NEW WORLD TRILOGY (Trilogy Title) (17 page)

The front door bursts open and is quickly slammed shut.

He wonders what the time is, looks up at the wall clock, and realises that Sascha should probably still be at university.  Not allowing himself to be too distracted from his task, he only glances at the entrance to the kitchen a few times in anticipation before Sascha walks in briskly and stands by his side.  "What's going on?" he mutters.

She grins widely and grabs him round the waist.  "We're going on a trip."

"We are?  Where to this time?!"

"Africa!"  She lets him go and heads for the door.

"What?  What about your work?"

"I got a couple of weeks off."

"Really?  Now?"

"Come on!  We have to pack."  She disappears into the corridor.

Ikaros looks back at the toaster.  "What are we going to Africa for?" he mumbles to himself.  He presses the automatic release button and grabs the two pieces of toast as they shoot out, puts them on a plate and starts to cover them with a large amount of butter, his thoughts already returning to Africa, accompanied by a feeling like he was just there yesterday.

Chapter 14

Six days later

Shifting quickly through the gears of their newly acquired, antique, four-door Jeep, Ikaros accelerates as he rounds a corner of a dirt road leading east towards the border of the Democratic Republic of Congo.

• • •

After civil war broke out again three months earlier, ethnic minorities began being targeted by the regime's forces in an attempt to deal with potential resistant elements before they became a problem.  Those who were labelled traitors to a united nation were supposed to have been selected for their involvement in, or association with, the Counter-Revolutionary Guerrilla Army and its supporting organs, but they were conspicuously ethnic minorities; the purge soon extended by way of a looser moniker, 'potential revolutionary,' which conveniently allowed the military to terrorise the nation by random selection and making their way through chains of association, sometimes extremely loose ones that included relatives, friends, neighbours and, on a couple of infamous occasions, entire villages — a long-standing, revered strategy that had been enthusiastically employed with impunity on many occasions in recent history.

The rapidity of this escalation of violence caught the international community predictably unprepared; regardless, even once they had a good indication of the likely extent of the violence and its eventual course, already being over-extended, the world community just watched the few images and listened to the scant pieces of information that made it to the world's media and competed amid the plethora of other horrors from elsewhere.

Disturbingly, being just one in a long series and a portent of what was to come, the brutality of this incident in particular incentivised the creation and institution of what was called the 'Mandate of Critical Observation,' a resolution passed by the United Nations Committee of International Intervention to aid in the defining of the limits of involvement in an increasingly chaotic and devastating global situation that was nothing but utterly desperate, unrelenting and merciless.  Factoring in economic and political constraints and weighing them up with a detailed ethical and social responsibility equation — for the production of which they graciously put together a panel of respected scholars and thinkers — the means by which to legitimise the criteria for withdrawal from, and non-intervention in, any social crisis that may be faced by any country around the world was finally given the stamp of approval eighteen months after the events in the Congo began, essentially providing the world community with 'moral' criteria that allowed them to do as they pleased and save face in the process.  As a perfunctory provision, the mandate stipulated the need for aggressive diplomatic relations to be made when and where feasible.

Over the following three years, this mandate saw the rationalisation of the unnecessary deaths of nearly one hundred million people; as a consequence of the broad-sweeping consensus that it had, these deaths went almost unnoticed and uncriticised, except by a few fringe reporters who managed to have their articles published and some of their photos and videos posted in low-distribution online newspapers and other media and social networking sites, getting lost in the noise along the way.  The popular media, in contrast, generally avoided this type of critical reporting of the policies and actions of governments and the international institutions because they were seen by the ‘insider classes,’ particularly the large stakeholders, as generally being in the best interests of those who mattered.

• • •

Unperturbed by the complete absence of law and order, no international presence, and the evident threat to their own welfare, Sascha and Ikaros observe their surroundings carefully as they race along the main road towards a town located nearly forty minutes' drive from the border, a town they decided on because of the clean and straightforward road that leads to it.  They're already struck by the quietness of the countryside, the random clusters of burnt-out houses, and, not least of all, the number of bloody and decaying corpses lying strewn on the roadside — those who attempted to flee the country but failed, no doubt.  Sascha and Ikaros keep their eyes peeled for any signs of human life, but see none.

They finally enter the edge of the town and drive cautiously towards its centre.  Nearly all the buildings in the main street have been burnt and razed to the ground, leaving only the charred remains of a few brick and stone walls of the relatively more advanced structures among them that once stood there.  Noticing that it seems to be entirely deserted, they decide to drive down a side street and take a bit more of a look before moving on to the next town on their shortlist.  After driving around for a few more minutes, Ikaros stops the Jeep and looks out his side window with curiosity.  "Did you hear that?"

Sascha scans the area he's referring to.  "No, what was it?"

"Don't know."  He pulls the hand brake on, turns the engine off, and they both step out of the vehicle and walk towards the group of dilapidated and only partially burnt houses across the street.

As they enter one, they scan the front rooms as they head towards the kitchen at the back; a sharp scrape comes from under a table and a little boy who can't be aged more than four years jumps to his feet and darts across the room to the front door.  Without saying anything, Sascha and Ikaros give chase as the boy exits the building, skilfully slamming the door shut behind him without slowing down.

