Authors: Michael Bray
"What are you saying?"
"I’m saying the physical fight, the warfare, the dirty work, isn’t where the battle is won." Joshua tapped his temple with a bony index finger. "Winning the psychological battle is the key to victory. First we break their spirits, and then we purge their physical form."
"And how will we break their spirits?"
Joshua smiled and clasped his hands behind his back. "Don’t worry about that. I have something in mind that will show our intentions to the world. Something that will turn the current confusion at street level into terror."
"It sounds like something Hitler would have said," Genaro replied with a nervous snort.
"Yes, it does doesn’t it? He had the right idea. You see, he knew fear was the key to success. He only failed because he made a couple of small but critical errors. We will not repeat them."
"When? When do we put this into action?"
"My friend, it’s already started. The world doesn’t yet know it, but it is enjoying the final days of life as they know it."
Genaro nodded, feeling a mixture of pride and fear racing through his veins. Breaking away from the hypnotic gaze of Joshua, the scientist returned to his work.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
DHAVARI SLUMS
MUMBAI
INDIA
YOU COULD NEVER FORGET the smell. Food waste rotting in the gutters, stagnant sewer water running freely down the same roads people walked, baked into a disgusting throat burning stench by the intense pollution heavy air. And the desperation. The helplessness. That was a smell all of its own. With a population of up to a million, the almost unbearable living conditions were a way of life many of the areas would have to endure until their death – an event which could happen at any time through starvation, conflict, or from one of the countless epidemics which scourged the closely knit ramshackle dwellings. Flies and rats thrived in abundance amid the haunted faced people for whom just making it through the day was seen as a huge achievement.
Thirty-nine-year-old Suvari Tam grew up on these streets. An exception to the rule, she had been one of the few lucky ones to find a way out and make a life for herself, to flee to America and find a good man who she loved dearly. Even though it was to help, she found it incredibly strange to be back. She wasn't sure what to make of the whirlwind of emotion she could feel stirring inside her. Part of it was a deep sadness that nothing had changed. Some of it was fear that she had come back to the place where so many memories were bad. Another aspect was the conversation she had with Marcus just before she left. He had sounded distant and withdrawn, and although they had both tried to forget it, she couldn’t help but compare his mood to the immediate aftermath of the incident at the school which had changed him forever. She also thought of her sister for the first time in years, the guilt of that revelation cutting deep. Like Suvari, she had wanted out and shared the same determination to make a difference. However, like many of the residents of the slums, she was sold into a prostitution ring at just eight years old and spent the next three years being forced to endure horrific sexual acts from men who would gladly pay the minuscule fee her owners would charge, knowing nothing was off limits as far as what they would be allowed to do to the fragile young girl. Suvari last saw her sister on the day of her eleventh birthday. She was emaciated and her once bright eyes were dead and devoid of hope. She had asked Suvari for a few rupees to get some food and disappeared off into the maze of buildings. Two days later her body was found by the river with her throat cut. It was a ghastly end to a pitiful existence, and the worst part of it for Suvari was that nobody cared. One dead underage prostitute in a community full of them wasn't news. It was part of daily life.
What it did, was give Suvari the extra motivation she needed to ensure her own life wasn't wasted in the same way. Knowing it was a case of either die in the slums or take a chance by moving on, she chose the latter, and with nothing but the clothes on her back, set off as a thirteen-year-old child into the world with no clue how far she would get or what the future held.
Now here she stood, back where she started, an educated woman who against all odds had found a loving family in Bangladesh who took her in and gave her all the tools she needed to make the most of life. She was never the brightest and sometimes struggled to keep up with her classmates who had been afforded the luxury of education from a much younger age. However the desire to be a success burned inside her, and drove her to make as much of a success of herself as possible. She had moved to America, hoping to find the path to whatever life intended for her and in doing so met her future husband, Marcus. They had met by chance at a local bar and immediately hit it off. She was taken in by his good looks and sharp personality but never anticipated that he would feel the same way, even less that they would go on to marry and have two wonderful children. Now working as an aid worker, she was determined to help as many children as possible to a better life and ensure as best she could that they avoided the same fate as her sister. She walked through the crowded streets, surprised at how little she had forgotten about how awful it was. Her internal navigation took over, guiding her down alleyways and through the winding, filth-laden roads. Outwardly she showed little emotion. Inside she wanted to weep for the horror of an existence these poor people had to endure.
The claustrophobic walls of the slums gave way to the rubbish-strewn banks of the river. The stench of the filthy water was almost overpowering, a smell that instantly triggered memories from her childhood. She couldn’t forget that stench. It had ingrained into her skin and even after leaving Mumbai for pastures new, it seemed to linger, somehow in her skin no matter how often she washed or tried to scrub it away. She watched from the bank as children who knew no better played in the rancid water which was in truth little more than an open sewer filled with human waste. It was little wonder disease was so rife. She approached the edge of the water walking through ankle high rubbish at its edge and disturbing mosquitoes and rats alike.
She pushed her jet black hair out of her eyes and slung her backpack off her shoulder. Inside were bottles of clean water and bread.
"Children, come here," She said, holding the bread and water up for them to see. She knew most of the children were orphans, either through abandonment or due to the death of their parents. As she had arrived back in the city she had seen them sleeping on the ground and in gutters, devoid of anything which might resemble pride. They flocked to her, eyes wide, grins plastered onto their emaciated faces. There wasn't enough for them all, it was impossible. She had only six bottles of water and there were twelve children.
