The War of Immensities (50 page)

The control
group—their medical usefulness now outlived and their legal status
very much in question—had been released into Felicity Campbell’s
custody and she handed them over to the project. Presently they
were all in this room, ready to be dispersed to where-ever they
could help out. The Buryats were either in a camp or returned to
their fields but in any case could not have gone far. Lorna Simmons
was doing television appearances in New York. From each point, the
red lines converged.

“These are the
present locations of the pilgrims and since Japan is roughly the
same distance as Lake Balkai from the previous focal point, it will
be in much the same place as last time. Latitude 84.6 degrees
North, Longitude 118.3 degrees West. About 150 miles West-Nor-West
of Cape Richards. Just a little closer to the North Pole in fact.
But since our plan is for no one to go there, that should not be a
problem. The Italians will follow the same route as last time,
though perhaps a little more carefully under the guidance of Sister
Christine. Those of us affected, including myself, will by then be
in Japan where the greatest difficulties will arise. The decision
has been taken to abandon vehicles there and move the 16,000
pilgrims by foot, which means after thirty-six hours, they will
still be travelling the roads on the Honshu Island.”

Sixteen
thousand Japanese peasants walking the road to nowhere, and after
the 11th of December, perhaps more than 100,000 Bantus, abandoning
their subsistence crops to take to the road. Where did it end, Joe
wondered. The Apocalypse was coming but that was hardly likely to
make any difference. More people involved each time, the time gap
shortening, he’d done a little calculation that said the end of the
world would be the 22nd June, which was just over six months
away.

At the present
rate of decrease, that would be when the two events came so close
together that they occurred on the same day. Each would have a zone
of influence would cover 5 million square kilometres, about the
land area of the United States of America, or the average tectonic
plate. By then, pilgrims would probably outnumber the unaffected on
a global basis. Just nine months and an area the size of Africa
would find nothing holding it up and fall into the core of the
earth. If the Shastri Effect had not wiped out all humanity and
destroyed the Earth by then, there would be three more events next
day, each double the size of the one before. Why were they
bothering?

Because it
couldn’t happen, that was why. Because it was all too gigantic and
catastrophic to contemplate. Because it was completely beyond
comprehension. Admittedly, he was no scientist and his figures were
rough as guts, but the progression at the present rates went
something like that. Perhaps there would be some upper limit that a
Shastri Event could not exceed, or maybe next time the bubble would
blast an extra moon into orbit around the earth, incidentally
drowning all life. The return of Noah and no one he knew was
thinking of building an ark. Except maybe Kevin Wagner.

Mount Fuji was
all but restored. Only the most avid admirer would have noticed a
large chunk missing from the crater rim that had collapsed during
the eruption. It was quiet again and had been since the Shastri
Event of the 1st of November had burst it to thundering life. Only
the usual white mist drifted from the caldera now, and the snows
had returned, covering the black stain of ash on the slopes. Once
more the symmetry of the most perfect mountain in the world was
restored, and so by appearance had been the rural scenes on the
plains below. But that, Wagner knew, was an illusion.

There was a
house atop a hill with rippling ponds amid the landscape garden and
those paper sliding doors and even some geishas provided by the
government to keep the guests happy. The girls, and the visiting
Japanese officials, had smiled warmly and bowed and called them
honoured guests. They were rested, they had eaten well, they had
been looked after to the highest degree of the fabled Japanese
hospitality. All they couldn’t do was leave, and constantly out of
sight but always present were soldiers with machine guns to ensure
it remained so. They called it The House of the Golden Carp. In
these perfect surroundings, they had nevertheless been
prisoners.

“It’s become my
natural state these days,” Brian Carrick remarked.

Well he might
joke but Wagner saw nothing funny in it. They, Wagner and the four
members of the control group he brought with him from the base, had
been picked up when they arrived at Tokyo airport and brought here.
The other four had gone to join Felicity in Malawi. Brian Carrick
had flown in two days earlier and was waiting for him.

