Great story by Glenn Ponka

Pruning Roses

By Glenn Ponka

 Now

Dr. Tahir tended her garden overlooking the ocean.  A cool morning sea breeze fluttered her dress and lavender head scarf while she pruned roses.  Out across the expanse of the ocean, a patrol ship bounced over the waves from the horizon toward Ilsa Laguna’s harbour, where much of the Colony’s five thousand residents lived.

            “Dr. Tahir,” Arno asked.

            “Hmm…  Yes, Arno,” Dr. Tahir said.

            “You were going to tell me about how you came to the Island,” he prompted, his hand over his notebook.  Its pages were filled with stories from other surviving Vanguards he had interviewed over the past few weeks.

            I remember delivering you into this broken world, twenty years ago, Dr. Tahir thought.  Arno was one of the third generation of islanders.  Like most of the young, Ilsa Laguna had been his entire world.

            “Dr. Tahir,” Arno repeated.

            “That is my niece out there.” Dr. Tahir pointing down the mountain to the distantly approaching patrol ship.  “Her team is returning from another reconnaissance mission to the mainland.  I do hope there are no casualties?”

            “Would they not have radioed ahead for you to meet them at the harbor?” Arno asked.  “If any were injured?”

            “Yes, but no.  I’m not the only physician on Ilsa Laguna,” Dr. Tahir said.  “I never had any formal training.”

            “Formal training?”  Arno asked.  “Your father taught you and you’ve taught all the other doctors.”

Dr. Tahir smiled.  “Arno you have learned all you know by personal instruction.  In the world before there were large schools where hundreds of professors taught thousands of students at once—and the students paid for the privilege.”

“Paid?”  Arno looked puzzled.  “For learning?”

“Nevermind.”  Again, Dr. Tahir looked out to the ship approaching the aircraft carrier moored out past the break wall.

“Dr. Tahir, you were telling me how you came to the island,” Arno said.

“Yes, we were one of the Vanguard families, fifty-seven years ago,” Dr. Tahir said.  “I don’t recall much of the old world; only a few glimpses of childhood, of my mother and father and sister, and our house in North Vancouver.”

“North Vancouver?  That was a city?”

“Yes, with millions of people and more buildings you can imagine.”

“Amazing,” Arno said, making notes.

“My strongest memories of the mainland are from that last night…”

Then

Dr. Mansoor Tahir set down his phone, his hand shaking.

“Who was that?” Waniya asked as she shoved clothes into a suitcase.

“One of the Minster of Health’s aides,” Mansoor said. “The Rage has moved much faster than predicted.  The infection is already in the city.”

“May Allah guide us…”

“The evacuation order has been moved up.  We have to get to Horseshoe Bay by midnight.”

“Midnight?” Waniya looked at her watch in disbelief.

The first call had come forty minutes ago, instructing Mansoor to have his family at Horseshoe Bay at daybreak the next morning.  There a Canadian Coast Guard research vessel, the J.P. Tully, waited to take scientists and their families to a place of safety where they could work on a cure.  Now they had less than an hour to reach the ship, or be left behind.

“The ship will not wait past midnight.”

“No!  We had until tomorrow!”

Mansoor embraced his wife, kissing her.  “Forget the bags.  Let’s get the girls.”

Waniya wrapped a blue silk hijab around her head as they rushed to their children’s bedroom.  “Rubi!  Ghazi!” they called as turned the lights.  The sleepy girls stumbled out of bed and hastily pulled on socks and as their parents shoved sweaters and raincoats on over their pajamas.  Mansoor carried eight-year-old Rubi and Waniya held ten-year-old Ghazi’s hand as they rushed through their large house into the three-car garage.

“Papa,” Rubi said as Mansoor did up her seatbelt beside Ghazi in the back seat.  “Papa, what is it.”

“It’s time to go,” Mansoor said as Waniya tossed the girls rubber boots into the back seat. 

“Where are we going?” Ghazi asked, pulling her boots on.

