The End Tide (Carrion Virus Book 3)

by M. W. Duncan

  Taylor pulled up outside the lobby in the minibus and threw Brutus a thumbs up.

  Brutus briefed his men on the evacuation process and they moved into place.

  “Silas?” he called out.

  “Yes?” Silas appeared at the lip of the mezzanine wall.

  “Start sending your men down, one at a time.”

  Silas moved out of view.

  The first soldier appeared, his arms on his head, his steps down the stairs orderly and controlled. He reached the bottom step.

  “Far enough,” said Ash Gibbons. Ash patted the man down with a practiced hand while Taylor aimed his firearm at the man’s head.

  The soldier’s eyes did not move from Taylor’s trigger finger.

  “Clear,” announced Ash, and the soldier was waved to the entrance door.

  Number seven of the ten security detail marched past Brutus. He walked with his fists balled, arms rigid to his side.

  “Hand’s on head, asshole,” Brutus warned, his weapon aimed.

  The soldier ignored Brutus’s warning and upon reaching Taylor threw a shoulder into him. Brutus reached them as Taylor drew his sidearm. At close range Brutus fired a single round into the soldier’s neck. The shot rang out, the impact of the bullet almost tearing the soldier’s head clean off. He fell forward. Dead.

  Taylor spun and aimed his handgun at those in the minibus. “Make a move and you’re dead, too. All of you.”

  Brutus kicked the body over. “Anyone else tries something like this and you’ll be lying next to him.” He marched back into the building, leaving Taylor outside to cover them.

  Silas watched from the upper level, grasping the rail. He shook his head but said nothing to Brutus.

  “Send the next one down,” ordered Brutus.

  The rest of the security team were processed without incident.

  Silas came back down the stairs. “That’s the lot of them. Just me left. Would you care to inspect the weapons and managers?”

  Brutus looked to the stairs. Silas could have lied, have double the men and set up an ambush. Somehow he doubted it. “Stay here. I’ll call for you.”

  Brutus waved Ash to guard Silas. He climbed the stairs, reaching the upper level, and there stood the pile of weapons: MP5s, pistols and magazines. Further along the corridor that lead away from the overhang of the upper level, three people knelt. Their hands were secured behind their backs, black bags over their heads. They appeared to be wearing nightwear. One of the men was topless. The other wore a plain grey shirt. The female was wrapped in a housecoat, thin and see through it left little to the imagination. Even from the distance Brutus could see they breathed quickly.

  He crossed to the wall and looked out over the lobby. “Send Silas up.”

  Ash pushed Silas Salt toward the stairs. He laughed, only a little, only enough to irritate Ash who moved to punish him but Brutus raised a hand.

  Freddo now stood with Taylor guarding the minibus. The driver’s seat was still empty. No doubt Roy watched everything unfold and would take a shot if he felt the situation necessitated action.

  Silas reached the top step and walked onto the upper level toward Brutus. He swept a hand down to the pile of weapons and ammunition. “As promised. The men expect safe conduct from the building and some means of protection returned to them.”

  “Join your men and leave.”

  “I’m not going.”

  “Trust me, you’re going. One way or another you’ll be leaving this place. I don’t much care how.”

  “You need me.” Silas crossed his arms. “You need me more than you know.”

  Brutus laughed this time. “I don’t need you. I have them.” He pointed to the three restrained managers. “Anything I need they will tell me.”

  “And if they won’t talk?”

  “Getting people to talk has never been something I struggled with.”

  “You need me,” he said again.

  “I’m done talking, Silas. You and your men will leave now.” He felt like launching Silas from the mezzanine.

  “What if I had something to show you?”

  “I’m not interested.” But he was. He was always interested in information. Brutus stepped closer to Silas.

  “What I have to show you might just make the difference between you holding onto this place, and you and your men being dead within twenty-four hours.”

  “You have five minutes, Silas. For your sake, don’t waste any of it.”

  “Then follow me.”

