Darkness surrounded us and I was impressed by the pilots' ability to navigate through the falling snow and sleet. It built up on the side windows and I could feel the chill when I pressed my glove covered hand against it.
The heavy jacket and woollen hat didn’t seem to be enough to combat it and I shivered a little, though that could have been from the rising excitement. I took a moment to check my weapons, the two knives in sheaths hanging from either hip.
I wore a harness of straps made from some material I couldn’t identify but certainly felt strong. As I understood it from the brief instruction given by the Admiral as we waited, I would be clipped to a line that hung from a winch.
That winch would then lower me down towards the boat as the pilot did everything he could to keep the helicopter steady. Sounded simple enough though I knew that it wouldn’t be.
There were a million little things that could go wrong. Sea rescues were hard enough at the best of times and sending untrained personnel down to a boat, bobbing up and down in rough seas with a snowstorm around us, would be as far from the best of times as it could get.
I grinned at the thought. Too long cooped up on the island. I needed the risk, the danger, the potential for violence. It was a sobering thought.
When Briony had led her infected on a small rampage across the island and almost killed Lily, I had rushed back to her. In a short time, she had become such a stable part of my life that I couldn’t actually see myself without her by my side.
It had been an easy thing, back then, to promise to stay with her. To keep her and our unborn children safe. I just hadn’t realised what effect that would have on me.
For more than a year I had been wandering the world killing with impunity. It had been a life of danger, of chaotic violence and pain. I’d loved it. The fight for survival, the almost constant taking of life. It was like a drug.
Then I had stopped, suddenly, cold turkey. No more killing, no more violence, no more real risk to my life. Like the junkie that had been my first kill, I was an addict craving my drug of choice. Murder.
I could look back and see how it had happened. Starting small, killing a few people here and there, but building up as time went on. Culminating in the deaths of hundreds of people at my hand when I activated the devices that the Genpact employees wore.
Each and every time my need had grown and, to be fair, it was becoming ever harder to fulfil that need. There had to be more deaths, more danger, more risk, more thrill.
If I were honest, it had been part of my decision to stay. I had identified that need within me and had refused to let it control me.
But it had not been easy.
I had distracted myself with ensuring Lily and our unborn children were safe. Then, by spending time with my children after they were born. In the spare moments I had, I’d begun training harder and harder, expending my restless energy as best I could.
It hadn’t been enough. There was a constant itch in the back of my mind, an urge to kill that I couldn’t ignore. I had distanced myself from others, spending more and more time surrounded by my minions and using them as a means of exhausting myself. A distraction.
Lily had noticed, I was sure. I think she understood, but it was hanging there between us. This thing that we needed to discuss, needed to deal with. When she thought of us, she thought in the long term.
A lifetime together, with our children and friends. Recently though, I had caught her looking at me with a considering look on her face, one that had begun to gnaw at me. As though she was realising just what it would mean to spend that life with me and my need for death.
I shook my head to clear it and turned to face Gregg as he tapped my arm gently. He gave me a considering look and spoke into the microphone attached to his headset.
“You okay, mate?”
“Sure.”
I managed a small smile for him but he didn’t seem convinced and so I shrugged and flashed a grin that was sure to irritate him. I had no need to unburden myself on him and I definitely had no need to talk about my feelings.
The very idea almost set me to laughing.
“Coming up on the boat,” the pilot said, his voice coming through the headset.
Everything else fell away as I leant forward, staring out of the front windshield, eagerness clawing at me.
Powerful spotlights were aimed down at a boat bobbing in the violent sea ahead of us, the beams illuminating flurries of falling snow. Even with the lights, it was hard to make out much detail.
A simple fishing trawler, sitting low in the water that washed over its decks. There was a light on in the cabin that was set towards the bow, but it was too far and too dark to detect movement or whether there was even anyone on board.
Clearly, there must have been as the boat had made course corrections. I grunted, softly, as a large wave hit the side of the boat, washing over it and sending it careening wildly. It was being tossed about on the waves like a child’s toy.
“We’re supposed to lower ourselves onto that?” Gregg muttered, a look of horror filling his face. He turned his one eye towards me and scowled. “I don’t know why I keep doing this shit with you.”
“Because it’s fun,” I replied, with only a little mockery for his fear in my voice. His scowl deepened.
“Hope you guys know what you’re doing,” the co-pilot said as he climbed out of his chair and joined us in the rear compartment.
I didn’t bother to reply, just watched him as he pulled open the door. A blast of ice and snow was carried in on freezing winds and I couldn’t help but shiver. The co-pilot clung tightly to a handle as he reached out for the winch cable, pulling the hook on the end inside the cabin.
“Who’s first?”
I pushed myself to my feet, swaying and almost falling as a strong wind hit the helicopter, shaking it. Gregg reached out to steady me as the co-pilot hooked me to the winch and I couldn’t help my smile.
“Keep the headphones on,” the co-pilot said, calmly. It was a task he had done countless times before. “When you get down there safely, unhook yourself and radio up.”
