Project Apex (20 page)

"What's your name?" he asked as he squeezed past a shirtless man on a scooter.

"Suvari."

"I’m Rakesh," the man replied as they picked up a little speed.

The panic was palpable now, and more explosions came from the city. More disturbing still was the rattle of gunfire which seemed to be closer than ever.

"We need to go faster," She said, glancing at the older man in profile as he concentrated on the road.

"This is as fast as I can go in this traffic. What's happening in the city?"

"I’m not sure. I saw explosions and one of the tower blocks collapsed."

"Let me see if I can get something on the radio," He said as he narrowly avoided hitting a group of teens as they ran out in front of the truck. Cursing under his breath, he let them pass and turned up the volume on the radio, filling the cab with static.

"Broken?" Suvari asked.

"No," the man replied, frowning at the display. "That should be the radio station."

"What do you mean?"

"It’s gone. Whatever has happened, the radio isn’t broadcasting."

They sat quietly for few moments as they inched through the traffic.

"I think we need to get as far away from the city as we can," Suvari said as she looked at the increasing panic which was all around them.

"Yes, I agree," Rakesh replied. They broke free of the bulk of traffic and were, at last, able to pick up a little speed. As the landscape of slums rolled away, they were able to see the city and for the first time the full scale of the problem. The skyline of Mumbai was alive with multiple fires and thick plumes of smoke rising into the sky. Rakesh sucked air through his teeth as he watched another tower block crumble and implode.

"Terrorists?" He said as they navigated the traffic.

"I don’t know."

"We need to get out of here," he replied, picking up speed.

"We can’t go too fast. Remember the children."

"What's that up ahead?" Rakesh said, squinting through the filthy windshield to try and get a better look.

At the end of the street, a rough roadblock of sorts had been erected, and armed men with crew cuts and black tactical uniforms were pulling people out of their cars to question. The driver at the head of the crew was arguing his case to the man, who looked completely unimpressed.

"I don’t like this," Suvari whispered.

"Nor do I," Rakesh muttered, joining the line and putting the car into park. They watched as the man at the head of the line was ordered to pull off to the side and let the others through. Reluctantly, he did as he was told, letting the next car approach the checkpoint.

"Is it some kind of military coup?" Rakesh said, keeping a close eye on the conversation at the roadside between the driver and the black clad soldier. The soldier wore a plastic grin and nodded as the driver spoke and gesticulated.

Suvari couldn’t shake the swirling butterfly feeling in her stomach. Every instinct screamed at her to get away from these people, and she realised she feared them more than the explosions in the city. As she watched, more men clad in black started to line up behind the roadblock, all armed, all watching the snake of cars shimmering in the sunlight with apathy. There were just five vehicles ahead of theirs before they would reach the head of the line. She had no identification with her. No paperwork to say who she was or why she was there. How would she explain the truck full of children to them?

The answer came to her immediately, and it was one she had tried to deny for the last few minutes.

They don’t intend to let anyone go.

It all clicked into place then. The roadblock wasn’t to process people or to check their identification. It was to stop them from leaving until the rest of the black-clad men were in a position to open fire.

"Drive," she whispered, the words so quiet they barely left her lips.

Rakesh didn’t hear her. He was staring at the argument by the side of the road, which was growing more and more heated from the driver’s side. The man in black was still wearing the same Cheshire cat grin as he listened without reacting.

"Drive," she said again. This time forcing the words out.

"What was that?" Rakesh asked, turning his head towards her but keeping his eyes on the argument.

"I said drive!" she croaked.

"Drive where? Where can I go?"

"Anywhere. It isn’t safe here, it-"

Glass exploded from the passenger side window showering Suvari with broken pieces. The truck rocked on its tired old suspension as another car - presumably one from further back in the line - had also realised they were all queuing up to wait for their deaths. The rusty red Fiesta scraped down the side of Rakesh's truck, clipping the wing mirror and knocking it off as he snaked towards the front of the roadblock.

"Hey! What the hell?" Rakesh said as the red Fiesta picked up speed.

Suvari watched as if she were somehow outside her own body, hands trembling on her glass covered lap as she looked on in half fear, half curiosity to see what the men in black would do. Her answer came just seconds later.

As if they were some kind of synchronised swim team, the men behind the roadblock lifted their automatic weapons as one and started to fire at the car.

Screams.

Chaos.

Confusion.

All words which barely scratched the surface of how Suvari felt. Something in her forced her to react. Maybe it was the survival instinct which helped her to escape the slums in the first place, or perhaps some other unexplainable thing. She threw herself into the foot well of the truck, covering her head as bullets tore through the air. Glass exploded all around her. Something warm and wet hit her on the back. She glanced up to see Rakesh, limp in his seat, the top portion of his head missing where the bullet had hit him full in the face.

The children.

The children.

The children.

