Blood Memory: A Post-Apocalypse Series (Book Five) Read online

  “You know,” he said to Jessie. “I live near the Suez Canal. You can almost see it from my apartment. You ought to stop by sometime.”

  “Don’t listen to him,” Jean-Pierre said. “There’s nothing there worth seeing.”

  Aashiq glared at his partner.

  “Said like someone ignorant of Port Fouad’s riches,” he said.

  “Oh, it has riches all right,” Jean-Pierre said. “But none of them belong to you.”

  “They don’t belong to anyone,” Aashiq said. “There are underground passages, ancient landmarks and rumours of hidden treasure in some places.”

  “Sounds exciting,” Anne said.

  “Oh, it is,” Aashiq said. He half-turned to Jessie. “How about I show you around sometime?”

  “Mm,” Jessie said, dipping her spoon into her bowl. “Maybe.”

  The scene made Jordan’s stomach churn, but he said nothing.

  “Out of curiosity,” Anne said, “what are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere?”

  “We’re searching for a fugitive,” Aashiq said.

  “And a dangerous one at that,” Jean-Pierre said.

  “What did he do?” Anne said.

  “The fellow’s name is Ori Mizrahi,” Aashiq said. “Him and some of his cohorts managed to get into King Faisal’s sleeping quarters one night. They were about to kill him when the alarm was raised. The king’s guards caught the other conspirators, but Mizrahi jumped out of the window and into a cart of hay. Can you believe that? A cart of hay. You hear about it in children’s stories all the time, but that was the first time I ever heard of it happening in real life before.

  “Apparently he made it down to the docks, hijacked a boat, and raced out to sea. Normally nobody would have given chase, and just let him rot at sea, but this is King Faisal we’re talking about. He has a lot of power, money and influence. His guards – and the police – we’re kind of one and the same thing – chased him, but somehow he got away. No one knows where he went or how far he got. That’s why we’re out looking for him now, putting in so much overtime. If anyone finds him and brings him in, they’ll get a hefty reward. It could be a big payday for us.”

  “When you say the king’s rich…” Jordan said.

  “Rich with the only thing that matters these days,” Aashiq said. “With food. He’s rotten with it. But then, he had a big head start. He was a farmer in the old world. Still is, I suppose.”

  Aashiq pushed his bowl away from himself as if he couldn’t stand to even look at it any more.

  “That was delicious,” Aashiq said, slapping his stomach.

  “Yes,” Jean-Pierre said, wiping stale bread around his bowl. “My compliments to the chef.”

  “You’re very welcome,” Anne said.

  Jean-Pierre stood up.

  “I’m very sorry to have taken up so much of your time,” he said. “We should get going.”

  “Are you sure?” Aashiq said with a glance at Jessie.

  “Yes, I’m sure,” Jean-Pierre said.

  “I was hoping to tell you more about Port Fouad,” Aashiq said to Jessie with tangible regret.

  “Maybe some other time,” Jessie said.

  “I’m very sorry to have to do this,” Jean-Pierre said, turning to Anne. “Especially after your very kind hospitality, but we need to do a quick search of your boat.”

  “Of course,” Anne said. “Please, take your time.”

  Jean-Pierre and Aashiq took out their guns and moved to a sofa, lifting it up and checking inside. Then they searched under the other sofa, whistling when they saw the small pile of food. Jean-Pierre eyed the safe as if he wanted to look inside it. It was large, but not quite large enough to hold a man. He let it pass.

  They moved to the toilet room. Aashiq pulled the door open, while Jean-Pierre took aim with his pistol.

  “Nothing,” Jean-Pierre said.

  He almost looked disappointed. Aashiq turned to Jessie.

  “Don’t forget my invitation,” he said.

  “I won’t,” Jessie said.

  This put a smile on Aashiq’s face as he climbed the stairs and got back into their boat.

  “Wait,” Jordan said. “We’re heading toward the Suez Canal. What happens if we get stopped again?”

  “Then you’ll have to let them board again,” Jean-Pierre said.

