How could this have happened? How could they have been so thoroughly trounced? Their enemy didn’t come with tanks and bombs, but merely with the remnants of the human body that the virus crafted for its own ends. And by abandoning their position, they had condemned the people of Hounslow to a horrific death. A quarter of a million people utterly defenceless against the viral menace, many of them probably already turned. Likely there were scenes like this playing across London, across the whole country, cities rapidly falling to a foe that attacked without mercy and which was relentless in its ferocity.
Worse was the fact that even now, the virus was burning through the population where the zombies had yet to manifest. Whittaker looked around the interior of the cabin and wondered who here was infected. He had seen first-hand how the strongest of them, Sergeant Wallace, had fallen to Lazarus. What hope did any of them have? Any prospect that they could survive this abandoned him to be replaced by despair, a great weight bearing down on his shoulders.
And then out of nowhere that familiar sensation formed in his sinuses, and he caught the sneeze in his gloved hands. Every man with him turned their heads, their eyes filled with a fear only a soldier could understand. He sneezed again, and he realised there was no real chance for any of them.
12.08.13
Top Secret
From: Klaus Gruber, Psychiatric division
To: Sir Nicholas Osmond, Head of Directorate of Military Intelligence 13
Re: Psychological analysis of candidate Major Nicholas Carter
After thorough analyses of the test subject, I am happy to recommend Major Nicholas Charles Carter for recruitment into the field ranks of MI13. Service record aside, he has many of the qualities that are required for work under the agency’s remit and has the emotional temperament to carry out any and all tasks that such a posting would demand. An in-depth analyses of the Major’s psychological profile can be seen in the attached video files, but this document acts as a summary.
The Major displays a disdain for romantic attraction without showing any tendency to sexual deviancy. There will be little or no likelihood of him falling victim to third-party seduction and blackmail.
The Major shows the prerequisite respect for authority and a love of country bordering on pathological patriotism. It is this clinician’s opinion that he would do anything and everything to protect the integrity of The Realm.
The Major shows a high pain tolerance and an ability to accept suffering as part of his role in the agency. He is one of the few recruits never to break under SAS RTI training and has withstood prolonged pain in combat situations.
The Major values loyalty and duty as his most important characteristics. He will follow orders, even if he finds them distasteful.
He is a born leader, but we do not believe he is right for the MI13 command and control structure at this time. His use by MI13 should be initially limited to the field. However, should an event threaten the integrity of MI13 itself, the Major may well be the kind of man needed to combat such a threat.
It is clear that he will kill, without question or remorse, anyone he deems a threat. At the same time, he lacks the sociopathic tendencies that could make such a trait dangerous.
There is no sign that he has any predilection to addiction. In fact, there have been multiple occasions where he has refused narcotic pain relief for the injuries he has sustained.
The Major will complete his mission or die in the attempt.
I therefore recommend that Major Carter be enrolled in the ranks of MI13, as per my remit under Regulation 7(4)a of the relevant legislation. It is also recommended he be advanced in rank.
Professor Klaus Gruber, OBE, PhD, FRCPsych, MBChB
22.08.19
Preston, UK
They had left him in chains, his limbs manacled together so as to restrict his movements. Not that there was anywhere he could run to without the restraints, the thick steel cell door and concrete walls saw to that. Even if he could escape the cell and his bonds, there were dozens of armed soldiers in the buildings around him. Then there were the fences and the watchtowers. Escape was thus a hopeless pipe dream, an idea he had already abandoned.
This did not bother him because the only place he now desired to be was here, close to the woman called Jessica. The stranger who he could not remember meeting and yet who he knew more intimately than himself. Just in their brief conversation, she had already unlocked memories that were both haunting and revelatory. Azrael was well aware he was more than willing to die, any purpose for his existence now gone. All that he asked was that she help him unlock the secrets of who he actually was first. When they eventually put a bullet through his skull, he at least wanted to know the true extent of his crimes. Under the truth drug that had been administered to him, the one called Natasha had asked him what he truly feared to which he had answered: “Discovering who I really am.”
Azrael found he no longer held that fear. Seeing Jessica had unlocked something in him. The truth about himself was now everything he craved.
His sleep had been eerily peaceful. Again, the nightmares had failed to descend upon his helpless mind, any dreams he had experienced forgotten the moment his eyes opened. Part of him felt there was a reason the terrors of the horsemen had not defiled his slumber, but the answer to that riddle eluded him. He suspected it would come eventually, along with the other disclosures that were brewing in his churning consciousness. Azrael, so familiar with the night terrors had forgotten that they had not been with him every night, intermittent in their nature. As horrendous and vivid as the sleeping visions were, he found he kind of missed them. They were familiar to him.
He needn’t have worried, they would return.
