Anna fumbled with the launderette door handle. It was unlocked. Muttering a silent prayer of thanks, she pulled Garrick inside, past the front desk and into the back where they were hidden from the street. Letting him slide to the floor was a relief; blood sprang back into her arms, tingling and prickling.
She slid down the wall next to him. Her legs trembled, and her heart was doing its best to explode out of her chest.
Breathe, Anna. Breathe. She took a slow breath, forcing herself to inhale through her nose, ignoring her raging heartbeat. She wiped trembling, clammy hands against her thighs.
Industrial washers and dryers lined the wall opposite, their huge silver fronts quiet and gleaming in the dim light. A low, slatted workbench extended in front, and to the right stood four ironing boards, the irons connected to the ceiling by curled cables. Through a doorway, hanging racks of clothes hung, still encased in plastic shrouds.
She turned and placed a hand on Garrick’s forehead. He was burning up, his skin hot with fever. His eyes remained closed and dark lashes dusted his cheek. She leaned forward, listening to his chest and checking his pulse with her fingers pressed to the rough stubble of his neck. His lungs heaved with laboured, shallow breaths as he struggled to pull in more air.
“Help me, damn you.”
She reached behind him, got her fingers around his hips and tipped him sideways into the recovery position. At last his breathing came a little easier.
Safe for the moment. Now I just need to make sure you don’t die.
“Keep breathing.” She ignored the tremble in her voice and focused on the task at hand, ripping open her small medi-pack.
Fear loosened her tongue. “I’ve never done this before. I know medics are not supposed to tell patients this is their first time, but you seem a laid-back kind of guy, so I figure, what the hell?”
She cracked open the plastic anaphylaxis kit and ran her fingers down the containers of liquid within, before pulling out a clear vial. Figures and writing danced in front of her eyes, refusing to be read.
Fuck. Which was epinephrine and which was the follow-up antihistamines and steroids? Think, Anna. Think.
Beside her Garrick’s skin was grey, his cheeks, dusky blue. She bent her ear to his chest. It barely moved; his breathing was a shallow whisper.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Anna slowed her breath and rechecked the vials. Her vision finally stopped messing about and snapped into focus. She read the tiny text.
Taking the correct vial out its plastic clip, she snapped it into the syringe and took hold of Garrick’s thigh, administering the drug through the fabric of his trousers with one swift motion. She held the syringe in place and counted to ten before withdrawing it. Rocking back on her heels, she checked his pulse again. Thready, but still there. He wasn’t going anywhere just yet. She undid the belt from his upper arm, before lightly slapping his face.
“Come on. Come on.”
Her concentration was so intense that when he groaned, she nearly fell over in surprise.
“Garrick?”
His lids fluttered open and he smiled briefly. “Spitfire.” Then his eyes slid out of focus and closed again.
Anna quickly fitted the amber vial into a second syringe and administered a dose of steroids and antihistamines. She just needed time for the drugs to work and give his system a chance to recover.
There was a pile of fabric in the far corner of the room still encased in clear polythene. She ripped the plastic off and wrapped Garrick in two curtains then folded another one and lifted his head, placing it gently on the makeshift pillow.
Gradually, his colour began to return, and his breathing became more regular.
She propped herself up next to him, his machete lying on the floor on one side, her pulse rifle on the other. Her forehead dropped to her knees; her hands clasped her shins. She’d never been more alone or scared in her entire life. Outside between long periods of silence, the occasional screech and chatter of Chittrix crossing the common grated on her ears.
She ignored her watch, no longer sure if it was accurate. In the doorway leading to the shop front, the light shifted and danced as afternoon marched into evening. Twice there was a thump on the roof that made her leap up and run to the bottom of the stairs leading to the two small offices above. She waited in the shadows with Garrick’s machete heavy in her hands.
The first time, a scrawny tabby cat appeared at the top of the stairs, green-gold eyes glinting at her in the twilight before it turned and disappeared. The second time, she moved through the evening shadows, her hands clutching the machete handle and eventually, she had forced herself up the stairs. But the rooms were empty. Whatever had spooked her had gone.
Night had fully fallen and she was checking his pulse in the feeble light of her torch when he opened his eyes. She jumped a little, startled by his sudden awakening.
“Hey.” She ran her fingertips across his cheek, enjoying the rasp of his unshaven skin. “How are you feeling?”
He winced. “Crap. What did you do to me?”
She poked him gently in the chest. “I think you’re going to live. You’re welcome.”
She smoothed her palm across his forehead. She liked this, him in front of her, submitting to her touch. There was a connection with this dirty, rugged man in front of her. Something tenuous and new that scared her with its fragility.
