Chronicles of the Infected Trilogy Box Set [Books 1-3]

by Wood, Rick

  But, let’s be honest – this was farfetched. An ambitious project, even for the most resourceful and able minds.

  Gus wasn’t surprised it hadn’t worked.

  “Look,” he said, trying to be helpful. “It was a nice idea, but maybe you’re just being a little, I don’t know – too ambitious.”

  “What?” Whizzo scolded.

  “The leg you made me was fantastic, and don’t get me wrong, I am so appreciative. But you need both the mind and the resources to do something like that – something many people haven’t been able to create. I know my weapons, and I don’t know if you would even be able to convert something the size of a shotgun into–”

  “Right, okay!” Whizzo snapped. “I get it. You don’t think I’m good enough.”

  “That’s not what it is.”

  “Good. ’Cause you’re wrong. I’ll make it work. I’ll show you.”

  Gus sighed. Decided not to say any more. It was best just to get them both to safety.

  “Okay,” Gus said. “You can sort it out later. Let’s just get to the farmhouse. We need a good night’s sleep.”

  Whizzo followed Gus, sulking like a stroppy teenager. He had the gun in his hand, tampering with it the whole way.

  Then he noticed what it was.

  The barrel had been squeezed too tight. That was easy to fix. He could do it, he was sure of it.

  But this time, he would wait to demonstrate what he’d created. They all thought he was so useless in a fight, but when he pulled something like this out, he’d show them. All of them.

  He’d show them exactly what he was capable of.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Gus traced the outline of the stars, waving his hand over space, effortlessly touching them with the small pressure of his fingertips.

  The farmhouse they’d found was more of a small cottage, one that looked like it had been deserted for a while. It was behind numerous fields Gus assumed were once filled with cattle. The cottage itself was dark and dank, with many corners with many cobwebs and many walls covered with many layers of damp. Moisture hung on the air, and Gus could feel it on his tongue and the dryness of his throat. Its stench combined with the odour of excess mould and dried urine, but he’d had far worse; besides, it was a roof over their head, and it was temporary. As soon as light came, Gus would be waking everyone, and they would be gone. As such, he knew he should get some sleep himself, but his mind was not as weary as his body. Whilst his arms cramped and his leg ached – proving once again that his actual leg was inferior to his new one – his mind was perplexed with thoughts. There were a hundred issues with a hundred possible consequences and no definite answers; barely even any feasible solutions.

  “Can’t sleep?” came Desert’s voice. She placed a reassuring hand on Gus’s back, and he returned it with a forced smile. She leant against the windowsill, and Gus continued to stare at the stars.

  “I don’t sleep much.”

  “What’s on your mind?” Desert asked. A woman who was straight to the point. Gus liked that.

  Gus shook his head.

  “It’s nothing,” he surmised.

  “It’s Donny, isn’t it?”

  Gus could neither confirm nor deny; which was obvious confirmation in itself.

  “What’s up with him?” Desert asked.

  Again, those hundreds of issues and solutions that eluded him fought his mind. They produced nothing of value, and nothing he could articulate.

  “I don’t know,” Gus concluded.

  “I take it he wasn’t always like this?”

  “God, no. He used to be annoying in a different way.”

  “How so?”

  A distant murmur of groans captured the night air, cutting through its silence.

  “He would never shut up. He struggled to have the balls to do what he needed to. But… he was loyal. I gave my leg for him.”

  “Oh, is that how it happened?”

  “Long story, but yes.”

  Gus sighed. Desert studied his face, half cast in shadow, half covered with a vaguely luminescent glow of the moon.

  “We were in that compound for months, though it felt like decades. We were all separated. I was tied to a bed and left to go crazy on my own accord. I have no idea what they did to Donny.”

  “Was it Eugene Squire doing this?”

  “He was involved a few times, but mainly it was lemmings acting on his orders.”

  “What do you think they did to him?”

  Gus shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

  “There’s no way to tell. But I saw part of what they did to Sadie, right at the beginning – and they had her chained to the wall, torturing her, and they–”

  He interrupted himself, closed his eyes, shook his head, shook himself out of it.

  “Whatever they did to Sadie,” Gus continued, “they could have done to Donny.”

  “Then why isn’t Sadie–”

  “Sadie’s not like us.”

  “Yeah, I noticed that. She had blood on her mouth and she didn’t turn. What’s that about?”

  “She’s infected, but she’s not changed. That’s why Eugene was after her. There’s something about her immunity that he wanted to use. It wasn’t clear what.”

  A moment of silence fell between them as Gus’s words turned into clarity.

  “Donny’s never been able to do anything like he did today,” Gus said. “Jumping in and ripping them apart, then making them all suddenly stop. It’s got me worried. Worried that what they did to him is more than just psychological.”

  “Is he a liability?”

  Gus didn’t answer.

  “Because, if he is, we need to know now. We can’t afford to take any chances. This is too important.”

  Gus folded his arms, sighed, turned around and leant against the windowsill. He considered the question deeply before producing his answer.

  “No, he’s not a liability.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. Donny may have been through a lot, but the guy is still good. Not a bad bone in his body.”