“To safety.” Mansoor slipped rubber boots onto Rubi’s feet.  Waniya unplugged the Tesla from the wall and climbed into the driver’s seat.  “Hey!” Mansoor said.

“You drive like an old man!” Waniya said, pressing the button to start the SUV.

Mansoor got into the passenger seat as the large garage door opened behind them.  He was jerked sideways in his seat as Waniya accelerated backwards out of the garage and swung the SUV about.  The tires skidded across wet paving stones.  Heavy rain pounded the Tesla and Waniya flicked the wipers on full, sweeping the water off the windshield as she sped down the curving driveway flanked by trees.

“Wani!” Mansoor said, buckling his seatbelt, “Don’t kill us all before we reach the street!”  The girls screamed as the Range Rover bounced over the curb onto pavement.

“It takes my forty minutes to drive to the Horseshoe Bay on a good day,” Waniya said.  “And besides, I know how to drive, really well.”

“There were no trees in the Qatar,” Mansoor said, thinking of Doha, where Waniya had loved to drive over the sandy dunes with her brothers as a girl.

“Why are they at Horseshoe?” Waniya asked, irratated, as she sped along the wet street, the Tesla’s weight shifting side to side as she took the curves.  “There’s kilometers of coastline in this city.  Why not in the Harbour?  Or English Bay?  Those would be easier for all to reach.”

“Those areas are too populated,” Mansoor said.  “Trends suggest that the Rage infects populated areas first.”

“Yes, yes, of course.”

“Be thankful it’s not Tsawwassen,” Mansoor said, naming the ferry port far to the south of the city.

“Allah save us, I thought we were safe here.”

“Nowhere is safe…we know that now,” Mansoor said.  In the back seat, Ghazi pulled her headscarf down over her eyes and Rubi reached over to grab her sister’s hand.  The girls huddled close as the SUV swayed around corners.  Waniya headed south, out of North Vancouver towards the TransCanada Highway where she could turn west to Horseshoe Bay.

“Look, there!”

The heavy rain had let up.  As they crested a hill, they saw south, into the center of the city, across the water.  Among the skyscrapers were flashes of light from fires and explosions.

“Stop!”

The road was blocked.  Waniya pressed hard on the brakes and the Tesla skidded and slid on the rain slick asphalt, sideways, before stopping.  Everyone bounced in their seats.

A pair of vehicles had crashed into each other.  A third vehicle was on its side.  People were out, around the accident, swearing and shouting at each other.

“Is this it?” Waniya asked, pulling her scarf up over her mouth.

“We don’t know how it spreads,” Mansoor said, leaned forward, studying the two arguing men who had begun to shove and hit each other.

“Is this the Rage?” Waniya asked.  “Girls cover your mouth and nose!”

A man raised a tire iron and attacked the two fighting men.  Blood sprayed and the people watching cheered him on as he beat on their prone bodies.

“It’s the Rage,” Mansoor said, pulling his t-shirt up over his mouth, in spite of his doubts about airborne transmission.  “It has to be.  Go!  Go around them!”

Waniya reversed the Tesla, tires spinning as they backed away from the fight.  The squeal of the tires caught the attention of the crowd.  They cheered and ran after the Tesla, falling in behind the man waving the bloody tire iron.  Looking back through the rear window, Mansoor saw headlights as a pair of vehicles came over the hill behind them.  Waniya braked and the SUV skidded and jackknifed across the street.

“What are you…?” Mansoor asked.

“Hang on.” Waniya gunned the four electric motors and the Tesla shot off the street, clearing the ditch and crashing through small trees out onto the long fairway of a golf course.  The SUV landed and bounced and sped across the wet grass, leaving a messy trail of torn, muddy sod.

“Always wanted to do that,” Waniya said, grinning.

“I love you, my wife.”

Now

            “What is a golf course?”  Arno asked.

            “Ah,” Dr. Tahir said, thinking a moment.  “I never played the game, but from what I understand it was played with a ball on a long fields of short grass.”