I nodded and stepped to the edge of the compartment, holding the edge of the open door and letting the winds buffet me. They seemed to want to grab a hold of me, to pull me clear of the helicopter and send me tumbling to the ravenous sea below.
“Take your time,” the co-pilot said. “No one will feel less of you if you back out.”
Gregg’s laughter filled my ears, coming through the headset and I looked back long enough to grin at him before I took that final step, out of the helicopter.
I fell freely for a few short seconds before coming to a rough stop as the slack in the winch cable ended. I hung just below the helicopter, spinning wildly as the winds pulled at me. The co-pilot looked down at me from the opening and I waved irritably.
Slowly, I began to descend. The spotlights remained fixed on the boat below and I focused on that as I spun and swung about, this way and that. The lower I went, the more violently the movements.
Like a worm on the end of some fisherman’s line, I had no control of what was happening. All I could do was hang there and hope that the pilot knew what he was doing.
Seawater hit me as a wave crashed over the side of the boat just as I neared the deck. I spat out the mouthful of freezing water and kept a tight grip on the winch line, skin burning from the cold. A gust of wind caught me, sending me spiralling out over the open sea as the boat rose on another swell.
As I swung back over the boat, I hooked my leg over the port side rail and clung on as another wave hit the side. Soaked through and half frozen, my fingers caught hold of the railing and I held on for dear life.
The winch line was the only thing that would keep me alive if I were swept over the side, so I kept it hooked onto my harness as I pulled myself along the railing, step by step, pausing only to hold fast as a wave hit me.
Ahead of me was the cabin and I aimed for that, fighting against the violent movement
s of the boat on the storm-wracked sea. Only a fool or someone truly desperate would risk the crossing in such weather and I intended to find out which I was dealing with.
My hand closed on the handle of the door and there was a strong sense of relief as I pulled it open and pushed inside, coming up short just through the doorway as the boat's pilot turned to me. To my surprise, and a great deal of annoyance, I wasn’t actually facing a zombie. The man had a sawn-off shotgun in his hand, ready, and pulled the trigger as I stepped through the door.
The boat lurched to the side, saving me as it caused him to stumble as he fired. The blast peppered the cabin wall beside me and set my ears ringing. I had my knife out in an instant and leapt at him.
In the small confines of the cabin, we grappled as we both struggled to stay upright. Each crash of a wave against the boat sent it lurching to one side. He gripped my wrist with one hand, eyes wide as he snarled, attempting to keep my knife from stabbing down into him.
My other hand was around his throat, squeezing with all I had as he tried to pummel me with the shotgun he held. His face, slowly turning purple in the bright light of the helicopter’s searchlights, was filled with hatred.
“Ryan, mate, you there?”
I couldn’t exactly answer Gregg as all my attention was focused on staying alive. A tug came at the cable connected to my harness and I growled, a sense of urgency flashing through me. If they tried to pull me up before I had killed him, I was in trouble.
As the next wave hit, I slammed my knee up and against his hip. He fell back against the console losing his grip on my wrist and my knife slammed down into his shoulder. Blood flowed and he cried out in pain.
I pulled him close, my face just before his as another tug came at the cable and I snarled at him.
“Who are you?”
Chapter 5
Once again, I sat staring at a monitor as the man I loved was out there risking his life without a thought for what it did to me. If he died, leaving me and the twins alone… I couldn’t even finish the thought as I frowned at the screen.
There was little to actually see. Just a long line of numbers as data was fed back for the technicians. I was sure it meant something to them, but to me, it was just pointless numbers.
For a moment, I wished it was like the films where you could see the helicopter from any angle and had well-lit footage of what was going on. Unfortunately, that wasn’t to be the case.
A shiver ran through me and not just from the cold. I had a sudden urge to go home and check on the twins. To pick them up and hold them close as I hoped that their father would come home safe.
“They’ve reached the target,” a tech said, her voice calm and measured, eyes never leaving the screen.
I waited, anxious, for more news. It seemed that everyone in the control room was holding their breath as they stopped what they were doing and turned to listen.
“First man has descended to the boat.”
That would be Ryan, of course. There was no way he would let anyone else go in before him. Stubborn man that he was.
“No response to their query.”
I glanced over at Cass who met my gaze evenly. She was as worried as I was. Gregg was her brother and since the loss of Pat, she was terrified of losing him too.
“Message coming in.”
“Play it for the room,” Admiral Stuart said, and I smiled my thanks at him.
“Send the helicopter back,” Ryan’s voice came through the speakers surprisingly clearly. “Now.”
“Ryan.” There was a pause. “Admiral Stuart here. Repeat that, please.”
“Abort the bloody mission. Send the helicopter back.”
The normally stoic admiral frowned deeply as he spoke into his microphone. “Why?”
There was nothing but static for what seemed like an eternity as my heart seemed to try to claw its way up into my throat. My stomach churned and I very much feared I might be sick. Cass rose from her seat and quickly moved around the table to sit beside me, her hand reaching for mine.