  Gus smiled to himself.

  “I would trust him with my life.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  After trying to sleep for a total of thirty minutes, Gus gave up. His mind wouldn’t relax, and, even though he hadn’t spent long trying, honestly, he didn’t want to sleep. All he’d done for months was sleep to pass the time, and his thoughts were fluttering too fervently around his mind.

  Being careful not to wake anyone, he made his way down the stairs, treading softly to mute the creaks of the floorboards. He made his way outside and into the night.

  He didn’t go far. Just down to the clearing at the edge of the forest, where he paused and took in the cool night air. The air was clean, and it felt good brushing down his throat. The air in the compound had always been so stuffy, so full of the sweat and suffering of everyone in it – fresh air had never felt so welcome.

  In a strange way, he wished he had a cigarette. Although that would void the freshness of the air, it just felt right at that time. It wasn’t something he’d done frequently, but in Iraq, if you didn’t smoke, you didn’t socialise. Having a cigarette to give someone when they asked led to conversation that led to solid comradery.

  Sighing a deep sigh, he turned and looked back at the farmhouse. Everyone asleep in it.

  Except the window at the top, to the left. A figure stood in deep silhouette. Gus could make that body outline anywhere; it was Donny. Yet, even Donny’s shadow was unlike him. He didn’t stand as he once did; his posture was more… solidified. Definite. Uncompromising. It had an unfaltering confidence that Donny had never previously had.

  Gus watched the shadow. Neither of them moved. Gus was sure the shadow was also watching him.

  But why?

  What was Donny thinking?

  Once, Donny’s mind would be churning to think of something useless to say. Something daft or stupid or comedic. Like h
e had to fill every silence with idle chatter about random nonsense. For someone else, that would have been lovely, but Gus had always relished his silence, and Donny had always interrupted it, to great irritation.

  What Gus wouldn’t give to have that irritation back.

  His wife had always loved Joni Mitchell, including one song in particular, Big Yellow Taxi. Strange how this made him think of that song, but he found the lyrics somewhat pertinent: Don’t it always seem to go that you don’t know what you got til it’s gone.

  Maybe Gus had never appreciated Donny for being the person he was.

  There was a night, when they were journeying to London under false pretences to save Eugene Squire’s child, when Gus had laid with his eyes closed. He’d been peacefully snoozing, but for a moment he’d come around, in one of those strange lapses in sleep when you suddenly become alert, before falling straight back to sleep again.

  Donny had been sat with Sadie. He’d always been so good with Sadie, far before Gus ever cared enough to help her.

  “Where do you come from?” Donny had asked.

  Sadie had looked blankly back.

  “Do you” – Donny sighed – “do you have a mum? A dad? A sister?”

  Sadie looked as if she was trying to understand, as if some of the words were making sense, but she couldn’t form them into coherence.

  “Mum? You – have a mum? Dad?”

  Sadie raised her eyebrows to show she understood, thought, then nodded.

  “Where are they now?”

  Sadie looked over her shoulder, then down at the ground. Her lack of answer was enough confirmation for Donny.

  “Dead, huh?” Donny concluded, no tact whatsoever. “Yeah, there’s a lot of that. You see Gus over there?”

  Sadie looked at Gus, who kept his eyes closed, pretending to be asleep.

  “His family died.”

  “Family?” Sadie replied.

  “Yes. Gus, family. Dead.”

  “Oh…” Gus felt Sadie’s eyes turn sympathetically to him.

  “But he’s brave, you see,” Donny continued. “Gus. Brave. Because he carried on. Strong.”

  Gus held his eyes, and a moment of bonding occurred that went deeper than either of them acknowledged.

  “Like you,” Donny said. “Strong. Like you. To keep going.”

  Donny looked down.

  “I couldn’t keep going.”

  Sadie put an arm on his shoulder, a gesture of comfort, a reassurance he undoubtedly needed. He took her hand and held it, reluctantly smiling.

  Gus, despite hating everything and everyone at the time, had let those words sink in.

  He was brave. Donny thought he was brave.

  That was the last thought he’d had before he sank back into a dreamless slumber.

  He hadn’t remembered the exchange until a few days later.

  Gus looked to Donny now, standing in the window, a silent mystery.

  Gus knew Donny was the same person. Whatever happened to him, it had its effect; but trauma does that. Gus only had to look inwardly at himself, at what the death of his wife and daughter had turned him into.

  And it took Donny and Sadie to get him out of that.

  So it was time he repaid the favour. Letting Donny know who he truly was, so Donny could recover from his experiences.

  He’d never thanked Donny, and he never would. Such words didn’t come easily to him. But this would be his way of gratitude. This would be the way he solidified that friendship.

  He’d remember the Donny that was and hold onto the thought until Donny remembered it too.

  Whatever it took.

  Chapter Forty

  Morning arrived with a rush of sunlight. The heavy rain had parted, if only momentarily, and the spring sun interspersed its light between the shadows, breaking apart the cold of night with the warmth of dawn.

  They had already travelled three miles by the time Gus realised how much he was perspiring. It felt oddly refreshing – it was the first time in a while he’d sweated from heat rather than fear. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and relished it.

