Reborn
Page 30
The third mistake had been not believing the Brits when they’d said the virus could ‘do people’. Frankly, that had sounded nuts. But now he’d seen it for himself. Those three test candidates in the tent had all been infected. They’d seemed aware of that and had been working together . . .
Holding hands . . .
The woman had been the distraction, while the two men had begun to merge.
Merging. Jesus. Merging into whatever the hell you’d call that tall frikkin thing.
His men had said similar creatures had been forming up inside the pen. Dozens of them, like mashed-together towers of flesh and bone, spitting out everything from vast crustacean-like pincers to curling lassoes of soft flesh.
‘. . . Sir . . . SIR?’
Tom realized a number of his people – medical staff and marines – had coalesced around him and were looking to him for orders.
‘– everywhere, sir!’ barked a muffled voice.
The air was filled with the percussive rattle of gunfire. The Chinese troops had formed a defensive line where the barbed-wire barricade had been pulled back into position. They’d given up firing warning shots into the air and were now picking off people who’d managed to scrape their way through the coils of wire.
There was a distant thud, and a lazy cloud of oily smoke rose into the sky as a stash of gasoline went up in one of the many burning tents.
Looking across the concrete into the abandoned holding pen, Tom could see something he knew he was never, ever, going to be able to un-see, picked out in the merciless glare of the floodlights.
An area like marshland, like a swamp, a small bubbling lake of fluid, from which leg bones, ribcages and various undigestibles protruded like reeds and wetland roots. The virus was consolidating, working its way through its brand-new victims, processing them as they’d hoped to process the survivors. A bubbling witch’s brew of molten skin and glistening tendrils snaking out across the hard ground, seeking further outlying pools with which to unite, absorbing, consolidating.
In the middle of its mass he could see movement beneath the glutinous surface, like bubbles of steam in a thick porridge trying to break through and burst.
What’s going on over there?
As if in answer, the surface suddenly ruptured and Tom saw movement of a different kind, no longer the languid undulations of a lava lamp, but a frenetic fidgeting of glistening sharp edges, points and spines . . . spreading as fast as a bloodstain across a crisp white shirt.
I’ve seen this . . . Shit, I’ve seen this.
The CCTV footage from that religious cult.
Those spidery things. Coming this way. Swarming their way.
You’ve lost this one, Tom. Get going. Now.
‘We’re leaving!’ shouted Tom above the din. ‘Everyone back aboard!’
They were slow to respond, or perhaps hadn’t heard him. He jabbed a finger towards the loading ramps of their three ships.
‘. . . RUN!’
CHAPTER 56
Grace wandered slowly across the chaotic quayside, almost serenely, like some slack-jawed tourist marvelling at a theme-park recreation of Armageddon, untouched, unaffected by it all and amazed at the spectacle around her.
She finally came to a halt and found herself looking up at the daunting structure of the vast Chinese aircraft carrier, a glowing leviathan of endlessly stacked decks and floodlights that shone down unrelenting on the Southampton quayside like some visiting extraterrestrial mother ship.
Dimly, she could hear voices, gunshots and screaming. Dimly, she sensed movement all around her. Dimly, she felt the thud of a stray bullet tear through her thigh. Nothing to concern her. The wound would coagulate, a thick resinous layer would coat and fix the fractured femur within hours; the skin would reknit. She had no idea whether the shot had been aimed at her specifically or meant for no one in particular.
It didn’t really matter anyway.
Behind her, she knew the thin white line of soldiers was being overwhelmed by the thick tidal wave of carriers. Their guns were useless weapons, as ineffective as trying to swat at a cloud of mosquitos with a baseball bat.
Nearby, a group of tested-and-passed evacuees were being hustled towards the loading ramp by a mixed group of Australian and Chinese soldiers.
The last, lucky few.
They hurried towards her, then either side of her, as if she weren’t even there, scrambling desperately to board the ramp to safety.
She could see that the carrier was beginning to move excruciatingly slowly, not exactly a quick getaway vehicle. She could hear klaxons wailing, warning amber lights flashing and spinning either side of the ramp. It was beginning to slide and bump along the concrete, nudging boxes and crates into the water as it inched along.
