Designated (Book 1): Designated Infected

by Ricky Cooper

  They sat talking for a further two hours, more and more of the true circumstances came to light as Sharp recounted exactly what happened in Libya. All the while, Baker did little more than sit and listen as Sharp slowly began to let the baggage fall from his shoulders.

  41

  North East London

  His boots thumped against the sprung tarmac as he ran his body slick with a heavy film of sweat; the slight tingling burn in the base of his lungs made him smile as he pushed on harder and faster.

  Dragging his sweat band covered wrist across his forehead he spun and headed off the track, his legs pumping harder as he powered forwards his feet slapping against the cold ridged concrete steps as he headed up into spectator stands. His hand closed around the cold ridged metal of the rear banister flipping upwards he vaulted the metal stanchion and dropped, his hands flashing forwards as he moved like a fish through water dropping down the lattice work of cross members and beams.

  Letting go, he fell the last nine feet and rolled as his feet kissed the gravelled parking area outside the running track, as he rose and pushed off he found himself running once more heading out of the car park and moving off in the direction of his home. The door thumped against the small rubber buffer as he shoved it open and entered the hallway, sweat rolled down his lean and trim form like droplets over a pane of glass. The hot saline rivulets running into one another as they coalesced, splattering their ovoid forms against the hardwood floors of his home.

  Stepping away, he pushed the door closed with his foot as he headed towards the kitchen. He lifted his arms, relishing the feel of his tired muscles strain as he dragged the dust and grime caked running vest from his shoulders and tossed it into the laundry basket. The crumpled ball of cloth hit the lid with a dull crump as it made the twelve foot passage across the room. Lifting a glass from the drainer, he turned the tap and waited for the water to cool, he smiled as he watched the water spin and twist into the glass, small splattering droplets arcing over his hand and fore arm as the high pressure torrent crashed against the sides of the glass.

  A soft squeaking broke the otherwise dead silence of the kitchen as he lifted the glass to his lips and drank, his hand running blindly as he turned off the tap. The icy ball of liquid rolled its way down his gullet and into his stomach; the cold blooming within him shocked his core. Setting the glass down with a thump he turned and left the room, his footsteps echoing in the silence of the house as he made his way upstairs and into the welcome embrace of a hot shower.

  The soft towel brushed against his skin as he dried himself, the plush plump fabric soaking up the excess moisture from his taught form, he smiled slightly as he felt the plush fibres brush over his bronzed skin. Dumping the now damp towel into the wicker basket beside the door he walked across the room, his feet thumping against the carpeted floor. The heavy pile warm against his feet, reaching up he pulled his uniform from the cupboard and slowly began to dress himself.

  Tossing a glance over his shoulder he saw the sleeping, supine, form of his wife as she slumbered deep in the woollen embrace of whatever fantasy her mind had conjured. A small smile tugged at his lips as he watched her stir gently, fine golden strands of hair spilling across the supple swan-like curve of her neck and shoulders as she wriggled slightly trying to bury herself deeper into the warming arms of her bed. Leaning across the bed he gently brushed the hair from her face and planted a lone gentle kiss on her softly smiling cheek, a whispered platitude and note of goodbye leaving his lips as he picked up his go-bag and left the room; a small folded piece of paper leaning against the lamp beside the bed, the only sign he had been in the room at all.

  Stepping from the house he turned and locked the door securely behind him. He made his way down the carved stone steps, a grin playing across his features as he locked eyes with the smiling visage of his team mate perched behind the wheel of a battered 1968 half ton Land Rover. Opening the back door he tossed his bag onto the rear seat. Slamming the door shut, he watched slightly annoyed, as the lock failed to engage and the door bounced off the frame, the metallic clang echoing down the street making him flinch slightly.

  After finally getting the rear door shut he slipped into the front passenger seat and buckled in.

  'All sorted?'

  He nodded, pulling a cigarette from the packet in his breast pocket.

  'Thought Janet made you quit?'

  He shrugged as he lit the compressed stick of tobacco and inhaled deeply.

  'She did, but with all the shit that's happened lately, I need something to take the edge off.'

  Lifting his hand he subconsciously rubbed at the ragged torn remnants of his left ear. Kingsley watched out the corner of his eye as Baker fiddled with the protruding lump of cartilage.

  'You okay Cherry?'

  Sighing Baker plucked the cigarette from between his lips and flicked off the excess ash watching as it was dragged away into darkened morning air.

  'Sort of, just mulling a few things over. Sharp for one, and the rest of teams for another.'

  He stopped and took another deep pull on his cigarette before flicking the still glowing stump out the window.

  'What about 'em?'

  Baker turned slightly, his brow furrowed. 'Full of questions this morning ain't ya?' Kingsley shrugged as he negotiated the one-way system. Setting a fresh cigarette to his lips, he flicked open his lighter; the flame casting dancing shadows over his features. He greedily sucked the tar laden smog into his lungs as he settled back into the seat.

  'Well?'

  Kingsley watched Baker as closely as he could while they negotiated the pre-dawn London traffic. With a deep sigh of smoke laden breath Baker relented.

