The First End (8 page)

“Pretty smart.”

“Yeah, I got my moments and I read a lot too.
The region was known by the ancient Egyptians as the land of Punt.
The coast was also known by the Romans and Greeks as an important
landmark, and for the Indians it was an important commercial center
for products such as myrrh, incense, and gold. The Arab traders
settled on the Somali coast and Islam became the main religion from
the thirteenth century on. Overtime, several countries became
interested in the cost of Somalia, including Portugal—their
settlement efforts failed—and even Italy, led by Mussolini, managed
to acquire several territories in the region. The same coast is
still the envy of many nations, but this time, for different
reasons, it’s use as a dump.”

“A country without rules, without state! How
could that happen?” wondered Lorna.

“In 1969, General Mohamed Siyad Barre seized
power in a coup d’état and replaced the democratically elected
government. Barre forged close ties with the USSR and declared the
country socialist. Somalia then brokered a deal with the Russians,
who had supported the Marxist government of Ethiopia during the
conflict over the control of the Ogaden, an Ethiopian territory.
Each time, the town of Merca tries to recover its glorious past and
heal. Attempts were made to revive the city. They even tried to
brag about the beautiful coast of the town to attract foreigners
without success. The warlords are sometimes discreet, but they
control everything. In Merca, terrorist are scattered among the
population…not that easy to spot.”

“I can’t imagine how these guys control just
about everything!” Lorna mumbled.

Bill nodded. “I know. But the war lasted several
years. The Ogaden conflict lead to the removal of Barre and has
weakened the country, resulting in a political vacuum and a
catastrophic economic situation that seems to last forever. Famine
has become the staple diet here. The country fell under the rule of
warlords whose sole purpose seems to be illegal gain and plunder.
Al-Shabab took control. Somalia is now a failed state.”

They arrived at the dump and Lorna immediately
got out and looked around. “The bodies were reported found over
there,” Lorna said, stepping up next to him. Lorna was a short
woman, not very attractive, but with an incredibly sharp mind and
wit that had Bill laughing and smiling for most of the plane ride
over. They had gotten on well—something he couldn’t say for the
leader of his bodyguard contingent.

Luk Bol, a name so obviously not Somali that
Bill suspected him to be an agent for the Transition Government
more than a bodyguard, had made it clear, right from the start,
that he didn’t like Americans and by extension, Bill Gardner also
suspected that the man was a pirate, but he wisely kept his
suspicions to himself.

Bill looked distastefully at the city dump.
There had been nothing done to try and keep it away from the city,
and he had begun to smell it even several miles away. Shacks and
hovels had grown up around the edge of the waste dump, and ragged,
half naked children romped in the streets and through piles of
refuse as American children did on a sanitized playground back
home.

“Well, we might as well get this over with.” He
and Lorna walked towards the mounds of refuse. Smoke rose languidly
into the air here and there, a testimony to the residents who
haunted the place—although they had spotted no one. Bill suspected
the automatic weapons his body guards carried had something to do
with that. He stepped carefully, picking a path that looked less
filthy—if possible—than the others. Lorna followed, saying nothing.
Her capacity to do what needed to be done without complaint amazed
Bill. That alone should earn her an accommodation.

Their guards, more used to environments such as
this, spread out on order of Luk Bol, flanking their wards and
watching the surrounding trash heaps warily. Bill noted that only
Bol wore combat boots. Two or three others had on worn tennis
shoes, but the rest of the soldiers walked with Chinese
sandals.

The stench was awful. Bill had never smelled
anything so repugnant. It burned his nostrils, and his throat
quickly became raw from trying not to breathe through his nose. But
he managed, as did the uncomplaining woman who walked behind
him.

Half an hour later, they stumbled across two
badly burned and mutilated bodies of children. That alone made
Gardner want to retch. He had seen a lot of death during his
military career, but the bodies of children always bothered him
profoundly. The indiscriminate slaughter of innocents finally
proved too much for Bill, who mustered out of service after what he
had witnessed in Columbia. He didn’t appreciate having those
memories forcefully brought back into his mind. He turned away,
refusing to look.

