Outbreak: A Cerebral Novel #1 (The Cerebral Series)

by Stuart Keane

  Hurry back, he thought.

  NINE

  "I'm outta here," Trent spat. He straightened up, pulling at the zip on his hoodie. He fumbled a bottle of water into his pocket. "No one is coming. The longer we wait, the more chance we have of being overrun or worse … starving to death."

  "We've only been in here an hour or so?" Morgan reminded him. "The police will be here."

  "Yes," Dee added. "They will. We just need to wait a little longer."

  "I'm done waiting. I need … I need to get home."

  Morgan shook her head. "You're safer waiting here."

  "Yes, I probably am. But … but…"

  Dee looked at her colleague, concern registering on her face. "You're worried about your mother, aren't you?"

  Trent nodded quickly. A tear rolled down his cheek.

  Morgan groaned. "I had no idea."

  "Why would you…?"

  Dee rubbed his shoulder. "If we wait for the police, we can go and get her afterwards."

  "They aren't coming. They've left us. If they were coming, we would have seen them by now." He fumbled with his zip, which had split down the middle.

  "They're coming."

  "And what if they don’t? What if the creatures got them too? Did you consider that option? You don’t have all the answers, Dee."

  She said nothing. Morgan stepped forward. "Just a little longer."

  Trent looked at the young girl, and suddenly realised he wasn't scared of her anymore. Her natural beauty no longer turned him into a bumbling idiot, a fool. He no longer felt a warmth spreading through his chest, or worried about speaking out of turn. For a man who experienced that with every pretty girl who crossed his path, it was a revelation. He glanced at her, feeling … nothing. She no longer had a hold on him.

  "No. I need to go."

  "Trent…"

  "Open the door, Dee."

  Morgan crossed her arms. "Think about this, Trent, please."

  "Open. The. Door," Trent said, his voice raising an octave.

  Dee stepped forward. "I can't do—"

  "Open it!"

  *****

  Harrison hugged the wall and slipped through the mall entrance in silence, his rifle aimed forward. Studying the doorframe, and the array of working lights in the mall itself, he realised the power to the doors had been shut off. The automatic function had ceased, leaving them wide open, like a patient mouth waiting for unsuspecting food. He thought about the cunning Venus flytrap and shuddered. He waved Goodright through, pointing to the door itself. She noticed, and nodded.

  The main thoroughfare of the mall was empty. A wide-open space with a variety of shops on either side, an eclectic mix of independent traders and franchise names. Fake foliage made the mall feel homely, the lush greens and blues standing proud in multiple pots and planters. Somewhere, a water fountain trickled patiently as the midday sun beamed down through the impressive skylight three floors above.

  Harrison remembered the layout from memory; the Sony store, Primark, Game, M&S, Claire's Accessories. Goodright scanned the area with a furtive eye and located River Island. She noticed the car embedded in the front window, its rear aiming for the sky, the brake lights beaming bright. She indicated it to Harrison and held a fist in the air. He paused as she edged back to him.

  "See those tyre marks?" she whispered, nodding to the ground. A series of deft, dark skid marks streaked the gleaming marble tiles beneath, starting parallel at the entrance and weaving off to the shop beyond. "Broken doors. A car with easy access. If you want to scare people away, this is a great way to do it. This can't be a coincidence."

  "Seems planned to me."

  "The work of the creatures or someone … human?"

  "Keep your eyes peeled."

  Goodright nodded. She took point and moved down the left side, her eyes on every high window, every shadowy nook, and every hidden cranny. Harrison readied his rifle and followed.

  I don’t like this, he thought.

  It's too quiet.

  After a moment, they found Shoo Boutique. Goodright sidled up and paused at the entrance, her back to the bright pink wall. She tensed, aware that her dark outfit might stand out like a beacon to anyone watching them. She waved Harrison forward, watching the corners as they both entered the store.

  "Clear," Goodright whispered as she passed the changing rooms, the booths empty. The doors were wide open, hiding nothing. The left side of the store was safe. She sighed. This is too easy.

