by M. W. Duncan
Williamson gave a genuine smile. Eric got the feeling it was not something he had done lately. The exchange was short-lived.
“Things seem different. The airport is crawling with military. There’s an armada on the coast and still the snow falls. What’s happening?”
“The situation has changed in the brief time you’ve been away. All Black Aquila operations have been suspended except for security of this building. Our men, my men refuse to work in the city. I’ve a list longer than my arm of casualties, the dead in the hundreds, so we’ve been suspended until further notice. There’s been a sudden influx of American troops, not just at the airport but in the city. Elements are moving from the outskirts into the core of the city. There’s been heavy losses. I don’t even think they’re attempting to subdue the infected. Shoot and kill. Damn it, can you imagine when it gets out that it’s standard procedure? It’ll drive people to ground, nobody will seek treatment for the first two stages. We’re losing this, Eric. Losing badly. I’ve been excluded from high level security meetings. The Americans and some EU troops are filling in where we left. It’s a shit storm.”
It was much worse than what Eric believed would happen. He had been reasonably optimistic the outbreak would be under a level of control or that the CAF would be pushing further into the city, making it safe. It seemed all plans had stalled quite severely.
“So what do we do now? You wouldn’t have brought me back here to sit in a room and wait for a call.”
Williamson reached for a plastic water bottle. He turned it over in his hands while he talked. “You remember Gemma Findlay? The reporter I commissioned to look into the outbreak and gather information on the ground?”
“Of course I do.”
“She got herself to one of the displacement centres. A contingent of British Infantry, acting as CAF was stationed there. The centre, a hotel in the city centre was receiving some of the displaced, mostly women, children and families. Somehow the infected found it and overran the soldiers.”
“Is Gemma okay?”
Williamson waved a hand. “She’s okay. She got out and made it to Marischal College. It’s the council headquarters, but the CAF are using it now. It’s completely fortified. I need you to go there and bring her back. She got a message to me that she’s discovered something vital regarding the outbreak.”
“Like what?”
Williamson shrugged. “She wasn’t clear. Whatever it is, I need her back here.”
“How do I get there?”
“There’s an airlift flying out in a few hours. They’re bringing in supplies, I can get you on there and a return trip not too long after.”
“Our bird?”
“Our Chinook has been grounded for the foreseeable. Mind your Ps and Qs. We’re skating on the thin ice of their goodwill. You won’t be able to carry any kind of armament.”
Eric scoffed. “Nothing? I don’t like this, Ben. I’m being flown into the most dangerous city in the world and I’ve got nothing?”
“You’ll be safe, Eric. There’s enough soldiers and guns around to keep things in order.”
Guns in other people’s hands always seemed to lead to disaster, and more so if the CAF forces were trigger happy. Nervous soldiers and Eric walking around empty-handed did not fill him with confidence.
“Someone will call you when it’s time for the chopper. You’ve got an hour or so to get your things stowed away and gear up. You’ll have your own room this time.”
Eric knew the reason. Losses thinned the ranks of Black Aquila. How many friends died? Eric forced the thought from his mind. He needed to bring Gemma back to safety.
***
Gemma pulled one of the office chairs to the windowsill. Since being taken inside Marischal College she and George were interrogated, medically examined and eventually allowed to remain mostly at liberty. They were fed soup and slabs of bread more stale than fresh. Gemma was granted a phone call. She called Williamson’s people and told them where she was and that she may have some vital information. They were noncommittal about a rescue. She hoped that someone would come for her and that she would not just become a forgotten name on a report. It was not all about self-preservation, she finally had a lead, a lead that would possibly shine a light on the source of the outbreak.
The office had tall windows, ornate and gothic in style that looked over an inner quadrant of the building. The sill started above her eye line. Gemma clambered on top of the chair, balancing as best she could to avoid the chair slipping out from beneath her.
“What are you doing?” George lifted his head from a desk he had slumped at too long.
“I think something’s happening.”
The bottom of the window was obscured by the accumulating snow. Large floodlights flashed, their brightness forcing Gemma to close her eyes for a moment. The sound of aircraft grew louder and louder and the windowpane rattled. The Chinook hovered above the inner courtyard, strong crosswinds rocking the aircraft from side to side. It dropped down, controlled for the most past. The downdraft cast snow in every direction. It touched the ground.
The floodlights went out as the powerful engines came to a stop. Gemma climbed from the chair gingerly. George went back to resting his head on his arms on the desk. Since arriving he had been despondent, not speaking much, even to the military who questioned him over and again. Gemma spoke in his defence, as much to protect the lead in the outbreak as of genuine care for him. She thought of Dylan and his unfortunate death by friendly fire that almost claimed all their lives, too. Gemma felt the need to cry, but no tears would come. It was not safe to show emotion, not anywhere in the city. The tears would have to wait for the day she returned home to her parents.
“They must be flying in more people or supplies. A big helicopter just landed, could be our ticket out of here.”
“You really think so?” George mumbled, no hope in his monotone voice.
