The Haven Series (Book 1): The Infected

by Gemma Ritchie

“Well Mr Turner, on the menu for tonight we have a two-year-old vintage bean-a-la-can?” I wiggle the tin, presenting it in that cheesy way they used to do on the shopping channels. He wrinkles his nose, shaking his head stiffly. I set the can back with a flourish. “Or perhaps you’re feeling a little more daring?” I twist around, wiggling my eyebrows, earning me a smirk. “Tah-dah… the mystery can.” I roll it around between my palms. “The label peeled off years ago and I’ve never been brave enough to see what was inside.”

  “Beans it is then.” He sounds about as thrilled as I feel. I set the mystery can back for another, more desperate day, and retrieve the beans, grabbing the tin opener and two spoons as I make my way back to the couch. Drew pulls out his lighter, shuffling into a sitting position and lights the candle on the coffee table.

  We take it in turns, scooping out a spoonful of beans, grimacing as the cold, congealed tomato sauce slides down our gullets. I shudder, reliving my student years and finally set the empty can on the table. With a thoroughly unsatisfied appetite I relax into the cushions, tucking my feet beneath me.

  “Who would have thought the end of the world would be so boring?” I sigh, staring at the television that hasn’t worked in years. The final announcement was a news broadcast that stated, in no uncertain terms, that we were all well and truly screwed. A nice, hopeful edition of the news at ten. You know, end on a cheery note.

  Drew laughs, leaning toward me with a glint of mischief. “Funny you should say that because…” he reaches under the sofa, biting his lip in concentration as he fumbles in its murky depths. My eyes widen, the anticipation killing me. He grins. “Drum roll please…” I beat my hands against my thigh as he sweeps his arm into the air and produces…

  “Whiskey?” I snatch the bottle, holding it up to the candle, not daring to believe it might be true. Alcohol. Actual alcohol. “Where did you find this? And how long has it been under there?” I flop forwards, peering into the darkness in wonder. Would it be too much to hope for a family bar of chocolate? Not even a sliver?

  “I found it a while ago. I was saving it for a special occasion.” He jumps up from the sofa, bottle clutched to his chest and searches the cupboards for glasses. I flop back into my seat, watching him move around the kitchen, pouring the whiskey with genuine excitement in his baby blues. I grin as he hands me a glass filled to the brim with amber liquid.

  “Thanks. What’s the occasion?” I ask, clinking my glass against his before taking a sip. It burns like acid down to my stomach. I gag, mouth puckering as I shudder. Drew laughs, taking a long swig of his own before setting it on the table.

  “I was being optimistic but I figure, there isn’t going to be a special occasion during an apocalypse so screw it.” I shrug, good enough for me. Rearranging the cushions at my back I relax, glass balanced on my knee as I watch Drew fiddle with the loose thread of a cushion in his lap. I take another sip, the sting not so shocking the second time around and it slides down a little easier.

  Dirty blonde hair flops across his forehead as he leans forward to retrieve his glass, blue eyes peeking through long lashes to meet mine. I smile, suddenly very interested in the hem of my shirt. Drew is handsome, very handsome. He’s the kind of guy you sneak glances at but never have the guts to just go and talk to. At least, I wouldn’t have had the guts. Circumstance threw us together but in the real world, back when I was a girl in a sea of millions, he wouldn’t have looked at me twice.

  I’d always been awkward. Unbelievably so. I wasn’t the prettiest or the smartest or the funniest. Where the other girls would slide right in to any social situation I was always on the side lines. I’ve never fit in anywhere with my muddy brown hair that literally has a mind of its own, pale skin that makes me either look ill or like I’ll burn up in sunlight and murky brown eyes that are far too big for my face. While the other girls got curves and I was still waiting to grow into mine. Poor Drew may have to look at this for the remainder of our miserable sexless existence. When I put it like that I can’t really blame him for wanting to run off to Haven.

  “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” he asks, tilting my chin up with his finger. I hide my flush behind my glass as I take another sip. He tilts his head in such an adorable way it makes my insides squirm. I scowl at the amber liquid sloshing innocently in my hand. This is strong stuff. “Louisa?”

