Mortal Skies Omnibus

by Rebecca Fernfield

  A clawed hand grasps Sally’s buttocks, pinching at the flesh. Sally screams in terror but aims a massive kick at Lottie’s head. It lands on her forehead. For a second Lottie stares in shock and Sally darts from her grasp, stumbles from the room and sprints down the corridor. A wheedling screech erupts behind her and feet pound. If only she can get to the dining room, she’ll be safe!

  A pair of double doors break the corridor that leads to the dining room. With Lottie’s feet thudding behind her, Sally slams through the doors. The corridor fills with the chatter of voices and, ahead, a man steps out of the dining room. As he turns to stare at her advancing figure, a hand clamps down on Sally’s shoulder, the bone-hard fingers digging beneath her clavicle. As she screams for help, the man stares in moronic confusion only shouting a feeble ‘hey!’ as Lottie grabs a handful of Sally’s hair. As pain rips through her scalp, Sally realises her life is at stake and with all her weight drops to the ground, then twists. Her scalp burns as strands of hair are ripped from their follicles, but with a quick roll, Sally is out of Lottie’s reach. “Help!” she screams and continues her sprint to the dining room.

  Still unmoving, the man stares past her to Lottie.

  Running through the dining room, Sally darts into the kitchen. As she grabs a meat cleaver from the magnetic holder on the wall, the man’s scream erupts from the corridor.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  As Sally dials for the Police and backs further into the kitchen, Nate twists to follow the noise. A wisp of fog twists from the corridor and the tightness across his shoulders, and the pain across the back of his head, that had lessened as he’d told the kids about Gareth and the helicopter, then listened to their excited chatter, returns with a vengeance.

  He grabs Ellie’s arm. “Get the kids back to the room. Now!”

  Ellie stares in confusion for a single second, sees the unravelling mist as it dips and twists amongst the diners, and stands, grabbing a fork from the table. “How the hell did it get here?” The children follow her lead, each one picking up an implement. “Todd. Mimi,” she says with absolute authority. “Follow me to the room. Don’t stop. Just run.”

  The scream from beyond the dining room is joined by a shrill and wheedling screech. A woman at the doorway emits a low moan as a wisp of breath disappears up her nose. A young boy stands stock-still, the mist enveloping his face, then starts to nod his head convulsively. Nate makes his way to the door as Ellie and the children advance as a huddle through the growing confusion. The young boy walks over to the wall and begins knocking his head against the plaster.

  “Michael!” A woman, likely his mother, grabs his shoulders and pulls him from the wall. He nods his head backwards and forwards. “What are you doing?” The wisp of smoke trails from his nose and loops around her legs, following their curves up her skirt.

  Where the hell has the mist come from? They were miles away from any landing site, at least a hundred, and he’d felt no tremors since they’d left the city, nothing to suggest a meteor had crashed anywhere near even if the news wasn’t being honest in its reporting. He pushes past a man jerking his hips, a groan, low and guttural coming from the depths of his belly. Behind him someone screams. Nate can’t face the violence, so ploughs through the other diners as they stand in confusion, stare, push up from their seats, or succumb to the fog. Josh! The mist can only have come from Josh. Focus Nate! Just get out of here.

  Ellie, Todd, and Mimi race ahead. A man, a massive scratch torn down the side of his face, stumbles towards them, eyes already red. Without thought, Nate grabs the fire extinguisher fastened to the wall, picks up his pace to a sprint, and hurtles towards the man, holding the metal cylinder at shoulder height. As the man reaches Ellie, she dodges, and Nate thrusts the end of the extinguisher at his head. It hits with a sickening crack and the man staggers back, hitting his head against the wall as he falls.

  “Run!”

  The noise of chaos and violence that has erupted in the dining room grows distant then quiets as they pass through the double doors, then move along another corridor before reaching Ellie’s room. With instructions to them to barricade the door, and a promise of returning once he’s checked on Josh, Nate takes the final, short journey to his own room.

  The stench of the mist pervades the corridor and their room’s door is ajar. The boy hasn’t moved and lies motionless on the bed, a tiny wisp of fog above him.

