‘Mr. Toth?’ Dr. Holden hardly recognised the man, but the slight accent gave him away. The doctor pulled his coat free. The hangar’s temperature was in stark contrast to outside. He dabbed at the unexpected sweat on his brow with a tissue.
Toth addressed the group. ‘You will all be transported to prepared accommodation for the night. Tomorrow, we’ll discuss in greater detail what happens next.’ He turned back to Dr. Holden. ‘A word, Doctor.’
Dr. Holden followed Toth into a small office at the rear of the hangar, taking a seat while the other man closed the door. Toth perched himself on the edge of a cluttered desk.
Toth looked worn. It was a look Dr. Holden saw staring back in the mirror every morning.
‘You’re still in Aberdeen, Doctor.’
‘Still in Aberdeen?’
‘Your flight simply circled a few times.’
‘What? But—’
‘This airport is about to become a very busy place. There’s been some developments since you left the DSD building. About thirty minutes ago, we lost all contact with it.’
‘Lost contact? There’s over two-hundred people working there, surely, one of them must have a phone.’
‘The city’s surrounded by a military blockade. Nobody in or out. I want you to go to your hotel tonight. Tomorrow you’ll be working closely with the military. Congratulations, doctor, you’re now our resident expert on the infected.’
‘So we’re not going home?’
‘No.’
‘Has anyone else been evacuated from the centre?’
‘No.’
Damn! Tim! ‘Where’s Peterson?’
‘We don’t know for sure. We’ll know more by the morning.’
Questions rattled around in Dr. Holden’s mind. They would have to wait.
The group was ushered back into the biting cold where a bus waited to shuttle them to the hotel. A halo of light high above caught Dr. Holden’s eye, and was followed by the roar of powerful engines. A C-17 Globemaster began its descent. The military were here, and in force. More bright lights flickered in the distance. Many lights.
Dr. Holden was the last to board the bus. He was not a religious man, yet found himself resorting to prayer for the first time in his adult life.
***
Magarth ran. He had to move fast. Hell would soon be following.
He reached his guesthouse and rang the bell. It seemed an eternity before anyone answered.
‘Mr. Magarth,’ said Gert. ‘Have you seen the news? I’ve never seen anything like it.’ She plonked herself back down in front of the TV.
‘I’ll be checking out today, Gert.’
She waved from her seat. ‘You’re all paid up. Just leave your room key on the counter.’
Magarth took the stairs two at a time. His room was a mess, just the way he left it. He grabbed what he could and stuffed it into his rucksack. His phone was dead. He’d have to keep running. He slapped the key on the counter downstairs. ‘Gert, you should keep your doors locked tonight.’ He popped his head into the lounge. The volume of the TV was almost deafening.
‘Martial law in Aberdeen … Nobody in or out … Military checkpoints at every avenue of escape … Displacement centres for those trapped in the city.’ A list of semi-familiar street names and locations followed.
Gert turned with a look of uncertainty on her face. ‘You should stay here, Mr. Magarth. I don’t know if it’s safe to go out right now.’
Magarth grabbed a coat from the rack and stepped out into the city. He had to get out of Aberdeen.
***
With only the gentle hum of the hospital’s medical equipment to keep him company, PC Galloway stared to nowhere. He wished he knew what happened to the fireman who saved him, if Mills and Vickers alright, and what was happening in the city.
A nurse passed his door in a hurry.
‘Where is everyone?’
‘There’s an announcement on TV,’ she yelled back.
‘What kind of announcement?’ She was already gone.
The first scream was a curiosity. The second and third ushered fear. He pushed himself from the bed, and into the hallway. A nurse sped past, her face full of terror. Another scream, and then, an older woman, coming from the stairwell, intravenous lines flailing from her arm, and her hospital gown bloodied. Her lips were pressed back, unveiling a set of grey teeth. Her eyes looked past him, towards the end of the hallway. She moved mechanically, her bare feet slapping the floor.