  Brutus leaned over the barrier and signed that he would be back in five minutes and pulled the Glock from his leg holster.

  Silas lead the way through the main corridor of the first floor. Each door was uniformed in pale wooden panelling, most probably reinforced with metal, the keycard scanners lit by a single, red light. They reached a door at the end of the corridor. Silas turned. Brutus raised the pistol.

  “You won’t need that, I promise.”

  “Prove it.”

  Silas pulled a keycard attached to his belt by a cord and extended it to the door scanner. The light blinked from red to green and the lock opened with a click.

  “Here we are.” Silas opened the door, swinging it wide.

  Brutus stepped back and aimed the Glock at Silas.

  ***

  Something woke Eric. A morning noise? A dream? He was not sure. The fire glowed, the embers giving one final effort before succumbing. Skye snored softly. He climbed out of bed. His head pounded. While rest healed his body, it also made him weak and stiff. He moved clumsily. His freshly washed and ironed clothes sat neatly piled on a chair. Skye moved from the bed, her front paws extended out in a stretch. She yawned and padded over to Eric giving his hand a lick. He dressed and left the bedroom. Every light in the house was off. The house was silent except for the ticking of a clock somewhere. The room felt cluttered. Every few steps brought another obstacle to feel his way around. He reached the front door and opened it as quietly as possible. Skye gave a whimper at being left in the house.

  The coming sun, still below the horizon, provided a little light to the landscape. Snow fell irregularly, not a heavy shower but enough to remind people that winter was far from over in rural Scotland. The temperature must have been somewhere below freezing and minus five. Eric’s breath misted. Footprints in the snow led off to the right and around the side of the house. He followed them for the moment, with no real idea of why he was outside other than the sense that something could be wrong.

  “Jesus!” Allan appeared from around the corner, his shotgun in hand. “What are you doing out here?”

  “I heard a noise and thought to come out here to make sure everything was okay. I didn’t expect to find you.”

  “Is Hazel alright?” he asked with urgency.

  “I don’t know.”

  “She didn’t wake?”

  “Not that I know of. What’s going on?”

  “Follow me.”

  Allan led Eric away from the house, toward the outbuildings, his rifle pointing downwards. He reached into a shed and pulled out an old jacket, thick and waterproof. Dried mud caked the material. He threw it to Eric.

  “Thanks.”

  “You need to promise me that you won’t say a thing to Hazel. She’s a gentle woman. A kind woman, you understand? What I don’t tell her, I do out of love. She wouldn’t understand. But you, lad. I think you might understand all too well. And I think you may have some ideas.”

  They crunched through the snow.

  “What is it you think I understand, Mr. Ingram?”

  “You know how the world is now. There’s been a change. I don’t claim to understand it. I listen to the radio. And I watched the TV before it went dead. It’s things. Society is breaking down. Worse than that. And I suspect you’ve been exposed to it.”

  Eric didn’t respond.

  “Out here, I thought we would be safe from the worst of it. We’ve always been left to our own devices. Nobody to bother us. The neighbours we�
�ve known most of our lives. Nothing changes here. Until the last while, I suppose. When I found you, out in the snow, collapsed and dying of cold it wasn’t by chance.”

  Allan breathed heavier. The wind blew with a renewed vigour. They reached the last building on the farm, a large concrete barn with a metal roof. The steel door was secured with a heavy-duty padlock.

  “What do you mean it wasn’t by chance?”

  Allan leaned on the wall of the barn. The cold did not seem to bother him. He was a large man, withered by age but looked to be from hardworking, farming stock.

  “The farm has long since been a working farm. Now, we have a small amount of animals, mostly for old times’ sake. We don’t see many visitors out here. Not even our neighbours. A couple of days before you arrived, Skye was going berserk barking at our window, and scratching at the door. It wasn’t like her. I went out with her, and not far from the house I saw someone in the field. I called out to them. He ran at me. Eric, I didn’t know what was wrong with him. He threw himself at me, lad. Didn’t even pause to think about it.”

