The Plague Series | Book 3 | The Last Soldier

by Hawkins, Rich

  Morse tried to remember the time after Florence had been abducted. His heart quickened, and bile stirred in his chest at the memory of collapsing in the road after staggering away from the house. The bodies of the dead infected on the ground. The blood on his face.

  “I heard the gunfire,” Sadie said, crouching next to him. “I waited a while then went out to take a look. That’s when I found you in the road, half-buried in ash.”

  “I can still taste it,” Morse said, stifling a cough. “You carried me back here?”

  “Dragged you, actually. Looked like you’d been in one hell of a fight.”

  Morse stared at his hands. “Something like that.”

  “Who were you fighting?”

  “A group of men,” he said. “They took a friend of mine.”

  Sadie frowned. “Who did they take?”

  “A girl.”

  “Your daughter?”

  “Not exactly. Someone I was supposed to protect.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Why did they take her?”

  “Why else would a group of men want a young girl?” He let the suggestion hang and looked at the floor. When he thought of what the men would do to Florence, tears welled in his eyes and he felt sick with guilt and remorse.

  “If it helps,” Sadie said, “her suffering is probably over by now. I’m sure she’s at peace.”

  “She can’t be dead.”

  “It’s probably better if she is.”

  Morse bit the inside of his mouth and curled one hand into a fist. He closed his eyes but all he saw was Florence dead in a field, left to be carrion for the scavengers after she was no longer useful to the men.

  He opened his eyes and sighed deeply. His skin itched.

  “It’s okay,” Sadie muttered, and her hand rested near to his arm. He pretended not to notice.

  “Where are we?” Morse said.

  “On the English side of the border, south of the River Tweed.”

  “Northumberland?”

  “That’s right.”

  “How long have I been here?”

  “Almost a week. You spent most of that time passed out or babbling incoherently and calling out in your sleep. Did you have bad dreams?”

  “I can’t remember.”

  “How do you feel?”

  “Like hammered shite, but better than I did before you found me.”

  She nodded, gave a half-smile. “That was a nasty wound in your side. Pistol round?”

  Morse placed his hand to the dressing over the wound; it was sore and tender to touch, but nothing close to the agony of before. “Some bastard snuck up on me.”

  “Did you get him?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good for you. Luckily the bullet only grazed you.”

  “Still hurt like fuck.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “Thank you for helping me,” he said.

  She shook her head, her cheeks flushing reddish-pink, then glanced away. “No problem. I gave the wound a clean and slapped a new bandage on it, then started you on some antibiotics. You’re due for your next dose, by the way.”

  “You didn’t have to do this,” said Morse. He couldn’t look at her. “You could have just left me to die.”

  “Like I said: no problem.”

  “What’s in it for you?”

  She smiled at him. “Well, I don’t get much company, so I’m forced to seek out injured men on the roads and bring them back here so I have someone to talk to.”

  Morse frowned.

  “I’m joking,” she said. “I just did what any half-decent person would do.”

  “I thought the decent people were dead.”

  “You’re a pessimist, I see.”

  “Not much else to be in this world.”

  “Fair enough. I’ll let you ponder that while I dish up the food.” She walked to the steaming pot.

  “What is it?”

  “Squirrel soup.”

  “Interesting.”

  “That’s one word for it.”

  “Is it that bad?”

  “It’s not terribly good, but it’s better than cat meat.”

  *

  Morse spooned the soup into his mouth as Sadie watched, and when he was finished he handed her the bowl and asked for seconds. She dished up some more. He got stuck into it, barely stopping to breathe. He thought it best to swallow without chewing once he’d noticed the small grey scraps of meat floating in the soup. It burned his throat but he didn’t care because the warmth in his stomach was the best thing he’d felt in a long while.

  Afterwards, he tried to get up, but Sadie eased him back down to the mattress and told him to rest. She gave him water and some pills. She placed her hand on his brow and frowned.

  “You’ve still got a temperature. Rest up, Joseph.”

  His eyes fluttered. “How do you know my name?”

  She stood and looked down at him. She smiled without showing her teeth. “You told me in your sleep.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “I’m going out for a while, to find food. I’ll lock the door behind me.”

  “Why lock the door?”

  “So nothing bad can get in here.”

  “Okay.”

  “Go back to sleep, Joseph.”

  *

  In dreams Florence came to his bedside and told him of all the bad things that the men had done before they’d killed her. Then her skin peeled away in wet folds and she became a raw, red-slick thing pawing at his blankets until he pushed her away and she fled to the corner of the room and began screaming into her hands.

  He was crying when he woke.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Sadie returned empty handed. Morse sat up and rested his back against the wall. She unshouldered the rifle and leant it against a stack of cardboard boxes.

  “No luck?” he said.

  “There were too many infected around. Did you get much sleep?”

  “Little bit.” He closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. His mouth smelled like a sewer.

  “Bad dreams?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “Not really.”

  “That’s fine.”

  He opened his eyes. “What time is it?”

  “Early evening.”

  “I can’t stay here.”