He pulled himself up, groaning, scattering her thoughts.
“Are you thirsty? Here have some water.” She pulled out his water bottle and held it up to his lips. He took several long swallows then passed it back to her.
“Anna?” He cupped her chin in his hand and tipped her face so she was looking right at him.
“Thank you.” He smiled. “I’m normally the one doing the looking after.”
“Yeah? Well, don’t let it go to your head.” She gave him a wry grin.
She blushed, dropping her gaze, gathering in her emotions, unwilling to reveal to him how he undid her. How she’d fallen for him harder and faster than she ever thought possible. Letting him see would leave her exposed and vulnerable. She relinquished the heat of his body, stretching her legs as she stood up. When she finally looked back at him, his eyes had closed again, his breathing heavy and slow.
She’d survived all her life by keeping her heart locked away. The alternative scared the hell out of her.
30
Garrick woke with a start. His fingers tightened, searching for his MP5 but the threat was only in his dreams. Dark shapes and forms dissipated from his mind as he took a shaky breath.
Anna was heavy and warm, slumped at his side, her eyes still closed, and her face soft with sleep. As he watched, dreams flitted across her eyelids. He relaxed and allowed his heart rate to return to normal. He lifted his arm. It was wrapped in white, woven gauze, secured with a small silver pin. The wound throbbed, but the limb was still mobile.
He shook her shoulder gently.
“Anna.”
She jerked from her dreams, pushing his hand away and pulling the pulse rifle tight to her chest. Momentary confusion clouded her eyes as she woke and her brain updated her on the events of the previous day. Information, resignation, and fear all crossed her face in a few seconds, leaving worry and dread in her eyes.
“Time to wake up.”
Anna blinked and rolled on to her side, pulling herself up. She combed her fingers through her hair then pulled it up into a red band. The smooth cascade of hair made his fingers itch to run through the gold sheath, but he kept his hands tight at his side.
Instead he concentrated on pulling himself up to a standing position. Every joint and muscle in his body ached as if he was suffering from the flu. His skin was hyper-sensitive to the rough cotton of his clothes, and his temples throbbed.
He ignored the intensity of her scrutiny.
“Ready?”
He nodded and picked up his MP5. “Never better.”
She put a hand on his forehead. Her fingers were co
ol and smooth. He let his lids close for a second, enjoying her touch.
“Your temperature is normal.”
“I’m good. Bit achy, but good.”
Concern creased her brow. He grasped her hand, took it from his forehead, and kissed her palm. She laughed, her face relaxing.
Half an hour later, they stood in the doorway of the launderette.
Anna pointed east. “When I came down the hill with you last night City Airport was there. Still intact.” She snagged his elbow. “We’re off course but it’s not all bad. Someone’s cutting us some slack.”
Garrick sensed a tingle of hope low in his gut. “Communications.”
A grin lit up Anna’s entire face, burning through the grime and fatigue. “Exactly.”
They headed for the airport, cutting through the village, across the empty carriageway, and through shredded security fencing. As they crossed a runway to get to the main buildings, they dodged a jumbled mess of split suitcases and scattered personal belongings that looked as if they had been tipped from the bowels of a departing plane. Clothes, toys, books, mobile phones were thrown in all directions. Garrick worked his way across the tarmac, slowed by muddy thinking and heavy un-cooperative legs, avoiding the detritus of people’s lives and loves. Anna followed him closely, her pulse rifle raised in nervous anticipation of their exposed position.
They hit the main buildings with empty bellies but found tins of pears and custard in a dilapidated newsagent. Shelves groaned with books, quietly languishing. They ate in silence, trying not to acknowledge the annihilated civilisation stacked about them.
Stomach full, Garrick insisted they push on, dismissing Anna’s concerns for his injuries. He led the way out of the concourse through twisted glass doors ripped from their hinges. His stomach ached with apprehension, exhaustion gnawing at the edges of his consciousness. Here, the runway tarmac stretched out in front of them, an endless river of grey. A single airbus sat on the runway; the rest taken as people had flown the city. The silence of the departed pressed against his eardrums. Garrick raised his face to the clouds. He’d heard rumours of survivors on Scottish islands. But nothing definite.
The sun had disappeared, and a grey shimmer of rain was now falling, not proper drops but a greasy smirr that made it difficult to see and chilled Garrick’s bones. At his side, Anna walked, dark shadows lurking under her eyes. She needed a hot meal and a warm bed, and it was down to him to make sure it happened.
The thought sent a rush of heat through him. Lying in bed with her, clean sheets full of the scent of the wind, sunlight peeking through a chink in the curtains. His hands running over her creamy skin while she filled up the dark spaces in his heart. The dream danced on the edges of his mind, teasing him with its beauty.
