Reborn

by Alex Scarrow

  He could see one coming down to the right of Gosling, sliding down the length of its fibrous goo with balletic ease.

  ‘Watch out!’ he shouted.

  Gosling looked up just in time to avoid the same fate as Jameson. He sidestepped clumsily, tripping himself up and sprawling on to the ground as the creature landed beside him, limbs uncurling from their spider-like defensive huddle.

  Corkie dropped the boy and shoved him roughly in the direction of his men. ‘Go, boy!’ He spun round and squared up to the creature, machete raised to hack at the first limb that reached out to him.

  ‘Get up, Gosling, you lazy bloody arsehole!’ he barked, keeping his eyes locked on the thing, waiting for it to make a move. He could hear Gosling pulling himself to his feet, gasping, winded from the fall, and he could see the glint of a cluster of dark spheres, grape-like. Eyes. Studying him intently.

  ‘Yeah? Come on, then! After you, love.’

  It remained where it was, its body bobbing gently, held two metres above the ground by too many limbs to count.

  ‘What are you waiting for?’

  He risked a glance over his shoulder. Gosling and the boy had reached his men. A momentary gap in the shield wall and then they were safely behind it. He whipped back round to face the creature. It seemed to be studying him as intently as he was studying it.

  Or perhaps those beady eyes were on the glinting blade of his machete, calculating its chance of getting past the blade to him.

  He took a step back from it, fully expecting the thing to mirror his movement and advance one step forward. But it didn’t. It remained where it was, just bobbing and watching. He sensed more than some dumb insect intelligence behind that grape-like cluster of eyes.

  ‘Sergeant!’

  He could hear the truck’s engine being gunned.

  ‘I’m coming!!’ he shouted, backing away a few more steps. The creature watched him, and he could have sworn blind that the damn thing cocked its body in the same way a spaniel would cock its head at the sound of a dog whistle.

  Corkie quickly backed up three more steps then turned and ran the rest of the way, joining his men.

  He looked around. ‘Where’s Briggs and his lot?’

  ‘Here, sir!’

  He saw Briggs standing in the shield wall at the rear of the truck.

  ‘All of us here, accounted for, sir. Where’s Jameson?’

  ‘Dead.’

  Corkie looked around for the boy and saw Gosling was helping him up into the back of the truck. He noticed a couple of his men stretched out – Osman, the only one with paramedic experience, was busy tearing open the foil on a first-aid pack.

  ‘Serious injuries?’

  ‘Nasty ones, Sarge,’ Osman replied.

  ‘Right . . . we are bloody well leaving. NOW!’

  Corkie grabbed the shoulder of his other ‘salt sprayer’, Moss. ‘You can give me that . . .’ The soldier willingly passed him the fire extinguisher. ‘Get in, lad.’

  Corkie backed up against the truck as his men quickly passed their shields up and clambered in after them. He could see twinkling hairline threads dangling from the ceiling in their hundreds now, like the freeze-frame image of some torrential downpour of rain. And in the gloom of the warehouse among the innards of the bottling-plant machinery, he glimpsed the glistening bodies, the spikes and spines, so fragile-looking and yet so lethal. All silently bobbing . . . and, like that other one, he sensed them intelligently regarding the fire hydrant in his hands and knowing what it dispensed, knowing that the tactical advantage of surprise had been spent, knowing that a sudden rush was too late now.

  Knowing when to cut their losses and wait for another chance.

  God help us . . . they’re smart.

  There were senior officers he’d served under who weren’t as smart as these things.

  The truck’s engine gunned noisily and a cloud of exhaust fumes billowed warmly around his legs. He turned, tossed the extinguisher into waiting hands and then quickly pulled himself up.

  ‘Let’s go!’

  CHAPTER 20

  ‘Uh-oh,’ said Fish. ‘Something’s wrong.’

  Leon and Freya looked where he was pointing. The two army trucks were bouncing along the rutted track across the grounds towards the castle, the rear tyres kicking up rooster tails of dirt and puddle water.

  The horn sounded from the keep. Clearly somebody else had spotted the trucks and had had the same thought. Those who were out in the grounds, foraging along the tree line for firewood, dropped what they’d gathered and began to hurry towards the drawbridge, following the orange guide-ropes that had been strung up to mark off the wired-up landmines.