PC Galloway darted back into his room. Think! Think! There was no time. He needed to act, and now. He flew out, charged at the woman, arms wrapping around her midsection. He spun like a javelin thrower, used the momentum to keep the woman off balance. He spun again, and they bounced through the door and into the stairwell. He released his hold, and down she went, hitting the steps hard, somersaulting over and again until landing at the bottom. Her legs came to rest at impossible angles. She screamed, but it was not the sound of pain.
‘Get the keys! We need to lock the door!’
His shouting brought a nurse, and a set of keys. She fumbled for the right one and locked the door.
‘You did well. I’m Nick. I’m a police officer. What’s your name?’
‘Jane. My name is Jane.’ The keys slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor.
‘Do you know what’s going on with that woman?’
‘No, but we have a number to call if anyone came in showing symptoms like hers.’
‘You rang the number?’
‘Nobody answered. It went to an automated message. The woman, Edith, she’s been here for a week and had been fine. An hour ago, she started bleeding from her sores, convulsing. Then …’
‘Her name’s Edith?’
‘Yes.”
‘Is there anyone else on this ward with the same symptoms?’
‘No, just her.’
‘Gather all the nurses, doctors and staff and meet me at the nurses’ station. Do it quickly.’
Jane pulled strands of dark hair behind her ears, nodded, and hurried off taking one final look at the door that barred the screaming Edith. PC Galloway picked up the fallen keys. He moved to the patients’ dayroom where the muted TV showed the news. He did not need the sound to know what was happening, instead reading the live stream running along the bottom of the screen. He swore.
He pulled the blinds open and peered out the window. Everything was white.
‘Officer?’ Jane stood at the doorway. ‘Everyone’s waiting.’
‘I’ll be there in a minute.’
PC Galloway moved in the opposite direction, following the exit signs. Another stairway. Faint sounds drifted up from below, growing to cries as he got closer. The infected were loose in the hospital. He raced back to the assembled staff. Each face he saw held the same expression. Fear.
‘I know you all have a lot of questions, but I can’t answer them. I can only tell you that the woman, that patient Edith, is not an isolated incident.’
‘We know. We’ve all seen the news,’ said one doctor. He clutched a clipboard to his chest.
‘And you’re going to see more. They’re in the hospital. We have to close down this ward. Lock all the doors, stay safe until help comes.’ A chorus of protest broke out, and PC Galloway held up his hand. ‘We have no other option. How many entrances are there to this ward? It takes up a whole floor, yes?’
Jane answered. ‘It’s one floor. Three exits to the lift area and stairs.’
‘We need to block it all off. Lock the security doors and barricade them. Chairs, tables, beds, anything. Pack it tight. We can’t let anyone in from this point, even if you know them.’
The staff scattered, grabbing chairs, freestanding cupboards, beds, tables, and pulled them to the entrances.
‘What happened to Edith?’ asked a nurse.
‘She’s out there.’ He pumped the gel dispenser hanging from a wall, and rubbed his arms and hands.
***
Eric walked into
the airport hotel, his pack slung over his shoulder. Sixty men from Black Aquila waited in the foyer, the din of their collective conversation blocked out all else. The carpet was caked with mud from the company’s boots.
Men with folders were calling the shots. They assigned each man a room, checking off names on a list as they went. Most had to share with another. Not a hardship for the men of Black Aquila. Sharing a room in a British hotel would be a luxury.
A squat, bald man with thick glasses waddled up to Eric. He smoothed down his dark tie. ‘Name?’
‘Eric Mann.’
‘The group leader?’
‘Yes.’
‘Into the conference room please.’ His hand acted like a traffic signal.
Eric threaded his way through the press of bodies and into a large room. Tables were pushed against the walls. Steel crates full of equipment covered the available floor space. A figure appeared from behind a stack of crates. He let out a laugh.
‘Eric! Welcome to Aberdeen. Can you believe this?’ The figure threw his clipboard onto one of the supply crates.
Richard ‘Brutus’ Desai. A huge smile broke out on his face, and he enveloped Eric in a bear hug. Brutus’s strength was something to marvel. The strongest person Eric knew.