Azrael sat on the bed of his cell, the cuffs around his wrists already starting to chafe. They were tighter than they needed to be, but compared to what the MI13 agents had already inflicted upon his aching body, the discomfort was almost a luxury. The torture was over now and there was little in the way of hardship to be found for him here. Despite the deficiencies of the standard issue army cot, it was actually too comfortable for him. As for what else had been done to him, there would be no more of that. There would be no more interrogation and torture, for anything he knew he would share willingly. Azrael had realised this as soon as they had transferred him from the secluded house. If he was honest with himself, a part of him was saddened by this. The more he learnt about himself, the more broken and depraved he realised he was. Normal people did not relish the slaughter of strangers. Normal people did not kill their own children. Azrael knew he was guilty, worthy of whatever punishments were deemed appropriate. He deserved to pay some sort of penance and strangely craved the opportunity to suffer for his sins.
Ever since he had been reborn, he realised he had always known the two children he had killed in the house of blood had been his own offspring. He had denied it to himself for years, casting the thought away into the deepest recesses of his mind, but the knowledge had always lurked there, merely waiting. He had effectively been lying to himself ever since Mother had created the man that he was.
A mindless killing machine devoid of passion or mercy.
Despite the knowledge of what he had done, there was no remorse within him. The children were just two bodies in a whole list of humanity that had died by his hands. He had no memory of raising them, of watching them walk and talk for the first time. The development of their young minds was a mystery to him, as were the fears that had stalked their tiny minds. Their faces were just phantoms intermingled with the audience of carnage that he had gathered. The dead were simply that. It mattered not that some of them were his own flesh and blood. With what was facing the world, perhaps killing them had been the ultimate mercy.
There was nobody outside the cell, one of several in the barrack’s prison building. All the other cells were empty, and no guards were posted because none were needed. Every able man and woman was now involved in the fight against an enemy that struck without mercy. T
hese walls, normally containing drunken and miscreant squaddies, had likely never encased such evil as they did now. That evil was diminished, however, Azrael slowly realising the lies that had been told to him. There was a bubbling resentment in the way he had been manipulated by Mother. She had somehow created him, but not for the purposes she originally claimed. To ask him to kill Jessica? How could she do that? Justice demanded there should be a reckoning there, but Azrael knew Mother was far outside his reach. She would be dead soon anyway, old age reaping its untimely reward on her sagging flesh.
Out of his sight, a door opened. Footsteps, forceful, measured. A man of focus and training was coming. An equal in skill and brutality. Azrael knew before he saw him that his visitor was Colonel Nick Carter. The hatch in the door flew open and Azrael saw that his captor looked solemn, as if he had the weight of a thousand worlds on his shoulders. The door creaked as it was opened.
“Comfortable?” Nick asked. He was wearing an army NBC suit minus the helmet and gas mask. Nuclear, Biological, Chemical, the only thing that could hopefully protect him against the invisible virus that could be residing in anyone, anywhere. With red eyes depicting a lack of sleep, Nick peered through the open door, keeping a wary eye on his captive. Azrael noticed the caution in the man, the apparent respect that Nick held for his captive. It wasn’t fear he saw in those eyes. Men like Carter had no fear left in them.
“This is luxury to what I’m used to,” Azrael confirmed.
“Yes, I’ve seen pictures of your London residence,” Nick informed his prisoner. An assault team had raided the address Azrael had freely given the day before. They had found nothing that could lead them to the woman known only as Mother, or to the organisation she worked for. Despite giving the address up freely, Azrael suddenly found that he felt violated by the intrusion into his sacred domain. “Jessica has agreed to speak to you again. But we are going to need something more from you this time.”
“Anything,” Azrael almost begged.
“You haven’t heard what it is yet.”
“I’m already on a death sentence, I know that. You’ve already tortured me with an efficiency and skill even I am impressed with. There’s nothing more I really could object to.”
“You might be surprised,” Nick countered. “Colonel Smith thinks he might be close to perfecting an antiserum from Jessica’s blood, but he will need someone to test it out on.”
“That someone being me?”
“Yep,” Nick nodded. “It will mean exposing you to the virus, which means your next conversation with Jessica may be your last.”
“Why are you even asking?” Azrael was genuinely surprised. “There is nothing to stop you doing this to me anyway.”
“True, but I think you have the right to at least know what is going to be done to you. With or without your consent, these tests will be performed on you. It would just sit better with me if you gave your permission.”
“Then you have it,” Azrael replied. It was only a matter of time before the virus ravaging the world killed him anyway. “I have nothing to lose.”
“Thanks.” Nick turned and made to walk away.
“How bad is it out there?” Azrael enquired.
“Bad.” With that, Nick stepped back into the corridor. “Time to go Azrael, we are ready for you now”. Before Azrael could stand, Nick was already putting the gas mask on. Azrael wasn’t a viral threat, but there was no telling what threats waited in the cool August air.
People often forget the blessed moments that are around them every second of every day. Not Azrael, he savoured everything he could now. When you knew you might soon be facing death, you cherished what little there was left of life. Walking into the open air, Azrael stopped briefly and took a deep inhale. The breath coursed into his lungs, fresh and invigorating when compared to the stale air of his cell. Normally he preferred the cold, the dark and the grime, but not at this moment. Right now, he craved the sensation of life.