I couldn’t look at her, couldn’t see the sympathy and the worry in her face. It would be too much for me to bear and I would lose myself, breaking down before everyone. None of the techs would meet my eyes. They too knew what it would mean if the helicopter was recalled without him.
“There’s a sickness here,” Ryan said, his voice surprisingly calm.
“What sickness?” Admiral Stuart asked urgently.
“Plague, Ebola, who the hell knows? I’ll make sure these people don’t rise again, then burn the boat.”
I stared at the speaker, more than a little shocked by his words. Burn the boat. So very calm and rational. Never once mentioning how the hell he would be getting back home if the helicopter was gone and the boat, he was on burning brightly!
My finger stabbed down on the microphone button without my even realising it and as the static sounded, my mouth dry and stomach seeming to spin and twist, I spoke.
“You promised.”
Just that. Nothing else to be said and, if I were honest, to say more would be to break down. I felt that my heart was about to break.
“Didn’t say I would be burning with it,” he replied, as cocky as ever. I could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “There’s an inflatable I can use.”
“He wouldn’t have a chance with the seas as rough as they are,” Admiral Stuart said softly. He tapped his chin with one long finger and then pressed the mic button. “Ryan. Can you pilot the boat?”
“Probably, why?”
“The Tower of Refuge.”
Someone gasped and it took me a moment to realise it was me. I looked over at the Admiral though a sheen of tears and smiled my thanks. He wasn’t going to let him die easily.
“Will be a long shot, but better that than a small inflatable in those seas.”
“Worth a try,” Ryan replied, then added. “See you soon.”
The line went silent and no one seemed to want to look at me. A long shot was an understatement, but it was better than nothing at all.
Out in the harbour, on a partially submerged reef called St Mary’s Isle, was a stone built castellated structure that had been built to afford shelter to mariners who wrecked on the rocks. Something that I guessed had happened a lot back in the eighteen hundreds when it was built.
The tower, looking more like a miniature castle than any tower I had ever seen, would not be comfortable but it would be safe from the storm winds and rough seas. If he could guide the boat to it, of course.
“Why not just fly him back,” Shepherd asked. “Whatever illness is being carried, it’s unlikely he’s already exposed.”
“We can’t risk any infection getting back to the island,” I said, heart aching. “More than that though, we need to know what those people are sick with.”
The Admiral nodded slowly, a smile playing on his lips. I’d guessed correctly that that was one of the reasons he had suggested bringing the boat back.
“By my estimation, we have a little more than an hour to wait,” Admiral Stuart said. “I shall go and rouse our doctors.”
He strode from the room without another word and I watched him go for just a moment. He meant Vanessa of course. She was a difficult woman and one I didn’t often agree with, but she had worked with all manner of infectious diseases back in the old world. If anyone could figure out what we were facing, it would be her.
“He’ll be fine,” Cass whispered softly. “I’m sure of it.”
“I know.”
Ryan, strangely enough, wasn’t my primary concern. A boat full of sick people. Ones that were ill enough for Ryan to want to prevent them from coming to the island. He wasn’t a doctor, so whatever he had found there must be bad.
Which had my stomach lurching for an entirely different reason.
Whatever their illness, they had set out to come to the island. Now, it was fair to say they had come searching for aid. We could even explain their refusal to answer the radio as a fe
ar of being turned away. I didn’t think so though.
They could have lied, over the radio. That they hadn’t spoken at all and had been aiming directly for the island told me that someone had sent them. A ship full of people that were sick with something highly contagious.
People who would die and resurrect as zombies, ones that were perhaps equally contagious as they roamed the island biting people.
I vaguely recalled my history teacher, many years ago or so it seemed, telling his classroom of rapt teenagers about how the bubonic plague was used as an early form of germ warfare. Humanity had a long history of using such diseases as a weapon.
From catapulting plague corpses over the walls of cities at siege, to giving smallpox exposed blankets to natives. People, it seemed, would stop at nothing in their quest to kill others. I had to wonder who on our growing list of enemies would be willing to do such a thing.
Two sprang immediately to mind. Briony could have done it. She was medically trained and certainly ruthless enough from what I had seen of her when she had wreaked havoc on us before fleeing.
I couldn’t quite see what she would gain from it though, other than revenge for her current infected state. Which, I supposed, was as good a reason as any.
The most likely culprit though was Genpact. They had a vested interest in wiping out any survivor groups so that they could reclaim the world as their own once the zombies died out. More than that, I was pretty sure they would have access to all manner of lethal diseases in their bases.
They were, first and foremost, scientists. Their work would continue in their secret bunkers while the world outside died. They had been the architects of the apocalypse and as such, were well prepared for it. They would have had ample time to prepare for any eventuality.
Such as not everyone dying by zombie.
Cass still had a tight grip on my hand, and I patted hers with my other as I shook myself from my reverie. It had been a distraction I needed, to stop me worrying about Ryan, but that came back full force as I saw the worried face of my friend.
Killing The Dead (Book 17): Siege Page 3
