by M. W. Duncan
“We need to go. Now!”
“I haven’t budged much,” Jacob said with panic. “It’s not enough to drive.”
“It’ll have to do. Get in, I’ll push.”
Jacob pushed the accelerator and the wheels spun and spat out snow and slush. Much of it hit Gemma, but she rocked the car with all the strength she could muster.
“Gemma!” William descended the steps.
The car lurched forward, but not enough. She replanted her feet and pushed and pushed. Jacob floored the accelerator, throwing up a fountain of white, and the car escaped its snow tomb.
Gemma pulled off her backpack and jumped into the passenger seat. “Drive!”
“What about him?”
William was only metres away.
“Just drive.”
“Where?”
“Are you really such an idiot? Just drive, Jacob.”
“Okay, okay.”
He put the car in gear and drove.
***
Jane sat at the dinner table eating yet another muesli bar. She would have loved a bowl of fresh strawberries and pears for dessert, and a huge helping of chocolate ice-cream, but the shops didn’t offer those anymore. Oats rolled into a bar with honey and preservatives and wrapped in foil paper were her treats now.
Carter never seemed to be still in one place for long. He circumnavigated the rooms yet again as she chewed and longed for something fresher. His shirt could not hide the weapon tucked into his belt. Carter peeked through the split in the curtains. He touched a finger to his ear, pressing the small headphone bud. She knew he monitored several channels and public radio. But he never shared what he heard.
“Get you some coffee, Carter?” Jane pointed to the kettle.
Carter shook his head, turned back from the window and put his hand over his ear.
“It’s hot.”
He waved her to silence, and pulled out a small notepad from his pocket. He motioned for something to write with. Jane rolled a pen toward him.
“Suppose a muesli bar wouldn’t interest you either?” she said quietly.
He scribbled, his face a mask of neutrality, then dropped the pen, pulled the earphone free and rubbed his temples.
“What is it? Something’s wrong?”
“It’s starting,” he said evenly. He did not look up. He didn’t seem alarmed. He just appeared resigned. “There’s outbreaks reported at the major cities. The car’s packed?”
“Yes. We did what you said.” They had prepared for emergencies. Essentials were packed into the car. The fuel tank was full. Carter had even practised a speedy exit five times, the kids finding it great fun to get faster with each try.
“Good. Go get Jacqui without worrying the kids. Can you do that?”
Jane stood from the table. “How close is the outbreak? How near are they to us?”
“We need to move quickly.”
“Carter?”
“Very close. This isn’t common knowledge so we can beat the panic that is certain to come.”
“Can we get help?”
“We are the help. Now please get Jacqui.”
Jane ran to the dark living room. The TV gave off a little light. “Jacqui, Carter is wondering if he could have a word with you in the kitchen.”
Jacqui looked to her with alarm, but didn’t say a word, just casually left the couch. “I’ll be back in a minute, kids.”
The kids were too focused on the TV to care.
“What is it?” she whispered when away from the kids.
“It’s happening. We need to move.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
Carter called out, “Turn the lights off, now.”
Jacqui and Jane obeyed immediately and plunged the house into darkness.
“Mom!”
“Grab the kids,” ordered Carter. “They must be silent.”
Jacqui was gone before Carter could finish his sentence. Jane was by Carter’s side in the kitchen. He was pulling the assault rifle down from the top cupboard, the rifle Williamson provided.
“What’s going on, Carter?”
There was a click as Carter loaded the rifle.
“They’re here.” He screwed a long silencer to the end of the weapon and slung the bag of ammunition over his shoulder.
Jane rushed to the window. Down the road, in the street, people milled about outside a house. From this distance, it seemed they were dancing a fast and violent jig. But she knew better. The infected, once seen, were impossible to forget. They had time, there was a lot of houses between there and here. But Jane felt a storm of fear ready to rip her in two.
“You’ve seen this all before, Jane. You know what to do. Jane?”