  “Josh!”

  He slams the door shut and Josh flinches. It’s the first sign of movement Nate has seen since yesterday. “Josh!” He shouts this time, and the boy’s eyes open. The wisp of fog hovers about two feet from his face. Rage rises and Nate wafts at the smoke. It shifts, pushed by the irritated air. “I’ve had it! I’ve had enough of you!” Nate shouts, and bats at it again. Again, it shifts. He grabs for the guests’ information booklet and wafts at the tendrils of twirling mist, moving it across the room. Why hadn’t he done this before? The mist wafts towards the window. Nate grabs the lace and pulls. The rod breaks away with a snap, and the mist moves back towards Josh. Opening the window, Nate runs back behind the mist and bats it towards the opening. “Get out! Get out! Get out!” With each shout, he wafts at the smoke and with the third waft it slips through the gap and disappears outside. Nate closes the window with a snap and a triumphant ‘Yes!’

  As he hooks the lace curtains back into place, a wisp of parasitic fog licks across Josh’s lips, then sinks unseen back down his throat.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Orders have been given to retrieve Nate under the strictest protocols to prevent contamination, the medical suite is being made ready to receive the boy, and Doctor Hazel Muir has already begun the scramble to find the most qualified scientists to begin work on a vaccine. The phone rings, breaking through the tension in the room.

  “Sir, there’s a report of an outbreak.”

  Coffee spills onto the desk as Gareth replaces it with a jerk. “Where?” He jabs at the keyboard and brings a map up onto his screen. “No!” The word is explosive.

  “Smaller?” Littleton is immediately moving across the room.

  An isolated red dot flashes on the screen. A large expanse of land sits between it and the bank of red and static lights further south on the map of England. Littleton pushes a hand through his short fringe as he stares at the screen.

  “The call came in from the local constabulary. I’m sending the live-feed through now.”

  Gareth grits his teeth, steeling himself against what he is about to see; he’s had a gutful of the violence, seen far too many horrific deaths in the past days. He minimizes the map then logs into the video feed.

  Littleton leans over his shoulder, the man smells fresh despite the gruelling working hours the old soldier has been putting in. Gareth is suddenly aware of his own unkempt appearance, and straightens in the chair as the black screen clears to reveal a compound of low rooves surrounded by trees and a network of roads. Beyond the three-lane motorway are smaller roads leading from the service station. The motorway is gridlocked though there’s movement between the cars as groups of people walk in both directions, some perhaps going back the way they came, others walking at a slow pace towards their destination. Cars block all lanes on each side of the carriageway. Central to Gareth’s attention is the area around the petrol forecourt and the cream-painted traveller’s motel. Here, the open space is alive with an entirely different type of movement.

  “Shit!”

  “Curb your language, soldier.”

  “Yes, sir.” A wave of dread keeps the stinging embarrassment from Gareth’s cheeks at Littleton’s reprimand. On the screen is a scene of carnage and, between the scuffling people, fog hangs several feet from the ground.

  The camera focuses in on a small group; two women, three men and a child. The child tugs at the woman’s sweater as she raises her arm to punch at a man on his knees. Another man rains punches on his head. The child gives a final tug as the man falls then turns to run. The camera focuses in on the fac
e of the woman as she picks up the feet of the fallen man. Her lips have the typical black staining which Littleton’s team of experts now believe to be a very rapid form of necrosis. Her skin has already taken on the pallor of urine and her eyes are dulled to cataract-blue.

  “Confirm it as an outbreak.” Littleton’s voice is matter-of-fact though Gareth notices the slight tremble in his hand as he pushes back from the desk. “Initiate Protocol 5.”

  Sweat beads at Gareth’s temple as nausea swirls. “Colonel, I don’t think Protocol 5, in this instance, is appropriate.”

  “It has worked to subdue the other outbreaks. It has been very effective in destroying the parasite in the gas.”

  “Yes, but the location, sir.”