            “Oh!  Like soccer!”

            “No, it’s played across many fields, with a tiny ball that you hit with a stick.”

“A stick?  Sounds dangerous.”

“I understand it could be.”

There was a ringing of a bell as young girl came through the front door and upstairs to the garden balcony.  She was a runner, a message taker.

“Hello, Maya,” Dr. Tahir said.  “What is it?”

“The ship, Dr. Tahir!  It’s coming back from the mainland!  Your niece radioed to say you need to meet the ship!”

“Okay, okay, Maya,” Dr. Tahir said.  “I’m coming.”

“I’ll go on and let them know.” Maya, fast on her feet, was off and running down the steps out of the house and down to the lagoon.

“So, we drove across the golf course, making a mess.  My mother enjoyed that.”

“Yes, yes,” Arno said, following out the front door and down the wide steps.

Then

The Tesla left the soft earth of the fairway and cut across a putting green. The tires bit the gravel of the parking lot as they passed the clubhouse.  Here the street was clear and soon Mansoor could see the highway, clogged with headlights and stopped cars.

Waniya drove along a street that ran parallel to the highway, heading to the nearest on-ramp.  On the highway below them, down a slope of green grass, was gridlock.  People were out of their cars, fighting each other.  Some vehicles rammed other cars, not in any effort to get away, but because their drivers were enraged.

“Madness,” Mansoor said, looking down at the highway.

“What do we do?” Waniya said, pointing to the turn off for an on-ramp ahead.

“Keep heading west on this street,” Mansoor said.  “We can’t get on that.”

There was a whooping siren and a large fire truck came barreling along the highway below, all lights flashing.  People leapt out of the way or were crushed.  Cars hit by the large bumper were sent spinning and tumbling into the guardrails, or over them.  Atop the firetruck, firefighters stood in their hats and heavy coats, waving fire axes and pikes.  They slashed at any who tried to climb onboard the truck.

“Go!” Mansoor said as Waniya sped on.  At the on-ramp cars were bunched up and she steered around them, narrowly missing a man as she dipped into a shallow ditch and continued on.

“We’ll never reach Horseshoe Bay in time,” she said.

“I know, I know!” Mansoor fumbled with his cell phone, frustrated.  The entire network had become unstable over the last week, since the outbreak began. “Maybe I can get them to hold the ship.”

“How could they delay?” Waniya drove on, swerving around abandoned cars.  A house was engulfed in flames.  People jumped around the fire, whooping and howling as they worked together to throw a large adirondack chair in through a picture window.

“There’s no answer,” Mansoor said, trying several numbers.  “No one is picking up.”

Now

“Numbers?”

“Everyone had phones, small computers,” Dr. Tahir said.  “People were assigned long strings of numbers that you dialed to contact each other.”

“Ah,” Arno said, familiar with the devices, but again, not the concept of so many people.  On the island, there were radios with channels.  You just pressed the call switch and asked for who you wanted to talk to.  If there was no answer, you tried later, or went for a walk to find them.

Dr. Tahir and Arno continued down though the village to the lagoon.  Gardens lushly grew before each house.  Homes were built into the earth, mostly underground, like the subterranean science research center that preceded the Colony.  Its geothermal system, along with many aged solar panels, provided power for the population.

“For over a year after we arrived, more families followed,” Dr. Tahir continued, Arno made notes.  “Then new people stopped coming and the ships found no more sane survivors of the Rage.”

Arno had known this, but appreciated an added perspective.  “You came on the Zoft?” he asked.

“Yes,” Dr. Tahir said, gesturing to the aircraft carrier, permanently moored past the break wall of the lagoon.  The Admiral Vladimir Zoft was first occupied by eight-hundred Russian sailors and pilots.  Now it was a floating barracks.  With a limited amount of jet fuel, all but two of the fighter jets and one helicopter had been scrapped.  The long, wide runway was now mostly covered with huts and structures and many solar panels.  The Zoft trained and housed sailors and soldiers.  Several vessels were moored to floating docks that stretched out from around the Zoft’s hull.