“Get your arse in gear,” Nick’s muffled voice said behind him. Four soldiers strolled passed, all similarly dressed as the MI13 man. The only difference would be the rank and name that was handwritten on a front panel on their suits. They gave Azrael a curious glance, the assassin’s reputation now a story for the squaddies to tell each other, a distraction from the terrors that they would need to face out on the city streets and in their hearts. The rank and file of the army personnel didn’t really understand who these newcomers were, nor did they comprehend why Nick and his team seemed to have free reign to wander throughout the garrison. Their commanding officer had not hidden his hesitation and irritation at the presence of the MI13 team, and yet the man who ran it all showed these people supreme deference. The orders had clearly come right from the very top.
That told the soldiers volumes. Nick and his team were people to be respected…and perhaps feared.
Azrael moved forward, his naked feet cold against the paved ground. He didn’t react to the chill in the air, despite the thin paper-like boiler suit he wore. It was difficult for him to move in anything but a shuffle, the chain binding his ankles too short to move with a healthier stride. It was a ridiculous form of motion, there for the protection of anyone he might choose to attack. Even without the chains though, Azrael wouldn’t have tried anything. He might have been able to overpower the likes of Nick, but only through luck. It wouldn’t have been any different if he had held one of his precious blades. With a knife he was anyone’s match in hand to hand combat. But then Nick and his team all carried guns.
The only thing Azrael could do was what his captors told him to. Virtually the entirety of his newly formed life had been spent following the orders of other people, so why should now be any different?
It was a short walk to where he was being taken. Two more men stood waiting for him at the entrance, both fully clad in protective clothing. One held the door open for him, the one called Brodie, the man so effective in his torture methods. Azrael had no hate in his heart for the man. In fact, he had nothing but respect for the skill displayed when the secrets in Azrael’s mind had been almost effortlessly extracted.
A sign beside the door announced that this building was the barracks infirmary. There would only be a few medical personnel inside at present, the majority of them out in the field where they were needed, or at the hospital helping Dr Patel with his research. This was the same building they had previously brought him to speak to Jessica…how Azrael craved to see her again. If not for her, he likely would have ended his own life rather than be taken alive. Even now he could snuff himself out with barely a thought. Such a thing wasn’t hard when you knew how.
Azrael walked through the open door, Nick and his companions making up the rear. Now in a short corridor, Azrael was guided to the room at the far end where an eager Colonel Smith stood waiting for him. Azrael wasn’t sure, but he detected a look of malevolence in Smith’s face. This was the first time he had encountered the man, and already he could tell there was something not quite right with Smith. As Azrael moved closer, Smith donned a face mask and pulled some rubber gloves out of his pocket before stepping back into the room that would be Azrael’s new home. Azrael followed him inside, noticing that his escorts stayed outside close to the door, not encroaching into Smith’s domain any further than they had to. It was obvious to Azrael that Smith was infected.
When evil dwelled in your heart, you got rather adept at seeing it in other people. Azrael walked on regardless, passing into a well-lit, substantially sized room which housed a whole host of hospital equipment as well as a hospital bed. Azrael wasn’t surprised to see ankle and wrist straps attached to the bed frame. With the limitations of his present restraints, he hopped up onto the bed before anyone told him to. Might as well just get this over with.
The room contained a long observation window. He recognised it now, this was the room they had kept Jessica in. Was she now free to wander?
“I assume I can trust you not to try any bullshit,” Smith said warily.
“Carter has told me what you are capable of.”
“I won’t give you any trouble,” Azrael insisted and held up his wrists to be unshackled. Smith produced a key and worked the manacles off him, only to then re-restrain Azrael to the bed. The captive did as he promised, lying back and freely allowing himself to be strapped down.
“The straps aren’t to just stop you going anywhere. We have no idea how your body will react to the antiserum. Unfortunately, we haven’t had time to do any trials on it. They are thus just as much for your own protection. We don’t want you hurting yourself.” Azrael saw through the lies flowing from Smith’s mouth.
“That may be true, but be honest. Part of you is relishing what you are about to do.” Azrael kept any hint of mischief out of his voice. He was merely stating exactly what he detected in the soldier.
“Don’t be absurd,” Smith admonished him.
“You need to work on your poker face,” Azrael said with a smile. In the corner of his eye, Azrael saw Nick give the Colonel a wary glance. Yes Nick, thought Azrael, you need to watch this one for his heart is like mine. There was definitely an air of menace around Smith. He was clearly ill as well, his face pale and covered in a sheen of dripping sweat. Occasionally the man would pause as waves of dizziness washed over him.
“Just keep your mouth shut, killer,” Smith ordered. Azrael felt cold on his arm and he looked down to see the disinfectant swab being run across his flesh. How strange to be worried about an infection when you were about to inject an untested formulation into someone’s bloodstream. And then there came the needle. Smith had no problem finding a vein, not with Azrael’s athletic physique. Before he injected though, Smith connected him up to the various machines scattered around the bed. The pulse oximeter went on his finger. Without any concern for Azrael’s dignity, Smith cut away at the boiler suit over his chest so he could access the skin there for the placement of the ECG tabs.
The Lazarus Strain Chronicles (Book 2): The Rise Page 15