  Leon handed the Nintendo back to Fish, got to his feet and offered Freya a hand to pull her up. The rest of the keep’s inhabitants spilled out through the double oak doors to see what was going on, Everett among them.

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Corkie and his men returning,’ shouted the soldier on watch duty.

  Everett yelled at someone to raise the drawbridge quickly, but there were people on it, hurrying for the safety of the far side and, anyway, the trucks were coming their way too quickly to stop them crossing.

  The first truck rattled over the wooden planks and lurched to a hard stop in the space where they were usually parked. The second came to a halt right next to it.

  Corkie jumped down from the passenger side of the driver’s cabin. ‘Get Dr Hahn!’

  Everett flicked his hand at someone lingering in the doorway to do just that, then stepped forward. ‘What’s happened?’

  The soldiers emerged from the back of the truck, boots hitting the dirt one after the other.

  ‘The virus.’ Corkie swore under his breath.

  ‘Corkie, give me a proper report, man!’

  ‘Bloody virus ambush! We were loading bottles from a plant, and they were hiding inside.’ He looked at Everett. ‘The bastards were actually waiting, like they knew we needed water, or something.’

  ‘Any casualties?’

  ‘Jameson’s dead. And we’ve got two more badly wounded in the back. Where’s Hahn?’ He looked around desperately for her.

  ‘She’s been called. She’s coming. Corkie . . . anyone infected?’

  ‘Jesus Christ . . .’ Corkie shook his head. ‘That was bad. That was really bloody bad.’ He saw Leon and Freya looking at him. ‘They’re getting much bigger. Bigger than when we found you two.’

  ‘How big?’ asked Leon.

  Corkie held a hand high above his head. ‘Like daddy-long-legses, but this big!’

  ‘Corkie!’ snapped Everett to get his attention again. ‘Anyone infected?’

  ‘I don’t bloody know! There are wounds. So, yeah, maybe!’

  ‘And the kraken? They’re bigger?’

  ‘These ones were more like spiders than crabs. They dropped down on us from strings. They were crawling across the bloody ceiling!’ He glanced up at the keep’s sheer stone walls. ‘Everett, if they get across our moat, they’ll scale these walls no problem.’

  Dr Hahn emerged from the oak doors with a shoulder bag and hurried over.

  ‘Back of that truck.’ Corkie pointed. She nodded and made her way to the rear and pulled herself inside. He turned back to Everett. ‘They’re getting smarter. That whole thing was an ambush. A bloody trap. They found a supply of water – they must know we need it – and they were bloody well waiting for us!’ He took a deep breath. ‘We’re going to need to rethink our defence plans.’

  ‘All right, Corkie, all right,’ Everett said in a calm voice. Leon could see the major wanted to continue this conversation in private rather than have it blurted out in front of everyone. ‘Soon as Hahn has looked them over, why don’t you get your knights sorted out, rested? Get them some food.’

  ‘We picked up another survivor.’

  Everett looked around. He could only see his knights. ‘Where?’

  ‘In the truck. A young boy.’

  ‘Yo
u sure about that?’

  Leon wondered if he was asking whether he was sure it was a boy not a girl. Then realized he was asking something else.

  ‘He’s real, sir, not an imitation.’

  ‘You certain?’

  ‘He’s got hair . . . nails . . . and he’s bloody terrified. I’d say he’s real.’

  Dr Hahn poked her head out of the back of the truck. ‘Please . . . you and you –’ she pointed to Fish and another guy – ‘help me, please. These two wounded ones need to be assisted up to my surgery.’ She beckoned them over to help get the wounded men out. One of them had a blood-soaked cotton pad taped across one side of his neck, the other had bandages and a tourniquet cinched tight round his thigh.

  ‘Corkie, your men are all pilled-up, aren’t they?’ asked Everett.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘The girl,’ Hahn called out to them, ‘she will need to be isolated. I must do a blood test immediately.’

  ‘Girl?’ Everett looked at Corkie. ‘You said boy, didn’t you?’

  Corkie shrugged, too tired to care.