  'Sharp seems to have taken the Libya losses to heart. I know he's lost men to combat before, we all have, it's a fact of military life. Someone at some point isn't going home, and when it happens, you just take it on the chin, count your blessings, and move on. Problem is he doesn't seem to be able to do that here.'

  Kingsley nodded thinking over what to say before finally speaking.

  'You know D, it's not just the fact he lost men, it's that he was in command. I read the files same as you and you know that it was his first solo command. He has done the whole second fiddle thing more times than I can count; but it was essentially his first command and look what happened. He lost a dozen men, and for a first time out; that is going to kick any one square in the daddy-bags, no matter how much of a hard bastard you are.'

  Baker stayed silent for a few seconds before replying.

  'You've got a point there.' Baker tapped the ash from the end of his fag again as he carried on speaking. 'I just hope he can pull through it. By the way did you hear from Colinson on the fiasco with the Dover; Calais team?'

  Kingsley nodded silently, not relishing the thought of thinking over what had happened for a third time. Baker watched Kingsley as he mulled over what to say next.

  'Colinson had the guy committed to Broadmoor, apparently some tit in screening didn't do their checks and he had a history of familial and personal mental health issues that would have excluded him from even joining the service in the first place.'

  Kingsley gave Baker a sidelong glance as he drove, gauging his friends reaction to the statement.

  'How the hell did he get in then? I'm sure someone should have flagged the guy and given him the boot.' Kingsley stayed mute on the subject as he pulled the sun-visor lower shielding his eyes from the broaching dawn on the horizon.

  Baker shook his head and settled back into the seat, half closing his eyes as he watched the sunrise, the gold streaked sky of a new day rolled towards them as silence took hold, both men content to say nothing as they chased the horizon.

  The drive seemed to drag on for longer than usual as Baker brooded in his seat, thoughts of Ridgmont's actions still burning away in the depths of his mind, the beak nosed accusatory stare was still lingering in front of him whenever he looked in the mirror. Derek knew that before the year was gone
he would find a way to hold the smug bastard of a Colonel accountable for his actions; especially the deaths they had led too.

  Baker's head banged against the toughened glass of the window as the Land Rover slid sharply to a halt. The high pitched squeal issuing from the non-existent brake pads set his teeth on edge. Reaching back he grabbed his go-bag and clambered from the vehicle then set off towards the waiting plane as Kingsley jogged to catch up with him.

  'Oi, bitch, what you doing leaving a brother behind like that?'

  Baker smirked as he turned and glanced at his friend.

  'Hey, I'm a white guy I thought I was slow enough for you to be able to catch me, being black and all.' Kingsley glared at him slightly as he picked up his pace.

  'Very fucking funny arse hole still would have been polite to wait. I would have waited for you.'

  Baker chuckled as he threw his bag on to the pallet with the rest of the kit and walked up the ramp.

  'Like fuck you would've, you would've fucked off and left me to carry your kit as well.'

  Kingsley grinned at him as he dumped his bag next to Baker's and boarded the plane.

  'True.'

  It was another twenty minutes until everyone had arrived and the plane finally began to taxi down the runway.

  'So what exactly will we be doing over there anyway? Colinson wasn't very forth coming with the information.'

  'Honestly, I haven't the faintest idea. All I know is it's a joint exercise, us, the Germans, and the French are clearing tunnel systems of any “Hostile forces”, other than that, who knows.'

  Kingsley groaned as he settled in and tried to fall back to sleep.

  'Sounds like another damned rabbit hunt, diving into holes, crawling through tunnels full of God only knows what. Wonder whether Alice is up for a quickie.'

  Baker residence

  North East London

  Janet's arm strayed across the bed searching for the warm muscular mass that was the man she called her husband; rolling over on to her side she stared at the cool empty sheets. The hot sting of tears welled up in her eyes as she gazed at the vacant sheets. Turning over, she looked at the clock on the bedside table and the folded note resting against the lamp behind it. Picking it up she gently unfolded the slip of paper, a small smile graced her elfin features as she read silently,

  I lay awake for one last chance,

  One last chance to see that smile,

  That smile that spills across my heart,

  That draws me in and fills my soul.

  I awake before the sun for a chance to be the one,

  The one to see the light play across your skin,

  The one to see the light dance in your hair,

  The one that glows with the newborn dawn.

  I leave before the dawn and I die a little more inside,

  Each time I leave before you awake,

  A little more of my soul it takes,

  Until I come once more home and no longer doomed to roam.

  Derek.

  Sighing softly, she folded the paper and set it back on the side table as she stretched and rolled silently out of the bed; her feet tapped lightly on the carpeted floor. Letting the soft satin sheets fall from her grip, she padded nude into bathroom and turned on the shower.

  The ice cool water spattered against the blue and white tiled wall. Stepping in she gasped as the water hit her sleep heated skin, the flowing frigid droplets raised a sea of stippled goose bumps as they slid across her supple form. Her hands flowed across her skin as she washed away the sweat and grime of the night, the soft swelling mound of her stomach giving her pause as she let her hand rest atop it, softly sliding her slim digits over the already protruding mound.