"Share it around, share it around," she said as she handed the water to the children.
The ones who didn't grab the bottles were grabbing at those who did, desperate to get a taste.
"Hey, share it," Suvari said in the native tongue. "If you don't, you won't get any bread."
That seemed to do the trick, and she waited until all of them had taken a sip.
"Oaky, now the bread," She said as she began to tear chunks from the loaves and hand them to the hungry children.
She waited as they ate, feeling both elated and sad as she looked across the river. In the distance, through the perpetual shroud of low hanging pollution, she could see the tower blocks of the city. Although the Dhavari slums were right in the middle of India's financial capital, it was a place forgotten and ignored a place –
Her thoughts were broken by the flash of light across the water. The rumble of the explosion followed seconds later and she watched as a black edged fireball rose into the sky from between the tall buildings of the city chased by a thick plume of black smoke. She was starting to wonder if it was some kind of traffic accident or some other explainable occurrence when two other similar explosions happened within seconds of each other in different parts of the skyscape, and a fourth from behind, somewhere out of sight beyond the slums. Rolling across the still air, she could hear the steady chatter of gunfire, which was enough for her to know something was desperately wrong.
"Go, home to your families," she said to the children. A few did as they were told, running into the maze of hovel like homes, the rest stayed, watching Suvari, waiting for her to do something. She could tell by their dishevelled appearance these were the kind of children who had no homes or families – the type who were forced to live on the streets and faced an uphill fight every day to survive. There were six of them in total and although she wasn't sure where it came from, she felt an overwhelming desire to look after them.
"Come with me," she said to the children. “I’ll get you to a safe place."
Another explosion, this one much closer rattled the earth and Suvari felt a tiny, dirty hand grasp hers in fear.
"Come on, this way," she said, fighting the urge to run as she walked back the way she had come, leading the children away from the river. She met people coming in the opposite direction, curious faces interested to see what the commotion was. Two more unseen explosions rattled the city, and the people gasped. She looked over her shoulder just as one of the tower blocks on the horizon collapsed, throwing a huge cloud of concrete dust into the air. With increased urgency, she turned her attention back to the narrow streets and tried to push against the flow of people who were all now trying to get to the river for a closer look at what was happening. Suvari led the children through winding side streets, hoping they were still following and at the same time having no clue where she was even leading them. She had come to the slums via bus and had no transport of her own.
Another explosion erupted, this time uncomfortably close. Now those who were curious at the riverbank were unsure, and some were starting to double back, causing a bottleneck in the narrow streets. Suvari led the children towards one of the main thoroughfares through the slum. Dubbed ' 90 feet road' so named because of its alleged width (although most residents knew the neighbouring '60 feet road’ was actually wider). Here the noise was deafening, the street gridlocked with battered taxis trying to bully their way through traffic to reach their destination. Horns honked, and the air was filled with acrid black smoke spewed from sick sounding exhausts. She had hoped to find transport out of the slum from here, an idea which was quickly abandoned. She heard another dull explosion, although amid the constant drone of shouting, revving engines and honking horns it was barely audible. She saw their opportunity, a rusty flatbed truck idling by the side of the road, its driver leaning against the cab and smoking as he watched the traffic crawl by. She ushered the children to the back of the pale blue vehicle and started to help them inside.
"Hey, what are you doing?" The driver said. He was old and leathery, with a thick moustache, hard eyes and crooked yellow teeth.
"Please, you have to take us out of the city," She said, not stopping as she helped the children into the truck.
"No, I’m not a taxi. I can’t help you." He replied, then leaned inside the truck. "Come on, out of there," He barked, reaching for the child nearest him.
Before she could help herself she grabbed his wrist.
"No," she said, wondering if she had finally overstepped the mark. "Please, help us," She added, pressing a handful of money into his hand.
The man looked at the money, then at the children and back to Suvari.
"Where do you want to go?"
"Just get us out of the city.” As she said it, there was another explosion, this time, close enough to shake the buildings of the slums. The people were now starting to spill onto the street, and Suavari saw a flicker of understanding in the man’s eyes.
"Okay, come on," he said, helping the last of the children into the back of the truck.
Suvari went to the passenger side and was about to climb in when the man hurried around to where she stood.
"Wait a moment," he said, opening the door. The foot well and seat was covered in food wrappers and other assorted garbage which looked to have been accumulated over the years. The man scooped it out onto the street and then turned to her with an apologetic shrug.
"Sorry, I’m used to travelling alone."
She climbed into the truck, desperate now to be anywhere but there. She could see arguments breaking out as desperate people tried to find someone to give them a ride to somewhere safe. She could sense how things were just a hair away from spilling into chaos, and she didn’t want to be there when it happened.
The owner of the truck climbed into the driver’s side, cigarette jammed into the corner of his mouth. She thought it would be an absolute miracle if the truck even started, let alone was able to get them out of the city. Heated arguments were taking place all around them as those who had seen what was happening across the river grew increasingly desperate to flee. Some had already given up on securing a vehicle and were running, which in turn caused more confusion as people started to wonder what was happening.
"We need to hurry," Suvari said to the driver.
"Yes yes, just a second," he replied, taking a last drag of his cigarette and tossing it out of the window. He turned the key, and to Suvari’s elation and surprise, the truck sputtered to life at the first attempt. It sounded sick, but it was running. The gearbox groaned as the man found drive and inched them forward into the slow flow of traffic.