Morse was slumped on the sofa when she returned to the house. She gave him the packet of crisps she’d found, which he ate while she unpacked the crowbar and lump hammer from the gym bag. They looked at each other and said nothing. Morse finished the crisps, screwed the packet up and dropped it behind the sofa.
*
In the vague light of the garage Violet fitted the battery while Morse held the torch beside her. It took her a while to remove and replace the old battery, and when it was done she tried the ignition and after four attempts the engine started with a muffled crack of the exhaust. She revved the accelerator and then let the engine tick over. According to the fuel gauge there was just over half a tank left. She hoped the diesel hadn’t deteriorated too much.
Morse opened the garage door to disperse the fumes and watch the street while Violet used a foot pump to inflate the tyres. Afterwards, her legs ached and throbbed, and her face was slick with sweat.
She turned towards the doorway. Morse looked back at her.
“I think we’re ready to go,” she said.
*
Violet smoked and drove while Morse navigated from the seat beside her, surveying a road map he’d found in the glove compartment. The roads outside the village were mostly clear of car wrecks and obstructions. Rain pattered against the windscreen between the screeching of the wipers. The tyres ground upon the deteriorating tarmac and kicked up puddles and grit.
They passed the dark stain of Newcastle away to the east. The countryside faded to dull tones. Infected people wandered the land, wailing towards the sky in the pouring rain; abject creatures slumped and impassive as if in mourning for the dead world. Morse watched them and could only feel pity for their distressed lethargy. A man clad in soaking rags, kneeling in the mud, reached one hand towards them as they passed, his face broken with pain and misery.
They made slow progress along the country roads and had to turn back at the dual carriageway when it was blocked with traffic jams of derelict cars. A Waitrose lorry was jack-knifed over a flyover. Infected dwelled among the dead vehicles, lurking like tired transients.
There were infected on the back roads too, hunched over next to vehicle wrecks or crawling from ditches with a look of idiot hunger on their faces. A woman in an Avenged Sevenfold t-shirt, with wiry tendrils spilling from her skin-tight face, stumbled into the road and the Land Rover clipped her and she tumbled away with arms flailing.
They passed a pile of gathered shopping trolleys by the roadside, left there like the last example of modern art.
The things they saw watching them from the fields and amongst the trees. Violet kept her foot down on the accelerator.
Occasionally Morse had to get out and clear the road of fallen branches and the left behind possessions of refugees who were now long dead and gone from the world. Personal effects and paraphernalia. He opened a luggage case and rifled through the clothes inside; took a woollen hat, two scarves and a large-sized jumper. When he stared at a photo album opened at a page of sunny beach snapshots, Violet had to press the horn to wake him from his reverie and warn of shambling figures emerging from the trees behind them.
He climbed back into the vehicle and gave one of the scarves to Violet.
*
When some roads were impassable, Violet took the Land Rover across fields and scrubland. The rough ground shook the vehicle and jolted them in their seats. Violet drove carefully to avoid a puncture.
After they returned to the road, they passed an infected girl of no more than six years old with a sodden teddy bear still in her hand. Morse had to look away from her sorrowful face. He turned to Violet; she looked at him then turned to face the road again. She had seen the girl too. There was nothing to be said.
*
The roads the Order had taken on their way to Hallow Hope were cleared of obstructions and wreckage.
They had covered fifty miles by the time the light faded from the sky. Violet stopped the car next to a field. There were fresh tyre tracks in the roadside mud. In the field a man had been tied to a wooden cruciform and his heart cut from his body and burnt in a small campfire nearby.
Morse and Violet stood looking at the dead man. His head was bowed to his chest. Neither of them wanted to look at his face. The red hole in his chest glistened. A sliver of white bone was visible.
“Looks like a sacrifice,” Morse said.
Violet prodded at the cold ashes with her foot. “Didn’t the Mayans rip out the hearts of sacrificial victims?”
“That was the Aztecs.”
“Yeah, them as well.”
“Old rites,” Morse muttered.
Violet looked at the dead man. “What was he sacrificed to?”
“The Plague Gods.”
“Sick fuckers.”
Morse stared across the fields. “Blood sacrifice.”
*
Morse swapped with Violet and drove for a while as darkness fell about them and covered the land. He turned the headlights on. Violet found a Johnny Cash CD and listened to The Man comes Around over and over again until Morse had a headache and switched it off despite her protests.
They stopped and left the engine running while they drank water and ate. They kept the doors locked. Morse stepped outside and pissed in the grass. Then he got back inside, put the vehicle back into gear and started down the road again.
*
They travelled parallel to a railway for a few miles. An abandoned train left upon the tracks. Four carriages burnt out from the insides and no glass in the windows. Charred metal. The suggestion of skeletal forms in some seats. Morse slowed as he passed the train and thought he saw a lone spindly figure walking along the aisle in the last carriage, and he was sure it turned to look at them as they went past.
