by M. W. Duncan
“May I have your attention? You have reached your journey’s end. Please exit the bus in an organised fashion and wait outside. Your names will be called. You will be processed then taken to rooms for rest. Food and drinks will be provided. This way, please.”
Ryan stood. The ceaseless hours of inactivity were not kind to his legs. He squeezed his toes asking circulation to return. None of the passengers moved quickly. Seemed they all suffered the same pains. He looked down to their footwear as if he might see toes scrunching. Ryan was the first to exit the bus. The cold air at first was refreshing. He breathed deeply, then coughed, then wrapped his arms around himself and waited for the other travellers to alight.
The gate behind them moved, the small motor humming as the barrier wheeled back into place. Heavy mesh topped with razor wire spanned the height of the entrance. Up on the high perimeter walls men walked in patrol, none of them obviously armed. Smart. It made sense to conceal the building’s true purpose. Ryan did not see them as they approached, he was too focused on the building itself.
In the shadow of the building two women sat behind a portable table, sheltered by an open-sided canopy. Artificial light from laptops illuminated their faces. They smiled in welcome and began calling names. The new arrivals waited in silence, and when called spent no more than two minutes being processed. There did not seem to be an order, not alphabetical certainly. Not of age. Not of height. The cold bit at Ryan to the point he almost made a protest at the length of time they waited.
“Ryan Bannister?”
“Here.” He stepped forward, arms wrapped around himself.
The woman sitting before him was pretty, late forties, and hair hidden by a woollen hat. Her lips defined her, artificially plump and red as blood. She watched him with a predator’s interest, her dark eyes studying every part of him.
“Welcome to Sanctuary.”
Sanctuary? Not very creative.
“Your journey is at an end. All we’re doing at this point is registering you and giving you your keycard. It will allow you free passage around the areas of the building you’re entitled to.”
“I was hoping to speak with Hector Crispin tonight.”
“That will not be possible. He has also just arrived from an arduous journey. Perhaps tomorrow. If he wants it to happen I am sure you will be summoned.”
“I don’t think you understand. Actually, I never caught your name?”
“Mr. Bannister, here we all have roles to fulfil. I’m doing mine. Let me sign you in. Get some rest and all your questions will be answered in due course. Here is your ID card. It also serves as your key, and as you can see it sits on the lanyard. It’s important to wear it at all times.”
Ryan placed the lanyard around his neck.
“Room thirteen. Fourth floor. Refreshments are available there.”
“Hector Crispin will summon me.”
“If you say so, Mr. Bannister. Enjoy your stay.”
The lobby was large and vaulted. A guard stood at a very long, unmanned reception desk. He pointed to the stairs at the far end of the room. Ryan obeyed the silent direction. The lift access point was closed off. Four flights of stairs! His legs seemed to protest, and he looked at everyone else’s legs expecting to see the same. But they all moved. So he moved, too.
The first floor mezzanine overlooked the entrance. A man with slicked back, dark hair stood with hands resting on the barrier, and watched as the new arrivals filtered in. Some of the travellers left the stairs and headed to their rooms. The same happened at the second and third floors. Ryan was suitably out of breath, and a little self-conscious about his lack of fitness when he arrived at the fourth floor. He had walked city streets for miles and miles, yet found four sets of stairs a challenge? Must be the flight followed by the long bus ride. Too much of nothing.
He walked up the corridor, studying each door. They all had the names of the occupants on a small sign to the side of the door. He reached room thirteen. To the left of the door, his name adorned a label above a doorbell, just like all the others. Below it, a scanner. Ryan touched his keycard to the scanner and the door unlocked with a click.
A large bed with crisp, white sheets and pillows. A TV attached to the wall. No kitchen facilities. Bottled water, a pre-packaged sandwich and a net of tangerines on a small table pushed up against the wall. A tall wardrobe was open. Blankets were folded on the high shelves, five plastic coat hangers hung from a rod and an ironing board stood on end. The bathroom was tiny yet functional and smelt of cleaning fluid. It was like a clean two-star hotel.
So this is where he would wait out the apocalypse?
***
Static interrupted some of the reporting on the radio. They must have been in an area with limited reception.
Gemma played with the dial. She knew the government manipulated the release of information. They did exactly that during the Aberdeen breakout. The world did not know for days. But whatever slice of information she could receive was better than none.
“Areas to avoid, Aberdeen and the surrounding areas.”
“Bastards,” she whispered. “Old news.”
“Quarantine was breached and infected are moving outside the city limits. The Civilian Assistance Force is redeploying and communities are being evacuated. Outbreaks are reported in Edinburgh, Glasgow, Dundee, Perth and Inverness. Government officials advise to remain where you are, and wait—”
More static.
“Let me try.” Jacob leaned across.
She slapped at his hand. “Concentrate on the road!”
They travelled around a blind bend. Smoking metal and twisted car bodies blocked the road.
“Watch out!”
Jacob slammed on the breaks.
“What’s happened? A fire of some kind?” he suggested.
“An airstrike,” said Gemma. “Look, you can see the scorch marks from the blast.”
“Jesus, no!” Jacob unbuckled his seatbelt.