Lorna noticed. “You okay?”

He shook his head. “Not really. This…this is
monstrous.”

Lorna sighed. “I understand.”

Whatever distaste she might harbor, she hid it
well. Opening her satchel, she slipped on some dark blue gloves,
and then with some unnamable instrument, she began probing the
bodies.

Bill just looked at the horizon, wondering what
the last thing these poor children had seen. The sun had just begun
to set, and despite the trash, the blazing colors were beautiful to
behold. He hoped that these children had at least time to enjoy
this before being murdered.

“These children didn’t die due to the fire,”
Lorna observed. “They were both shot first.”

“What is the placement of the wounds?” Bill
asked, refusing to look.

“Heart shot on the slightly larger corpse. Head
shot on the smaller one.”

“Execution style?”

“The head shot one for sure. The heart shot was
done from slightly further away based on the entry wound. I’m
sorry, but it’s really hard to tell. Whoever burned these bodies
certainly didn’t leave much to go on.” She looked around. “It’s not
as if this is a state of the art laboratory.”

“Is there any chance of having any of this
analyzed?”

“Here?” She gave a soft snort, glancing sidelong
at one of the armed mercenaries pretending to be a bodyguard. “I
doubt they even know what laboratory is.” She used a tool to gently
extract a burned strip of cloth. “I can probably have this sent
back to the States for analysis. The chemical compound of an
accelerant is like a signature. Hopefully, I’ll be able to tell you
where the compound was manufactured if not the one who purchased or
used it.”

Bill crossed his arms, thinking. “That would at
least be something,” he mused. “I guess our best bet is to find a
witness.”

Lorna frowned. “You think there were
witnesses?”

“Yeah. This isn’t like our landfills back home.
This one is home to all sorts of displaced people. Children,
mostly, I suspect.”

“And what makes you think they’ll talk to
you?”

“We can offer something.”

“Like what?”

“We can take pictures and offer them for free.
Children love to be taken in pictures,” he muttered aloud, hardly
hearing her.

Lorna stood, frowning. “Pictures?”

“Yeah…” Bill looked around. “Right about there,
I think.” He pointed to one of the less used entrances to the
landfill. A rambling series of shacks and shanties were built along
the edge and even now he knew that dozens—perhaps hundreds—of eyes
were watching them. Bill grabbed her arm and started pulling her
back towards the jeeps. “Come along sweetheart. How good is your
photography skills?”

“What?”

“You can use my camera and my portable printer.
We can give them pictures they can keep as a memento.”

“Uh…okay? What are you doing?”

“We need a few more things though,” he mused,
ignoring her. “I’ll make an appeal directly to General Hynes. That
ought to get the ball rolling.”

A small smile of glee played across the woman’s
lips as understanding dawned on her. “Oh this is going to be rich.
Come on, I want to make this call!” Now it was she who pulled him
along.

Almost two days later, Bill and Lorna set up a
stand. Lorna had scrounged up a table from somewhere and some
chairs to go with it. The equipment had been delivered under heavy
guard, something that Lorna found downright hilarious. She started
calling their bodyguards ‘Pics Commandos.’ Fortunately, the
mercenaries misconstrued the reference and beamed with pride
anytime she ordered them around using that nomenclature.

In a street corner, Lorna and Bill set up shop.
“The day will be long. You could have prepared something to
eat.”

“Do I look like a housewife to you?” she
retorted, allowing herself to be pulled along. “And don’t call me
sweetheart or I’ll break your legs.”

“You would too,” he chuckled. “How many pictures
do you think we can take and get developed?”

“That depends how many people want one.”

“Yes…” He turned to look at the mercenaries. “Go
back to the jeep and wait for us there,” Bill ordered Luk Bol.

Bol eyed him with downright suspicion, but he
clearly didn’t have any real reason to argue against the order. The
jeeps were not so far away that they couldn’t keep an eye on their
two American guests, and their material—no matter how insane—seemed
to be a bit overboard for an escape attempt.

