Onslaught

by Drew Brown

  Deacon smiled reassuringly. “We are carrying detailed maps of the whole area, and my companion who is piloting this vessel assures me that we are in the correct spot. Just a little further downstream lies a distribution facility, where we will dock, and from there it is less than a two-mile hike to the airfield.”

  “Why can’t we just stay on the fucking boat,” Chris said. “We could take it straight to France.”

  Deacon waited for the group’s mumbling to fade away. “This is not a sea-worthy vessel. Besides, we don’t have enough fuel for such a crossing.”

  “Then we’ll find another boat, at t’facility you said about,” Andy suggested. “There must be another boat an’ some fuel.”

  “Perhaps there is,” Deacon replied. He shook his head in the manner of an exasperated schoolteacher. “But unless you have someone to navigate and pilot it, I suggest you stick with us; whatever you decide, the moment we dock, my party will be heading out across land.”

  A hush fell over the dissenters; Deacon’s party had all of the weapons.

  “Excuse me,” Juliette said, rousing Budd from his inactivity, “but why are we going at night? Should we not to wait until morning?”

  Deacon looked Juliette up and down as she stepped through the crowd and came to a halt in front of him. He smiled. “We believe that it is best we distance ourselves from here promptly. Who knows what danger the future holds.”

  He did, apparently…

  Budd hurried after Juliette. He remembered well-enough Deacon’s explanation about the stages of the disease, and why they needed to hurry; but Deacon could not reveal that knowledge to the others without opening up a whole host of other questions.

  And that might turn nasty….

  Budd flashed Deacon an apologetic look, but the scientist ignored him, choosing instead to smile at Juliette.

  She returned the gesture. Budd caught a glimpse of mischief in her eyes. “But you must know something; you gave me an injection to cure my bite wound, did you not?”

  Behind her, the group growled into life, sensing lies.

  Patterson and Bogey raised their MP-5s, adjusting the position of the barrels so that they were aimed a fraction to the side of the group.

  Budd felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

  Space mutants were bad, but mankind could be just as unpleasant…

  Calmly, Deacon raised his right hand and hushed the gathering. “Yes, you are correct, I did give you an injection for your wound. There are a couple more of them left in there,” he said, motioning to the briefcase at his feet. “I wasn’t sure if they would work; before we came to the hotel, we had lost people in similar circumstances. The injection is simply a mixture of strong medicines that I discovered in the medical cabinet on this boat. The fact that it appears to have cured you is only down to good fortune, I had no scientific reason for trying it; other than having nothing to lose by doing so.”

  Somewhere behind him, Budd heard Annabel, who had lost her sister to Patterson’s execution, begin to cry, but aside from that he felt the tension on the deck slip away; Deacon’s unflappable demeanor had done enough to bring the group back into line. It was clear that they were still not happy, but they were quelled enough to do as the scientist suggested. “So, as soon as we reach the shore, we will divide into three groups, one led by each soldier. That will make it quicker and easier to get across the countryside. We will reconvene once we reach the aircraft hangar at the base. In the dark, the journey should take about ninety minutes.”

  Now it was Sam’s turn to chime in. “You said that this was, like, a distribution center. Why can’t we find some sort of vehicle? A truck or something, dude?”

  Deacon looked sideways to Bogey, who shook his head unhappily. “All of the cars we’ve come across so far were damaged by the electrical disturbance that downed the power grid. Even if we were prepared to spend the time, and could find the spares, there’s no guarantee we could get one started. It’s much quicker to walk.”

  “T’boat is working fine.”

  “It has an old diesel engine,” Bogey explained, “so, luckily for us, there weren’t any important electrical components that could fail. Anything modern is junked.”

  “What if the soldier we are with is killed or injured? How will we meet up again?”

  Patterson stepped forward, his expression blank. “If the member of the party who’s carrying the gun gets killed, how long do you expect to survive afterwards?”

  The deck fell silent.

  “Well then,” Deacon said, “let’s divide up now.”

  Budd paused to see how the three parties were going to be decided, but before he had any real choice Deacon stepped forward and placed his hand on Juliette’s shoulder. “You and William will come with me,” he said, and then he turned to Patterson. “You’ll be our guide.”

  The soldier nodded.

  “We come with you, too,” Danek said. He waved his hand between himself and his girlfriend, who was still wearing his blue sweatshirt over her own.

  “I’m afraid not,” Deacon said. “Go with one of the others.”

  “But your group is just four,” Danek said. “With us, six. This is fair number, I think. And I want Minka to stay near pilot. She is pregnant.”

  Deacon’s expression remained impassive.

  He really was a cold bastard. But I’d be a liar if I told you I wanted the extra company…

  Patterson cleared his throat. “Do as you’re told,” the soldier said, his voice forceful and clear. He motioned for Danek to join one of the other parties.

  Danek’s eyes narrowed and his hands balled into fists, but before he had a chance to react, Minka pulled his arm and led him away.

  With the confrontation over, Budd and Juliette shuffled to the deck’s edge and stood with their hands on the portside guardrail as the others worked out their own groups. While they waited, the concrete-covered bank broke through the dense fog, sliding into view.

