Carrion Virus (Book 1): Carrion City

by Duncan, M. W.

  ‘I agree. Provisionally, I agree.’

  ‘Provisionally?’

  ‘I want details. Where and who with? The truth. I don’t have much faith left. Not even for you.’

  If he was slighted by the comment, Williamson hid it well. It was a little disconcerting. Eric liked to think he could read people, but something about Williamson made this difficult.

  ‘You will be working in the UK. There is a situation developing in the northeast of Scotland. Aberdeen specifically. A situation that is as unique as it is serious. We’ve been contracted to provide security and risk assessments.’

  ‘Sounds like a step down from what I’ve been doing for the past few years. You want me to guard buildings?’

  ‘Not exactly. You have the necessary qualifications for this operation.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘It’s a flu. Some kind of flu, but with some very unusual traits. From what I understand, this flu is transferable from person to person through direct contact. Blood. Saliva.’

  ‘A cold?’

  ‘There’s a great deal of confusion surrounding this. There’s no explanation as to why Aberdeen has the highest concentration of cases. No one is even sure where it came from. You remember the last outbreak of C-strain influenza?’

  ‘I was in Iraq at the time. It never reached us.’

  ‘There’s a working theory that it’s some kind of altered version of that.’

  Eric undid the top few buttons of his shirt. ‘Why Black Aquila?’

  ‘Black Aquila has been sourcing workers to the DSD for a month now. You know what the DSD is?’

  ‘I’ve heard of them.’

  ‘They were covertly collecting those infected with this new virus, delivering them to a containment centre for research. The numbers spiked. Their operation has been suspended for the moment.’

  ‘Why suspended?’

  ‘Too many agents fell to the infection. It’s a mess. A pure screw up.’ Williamson picked up his glass. ‘I don’t think they were prepared or knew how to handle it. The Prime Minister is to address the nation in under an hour. That’s when the story breaks in the press. Can you imagine the panic?’

  ‘It’s more than a cold.’

  ‘It’s a flu.’

  ‘It’s more than that if you’re talking to me.’

  Williamson drained his glass. ‘When the news breaks, Aberdeen will be placed under a form of martial law. Everyone will be told to stay at home, and those not native to Aberdeen will be sent to displacement centres. Emergency services will continue and they will be assisted by the army and other organisations. That’s where we come in. While the situation could prove dangerous, the government wants us there to secure key buildings.’

  ‘And you want me to stand guard at doors?’

  ‘I want you to lead the team.’

  ‘A team of door guards?’

  ‘You now know as much as I do.’

  ‘I doubt that.’

  A British city under martial law? The army on the streets? A strange flu? It all screamed madness. If Eric heard it from anyone other than Ben Williamson, he would have laughed in their face.

  Williamson reached into his tux and pulled out a phone. ‘This is a pre-recorded news conference. It goes public in an hour. Maybe you will take the word of the Prime Minister.’

  A few minutes later, ‘I’m in.’

  Williamson smiled. ‘I thought you would. Tell me, what do you think of Richard Desai?’

  ‘Brutus? He’s a bruiser and a liability unless you’re in a firefight. Why?’

  ‘He’s on your team. Now let’s order some food. We leave in an hour.’

  ***

  Rain lashed the windscreen. Jacqui reached over and touched Jason’s arm.

  He smiled before changing gear. ‘You alright?’

  The kids slept in the back of the car. Jacqui craned her neck, checking on them. ‘For the first time in a while, I think I am.’

  ‘You think there’s hope for you and Eric?’

  ‘He’s not a bad person, Jason. What he’s been through, what he’s going through, everything. Eric and I both struggled to deal with things.’

  There was silence for a few seconds.

  ‘Are you going to tell him about our kiss?’

  ‘I told him today.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And what?’

  ‘What did he say? Surely, he blew a fuse. Do I need to go into hiding or something?’

  ‘He said we’d talk.’