  Littleton leans into the screen and stiffens as he realises just where the outbreak has occurred. “Good God! That’s only five miles from here.” The camera pans away from the continuing violence. “Is that the motel where Penrose is waiting?” The stillness of a small group of figures at the corner of the building catches Littleton’s attention. “Tell the pilot to focus on that group.” He stabs a finger at the screen. The message is quickly relayed, the camera panning across the area, relaying images of bodies falling, fists punching, arms grabbing, heads being dragged. Gareth enlarges the image as they wait for the cameraman to focus on the group.

  “They’re showing the typical collecting behaviour,” Dr. Blaylock states.

  “The rats did that in the tank despite there being no creature to feed, but they were aimless, which is why we discovered the creature itself.”

  “Connaught has that in his lab, doesn’t he?”

  “He does.”

  The helicopter positions itself to focus on the group.

  “Littleton’s going to terminate his work though. We need the thing destroying as soon as possible.”

  “It’s the fog that we need to focus on eradicating.”

  The camera focuses on the group and Gareth swallows hard, then peers closer at the screen. “Get a close-up.” The camera zooms in and their faces are clearly visible. “Nate! Bloody hell. It’s Nate.”

  Taylor leans in as the camera continues to focus on the group. It homes in on a redhead. “She was at the site, Sir. I saw her when we went in to collect the soil samples. The children were with her. As we pulled up, I saw them. Connaught mentioned that he’d seen them too. He said at the time he thought they must be immune given that the fog was thick in that area and they had no defence against it.”

  Littleton stands back, a deep frown furrowing his brow. “So, it’s true. This group have been at ground zero, have had contact with the parasite, but remain unaffected.”

  Gareth scans Nate’s face and then the woman’s; there is no sign of the necrotic black lips, the red eyes, or the sallow skin. They look normal, exhausted, but normal. “They must be immune. The fog is everywhere and they show no signs of infection. They’re just in danger from the others.”

  “The boy must be the source of the outbreak.” Littleton adds. “It’s too much of a coincidence.” He slams a hand against the desk. “I knew it!”

  “Even if you had initiated Level Red, it wouldn’t have changed anything.”

  Ignoring Gareth, the colonel continues, “Do we need them alive, Doctor Muir?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “For testing - to create your immunisation programme – do you need them to be alive?”

  “Well, no, Colonel Littleton, but-”

  Ignoring Dr. Muir, Littleton turns to Captain Taylor. “Bring them in, dead or alive.”

  The dull ache returns to Gareth’s belly.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Ellie’s grip pinches his bicep as Nate shoves the phone back into his pocket. “Tell me, Nate! What’s happening?” Her eyes are bright with hope. He smiles back, despite the carnage around the corner.

  “They’re coming for us!”

  Mimi squeals. Todd hushes her.

  “They’re sending a helicopter. It should be here within ten minutes.”

  Another scream splits the air, and Mimi tugs at his hand. “Can we go inside and wait?”

  “They’re going to land in the field behind the services.”

  Ellie’s grip tightens on his bicep again. “How are we supposed to do that?”

  He knows exactly what she means; with two little kids, and a comatose teenager, how are they to get to the helicopter without being seen by the vicious horde? His mind imagines the scenario; the helicopter landing, the four of them running, the kids sprinting ahead, Ellie just behind, his struggle to carry Josh, and a horde of psychotic and violent monsters running after them ready to tear them apart. “We can do it. We have to.”

  Screams, thuds, and crashing continue from the front of the motel and the petrol station beyond. A bead of sweat sits at Ellie’s brow and Nate has an intense urge to wipe it, cup her face, and tell her everything will be alright. Instead, he pulls her grip from his arm where the muscle is beginning to burn, and tells her with a certainty he doesn’t feel, exactly what they’re going to do; collect Josh from the room, and make their way safely back to the door, then wait for the helicopter to arrive.

  Still gripping the forks they’d taken from the dining table, Mimi and Todd disappear through the exit door. As the group run along the windowless corridors, the screams from the forecourt become muffled. At the final section of corridor before Nate’s room, the double doors crash open and a man fills the space. As he spots them, the dining room chair gripped in his hands rises above his head. Its legs catch on the low ceiling. He jerks to a stop and growls. Mimi screams. Todd slams up against the wall pulling Mimi to his side, and becomes a statue.