  They had reached the facility.

  13

  Beneath their feet the engine stopped and it was not until this point that Budd realised how comforting the noise had been. After it ceased, and all that could be heard was the water lapping around the boat’s hull, as well as the soft chorus of people breathing and muttering on the deck, he wished that the mechanical rhythm would return.

  There was, however, no chance of that; their boat journey was at an end and Bogey took up a large bundle of rope and leapt from the guardrail to the shore. He tied the rope around a concrete post. As soon as the task was done, he hurried along to the bow where he tied another rope.

  The boat was secure.

  “What if those things attack?” Andy said from his position on the stern. Alongside him, Sam nodded profusely.

  I saw his point—a fast getaway was impossible with the boat moored. We could end up as seafood…

  Deacon turned to face the question. “This facility only operated in the day and there are no more than a handful of security guards at night. There are no houses for miles; the entire site and the airfield we’re heading to are very isolated,” the scientist said confidently, glancing around and offering reassuring smiles to the group. “This isn’t London; we won’t meet numbers greater than a single soldier can deal with. In a couple of hours we’ll be on a plane to France. Isn’t that right, Mister Ashby?”

  The mention of his name brought Budd unwillingly into the conversation. He nodded. “Home and dry.”

  “Right, first group, fall in with me,” Bogey called from the concrete pier. He had his MP-5 held tight against his chest and his eyes swept the view inshore. Not that there was much to see; not even the shadowy outlines of the nearby buildings managed to show through the dark fog. He switched on his gun-mounted torch.

  Andy, Sam, Jack and Annabel climbed over the guardrail and then hopped onto the land. After they’d got ashore, they huddled together in a close group. Jack held Annabel’s hand and spoke to her quietly.

  Budd
watched them move beyond the reach of the deck lamps. He turned to Juliette and found her staring intently at the fading image of Jack’s body, watching him until the swirling gray mass swallowed his outline. “My parents said he was no good, Monsieur Ashby.”

  “They sound like sensible people to me, sugar.”

  Juliette turned to Budd and lowered her voice. “Do you believe that France is okay, Monsieur Ashby? My parents live in Monte Carlo.”

  I considered lying.

  Hell, I’ve told whoppers to more women than I’d care to mention—normally in bars—but this was different.

  She deserved the truth.

  Even so, once I started down that road, there was likely to be the odd follow-up question, which was something I didn’t want being so close to the others.

  But, whatever the risk, I couldn’t give her false hope…

  “That’s not where we’re heading,” he said softly. “I’ll explain once we’re away from the others.”

  “My parents?”

  “Have the same chance as us.”

  Budd leant back and stood upright, carefully examining Juliette’s face. Tears glistened in her eyes and her lower lip trembled. Soon, however, the sadness merged with a quizzical expression that he knew was dangerous. He pointed discretely towards Deacon and she nodded.

  A third soldier arrived from the front of the boat and handed Patterson a small green rucksack. The pair discussed who would go next. With a look to Deacon, who jumped down onto dry land, the matter was decided. Patterson switched on his torch and then beckoned for Budd and Juliette to follow.

  After they had clambered over the rail and dropped onto the concrete platform, Budd took hold of Juliette’s hand. He glanced back at the boat. Father McGee waved them off, his white beard ruffling with a smile, while Chris stood sulking behind the remaining soldier. Danek had a similarly dark expression upon his face as he lurked in the shadows beneath the canopied section, his arm cast over the shoulders of his pregnant girlfriend.

  Last of all, Budd spotted the female couple, who were both standing hand-in-hand at the guardrail. He locked eyes with the tattooed one and she raised her free hand to wave. In reply, Budd tipped his head and tapped his right hand’s index finger against his brow in a casual salute. After a moment’s pause, he gave Juliette a quick smile, and then led her into the darkness after Deacon and Patterson.

  14

  The boat was gone from view and the fog even muffled the noise of the river. Budd found that his disorientation grew as they proceeded into the empty gloom, and hoped that Patterson, who seemed to be relying more on instinct than anything else, was finding navigation easier.

  “Thank you for supporting me on the boat, Mister Ashby. You could’ve made my life extremely difficult,” Deacon said over his shoulder. In front of him, the imposing black structure of a building drifted into view. The wall rose into the clouds. Budd was shocked by how low their visibility was; the base of the building was only thirty feet away when it first appeared in Patterson’s torch beam.

  “I didn’t really have a lot of choice,” Budd said. His eyes were working their way along the face of the building, looking for a doorway or a window, a feature that would offer some distinction to the long, metal-panelled wall. He guessed the building was a warehouse. “But now you’re gonna explain the whole thing again. Every little detail.”

  Deacon slowed his pace to settle alongside Juliette. “Of course, it’s only fair that you know the truth.”

  “Hold on a second,” Patterson said, stopping his advance. He knelt down and opened the green rucksack that the third soldier had given him. “Sanders gave us a few bits he rounded up on the boat.”

