Off With Their Heads (11 page)

‘Neil, did they get close enough to…’

Neha did not dare complete the sentence, but the moment Neil saw the wound, the same thought had burned itself into his mind. Had he been bitten? He could not remember it, but then the struggle below Neha’s apartment had been so savage that he had not really been conscious of much other than swinging his rod at the nearest Biter he could see. He had assumed the pain in his shoulder was from the exertion of the fight. But now, looking at the wound, he was beginning to have doubts. He looked at Neha, his eyes filling with tears.

‘How long do I have? Have you read anything on the Internet?’

He could see that Neha was starting to cry as well and sobs racked her body as she tried to turn away. ‘Maybe it’s just a cut.’

Neil got up, holding her shoulders so that she was forced to look straight into his eyes. ‘How long do I have?’

Neha spoke in little more than a whisper, seemingly forcing each word out. ‘They say that the speed at which the infection takes hold depends on how deep the bite is and the number of bites. Some people with minor bites thought they had got away but became Biters after three or four hours. People who are bitten repeatedly turn pretty much immediately.’

Neil looked at his watch. He had been bitten perhaps thirty minutes ago. Even assuming he had a couple of hours, the best he could hope was to get Neha to the safety of the airport, and then what? He had met many brave boys and girls during his work with Make-A-Wish, and he had marveled at their strength in the face of terminal illnesses. He found his knees buckling and realized that he did not have that same strength. Of course, they had months or perhaps years to go – he did not even have one day.

He just sat there for a few seconds, Neha squatting in front of him, her hands on his shoulders. His mind was numb, with fear, with self-pity, with regret for all the things he would never be able to do. He looked up into Neha’s tear-filled eyes, and felt a renewed resolve. Neha must have seen the change in his expression.

‘What’s wrong?’

He stood up, and finished filling his bike’s tank, and then looked at Neha.

‘If I drive really fast, I can probably get you to the airport in thirty minutes. So we should still have time before anything happens to me. But before that, will you grant me one last wish?’

Neha burst into tears. ‘Neil, maybe it’s just a cut…’

Neil held her shoulders and she hugged him.

‘You know better than that. Now, we don’t have a lot of time. Will you fulfill my wish?’

Neha fought back her tears and nodded.

‘I was thinking of asking you out for a coffee after the party today. Will you go out with me on a date? I don’t have much money, I don’t look like much, but I do have these funky bunny ears and I am currently the world champion in the game of Biter Swatting with my rod here.’

Neha laughed and hugged him tight.

‘Lead the way, my bunny-eared hero. Where shall we have our date?’

And so they sat in an abandoned Pizza Hut. They didn’t eat or drink anything, but just sitting there, holding hands, made Neil forget, if only for a moment, what he was faced with. For that fleeting moment, he was living his dream.

They talked about their families, their dreams. Neil told her about how he was saving up to go to a good college, maybe get an MBA. Neha told him about how she hated being always told what to do, and being expected to join the family business after an MBA, and how she would much rather become a journalist. They talked about their likes and dislikes, about movies, and music, and friends at college, and then Neil took a look at his watch. It had been just fifteen minutes. The most magical fifteen minutes of his life. But now he had to get Neha to safety. He got up, but she stopped him.

‘Your wish isn’t yet over. There’s something left.’

Then she leaned close and kissed Neil.

*

The highway looked like a giant junkyard, with abandoned vehicles littering it. There were bodies strewn among them, but Neil tried to focus on the path ahead as he maneuvered his bike between the vehicles. They had seen groups of Biters when they had left the city center and taken the road to the highway, but they have been traveling too fast for the Biters to catch them. Now, hemmed in by abandoned cars on all sides, and in the fading light, he was forced to trade speed for safety, and there was no telling what lurked behind the next car. Neha was acting as the lookout, and once or twice she yelled out warnings of approaching Biters, but in both cases, it turned out to be a case of nerves, made worse by shadows being thrown around them.