*
They emerged onto the A1 motorway and passed Sunderland within the hour. Violet was asleep. Morse kept the speed below sixty, mindful of abandoned cars and trucks in the dark. The clattering of his pulse as he worried about Florence and what was happening to her. The guilt and shame of failing her. The fear that she was beyond his reach and he couldn’t help her. It was like a hole in his heart, aching with remorse.
He glanced at Violet sleeping, her face barely distinct in the dark. He hoped she was dreaming of good memories.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
A Sunday morning. The sun rising above the treetops. Violet and Ethan held hands along the pathway running through the nature reserve and past the dark serpentine river. They talked and laughed and tried to remember what happened the night before at her uncle’s 50th birthday party in the function room of a three-star hotel.
“You were so drunk,” Ethan said. He was tall and dark-haired. His shoulders were thin, but she was fine with that; her last boyfriend was obsessed with going to the gym and looked like a fitness model, but he ended up being an arsehole. Ethan was completely different. He didn’t drink protein shakes three times a day, pluck his eyebrows with tweezers, or take longer than her to get ready for a night out.
“I was not drunk,” Violet said.
“Liar.”
“You were drunker than me.”
“Ah, so you admit you were drunk then…”
She looked at him, tried not to smile. “A little bit. You’re a lightweight anyway.”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“I’m not. It’s not my fault you can’t handle your ginger beer.”
“Ginger beer? Piss off.”
She laughed. He playfully punched her shoulder.
“That hurt.”
“Quit whining, woman.”
“Cheeky twat.”
“Yeah, I know I am. That’s why you find me so irresistible.”
“You wish.”
“Oh, come on, I am one sexy mother.”
“Are you still drunk?”
Ethan laughed. “Maybe a little bit. I blame your dad for making us do those tequila shots at the bar.”
Violet felt her stomach churn at the memory. �
��Yeah, they were nasty.”
“I can still taste them.”
The pathway opened out into a meadow. They followed a trampled track through the grass and climbed a fence and stopped by the river. She noticed that Ethan’s face was quite sweaty and clammy. Probably the alcohol. He’d just recovered from a nasty cold, and had made the most of it by getting her to be his servant for two days, bringing him soup and buttered toast whilst he stayed in bed watching episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and The Office while quaffing Lucozade.
Ethan looked at her then quickly looked away, wiping his mouth and sniffling.
“Are you okay?” she asked him.
“Yeah,” he answered too fast. “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
He nodded. “Yeah, yeah. Definitely.”
“You’re acting weird.”
“I’m fine.”
They walked on, watching squirrels dart along tree branches and crows circle in the sky.
Then Ethan stopped. He faced her. His expression was serious, and that worried her a little. A muscle twitched under his eye and his mouth opened a little to show his teeth. He brushed a strand of hair away from his face.
He’s going to break up with me, she thought. Three years, all for nothing. It’s his flat, so I would have to move out. All of these thoughts went through her mind.
She frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“We need to talk, Violet.”
He knelt upon one knee and looked up at her, one hand in his jacket pocket. And he pulled something from his pocket. A little velvet box, which he opened, and inside was a ring so delicate and beautiful she was speechless.
Ethan swallowed, bit his lip. “Violet Harrigan, will you marry me?”
Violet felt her legs weaken and her stomach turn upside down. She looked from Ethan to the ring then to Ethan again. She opened her mouth to speak, but there were no words. She felt lightheaded.
“Violet…?”
“Uh…”
“Are you okay?”
Her face broke into a wide smile. “Of course I’ll marry you!”
Relief swept over Ethan’s face. He took the ring from the little box and placed it over her finger. The ring caught the light like it was magic. Ethan stood and they hugged and kissed. Then they hugged again. He wiped the tears from Violet’s eyes.
The ring was a perfect fit as Ethan slipped it over her finger.
“I love you,” she said, looking up at him.
“Back at you,” he said, smiling. “I’ve got to say, that’s a fucking relief.”
She grinned, examining the ring, turning it in the air so it sparkled. “I thought you were about to break up with me.”
“That’s stupid.”
“You’re stupid.”
“We’ll be stupid together.”
“Okay.”
After more hugs and kisses, they walked onwards.
Violet couldn’t wait to tell her family and friends. She was tempted to text her best and oldest friend, Sandra, and tell her. Although she hoped Sandra wouldn’t be jealous, seeing as she had just broken up with her boyfriend. She tried to imagine her mother’s face when she told her. She hoped Dad would be okay with it; he had always told her never to get married too young. But she was twenty-three now, an adult, and she knew what she was doing. Ethan was the man for her, even with his horrendous flatulence after eating a meat feast pizza.
She put her arms around him as they walked. He stroked her hand and said it would be a beautiful day.
“It is already,” Violet replied.
Ethan pointed across the field, to where a man had emerged from the trees. She looked towards the man and squinted. He was about fifty yards away, stumbling through the grass. Part of his t-shirt was ripped. He was jerking his head around, like there was a wasp buzzing around his face. Violet thought his face was twitching, but she couldn’t be sure because of the distance.
He was heading towards them.
“What’s wrong with him?” Violet said.