  Gus and Desert led the group, eyes alert at all times, ready for anything. Sadie, Donny, and Prospero were behind, and Whizzo took the rear. Whizzo held the radio as tight as he could. He had been trying it continually since they had left the farmhouse. He’d fiddled with the tuning in a way he’d explained but Gus had not understood; Gus’s basic understand was that Whizzo was scanning multiple radio frequencies at once, all frequencies to which the rest of the AGA could be listening.

  Gus grew slightly perturbed by the lack of contact Whizzo was receiving, especially considering they were supposedly approaching the location. Their imminent arrival left Gus on edge, and although his gun and knife remained in his belt, he kept a hand on each, ready for whatever may come.

  “What is it we’re looking for?” Gus asked.

  “It’s an old school,” Desert replied. “Like, one that was meant for the worst kids. A pupil referral unit, I think they used to be called. My cousin ended up in one.”

  “You know, I’m surprised you were once an office worker. The way you fought, the way you hold yourself. You look like you’ve been fighting this fight forever.”

  She gave a sneaky smile. “Feels like it.”

  “I’ve got something!” Whizzo announced, his voice palpable. “I’ve got something!”

  They all turned toward him, waiting intently to hear the voice through the radio themselves.

  “Whizzo, transmission confirmed, over,” announced a voice on the radio.

  They all cheered, leapt into the air, jumped for elation. Gus and Desert exchanged a triumphant smile.

  “Boy, are we glad to hear you,” Whizzo confirmed. “I’m going to hand you to Desert, over.”

  “Roger.”

  Whizzo passed the radio to Desert.

  “This is Desert, over.”

  “Desert, we thought you were a goner. It’s good to hear your voice, over.”

  “And it’s good to hear yours. We’re around a mile out, are you ready to receive us, over?”

  “Please confirm other survivors, over.”

  Desert looked at the others. “We have me, Whizzo, Prospero – then we’ve picked up a few stragglers. Gus Harvey, Donny Jevon, and a girl called Sadie. They escaped from a compound held by Eugene Squire, I can vouch for them.”

  “Perfect. That’s perfect. We’ll have someone waiting. Over and out.”

  “Thank you so much, over and out.”

  Desert handed the radio back to Whizzo.

  “We’ve done it!” she yelped. “We’ve actually done it!”

  She hugged Whizzo, Prospero, then turned to Gus. Ah, to heck with it, he decided, and he returned her hug, which she then passed on to Sadie and Donny.

  “What do you say,” she said to everyone. “Shall we run for it?”

  They all grinned.

  She turned and ran. Gus followed, running freely on his aching leg and his new nimble leg, again relishing the liberation of a perfectly working limb.

  The rest followed, keeping up as best they could. Whizzo wasn’t much of a runner and almost choked on his breath, but he kept going nonetheless, too eager, too keen to see everyone, to be back with them, to have to do no more fighting – just creating awesome gadgets to help the AGA to victory.

  Sadie ran faster than any of them, running ahead, then slowing down to keep the rest of them in her vision.

  Prospero enjoyed leaping over random twigs and ducking low-hanging branches.

  Donny ran with hesitancy.

  Why did he have such a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach? What was it about this place that he couldn’t remember?

  It seemed important somehow. Crucial. Like he should warn them, do something.

  But he ignored it. He didn’t know why, but he ignored it. Pretended he didn’t feel that way. Knew, somehow, that the best thing would be to just go along with it.

  Maybe it was just
paranoia. Yes, that’s what it was. A lot of what he’d been feeling he needed to ignore. He wasn’t well. Hopefully these people would be able to help him.

  The group emerged from the trees and bushes and grass and green onto a gravel road. They followed it, and within minutes, they came to a large building. An old-fashioned one, with large, blacked-out windows and a classical brick structure.

  Desert reached the door and burst it open, Gus following closely behind. Prospero waited and held the door open for the others.

  They entered what must once have been an assembly hall. Where the headmaster would talk to his students. Pass his messages on, and all that.

  But there was no headmaster.

  There wasn’t even any AGA.

  Gus stumbled to a stop, as did Desert, as did the rest. Falling. Stumbling. Regaining their footing as their minds struggled to take in the shock.

  Gus’s entire body stiffened.

  How could they be so stupid?

  A line of soldiers stood before them, their guns directed forward. Behind them was another line of soldiers doing the same, with another line behind, and another line behind them.

  From behind this line, General Boris Hayes emerged, his cocky strut announcing his unmistakeable presence. A grin on his face glowered gloriously.

  And, from behind Hayes, came another person.

  Someone they all recognised.

  Someone with a socially awkward stance that held more authority than it should. Someone with a suit more expensive than he deserved. Someone with a smugness no one could deny.

  “Well done, Donny,” sang a victorious Eugene Squire, with cockiness that incensed his enemies until they shook with rage. “You led them right to us. You are a good boy.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Donny was the first to act.

  The rest of them stood dumbfounded, dumbstruck, dumb-faced. Looking to one another in an attempt to form a plan with the glance of their eyes, to engage each other into some instinctive strategy of attack.