  “Did it hurt you?” How many days have I been here?

  “No, I put him down. I’ve been shooting shotguns since I was a lad. I called the police after I shot him and reported being attacked. They took my name and what happened but advised they could not provide me with a response time. What police force doesn’t have time to attend a shooting? It told me a lot. So, Eric, these people, what are they?”

  “What happened when you shot it? Tell me exactly.”

  Allan tapped a finger at the wall he leaned against. “Why does it matter now? It’s done. Nothing’s going to change that.”

  “It’s important.”

  “Like I said, it came charging at me. I had my gun with me. Until it got close, I didn’t realise something was terribly wrong. It launched itself at me. I pushed it back with the gun. I shouted out, warning him not to come closer. It charged again and I fired.”

  “Did it touch you? Scrape you with its nails? What about the blood? Did you get any on you?”

  “No. Why?”

  “It’s called Carrion Virus. Once someone has fully succumbed to the virus they’re changed in a way. They become violent, frenzied. They don’t communicate like before. They develop unnatural strength. They’re resistant to injury. They can’t be reasoned with. You were lucky, Mr. Ingram. Most people are overcome by their strength, and the virus is passed on. Bites. Scratches. Contamination through blood or excessive contact.”

  “You’ve dealt with them before?”

  “I was in Aberdeen when the initial outbreak occurred. I’ve been combating them in one place or another since.”

  “You’re army? Police?”

  “Something like that.”

  Allan smiled. “Five minutes with you out in the morning snow and I know more about what’s going on than I did from hours with the radio. You can help me with something, Eric.”

  Allan unlocked the barn door and pulled the heavy metal barrier open.

  Inside, laid out on the concrete floor were five bodies. All were covered with old sheets, the kind that painters might use to protect furniture.

  Allan pointed to the nearest shroud. “That one I shot just before you came outside. She was wandering in the field. I don’t think she noticed me until it was too late.” The farmer shook his head. “And those there are two of my neighbours. I’ve known them for thirty years. I didn’t know what to do with the bodies. The cold is keeping them for now but they can’t stay in my barn for much longer. When the weather eases, Hazel will be outside again. She can’t see this.”

  Eric stepped into the barn. “Burn them.”

  “I don’t think we could start a fire in this weather.”

  “How hard’s the ground?”

  Allan pointed to tools leaning against the wall of the barn. “Nothing a bit of effort won’t combat. How’s your ribs?”

  “We’ll find out.”

  “We can park the tractor over the graves.”

  Shovels and picks swung as the sun began to rise and despite the cold both men sweated. Eric swore more than once, and took breaks to allow the pain to dissipate. But together they achieved, and they tossed the bodies into the new trench.

  “I feel like I should say something,” said Allan. “It doesn’t feel right what’s happened to them.”

  ***

  Eric and Allan walked back toward the farmhouse.

  “There’s a lot of outbuildings around here. Do you check them regularly?” asked Eric.

  Allan nodded, reached out and touched the large shed closest to them. “The ones I don’t need to go in and out of I keep locked. I’ve got my motor in here. I’ve not needed it for a while. Most of the other buildings are locked. When I take Skye out we check all the doors to make sure they’ve not been tampered with.”

  “Sensible. You’re doing well here.”

  “We manage,” said Allan.

  They continued on.

  Skye barked from the house.

  “Something’s wrong. Skye’s not much of a barker for no reason.”

  Allan ran to the house and Eric followed. Allan threw the door open.

  “No!” Allan screamed.

  Hazel lay face down on the floor, her arms stretched out ahead as if she had tripped and tried to soften the fall. She bled from wounds on her back and arms and calves.

  “Don’t touch her!”

  Allan ignored the warning, tossed his gun aside and fell to his knees beside his dead wife. He rolled her over, pulled her to his chest and stroked her hair.