“I got a
message to Felicity telling her to stay away,” Brian had assured
him when he arrived.

“Why didn’t you
warn me?” Wagner bit back.

“Why didn’t you
tell me you were coming?” Brian smiled in reply.

Wagner’s
chagrin was all the worse that Brian seemed so completely at home
in The House of the Golden Carp.

“I’ve looked in
all the ponds in the garden,” Brian said sadly. “There are no carp,
golden or otherwise.”

“I don’t think
the number of fish in the garden is the hot issue here, cobber,”
Wagner seethed.

“No, you’re
right. I should have brought more books,” Brian said. “I’m through
all the stuff in my luggage.”

“Are you going
to take this situation seriously or what?” Wagner often found
Brian’s casual attitude annoying, but never more so than now.

“Why? There’s
nothing we can do. They’ll let us go on the thirteenth when the
event has passed.”

“And how are we
going to cope with the thirty-six hours of the linkage?”

“As irritably
as you’re behaving now, I suspect.”

“It is only
three days away.”

“The stock of
Saki should see us through,” Brian said.

But Brian was
right. The Red Cross and the UN Emergency Corps had dealt properly
with the sleepers and they were all tagged and prepared. Brian said
he had been no more than an observer and that the locals seemed to
have matters under control.

“We are not
officially involved,” Brian pointed out.

“Do they
realise that without us they are going to have sixteen thousand
zombies roaming the countryside?”

“They know it,
but I don’t think they believe it. They’ve told the local
population that there’s to be a festival at Shibata on the north
coast and that they’re to go on foot from their homes to make
offerings to the shrine there. It sounds like a perfect plan to
me.”

“Oh yeah. And
maybe we oughta get Saint Chrissie to lead them?”

“The Japanese
take their festivals and shrines very seriously, Kev. They’ll all
go, nice and quiet, as far as anyone can figure.”

“So what the
hell are we doing here?”

“They aren’t
masters of the world for no reason, Kev. They want to do it without
involving us, but still keep us around in case it goes wrong.”

“Why didn’t I
stay in Italy?” Wagner muttered in disgust.

But because
their cell phones and all other outside communication had been
confiscated, there was no way of knowing how the others were
faring.

The link was
due at midnight on the 11th and by dawn next day, three senior
officers of the Imperial Army were on their doorstep. Wagner was
roused and went unsteadily to the central room where the officers
paced. Brian was already there, and Kenitsu, who was their
translator and also a pilgrim from the control group. Each of them
was agitated, but still dulled by their tranquilliser of
choice.

“We’ll see what
happens when they wear off,” Brian had said. His had been Saki.

“It is a great
disaster. You must come and help us,” General Matusu, who spoke
some English, declared.

“I was just
beginning to feel the urge to mosey along,” Wagner replied
dreamily.

The bus had
been provided and within minutes, the six pilgrims from The House
of the Golden Carp were in it, dressed and bewildered, drinking
coffee with great care as the bus jolted them down the road. The
General and his officers, and the Chief of Police and his men, and
the three government gentlemen who had been so officious earlier
and now were humble beyond words.

“They came out
of everywhere and just started walking,” the story went, mostly
through translation. “They ignored roads and orders from our
soldiers. They just walked, blindly, all going in the same
direction but spread across a front of about three kilometres. They
walked straight into people’s houses and some were assaulted. They
fell in rivers and some drowned. They walked straight in front of
traffic and some have been injured. There is no ordering them.”

“It’s too late
for us to do it now,” Brian said.

Wagner knew it
was true. This was the effect Felicity had warned them about.

“They would
have followed us, had we been allowed to lead them,” Wagner said
bitterly. “But they needed to know that in advance. Now, Brian is
right. There is nothing we can do.”

“The soldiers
have had to shoot some of them, when they refused to deviate from
their course even slightly.”

“All your men
can do,” Brian said, “is work on clearing the path in front of
them.”