“The gathered scientists worked on a cure for years, while their families built the Colony,” Dr. Tahir said.  “Over decades the memories of the fallen worldwide society were replaced with the concerns of nurturing a new generation.  The urgency for a cure faded as we settled into our safe, self-sufficient tropical paradise.  We had escaped the mindless raging that killed millions.”

“So many people,” Arno said, again amazed at the vastness of humanity.

“The assortment of surviving militaries from various fallen nations made peace and ventured back to the mainland on scavenging trips.”

“Like they still do,” Arno said.

“Indeed,” Dr. Tahir said.  “My niece, Samudra, tells me they recently made pacts with three wartribes along what used to be Mexico and California.”

“Yes, but the pacts don’t last.”

“No, they never do,” Dr. Tahir said.  “Not much longer than any given warleader’s rule.  The Rager population is too volatile for such agreements.”

They continued down the path to the harbour.

“It’s their minds,” Dr. Tahir said.  “The Rage deeply infects the human brain.  My father told me it first appeared in several cities around the world and in two weeks it was everywhere.  Cities went dark.  Satellite images showed masses of people fighting in the streets.  It was thought that the virus was airborne, but father and I dissected dozens of Rager corpses collected by recon teams and never determined how the infection spread.”

“But it’s safe now,” Arno said.

“Yes, the Rage virus burned itself out after a year, but its damage was done.  So many died and so much knowledge was lost.”

“It made everyone mad,” Arno said.  “They’re still mad.”

“In a rager’s brain,” Dr. Tahir said, “the centers for empathy and caring have withered while anger and frustration centers are expanded, making them very prone to violence.  Subsequent generations remain as violent, as the genetic damage has been passed down.  They have lost logic, reasoning and intelligence, but some creativity remains.  Humanity became monsters.”

“If I may,” Arno asked.  “How did you get to the ship, that night?”

Then

“What about Bhadi’s boat?” Mansoor said.

“What?” Waniya asked.  “The Calypso?”

“It’s at the marina, just over there,” Mansoor pointed to the water beyond the highway.  “Bhadi just left for South America last week.  I’m supposed to look after it for him.  We could take the Calypso to meet the Coast Guard vessel, or at least chase it down if we are too late.  It should be faster on the water.”

“Less lunatics on the water,” Waniya agreed, “but we have to cross the highway.”

Mansoor looked at his watch.  “Have to take the next on-ramp.”

“Okay,” Waniya sped along.

Mansoor reached into the back seat and touched the girls clasped hands.

“We are very afraid, father,” Ghazi said.

“I am as well,” Mansoor said.  “But mother and I will keep you safe.”

“Hang on children,” Waniya called back.

Waniya turned up the on-ramp, which was not blocked, but she had to slow down to weave around cars smashed aside by the passing fire truck.  Beyond a narrow gap between a delivery van and a small truck, the way across the highway looked clear to the south side off-ramp.  Waniya pressed the accelerator pedal, nosing the SUV into the gap.  There was a loud scraping of metal on metal as the sides of the Tesla rubbed against the delivery van’s bumper.

A pair of police cruisers, one after the other, were racing along in the path cleared by the fire truck.  The lead cruiser swerved to avoid hitting the Tesla as it poked out from behind the delivery van.  The cruiser struck another car at high speed and went flying up and over the guard rail into open air.  The second cruiser braked and skidded into the delivery van just after Waniya gunned the engines to propel the Tesla swiftly across the highway.  The SUV was clear as the cruiser hit the van behind it.

“Oh no!” Waniya said, looking back, stopping.

The police officer leapt out of the cruiser, waving a revolver.

“Go! Go!” Mansoor said.