  Jessie stepped forward.

  “Isn’t there a way to avoid doing it over and over again?” Jessie said. “I’d hate to waste police time. Especially when it means I could be in Port Fouad sooner.”

  Aashiq licked his lips and dry swallowed.

  “I’ll radio ahead and let them know your boat’s description,” he said. “If all else fails, tell them Jean-Pierre and Aashiq searched you already.”

  The speedboat’s engine roared as it pulled away, Aashiq waving with great energy.

  Jessie shivered.

  “I feel like I need to scrub myself clean,” she said.

  “You and me both,” Jordan said. “Before we let Yosef out, what made you hide him in the first place?”

  “He told us they were after him, but that he didn’t do it,” Anne said.

  “And you believed him?” Jordan said.

  Anne nodded.

  “I do,” she said. “We haven’t known him long, I admit, but I sense goodness in him.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Jordan said. “But we’d best play it safe, just in case.”

  “What’s the plan?” Anne said.

  3.

  Jordan lifted the hatch door up. Yosef rose out of the water like a leviathan, the water patting him on the head. He took his oxygen mask off and blew out a mouthful of water.

  “That was a close call, huh?” Yosef said. “It’s cold down there. Give me a lift up, will you?”

  He offered his hand to Jordan, but he didn’t take it. Instead Jordan grabbed a handful of Yosef’s thick hair and dunked his head into the water. Bubbles erupted up onto the surface. Yosef’s arms flailed. Then Jordan lifted Yosef’s head up.

  “What are you trying to do?” Yosef said. “Kill me?”

  “We know you’re not who you say you are,” Jordan said. “The police officers told us everything.”

  Yosef looked from Jordan to Anne and Jessie.

  “Told you what?” he said.

  Jordan’s arm tensed.

  “No, wait!” Yosef said.

  Jordan forced Yosef’s head back into the water. He thrashed again, splashing water over the floor. Jordan let him back up. Yosef breathed in deep breaths.

  “Who are you?” Jordan said. “Who are you really?”

  “I’m Yosef!”

  Jordan pushed Yosef’s head back under the water. His thrashing limbs drenched the sofas.

  “How did you remember the recipe for cholent?” Jordan said when he let Yosef back up again. “If you had amnesia you would never be able to recall it. And for your information, I hated it.”

  “It just came back to me,” Yosef said.

  “There’s a ransom on your head,” Jordan said. “You’re worth just as much dead as alive. We might as well save ourselves the food.”

  “Please!” Yosef said. “Wait!”

  But Jordan dunked his head under the surface again. He held him for what felt like a long time. Yosef’s hands flailed, and as he came back up again, he reached for Jordan’s waist. He pulled Jordan’s gun from its holster and pointed it at him.

  “Get back!” Yosef said. “I said get back!”

  Jordan eyed the gun in Yosef’s hand, and then let go of his hair.

  “Back further!” Yosef said.

  “Do as he says,” Jordan said.

  Jordan, Anne and Jessie held their hands up and stood at the back of the cabin. Yosef climbed up out from the hatch, the water dripping from his clothes.

  “You almost… killed me!” he said around hungry breaths.

  “Believe me, it wasn’t as close as I wanted it to be,” Jordan said. “You tried to kill the king, didn’t
you, Ori.”

  “No,” Yosef said. “I did not try to kill him.” The frown lines of his anger relaxed. “But you’re right. My name is Ori Mizrahi.”

  “If you’re not guilty, why did you hide?” Jordan said.

  “Precisely because I’m not guilty,” Ori said. “The king owns the police. He would not have let me go. No fair trial, straight to the execution.”

  He rubbed the water out of his eyes with a finger.

  “I was hoping it wouldn’t have to come to this,” he said. “I never wanted to hurt any of you. If you’ll give me five minutes I’ll explain everything that happened that night.”

  “You’re the one with the gun,” Jordan said. “You get to make the rules.”

  Ori looked at the gun in his hand, the key, perhaps, to his freedom. He relented, letting the gun drop down. He handed it to Jordan.

