by Isobel Hart
The sound of the landline’s insistent ringing roused me from what had become a comfortable spot on the bathroom floor. After I’d stopped being sick, I’d curled up and cried. I wondered, as I lay there, if I my tears were for them or me. Only guilt at the thought of how much Elliott would worry if I didn’t answer the phone had me moving at all when the ringing stopped, and then started again immediately. “Samantha! Thank God!” he said, as soon as I answered.
“Sorry, I was in the bathroom.”
“Are you okay?”
I thought about that for a moment. “Not really. They’re dead, aren’t they?” My voice sounded flat and unemotional.
“Yes,” he confirmed. “They brought the bodies in, they were pronounced at the scene. There was someone else, though.”
“Richard?” I said, my voice barely a whisper.
“No, I haven’t seen him. A neighbour. He got caught in the explosion and suffered severe burns and crush injuries from falling masonry.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I said, finding myself annoyed at the excitement in his voice.
“Sam, it happened again. I saw it this time. The guy flatlined as soon as they brought him in. We worked on him for nearly twenty minutes before he was pronounced, but then, just after they called him, his heart started again. I watched it happen. We’re not imagining this, Sam.”
“No,” I agreed. My voice sounded strange. Cold. An icy rage had replaced my fear. “We’re not imagining this. We’re not imagining that these people seem to be coming back from the dead. We’re not imagining that the man who looked like my douchebag of an ex-partner tried to kill me. We’re not imagining that Richard has killed at least two people, and we’re not imagining that he did that once he knew we suspected something was different about him. You’ll forgive me if I’m a little less excited about all of this than you are.” And with that I put the phone down and went to bed.
Chapter 19
When Elliott came home he was not alone. It was late, after midnight, and I’d spent the day absorbing the evolving news story about the gas leak. I hadn’t been able to sleep, despite having lain on the bed tossing and turning for nearly an hour. Instead, I’d got up and settled myself on the sofa. Every new snippet of information, offered in intervals over the course of the day, held me transfixed in front of the TV like a junkie waiting for another hit. After each one I promised myself I’d watch only a few minutes more, until some new revelation left me gagging for another injection of headlines.
I watched the eyewitness accounts of a fireball seen coming from the back of the house. Then the names of the victims, Mr and Mrs Rawson, were released, accompanied by a grainy photo of them taken at the Jubilee celebrations. The survival of their son had been pronounced “a miracle”, as had that of the neighbour, Andrew Darcy, despite the severity of his injuries. Generally, people seemed grateful it hadn’t been much worse given the size of the leak. It was assumed that the pipes feeding their range cooker were somehow at fault, but nothing could be confirmed until a full investigation had been conducted. I knew they were wrong. I knew Richard had made it happen somehow.
I was sitting in the dark, the room lit only by the red glow coming from the BBC News channel branding, when they walked in. “Are you okay?” Elliott asked from the doorway, Malcolm at his shoulder, as he took in my unmoving form shrouded in the darkness. “Mind if I turn the light on?” he tried again when I didn’t respond.
“Sure,” I grunted, irritated by his question. “I’m going to bed anyhow.”
“Are you okay?” he asked a second time, after he’d turned the light on and looked at me properly.
“Stop fucking asking me that!” My anger bubbled to the surface, as I shot to my feet and strode across the room towards them. Malcolm retreated a couple of steps. “No! For your information, I’m not okay. Two people were killed today, and I think it’s my fault. I’m guilty and angry and scared. So no, unsurprisingly, I’m not fucking okay.”
Elliott grabbed me by the shoulders when I tried to push past him. “I get it,” he said, his voice quiet as he held me firm. “What you’re feeling . . . I get it. I’m feeling it too. Sure, I haven’t got the same personal connection to this you have, but it’s freaking me the fuck out when I think about what all this means. So, I get it. And right now, I need other people around me who understand why we should all be freaked out, and so do you. We’re safer together . . . We’re close, Sam. We’re close to having enough to tell people about it.” His words were like a slap in the face.
“What have you found?” I asked, looking from Elliott to Malcolm, who stood a few steps away from us, looking at me as if I were a wild animal that might attack at any moment. “What have you found?” I said, directly to Malcolm this time.
“Oh, um . . .” He pushed his glasses up his nose as he stepped fully back into the room. “Well, you see . . .” He fidgeted, his hands twisting in the glare of my attention, looking unaccustomed to dealing with overtly emotional women.
“Sit down, Malcolm,” Elliott suggested kindly, trying to put him back at ease. “Will you stay and listen to this, Sam?”
I nodded and moved back to one of the armchairs.
“Drink?” he asked us both once we were seated. We shook our heads in unison. “Okay, well let me start this by repeating the fact that I saw it happen again today. It was unequivocal. The guy came back from the dead, and this time I wasn’t the only one to notice it. The other medical staff were freaked out – several mentioned other patients they’d seen it happen to recently. We’re not the only ones noticing this now.” He turned to Malcolm. “So, what have you found?”