‘It’s good to see you, my friend.’
‘You, too, big guy.’
‘I’m sorry about Martin. I heard the week it happened.’
Brutus wore combat trousers tucked into black boots, and an open checked shirt over a white vest. He had grown his beard to an impressive length. The black fuzz hid his mouth when he was not speaking or smiling, which was not often. He had shaved his hair into a short Mohawk. Brutus was the type of person who spent most of his free time in the gym. His heavily tattooed arms were as thick as Eric’s thighs.
‘So you know what’s going on here?’
Brutus shrugged his massive shoulders. ‘I’ve heard a lot of little things, bits and pieces, y’know? Williamson spoke to me earlier, and I’ve filled in some blanks on my own. Something crazy is happening and I think we’re gonna be dropped into the middle of it. Check this out.’ Brutus waved Eric to follow. ‘I’ve been taking an inventory of all the equipment. Some is unreal.’ Brutus lifted the lid of a crate and pulled out a shotgun, bright yellow with black components. ‘What do you make of that?’
Eric turned the weapon over in his hands. A modified 12-bore shotgun, heavy. ‘Some new kind of taser?’ He braced it to his shoulder, and looked down the sights. He swung it round, aiming at Brutus’s chest.
‘You’re right.’ He snatched the weapon back. ‘They’ve just entered use down in London. Police are still being trained. There’s two hundred of them. Stun grenades, smoke, flash bangs. We’ve enough here to start a non-lethal war. Where would the fun be in that?’
Eric glanced over the other crates. ‘I know there’s a military cordon around the city. Williamson was sketchy with the details of what we’ll be doing here. Don’t suppose he told you anything?’
Brutus laughed. ‘Don’t take it personally. He’s like that, always keeps information to a minimum unless you need to know.’
‘And I need to know. You’ve been here longer than anyone, so what’s our role? When’s it all kicking off?’
Brutus laid the weapon back with the rest, and slid the lid back into place. ‘Briefing is tomorrow morning. Be ready to go in the evening. Our role will be to guard key buildings in the city. That’s all I can tell you, mate.’
Eric guessed his friend knew more, but thought better of pushing Brutus further. While his smile was ever-present and infectious, his demeanour could change in a heartbeat. He was unpredictable.
‘Then tomorrow will be interesting. Think I’ll go get my head down.’
‘Tomorrow is going to be a storm. I’ve got that feeling.’
‘Good to see you, Brutus.’ Eric turned and walked to the door.
‘How’s the family?’ Brutus called after him.
Eric did not turn, but knew Brutus was smiling. Did he know what had happened? Impossible.
***
Nobody passed in the half-hour since Gemma began her vigil.
‘You should come and see this. It’s insane.’
Gemma switched off her camera and joined Stacey on the sofa. She took hold of her wine glass. In a situation like this, there was little left to do other than have a drink.
A live news report near one of the military barricades was on TV. An excited reporter talked about how they were not allowed within a half-mile of the actual checkpoint. Behind her, military vehicles and personnel filed past. No weapons were shown.
‘Don’t you think it’s weird that none of the soldiers have guns, Stace?’
Stacey drained her glass and placed it onto the table. She shrugged. ‘Not really. It’s not as if the army is going to start shooting people. Besides, you see guns, you panic. I know I do. I was in New York a couple of years ago.’
‘Guess so. I just think it’s weird.’
A thud came from the landing, followed seconds later by two smaller ones. Both women sat upright, watching the door. Neither spoke for a moment.
A heavy bang hit the door.
‘It’s probably just my neighbour. He’s always banging about.’
‘On your door?’
Silence. Gemma eased back into the sofa. ‘Relax. The door’s locked. We have wine. We’ll be just fine.’ However, she didn’t feel fine.
Stacey reached for the bottle. She shook it, watching the remains of the cork cling to the bottom.
‘I’ll get another.’ Gemma retrieved a bottle from the kitchen and returned to the living room. Stacey was white. ‘What’s wrong?’