  “I’m not guilty of trying to murder King Faisal,” Ori said. “I’m guilty of trying to kidnap him. But I did it for a reason, a very good reason.”

  “Of course you did,” Jordan said. “For money, or food, or whatever else is valuable these days.”

  “No,” Ori said. “To save Port Fouad. The king has a stranglehold on us.”

  “So it is about food,” Jordan said.

  “Yes,” Ori said. “But let me explain. It’s not just for me, but for the whole town. If the king gave us any less food we would starve to death. We were getting weaker every day. Eventually we would have been so weak we wouldn’t have been able to rebel against him. That was exactly what he wanted. So a few of us, under the cover of darkness, crept into his home. We were going to kidnap him, not kill him. Killing him would not have gotten us what we wanted. Kill a king and a new one replaces him.”

  “What did you want from him?” Jordan said.

  “His key,” Ori said. “He keeps the food locked away in secret silos. The only way to open them is with a key. He trusts no one but himself and never let anyone know where he kept it. He had vaults from Swiss banks brought into the town especially. So if the king dies, we all die. That was how he knew he was safe. His insurance. He could walk through the most dangerous parts of the town, if he wanted. He wouldn’t have been touched. He controls the ports, the Suez Canal, and most food production and distribution. The people are starving. We are starving. We cannot sit idly by and let our loved ones perish. Surely you can understand this.

  “My friends and I, we decided we’d had just about enough of his control. We wanted to do something about it. We made a plan to break into his mansion, kidnap the king, steal his key and unlock the food vaults. We followed the house staff for a month before we made our move. The house was run by ongoing round-the-clock guards that watch him and his family day and night. But everything has imperfections. You just have to know where to look.

  “Unbeknownst to the family, one of their house staff, Dalia, had a midnight visitor, a young gentleman by the name of Dabir, who worked the fishing trawlers. Every third night Dabir came to what they call the Moon Door on the southeast corner, on account of it never getting any sunlight. He and Dalia stole a few kisses, a little more if Dalia was in the mood. Every third night at 10pm, like clockwork. All we had to do was wait for a third night to roll around and we could interrupt the doting pair and use the Moon Door to sneak into the house and get to the king’s bedroom. We would chloroform his wife – or, more like, one of his mistresses he ferried in – drag him out of his house, and into a secret location where we would question him until he told us where the key was. Once he told us we would let him go. If he refused, we would kidnap him.

  “But from the start, our plan did not go as expected. Dabir did not come to the house that night. But Dalia was clearly expecting the young suitor as she waited by the door. I wanted to wait another night when Dabir did come, but my friends wouldn’t wait. We approached Dalia, but she noticed us coming. She screamed before we could sedate her. We laid her down on the carpet in a front room and crept upstairs, the house silent. We snuck into the bedroom.

  “We approached the bed, chloroform in hand, when the door suddenly burst open. The guards rushed us. I was closest to the window and threw myself through it. I was lucky to land in a cart of hay. My friends were caught, and I was chased out of town. Things have a way of not going to plan, don’t you find?”

  “I’m learning that, yes,” Jordan said. “How did the guards know you were there? Do you think one of your friends squealed?”

  “Maybe,” Ori said. “I trusted them. Maybe that was my mistake.”

  “Dead men are the only people you can trust,” Jordan said.

  “I trust you,” Ori said.

  “You shouldn’t,” Jordan said, raising the gun at Ori.

  Ori’s eyes went wide. He raised his hands to protect himself.

  “No!” he said. “I’m telling you the truth!”

  “Oh, I believe you,” Jordan said.

  He pulled the trigger.

  Clack, clack, clack, clack, clack!

  “Do you honestly think I would have risked you being able to grab my gun if I hadn’t emptied it first?” Jordan said.

  Ori’s initial fear gave way to surprise, and then a smile of respect.

  “What are you going to do with me?” he said.

  “We’ll stick to our original place,” Jordan said. “We’ll take you to Port Fouad.”

  “Thank you, my friends,” Ori said. “Thank you.”

