Alice in Deadland Trilogy (34 page)

She opened the package and found a
simple note addressed to her. It was in Stan’s handwriting.

Dear Protima, if you’re reading
this letter then it’s already too late for me. Just pray they have beer in
heaven, or hell, or wherever people like me go.

When the pressure to weaponize Sample
Z began, I got curious about what was going on. The upside is that I got my
hands on these files, but the downside is that it’s a matter of time before
they get me. I don’t know who to trust anymore. That’s the reason I’m sending
these to you instead of trying to get them to anyone in the government. I don’t
know if we can stop what is happening – it may be too late for that. But at
least people will one day know the truth behind how we ruined our world.

Do as you see fit.
You could t
ry sharing it with the press, but I don’t know how free our
free press is any more. The people I reached out to didn’t want to have
anything to do with this. But do get it to Gladwell at the American Embassy.
He’s a good man, and he is very well-connected. He could at least help us get
this to someone in the government who is not in on the conspiracy. This is all
part of a plan, but I fear the men behind this don’t fully understand what they
are unleashing.

Take care, my friend.

Protima put the note aside and
took a look at the documents, wondering how much of what Stan had written was
true. As she read the first page, she grabbed the sofa behind her for support
and sat down. She read non-stop for over an hour, reading each document more
than once to make sure she was not mistaken about their contents.

As much as she would have liked to
not believe them, the documents were devastatingly clear. There were
transcripts of conversations, emails, and minutes of meetings.

What Protima, Stan and their
colleagues had been working on had been a very small part of a grand plan that
was both awe-inspiring and terrifying in equal measure. Vials of Sample Z had
been taken to remote bases in Afghanistan for human testing. The men who had
ordered the use of Sample Z in China had known its likely effects much better
than Protima had realized. But in keeping the scientists out of the loop, it
seemed they had totally underestimated how the virus would behave once it was
transmitted from one person to another.

Protima closed her eyes, her head
throbbing. Could men really condemn millions to death for a plan that called
for gradual repopulation to deal with the issue of scarce oil and other
resources? Could the same men seek to quell rising discontent about the ruin
the financial elite had brought to the West by creating such an environment of
fear that people would gladly accept any form of tyranny? Was it possible that
they had managed to forge some sort of partnership with sections of the Chinese
government who were struggling to contain their own people’s calls for
democracy? The documents in front of Protima made it amply clear that was
exactly what had happened.

The final contents of the package
were two small vials containing a red liquid. Protima knew what they were. The
vaccines they had been working on to protect against Sample Z. They were
untested, but in sending them, Stan had at least given her a shot at life.

A commotion started around her.
Several men and women were standing, pointing at a TV in the corner of the
lobby. The first case of the outbreak had been reported in India. With millions
of people traveling by air every day, and many in the neighborhoods surrounding
Lab 12 not even aware of the risks, there was no telling how far and how fast
the outbreak would spread.

Now that the outbreak had begun to
spread globally, Protima knew she had very little time. She dialed the American
Embassy to get an appointment with Gladwell.

***

‘They say the disease makes people
into demons who cannot be killed. My cousin saw a man at the airport who bit a
dozen others and the police kept shooting him but couldn’t put him down. You’re
lucky that your destination is on the way to my home. You are my last passenger
for now. After I drop you, I’m going straight there and staying put with my
family till they figure this out.’

The last thing Protima needed was
a talkative taxi driver. Protima just nodded, but that seemed to encourage the
man.

‘I gave a lift to two Army
officers, and they told me they were being called up for duty. But they also
said they were getting contradictory orders. Nobody in the government has any
idea what to do.’

Protima didn’t envy anyone who was
trying to deal with the unfolding situation. Any outbreak of a highly
contagious disease, let alone one with such unpredictable and terrifying
effects, was best nipped in the bud. Identify the core outbreak, quarantine
those infected and contain the spread till the strain was better understood. In
this case, it was way too late for that. The infection had spread globally, and
after what Protima had just read, it was a fair bet some elements in the
government had actively aided in its spread.

As she looked out the windows, the
streets of Delhi were packed with policemen. But she shook her head as she saw
that they had come prepared for riot control, with batons and shields. If the
outbreak spread here, they would be of little use.

As the taxi turned towards the
American Embassy, the taxi driver shouted, ‘There’s no way they will let me get
any closer. You’ll have to walk from here.’

Roadblocks manned by Indian
policemen barred their entry to the approach road. Protima saw that the Marines
who guarded the Embassy were now gathered at the gate, all armed with automatic
rifles, and she saw movement on the roof, which could have been snipers.
Clearly they were not taking any chances. As she tried to go towards the
Embassy building, one of the policemen stopped her.

‘This area is now closed to the
public.’

Protima pleaded that she had an
appointment at the Embassy but that did not seem to have any impact. Finally,
she took out her American passport. ‘Look at this, please. I am of Indian
origin but hold an American passport. You cannot stop me from going to the US
Embassy.’

The policeman looked like he was
in doubt, but he was saved from having to make a decision by one of the Marines
jogging over from the Embassy gates. ‘Ma’am, please come with me.’

He jogged back without waiting for
Protima and she walked as fast as she could. Closer to the Embassy, she saw the
same emotion she had seen in the policeman’s eyes. Fear.

The Marines might have looked
intimidating from afar, with their weapons and body armor, but up close, most
of them were very young, and they looked terrified. She was ushered into the
main building, where she walked up to the receptionist.

‘Excuse me, I have an appointment
with the Chief of Mission, Robert Gladwell.’

