Paula Guran - The Mammoth Book of Cthulhu

Noor hesitated, then said, “He probably wants us to start gathering the boys. We should leave.” Her stomach and flanks tingled. An insistent pressure surged through her lower abdomen. Early, but this was it, no doubt about it now. And she didn’t even have pads.

Together they descended the stairs into the lengthening shadows of the city. Noor glanced at her watch. It was three in the afternoon.

Junaid finally caught up with them, panting and shaky. “Why didn’t you answer your phone?” he demanded, glaring at Tabinda.

“My purse is in the bus,” she said. “Why?”

“We were just about to call the boys,” Noor said.

He shook his head. “No. I don’t want to create a situation.”

“What?”

His face was pale. “Colonel Mahmud just called me. There was a terrorist attack at Cadet College Larkana. At least fifty armed men stormed the premises.”

“In Dokri?” Noor’s hand went to her mouth. “But we were just there this morning. Oh my God. Are people hurt?”

“Ten dead, and they’re holding the surviving cadets and teachers hostage. Two military contingents just left for the town. But that’s not the worst of it. Army’s got word that a twin attack’s been planned on Petaro as well. They’re targeting cadet schools for maximum reportage.” His manicured fingers rubbed his throat. “Mahmud doesn’t want us to return. He wants us to stay here and go to the army base in Sukkar when possible.”

“Sukkar?” Tabinda’s voice was full of incredulity. “That’s a hundred and fifty kilometers away. How will we get past Dokri? The road to Sukkar goes through the city!”

“I know that. Don’t you think I know that?” His voice was getting louder and a pair of cadets turned their heads.

“Lashkir-e-Jhangvi?” Tabinda said in a low voice.

“No. Pakistani Taliban.”

“How far to Sukkar if we go south first and take a detour?” Noor said.

Junaid’s nostrils flared. “Four hours by bus.”

So at least ten to twelve on foot? She imagined trudging on the cracked, unpaved road under a moonless sky as night fell and surrounded them on all sides. The thought was unpleasant and ridiculous and she pushed it away. They had a bus and a bus driver, and these were cadets, not kindergarten kids.

“Did you talk to the driver?” Tabinda said. “What did he say?”

“He wants to leave. He knows the area well and says he could take back roads, but, look, the problem is the goddamn Taliban.” He spat in the dust. “They have spies everywhere. Until it’s certain the townsfolk won’t snitch on us, Mahmud doesn’t want us to leave Mohenjo-Daro. There is an airstrip five kilometers west of here. Worst case: if the hostage situation doesn’t clear up, he can call for a large chopper to airlift us out.”

Stuck in the ruins. Noor cast a glance at Tabinda. Her face was a mask.

Junaid sounded distracted. “It’s cold but there are blankets in the bus, and food, and I can get a fire going. We’ll tell the boys it’s an Eid bonfire. Dammit,” he said through gritted teeth. “I want to be there with the rangers. Larkana’s my school!”

“Our first responsibility is to the students, don’t you think?” Tabinda said. “Besides, you wouldn’t leave two women alone with a dozen kids in this place, would you?”

His fingers tugged at his mustache. The ends bristled. “I guess not.”

“Good. We need to be calm and think this through.”

“Don’t tell me to be calm. I am calm.”

“Of course you are,” Tabinda said speaking each word slowly and Noor looked at her again. The professor had steel in her eyes. Her lips twitched when she smiled at Junaid. “Tell you what, see the citadel mound? It used to be a giant communal bath for the city. There’s a rocky grotto right below it. Good place for a fire pit. Why don’t you get it going there? I have chickpeas and nuts. We can roast ’em and tell ghost stories and pretend we’re on a camping trip.”

Junaid’s eyes were riveted on Tabinda. The panic had left his face and that mean, arrogant look had returned. “Don’t be fucking condescending, you hear me?” He swiveled on his heel and stalked off toward the bus.

Tabinda watched him go, then turned to Noor. Her cheeks were blanched, the facial droop more pronounced. “This is bad.”

“Yes.”

“This is very bad,” Tabinda said and licked her lips. “We shouldn’t be here after dusk.”

Again that feeling, that sensation of her mind separating from her flesh and eddying down a dusty funnel. Noor’s head blazed, pain streaking through her like a dull saw. Dizzy and nauseated, she shot out a hand to clutch a nearby wall.

“. . . okay?” Tabinda was saying.

Noor leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. “I think so.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know.” She tried to control her breathing and it whistled down her throat. “I get cluster headaches sometimes. Maybe it’s my period triggering it.” She massaged her temples with both hands. Her right eye was beginning to water. “What’re we gonna tell the kids?”

“I don’t know. We’ll think of something. Let’s go before they think the city ate us alive.”

They trudged between the battered walls, corralling boys along the way. Noor noticed something odd: it felt as if there were more kids dashing, jumping, peering out from behind tall uneven walls and skidding through the dust than a mere dozen. Other tourists? She hadn’t seen any vehicles except for the site watchman’s Honda bike lolling on a rusty kickstand in the gravel lot. Certainly the two figures — so tall their heads brushed against the doorframe — who goggled at her from one of the houses then danced back into the gloom — were not their boys.

She rubbed her watering eye and continued walking until they reached the bus. Junaid and the bus driver, Hamid, were talking. They fell silent when the cadets approached, but Noor didn’t miss the uneasiness in the driver’s face and the way he muttered when he thought no one was looking his way.

“Is Hamid from around here?” she asked Tabinda as the kids settled around the heap of firewood.

“The driver? Don’t know. Why?”

“Just wondering. He didn’t seem too keen on staying here tonight.”

“Tell him to join the club,” Tabinda said dryly. She was squatting next to the Pashtun boy, Dara, her back to the citadel’s eastern wall. The structure towered above them, its shadow pawing the network of alleys that branched and twisted into the city’s labyrinthine heart. They were shelling chickpeas and walnuts and tossing the husks inside a metal bowl. Dara had wandered over after Noor and Tabinda cleared broken masonry and stones from the excavated grotto and volunteered to help. He kept his eyes away from Noor’s, but she was glad to see him.

She looked across the plateau toward the bus parked by a clump of rocks in the visitor lot and was startled to discover how dusk had whittled the day down to an unsettling purple. The shadows were long and jagged. She could hardly make out the driver carrying stacks of blankets from the bus. He and Junaid had roused the cadets into two wood scavenging teams, and they had piled acacia and poplar twigs crisscross with kindling on top. Noor doubted it would last more than a few hours, but it was better than nothing. Most boys had college sweaters on anyway — navy blue cardigans — and blankets would serve the rest. The remains of the picnic basket had been spread out. Kinnows and apples. Raw peanuts, walnuts, and channa chickpeas all ready to be roasted. Really they were all set to face the cold night.

So why this uneasiness in her body? Her bones felt knobby and sharp against the stony ground, her limbs filled with tar.