The Tesla leapt as the electric motors spun the tires and the SUV flew down the off-ramp as bullets struck it.  The police officer swore, then fired at the raging people who came climbing out of their cars, rushing at him.  His shots sent them ducking for cover, then he got back into his cruiser and spun the tires, trying to back out of the impacted side of the delivery van.

On the off-ramp the Tesla passed the crashed and crumpled police cruiser that had gone over the railing.  Waniya sped on toward the marina.  The streets were familiar and Mansoor pointed where to turn.  The marina’s entrance gates had been smashed open and the Tesla sped turning and driving on to stop at the end of the dock leading to Bhadi’s boat.

“Come on girls,” Mansoor said, lifting Rubi into his arms.  Waniya took Ghazi’s hand and they began to run along the wooden dock.  The police cruiser came speeding up, skidding to a stop and ramming the Tesla.  Three other cars came after it as the officer leap out, gun raised.

“Run!” Waniya shouted.

Bullets struck around the family as they feld.  Mansoor felt an impact that knocked him to the dock, but felt no pain.  Rubi howled.  “No!” Waniya screamed.  The officer continued to fire wildly at them.  Waniya and Ghazi ducked behind a moored houseboat as Mansoor and Rubi lay on the dock.

The shooting stopped.

“Run, Ghazi!” Waniya said, pushing her older daughter onwards, pointing to the Calypso a dozen yards down the dock. “Get to Bhadi’s boat!  Get into the cabin!”

“Yes, mama!” Ghazi said, knowing the way.  Waniya went to her husband and child.

There were more gunshots, but the police officer was fending off attackers, who howled, demanding his weapons.  The officer shot several of them but was quickly overwhelmed and beaten when he stopped to reload.  His body was tossed aside as two men fought over his gun while the others ransacked the cruiser, pulling out a pair of loaded shotguns, another pistol and a baton.

Mansoor lifted Rubi as he stood.  She had been shot in her abdomen. Waniya pressed on the wound as she and Mansoor ran in tandem.  The cabin lights were on, illuminating the name painted across the stern, Calypso.  Mansoor went onboard the thirty-foot powerboat and lay Rubi down on the bench seat of the cabin.  Waniya pulled open Rubi’s raincoat and pajamas to inspect the gunshot wound.  Mansoor rushed along the side of the boat, casting off from the dock.

Howling yells came as the ragers pursued them.  A shotgun blast rained pellets along the side of the Calypso.  Mansoor climbed up to the cabin and sat in the pilot’s seat.  Thank Allah! he prayed when he realized the key Bhadi had given him for the boat was on his keychain.  He slid it into the ignition and the engines thrummed to life.

Another blast blew out a window and Mansoor pressed the throttle lever forward and turned the wheel, pulling out of the slip, scraping along the side of the next boat as the Calypso sped out into the harbour.  The shotguns blasted again and again.

“Mansoor!  She’s not breathing!” Waniya cried.  “My Rubi is dying!”

“Drive!” Mansoor said, aiming the boat for open water, then and going to his wife’s side.  “Go drive!”

Waniya stood back as Mansoor began mouth-to-mouth on Rubi, the blood still flowing from the wound.  “Ghazi, get over here and put pressure on her wound!” Mansoor called.

The Calypso lurched to the side as another boat rammed against her starboard side.  Waniya snapped out of her panic and took the wheel.  The ramming boat was smaller, and one of the people on it, their eyes wild with rage, swung an anchor on a chain into the back of the Calypso. Waniya pressed the handle down for more throttle and they swiftly pulled away.  The anchor chain snapping and shooting back to hit the rager who’d thrown it.  Their small boat swerved and spun out at high speed while the Calypso sped on.  Waniya looked back to make sure they had stopped, but saw several other boats in pursuit.  There were more shotgun blasts.  She turned west, along the coast, toward Horseshoe Bay.

Rubi gasped as Mansoor pressed on her chest and she began to breathe again.  Happiness filled Mansoor as he pressed his t-shirt on her wound to stanch the bleeding.