“What are you doing?”
“Bodies! Those are people!”
“No, Jacob. If they were blown up from an airstrike, it was for good reason.”
Jacob ignored her warning and jumped out of the car.
“Is anyone alive?” Jacob called out.
“Shit,” Gemma said to no one. She knew what was coming. She had seen it before, too many times. Gemma climbed across and into the driver’s seat. She opened the window. “Get in,” she called as quietly as she could.
“Hello? We can help if there’s anyone there.”
“Jacob, you’re about to be a dead man. Get in.”
Far beyond the wreckages, up on the banks, shadows appeared.
“You get in now, or you’re on your own.”
“What are they?”
Gemma revved the car. That had Jacob limping as fast as he could. He climbed in.
The infected were on the move. They fell down the embankment, righted themselves and charged. Gemma slipped the car into reverse, accelerated and headed back the way they’d come.
“They’re following!” screamed Jacob.
“No shit!”
“They’re coming fast.”
“They always do. Buckle up.”
“I was trying to help. There could have been someone out there injured.”
“Learn a lesson. Next time, listen to me.”
“Sure,” he said meekly.
“We had soldiers to pull the trigger back in the hospital, but now, it’s just you and me. So we do not play Good Samaritan when it’s obvious the infected are close by. Got it?”
“I said yes, didn’t I? We need to pull over somewhere and figure out where we should go.”
“We’re heading back south, back toward the hospital.”
“Why?”
She didn’t reply.
“Do you have a plan?”
“No.”
“No?”
“The next city heading south is Dundee. We should avoid it, if possible.”
�
�Maybe we should get off the main roads?”
“That’s what I’m trying to do.”
“Can we do something about food and drink? I’ve not eaten for hours.”
Five miles later they reached a turnoff, little more than a minor road, but it took them off the arterial motorway. Ahead, the road turned into a serpentine challenge. Driving conditions were poor. They drove in silence, pulling further away from the dangers of the main roads. In all the years Gemma lived in Aberdeen, she had no cause to explore some of the more remote towns and villages around the city, so this was all alien to her. She was sure eventually they would come to some kind of population centre, somewhere they could find supplies and perhaps information. What she wanted to avoid was arriving at a large town that could be gripped by infection.
Ahead came the reassuring glow of street lights. A cluster of houses spanned either side of the road, the type of hamlet that Gemma would normally drive through without sparring a second thought. But here, she studied everything. She looked for signs of life. Indications that she was being watched. Anything to suggest she was not alone. Where had the people gone? Were they dead inside or one of the numberless infected stalking the world.
On the far side were six houses. On their side, two houses and a small shop that also served as a post office. All the houses were in darkness, curtains closed, no sign of activity.
“Looks quiet enough.” Gemma turned the engine off. “The infected don’t have the lights and TV on. Looks safe until they come running out of the dark.”
Jacob leaned forward. “Look at the shop. The door is open, right? It’s not just me that see’s that?”
“Seems like it,” said Gemma. “Someone could have broken into the shop.”
“Saves us the trouble then, doesn’t it?”
“Follow my lead. If I say stop, you stop.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Don’t be cocky. One bad move and I’m in trouble too. So be smart or you might not live to make a second mistake.”
They both got out of the car. Gemma pulled on her backpack, and they walked toward the shop. The wind blew over them with ruthless force. Gemma touched a hand to the knife stashed down her boot. She’d get to it quickly if the need presented itself.
The door of the shop was open, the lights off inside. Pinned to the frame of the door, a hand written note, secured inside a plastic pocket.
Jacob wiped his hand over the face of the sheet.
Take only what you need. Be safe. Be generous. God bless.
He poked his head through the threshold.
“It’s dark but it looks empty.”
Jacob stepped into the shop, his feet crunching on broken glass, and made a lot of noise as he made his way through the shelves.
Gemma waited.
“It’s a mess,” he said.
The infected reacted to noise instantly, but Gemma sensed no movement.
“You coming in?” he asked.
She waited a little more, then peeked inside. Still no sign of any infected. She stepped in. The shelves were tightly placed. Much of the stock was depleted or missing. Empty packets littered the floor. Beyond the shop, the post office annex was locked up, a secured gate blocking access to it.
“Be quick,” she said. “Take what you can then we head back to the car.”
“We could turn the lights on.”
“No. No lights.”
“Well, don’t blame me if I grab something past its date.”
“You grab something past its date, and it’s yours.”
Gemma bent low. On the bottom shelf she found three bottles of water and two bottles of soda.
The blow to the back of her head came so quickly, it sent her sprawling across the floor. She rolled ready to fight off the infected. Jacob stood over her, a can held high in his hand.
“Don’t try get up or I’ll hit you again.”
“You bastard,” she said feeling the gash at the back of her head.
“Yeah maybe. But I’m taking the car and leaving. It’s nothing personal. In the hospital I needed you. Now I don’t.”
Gemma’s hand moved to her boot.
“No, no, no you don’t.” Jacob leant in closer with the can.
She stilled.