  Hahn disappeared into the truck again and emerged a moment later with a bundle in her arms. Leon could see a dirty blue-grey blanket, the sorry kind of rag you’d find in a skip, or lining a cardboard box beneath a bridge. He could see two pale, bare ankles and dirty feet flopping lifelessly beyond the hem. Hahn sat down at the back of the truck then bum-shuffled off the edge on to the ground.

  ‘She is in a very, very bad way,’ Hahn said as she passed by Everett.

  At the other end of the bundle Leon could see a tuft of dark hair and a scalp, bald in patches and with mottled skin that looked as if it were thick with sores and scabs.

  ‘Poor thing,’ whispered Freya.

  Hahn stepped past them. The bundle in her arms seemed to weigh virtually nothing. ‘Please stay back. She may be contagious,’ she cautioned to those getting too close. ‘We do not know what she has.’

  As she passed by them, Leon craned his neck to get a better look at the pitiful creature. He caught a glimpse of her face.

  Just a glimpse.

  And his heart froze.

  ‘Leon?’

  He watched Hahn’s back as she eased through the gap of the open doorway and disappeared into the gloomy interior of the castle.

  ‘Leon? You OK?’ asked Freya.

  He turned to look at her.

  ‘Jesus, Leon, you’ve gone as white as a—’

  ‘It’s Grace.’

  He nodded at the doorway. Hahn now gone from view.

  ‘That was Grace.’

  CHAPTER 21

  ‘Please . . . please, just let me have—’

  Dr Hahn stood in the doorway of the infirmary. She wagged a finger at Leon. ‘Not until I’ve given her a proper examin—’

  ‘She’s my sister!’

  Hahn frowned from behind her round-rimmed glasses.

  ‘That girl! In there.’ He pointed over her shoulder. ‘She’s my sister. It’s Grace!’

  ‘This is true?’

  ‘Yes! We got separated. I thought she was . . . dead. I thought . . .’ Leon’s voice failed him. The emotion hit him like a get-up-too-quick dizzy spell, unannounced and instant. He stifled a hitch in his breath and swiped at his eyes. ‘I thought she died in a fire.’ His voice trembled.

  ‘She does have extensive scarring from burns,’ said Hahn.

  ‘Please let him see her,’ said Freya. ‘It is his sister. I know her too.’

  Hahn pressed her lips together. ‘The girl is very, very weak. And very traumatized . . .’ Her stern scowl softened slightly. ‘But all right. You may come in, Leon, but only you. Freya—’

  ‘It’s fine. I’ll wait out here.’

  Hahn stepped aside and Leon pushed past her into the infirmary. It was a small space, room only for an inspection gurney covered with a plastic sheet, a desk tucked into a corner beneath a narrow window, and cubbyhole shelves filled with medicine bottles and white packets of pills stacked against the wall.

  And Grace. There she was, sitting on the gurney, a white hospital sheet draped loosely around the welts on her shoulders. His heart broke at the first sight of her painfully thin, unclothed body. Livid swirls of knitted skin ran all the way down the left side of her face and her neck. Her left shoulder and arm were scarred all the way down to her elbow, the left side of her torso down to her naval.

  ‘Grace!’ he gasped.

  She turned listlessly towards him. For a moment it seemed she didn’t recognize his voice, perhaps didn’t even recognize her own name. And he saw more clearly how burned her face was. Her ear was completely gone and the left side of her mouth dwindled to an uneven, lipless slash, but she still managed a smile. A half-and-half smile: one side quite normal and so pretty; the other a tight, almost skeletal sneer.

  ‘Leon?’ she whispered.

  He hurried forward, both arms held out, then halted just in front of her, scared to touch her, scared to hurt her.

  She held out her hands and grasped his tightly. Her mouth crumpled, her chin dimpled, the half of her face that he recognized folded into an expression he knew well – tears were coming. Her narrow shoulders shuddered as she began to sob. ‘I thought . . . I . . . was alone . . .’

  ‘I’m here, Grace. I’m right here!’

  She pulled him towards her, wrapping her arms around him tightly. She buried the right side of her face against his neck and began to sob uncontrollably.

  They held each other like that for several minutes, then Dr Hahn gently interceded. ‘I must take a look at her, Leon. We need to know . . .’