On and on across the calm sea, many small boats in pursuit, the Calypso raced along.

“There’s the ship!” Waniya called out, pointing.

The red and white Coast Guard ship was lit up and backing off from the dock.  The J.P. Tully was large research vessel with yellow cranes hanging off the stern and a high bridge.  On the decks, soldiers in gasmasks were exchanging gunfire with ragers the shore while sailors got the vessel underway.  Waniya turned away, heading away from the Tully as the collection of boats chasing the Calypso, sped by to attack the Coast Guard ship. 

Mansoor cried as he kissed Rubi’s lips, the girl’s breathing remaining steady.  The bleeding had slowed.  He hoped and prayed.

As the Tully was out of range of gunfire from the mainland, the soldiers turned their fire to the small attacking crafts.  A pair of spotlights moved from one boat to the next, gunfire popping and soon all the attacking boats were adrift.

As the searchlight washed over the Calypso, Mansoor stood on the bow with Rubi in his arms.  “Ghazi!” Waniya called, as she waved her arms over her head.  “Get out here!”

The Tully came alongside.  The soldiers kept aiming their weapons as sailors swung out a yardarm.  “Stay calm!” came a voice over a loudspeaker.  “We are lowering a stretcher.”

Waniya recognized her fellow scientists waving from the railing above.

As Mansoor lay Rubi in the lowered stretcher, Waniya grabbed him.  “Where’s Ghazi!” she demanded.  “She was pressing on Rubi’s wound.  Where did she go?”

“What, what,” Mansoor said.  “No…no!  She didn’t help me…”

The stretcher lifted up to a waiting paramedic as Mansoor and Waniya searched the Calypso and realized their worst fears had come true.

Now

“Mother was pregnant,” Dr. Rubi Tahir said as she and Arno reached the harbour.  Fishing boats were returning with the days catch, and Rubi and Arno wove among the fishermen heading to the far end of the harbour where Maya waited, waving at them.  “As you know, my brother Nadir was the first baby born on the island.  My parents loved him as much as they loved me, but losing Ghazi was their greatest sorrow.  They carried that sadness and regret all the remaining days of their lives.”

Arno had stopped writing.  “I never knew you lost your sister.”

“The following morning, the Tully rendezvoused with the Zoft on the costal side of Vancouver Island.  Both ships made their way south, here, to Isla Laguna, fifty-seven years ago,” Rubi said.

A tall man with long grey hair waited with Maya.  He wore green fatigues and wore a sidearm on his hip.  His beard was thick and well-groomed.

“As-Salaam-Alaikum, sister,” Nadir said.

“Wa’alaikum Assalam, little bother” Rubi replied.

“Come now.  Hurry up!” Nadir urged.

“What is it?” Rubi asked.  “Why all the fuss if no one is injured?”

“It’s Samudra.” Nadir pointed to the end of the dock where the patrol ship slowed to a stop and sailors were leaping off to tie it up.  “My daughter radioed ahead.  She has brought a captive rager captain who wants to parlay with us.  With you.”

Arno looked wary, scared.  This had never been done.  He stayed back as Nadir and Rubi walked along the dock.

“What?” Rubi said.  “Why would she do that?”

“Samudra would not say,” Nadir said.  “She insisted you be here.”

Samudra, bare-armed and muscled, a rifle strung over her back, leapt onto the dock.  She pulled along a captive who wore a black hood and whose hands were tightly bound.  Three armed soldiers stood guard.  The rager was very calm.

“What is the meaning of this, daughter?” Nadir demanded.

“It’s okay, dad,” Samudra said.  “She’s all tied up.”

“Why have your brought her?” Rubi asked.

“Ask her yourself,” Samudra said, pulling off the black hood.

The rager’s eyes were calm, her aged, lined face was framed by a black hijab. 

It was a face Rubi faintly remembered.

“Greetings to you, my sister,” Ghazi said.  “Good to see you again, after all these years.  We have much to discuss.”