  Jacqui closed her eyes, allowing the gentle rock of the car to relax her. For the first time in longer than she cared to remember, calm settled over her. Eric had been right in guessing something went on between her and Jason. A mindless kiss, a result of too much wine, much stress and too little sleep. They could rebuild this family. She was sure. Eric would be gone for a few days, letting the dust settle, and when he got back, things would be better. Yes, Jason should disappear for a time. Something about that thought brought a silent giggle.

  ***

  The Prime Minister was told that the reception room at the Ministry of Defence was full, and as always, members of the press jostled to gain the best position, and an array of cameras awaited his arrival.

  Mathew Muldoon endured the endless fussing of his aid, Lydia. She pulled at his tie, making sure it was at the correct parameters, and then moved her attention to brushing his shoulders free of non-existent specks. His Foreign Secretary, the wily Howard Boon, studied Lydia’s movements then smirked at the Prime Minister.

  The whole day had been spent in discussions with military, medical and civilian specialist advisors. It was so much to take in. After the day’s briefing, he was sure the announcement would be the most profound since Winston Churchill’s heyday of speechmaking. Where Churchill offered belligerence and hope, Mathew would be urging endurance and acceptance.

  The rear door to the antechamber opened. The leader of the opposition was dressed in a sombre suit and tie.

  ‘Charles.’ Mathew noted the dark bags beneath his eyes, and knew they mirrored his own. ‘I’m glad you could make it.’

  ‘Something of this nature needs a unified response. Has the First Minister arrived?’

  ‘A half-hour ago. He’s going to be a very busy man soon.’

  Charles gave a gruff laugh. ‘We all will.’

  They had been briefed by COBRA the day before, and agreed to appear in a unified front.

  ‘I have to admit, I’m finding it difficult to come to terms with everything,’ Charles added.

  ‘We all are.’

  ‘You’re going through with the plan then?’

  ‘I don’t see another option.’

  Charles removed his glasses and held them up to the light. ‘You realise this is the biggest crisis since World War Two. It will eclipse Iraq, even Afghanistan.’

  ‘What else can we do? If you will excuse me?’ said Mathew, brushing Charles off.

  It was a comfort, a small comfort to the Prime Minister that Charles Wordsworth was prepared to stand with him. In times of severe crisis, political agenda and adversity could be put aside for the good of the nation. He checked his watch. In a few minutes, he would be facing the press. They waited behind the sturdy oak doors, as wolves kept out at winter. They were baying for him, desperate for the story.

  ‘Prime Minister, it’s time,’ said the Foreign Secretary.

  ‘Let’s get this over with.’

  Cameras flashed. The small group that followed was made up of members of the senior cabinet, medical and scientific specialists, and military officials.

  An aide approached the low podium and spoke to the assembled media. Mathew scanned the room. Behind him, on either side of the door, the Union flag hung marking the importance of the occasion.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, the Prime Minister.’

  More flashes.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, members of the public, thank you for joining me this evening. It is with a heavy heart that I s
peak to you this night. For the past five weeks, the Department of Special Diseases has been combating an outbreak of influenza in Aberdeen. While the initial symptoms follow along the lines of the flu we’re familiar with, if left untreated these symptoms progress. Shakes and confusion. High fever. Unpredictable behaviour. Open sores and nosebleeds. It is imperative that if you, or your loved ones, develop any of these symptoms, you inform the emergency services at once. We have a vaccine, one that will be administered on admission to Aberdeen Royal Infirmary and other designated centres. The infection is spread by contact or the sharing of bodily fluids. I would urge you all to maintain a high state of vigilance in identifying the symptoms.’