Outside it's harder for him to hide; once Ikaros jumps down the veranda and sprints freely after him, it's only a matter of seconds before the child is scooped up into the air, arms and legs flaying about with a wildness and determination that catches Ikaros off guard.  Coming quickly to a halt, Ikaros holds him as firmly as he can while the boy kicks and screams, writhing vigorously around in his arms.  Sascha catches up with them and together they try to calm the boy down.  Sascha grabs his face with both hands and forces him to look into her eyes as she kneels in the dirt and says softly, "It's okay, baby.  It's okay.  We're not going to hurt you."

Hearing the genuineness in her tone and being comforted by her manner, the boy begins to calm down; within a minute, he stands staring into her eyes, breathing steadily and relatively composed. 

Ikaros decides to let go of him, confident that he won't run away again.  He then kneels down next to Sascha and pats him on the back.  "What's your name?"

The boy just stands silently.

"Do you speak English, baby?" whispers Sascha, knowing it's unlikely given the devolution of the social conditions that took place long before his birth.

Again, the boy just stands quietly staring at her blankly; then, in his native tongue, he says, "I'm the only one left," which is all that he can bring himself to say regarding his situation and what happened there.  He omits how he survived over the past eight days by scavenging leftover food and drink from a few warm fridges and cupboards.  He also refuses to recollect what happened when the junta rolled into town: he was directed by his parents to hide under the floorboards of their house, where he had to lie silently while his mother and father were later beaten and gruesomely hacked to death with machetes; their agonising screams could be heard out on the street, and thus were piercingly loud for their son face down in the dirt below, trying desperately not even to whimper; he stayed there without so much as moving until the thickening smoke and the approaching flames of the burning house forced him to crawl out and into the nearby sewage ditch, lying amongst the cover of the reeds until the cacophonous din of those few hours gave way to the low-level crackling of burning embers and the chirping of thousands of crickets as the evening set in.

Ikaros and Sascha don't need the boy's defeated tone and miserable countenance to give them an indication of what preceded their arrival, but they are nevertheless affected by it and do their best to hold back tears.

Ikaros takes a quick and steady breath to maintain control.  "Let's get out of here," he suggests as he looks nervously down the street.

Sascha nods and as Ikaros starts to stand, she says to the boy, "We've gotta get you out of here.  Do you want to come with us?"  She places her hand on his shoulder and he examines the unfamiliar but gentle way she uses her mouth when speaking.  Sascha points to the Jeep to guide his attention and stands up to make the suggestion more obvious.

The boy looks at the vehicle for a moment, then smiles softly, and, without losing another second, leads the way towards it.

Sascha catches up and directs him to the back door.  While Ikaros jumps in the driver's seat and turns the key in the ignition, he watches them clamber in the back, then releases the clutch just as Sascha sits herself down next to the boy and holds his hand in hers.  The door slams shut as the Jeep takes off. 

Ikaros quickly does a U-turn and races the Jeep towards the main street and the road that leads back the way they came, straight to the border. 
Too easy
, he thinks nervously to himself; he then steps on the accelerator, not wanting to spend any more time in the country than they absolutely have to.

Driving out of town, they awkwardly introduce themselves.  The boy follows along and repeats their names while pointing at them.  Ikaros and Sascha then try and get his name, giving him space to answer.

"Sam-u-el," he says quietly while pointing to himself.  "Samuel," he repeats more quickly.

Ikaros glances at him twice, slightly surprised to hear a Western name, and one pronounced so nicely.  "Pleased to meet you, Samuel."

Sascha rubs the top of Samuel's head gently and smiles warmly at Ikaros.  "I think we're all gonna get along just fine, don't you?"

"Hopefully," replies Ikaros as he glances at them both in the rearview mirror and manages a small smile in return.

Sascha takes Samuel's hand and looks out the window, almost allowing herself to get lost in the beauty around them while contemplating the new path they all have before them.

Twenty-five minutes later

Ikaros sits in the driver's seat staring vacantly into the distance through the side-view mirror while Sascha stands on the side of the road waiting for Samuel to return from behind a tree.  She smiles softly, thinking about the clever way Samuel communicated that he needed to take a pee.

Ikaros opens the door, gets out, and walks several steps beyond the tail end of the Jeep, where he stops and stands quietly.

Sascha tracks his movements with curiosity.  "What are you doing?"

"Can you hear that?"

"Hear what?" she asks, suddenly getting the impression that she may have a hearing impairment.  She follows his gaze nearly two kilometers down the road to where a cluster of trees and a sharp bend make it impossible to see any further.

"I think you should drive," suggests Ikaros flatly.

Guessing his intentions and immediately experiencing a sharp surge in fear, she spins and sees that Samuel is already walking back towards her with a smile on his face.  "Baby, we have to get going."  She ushers him towards the Jeep.

Ikaros opens the back door, leans in and pulls out a fifteen-year-old Kalashnikov they picked up in a flea market after hunting for something utilitarian briefly before starting out.

Having seen it resting on the floor earlier, Samuel wasn't overly-concerned, but now that Ikaros is holding it, he becomes noticeably apprehensive and his smile appears just to slide off his face.  Ikaros notices and feels a bit uncomfortable.  "Ah, it's okay, little dude…  Just get in the Jeep with Sascha.  She'll drive and I'll just sit in the tray, okay?"

Samuel doesn't say anything but keeps his eyes firmly on Ikaros while getting into the back seat and pulling the door shut behind him.  Sascha immediately starts the engine, then turns her head to watch Ikaros jump onto the tray and sit back against the cabin.  She places the shifter into first and rides the clutch, then accelerates as fast as her under-developed driving skills and the Jeep's nearly thirty-year-old-yet-well-maintained engine will allow.