Elvis spat on the ground. “I’m in.”
“Yeah, not a lot of choice,” said Bosco, a hint of reluctance carrying in his voice.
Bower admired the way Jameson worked with his soldiers. He had to know they had no choice given the circumstances. They were less than twenty miles from Lilongwe, yet for Jameson it was important to maintain a sense of unity even this far along the track.
“OK, let’s roll,” he said, walking back to the truck.
As they got underway, Bower looked out at the alien pods. They lay scattered in the distance, spread out hundreds of feet apart on the dry grass or caught in thorny Acacia trees. She didn’t say anything, as no one else seemed to notice and she didn’t want to be alarmist, but they were all broken, they were all leaking. The further they drove, the more sure she became, noting that not only had the fragile, white umbrella-shaped parachutes dissolved in the wind, leaving a brittle skeleton, but the resin casings had ruptured too. They were breaking down, their dark walls giving way and spewing thick, black sludge on the ground.
What did it mean? What did it matter what it meant? Was there anything she could do about it? Had some kind of biological agent been released? Or was she being paranoid, reading too much into some unknown process?
Sitting there, bouncing with the worn suspension of the truck on the rough track, Bower knew she was helpless and that scared her more than any giant creature floating through the sky. For the first time, she thought she could die, that the events unfolding around her could lead to her demise. Her life was out of her control. There was nothing to control, nothing she could change. And this was true for all of humanity.
The floaters had gone, disappearing over the horizon to the north. They appeared to move roughly parallel with each other. In some ways, she preferred having them around. As jarring as they were, they held a sense of awe, but with their passing, Bower was left with a sense of fear for the unknown. What was next? As the sun set and Africa descended into night, she couldn’t shake a pervading fear of the dark.
Chapter 08: Lilongwe
“He says the Marines are holed up at the airport to the east of the city, but that there are Pakistani soldiers in the old UN compound in the city center,” Jameson said, climbing back in the truck after talking with government troops by a roadblock on the outskirts of Lilongwe.
The city was in flames.
A red glow rose over the horizon, lighting up the darkness, silhouetting the buildings of the capital. Sporadic gunfire erupted from around the city. Bower had no idea of the distances involved from the sound, but the soldiers didn’t seem too concerned. Can’t high-powered bullets travel upwards of a mile or so, she wondered, but it was a question she didn’t really want answered.
“The captain reckons it’s easily eight miles,” Jameson added. “Bosco hasn’t been able to raise the Pakis on the shortwave, so we’re going to hunker down here for the night and move in with the dawn. Pull the truck up over behind the command post.”
“Roger that,” Elvis replied, putting the truck in gear and driving around the side of a war-torn building. Bullet holes ran along the concrete. There was no glass in any of the windows, and no light from inside, but Bower was tired. Bad had become a relative term. With the advent of vast alien creatures drifting through the sky, it seemed the worst the civil war had to offer was nothing compared to the threat of an unknown alien menace. In that regard, the building actually seemed inviting, being shelter from what she thought of as prying eyes from the sky.
Funny that, she thought, climbing out of the cab of the truck: the illusion of importance. She felt the world revolved around her even though she knew it didn’t. Somehow the alien presence was a personal threat. Bower was torn. On a logical level, she was intrigued by the arrival of an alien intelligence. The doctor and scientist within her had so many questions. And yet her human side worried. Her natural instinct was to fear all that was to come. The future seemed dark. In the depths of her soul she wanted to unwind time, to go back to simpler days, to return to her village hospital. Certainty, that’s what had been lost. Bower somehow felt there had been certainty in the midst of a brooding civil war. She smiled at the irony.
As she walked across the dusty ground she noticed a government soldier pissing into the remains of an alien pod. She went to say something to him, but what was there to say?
Jameson led her and Kowalski into a small storage room with single window. Jagged shards of glass stuck out of the window frame. There was no privacy, but at least she knew no one would try climbing in during the night.
“We’re going to get you to bed down here. Try to get some sleep. In addition to the government sentries, we’ll have a two-man watch through the night.”
Bower nodded.
Kowalski dropped their packs onto the ground.
Bower was surprised by how tired she was. She barely remembered unfolding her sleeping mat and crawling into a thin sheet sack.
Within seconds, it seemed, she was being woken by Kowalski rummaging through his backpack.
Light broke the darkness hanging over Lilongwe. For a moment, Bower thought she caught a glimpse of the alien mothership, but it was a cloud lit up in soft pinks high in the stratosphere. A hot, dry wind blew in from the west. The humidity was already oppressive.
“Rise and shine,” Bosco said, sticking his head in the door.
Bower was still trying to process the eight or nine hours that had vanished in a fleeting moment. Kowalski had already repacked his bag. He offered her some water, which she gladly accepted.
“I need to—”
“Latrine’s behind the guardhouse,” Bosco replied. “Unisex.”
Bower faked a smile. As she walked past Jameson he handed her a bullet-proof vest saying something she missed with the sound of gunfire close by.
“I’ll just be a…”
There was no need to go on. Jameson knew. He continued rummaging around in the back of the Hummer. Elvis and Bosco were joking around with each other, laughing about something.
Smithy was checking the bulky magazine on the lightweight machine gun. Bower got the distinct impression she shouldn’t dawdle.
The smell from the toilet was overwhelming.
One of the young Rangers followed her over and stood outside the latrine with his M4 rifle in hand. He looked outward, away from the toilet, toward at the checkpoint. He must have followed her on Jameson’s orders, even though she was barely thirty feet away.
“Thanks,” she said after she came back out. The young man simply smiled in reply and followed her back to the rest of the Rangers. His helmet looked too big for his head. Bower couldn’t suppress the realization that she was being protected by a kid with a machine gun. He looked barely out of high school.
The bulletproof vest was uncomfortable, designed for men. Bower fiddled with the webbing on the shoulders, trying to let the breastplate out a little as she walked back over to join the soldiers.
“Here, let me help you with that.”
Bower looked up to see Smithy with her helmet off. Although her blonde hair was cropped short and messy, she was pretty. Her petite face had a natural beauty, one that didn’t need makeup to accentuate her features. It was no wonder Elvis joked about her being Combat Barbie. Smithy really did look out of place among the Rangers. She belonged in a Vogue magazine, not a civil war.
Smithy loosened the waist strap for Bower.
“Feels like you’re carrying lead weights over your shoulders, huh?”