“By the time we get there, it may already be too late.”
“I will not just wait here. I have to do whatever I can.”
Again, she started walking.
“Kusum! Please!”
She didn’t stop.
“Kusum!” She’d almost disappeared into the jungle. “All right, all right! I’ll drive you back.”
She slowed to a halt and looked at him. “Let’s go.”
They traveled down the rutted road toward the highway. In the first light of day, the jungle looked thinner and less menacing than it had in the dark.
It took them a full half hour to reach the blacktop road. Sanjay was surprised. He hadn’t realized they’d ridden that far into the wilderness.
It wasn’t long before he said, “We have to make a stop.”
“Why?”
“The tank is almost empty. We would never make it all the way there.”
He could hear her sigh, frustrated. “Okay, but as quick as we can.”
A few minutes later, he saw a roadside stop that was selling petrol out of cans. While a young boy helped him fill his tank, Kusum went inside the hut that served as a shop, but she was only gone a few seconds before she rushed back out.
“Sanjay! Come quick!”
He looked at her, confused, but she’d already disappeared back through the door. He paid the boy for the fuel, and jogged over to the hut.
Inside were several tables full of food items for purchase, and two coolers stuffed with drinks. But Kusum wasn’t looking at any of them. She was standing near the back corner, staring at a TV on a table. Three other people were also crowded around, watching.
A BBC news anchor was framed in the center of the screen.
“…dozens of locations around the globe,” the man said.
“What’s going on?” Sanjay asked.
Kusum and one of the others shhh’d him, their attention never leaving the screen.
“Last evening local time, in the US state of Georgia,” the anchor went on, “firefighters in the city of Athens attempted to relocate one of the boxes. This resulted in a fiery explosion that killed five firemen and three civilians. Several more similar incidents have been reported from elsewhere in the States and in Europe. Officials in most countries have now suspended all orders to move the boxes, and have begun evacuating persons living anywhere near suspected containers.
“There has still been no word on what the container’s purpose might be, or who is behind them. Several helicopters — both news and police — have flown over boxes to get a look inside.” The image switched to a downward shot of one of the boxes. It was rectangular in shape, large. While the top was open, there were two large circular areas side by side near the lip, each shimmering slightly. “Analysts have determined that what you are looking at are two exhaust-type fans that seem to be pushing whatever is inside into the air. Speculation has been focused on the possibility that the contents are biological in nature. Investigative teams in many nations have taken the precaution of wearing protective gear within a half-mile radius of the boxes.
“Several groups have put forward the suggestion that this is a hoax meant to send the message of what could happen. One Latin American organization is even taking credit for doing just that, but officials are saying the claim is baseless.”
Sanjay couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Mysterious boxes shooting something into the air? Something biological? Today? The timing was too coincidental. This had to be linked to the spray Pishon Chem was unleashing on Mumbai.
Kusum looked over at him. He could see in her eyes she believed him completely now, and was thinking the same thing.
“Come on,” he said, grabbing her hand. “We have a long way to go.”
“My family?”
“We’ll try.”
“Thank you.”
They retuned to the bike, and raced west for Mumbai.
With each passing kilometer, the traffic seemed to be getting lighter and lighter. At first Sanjay didn’t think anything of it, but when it got to the point where he and Kusum were only one of a handful of vehicles on the road, he began to wonder. It had to have something to do with the news — people captivated by the reports and staying home, worrying that the same containers would be found in the areas around Mumbai.
But while there were fewer people about as they entered the city, Sanjay did start to see many of the boys and men walking through neighborhoods spraying Pishon Chem’s “mosquito-killing” poison. The public was so focused on the troubles abroad, it couldn’t even see the one right under its nose.
Each time Sanjay saw one of the people doing the spraying, he was tempted to pull over and tell them to stop, but he knew no one would listen to him. More importantly, any delay getting to Kusum’s family could be the difference between life and death.
They went directly to the fruit stand her parents owned, where Sanjay had first seen Kusum. But when they arrived, there was no fruit on display, and no one standing behind the cart. The stand was closed.
“No,” Kusum whispered.
Without even looking at her, Sanjay knew she was thinking her parents and sister might already be sick. But the spraying had been going on for only a few hours, and even if her family had been exposed, Sanjay doubted there had been enough time for them to fall ill.
“It’s okay,” he said. “They’ve stayed home like everyone else. Look, most of the shops are closed.”
He could feel her moving around on the back of the bike, scanning the area. “Yes. Yes, that must be it.”
“Tell me where your home is.”
Once more, as they drove along the streets of Mumbai, they saw more of the army of sprayers delivering the deadly liquid, neighborhood by neighborhood.
I should be shouting, Sanjay thought. I should be screaming for everyone to run. But again, who would listen? Save who you can, he told himself, ignoring the question of how.
The building Kusum’s family lived in was down a long, narrow alley. Thankfully, the closest Pishon Chem sprayers were nearly a kilometer away, and by the absence on nearby streets and sidewalks of the residual sheen from the spray, Sanjay knew they had not yet moved through this area.
“Where is everyone?” Kusum asked as they made their way down the alley.
He didn’t have to ask her what she meant. Sanjay had seen hundreds of streets just like this one, usually teeming with people at this time of day. But they’d barely seen anyone, and those they had eyed them suspiciously while hurrying to some unknown destination.
“There,” Kusum said after a moment, pointing over his shoulder at her building.
It was an old and tired-looking place, stained brown where water from the frequent rains had run down the sides for decades. Families would be stuffed inside, ten or more people in every two- or three-room apartment, doing what they could to collectively survive.
As soon as Sanjay pulled the bike to a stop, Kusum leaped off the back and raced for the door. He headed after her, passing through in time to see her running up a set of stairs. He tried to catch up but she was moving fast, and it was all he could do to keep her in sight. When he turned at the midway point between the second and third floors, where the stairs doubled back, she was gone.
“Kusum?” he called.
“This way!” she yelled, her voice coming through the door to the third floor.
Once he exited the stairwell, he spotted her three-quarters of the way down the hall, turning the knob on one of the doors. It seemed to be locked.
She knocked loudly and yelled, “It’s me! Kusum!”