  Forcing myself to meet his eye I lower my glass, blowing a sigh through my lips. I immediately feel pathetic. I’m not the kind of girl who fishes for compliments and I don’t feel like starting now but when he’s looking at me with those eyes, so full of concern, I can feel the words forming by themselves. Whether I want them to or not. I set my glass on the table and look him dead in the eye.

  “If this weren’t the end of the world and you hadn’t have been starving hungry, you wouldn’t have looked at me twice.” There, I’ve said it, and I feel infinitely worse for it. I grab a cushion and press it to my face as I groan with embarrassment. Right there, in that moment, I make a promise to myself. Never again will I drink whiskey. It makes me stupid.

  And unbelievably tragic.

  “Lou,” he tries to tug the cushion from my face but I hold tight. “Louisa.” He snatches it away and I screw my eyes tight, my face flaming. “Look at me.” I shake my head, wishing the ground would swallow me whole. Why? Why did I have to develop a goddamn complex at the end of the world? A warm hand touches my cheek and I open my eyes a crack. He’s smiling, looking down at me with affection. I allow my eyelids to open all the way, my cheeks still on fire with humiliation.

  “Louisa, if I had known you before all this, we would be doing exactly what we’re doing now.” I love the sincerity in his voice but I can’t help but roll my eyes. He grips my biceps, pulling me up until our faces are an inch apart. “Lou, you are beautiful, inside and out and if it took the apocalypse for me to meet you then the rest of world be damned.”

  My mouth collides with his, my arms wrapping firmly around his neck. His arms come around me, holding me tightly against his chest, lips moving against mine. It feels… it feels…

  I pull away. Drew is frowning, his expression a clear reflection of my own.

  “That felt wrong.” I say.

  “Yes. Yes, it did.” Drew slumps into the cushion at his back, his expression entirely bemused. “Let’s agree never to do that again.”

  I nod. “Agreed.”

  We sit in a silence that isn’t awkward just… confused. I glance at Drew. His mouth is moving silently as it often does when he’s trying make sense of something. I stare at my hands, feel the laughter bubbling in my chest, my shoulders shaking. I press my lips together but it’s no good. A giggle slips free and Drew’s head snaps up, his frown dissolving into a bewildered smile.

  “If it took the apocalypse for me to meet you then the world be damned.” I mock in my best Drew impression, letting out a squeal as he dives across the sofa.

  Three

  - Out of Options -

  Drew leans across the counter, fixing me with a pointed stare. “You know, eventually we are going to have to leave here. Even if it’s not for Haven we will need to move on at some point.” Drew is relentless, a trait I may have admired if I didn’t have a thumping headache and only half an expired aspirin. Squinting I look up from my breakfast of, you guessed it, more beans, and fix him with my best glare. He holds his hands up in surrender. “I was just saying.”

  “Well, can you just say it somewhere else? I would like to eat my bacon and eggs in peace.” He opens his mouth to correct me. I hold up a hand, halting the words before he can shatter my carefully crafted illusion. “Pretending makes me feel better.”

  Drew smirks. “I prefer to save my imagination for more pleasurable activities, if you catch my drift.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

  “You disgust me.” I call to his retreating back. His laugh echoes through the apartment as he heads to the bedroom, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. “Don’t you dare do that on
my bed.” Another laugh. I grin, shovelling the last disgusting morsel into my mouth and dropping the spoon into the tin.

  I get it. Haven, in Drew’s head at least, sounds like the perfect place. But I’m scared. Here in London, in my home territory, I feel safe. Well, as safe as one can feel at the end of the world. We’ve cleared out pretty much every infected around the apartment and the few that are left are so badly injured that they don’t scare me. That much. We’ve got it good. A niggling voice in my head whispers that he might leave me but I choose to ignore her. There is only one thing that would force me out of this place and into the unknown; more infected.

  Having exhausted the area around the apartment for supplies we agree to head across the city to the first quarantine zone. When the government finally admitted defeat they drafted in the army to help contain the outbreak. At one point, they were even working on an anti-virus, but the infection spread so fast it was never finished as far as I know. So, quarantine zones were set up in the infected areas, huge chunks of the city shut off. No one went in.

  No one came out.

  The chain link fences stand eight feet high, the tops lined with razor wire, each one once manned with armed soldiers with orders to shoot first, ask questions later. Now the area is empty, desolate, litter lined streets reduced to ghost towns. A shudder crawls up my spine.