  “There’s still a little cholent left,” Anne said. “Would you like some?”

  “Yes, please,” Ori said. “I’m famished.” He turned to Jordan. “You didn’t really hate it, did you?”

  “With every fibre of my being,” Jordan said.

  Ori shrugged.

  “There’s no helping some people,” he said.

  Port Fouad, Egypt

  4.

  For the entire final leg of the trip Ori stayed below, refusing to come up on deck when another ship was in view.

  “He’s a brave soul,” Jordan said.

  “If the police were on your tail would you be any different?” Anne said.

  Each time they came to a blockade they were waved through – Aashiq as good as his word. Only once did they have to tell the officers on duty they had already been searched and quote Jean-Pierre and Aashiq’s name. Hesitant at first, the officers eventually let them through.

  The Port Said breakers tamed the sea into a calm lull. The waterways were full to bursting with boats, heading back and forth like a congested motorway outside a capital city. Each was packed full of items, ferried in from some distant land, to be unloaded and then shipped off again to other distant parts.

  Anne’s heart swelled at the sight.

  “We’re not finished yet,” she said.

  “There must be significant pockets of humanity surviving somewhere,” Jordan said.

  “Not only surviving,” Anne said. “Thriving.”

  “This part of the world hasn’t seen this much activity since the nineteenth century,” Ori told them, during one of his rare appearances on deck. “Right now the cities and landscapes with the best defences are the tip of the curve.”

  “Jordan, look,” Anne said.

  She pointed to a band of Lurchers, bunched together in groups of several hundred, standing at the shore’s edge, reaching toward the boats that passed.

  “The guards used to shoot them,” Ori said. “But they kept coming, and we had to send men out to clear them away or else the smell became too strong. The canal is not only our lifeline, but our protection.”

  He was right. The Lurchers stood by the Port Said waterside, staring forlornly at the bustling community a short distance away: a harbour on an island called Port Fouad.

  “There it is,” Jordan said. “The Suez Canal.”

  It was a wide river of still water, at a pinch point where ships could dramatically reduce transit times by not having to travel around the continent of Africa. It was a remarkable feat of engineering, built in a time when it was
almost unthinkable to even attempt such a project.

  Jordan slowed Hope Tomorrow to a crawl, a discreet distance behind the boat in front, joining the queue. There was a rap on their hull.

  Jordan peered over the side and saw a man with a clipboard.

  “Can I help you?” he said.

  The man said something in a foreign language.

  “Sorry, I can’t speak Arabic,” Jordan said.

  “Are you hoping to travel through the canal?” the man said in accented English.

  “We are,” Jordan said.

  “Then you’ll need to pay the fee,” the man said. “I can provide the receipt here.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jordan said. “What fee?”

  “There’s a fee to use the canal,” the man said like he was speaking to an idiot. “You didn’t think it was going to be for free, did you?”

  “What with the end of the world and all, yeah, we kind of did,” Jordan said.

  “Afraid not,” the man said. “The fee is twenty kilograms per passenger.”

  “Twenty kilograms?” Jordan said.

  “How many of you are on board?” the man said.

  “Three,” Jordan said.

  “Then the price is sixty kilograms,” the man said.

  “Sixty kilograms of what?” Jordan said.

  “Food, of course,” the man said. “No perishables. Would you like to pay now? You can pull your ship up alongside the scales.”

  “We don’t have sixty kilograms,” Jordan said.

  “I see,” the man said without feeling. “Then you ought to return when you do have payment.”

  The man turned to the next boat.

  “Wait,” Jordan said.

  “Yes, sir?” the man said.

  “You’re not really serious?” Jordan said.

  “With the Suez Canal, sir, I am always serious,” the man said.

  “Is there no other way?” Jordan said.

  The man looked Jordan over, and then at Hope Tomorrow.

  “Sell your boat to us and we’ll arrange passage for you through the canal on a passenger steamer,” the man said.

  “We can’t sell our boat!” Jordan said. “We’re going to need it when we get to the other side!”