  A small smile teased the edges of her mouth as she thought of when she was going to tell her husband exactly what it meant. Although a thought tickled her mind, for all his teasing and playful jibes she couldn't shake the feeling that he already knew exactly what the small potting of her stomach meant to them both.

  Stepping from the tiled cubicle she reached for a cream coloured towel. Draping the soft fabric over her shoulders she used the excess to dry her hair. Walking through to their shared bedroom, she idly flicked the television on as she perched on the end of the bed; watching the flat panel shudder to life. The face of the early morning newscaster floated into reality, a small sheaf of A4 pages clutched in his hands as he stared into the camera.

  'It has just been announced that the London 2012 Olympic games are to be suspended for the foreseeable future, the announcement comes in the wake of month long discussions brought about by the rise of a virulent virus sweeping the globe.

  'It has also been announced that the government has passed a measure allowing all current law enforcement personnel trained in the use of fire arms to bear them at all times.

  This controversial measure never before seen in the modern policing era, has been the result of the Goodmayes tower block riots and the incidents in Dover and Calais. Members of the British armed forces, Special Biological Warfare Division along with members of the French, Bureau de Confinement Biologique, were called in to quell a suspected biological threat. As a result nine British and French soldiers were killed and six more wounded, their families have been notified.

  'Alongside the aforementioned measure we will see the rapid installation of permanent CO19 police units in every major hospital in the United Kingdom and similar measures are being instituted in the Republic of Ireland.

  'This measure is in response to the crisis that struck China two years ago resulting in the rapid international quarantine of The Peoples Republic which is still in effect.'

  He shuffled the small clutch of papers in his hands as he collected his thoughts before switching to another topic. The television drifted into the background as Janet rose from the bed and walked to the wardrobe to begin preparing for the shift that lay ahead of her.

  42

  Central Middlesex Hospital

  North West London

  'Hey Jimmy.'

  Jimmy looked up, his hair hanging down over the side of his head as he dumped the rags in his hand back into the bucket, the gleaming trolley catching the light as he pushed it out of the way of the door. The wet rubber mattress lay upright against the wall as soap filled water drained off it, running in thin streams across the floor.

  He flushed slightly as he watched Janet walk by, 'uhh h,h,hi Mrs. Baker.'

  His face flustered and flushed as she drew closer, the clicking of her semi-high heeled shoes echoing through the small walled yard.

  'Now Jimmy, how many times have I told you to call me Janet?'

  Janet shot him a warm smile as she walked by causing Jimmy's face to become a slightly deeper shade of red.

  His mouth opened and closed several times as he tried to reply, too tongue tied to form the words fully. His eyes locked on her shapely legs and travelled slowly up as she moved towards the staff entrance, his slightly leering gaze lingered on the soft swaying of her buttocks as the doors slowly slid shut. Shaking his head to clear the image, he picked up the mattress and dumped it on the hospital bed before pushing it into the storage area, turning and walking back inside to carry on with his rounds Jimmy smiled the image of Janets shapely legs and rump swimming to the forefront of his mind once more.

  The clanging of steel doors assaulted Janet's ears as she made her way into the changing room. Stepping past several other rows, she reached forwards and opened the door to her one foot by six foot locker dropping her handbag into the bottom as she stripped her leather jacket from her shoulders. She pulled the lab coat off the back of the locker door and slipped on the size six trainers she kept for work.

  Stepping into the corridor, clipboard in hand, Janet checked off the listed priorities, she was staring at the page as Kevin stepped up next to her, a pile of folders clutched tightly in his arms as he hurried to keep pace.

  'So what have we got Kev?'

  He hurriedly shuffled the notes as Janet spoke.r />
  'We have three coming in from accident and emergency, one on ward six and another on ward eight, the scan picked up an accelerated count in all five of them, and Jones in the booth thinks they could be progressing to stage two possibly three.'

  Janet cursed under her breath as she pushed through the heavy swing doors and made her way to the triage and containment room. Sighing, she stepped into the room as Kevin followed close on her heels.

  She took one look at the man lying on the examination table and felt her heart fall, he was curled into a foetal ball, his trousers lacking their normal cream lustre, the back stained a liquid brown from his own excrement.

  Kevin stepped forwards and rolled the man over towards them. Looking up Kevin and watched as Janet physically recoiled at the sight of the man's face. His eyes swollen shut from the pustular. melanoma like, lumps forming on his eye lids and across his face, distorting his features so badly that he no longer looked human.

  Kevin clamped his teeth tightly shut as the bile rose in his gullet; he had to look away as the man's mouth opened and a thick stew of bile, meat and organic matter spilled out covering the floor.

  The man's hands shot out clasping onto Kevins wrist; with a strength that left him reeling. Kevins arm was drawn towards the waiting, wanton, pustule covered lips as they curled back from the man's yellow meat encrusted teeth. Janet raised the clipboard and sent it scything through the air, edge first, into the man's wrist, the crack of metal on bone audible to the dozens of people sitting outside, even through the heavy wooden door of the triage room.