  “Don’t move.” Nate shouts. “They can’t see you if you stay still.”

  Ellie stands frozen. Nate doesn’t move. Confusion flashes on the man’s face as he looks from the children flat against the wall, to the redhead in mid-stride, then Nate with fist raised and frozen mid-punch. Nate checks the man’s eyes; they are a dark brown without a trace of red. Nate unclenches his fist and flattens his palm. “Steady on, fella. We’re not infected.” The man’s eyes flicker from Nate to Ellie. She completes her stride.

  The man raises the chair again, but then lowers it. “My wife just tried to kill me! Everyone has gone crazy.”

  Blood is spattered across his t-shirt, the skin on his knuckles is broken, and there’s a gash travelling from the curls of his dark hair down the side of his face.

  “It’s an infection—it’s in the mist.”

  He releases his grip on the chair, then clutches it again as a scream breaks out somewhere inside the hotel.

  “They’re sending a helicopter for us.” Mimi blurts.

  “Ouch!” Ellie grips her shoulder, giving her a warning squeeze.

  “We’re going back to our room,” Ellie continues as Mimi gives her a questioning frown. “It’s too dangerous out there.”

  “A helicopter?”

  Mimi nods and pulls her shoulder away from Ellie. The man locks eyes with Nate watching for any reaction. Nate holds his gaze.

  “They’re sending help for you?”

  The tension is palpable. Nate returns the man’s stare.

  “I’m coming too!” he states.

  “No!”

  “What do you mean, ‘No’? If they’re sending help, then I’m coming too.”

  “No. We don’t know if you’re immune.”

  The man keeps Nate’s gaze.

  “I am.”

  “How do you know?”

  Silence.

  “We can’t risk it.”

  “I’m coming.”

  “Nate, we-”

  Without breaking Nate’s gaze, the man grabs Todd.

  “Hey!”

  “Like I said, I’m coming with you.” Todd squeals as the man tightens his grip around his arm. For a second a flicker wavers in his eyes then hardens again. “I’m not an aggressive man, but you’ve got to help me get out of here.”


  Nate takes a step back. Josh is only three doors away and outside the first chop, chop of the helicopter’s blades can be heard.

  “I can hear the helicopter, Fitz!” Mimi’s eyes brighten.

  “Wait here.” Nate barks. “I have to get my son.”

  “Then we’ll go to the helicopter?”

  “Sure,” he relents with a scowl. “Then we’ll go to the helicopter.”

  The noise of the blades grows louder, and Nate steps beyond the man to his room. Ellie and Mimi follow. Sliding the card across the reader, the light switches to green and he pushes the door open. As before, Josh is motionless on the bed. He looks pale and gaunt, the lack of fluids and food becoming more obvious. A dull ache thumps in Nate’s belly like a huge and smooth stone sitting among his innards, hard and heavy; if Josh doesn’t get some fluids soon, the boy will be in serious trouble! Will be, Nate? He is already in serious trouble! “Help me,” he demands. Sliding the door of the wardrobe open, he pulls out a neatly folded and ironed sheet, and opens it out next to Josh. “Help me!” he barks, catching Ellie’s startled eye as they break from the prone figure on the bed.

  “Sorry!” She grabs a corner of the sheet and helps to lay it flat beside Josh.

  “Grab his ankles and when I get his shoulders pull him onto the sheet. We’ll use it like a hammock and carry him to the helicopter.”

  “Right.” Ellie replies without rancour and Nate regrets the sharpness of his tongue. “But what about the,” she lowers her voice, “fog?”

  “It’s gone.”

  She gives him a quizzical frown. “Gone?” she whispers and glances at the door. The large man’s attention is on the corridor, his arm still gripping Todd.

  “Yes,” Nate whispers back. “Gone. Out of the window.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes. Seriously.” He twists the end of the bedsheet around his hand. “Most of it escaped and I got rid of the rest out of the window.”