“Yes. Yes, I know.” She breathed in deeply, one long breath and held it for four seconds, then followed Carter into the living room.
“Quietly now, everyone. Kids, just like we practised, we’re going to leave the house.”
“No talking, kids, remember?” said Jane.
The kids nodded their understanding.
“Once we walk through the front door, you look to me for direction. You do what I say. You watch for my hand signals.” Carter looked between Jacqui and Jane. “We’re going to be okay. I promise you that. We head to the safe house. You remember the directions I gave you? If something happens to me, you know where to go, right?”
The women nodded. Jacqui helped Luke and Katie into their coats.
“I’ll lead, go out and open each door. Jacqui, you take Luke. Jane, take Katie. Get them strapped in.”
“We know,” said Jane. “That’s how we practised.”
Carter almost smiled. He unlocked the heavy door, stepped out into the night, weapon ready. He moved steadily, scanning with the rifle. He reached the car and pulled the keys from his pocket, unlocked the vehicle and opened each door in turn. The internal lights did not flicker on. Carter had removed the globes earlier, and at the same time he had covered the head and tail lights with duct tape.
Carter scanned the perimeter then signalled the group to leave the house. Jacqui led with Luke in her arms. Jane followed behind, holding Katie’s hand. With each step, Jacqui turned making sure Katie was safe.
Jane’s hands shook, making snapping the seatbelt to lock difficult. Jacqui leaned into the car, took over and locked the belt in place. Jacqui squeezed her way into the middle seat in the back of the car, between the two kids. Jane jumped into the front seat.
The infected trampled the garden beds of a house five doors down. That front door was ajar, so too, the door to the house across the road.
Jane knew what that meant. Those neighbours were doomed. They needed to be going.
Despite all the practicing, Katie grew anxious. She whimpered. Jacqui placed her hand over her mouth, and whispered soft words into her daughter’s ear. Jane silently pleaded for Carter to get into the car and drive. But Carter’s rifle was up. The rabble turned their way. Some sniffed at the air. Dark shapes appeared from some of the houses, their attention pointed at the car.
Carter swore. He pulled the keys from his pocket and threw them to Jane.
“Drive,” he ordered.
Carter fired and two heads burst open. Jane pushed herself from the passenger seat, scrambled over the gear shift and into the driver’s seat. She started the engine, and put it into gear. Luke’s cries joined Katie’s.
“Carter!” shouted Jacqui.
Jane released the handbrake. The car rolled forward.
Carter blasted the infected closing in on the driveway. They fell, but one crawled further on its belly. It was fast, its jaws snapping. Carter bolted to the car and dived in. Jane stepped on the accelerator. The car bounced over the crawling infected. Out on the roadway she hit three bodies. They bounced off the bonnet. Luke and Katie screamed. Jane swerved and swerved again.
“Keep the tyres on the road,” ordered Carter.
“I’m trying!”
Two jumped onto the bonnet of the car, their fa
ces at the windscreen.
“Mum! Mum!”
“Shhh, honey. We’ll be alright!”
“Go! Go! Go!” Carter pulled his Glock free.
“Go where?” said Jane. “I can’t see!”
“Left! Go left! Now!”
Jane tugged the wheel hard. The bodies slid across the bonnet and onto the ground.
“Floor it!”
“Where are they all coming from?” shrieked Jacqui.
The engine roared. The kids whimpered. They were away, away from the danger.
“Check your mirrors,” ordered Carter.
Empty roads. “Nothing,” said Jane.
“Mummy, what where they?” asked Katie.
“They were your neighbours,” Carter explained with no emotion.
***
Eric awoke to confusion. He was no longer cold, no longer subjected to the elements, no longer believing he was about to die. He was in a room, the wallpapered walls busy with swirling patterns. Musty curtains were half-pulled across the only window. Photos of people he did not know hung on the walls alongside paintings of landscapes and cities he could not place. A log fire pumped out an intense heat, a block of wood sparking and spitting. His head rested on bumpy pillows on a fold-down sofa. A thick eiderdown covered him from chest to feet. Eric ached all over, and stiffness made everything feel locked.