Stacey pointed to the door. The hairs on the back of Gemma’s neck tingled. The door handle turned. Slowly at first, then with urgency. A weight slammed against the door. Shrieks followed, like someone suffering unimaginable pain. The bottle slipped from Gemma’s grasp, smashing on the floor. Stacey screamed.
***
Magarth slipped to his knees, threw his hands out to avoid tumbling further onto the snow.
‘Come on!’ He heaved himself up, looking behind for signs of pursuit. He saw nothing through the falling snow. Even the streetlights were cloaked in white and dimmed to a grey.
He still didn’t have an escape plan. After leaving the guesthouse, he ran through the streets, hoping to find a bus or taxi. He encountered only a few people, hurrying to be off the streets.
A scream. It was close, and the scuffling of feet.
Magarth broke into a run, moving faster than he thought he ever could, arms flailing for balance like a windmill in a storm. Dark silhouettes appeared at the very edge of his vision. Thoughts of Maria and their baby kept him moving.
He took a moment to check behind. A group of perhaps ten, heading his way, and fast. The noise they threw told him they were infected, and after him. He headed for the first side street and leapt over a small brick wall, landing heavily in a garden. Swearing he pulled himself up, stumbled to a door and hammered with both fists.
‘Please, let me in! I need help!’ He stepped back. Curtains covered the window. A thin swirl of smoke climbed from the chimney.
‘They’ll kill me!’ He thumped the door a final time. The infected were close. Too close. There was nothing left but to try the next house. He ran through the garden, lifting his knees high, and dived over a dividing wall. His landed face first into the snow. On hands and knees, he scrambled to the doorway, spitting snow as he went. He ripped the taser from his bag, pulled himself up onto his knees, and found the doorbell. Taser in his right hand, he jammed the doorbell with his left not letting go. His right hand shook. So did the taser, but he was ready. If they reached him, he would shoot.
‘Go away,’ a female voice commanded from beyond the door.
‘Please! Let me in! There are people after me! Things after me! Monsters!’ He pushed the doorbell again and again.
‘The TV said not to let anyone in.’
‘I’m with the DSD. You’ve heard of them? Please!’
Magarth fumbled for his ID badge and pulled it free of the cord around his neck. He pushed it through the letterbox. ‘I have a wife and child on the way. Please.’
The screams were loud now, close enough that he expected hands around his throat any minute, fingers at his eyes, fingers ripping him apart, and he expected to fire. The taser!
‘I have a taser gun. I can protect you from those things.’
Three loud clicks and a bolt slid open. Magarth did not wait, he pushed through, knocking the woman back.
She gave a sharp scream.
Magarth pushed the door closed, and from top to bottom, locked all the mechanisms.
‘You have a taser?’
‘Flick the lights off. All of them.’
Her eyes raced over Magarth and to the taser before she obeyed. They were left in near darkness, a dim light diffusing in through the pane in the door. She was about to speak but Magarth motioned her to silence. He slid to the ground and waved her to join him. The scent of vanilla wafted about the house. It was the nicest thing he’d smelt for some time.
A blending of shadows danced behind the glass. Heavy breathing and a garble of screeches came from beyond the door. A face pushed against the window, followed by a pair of hands smearing blood on the glass. A deep-throated screech came. The woman grabbed Magarth, and he slapped a hand on her mouth.
The figure bashed at the door, once, twice, a third time, and then disappeared. The garble became a refrain of howls. It moved from the door, then grew distant, then was gone. Must have found someone else to chase, he thought. Magarth untangled himself from the woman.
‘Thank you for letting me in. I … I didn’t know how much longer I could have stayed out there.’
‘What are those things? The TV said it could be bad, but …’
‘They’re infected with some sort of influenza. You can’t go outside and you can’t let them know you’re in here. Everything has gone to hell. It’s crazy out there.’
A child’s cry sounded from upstairs. Both jumped at the sound. It was loud, sharp and exactly what Magarth did not want.
Carrion Virus (Book 1): Carrion City Page 15