  Drew heads for the gate, pulling a pair of bolt cutters from his backpack. My pulse is racing as I scan the street, palms sweating as I hold my machete. I wipe them on my pants, unable to shake the feeling we are being watched. I’m being ridiculous. There’s nobody here and hasn’t been for some time. I shuffle closer to Drew; just in case.

  The lock snaps, clanging as it hits the ground. Drew untangles the heavy chain, the gate protesting on its hinges as he forces it open. The sound sets my teeth on edge. The sooner we get this over with the better. Puddles splash around our ankles as we wind around the cordon to the guard post. A helmet sits discarded on a bench, rifle laying casually beside it. I keep watch while Drew checks inside, hands wrapping around the rifle, a grunt of disappointment when he finds it empty.

  “Come on,” he whispers, knife in hand as he leads us deeper into the quarantine zone. I try to still my rapid pulse, nerves jarring at every breeze, every rustle. It’s so eerie. Camden was once a bustling market, lined with people, chatter and laughter. Traders calling as you passed as they tried to lure you in, hawking their wares. Jenna and I used to come here often. She would bat her eyelashes as she haggled, the traders falling for it every time. The memory makes me smile, dissolving quickly into sadness.

  Drew takes a right, pausing by a mini-mart. Keeping my back to him I watch the street, waiting for the moment the infected burst from every dark corner, teeth bared and ready to tear out our throats. A squeak almost gives me heart failure. Hand clutched to my chest I turn to see Drew rubbing his sleeve against the window, peering into its depths.

  “I think we should check this one out.” Before I can respond he’s rammed the hilt of his knife into the glass, the crash echoing around the street. I’m so scared I think I could pee myself. Jaw clenched I watch him clear the shards from the frame and unlock the door. It swings inwards, scraping across the glass that litters the ground.

  Inside is dark, everything coated in layers upon layers of dust. I push the door closed behind us, the hairs on the back of my neck so rigid it’s painful. Glass crunches underfoot as I move deeper into the shop, my brain a muddle of fear and panic, looking at the shelves without really seeing them. I want to go home.

  I scurry down the aisle where Drew is already filling his backpack. His fearlessness is something of wonder. I’m on the verge of having a nervous breakdown and he’s casually filling his bag as if this were a normal day. Just a spot of shopping. Nothing scary about that during the apocalypse. Looking up he holds out his hand, reaching for my backpack as I stand staring at him like a mentally retarded goldfish.

  I shrug it from my shoulders, handing it over when I hear a crash that sends my stomach rocketing into my mouth. A very girlish scream rips from my mouth as I twist around, machete held aloft, head whipping back and forth.

  “Relax. It’s just a fox.” Drew nods towards the end of the aisle where I catch a glimpse of a long auburn tail, the end tipped white as if it were dipped in paint. Resting my hands on my thighs I suck in deep breaths, restraining my bladder and trying to clear the dizziness in my head. “You need to calm down.”

  My head snaps up. “Calm down? Just calm down. Not like we could be beaten to death at any second while you choose what flavour soup will taste best ice cold and a year past its sell by date.” It’s entirely possible that I’m overreacting but my heart is pounding itself into cardiac arrest and despite my best efforts a little bit of pee, has in fact, leaked into my underwear. Drew grins, shoves the last of the cans into the bag and stands. I straighten, taking back my backpack and swinging it onto my shoulder.

  With my pack considerably heavier and digging into my shoulders we leave the shop, stepping out into a street that is thankfully clear. I begin to head back to the gate, desperate to get the hell out of here but the distinct lack of footsteps behind me makes me turn. Drew is headed away from me with his knife secure in his large hands. Every muscle is wound tight, coiled and tense, mind screaming at me to get away from here as quick as possible. I have an overwhelming feeling that something is going to go extremely wrong if we stay a moment longer. Apparently Drew can’t read my frantic thoughts and he throws a grin over his shoulder before disappearing inside a darkened building.

  That man has got some serious issues. A death wish perhaps?