He waved his men away and they grudgingly
trudged back to the jeeps where they lounged around, smoking and
fingering their weapons.

“Well, hopefully the natives will still come
out,” Lorna said, eyeing the mercenaries distastefully.

“Men and guns are a common sight around here.
But taking pictures is probably a little rarer. If the soldiers
look non-threatening, we can expect some business.” He looked at
the camera. “Just don’t tell them we are Americans. We might be
violating some sort of religious taboo.”

“You’re planning to give all the pictures away,
right?” she asked.

“To the first few, yes. The rest will need to
answer some questions. I’m hoping that if the first get a nice
picture, we’ll find ourselves with a steady business.”

“I hope they don’t just kill us and take the
camera,” she grumbled half-heartedly.

“That’s what your commandos are for. With a show
of strength like that, I doubt we’ll see much trouble. I just
needed them far enough away that people feel safe enough to
approach.”

Right on cue, their first customer appeared. She
looked to be no more than five or six years old and she approached
hesitantly, eyes wide and focused on the camera.

“Looks like you’re up,” the ex-marine said
softly to his companion.

Lorna smiled at the young girl, ignoring the
girl’s matted hair, ragged clothing, and awful stench. “Hi there,
sweetheart,” she said. “Would you like to get a picture taken of
you?”

The girl clutched a ragged looking doll under
one arm. She nodded slowly, her eyes big and round. Bill wondered
at sending a small child to the strange Americans first. He
suspected that many people were watching them right now, and he had
spotted furtive movements from dark windows and shadows to verify
the notion. Maybe they thought that a little girl would have more
success, or maybe the girl was on her own.

Lorna snapped a picture and plugged the camera
into the laptop they had set up nearby. The printer hummed to life
and began printing. Shortly thereafter, they had a picture. “There
you go, honey. All for you.” She handed the picture to the
girl.

The little girl immediately grabbed the picture
and ran off. Bill suspected that there would be a fight over the
picture.

When people learned that portraits were being
offered for free, everyone rushed toward the foreigners. Young and
older came in droves, it seemed. Each was exposed to the camera
with his or her favorite pose. In front of the camera, an old man
found his strength and his youth. He got rid of his cane and asked
Lorna to take picture with him. Lorna accepted. Bill took the
picture. Before leaving, the old man asked Lorna if she had
something for his irritated skin.

“Can I see?” asked Lorna

Lorna dug into her bag and pulled out a tube of
cream she handled to the man. “You definitely have to see a doctor,
sir.”

The man left. He was happy with the picture and
the treatment Lorna gave him, but her advice mattered little to
him.

“I find that many people suffer from skin
problems, you think it’s normal ?”

“Of course, it is not. In this lost region,
foreigners are engaged in weird activities, using the water to
discharge waste of all kinds, including uranium radioactive waste,
mostly, and also industrial and chemical waste...Since the
containers have washed up on beaches, many of residents have fallen
ill, suffering from mouth infections, abdominal bleeding and skin
problems, among other diseases…United States, along with United
Nations are working on the issue to find a solution. We have to put
some trust and hope on them…”

Bill stopped talking for a moment. He was
concerned about the situation. Bill didn’t necessary support
radical positions of some environmentalist, but as many citizens of
the world, he preferred to live in a responsible and healthy world
“Unfortunately, we might be facing the same problem soon.” added
Bill.

“What do you mean?” asked Lorna.

“Fukushima disaster…Nuclear waste were found in
the pacific. A tide of radioactive trash and chemical waste is
pushing ever closer to North America…They get rid of their waste in
the water and they continue to blame the current and strong
waves.”

A teen girl wearing a scarf on her head shyly
approached. The locks of her black curly hair exceeded the
headscarf she was wearing.

"You can remove your scarf if you want,
honey!"

Lorna realized that the girl did not understand
a word of English. She caught up in Arabic, making signs with her
hands.