  Harrison headed towards the counter at the back. He paused when he discovered the decapitated body of a security guard. He assessed the dark pool of blood, the stained uniform, the askew pose of the body itself. Holding a hand to his mouth, to alleviate the stench, he prodded the corpse with his rifle butt.

  He looked around, noticed the blood spatter and the slight cracks on the right hand wall.

  He didn’t see a head.

  "Clear," he stuttered.

  Goodright wandered over. "Ah, man. It all seemed so easy too."

  Harrison knelt down. "Someone … something was here. It tore the head off and snapped the spine. This wasn't a clean cut with a weapon. This is sheer brute force, relentless power."

  Goodright lowered her weapon. "A human couldn’t do this."

  "Not any human I've ever seen, steroids or no."

  "So they were telling the truth?"

  "Sure looks it. I just hope they're still alive."

  "Only one way to find out." Goodright examined the ceiling and found one of the store security cameras, a small black spherical hub. She walked over and waved, putting on her best smile. Harrison turned and watched the store entrance.

  Seconds later, a low rattling sounded behind the counter. A rectangle in the white wall opened up to reveal a hidden door and a security office. A young man emerged first, his hands in the air. The lens in his glasses were cracked, and his face gleamed damp with perspiration.

  Goodright turned and watched him, cautious. She raised her weapon.

  "Don’t shoot. Please," the young man blubbered.

  Goodright strafed right. "Step out from behind the counter, son."

  "Why? I didn’t do nothing…"

  "If that's the case, then you're absolutely fine. What's your name?"

  "T … Trent."

  "Good. Now, step out. Slowly."

  "I didn’t," he said, wobbling onto the shop floor. "I didn’t…"

  Goodright tensed. "Care to explain the blood on your shirt, son?"

  Tears rolled down his face. "I didn’t … mean to … it was … an accident."

  "On your knees."

  Trent complied. Harrison walked over and stood by him. "Where are the others?"

  "What … what…"

  "I was led to believe there are three people here."

  Trent pointed to the opening with a trembling finger, but said nothing.

  Harrison nodded. Goodright moved to the opening, weapon ready. She sidestepped though the narrow door to find two women. Surveying the small space, she felt the pit of her stomach collapse. "Oh, fuck."

  A young girl with frazzled blonde hair was pushing a bundled up blouse into another woman's stomach, to stem the blood that was sluicing out of her. The floor was glistening a bright crimson, and the injured woman's hands were bright red, slick and coated. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps, each one pumping a trickle of dark blood onto her pale chin. Her eyes were weary, tired, sagging. Goodright had seen it before. The onset of shock, the nature of the wound, the pale complexion. She wouldn’t survive.

  "Shit."

  "Help me," the young girl asked. "We need an ambulance."

  Goodright glanced back into the store. Harrison was fine. She could see the back of Trent's head. She turned to the woman before her. "I'm sorry."

  "What? Don’t say that, call … call for help."

  "I can’t do that."

  "Why?"

  "There is no help, no ambulances."

  The woman said nothing.

&nb
sp; Goodright sighed. "What’s your name?"

  "M … Morgan."

  "And your friend here?"

  "Dee. She works here. She … she saved my life."

  Goodright held her shoulder. "I'm sorry," she repeated.

  Morgan turned to Dee. A weak smile appeared on her pallid face. The injured woman was beginning to shake. She muttered, "It's okay … it's okay."

  "No. Dee…"

  "You need … you need to go."

  Goodright nodded. "She's right. We don’t have much time." She glanced back at Harrison again. The shop was empty. Nothing was happening. A subtle worry was easing into her shoulders. It's too damn quiet.

  She turned to Morgan. "We're on a tentative clock here."

  "I can't leave her … I won't leave her."

  "You have to. We can’t carry her; and we don’t have the resources to save her."

  Morgan said nothing.

  "We need to go," Goodright urged.

  Dee nodded, the gesture weak. Her eyes began to close. "Listen to the police. Make sure … make sure you … survi … survive."