Gemma nodded. Not until you’ve taken me to that club and retrieved the artefact that linked the Carrion Virus to a deliberate act, she said silently to herself. She sat down at a desk and moved a mouse connected to a powerless computer. Gemma wondered what happened to the person who sat there each day. Were they dead? In containment? Or hiding somewhere in the city?
Her cameras were taken from her, with a promise they would be returned when it came time to leave. The pictures and film she captured offered a unique insight into life inside the quarantined city. Bringing Williamson the container that George spoke of would solidify her usefulness to Black Aquila. As long as she did her job, and well, she would be safe and under their protection.
The security door beeped and opened. Two soldiers stood in the office and a familiar face entered.
“Eric!” Gemma flew into his arms, soaking up his reassuring presence. Those tears threatened to come, but she allowed herself to smile.
“I heard you got into a spot of bother out there.”
Gemma moved from his arms. “You could say that.”
“You want the good news? That Chinook out there is to take you back to the airport. It’s making a supply drop and collecting the wounded from here. We’ll be back at the hotel in several hours.”
“We can’t go,” said Gemma, flatly.
“I’m sorry?”
“We can’t go, Eric, at least not right now.”
“Why not?”
Gemma hiked a thumb over her shoulder. “Because of him. George Reign.”
“And he is?”
“Nobody, it appears.” George was upright.
Emma began in a hushed voice. “I didn’t want to talk about this in my message back to Williamson’s people. I made mention of something. He’s it. He was working in a club on Belmont Street here in Aberdeen. He thinks the outbreak started there. He can tell us the day, and can list the people initially infected. More than that, he thinks he knows what kind of device was used to release the infection.”
Eric blew out his cheeks and rubbed his chin. “My orders are t
o bring you home.”
“Eric, we can’t let this opportunity go. This is what Williamson wanted me to do, to investigate, to dig deep and find things that normal investigations wouldn’t.”
“So what is it that you want of me?”
“Get us to Belmont Street. Help us to get the device and get us back to the airport in once piece.”
“What you’re asking I can’t do. It’s just me on my own, and I don’t have weapons.”
Gemma’s eyes were full of pleading.
“Damn it, Gemma, this isn’t like a stroll in the park. You’re talking about the most dangerous place in the world. You can’t just saunter down the street with your headphones in.”
Her volume increased. “Five minutes down the road. No longer.”
“On a normal day. Not today with the storm and the infected. Not today. I need to bring you back to the airport.”
“I won’t go.”
“Gemma, just think about what you’re asking.”
George left his desk. “If it means I can get out of the city, I’ll take you to the club and get you what I want.”
“No,” said Eric, and pointed back to his seat. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“I promised him that if he helped us get what we needed then we would get him out of the city.”
“You can’t make those types of promises.”
“Well, I did. He’s important.”
“She’s the only one who thinks I’m important.” George returned to his desk.
“Don’t make me go on my own, Eric. Please.”
Eric leaned in closer. “You’re asking me to risk our lives for something that might not even be there anymore. Pass the intel over to the CAF and let them deal with it.”
“No one’s listened to us so far, and every minute we waste might mean it gets lost or broken.” Gemma wanted to grab the story for herself, not leave it to some military or government group, no matter the dangers. “I’ll do it alone.”
“That ID badge you’ve got there won’t protect you anymore. The CAF forces are shooting on sight. You and I are going back to the airport.” Eric turned on his heel and marched out.
“I’m not leaving you here, George. One way or another we’re getting that container.”
“How? You heard him as well as I did.”
She gave him her best look of confidence.
“I thought I was going to die out there, and you’re suggesting we go back out, with no protection, just us?”
When Gemma tried to protest, he shushed her to silence.
“I know, I know. I give you what you want and you make sure I get out of the city.”
“George. I …”
There was nothing to say. She was using him to get what she wanted, what she needed. Jeez, Gemma. When did you become such a ruthless asshole?
***
Stubborn girl. Eric knew she would not give up. Gemma and George stood by the doors, behind the sandbag and machine gun placements.
Boots, jeans, a shirt and a leather jacket did not make Eric adequately dressed for venturing out into the city, but they’d have to suffice. He acquired a stun rod and a short range radio from the supplies. Nobody seemed to challenge him. Walking with purpose seemed to open many doors for Eric.
Eric joined the two. Gemma was wrapped in a thick coat and armed with an array of cameras, more digital equipment than one person could possibly need.
“We’re doing this then?”
She turned with a knowing smile. “I knew you wouldn’t let us go alone.”
“I should have thrown you over my shoulder and carried you to the chopper. But, Williamson will want evidence of this lead of yours. We’ve two hours before the chopper lifts off. We need to be on it. There won’t be another.”
Gemma looked him up and down. “You’re going out in that?”
“Your memo didn’t reach me,” he joked. He anticipated nothing more than a quick flight over the city, collecting Gemma and returning.
“Pray we don’t need that,” said Gemma, indicating the stun rod tucked under his arm.
“Let’s get this over with. Stay close to me.”
