It took him an hour to find the information that Campbell had been referring to, and Nick’s heart sank when he read the name. Despite the man’s sacrifice, it would have been better if the traitor had turned out to be Brodie. At least then the judgment and the sentence wouldn’t need to have been passed down. You couldn’t execute a corpse.
Did he need to do it though? It was clear from the files delivered that Gaia was no longer a threat. Natasha hadn’t been a traitor by ideology or greed. Instead, she had been forced into it by bad judgement at a true low point in her career. Nick could understand the sense of betrayal she had felt when MI6 had laid the blame for a disastrous operation on her. That was one of the problems with really good agents, they rarely understood the need to play office politics, which left them vulnerable to the less able but the more politically astute. One of the strengths of MI13 was the absence of such power games, ego rarely being allowed to rear its ugly head amongst its operatives.
The only choice for Nick was to go with his gut. His head told him that he should just put a bullet in Natasha’s skull as soon as he saw her again. No trial, no arguments, just a swift and almost painless execution. If the world had been intact, that’s likely what he would have done. If he hadn’t, if he had refused, there were once others who wouldn’t have shown such hesitation.
But what was the point of that now? The only thing Natasha could damage from this point forward was Nick’s own ego, and his heart told him that there would be nothing to be gained from killing her. He didn’t care how the others would react to her death had it come to that, those that mattered would understand. Obviously, Jessica and her family would be horrified to learn of the swift and merciless action, but their opinions didn’t come into it. They may have been Nick’s host, but Tom and his sister really had no say in what happened here. Nick would include Jessica in any major decisions, but it would be those with military experience that would ultimately decide on things of any real importance.
Nick used his mouse to highlight the folder containing the damning evidence. Photographs, audio files, all were there to condemn a woman who, until this point had been known as one of the most effective and loyal operatives in MI13. He paused briefly, his head still trying to get the better of his judgement. Finally, he dragged the file over to another icon on the laptop. The software inside the computer shredded the file and overwrit it a hundred times. He decided not to tell Jeff, because he suspected the former special forces operative wouldn’t be as forgiving. It would just cause tensions amongst them, something they really didn’t need. They couldn’t survive as a unit without trust, so Nick would carry this burden alone.
Nick closed the laptop. With the exception of the Americans, he was now the only person who presently knew of Natasha’s betrayal, and that would be the way it would stay. Whilst the information was still there on the Menwith Hill servers, Nick doubted anyone would go searching for it. The only thing people would be interested in, right now, was the information representing the chance of a Lazarus cure.
Nick wouldn’t forget it though. There was still the matter of whether he should tell her what he knew. That was something he would decide on at a later date, and it was a good job he was able to keep an emotionless poker face when he needed to. Despite the bad news, the news on the vaccine meant it was reassuring that once again there was hope to somehow find a way out of this. The problem with hope was that it was so often shown to be misplaced.
He found Haggard at the edge of one of the fields lying under a tree. The sun was out, a chill definitely in the air. With Haggard’s face hidden under a neck scarf, Nick reckoned the SAS Captain was probably asleep. The defences had been established, and the SAS were on rotation to monitor them. This was Mad Dog’s time off, which didn’t stop Nick kicking the bottom of Haggard’s boot.
“Whatever you’re selling, I don’t want any of it.”
“We need to talk,” Nick said. He couldn’t hide the seriousness in his voice, Haggard pulling the cover off his features. Nick was stood so the sun wouldn’t blind the Captain, and Haggard looked up at Nick before pulling himself up off the ground.
“What’s up?”
“You were talking about retreating to Leeds?”
“Yes. We haven’t decided yet, though. Communication with Leeds has been pretty good up to now, but we need to establish whether they can keep the undead from running right over them. There’s little point us leaving here only to find the city full of zombies and little else.” Haggard might have been the commanding officer, but this was a decision all the men left in his SAS troop had to decide on. “You look worried about something?”