“You go for that knife, and the next hit will send you to la la land.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“It’s all about survival. What you said to me at the wrecks about helping people, you’re right, I don’t know you. You could be planning to get rid of me when the moment is right. I intend to live a long and happy life. So I’m starting right now. Goodbye, Gemma. You take care now.”
Jacob left. Moments later the car started and the lights briefly lit up the windows.
Gemma touched at her wound and brought her fingers to her face. Blood.
“You’re an idiot, Gemma.”
She stood, and held onto the shelf as dizziness came and went.
“Who’d have thought he had it in him?” she said to the shelves. “What to do now?”
No car. No phone. No Black Aquila to help. Information that did her little good.
Gemma closed the door, blocking out the night. With the door closed, it felt warmer. Or at least she told herself that. The till tray on the counter was open but empty. A small plug-in bar heater sat in the corner. She clicked it on. A cheery orange glow and welcome heat pumped out. In the morning, she would look for a first-aid kit to clean and dress her forehead. After that she would look to making her way. Where? She did not know.
***
“What do you think?” asked Brutus.
“I think you’re crazy but you know that,” answered Niall.
Lying flat in the damp, on the roof of a building, they could study Brutus’s target through binoculars.
“We used a lot of ammo getting here,” said Niall. “The creatures won’t be content to stay within the city centre. They’ll spread outwards soon.”
“That’s why we need to work quickly. Looks like this place isn’t fully functioning yet. So we either need to go now before they beef up security, or we come up with another plan. Our options are slipping away by the second.”
Niall lowered his binoculars. “Have you ever read about Richard the Lionheart? He crusaded to capture Jerusalem and when he finally reached the walls of the city, he realised he needed to turn back. He didn’t have the troops or the resources to survive a lengthy siege.”
“Thank you, Professor History.”
“We’re a small team. If we take it, we can hold it. But what happens to the people already there? Do we force them to leave? Are they collateral? Do we try to work out an arrangement?”
“You sound like you care.”
Niall shrugged. “Contingencies only. Don’t read more into it than that.”
“We can take it, fast and quiet. After that, we decide what to do.”
Brutus and Niall moved from their observation point and returned to the van.
The team had arrived. Ash Gibbons, Roy Smart, Magnus Munson, Freddo McLeod and Stuart Taylor. They stood at the roadside strapping on their gear.
“I’ve shot out the surrounding streetlights. Will give us a concealed approach,” announced Brutus.
“Other security? External cameras?” asked Roy.
“There’s more cameras stuck on that building than I could count. I shot one out and waited. Nobody came to investigate. My guess is they’re not monitored. Not yet at least. So I took them all out. Still nothing. Our approach is secure.”
“You’ve been busy,” said Roy, nodding.
“More than you know. Murray, take the families into this office building.” Brutus indicated an address on a map. “They can wait it out there. We’re going in soon.”
Magnus Munson sat in the back of the van checking the mechanisms of the AK-47s. “What are we facing, Brutus?”
“Full complement of staff and residents has not arrived yet. We go in fast and clean. Roy will be on the roo
f of the office block over there, and you’ll take out the four sentries on the walls. We make our way to the gate, fight our way in, secure the courtyard and proceed inside. Once we have the hallway, we’ll move floor to floor, sweeping as we go. I expect unarmed civilians, but at the first sign of trouble, take them out.”
“We’re wasting time here,” said Freddo. “Let’s do this.”
“Roy, take position.”
Roy slung his Russian-made sniper rifle over his shoulder and dashed off.
Magnus screwed suppressors to each rifle and handed them out. “Four magazines and three grenades each. But remember that’s our new home.”
“Niall,” said Brutus, “once we’re inside the perimeter I want you on the walls.”
Niall nodded.
Brutus stuffed the magazines into his tac vest, securing them in the pouches. He slotted a fifth magazine into the weapon and made it ready.
The team looked a little nervous, and with good reason. If they were to fail here the options were limited in what they could do next. The infected were sure to arrive before long.
“Okay, boys. Time to move. Fast, silent and hard. You know how we work.”
Magnus closed the side door of the van and readied his weapon.
Brutus led the five men. They hugged the walls of the buildings, holding to the shadows. It made him smile as he imagined the chaos to come.
Rain was falling. They reached a warehouse and Brutus raised a hand. His team halted.
“From here, we turn left, down a side street and right. We’ll come out at the edge of the wall. We wait for Roy to take the sentries on the wall, then we proceed parallel to the wall, reach the gate, take out the three sentries on the gate. Remember, no radios for now.”
Brutus set off again, his team a step behind. They splashed through puddles and rounded the corner. The side street was little more than waste ground between two walls of the warehouse. Thick and overgrown with weeds, the ground turned at hidden angles beneath the green. Brutus reached a chain-link fence at the end. He cupped his hands and boosted each member of his team up and over the fence. Brutus followed them over.
They remained crouched, covered by the shadow of the building. Brutus crept to the corner of the building. The wall was fifty metres ahead. Brutus pulled his binoculars free and scanned the rooftop for Roy. If Brutus had not known where to look, he could have spent hours searching the similar rooftops for the sniper. Roy knew his craft well.