A black and white Collie lay on a padded bed on the floor. It looked at Eric with a lazy interest, one ear moving searching for sound.
He beckoned the dog with his hand. The Collie stretched and yawned before jumping up onto the bed. The motion kicked off a stabbing pain in Eric’s chest. He petted the dog. SKYE was engraved on a silver medallion attached to its collar.
“Hello, girl.” His throat was raw, his voice crackling like the fire.
Skye licked Eric’s face.
“Skye, get down!” An older women, her hair tied back into a tight bun, pointed to the dog’s bed. Skye obeyed and nestled back on her bed.
“It’s good to see you awake finally. We’ve been calling you John. Doesn’t seem to fit now you’re awake.”
“Eric,” he coughed. “Eric Mann.”
“Well, Eric Mann, I’m Hazel Ingram.”
“Let’s get some water into you, shall we?” She held a glass to his lips. “Slow now. Don’t want you choking. You’ve not had much since you’ve been here.”
He chugged at the water, not stopping to wince at the sting in his throat.
“Slow now. You’ve been with us for, oh, I think this is the fourth day now. You were lucky my husband Allan was out walking the dog in the snow. You lying there out cold. If you’d been there for much longer then … well, I suppose that doesn’t matter now, does it?”
“Anyone know I’m here?”
“We rang the authorities. But they never came.” Hazel shook her head. “Things have gotten strange of late.”
“Strange?”
She laughed. “Inquisitive aren’t we? Well, yesterday the television went down. It’s as if the signal isn’t there. Then the power started to go off and on. Now we’re using paraffin lamps and have to heat our own water. We’ve not seen a soul for days now, except you.”
“What about the radio?” He moved and winced at the pain.
“Now you lay still there. Plenty of time to mend. Allan hasn’t put the radio on for a few days. He says things are bad enough.”
“I need to know what’s happening.”
“So the soldier’s awake?” A tall man appeared at the doorway, a well-maintained shotgun at his side. He stood with a firm confidence that left Eric certain he was entirely capable of using the firearm, and using it well.
“Oh for Godsakes, Allan. Put that thing away.” Hazel left the bedside and pushed the barrel of Allan’s firearm toward the ground.
Allan walked to the corner of the room and sank down into a creaky, old chair. He rested the shotgun between his legs, reached down and scratched Skye behind the ear.
“Allan, this is Eric. And you’re to remember he’s our guest. He was asking for our radio.”
“He can have the radio after he’s answered some questions. What were you doing out in the snow all banged up? You’re a soldier?”
“I’m not a soldier. I work for Black Aquila, a security company. I was in a crash.”
“Why were you flying overhead?”
“Heading to help a friend. She’s in a difficult position.”
“Is all this connected to the troubles up in Aberdeen?”
“Yes. I won’t impose any longer. I need to get back.” He moved and cringed.
“Oh no, young man. Your legs won’t carry you far. You need to rest up.”
Allan stood from the chair. “Give him the radio. I’m going to take Skye out for a walk.”
“Another one? You’ll have her run to skin and bones before you’re done.”
“You know she likes the exercise. Come on, girl.”
Skye leapt up, her tail wagging wildly.
“Sit, girl,” he ordered, and the obedient dog did as instructed, her eyes keen for the next instruction. Allan studied Eric, a warning in his glare. “Come,” he said to the dog, and they were both gone.
“Well let me get that radio for you, Eric. Forgive Allan if he comes across as overbearing. These are unusual days, and he’s a little uptight.”
Hazel headed off. A door banged loudly and footsteps could be heard on a veranda outside. The dog barked; they were happy sounds. The swirling patterns on the wallpaper were actually floral images. A log in the fire rolled. Skye’s barks were further off.