“The Yanks just sent us a whole load of data. I have the information that might give us the ability to create a vaccine.”
“You mean we can cure this?”
“Yeah, it looks that way,” Nick said. He should have been excited by the prospect, but he just felt drained. “I need you to set up a conference call with whoever is in charge of Leeds.”
“That shouldn’t be too difficult,” Haggard said. “We’ll need to relay through Northwood.” Northwood, NATO Allied Maritime headquarters, the last vestiges of the UK military’s top brass. Most of the base had been overrun by the undead, but the bunker at the heart of it had remained unpenetrated. For now, the Generals there still had the ability to communicate with whatever forces were left in the field. They would stay in that bunker until their food ran out and then probably starve to death rather than die at the hands of the undead. “When do you want to do it?”
“Why not now?”
“You think this will be enough to create a vaccine?”
“To be honest, I don’t know,” Nick admitted. “They need to be told though, somebody needs to at least have the chance.”
“You know that might tip my lads into leaving?”
“Yeah.” Nick would prefer the SAS soldiers stick around, but it was only fair that they were allowed to be the masters of their own fate now.
“If they do, you should come with us,” Haggard insisted.
“I reckon this is the best place for us for now,” Nick insisted. The way things were, the chances of the virus finding them here were slim at best. Much better odds than a city that had once housed half a million people. “Besides, getting to Leeds wouldn’t be easy.”
“What journey in life ever is?”
“Get it set up, mate,” Nick ordered. “It would be good to talk to someone in charge.”
“I thought you were in charge,” Haggard joked.
“Yeah, people keep telling me that.” If the SAS decided to leave, would it be better to stay or leave with them? With the chances of a vaccine, that might be the edge humanity needed. Did Nick really want to sit it out hiding on a farm in the middle of nowhere, or did he want to be at the heart of everything? He would wait to see what the SAS decided and then make his final decision.
And if he left, would Jessica come with them or stay here with her family? Nick doubted Tom would want to abandon the farm, and he had seen how the siblings had been re-bonding. Whatever Jessica decided, Nick would honour. He thought that was the least he could do for her with what she had been through.
26.08.19
Manchester, UK
Susan felt the plushness of the carpet on her back, total blackness engulfing her. As much as the knowledge detested her, she knew she couldn’t stay in the dream world all the time. After seeing the evidence of man’s folly with radiation, Susan had retreated back into the mansion, the undead in the kitchen parting to let her move about freely. Despite the darkness Susan re-found there, she had acquired herself food and water to help keep her body going a little bit longer.
That was all consumed now, her body replenished, the urine having flowed freely from her as she had climbed the stairs. Susan had no concerns about such things as hygiene now, the building she was in was after all filled with rotting corpses. Still, she felt the need to be alone, and on the upper floor, her sightless fumblings were enou
gh to discover a bedroom that hadn’t been defiled by man or zombie. The floor was good enough, and Susan had laid herself out, willing sleep to come.
It didn’t initially, her mind churning with who she now was and what it meant for her. Never before had she been consumed by such resolve. Killing the immune was everything to her, more important almost than her own life itself so she would stay here until the job was done. After that… well was there even an after? When the last of the immune were dead, when their blood had been used to fertilise the desert floor, what would she then be? Nothing, she would be nothing for there would be no reason for her to exist after that except to view the lushness of the desert she would transform. The thought should have savaged her, but it barely registered.
It should also have been easy for her to fall asleep, the rebellion she now experienced in her own consciousness distressing to her. Susan didn’t want to be in this pathetic flesh that held her trapped, the escape into the ether all she desired. Her legs, her fingers, the organs inside her were merely a vessel to allow the parasite of her mind access to the growing beauty of the desert. And yet, the harder she tried to submit to sleep, the more it slipped through her fingers. When she was there, she could drag any of the immune out of wakefulness, but that power eluded her. She was sure Brian and Clay were there now, so why was she having such difficulty?