  "I will. Make sure you hold this in place," Morgan whispered, indicating to the blood-soaked blouse. "It'll help with the pain."

  Dee smiled. "Good … good." Her head flopped to the side.

  Goodright cupped Morgan by the arm. "We need to go. Now."

  Morgan stood up, wiped the tears from her face, and nodded. A streak of blood smeared her cheek. She didn’t notice.

  "Harrison?"

  "Yeah."

  "We got a live one and a fatality."

  "Shit."

  Goodright led Morgan back into the store. The young woman crossed her arms and stood beside the counter, visibly upset. Goodright stepped before Trent. "Am I to believe that's your handiwork in there?"

  Trent continued to cry, but said nothing.

  "Did you kill that woman?"

  He shook his head. "She's not … not dead."

  "Yes. She is."

  "Why did you do it, Trent?" Morgan asked, derision in her voice. "Why?"

  "I … I..."

  Goodright turned to Morgan. "What did he do to her?"

  "He stabbed her."

  "Why? You were perfectly safe in there."

  "He wanted to get out. He … he didn’t think you were coming for us. She wouldn’t let him go; she was worried for his safety."

  Goodright faced the killer. "That's a bit excessive. My colleague here said we were coming. He's a man of his word. And you killed this woman because she tried to keep you safe?"

  Trent said nothing.

  Goodright sneered, "I should leave you here to rot."

  Trent turned to her. His eyes were wide, pleading. "Please … please don’t. Take me with you, I beg of you."

  "Why should we? You took an innocent woman's life…"

  "We need to go, Goodright," Harrison interjected.

  "… in a second. You took a woman's life, someone who was trying to protect you. What's to say you won't do the same to me … or her … or him?"

  "I won't … I promise. Please, I just want to see my mother."

  "Your mother?"

  "Goodright?" Harrison urged.

  "Fine. We'll take you along. Any funny business and I'll cap you myself. And I never miss."

  "Thank you."

  "Now, walk. Harrison, take point."

  Obeying his command, he walked to the front door and surveyed the mall. Still no movement, still no creatures. He heard nothing. Harrison turned to the survivors. "Right, we're heading right, out the front door and into a van we have waiting. Do not deviate from the path, and do not leave my side, got it?"

  "Surely we should go to the parking—"

  "Do not deviate, Trent."

  Trent nodded, pushing his glasses up his nose. Goodright leaned in and whispered, "Try to change things again, and I will shoot you where you stand, got it?"

  Again, the young man nodded.

  "Okay. Let's go."

  Harrison led the group forward quickly, revisiting their original route in reverse. They paused by WH Smith, with a clear view of the street. The van was still standing there, isolated and alone. Goodright could see Bruce's silhouette through the window. The town beyond was void of any presence. Nothing moved.

  "I don’t like this," Harrison uttered, his eyes flicking from building to building.

  "Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth," Goodright offered.

  "Even a gift horse can kick you in the face," he replied. "C'mon, let’s go."

  Harrison raised his rifle and moved. Remembering the commands left for Bruce, he paused, and turned to the group. Goodright nodded. Morgan looked at him, terrified. Trent just watched in silent awe. "We head for the side door of the van. It’ll open, we step inside, and we're home free. Do not linger, do not stop for anyone or … anything, got it?"

  "I want to go see my mother," Trent whined.

  "You'll do as you're told," Goodright replied.

  Harrison nodded. "She's right. We'll discuss it when we get in the van, Trent."

  "I want to go see her," he insisted. "Now. Take me there."

  Goodright grabbed him by the arm. "Shut the fuck up. We're here to save you, not get you killed. In that respect, keep your mouth shut and don’t make me shoot you."

  Harrison nodded. "I'm sorry, Trent. As of right now, our priority is your survival. We know you're alive. The rest of the town? Well, we don’t know for sure."

  "So you're refusing?"