  Mathew glanced down at his notes. ‘We have been in constant discussion with leading experts in the scientific community. They have concluded that this infection could pose a direct threat to Great Britain as a whole. Therefore, I’m announcing the creation of the Civilian Assistance Force. This organisation will be made up of the DSD, and our military and emergency services. Their primary role will be to keep those in Aberdeen safe. It will be necessary for the city to be quarantined. All sea, rail, and road travel will be suspended and Aberdeen airport will remain closed for the foreseeable future. Checkpoints manned by the military will be set up at every road into the city. Anyone seeking to enter or leave will be turned back. Aberdeen will be under martial law as of midnight. On a final note, under no circumstances should you open your doors to anyone. Secure your home and wait this out. We will rise above this.’

  Mathew barely had a chance to take a breath when the grilling from the media started.

  ‘Prime Minister …’

  ‘Prime Minister …’

  ‘Prime Minister, many will question the prudence of sending British troops onto the streets of one of our cities.’

  ‘Prime Minister, how long has the government known about this situation? Can you speculate where this virus originated?’

  ‘One question at a time,’ ordered an aide.

  ‘The military will be present purely to assist with the humanitarian effort. It is not a combat mission.’

  ‘Prime Minister, where did this variant of C-strain influenza come from, and why Aberdeen?’

  ‘That is something the DSD is working to understand.’

  ‘Prime Minister, if you have a vaccine, should the entire nation not be put under a plan of vaccination?’

  ‘As I understand it, the timing of the vaccine is vital. The influenza must already be present for it to work.’

  ‘Prime Minister, is martial law a breach of human rights? It’s almost unknown in the history of this nation.’

  ‘We have no choice.’

  ‘Prime Minister …’

  ‘Prime Minister, are there reports anywhere else in the country, or indeed internationally?’

  ‘To this point, it’s only Aberdeen.’

  Mathew escaped the podium and the spotlight leaving others more qualified to answer questions. Now alone, he dropped heavily into a welcome chair. It was only a matter of time before everyone found out the truth. He dreaded that moment. Only a handful of people in government knew of the horror in Aberdeen. The vaccine he promised was as non-existent as the specks Lydia sort to vanish on his jacket, but they needed a conceivable excuse to take people into isolation. Every hour that passed, he prayed he would receive news of a cure or an inoculation … something.

  Charles Wordsworth approached, breaking the rare solitude. ‘What next?’

  ‘Now we wait and see what the world makes of this.’

  ***

  ‘I don’t think I’m drunk. But did I just hear the Prime Minister correctly?’

  Gemma had no answer for her friend. They both sat on the sofa, stunned. In her preliminary investigation into the DSD, she never thought it would conclude with anything of this magnitude. It was almost beyond rational belief.

  ‘What do we do, Gem?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t think you should go home, though. It could be dangerous out there.’ Gemma turned the key in the door to a satisfying click then grabbed her camera from her bedroom. ‘If I’m right, the media won’t be allowed in the city while it’s under quarantine. That means we can get footage that everyone will want.’

  ‘And will pay good money for, but are you seriously thinking of going out into the city?’

  ‘It needs charging.’ Gemma searched through a mass of tangled wires. She’d document what happens from her window, then if things seemed calm enough, she’d chance a run into the city.

  ‘It’s a strange way to spend Christmas, Gem.’

  ***

  Peterson sped through the deserted streets. The automatic he drove handled well in the snow. The Prime Minister’s speech would be live about now. This city has no idea what it’s in for, he thought. He hated Aberdeen like he hated those at the DSD. Those people that would gladly see him take the fall, but he had fixed that. It was a perfect plan. The DSD building would be suffering a containment breach and the only witnesses were dead or infected. Either was fine with Peterson.

  He passed the roundabout leading to the airport and sped on towards the town of Blackburn. The snow reduced the dual carriageway to one lane. Flicking his full-beams on, the road lit up revealing an untreated surface blanketed in white. At a sharp bend, he encountered a sight he had not expected. Barring the way were military vehicles. Soldiers swarmed. A military checkpoint. A small forklift moved concrete blocks across the road. A soldier waved a light-stick at the car and held his hand up for Peterson to halt.

  Peterson rolled down the window. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘You can’t pass here. The city is under quarantine. You’ll have to go back.’