  Sadie placed her hands together. Her knuckles cracked. A note of anxiety in her voice. “What do you mean?”

  “I have to find Florence.”

  “She’s dead.”

  “She could still be alive.”

  Sadie put the bag down. “It’s unlikely. Even if she is alive, how would you find her? Do you know where the men took her?”

  “No, but…” His voice died and he remembered the dream and Florence’s screams from the corner of the room.

  “You’re too weak to go outside, Joseph. If you went back out into the wasteland in your condition, you’d be easy prey for the infected. You need to fully recover before you can even think about going out there. Give it a few days and then see how you feel.”

  “Florence might be dead in a few days.”

  Sadie’s eyes never left him. “She might already be dead. There’s nothing you can do about it.”

  *

  They sat around a Coleman lantern and ate mushroom soup from paper bowls.

  “Where are we?” Morse asked. “What is this room?”

  “We’re on the first floor of a supermarket, in one of the back rooms.”

  Morse wiped his mouth. “You cleared the building of infected?”

  “Yes. With the rifle and a hatchet.”

  “Impressive. You can handle a gun then.”

  “I’m competent.”

  “If you can catch a squirrel you must be pretty good. You from out in the sticks?”

  “No,” she said, steam from the bowl rising before her eyes. “I’m from Leeds. Worked in a call centre. City girl.” She smiled a small smile then spooned soup into h
er mouth.

  “Wouldn’t have guessed,” Morse said.

  “Hard to tell with some people. It’s just nice to have some company.”

  “You’ve done well to survive for over two years. Did you ever try to escape the mainland?”

  She swallowed. “Me and my husband tried when the outbreak first hit. He died on the third day.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Morse. There was nothing else he could say, so he looked away and picked food from his teeth.

  “What about you? How have you survived?”

  “I managed to get on a ship and escape the country. Spent a while on a Royal Navy aircraft carrier, squeezed into a room with other survivors. Ended up in a refugee centre. Not that it was any safer, of course, because the fucking plague was everywhere.”

  “Did you have a family?”

  “Two ex-wives, that’s all. I have no idea what happened to them.”

  “No children?”

  He shook his head.

  She finished her soup and placed the bowl on the floor. “Me and Chris were trying for a baby at the time everything went to hell. Hardly seems fair.”

  “It’s not,” said Morse.

  “Just another sad story, I suppose.”

  Morse nodded. “Soon there will be no one left to tell any stories.” He put his empty bowl down and glanced at her, but she looked away and her face was tragic and pale in the light of the lantern.

  *

  Sadie changed his bandage, and her close proximity made him feel awkward and embarrassed. He didn’t look at her, and when she finished she stood and walked away, and only then did he watch her.

  *

  Sadie locked the door and put the key in her pocket. She turned to Morse. “I’m going to bed.”

  He was picking at the frayed stitching in his jumper. “Okay.”

  “You should probably get some sleep too.”

  “Yeah, I will.”

  “Good.” She went to her camp bed on the other side of the room. She took her boots off then climbed fully-clothed under the blankets. When she had settled and her head was on the pillow, she said, “I’ll leave the lantern on.”

  “Okay.”

  “Are you alright, Joseph?”

  “Just tired.”

  “Then get some sleep.”

  “Will do.”

  “Goodnight, Joseph.”

  “Goodnight.”

  *

  There were dreams of terrible mouths and the indistinct figure of Florence calling his name. Blood greased his hands and dripped onto his bare feet. The weight of guilt was his burden to be carried. He saw the faces of people he’d killed severe with judgement and condemnation for his vile soul and the blackness in his heart. The slick-faced Catholic priests from his days as an altar boy, watching him and gloating; they told him he would go to Hell. They told him he was beyond redemption. No salvation for him. He could wish to repent with all his heart, but it would not be allowed because his soul was marked for another place, where the demons and sinners capered and wept, and that would be that for Joseph Victor Morse.

  *

  He woke in the dim light of the lantern, breathing hard and sweating, tears from his eyes streaming down the clammy skin of his cheeks. The wound in his side pulsed hotly, and for a moment of heart-stopping terror he was sure that a sweaty, porcine-faced Catholic priest was lurking at the end of his bed.

  He rubbed his eyes and wiped them dry.

  Sadie was standing over him, shivering in a t-shirt and underwear. He looked up at her and opened his mouth, but he didn’t know what to say. She knelt beside him and reached under the blankets and started stroking his crotch.

  “What are you doing, Sadie?”

  She didn’t look at him. “No talking.”

  Before he could reply, she took off her t-shirt then undid and removed her tattered bra. Her breasts hung loose and pale as she climbed under the blankets with him. Then her hands were at the waist of his trousers and pulling them down his legs. Morse was frozen, unable to react aside from the stiffening of his cock in her hands. She smiled at him and then her mouth was where her hands had been and she moved her head up and down until Morse was gasping and digging his fingers into the mattress. And when he was close to climaxing, Sadie removed her mouth, pulled off her underwear and slid on top of him and took his hands and placed them on her breasts. She moaned, rocking back and forth upon him, and closed her eyes and grinned. Morse held her breasts tighter and she responded by putting her hands upon his throat and pressing until he couldn’t draw air. Sadie’s movements quickened as she neared orgasm, and when she came and released his throat, Morse came with her and they both cried out in the wan light, and then she dismounted him in silence, gasping for breath, her face glistening with sweat and tears.

