially serving as a member of a Russian-owned carrier’s engineering team, but eventually, with flight crew numbers dwindling as many staff ran for the hills during the beginning of the civil war, had worked her way up to the position of flight officer on some of the smaller planes operated by the airline.

  At first, she hadn’t paid much attention to the news of a new kind of Ebola making the rounds. After all, the number of deadly diseases in this part of Africa was only rivalled by the number of bullets fired on the average day. One more was hardly going to make a difference.

  As it turned out, though, she couldn’t have been more wrong. The first inkling that things were even worse than usual came when one of the Ugandan VIPs - a government minister or some such she was to fly 300 miles north from Juba to the small town of Malakal - complained about the rudeness of his South Sudanese waiter the night before. Apparently, the man had not only drooled into the VIP’s food but proceeded to bite him on the hand.

  By the time they descended into Malakal, the VIP was in sweats and convulsing and, with no properly equipped hospital anywhere near, soon slipped away into a coma. At least that’s what everyone had thought. By next morning he was back up and walking, and unusually hungry to boot. Before anyone could raise the alarm, he had taken chunks out of most of his traveling party accommodated in one of the simple shared rooms of a dilapidated guesthouse. And by the time they were scheduled for departure, the entire group of now ex-VIPs were stumbling about the small town tearing into anything living they could lay their cold dead hands on.

  Her departure, thus, had been somewhat rushed, leaving behind masses of people desperately trying to get out of town as the virus multiplied, and its starving hosts satisfied their appetite. She had only been gone two days, but when she approached Juba airport, things had turned from the organized chaos that ordinarily prevailed, to complete pandemonium. Short on fuel and lacking alternatives, it had taken her several approaches to land the Cessna Caravan as far away as possible from the random rounds whizzing around as ground fighting between the living and the dead, the living and the living, and anyone else owning a firearm reached fever pitch
, the tally of the walking corpses growing exponentially by the hour.

  By the time she reached the terminal, she was virtually the only person left still wearing a flight uniform. Initially, she had thought most pilots had simply disappeared or been eaten, but then she realized that anyone who even remotely looked like they could operate one of the planes, had quickly become the target of every man and woman, uniformed or civilian, panicking to leave. Before she could extract herself the same way she had arrived, she had been approached by two men with guns, equally eager to get out. They had called cuffing her to a pipe in the washroom their insurance policy while they went to gather a few essential supplies, but eventually, their luck had run out, and Nadia remained where she was. That was until, by nothing sheer luck, Papillon and Amadou had stumbled upon her.

  “Any questions?” Nadia leaned back and took a long sip of water.

  “Well, we are certainly not going to cuff you to a washroom pipe,” Tom began laying out his plan, “but I would be lying if I said we couldn’t use, or to put it more accurately, didn’t need your particular set of skills.”

  Nadia frowned, but sensing something genuine about him, decided to hold back. It was time for Tom to tell his story, and he went into some detail on the events since the lake, not wanting to give the impression that he had not carefully considered what he was about to request.

  “So now that we know how we all got here, I think it’s time to play with open cards,” Tom continued, noticing Nadia’s features had hardened at his last sentence.

  “I know you have been through a lot, but we are not like those two guys over there in the terminal. We… I need to get to Nairobi if I am to stand a fighting chance to save my wife and daughter from this virus. We were hoping we could somehow persuade someone just like you, a pilot, or at least someone who could fly one of these damn things to help us. It is our only real hope at making it to Nairobi, and my only chance at saving the two most important people in my life.” Even though he hated feeling exposed, Tom felt compelled to speak his heart.