They stepped out into the winter-clad city.
***
The first part of the journey was uneventful. The only difficult encounter was forging a pass through the snow. X was spray-painted in red on the club’s damaged doors.
“That means it’s clear,” shouted Eric above the wind.
Gemma nodded, her scarf over her mouth.
“We still need to be cautious. You both stay here until I say to move.” Eric was cold. Brutally cold.
George nodded, blinking heavily as snowflakes fell on his face.
Eric stepped inside. The walls gave him a brief respite from the extreme cold the wind whipped up outside. Broken glass, hidden by the snow, crunched under his boots. He held the stun rod at the ready. The club was in ruins, everything broken. Dead bodies covered the dancefloor. Some were in black body bags, others were covered with thin white sheets. Arms and legs poked from the sides of makeshift covers. He halted, a sudden thought that the sound of his footfalls would somehow wake the dead.
“My God,” said Gemma.
“You should be outside.”
She ignored him. “Who are these people? There are hundreds of them.”
George paled. “The club,” he stammered. “What has happened?”
A blue flash lit up the building. Eric slapped the camera from Gemma’s hands.
“Hey!” she complained.
“You want to announce to any infected that we’re here?”
The look of annoyance dropped from her face. “Sorry, I should’ve thought.”
“George.” Eric waved him over. “Lead us to the room.”
George paled, pointed to the other end of the building, across the dancefloor and sea of bodies. “It’s over there.”
“I need you to show us. Lead on and I’ll follow. I’ll be right behind you.”
“I can’t. I can’t do it. It’s over there, through the double doors and to the right, in the staff room.”
Eric stepped closer to George. “Each minute we’re out here in the city, cut off from anyone who can help us, puts us at serious risk. You can do this, I’ll be right behind you.”
“Me too,” said Gemma.
“I can’t.”
“You want out of the city?” prompted Eric.
George licked his lips. “Out of the city? Yes.”
“Then you have my word. This one task, and then I’ll get you out.” Eric knew it was a promise he may not be able to keep. “Stay close to me.”
They took their first tentative steps. Behind, snow blew in the door. The bodies did not smell. Perhaps the plan was to use the building as cold storage for the dead until the security situation in the city improved. Or perhaps it was something much worse. A massacre.
Gemma whispered encouragement to George as they picked their way through the press of bodies. Gemma did her best to ignore the squelch as they stepped. George winced with each step. He held a hand over his mouth and nose. His eyes narrowed. He struggled on.
They cleared the dancefloor, George giving over a nervous smile, as if he had successfully negotiated a minefield without being blown to pieces.
“Past here and to the right.” He pointed to a door which Eric assumed lead to the rear section of the building, a place where perhaps a bouncer once stood, preventing wayward patrons finding their way to the staff areas.
Eric turned the handle. The hinges creaked with such volume that all three checked behind them in case it acted as a beacon to the infected. Nothing moved. It was a house of the dead. Eric heaved the door inward, stepped inside, stun rod up. The corridor beyond the door was empty, dingy and smelled of mould. George pointed to the right and to another door, smaller and with a sign, keep out, staff only. Eric tried the door. Locked.
“Key?”
“My boss probably has it.”
“And your boss
is where?”
George shrugged.
“Gemma, watch for movement.” Eric said impatiently.
Eric passed the stun rod to George and threw his shoulder into the obstacle. The door heaved inward but held on.
“Anything?” he asked of Gemma.
“Nothing.”
The door had rattled on its latch. One more sturdy bash, thought Eric. He stepped back a few steps and again drove his shoulder into the door. It broke inward, shattering the lock. He fell to his knees, but quickly regained his footing, scanning the room for the enemy. The staffroom was empty of bodies. The cramped room sported a garish sofa, duct tape concealing the many rips in the material. A tea-stained table, a few chairs. A TV mounted in the corner. A kitchen area, sink, microwave and small fridge.
Eric beckoned them both in. George returned the stun rod. He needed no urging. He went straight to the kitchen area, opened one of the cupboards and removed a large square box. Someone had written Lost Property on the side with a black marker. He laid the box on the ground and rummaged around some before pulling an object free. He passed it to Eric who turned it over in his hands. It looked very similar to a flask, one his dad used when working nightshifts. The stainless steel exterior was flawless, no marks or scuffs, the surface free of abrasions. In the lid sat a clock face. Maybe a small wristwatch was embedded.
“This is your lead?”
“Yes.”
“It could be nothing, Eric,” said George. “But then …”
Eric watched his distorted reflection in the steel for a second. “I don’t think it’s nothing, George. It’s something out of the ordinary. We were right to come after it.” He passed the device to Gemma, who snapped a quick picture of it before securing it in her messenger bag.
“Now, we get back to the CAF and fly the hell out of this city.”
“What about the bodies out there?” asked George.
“I’ll tell Williamson. Aside from that we say nothing. Until you know who you’re speaking with and why they’re asking, play ignorant. Understand? Okay, let’s go.”
***