It was all she could think about. She couldn’t hear them in the back of the truck, and hoped the reason was simply because of the sheer volume of everything else that was going on around her. Something happened then. Something in her mind clicked and the fear was gone. She crawled over the foot well, ignoring the hair, bone and brain matter all around her as she leaned across Rakesh's body. The gunfire was incessant, yet she didn’t dare look for fear of what she might see. She reached across Rajesh's corpse, grasping for the door handle. She missed at the first two attempts, not quite able to reach. She lurched one last time, digging her feet in and shoving herself across his lap. The door clicked open. Suvari shoved Rajesh's body as hard as she could, blinking through tears as it flopped out onto the road with a wet thud, ejecting more brain matter from the exposed cavity. His legs were still inside the car, blocking her way. She grabbed the ankles of his trousers and shoved them out, then shuffled into the driver's seat, ignoring the fact   she was sitting on brains and hair. Keeping her head low, she turned the ignition, praying the vehicle would start and half expecting the old horror movie cliché of the car refusing to turn over. The beaten old van sputtered to life, and she shifted into gear, still hunched down in her seat and hoping the general din of the gunfire and explosions from the city would mask the sound of the engine.

She risked a peek over the dashboard to get her bearing, and couldn't believe the devastation. Bodies littered the ground, smoke billowed from damaged cars. Broken glass glittered under the sun in the street. There was no resistance, and yet still the men in black fired indiscriminately, mowing down people who were too confused to know where they were going. Miraculously, the way ahead was clear apart from the three men with automatic weapons who stood in the middle of the road, taking shots at people as they tried to hide. She watched as one man somehow avoided being hit, and skirted past the black clad men. Rather than try to shoot him, the man in black charged after him and tackled him into the dirt, then in a single fluid motion, bit the man’s throat, sending a jet of incredibly bright blood arcing through the air.

The man screamed and writhed, then stopped moving altogether. Suvari was sure he was dead, another victim of the massacre. She flicked her eyes back towards the road, knowing there was no way she would make it, and even if she did somehow get past, they would turn and shoot, exposing the children to almost certain death.

It was the proverbial rock and a hard place situation. Damned if you do, damned if you don't. If she stayed, she would surely be picked off and murdered along with everyone else. If she went for it, she could still suffer the same fate but the children were at much more risk. As she battled over what to do, the day erupted with the sound of an explosion overhead. She watched as a military jet was hit by some projectile from the city – the smoke trail clearly visible in the still air. The jet lurched towards the ground, huge chunks of burning metal raining down on the slums. Now on fire, the jet slammed into the ground, slicing through the tired old buildings with ease and sending an enormous fireball into the air. Suvari's truck was rocked by the concussion wave, and a rush of hot air blasted through the shattered windows. The men in black were gawping at the spectacle, their guns by their side as they watched. She knew it was likely the only chance she would get. She floored the accelerator, the truck slewing across the road as she pulled out of the line towards the roadblock and freedom beyond. One of the men turned towards her as she accelerated, smiling at the vehicle and swinging his weapon towards her. She picked up her speed and hit the man hard, crushing him under the van which lurched as it drove over him. Blinking through tears, she scraped the van between the two cars parked across the middle of the street and then was free, speeding away from the chaos and the explosions. She waited for the rattle of gunfire to cut the van to ribbons, yet it didn't come. As she turned into the maze of city streets, she looked back towards the scene roadblock. The men watched her go, smiling and making no effort to chase her down. More disturbing than that, however - perhaps, even more, disturbing even than the explosions or the sheer violence and death which had surrounded her – was the sight of the man. The one who was chased down and bitten in the throat. She had been certain he was dead, and yet there he was. Standing with the men in black. Showing no fear, and them no aggression towards him. He too watched her go, a local from the slums who just moments ago was as desperate as she was to flee the city, and now stood side by side with his attackers.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

THE WHITE HOUSE

WASHINGTON D.C

THE BANKS OF MONITORS in the White House situation room were alive with a mixture of news reports and live non publicised feeds from various locations around the world. The president’s conference call with his fellow world leaders had for once been without the usual posturing and pushing of political agendas for the simple reason that they all knew they were dealing with something new which was a threat to all of them.

The president sat alongside Vice President Carter and listened to the Secretary of Defence - a sharp, proud man with white hair and a steely eye called Ronald Rose - as he gave them the latest update.

"We have several new reports of attacks Mr. President, most recently in Mumbai, London and Tokyo."

"I thought these Special Forces were only stationed in a few locations? This is going global."

"Sir, we believe this uprising has been in the works for some time. We think this group had sleeper agents waiting to begin turning people just as soon as they received the go ahead."

"Turning people?"

The secretary of defence squirmed and pushed a brown folder towards the president. "We have confirmation of deliberate and targeted infection. They are biting civilians and turning the ones they think they can use. The rest are being murdered.”

"Jesus," The president said, shaking his head. "How long?"

"For the turn?"

"Yes."

"It varies sir. Some reports are saying anything between a few minutes and a few hours. All the same, whoever this group are, they're getting bigger. At this level of growth, it won’t be too long before our forces are outnumbered."

"What about resistance? Are we engaging these people?"

"Well, we have men on street level as instructed fighting back, but truth be told we're stretched thin. We lost contact with Iraq two hours ago."

"For now, I want to hear about our own soil. What's happening here?"

"Not as much as we expected. A few isolated incidents, but nothing on the scale of the other attacks. The problem here is the public. Despite our best efforts, we couldn’t keep a lid on this. It’s all over the news and people are starting to panic."

"This is the last thing we need," Fitzgerald said, rubbing his temples to try and stave off the headache for just a little while longer. "How serious?"

"A few sporadic riots at first, but the more news breaks, the more panic on the streets. People are already looting. Local law enforcement agencies are struggling to cope. They haven’t experienced anything on this scale before. None of us have."

"What kinds of numbers are talking about for our troops over here? Surely we have enough to fight back against these bastards."