Then she screamed, but even before the words left her mouth, Neil saw the danger. Two Biters had come out from behind a car to their right. With three abandoned cars blocking the way to their left, they did not have enough room to avoid them. One of the Biters was a frail old man with his face largely ripped off below the nose. The other was a younger man, wearing a bloodied Mickey Mouse t-shirt. Neil told Neha to be ready to grab the handlebars when he told her to, and then accelerated his bike, speeding towards the Biters. He turned the bike sideways at the last moment and kicked out at the older Biter. The momentum of the bike sent the Biter sprawling. The other Biter was coming towards Neil, bloodied mouth open, ready to bite, when Neil screamed at Neha to steer the bike.

‘Mickey Mouse, meet Bunny Ears.’

With that, he swung the metal rod over his head and crushed the Biter’s skull in one blow. The older Biter was scrambling to get back up, but by then Neil had sped away down the highway.

For the next ten minutes or so, they rode in relative peace, and with fewer cars visible on the road. Then up ahead Neil saw some vehicles moving at high speed. There were a couple of SUVs and what looked like five large Army trucks. The windows of the lead SUV were rolled down and rifles stuck out at least one window.

‘They look like Army vehicles. Maybe they’re also heading for the airport.’

Just then, Neil was racked by a violent coughing fit, and he barely managed to bring the bike to a stop before he fell off. Neha had fallen and scraped her knees, but she hardly noticed the pain as she ran towards Neil.

Neil was now on his knees and continuing to cough. The front of his shirt was now coated with blood and his hands were beginning to shake.

Neha started to cry, but Neil got up and pushed her towards the bike.

‘Not yet, not yet. I have to get you to safety. I may not last till the airport but I can get you to those Army trucks.’

Neil drove faster than he had ever driven before, with Neha clutching him tightly as he bore down on the vehicles he had seen. He saw someone lift the flap on the rear truck’s cab, and a rifle peeked out. Neil wanted to shout at them to not shoot, but when he opened his mouth, more blood came out. He would just have to take his chances. He increased his speed and came alongside the lead SUV, motioning frantically for it to stop. A man in military uniform pointed a rifle at Neil.

‘Sir, I will shoot if you do not move away from this convoy.’

Neha shouted back, ‘We need help. I’m trying to get to that safe zone at the airport, and my boyfriend needs medical help.’

The man with the rifle turned to talk to someone inside and then another face peered out, a familiar face. Then the convoy came to a halt and a man in an Indian Army uniform ran out from the SUV. He addressed Neha.

‘Ma’am, were you with the Make-A-Wish Foundation?’

When Neha nodded, he pointed back to the SUV.

‘We really don’t have space in there for anyone, but Dr. Gladwell recognized you from the foundation and is asking that we take you along. Anyway, the airport is gone, so we’re going to another army shelter nearby, and you had best come along.’

He took Neha’s hand and was pulling her when she looked at Neil. ‘Can you help him?’

The soldier looked at Neil, pity in his eyes as he took in Neil’s bloodied clothes and his yellowing eyes. ‘Ma’am, I’m really sorry. We can’t do anything for him any more. We need to get going.’

When Neha hesitated, Neil took her hand. ‘Please go, Neha, and take care of yourself.’

He was saying the words in his mind, but he realized they were coming out all garbled as more blood came out of his mouth. He felt another sharp stab of pain in his chest and he pushed Neha away. The soldier half dragged her to the SUV and then the convoy drove away.

Neil sat down by the side of the road, watching the vehicles disappear into the distance. He coughed out more blood and then lay down, unable to sit any more. His body felt like it was on fire, but he smiled one last time. He had managed to get Neha to safety, and she had called him her boyfriend, had she not?

With that last thought, Neil George relaxed, closed his eyes and awaited what was to come.

‘Bob, I need some American Chopsuey NOW!’

Robert Gladwell put the phone down with a sigh. He might be the second-in-command at the American Embassy in New Delhi, but when it came to his wife, Joanne, there was no question who was in charge. Especially when she was cranky, sleepless and in the middle of a very tough pregnancy.

They had been in New Delhi for close to two years, and Gladwell had been through enough Third World postings in places like Bangkok, Jakarta and Riyadh to appreciate the real richness of cultures and relationships that lay beneath the surface.