“Maybe he’s got a hangover too.”
“Can we turn back? I don’t like the look of him.”
He smiled at her. “I’ll protect you, my wife-to-be.”
“Oh, my dashing hero.”
“That’s right, baby.”
They turned around and started walking back up the river. Violet glanced back and saw that the man was following them. He did not look away from them and had shortened the distance to less than forty yards. His mouth was moving. Violet thought she could hear him gibbering. She thought there was blood on his hands. It could have been red paint. Yeah, red paint…had to be.
“Walk quicker,” she said to Ethan.
He glanced over his shoulder and frowned. “What the hell…?”
They quickened their pace.
Violet checked behind to see the man had gained on them, and now he was only twenty yards away and loping into a staggering run. Perhaps he was only out for a morning jog…
With red paint on his hands and a torn t-shirt…
He was almost upon them when Violet screamed.
Ethan turned around and raised his hands as the man lunged forward and took hold of him. And before he could protest or even ask what he was doing, the man jerked his head towards Ethan’s face and seized the skin of his cheek in his mouth. Ethan screamed, his eyes going wide with shock and pain. Violet couldn’t move. The man pulled his head back and tore away a patch of skin from Ethan’s face. A sound like ripping cloth. Blood spurted and covered his lips and chin. Ethan pawed uselessly at the man, who knocked him to the ground and fell upon him, snapping jaws working against the torn mess of his face and throat. Ethan screamed wordlessly. Called out to Violet. His legs kicked at the air.
“Leave him alone!” Violet screamed.
The man raised his face from Ethan’s trembling body and stared at her, his mouth hanging open and bloodied. Bits of Ethan were on his face and down the front of his ripped t-shirt.
Violet bunched her hands into fists as she backed away. She risked a glance at Ethan; he wasn’t moving. His eyes were open and staring at the sky. His throat had been opened and much of the skin was gone from his face. Violet was muttering, crying, and wiping her eyes, trying to stand upright, because if she collapsed now she would suffer the same fate as her fiancé.
“Oh god,” she whispered, close to hysteria. “Oh god, help me.” She said Ethan’s name as she realised he was dead. Her lovely, poor, sweet Ethan, gone. Gone. Dead. There would be no engagement party and no wedding, no marriage and no children. No life together. Nothing. She felt reality falling away and she wondered, absurdly, what her mother would say when she got home.
The man rose from Ethan’s lifeless form and started towards her, reaching with bloodied hands.
She turned and ran.
*
Violet fled up the pathway and into the stretch of woodland that would take her back to the street directly outside the nature reserve. She cried and wailed as she ran, senseless and beyond logic. There was thunder in the sky, and she thought that was strange because there had been no clouds only a short while ago.
The man bolted from the trees to her right and bundled into her. They fell down together. She landed next to him and rolled away just as he swept out a hand that raked across the ground. She shuffled backwards, using her hands to move. He crawled after her, snarling, his eyes wild and bloodshot.
She backed up against the bottom of a tree trunk and the man bounded forwards like a crazed animal. She drew her foot back and kicked him in the face. He flinched, but it barely slowed him down and then he was upon her, his mouth opening wide. She noticed how sharp his teeth were. The teeth that killed Ethan.
There was a large stone in her hand.
She swung the stone at his face and connected with his left eye, and he fell away shrieking. She rose into a crouch and when he recovered and came forward again, she hit him on the side of the head and he collapsed stunned to the ground. A horrid wheez
ing drifted from his mouth as she knelt over him on one knee.
“Who the fuck are you?” she said, at the edge of madness. “Why did you kill my Ethan? What’s wrong with you? Why? WHAT’S THE MATTER WITH YOU?”
The man growled in his throat as she brought the stone down again and again until his face was caved-in and destroyed, and all recognisable features were nothing more than red pulp. Then she sat and threw the stone away and cried for a long while under the canopy of trees, staring at the blood on her hands. Grief and terror blanked all rational thought and there was only the savage cry of murder in her head. Shadows danced around, limbs as thin as the tree branches above her. Black dots imposed upon her sight. Voices and sirens on nearby streets. A child crying. Dogs barking. The thunder was louder.
It sounded like the world was ending
*
Violet woke with tears in her eyes. She looked at where the engagement ring had been on her finger, and couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen it.
She thought about Ethan and wondered if he was waiting for her in some other place, with his family and her family, and all their pets. All of those who’d died in the outbreak.
She would never forget them.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
They stopped in a layby. Morse slumped in the passenger seat as Violet took her turn to drive. He was exhausted, struggling to keep his eyes open. He yawned into his hand and looked out the windscreen at the shapeless dark.
“Where are we?” Violet said as she clipped in the seatbelt.
Morse rubbed his face as he checked the map. “On the M1 – a few miles north of Nottingham.”
“We’ve still got to go around Birmingham?”
“Yeah.”
“We haven’t got much fuel left. I don’t know how far it’ll take us.”
“Let’s just keep going.”
The Plague Series | Book 3 | The Last Soldier Page 17