  I swallow past the cramping in my throat and hurry after him, too afraid to stay out here alone and nowhere near brave enough to venture home without him. More glass crunches beneath my feet as I step inside, closing the door and squinting while my eyes readjust to the gloom. Drew is nowhere to be seen, an unnerving silence pressing against my ears as I strain to listen.

  “Drew?” I whisper, gripping the hilt of my machete between sweaty palms. I rock from foot to foot, glancing over my shoulder as a million different scenarios and life-threatening consequences vie for attention. Taking a deep breath, I step further into the store with the putrid smell of decay stinging at my nose. A retch builds and I pull my t-shirt up over my face. I do not want to know what is causing that smell. I whisper his name again, my voice muffled by the fabric of my makeshift mask.

  The further I venture into the store, the thicker the gloom becomes and the more putrid the stench. My mouth fills with saliva and I swallow repeatedly, stomach heaving. Turning down an aisle I hear movement. My heart leaps into my mouth, every nerve shredded as I bite back a scream. Tears form on my lashes as fear wraps me in its icy grip. I want to go home. Not back to the apartment but back to two years ago when my biggest fear was student loans and Brad’s ever swaying loyalty.

  “Drew, if you’re just trying to scare me I swear to god I’m going to…” I don’t get to finish my threat, my words cut off by a low moan that turns my veins to ice. I freeze. A wet slap followed by the thud of a heavy boot. I drop to a crouch, straining to listen around the rush of blood in my ears. Slap. Thud. Slap. Thud. The sound grows closer, moving slowly towards the end of the aisle. Spinning on my heels I run as stealthily as possible, body hunched over as I try to control my hysterical mind that screams I’m about to die. I dive around the corner, chest heaving.

  Another moan, this one lighter, more feminine. My eyes dart through the gloom as I try to decipher where it’s coming from. Slap. Thud. My stomach volleys into my mouth as I push up onto the balls of my feet, ready to run. A mass of wild hair whips around an aisle, a shriek of rage piercing the air, bloodshot eyes landing on my face. I leap into action. My boots slam into the ground as I run, whipping around an aisle, feet slipping from beneath me as I scramble to stay upright. Terror floods my system, my limbs rigid as I race into the depths of the store.

  Hands grab at my jacket. A s
cream tears from my throat and I twist, thrashing to get free. A sweaty palm clamps down over my mouth, an arm around my middle, pulling me backwards. Whatever survival instincts I have finally kick in and I swing my machete blindly, flailing, praying I hit something.

  “Lou, stop.” My body stills at the hiss in my ear. I twist, throwing myself against Drew’s chest, his shirt muffling a sob. His arms tighten briefly around me before he holds me at arm’s length, eyes darting frantically over my body. “Are you hurt?” I shake my head, my chin wobbling, dizzy with relief. His hands fall from my shoulders, retrieve a rifle from the floor.

  “Where did you get that?” I whisper, wiping the tears from my cheeks with my sleeve. He doesn’t answer as footfalls draw closer, the shrieking dissolved back into a low groan as it searches for its prey. Swallowing I shuffle behind Drew. With practised stealth, he moves toward the end of the aisle, glancing at me over his shoulder as he stands up with the rifle raised. My limbs feel like someone has replaced them with jelly but I force myself to my feet all the same, ready to run.

  The crack of gunfire blasts through the deathly silence, a wet smack followed by the thud of a body. Drew grabs my hand, tugging me into a run. We race down the aisle, Drew pausing to let off another shot. His hand shoves against my back, pushing me forward. I sprint for the door, my heart lifting at the sunshine pouring through the crack.

  Drew barrels into my back, mouth opening in question, snapping shut when he sees why I’ve stopped. The street is filled with them. I back up, eyes wide, foot knocking against a stack that crashes to the floor. Heads snap in our direction, blood stained faces baring yellowed teeth as they break into a run. A scream catches in my throat as body after body slams into the building, hands reaching through the broken window. Shards of glass opens bloody gashes in their arms but they don’t seem to feel it, hands grabbing at thin air as they reach for us.

  Drew raises his gun, shoving me behind him as he pulls the trigger. Bullets slam into them but with every one that drops, another springs forward to take its place. I spin around, looking for another way out. My fingers wrap around his arm, dragging him backwards. He skips back, releasing another shot before turning, running after me as I barrel towards the back of the shop, praying there’s a back door.