“The link is indisputable. I searched the data, looking at hospital activity codes for any kind of resuscitation-linked activity, regardless of eventual outcome, and let me tell you there was a lot.”
“It is a hospital,” I said drily.
“Yes, well, anyway, there was a drop in the expected rate of death in the population from the norm.” We both nodded at him to continue. “When I looked at the data, there was a clear group that stood out: males, under sixty.”
“What about them?” I prompted.
“None of them died.”
“None of them?” Elliott echoed.
“Nope, not one. It really is most unusual. In the last three or four months, since exactly the date of the fog, not a single male under sixty has died at the hospital.”
“What does that mean? Could it just be some sort of a freaky coincidence?”
“I don’t think so. I’ve looked at twenty percent or so of the blood samples of the males affected, and all of them show active virus. When I compared it with an equivalent sample of other age groups and genders, none were affected, and the mortality rates followed a normal distribution. I think we have our proof, ladies and gentlemen.”
For a moment, Elliott and I sat there in stunned silence, while Malcolm puffed his chest out, looking pleased with himself. It took me a while, but I managed to coalesce a sentence from the questions that were bouncing around in my head. “So, the virus really is bringing men back from the dead. Why? Why only men?”
“We still don’t know that yet.”
“How many men are we talking about?”
“Well, roughly two hundred and thirty thousand-ish adults die in hospital every year in England. You have to assume roughly half of those will be women, and then some will fall outside the age parameters, but we’re still talking . . .”
“Lots,” I whispered. “And those are just the ones who are in hospital. In England. This was worldwide. Jesus.” I turned to look at Elliott. “We have to tell someone. I think these people might be dangerous. I know Richard and Edward are. There could be so many of them . . . all men, all young and strong. Who are they? What do they want?”
“We still don’t know any of that, but I think you’re right,” Elliott agreed. “We have to talk to the authorities. Malcolm, can you write up your paper with all the evidence as soon as possible? We�
�ll take it to them as soon as you’re done.”
“Who, though?”
“I don’t know; the police, the Centres for Disease Control or the Health Protection Agency. If they won’t listen, we’ll talk to other medics or the WHO. We’ll talk to everyone until someone pays attention, but we need the data, Malcolm.”
“You’ll have it tomorrow,” he assured us, standing and brushing himself down. “On that note, I need to get home if I’m going to get this written up.”
We said our goodbyes, Elliott’s words from before about us being safer together making me nervous as Malcolm left. I couldn’t shift my feelings of paranoia.
By the time we closed the door, having made plans to meet again tomorrow to agree what we would do next, the clock showed it was already past one in the morning.
“Are you okay?” Elliott said as we returned to the lounge and sat back down. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come home when you called earlier – I wanted to – we were all on standby after the explosion in case there were lots more casualties . . .”
“Really, it’s fine,” I assured him, wishing it didn’t feel like a lie. “I need to stop being so dependent on you. I couldn’t think who else to call when I realised what had happened.” I hated how needy I sounded.
“I like it. I like you coming to me. I’m glad you called.” He reached out and took hold of my hand. “You still look a bit pale. Can I get you anything?”
“I’m as okay as I can be, all things considered, Elliott. I’ve been having sex with a man who meets the basic entry criteria for being classed as a zombie. It’s bound to make me feel a little out of sorts.”
Despite everything, Elliott smiled. “I’m sure if he’d had a shuffling gait and smelt of decomposing flesh, you’d have been on to him sooner.”
I slapped him on the arm as I choked, “I’ll have you know it’s no laughing matter.”
“You’re telling me,” he said with a laugh. “You passed me over for the walking dead! How do you think I feel?”
“I didn’t pass you over,” I defended myself. “You never offered . . .”
“You knew I wanted you, though.” His voice turned quickly serious, his eyes intent. “I wanted you from the very first time I watched you do a presentation. I can’t remember a single thing you said about the drug, but I remember everything about you; what you were wearing – a black pencil skirt with a fitted white blouse and a pair of killer heels, in case you were wondering – how, when you smiled, I felt torn between awe at the way it lit up your face and rage at the guy you bestowed it on. I don’t think I uttered a word the whole time you were in there; you stunned me into silence. You were so cute, awkward to even be there. You kept apologising for taking up our time. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more adorable. And most of the other doctors felt the same way. Didn’t you ever wonder why your lunch meeting presentations were so well attended?”
“Well, no,” I said, bemused. “I always assumed people liked my Marks & Spencer sandwiches.”
“Ah, well, it could have been that too, at least for some of the women. For the majority of the male population, I can guarantee it was for the simple fact that you are quite the most stunning woman I’ve ever set eyes upon. Add to that you’re intelligent, funny and nice with it, and you’re talking the full package. What’s not to like? When I walked into the waiting room and found you there, waiting for Edward . . .” My cheeks heated as he stared at me, his eyes drifting down towards my mouth. “To say I was gutted is an understatement.” Before I could respond, he leant in and kissed me.