  Leon loosened his hold on her, then took a step back.

  ‘Don’t go!’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere, Grace. I promise. I’m staying right here.’

  ‘So, your name is Grace, yes?’ said Hahn. She smiled. ‘It is a beautiful name, my dear.’ She pulled on a pair of sterilized gloves. ‘I need you to lie down on this bed. If you can and it is not too painful, on your back, please.’

  Grace did as she was told.

  ‘Your damaged skin . . . it must be quite painful still? How old are these burns?’

  ‘Two years,’ Leon answered for her. ‘The last place we were at . . . the people there tried to burn her to death.’

  Hahn’s tight little eyes rounded. ‘What?’ Her normally emotionless face stretched into an expression of horror. ‘Why?’

  ‘They thought she’d been infected by a scuttler. They poured petrol on her and . . .’

  ‘My God! This is completely barbaric!’

  She leaned over Grace and began to carefully inspect her neck and shoulder. ‘You poor child,’ she said softly as she touched her lightly and cautiously. ‘Ignorance and fear makes people act like complete animals, I think. Does the touching hurt?’

  Grace shook her head. ‘Not any more.’

  Hahn peered closely at her burns. ‘There is no apparent weeping . . . the redness does not appear to be infection. Just scarring.’ She smiled down at Grace and stroked the side of her face that wasn’t scarred. ‘You are a very brave girl.’

  Hahn let her hand run into Grace’s hairline. Leon knew what she was doing . . . making sure it was real. Hahn leaned closer, inspecting the hair as she ran her fingers through it.

  ‘How old are you, Grace? Eleven? Twelve?’

  ‘She’s fourteen . . . now,’ answered Leon for her.

  Hahn’s eyes widened. ‘Actually fourteen? Well . . .’ She shrugged. ‘I thought younger.’

  ‘We both take after Dad. He always looked younger than people thought he was.’

  She produced a small torch, bent low over Grace and peered into her eyes and mouth. She continued to examine the rest of her body for sores and inflammation. Finally, she leaned over Grace and smiled down at her. ‘I think you are a very resilient and brave young lady.’

  Grace managed a limp smile back at her.

  ‘Your sister is very weak from malnutrition, of course, Leon. She looks anaemic to m
e. She will need to have lots of iron and vitamins. And much rest. I would say also that her immune system is not looking so great. She is best being isolated here in a sterile and hygienic environment until we can make her strong and well again.’

  Leon sighed inwardly with relief. ‘She’s OK?’

  Hahn steered Leon away from the gurney and lowered her voice. ‘Outside, yes. I can’t begin to imagine what she has been through over the last two years. She will be very . . . scarred on the inside as well. You understand what I mean by that?’

  Leon nodded.

  ‘What she needs is plenty of rest and a recovery diet. I may also give her antibiotics to help her in the meantime. We don’t know yet what bacteria the virus has left alive, if any.’ She shrugged. ‘Perhaps that is why her scarring did not develop infection or sepsis. Thanks to the virus there may actually be no more bugs and germs. Who knows yet, hmm?’

  ‘Can I stay here with her?’

  ‘I am going to sedate her. Let her have a chance to rest and recover a little first. Why don’t you come back tomorrow morning after breakfast, after she’s had a good night’s sleep?’

  ‘OK.’

  She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘And you . . . you also need some adjustment time, Leon. You thought she was gone?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘And now she is here. It is a shock for you too, I think.’ She gently guided him to the door. ‘You also have things to process.’

  ‘Are you going to blood test her?’

  ‘Yes, as a matter of course, I will. But not right now.’ She nudged his arm. ‘I think we can safely say she is human.’

  Hahn pushed the infirmary door open with her shoulder, and Leon saw Freya sitting on a bench in the hallway outside, her mouth already open with a waiting question.

  ‘First thing after breakfast, you can come up, Leon, all right?’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘How is she?’ asked Freya.

  Hahn leaned to one side. ‘His sister will be fine. She is very weak right now. But she is a strong-willed girl, I think.’ She smiled. ‘A special day . . . to get back a loved one.’ She let Leon step past her then turned back. The infirmary door swung shut and Leon sat down on the bench beside Freya.

  ‘Did you manage to talk to Grace?’