  "I didn’t say that—"

  "What gives you the right to make demands of us?" Morgan spat, interrupting. "You're lucky I haven't smashed your fucking face in, you murdering cunt."

  "Try it," Trent hissed.

  Goodright stepped between them. "Calm down. We're getting you out of here, first and foremost, okay? We need to survive. Fighting will solve nothing, not right now."

  "Right, we're clear to go." Harrison waved to Bruce in the van. "On my mark. One, two…"

  "Fuck this," Trent said as he broke away from the group and sprinted back into the mall. His footsteps thundered on the tiles as he made for the wooden staircase on the right. Goodright watched him disappear upwards, and noticed the CAR PARK sign on the wall. Every echoing footstep slammed a trembling jolt into her heart and filled her with utter dread.

  Shit.

  "Harrison, get Morgan to the van. I'll round him up."

  "No, leave him. He brought it on himself."

  "We can’t leave him."

  Harrison nodded. "Fine. If you're not back in two minutes…

  "Give me three. This guy seems like a handful." Goodright started for the stairs, her rifle by her side. She took them two at a time, her shoes slamming on the expensive wood. In her peripheral vision, she saw Harrison and Morgan disappear through the door. She stepped out onto the first floor, the eerie silence surrounding her. Between two clothing stores stood a set of double orange doors with a giant P on them. Glancing left and right, she saw nothing, no one. The first floor was empty.

  Why is it so quiet?

  Goodright strode forward and slipped through the doors, nudging them open with her thigh. She looped the rifle over her shoulder and drew her Glock from its holster as she passed the stairwell. Two-handed and breathing deep, she moved through a second set of doors and into the multi-storey car park.

  The chill of the biting wind hit her like a thousand knives, the open walls of the structure acting as a natural vent for the cool air. Goodright moved past a green Mondeo and emerged in the driving lane. The parking garage was sparse, nearly bare, with a few vehicles scattered around. Many of the bays, indicated by fading white paint and zigzag lines, remained empty. She could hear the sound of a van door sliding shut, and seconds later, it was replaced by heavy, unnatural silence. She smiled.

  Harrison isn't so bad, after all.

  He has a future in this.

  She moved forward.

  Trent sprinted from behind a parked BMW, legs pumping, hustling for the
up ramp.

  "Stop right there!" Goodright yelled, aware of the booming echo and the volume. She eyed the structure beyond, watching for any movement. She saw none. "You're coming with me, Trent."

  The man twisted on the spot, a contemptuous sneer on his face. He fiddled with his glasses. "Why should I? I want to see my mother, and you won't let me. There's no benefit to me coming with you."

  "We need to get out of town as soon as possible, not go investigating it. We can keep you alive. Those creatures running around out there … they don't have any morals or a streak of humanity. They will kill you. We have to think of the safety of the group."

  "Screw the group."

  Fucking selfish arsehole.

  I hate this job sometimes.

  But I can’t leave him.

  Those things…

  "What will it take to make you see some sense?" Goodright conceded.

  "You know what."

  Goodright holstered her weapon. "Fine. Come with me and … we’ll see about your mother, okay? One step at a time."

  "You promise?"

  "Yes," she said, already regretting it. "I promise."

  A smile crossed Trent's face. He started towards her.

  A dark figure lunged from the left and knocked Trent off his feet. He went down with a yelp, his arms slapping the concrete. His glasses skittered across the ground. Goodright staggered backwards, shocked by the speed and velocity of the sudden attack. She pulled her handgun once again. "Hey, hey!"

  The figure stood over Trent, its back to Goodright. It ignored her and stared down at its prey, shoulders rolling, legs tensing.

  "Hey, fucker! Over here."

  With a reverberating growl, the creature turned its head.

  Goodright felt a deep shiver run down her spine, and for a moment, her mind's eye cast her back to the Nichol mansion. The severe violence, the unbridled chaos, the bloody massacre. The two white orbs that stared in her direction studied her, watched her, and observed her every move. Another growl escaped its lips, which dripped with a dark black goo. The strange substance pattered the concrete.