“There are
problems there too. In towns lying in the path of the pilgrims, the
word has come that the human locusts, as they are called, are
advancing. Gangs of armed men are coming out to meet them.”

“Your soldiers
must clear the armed men from their path.”

“And at
Shibata, the local population has formed a human barricade to
protect their shrine.”

“But the shrine
was an invention, wasn’t it?”

“Still, now
that they know it exists, they are determined to defend it.”

Wagner was
studying the map at the time, realising it was important.

“In any case,
they won’t go to Shibata now. They would only have gone there if we
had led them. Now they will head toward a point just a few degrees
west of due north from each person’s original starting point. I’ll
get an exact fix for you in a moment, but it looks like the
vicinity of Takada. The path must be cleared to that point, right
away.”

“What happens
when they get there?”

“It’s two
hundred kilometres. They can’t walk that far in a day and a
half.”

“They are
stealing cars, and bicycles. Any sort of vehicle they can
find.”

“Yes,” Brian
put in. “Felicity said they will go by whatever is the best
transport means to hand.”

“Boats must be
provided for those who make it to the coast, or else they will just
walk into the sea,” Wagner was saying, getting into his stride
now.

Already, traces
of the event were beginning to show. There were fires burning up
ahead, and ambulances and police rushed along the roads. In some
places, injured people were being treated at the road side. When
they arrived, they were near a town that fiercely defended itself
from the invaders. There was a great commotion of voices and dust
rose everywhere. Young men mostly, threw themselves into a pitched
brawl with great frenzy while riot police tried to control
them.

“This isn’t the
way,” Brian shouted at the generals. “The soldiers must not try to
stop them. They must clear the path.”

And Wagner,
angered by the scenes before them, of bloodied bodies and huddles
of weeping people, turned to General Matusu and said. “And you must
tell them that this would not have happened, had we been allowed to
lead them.”

Even as they
watched, a gang of men came out of a village on the rise before
them, and the riot police were gathered in a line to meet them.
There was no hesitation, the two forces clashed without breaking
stride. At that moment, rocks and other objects began to crash
against the side of the bus and riot troops were forced back by the
mob.

The rock hit
the window and everyone in the bus went for cover, diving down
below the level of the backs of the seats. Wagner already hated
himself for doing it—it was an unavoidable reflex but that didn’t
make it any less a blow to his self-image. He bobbed up again so
fast that no one could possibly have noticed, except the only
person who mattered. Brian raised his eyes from the cushion of the
seat opposite and was chuckling.

“Nerves of
steel,” he murmured ironically.

Wagner was
reasonably sure Brian was referring to his own reaction, but the
joke was not funny across the aisle. Wagner had already twisted his
head and saw the jagged hole with his spiderweb of cracks. Not a
bullet hole, to be sure and anyway, there was no way the skin and
seating of the bus would offer the slightest protection if it was.
In the other seats, the occupants all began poking their heads up
like a meerkat colony.

Now, Wagner
shouted an order which the language barrier could not defeat clear
comprehension. ‘Get us out of here,’ he roared and the driver—a
Japanese Corporal—looked several different ways at once as she
crashed through the gears, revved the engine and blasted on the
horn. But they weren’t going anywhere, except possibly onto their
roof. The heavy thud of bodies against the front and side of the
bus rocked them violently. Out there, most of the scene was now
lost in a furious fog of dust, but when he risked pressing his
cheek against the glass, Wagner could see the black uniforms,
shining helmets and Perspex shields of the riot police as they were
back up against the side of the bus, fighting the mob
furiously.

“I think we
need to revise the plan,” Brian said, eternally seeking humour
where there wasn’t any.

Wagner was
moving toward the back of the bus where, conventionally he hoped,
the rear window served as an emergency exit. Not that he was
planning to go out there unless he had to, but it might be handy if
they went over. He saw the way was open and turned, shouting. “It’s
clear back here.”