  Skye barked in the direction of the kitchen. An infected appeared in a doorway. Its blue ski jacket and furry boots were stained and torn. It wore one glove. Eric snatched up Allan’s shotgun, aimed and pulled the trigger. The shot ripped its chest apart, and threw it backwards landing on the small breakfast table. Plates and cutlery tumbled to the floor. Eric checked the second barrel. Loaded. He walked to the infected. Nothing remained of its chest. It didn’t need a second bullet.

  Allan hadn’t moved. He held his wife tightly and wept quietly in between whispered words.

  Eric knew it was only a matter of time before another infected appeared.

  “Allan?”

  “I’m not leaving her.”

  “I know.”

  Allan looked up to Eric. “You know what to do. Look after Skye.” His focus returned to his dead wife. He began singing softly. It was a lovely tune. Perhaps one the couple danced too often, one that was important to them, held memories.

  “What are you waiting for?” said Allan, breaking from the song. He pulled Hazel close and closed his eyes.

  Eric fired.

  ***

  The Ingram’s Land Rover wasn’t keen to start. It took Eric three goes, and all the while Skye sat next to him, his head dipping side to side, his ears pointing to the sky. In the foot well, a backpack with Eric’s firearms and those few things he risked time to grab. They reached the roadway. Figures appeared in the snowand charged their way toward them. They all wore the same blue ski jacket and furry boots. Where were they coming from?

  Eric drove from out behind the shelter of the farmhouse. He drove fast. Infected threw themselves at the vehicle and bounced off. Eric kept his speed up, turning a tight corner and passing through the farm’s gate. In the mirror he could see the pursuing infected slowing and gathering and turning their attention to a new direction.

  Eric and Skye had escaped that onslaught, but there was sure to be more ahead. Lots more. He hit the heating, sending a welcome blast of warmth at his face. Skye lifted her head and sniffed before settling back down.

  “We’re right for the moment, girl.”

  He was glad of the company. The road ahead would be difficult, and full of danger but somehow the dog made the prospect all the more bearable.

  ***

  The room was rancid with the choking aroma of death, shit and piss. Brutus slammed Silas into the wall and thrust the barrel of his Gl
ock under his chin.

  “Start talking, Silas. Otherwise you’re a dead man.”

  Silas did not appear too concerned. He gave Brutus a moment of attention then looked over his shoulder into the room.

  The original purpose of the room may once have been for storage, perhaps a deposit for old records, but nothing of importance. It was neither impressive nor strategically designed. But now, it was a murder room. Corpses were piled atop each other in two piles a couple of feet apart. Fourteen in all, each with a cut throat. Blood painted the floor and walls. All wore the uniform of the facility’s security detail.

  Brutus pushed the weapon harder into his neck. “Talk!”

  “Don’t you understand? That is the price for your kingdom, Brutus. You want this building. There were those within the security team who wanted to fight and not negotiate. These are the ones who the facility managers, your managers, relied on the most. I simply removed them from the scenario. The person you first negotiated with is dead behind you. When I took action, I took control.”

  “What do you want, Silas? No games. No cryptic messages.”

  “I want to stay here. I’ve fought the infected and I’ve no desire to return to that life again.”

  “What makes you think I would allow you to stay here?”

  “You need me.”

  “You’ve given me nothing. I’m inclined to say no.”

  Brutus holstered his Glock then threw a short punch into Silas’s stomach. Silas doubled over. Brutus brought his knee up into his nose. A bone cracked. Silas slid to the ground, his hands climbing to his face.

  “You jerked me around, Silas. You get nothing. I could kill you and add our body to one of those piles, and I’d not think twice about it.”

  “Ah, yet here you are, thinking twice. If I wanted to kill you, Brutus, I could have done it at any time. See?” A dark blade appeared in his hand. He dropped it, left is palm open, and spat blood to the side.

  Brutus kicked the blade away, hauled Silas to his feet, and pushed the barrel of the pistol into his neck. Brutus patted down Silas. He found nothing and stepped away.