His lips were soft and tentative, as if he expected me to pull away. I didn’t. It felt too good. I couldn’t deny I’d thought about this happening. I’d imagined it, even before Edward and I separated. All those moments at the hospital, the looks we’d exchanged, the attraction between us undeniable. Even Edward had picked up on it. Now that we were kissing, something ignited within me. When his hand threaded around my waist, I allowed him to pull me closer, his chest pressed against mine. Our bodies twisted towards one another as the kiss deepened. Only when my hands wanted greater access to what lay beneath, did he finally break the contact and pull away with a groan. “I’m sorry,” he gasped, his breath coming fast.
“Why? I was as invested in that as you were.”
“I just need to be sure that you actually want this, want me. With everything that’s happened in your life.”
“I want you,” I said, “but it’s true, my life is about as fucked up as it’s possible to be right now. Wanting you is one of the only things I am certain of.”
“I don’t want to share you. I’m serious about this, about you. I’d rather you said now if all you’re looking for is someone to take your mind off Edward.”
“We’d been struggling for a long time, you know that. I stayed through guilt, nothing more. I won’t lie and say I didn’t start to like the new version of him, but I wish I’d never slept with him again. It’s complicated.” Elliott’s face fell. “I like you, Elliott, I do. More than that, I trust you. That’s a huge thing for me right now. But I’m a mess,” I said. “I think you’re a fool to want anything to do with me.”
“I’ve always been a fool,” he said, with an uncertain smile. “Look, I want to try this, but I think we should take it slow. It’s the only way we stand a chance with all the craziness going on around us. I know we’ve jumped ahead a bit with you moving in, but I don’t think that means we have to rush everything else.”
“I can move out,” I said quickly. “I should move out. Heidi–”
“I don’t want you to move anywhere. I want you here, where I know you’re okay. I won’t rush anything else, but please, stay here with me until we know everything is sorted out, at least.”
I thought about it. I’d still not heard from Heidi. I had no idea if she’d even returned home from Italy yet, so I didn’t have anywhere else to go. That still wasn’t a good enough reason to stay. I looked at Elliott again, allowing myself to really look at him; his intense blue eyes, intent on me, the colour I imagined the oceans I’d always dreamed of swimming in would look, windows to the soul of the man within. I could see kindness, gentleness, even more, within them. He felt safe, like home.
“If you’re sure you really want me to, I’ll stay,” I promised. His smile eclipsed any last reservations I may have had.
Chapter 20
Sharing the bathroom the next morning, as we both got ready for work, was strange. In so many ways our relationship already had many of the intimacies of a longer-term relationship, and yet we were in the early stages of whatever this thing between us turned out to be. I giggled as he nudged against me at every opportunity, brushing past as he made excuses to fetch items on the opposite side of the room. I stole glimpses of his body as he showered, which only strengthened the desire to touch him. I knew I had the same effect on him.
“I want to take you out to dinner tonight,” Elliott announced, pulling me against his chest and kissing my just-glossed lips, as I finished up the final touches to my makeup.
“What about Malcolm? Isn’t he coming round? Don’t we need to plan things?” I said, brushing the residue of my gloss from his lips with my thumb. His teeth caught the pad and bit down gently, making me gasp. His eyes darkened at the sound, his pupils expanding, as the sexual tension in the room thickened. If he kissed me now, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stop it from going further. Last night we’d managed to step away from one another, and sleep in our own rooms. I didn’t know how long I would be able to last with that arrangement. I was horny. With the way he was looking at me now, I was done for if he even tried to kiss me.
Elliott groaned and, with steely resolve, stepped away and looked down at his watch. “We both need to get dressed and go to work before we lose our jobs.” His husky voice told me plenty about what he’d rather do. My lips opened slightly, my nipples tightening in response to his unspoken words. “Jesus, Sam,” he groaned, taking a step towards me, as he allowed the
towel to drop, his hands reaching.
His mobile ringing from the other room broke the spell.
He stepped away again, sporting a large erection which I stared at unashamedly, before he grabbed his dropped towel and sprinted into the other room. My body pulsed for him, the heat he’d caused seeping away slowly.
He wanted to take it slow, and what had I done? Thrown myself at him. I grabbed my things and slipped into my bedroom to dress, irritated with myself, the low murmur of his side of the phone conversation carrying from the lounge. I plaited my hair quickly and then slipped into my favourite black pencil skirt and the white blouse he’d mentioned I’d been wearing the first time he saw me. I was slipping into a pair of heels when he finally stuck his head round the door, now sporting a shirt and chinos.
“Damn,” he said, as soon as he saw what I was wearing. “You did that on purpose.” He stalked towards me. “How the hell am I meant to concentrate on saving people when I know you’re out and about looking like that?” He ran a finger down the skin exposed at the neck of the shirt.
“I’m wearing it for your benefit.”
“I hope so. I told you, I won’t share. Will you wear that tonight for me too? I said we’d meet Malcolm back here after our meal. It’s taken him longer than he expected to pull all the data together into a report. We’ll see him here about ten. Are you okay to meet me at this restaurant after my shift at work? About seven-ish?” He handed me a piece of paper with an address on it.