And then it came to her: the reason. She was afraid, an emotion Susan had thought she was free of. She was wrong, the fear needling her, insisting it be recognised and respected. What was there to fear, though? Death didn’t concern her, if anything she would welcome that final end. Most of her existence had been pain, and now at her end, it was her job to visit that upon others without pity or remorse.
There was no denying the fear. Something about the desert held her in trepidation, something she had missed or perhaps didn’t understand. Even though there was no light for her to see, Susan opened her eyes. Failure, that was it. The virus had demanded she become The Woman of Skulls, and yet it had hidden something from her, something vital.
When sleep finally came, and it did, Susan held onto the determination to hunt out whatever it was that threatened her in this way. She would find it and end it if that was even possible.
Susan would quickly wish she had remained ignorant to the danger that awaited her.
26.08.19
Frederick, USA
Reece was mid-conversation with Jessy when the former White House Chief of Staff just fell asleep. One minute they were talking about something totally irrelevant, the next Jessy closed her eyes and toppled sideways onto her bed. Reece gently pushed Lizzy aside and knelt down by Jessy. She tried to wake her up, but nothing Reece could do seemed to work. The slow rise and fall of Jessy’s chest showed Reece her new found friend was still breathing, but for how long?
“Is she sleeping?” Lizzy asked, concern painted all over her face.
“Yes,” Reece said. Slapping Jessy on the face, Reece found even that didn’t wake Jessy up.
“She needs to wake up,” Lizzy insisted. “Why won’t she wake up?” Lizzy began to panic, the child so easy to upset. Understandable, given her recent history. Reece felt that Lizzy had once been a happy, carefree girl. Not anymore, despite the odd glimpses of humour and innocence she displayed. Now Lizzy was damaged, Reece vowing to be there for her, but not really knowing if she was actually up to the task. What the hell made her think she could look after a child?
“I don’t know,” Reece said, returning to Lizzy who tried to engulf her in tiny arms.
“Why won’t they let us go?” Lizzy begged.
“It’s safer for us here.”
“I don’t believe that,” Lizzy insisted.
“But where would we go?” Lizzy seemed to ponder that question.
“An island.” Lizzy seemed confident in her answer.
“An island, huh? And what would we eat?”
“Hershey bars.”
“You can’t live off Hershey bars, Lizzy.”
“I could try. We could raise chickens as well.”
“Really,” Reece said, clearly amused, glad that she had been able to briefly deflect Lizzy’s fear. “And what do you know about raising chicken?”
“My auntie does it. I even fed them once.”
“Oh, you did did you?” Reece tried to take Lizzy into happy memories, not knowing how long it would be before the darkness of reality returned. She would have continued except Lizzy suddenly wavered where she sat. If Reece hadn’t caught her, Lizzy would have toppled off the bed and likely smacked her head on the floor. “Shit.” Reece shook the smaller child, the eyes closed, the body loose.
“Fucking wake up, Lizzy.” But Lizzy didn’t wake up, and Reece laid her down on the bed, smoothing the hair out of the girl’s eyes. “No, not now. Not this.” As if to prove how bad the situation was, Lizzy’s bladder unleashed, the moisture spreading across the scrubs she wore. Something inside Reece told her to sit on the floor and get ready for her own enforced slumber. The desert was claiming them, she knew it, and she didn’t know how.
As much as she wanted to stay awake, even without it being forced, sleep would eventually take her. Already her thoughts had started to drift, the eyes closing just briefly enough for Reece to snap herself out of it.
“Help, I need some help in here,” Reece shouted. Were they listening? Would guards come running to help them? Or would they be ignored, left in here until the next time they were due to be fed? Reece was about to shout again, more insistent this time, only the words wouldn’t escape her lips.
Reece felt herself pulled inside her mind, her sight snapping off, blackness taking her in vision and sound. She felt her body flush, and then the heat was there. When her sight returned once again, she found she had returned to the desert. All around her were the immune, fully whole, desperate to escape the death that was stalking them. There were no phantoms now, every immune across the planet being pulled into the dream of dreams.