  ‘It’s okay.’ Peterson removed the DSD badge from around his neck and held it out.

  ‘I can’t let you through. No one passes here.’

  Peterson put the car into reverse and pulled away from the roadblock. He scanned for an opening, and there it was. Between two military jeeps, a space that looked just large enough for him to manoeuvre the car through. Like hell am I going back!

  He slammed the car into gear and floored the pedal. The vehicle shot past the checkpoint. He chanced a look in the mirror. Soldiers unshouldered their rifles. Peterson panicked. The car mounted the middle embankment and crashed against a barrier. He was thrown about but kept the car on course. The gap was tight and he lost the left wing mirror. He was through. His speed increased. A military floodlight followed him. He willed the car to greater speed. The lights of Blackburn came into view.

  Tracer rounds lit up the night sky as a .50 Calibre opened fire. Bullets ripped through the rear of the cabin and shredded a tyre. The steering unresponsive, he pressed down on the pedals. Nothing. The car bounced the kerb and smashed through a barrier. Peterson screamed. The car plummeted down the embankment. His head struck the steering wheel as he clung on, his cries now trapped in his throat.

  The car slid to a stop on its roof. He dabbed a hand against his forehead, the feeling of blood was warm against his fingers. He slipped out of the seatbelt and, with the door torn free from the crash, he pulled himself from the vehicle.

  Far above, searchlights scanned down into the valley. He was free, out of the blockade. If he ran, he would reach a house or farm soon enough. From there, a few well-placed telephone calls and he would be safe. He staggered off into the darkness, through a field. His lungs ached with every frigid breath. Behind, calls to halt and the baying of dogs. The chase was on. Peterson, never a fit man, urged himself forward, his steps heavy and legs weak.

  ‘Halt!’

  Peterson tripped and fell to his knees. Dogs barked, weapons clicked and torchlight illuminated him.

  ‘Turn around, slowly.’

  Peterson did as asked, shielding his eyes.

  ‘Keep your hands behind your head.’

  ‘Damn,’ someone said, ‘look at his head.’

  Peterson touched the wound received in the crash. He winced feeling th
e broken skin.

  ‘Don’t move. Hands behind your head.’

  ‘I won’t go back to the city,’ said Peterson. ‘I won’t become one of them.’

  Peterson broke into a run. Gunfire erupted. He was hit. His hands went to his neck, a feeble attempt to stem the bleeding. It should have been simple. The plan was ironclad. Toth promised him money, more money than he could ever spend. Peterson gargled.

  ‘Once he’s dead, we’ll bag and tag him.’

  The words were clear, and Peterson knew he’d soon be in a bag. It should have been so easy.

  Chapter 11

  Into The Storm

  Dr. Holden stepped off the Chinook and into an airport gripped by frenzy. An army of ploughs and diggers kept the runway clear. A few more hours of unrelenting snowfall would find their attempts ineffective and flights cancelled. A weary exodus of DSD employees followed close behind, tramping down the hatch. In the near distance, lights of the airport proper broke through the blizzard.

  Black Aquila workers loaded the Chinook with crates for its next journey. Dr. Holden stood to one side, bewildered, waiting for someone to shepherd the group to the next destination. He pulled his hood tighter to his face, and with a finger, wiped at the flakes stuck to his glasses.

  ‘Dr. Holden?’ a man shouted.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘If you and your companions will follow me, sir.’

  They trudged through the snow towards an aircraft hangar. Too small for planes, thought Dr. Holden. Most likely for helicopters. Bypassing the main entry, they were taken around the side of the building to a green steel door, guarded by a single figure clad in a thermal coat.

  Inside, the hangar had been converted to a command centre. The far wall was lined with a row of computer terminals, a desk with a dozen or more phones, satellite phones, too. On another wall hung a detailed map of Aberdeen. Uniformed men clustered around the massive map, studying, pointing, nodding, and frowning.

  ‘Doctor.’