He told his secretary that he was going to take a slightly longer than normal lunch break and as he told his driver to head to their apartment in the city’s Diplomatic Enclave, he called ahead to order some Chinese food. He had long realized that the Chinese food available in India was nothing like what he had tasted in the US, or indeed during his trips to China when he had been on a trade delegation. It was spiced, fried and tossed in ways that were possible only in India, and the crispy noodles with oversweet sauce ambitiously named ‘American Chopsuey’ most Americans would have found neither American nor Chopsuey. But who was Gladwell to argue with a pregnant woman’s cravings?

‘Dan, after lunch, I think I’ll stop by for the briefing at South Block.’

Gladwell put down his phone after telling his Personal Security Officer in the car following him about his plans and thought about just how much things had changed. A year ago, security would no doubt have been tight, but he would not be tailed by a contingent of officers from both the US Diplomatic Security Service and India’s Special Protection Group, even when he headed out for a quiet family dinner.

The world was imploding fast – tensions in the Middle East had reached a fever pitch, and the attacks on Israeli diplomats in New Delhi in early 2012 had proven to be just a small preview of what was to follow. Attacks on US and Israeli diplomats had occurred through the rest of the year around the world, and the finger of suspicion had always pointed back to Iran. Israel was itching to bomb Iran, and the US efforts at holding it back were fast slipping. Being in India put Gladwell and his team in an especially uncomfortable place. India, while allied to the US, had important commercial interests in Iran, and was also reeling from constant attacks from terrorists based in Pakistan, a nation the US was relying on to allow some sort of orderly withdrawal from the festering mess that was Afghanistan.

Just thinking of it all gave Gladwell a headache, and he was not looking forward to the afternoon’s briefing by India’s External Affairs Ministry, where they would share intelligence about how rogue Jihadi elements were dangerously close to getting control of Pakistan’s nuclear arsenal. Gladwell had seen it all before, in files sent his way by the CIA, but the leadership back in the United States was choosing to stay strangely mum about it all. If all of that was not bad enough, then there was the recent virus in China that had led relations between China and the US to hit rock bottom, and the occasional skirmishes between Chinese and Taiwanese forces did not help. Between Jo’s mood swings and the chaos at work, Robert Gladwell looked forward to the pint of beer he had been promised by an old Army buddy who was in town later that evening.

‘Hey, Dad, don’t tell me Mom wanted that Chopsuey crap again!’

‘Young lady, you watch your language.’

Gladwell waited to see the expression on his ten-year old daughter’s face gradually change from one of amusement to one of concern. Gladwell rarely lost his temper, but she knew that it wasn’t a great idea to make him do so. Finally, he smiled and ruffled her hair.

‘Put your school bag in your room and help me set the table, and to make up for the Chopsuey, we’ll have some ice cream after lunch.’

Jane whooped and ran more than walked to her room, as Gladwell went to meet his wife, Joanne.

Dr. Joanne Gladwell was six months pregnant and now very much showing it, but she still insisted on participating in the one thing beyond her family that she was passionate about – the Make-A-Wish foundation. She had a Doctorate in Literature and had taught for some years, but gradually found it hard to sustain a teaching career with the constant moves that came with being the wife of a Foreign Service Officer. So she channeled her energy and passion into volunteer work. As Gladwell walked into their bedroom, she was reading up on some of the fundraising plans for the foundation.

‘Sweetheart, how’re you feeling today?’ Gladwell leaned over and kissed her on her forehead, lovingly playing with her blonde hair. Jo held his hand and made him sit down next to her. ‘What are you looking at?’

Jo smiled as she answered. ‘At my knight in shining armor, my bearer of American Chopsuey.’

Gladwell laughed and got up to set the table.

‘Sweetheart, I’ll rush through lunch a bit as I have a meeting to get to. By the way, how’s the little one?’

Jo grimaced a bit.

‘She’s kicking, as always. This one will be a real firecracker.’

Jane had been a dream pregnancy and a real angel to bring up. Their second child, a girl, as they had learned in an ultrasound back in the US, was quite the opposite. Jo had terrible morning sickness in the early months, and now, the little one never seemed to stay still.