There was Lizzy, frightened and in agony. They ran to each other, not caring that their touch brought fresh purgatory. If they were to die here, it would be together. A strong wind struck them, stones and other debris colliding into Reece’s back. She staggered, almost fell, shielding the smaller figure with her own flesh. And then the voice came, more deadly than the missiles that surged through the air.
“Welcome everyone,” The Woman of Skulls said off in the distance. “It’s about time we all had some fun, don’t you think.” Death was coming, and there would be nothing that could save any of them. Reece knew that now, knew it with every fibre of her being. All they could do was run and somehow hope for a miracle that would never come.
26.08.19
Manchester, UK
It was taking Azrael a lot longer to reach his destination than he had planned. Halfway from Preston he had found his way blocked by an immense horde, something he never could have even imagined. Stood atop a hill, he had gazed in awe as the mass of zombies, probably two hundred thousand strong, forced their way across the dual carriageway that was ahead of him. Even freshly covered in the insides of a zombie, there was no way he dared risk going anywhere near them. He rightly suspected that, despite the lack of smell, just the briefest contact with one of them would have given away his identity. Azrael had no option but to sit and wait the several hours it took them to travel to wherever it was they were going.
Grouped together like that, they hadn’t been moving fast, instead they swayed as one in an almost fluid motion, ebbing across the landscape. Anything with a heartbeat would be prey to them so long as it could be caught. Azrael had seen the non-human forms amongst them, dogs, other animals. He’d got as close as he could, using the zoom feature on his mobile phone to record what he saw. He wasn’t sure who was ever going to see this, but tactically one had to understand whatever you could about your enemy. They seemed to work together, forcing their way past obstacles, cars actually being pushed aside by the bulk of their motion. It was clear that the undea
d were becoming an unstoppable force.
Azrael could hear them as well, thousands of feet thundering across the asphalt, tearing up the ground where they walked on nature. On the edges of the dual carriageway, whole bushes were uprooted, some smaller trees even collapsing under the relentless onslaught. Was there a defence that could actually withstand that? Even the strongest wire fences would fail, doors and windows standing no chance. The only chance was thick, steel reinforced concrete walls tall enough to prevent even the most ambitious of them from climbing. Surely there wasn’t a city on the planet that could fight off that number? And there would be other packs out there, merging together, collecting splinter groups as they used their numbers against the depleted human defenders.
There was another threat. Any military that was left could monitor such large movements by the satellites that lay safely in Earth’s orbit. A grouping such as this would be a prime target for nukes which could be re-tasked and delivered anywhere in the country. There was nothing Azrael could do about that. If it happened, then at least it would be a quick and blissful end. He wasn’t aware that the city of Manchester had been all but destroyed, he was too far away to witness or experience the effects of the dropped nuclear bomb. Even the radiation hadn’t reached him yet, sent in another direction by the prevailing winds.
Eventually, he made his way past that mass of undead, only to encounter another group an hour later. Slightly smaller, he was still waiting for his opportunity to slip by them when he felt the pull of sleep suddenly take him. The last of the undead moved out of sight, the noise they made gradually diminishing. Once again, Azrael was alone, and he shook his head to try and rid himself of the fog forming over his mind. How could he be suddenly so sleepy?
Stood up as he was, Azrael staggered, the world around him momentarily taken from him. He came back from the brink, only to fall to his knees as the strength seemed to leave his body. There was no way of stopping what was coming, he knew. He was being drawn back to the dream world by a force stronger than his own will. Ripping the glove off one of his hands, he slapped himself across the face, the previous moisture there now mainly crusted over. It didn’t do any good, and realising the inevitable, he lay down on the damp grassy ground before he was forced to fall flat on his face.
The Lazarus Strain Chronicles (Book 4): The Dead Page 31