Hazel returned. “Give it a good crank. It’s quite old. I’ll leave you to it. If you need anything else you can just shout.”
“Are your phones working?”
“They were. Not anymore.”
Eric wound up the old radio and flicked the switch. The radio burst into life, hissing static. He extended the aerial and twisted the dial. Faint voices broke through the distortion but not enough to understand. He picked up the odd word here and there, and played with the dial again.
“Outbreaks … secure yourself … following routes are to be avoided … London, Birmingham, Manchester, Newcastle, Nottingham … virus has been reported … do not approach …”
It happened. Williamson was right.
Chapter 6
Arise, A King.
And there stood his prize waiting to be claimed. Brutus had run his plan through his head so many times his skull thumped. It was a large building with a lot of walls to patrol. It would hold back a tide of infected. It was perfect.
Brutus could have skulked off to some remote, tropical island, a place where the virus would likely never reach, away from a dying city. But where would be the fun in that? Brutus liked violence. He could not say why, nor did he really care. Brutus did what Brutus wanted.
Security was minimal; to avoid attention he assumed. An attack now would be preferable. His team was due to arrive in two hours, their families in tow.
More aircraft buzzed overhead. Military mostly, with a splattering of civilian. The signs were pointing toward something happening imminently, and Brutus’s guess was that guests of The Owls of Athena would arrive within the next seventy-two hours. And that pointed to the engineered outbreak coming, and soon.
Brutus walked back to his van, through puddles filled over and again by the incessant Glasgow rain. He reached in, pulled out his tac vest and strapped it on.
***
Everything felt different since landing in the UK. Ryan Bannister allowed himself to be ushered along, a spectator to his own existence. He placed utter trust in The Owls of Athena. There was no alternative really. Without them, he would likely be one of the infected by now. Or dead. But what he did in Seattle, his home city, to think about it now made bile rise. Telling himself that he had no choice, true or not, did not help. The consequence of survival was to be haunted by his actions.
When the plane landed they were met by heavy security,
ushered onto two buses and again instructed not to speak to other passengers. Three escort vehicles guided the buses north. Ryan fell asleep three times, and excused himself just as many times to use the toilet at the back of the bus. He was nervous. He was fidgeting. His cell was out of charge and there was little to do. Someone snored loudly. The woman next to him read a battered paperback while music blared from her headphones. Her head swayed to the music now and again. Through the little music Ryan could hear, it was classical stuff, something very melancholic. The cover of her book suggested the novel was about a Japanese woman during wartime. The two didn’t match. Beethoven and a geisha? And how could the woman listen to music and read a book? She was possibly a multi-skilled woman. Of course she was skilled. Everyone on the bus had some use, didn’t they? He wanted to ask about her particular use. Curiosity was ready to burst from his busy fingers. But he knew the rules, knew to remain silent. He had witnessed what happened to people who didn’t obey.
They moved through the streets of a city at night. London. He knew one of the sanctuaries to be located there. More than once the bus rocked violently as it rolled up onto the sidewalk to avoid congestion, before returning to the road. The cars they passed were filled with families, each vehicle stuffed with belongings, bag upon bag filling parcel shelves. Children slept between piles of clothes. A dog lay across the lap of a sleeping woman, one hand resting upon its back. These forlorn people were refugees.
But where did Ryan Bannister fit into all this? That remained to be seen.
The convoy ground to a halt. He could see the building in front. He recognised the design as a scaled down version of the one in Japan. Tall walls surrounded a monolithic building lit up against the oppressive night. Armed men moved at the gate ahead, waving the convoy into the courtyard. They slowly pulled in, the bus bouncing on a speed bump which ran the length of the gate. Floodlights within the courtyard broke the darkness. Ryan shielded his eyes until they adapted. They parked in a designated zone, following the instructions of a man in a reflective vest waving his hands about.
The coach door opened and one of the armed guards leapt up the steps.