  Morse lay back and looked at the ceiling. He heard her walk back to her bed and slip underneath the blankets. He said nothing. She said nothing.

  When he eventually fell asleep again, he did so with the maddening remnant of her scent upon him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  In the morning Morse woke and remembered the night before. He closed his eyes and groaned and put his hands to his face. Images of Sadie grinding her hips upon him, and the memory-feel of her clammy fingers upon his throat.

  He sighed. His mouth tasted like bad meat. His back ached and the wound in his side felt as if it were being softly probed by little fingers. The smell of cooking food in the close confines of the room only made his stomach turn and his bowels loosen.

  Sitting up, he looked towards the other side of the room. Sadie was already awake and dressed, stirring the steaming pot with a ladle. She raised her face and smiled at him. Her hair wasn’t so unruly and scraggly this morning.

  Morse tried to return the smile, but the muscles at the side of his mouth wouldn’t move, and all he could do was look at her while trying to think of something to say.

  Sadie rose with a mug in her hands, and she walked over to him as he tried to hide his discomfort and pull the blankets up to his throat.

  “I made you some tea,” she said. The dull light in her eyes made Morse’s balls shrivel. He looked from her face to the mug and took the drink from her offering hand and nodded, muttering his thanks. She stared at him. He tipped the mug to his lips and drank, and she followed his movements with her eyes.

  Morse swallowed. “It’s good. Cheers.” He was already worried he’d said too much.

  “I’m sorry there’s no milk in it; we ran out of the powdered stuff a while back. But I put two sugars in it. I’ve been saving the sugar for special occasions.”

  She flashed her teeth. Morse lowered his face to the mug so he wouldn’t have to look at her eyes.

  “About last night…” he said.

  “It was nice, wasn’t it?”

  He shifted on the bed. “Ah, yes.” Only after he’d spoken did he realise how unsure his voice had sounded. He looked up at her and tried to keep the shape of his mouth neutral and flat.

  A slight frown creased her brow. “Didn’t you enjoy it? Was it bad?”

  He took another sip and swallowed before his throat closed up. “Uh, of course I enjoyed it. To be honest, it’s been a while since the last time. I wasn’t sure it was going to work properly.”

  “It definitely did.” She put her hand on his knee.

  He moved his leg, but her hand went with it. Her fingers tightened on his skin. He tried not to look at her, even when her hand began to move up his leg and onto his thigh.

  “I’m hungry,” he said, trying to distract her.

  Her face lit up and she pulled her hand away. “I’ll make you some breakfast. There’s baked beans and pork sausages. From a tin, of course. I hope you like it.”

  “I’m sure I will,” he replied, hoping not to sound too enthusiastic. And when he looked over to her, she was staring at him above the steaming pot, her eyes wide and the curve of her mouth severe and pale.

  *

  She watched him eat. He for
ked the processed sausages into his mouth and chewed, avoiding eye contact. When he finished, she took the bowl and then checked his wound.

  “You’re definitely healing, Joseph. Getting much stronger.”

  He looked at the floor, her breath on his neck as she wrapped a new bandage around his torso. “Good. I need to leave soon.” As soon as he said the words, he knew it was a mistake.

  She tied the bandage too tight and Morse squirmed, grimacing at the pressure on his wound. She stared at him, and he was forced to look at her, the closeness of her sorrowful eyes, and the accusation of her mouth. He could hear the shallow breaths past her teeth.

  “You’re leaving? I thought we had something between us.”

  He picked up his t-shirt and held it bundled to his chest. “I’m sorry, Sadie, but I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Last night,” she said in a wounded voice.

  “What about last night?”

  “Me and you, Joseph.”

  “We had sex.”

  “Exactly.”

  “It was just sex, Sadie.”

  Her eyes were downturned. Morse thought there were tears. Her mouth formed a sullen shape. “You think I’m a slut?”

  He almost reached out to her, but thought better of it. “No, not at all. Why would you say that?”

  “Because I gave myself to you, and now you’re rejecting me. I’ve been alone for so long, and then you came along, but now you’re leaving and I’ll be alone again.”

  The sight of the rifle on the other side of the room pulled the air to the top of his lungs. He cleared his throat and swallowed. “Why don’t you come with me, Sadie?”

  She raised her head and her eyes glistened. Her mouth was slack and trembling. “I’m not allowed to leave.”

  “Why not?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Of course you can tell me.”

  A quiver in her voice. “You wouldn’t want to know.”

  “Fair enough. That’s up to you.” With a sigh, he stood and pulled on his t-shirt then strapped on his tactical vest. He was done with this place. Too much time had been lost. Florence needed him.