The receptionist asked Protima to
wait while she called Gladwell’s office. Protima sat down in the lobby, which
was packed with US citizens who had come to the Embassy to seek refuge and try
and get home. A woman was sobbing, her head buried in her husband’s chest as he
tried to comfort her. Protima caught only a few snatches of their conversation
before they passed her. ‘Martha, all flights are cancelled. We can’t get out
for now. The kids will be okay...’

The TV was playing CNN. The
footage showed burning buildings somewhere and Protima walked closer to hear
what was being said.

‘Chinese and US naval forces have skirmished
off the coast of Taiwan on the same day Israel claimed to have shot down two
Iranian missiles. The President has ordered all US forces to be ready to deal
with the unfolding crisis, and the Department of Homeland Security has
reinstated the color-coding for the threat level to the US Mainland, declaring
it to be red. In a separate announcement, the Department of Homeland Security
has declared that many internal security duties are to be handed to the private
military contractor firm Zeus, as US military forces were needed to deal with
the multiple international crises that threaten to escalate to all-out war in
Asia and the Middle East. One of the first actions of Zeus has been to forcibly
disband all Occupy protests, saying that they suck up precious resources needed
to control the outbreak and also that crowds spread the outbreak. Many civil
rights activists protested, saying private armies cannot be used to silence US
citizens’ fundamental rights to free speech and assembly. The spread of the outbreak
continues unabated, and the Center for Disease Control has said it will stop
issuing casualty figures as they are growing at such an exponential rate.’

Protima sat down, her hands
shaking as they gripped the package. The plans outlined in the documents Stan
had sent her were unfolding right before her eyes.

Someone coughed to get her
attention and she looked up to see the receptionist. She was an aging Indian
woman who had dark circles under her eyes and looked dog-tired.

‘Dr. Dasgupta, I’m afraid Mr.
Gladwell is unable to meet you now. As you know, things are busy here and he
has some urgent matters to attend to.’

Protima felt her heart sink. ‘I
had an appointment with him. I just need to meet him for a couple of minutes.’

The receptionist was polite but
Protima sensed she was being evasive. ‘I’m sorry, but he himself has asked me
to cancel this meeting. I can’t help you.’

There was no way she was going
away without giving the documents to Gladwell. Protima tried again, pleading
with the receptionist. ‘Please, please give me just two minutes with him. I
don’t even need to talk to him. I just need to give him some very important
documents.’

‘Dr. Dasgupta, I presume. Chief
Gladwell asked me to apologize for not being able to meet you, but if I can
help you in any way, please let me know.’

Protima turned towards the deep,
gravely voice to find herself looking up at a tall, bald man built like a tank
who completely dwarfed her. He was wearing a military uniform and even indoors
his eyes were covered by wraparound sunglasses.

‘Ma’am, my name is Major John
Appleseed, and I can pass on whatever you wanted to give to Bob.’

With the unthinking trust most
people had for men in uniform, Protima held out the parcel, but as he grabbed
it, she paused. Stan had told her to give the package only to Gladwell. She
started to retract her hand, but Appleseed held on. There was still a smile on
his lips, but his voice had a hard edge to it now.

‘I said I will take it from here.’

Their impasse was broken when
somebody shouted and Protima turned to look at the TV. A news channel was
broadcasting live from the gardens surrounding India Gate, in the very heart of
Delhi. There was the sound of gunfire and of people screaming and as the
cameraman zoomed in, Protima saw a group of men walking in a shuffling gait,
many of them covered in blood. The camera zoomed in again and she saw that one
of them had half his face torn off. More people in the reception screamed, and
someone bumped into Appleseed, throwing him off balance for a second. Before he
could recover, Protima was running out the door, heading into a city that, like
many others around the world, was now faced with its worst nightmare – a highly
contagious, deadly virus that turned people into raging monsters.

***

Protima managed to get a cab that
took her halfway to her hotel, but the driver refused to go any further, saying
it was too dangerous. Protima tried hailing other cabs, but nobody stopped. As
she walked along the road, she saw that the policemen outside had disappeared.
Some small shops across the street were being looted and an old man was lying
on the ground. There seemed to be no law and order in sight, and she realized
that she was alone and defenseless in the middle of a city that had given into
terror and anarchy.

A commotion began further down the
street and a man staggered onto the street. His clothes were torn and he was
bleeding from a gash on his neck. He cried out to her for help but before she
could cross the street, he fell to the ground. A woman emerged from the bushes
behind him. She was covered in blood, with the shuffling gait of the infected,
and her eyes were vacant and yellow. She shrieked as she saw Protima and began
to cross the road to reach her. The wounded man, whom Protima had assumed to be
dead, sat up and turned towards her. His eyes had a similar blank expression
and he too screamed and got up to chase Protima.

Protima was now running as fast as
she could, her heart hammering. She stumbled and fell, scraping her right knee
on the pavement. She turned to see the bloodied couple still following her, and
she scrambled to her feet, ignoring the pain in her knee as she started running
again. After a few minutes, she stopped to catch her breath, and saw that the
couple were now far behind. Protima bent over, her breath coming in jagged
gasps, thankful that the infected did not seem to move very fast. Protima saw
an abandoned bicycle and began pedaling it, hoping that getting back to the
hotel would mean at least some period of safety for her to consider what to do
next.

As she rode, she saw all around
her the signs of a city that was tearing itself apart. Several pillars of smoke
rose above the city’s skyline and people were running all around, and every now
and then she got terrifying glimpses of groups of the infected, hunting people
down like packs of wild animals. There were no policemen or troops in sight,
though Protima wondered what good they would have been against an enemy that
could not be killed.