She was ushered on to the ramp with the others and felt the harsh skittering vibration of the grinding metal walkway beneath her feet. She could feel the transmitted deeper vibration of the ship’s engines back-pedalling furiously away from the shore, turning the water around the vast grey hull into a boiling white froth.
This was not how it was supposed to go. But then she wasn’t in charge. No one was really in charge. She was one of many, part of an enormous community, a family even – everyone wanting the same end-goal, but with differing opinions on how they should get there.
She’d wanted the face-to-face encounter to be a calm and measured one: Grace speaking on behalf of the virus to some person in charge who would represent what was left of mankind.
A meeting of civilizations.
A peaceful discussion of intentions, of what the future held. She’d been hoping to present herself to someone In. Charge. Of. Things. To calmly reassure him, or her, that, yes, she was infected, but that, no, she wasn’t about to explode into a million little bugs.
She wanted to talk. That was all.
She’d had a plan, not even a plan . . . just a hope that she could reassure those people left alive on this planet that they had absolutely nothing to fear. That, yes, change can be scary, change can look scary. But ultimately, if one doesn’t change, one slowly dies. That there really was nothing to worry about . . .
Despite the ‘messy’ appearance of transition from one form of life to another, it was nothing to be afraid of. In fact, it was something truly wonderful.
Life . . . was changing.
Life . . . was being reinvented.
Life . . . was being Reborn.
TO BE CONTINUED . . .
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I’d like to thank the team at Macmillan for helping me get this out there. Firstly to Venetia Gosling for her deft application of editor’s margin notes, and secondly to Samantha Stewart and Lucy Pearse for their forensic copy-editing. And thirdly to Debbie Chaffey for going through this book line by line, hunting for gremlins to squish. Without you four, this book would be half what it is :)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Alex Scarrow used to be a rock guitarist. After ten years in various unsuccessful bands he ended up working in the computer games industry as a lead games designer. He now has his own games development company, Grrr Games. He is the author of the bestselling and award-winning TimeRiders series, which has been sold into over thirty foreign territories. He lives in East Anglia. Reborn is the second book in the Remade series, and Alex is currently working on the explosive final instalment.
Visit his website at www.AlexScarrow.com
A virus that can think, a teen boy who was never cut out to be a hero, and a promise to a dying mother to protect a younger sister – no matter what.
THE TENSE THRILLER FROM THE BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF TIMERIDERS
Praise for Remade:
‘A superb doomsday thriller . . . this is Stephen King suitably toned down for younger readers – edge-of-your-seat stuff, brilliantly written . . .’ – Books Monthly
‘Terrifying and thought-provoking and guaranteed to keep you up at night reading to the very last page!’ – Edel, for Lovereading4kids.co.uk
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nbsp; ‘Crisply and confidently written and never less than compelling . . . Remade is unreservedly recommended’ – Starburst magazine
‘Gripping, hard to put down and gave me a thrill that isn’t easy to forget’ – Humaira, for Lovereading4kids.co.uk
‘Gets your heart racing, your brain working overtime and your heart hoping that our world never experiences the horror of Scarrow’s imagination!’ Phoebe, for Lovereading4kids.co.uk
‘An addictive, intense book that I just could not put down’ – Geeky Zoo Girl Blog
‘Packed with contemporary detail and just enough real science to validate it . . . so close to convincing that even cynical readers may be unnerved’ – BookTrust
‘Tingling with tension, supercharged and fast paced, there won’t be a second to lose until the last page has turned . . .’ – Lancashire Evening Post
Books by Alex Scarrow from Macmillan
Remade
Reborn
First published 2017 by Macmillan Children’s Books
This electronic edition published 2017 by Macmillan Children’s Books
an imprint of Pan Macmillan
20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR
Associated companies throughout the world
www.panmacmillan.com
ISBN 978-1-5098-1123-6
Copyright © Alex Scarrow 2017
Cover illustration by James Fraser
The right of Alex Scarrow to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Pan Macmillan does not have any control over, or any responsibility for, any author or third-party websites referred to in or on this book.
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
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