  Budd looked around at the fog. He wasn’t happy that Patterson had laid his MP-5 on the ground. The soldier retrieved three baton flashlights from the rucksack and handed them out. Deacon, Juliette, and Budd immediately hit the switches on the metal stems and explored their surroundings.

  There was nothing to see.

  When Budd looked back to Patterson, the soldier had placed a carton of spare batteries, a flare gun, and a box of three flares on the ground. He tossed aside the green pack. “Mister Ashby, can you carry these? It seems sensible to keep everything in one place.”

  Unless, of course, I got myself killed. But then, hey, what would I care? Answers on a postcard…

  “Sure thing,” Budd said as he dropped his rucksack over his shoulder and pulled back the lid. He picked up the items and placed them inside.

  A flare gun. In the fog? I couldn’t be bothered to argue…

  “I’m ready, sir,” Patterson said. “Shall we start moving again?”

  Deacon nodded.

  Off in the distance, a dog howled. The group exchanged brief looks.

  Nice puppy? Good boy…

  Patterson led the way along the side of the warehouse. When the building ended, it gave way to a concrete path that continued onwards, winding between two willow trees. The dangling branches looked ominous, like long, hideous fingers drooping from the sky. The four flashlight beams of the party criss-crossed each other in the fog.

  “Now that we’re ready,” Deacon said, adjusting his pace so that he was between Budd and Juliette, “I’d be happy to start my explanation. Are you prepared?”

  “Please do,” Juliette answered.

  I gotta hand it to the girl; she was one non-crumbly cookie.

  She listened to Deacon’s tale without interrupting; she just walked along, nodding mutely as that loon talked ’bout the comet, the infection’s beginning, the history of TimeTech Solutions and the less-than-impressive consequences of his attempt to save the day. She didn’t say a word as he theorized how the electrical disturbance had carried the damned space-mutant infection around the planet—quicker than you can say, “We don’t come in peace!”

  She had as much reason to be mad as anyone did; because of this smooth-talking, number-crunching science nerd, human civilization’s reign over planet Earth was over. Which, let’s face it, had gone pretty badly for us all.

  But, as civil as you like, Juliette accepted the news.

  Right then, she reminded me of my third wife, Hannah—or was she my second, I can’t remember—sitting at the table at one of those terrible dinner parties she used to throw, nodding and smiling as our accountant narrated one crisis or another from his office. I always wanted to shake him and say, “Shut up, Harold, you’re the most boring man in the world! Snails are more fun!”

  Eventually, I did.

  It was the best dinner party we ever had, from my perspective, but in hindsight I think it may have contributed somewhat to our divorce. Harold was Hannah’s brother.

  Anyway, I digress. Juliette was quiet and unresponsive, except for her nods of understanding as Deacon explained the various stages of the infection. Finally, he moved on to his intention of reaching Hope Island, where not only would we be safe but, by making a few alterations to their non-operational time machine, he could attempt to save the future, and the present, by going back even further. Back to the days when the containment facilities were fully operational and the disaster would be prevented.

  Hey, it seemed like a plan with potential flaws in it to me, too.

  By the time Deacon finished, Juliette knew everything. She didn’t get mad or upset, she just squeezed my hand a little tighter and gave me a smile. Perhaps it’s because her generation grew up watching far more TV than mine ever did—and was exposed to stories of alien invasions, body-snatching, and the weird probing of body parts that should never, ever be probed—that she took it in stride. I just wanted to run and hide, and then convert to whichever religion was most likely to save me. But she was fine.

  I tell ya, I never did understand women. Spider in the bathroom, screams and hysterics; alien invasion, calm as can be…

  “Look,” Patterson said, pointing into the fan of light projected by his torch. “We’ve reached the perimeter fence. The gate should be on the right.”

  Some
where nearby, hidden by the fog, but much louder and closer than it had been before, a dog howled. So did several others.

  Patterson’s hands shifted around his MP-5, his finger twitching over the trigger-guard. “I think we should keep going,” he said. “They’re as likely to be behind us as in front.”

  Budd shone his torch in a circle.

  I didn’t like the idea of dogs being on any side of us…

  The group started to move again, staying close to the chain-link perimeter fence, unable to see anything beyond it except for a few feet of tall grass. Their shoes echoed on the concrete path, the tempo of their footsteps gaining speed as their nervousness morphed into the beginnings of fear.

  “How far are we from the airfield?” Budd asked tentatively.

  “Quite close,” Patterson answered. “Once we’re through the main gates, there’s a short road that runs for a couple of hundred yards. Take a right at the T-junction and you should know where you are. The airfield is about a mile away on the left-hand side.”

  “Swell. How’d you know so much?”

  “My first assignment with TimeTech was as a guard at the Greenfield mansion. We patrolled this whole area at night.”

  The concrete path gave way to a road.

  They had reached the main entrance and, faintly illuminated at the edges of their flashlight beams, they could see two security huts, which were positioned opposite each other on either side of the road. From the huts were two roadblocks that rested on a concrete post between them, one for incoming and the other for outgoing vehicles. The group slipped beneath the beam of the outgoing roadblock, heading cautiously along the road. Under Patterson’s instruction, they walked down the center, following the broken white line.