“Garrick?”
He snapped to attention. Anna’s face was furrowed with consternation. “Sorry.” Damn, I need to concentrate. He needed to get them both home safe. Tiredness and injuries were eroding his edge.
“This is what we want. Air Traffic Control.” She rattled the door but it was locked.
A new boost of energy filled him at the possibility of radioing for help. Without hesitation Garrick smashed a panel of glass above the lock then held his breath in the silence that followed. He laid a restraining hand on Anna’s arm, forcing her to wait with him, and when enough minutes had passed uneventfully, he reached through and unlocked the door.
They moved quickly through the reception area, their footsteps echoing unnaturally loud. Garrick went first, kicking open doors as he went, his MP5 at the ready. They climbed the stairs without incident, pushing through battered silver doors at the top and into the main flight-control space. Banks of computers faced them, dark and silent, surrounded by chairs tipped in disarray, abandoned where their occupants had left them.
Garrick dumped his backpack on the floor. He stepped over and took Anna’s from her shoulders. She let him remove it without complaint. Red marks were prominent where it had rubbed the tender flesh of her neck. He briefly rubbed her neck with his uninjured hand, wanting to soothe the soreness with a kiss. Later perhaps, when this seemingly endless journey was finished.
The control desk was dark, presenting him with a bewildering array of lights and buttons, but there were enough commonalities for him to recognise the system and get it running. He flicked on the link to the emergency generator and waited for the gentle hum of power to fill the room while he slipped headphones on. Blue lights flickered as he eased the dials to the left, trying to pick up the frequency of the CB. With nothing to do, Anna wandered over to the large plate glass windows, chewing at ripped skin at the side of her nails.
Garrick twisted the dial through hissing static followed by the shriek of the transmitter, then silence. He gripped the knob with white knuckles, willing there to be someone out there. White noise growled back at him from the dirty speakers. Nothing.
“Garrick.” Her tone was spiky as she stared out the window. “Come here, now. Give me your binoculars.” Her hand extended toward him, fingers outstretched.
The radio was a dead duck. Garrick shoved back his chair in frustration and made his way over to see what was sharpening the stress in her voice.
“What?”
Anna took the binoculars from him and raised them to her eyes, tweaking the focus on the rotating bevels.
“We need to go.” Her voice was strained, packed with misgiving.
She handed him the binoculars and pointed west of the tower, in the direction of the Thames.
He raised the lenses to his eyes. Outside swam and tilted. “What am I looking for?”
“The primary hive. I didn’t get a close look at it yesterday but I’ve never seen anything like this before. It’s heaving with newly-hatched queens.”
The view shifted and blurred in front of Garrick’s eyes and then the amber and black edifice swung into focus. Garrick had seen the hive many times, but it’s strange unfamiliarity never failed to unsettle him. Its construction was reminiscent of an irregular pyramid, one apex buried deep in the ground, the rest of the monstrosity rising from the earth in an ever widening girth of glinting black and gold facets that towered over the ground beneath. Chittrix surrounded it in undulating waves, crawling over each other in a frenzy of activity.
He drew his gaze from the agitated insects. “What does that mean?”
Anna’s face was ashen. “I suspected this, given their similarity to earth insects, but I’ve never seen it before. Perhaps it was too early in the colonisation process until now.” She paused. “Look at the crumpled wings. They’re waiting for them to dry and expand. Those are young queens, preparing for their nuptial flight to leave and establish new hives.”
31
Anna followed Garrick from the security of the air traffic control tower and headed back out into the drizzling rain. Silence extended between them like a high-tension wire.
Frustration sang in her blood at their current impotence as they exited the airport grounds and entered an industrial area, car showrooms and tool depots crowding the road around them. Her mind buzzed with the certainty of what she’d just seen: the younger queens preparing to leave, gathering before establishing new colonies.
“We need to do something, now,” she muttered as they half jogged, half walked through the wet air.
Garrick’s voice was laced with exasperation. “What do you suggest?”
She craned her neck to check the view. Now they were back at ground level, there was nothing to see. Just a vast expanse of dirty buildings. Her thoughts kept returning to Julia and the Sweeper Device. It was large enough to decimate the entire hive, provided it was placed at the very heart.
“What if we went there and—”
“You know as well as I do we don’t have enough weapons. It’s suicide, just the two of us. We need back up and more weapons. Even then…” His voice trailed off wearily. “What if you’re wrong?”
Anna stopped abruptly and stared him down. “I am not wrong. I know
insect behaviour, and the Chittrix may have arrived from God-knows-where, but there are enough commonalities.” Her tone was adamant. She tapped her foot on the ground, her arms folded tight across her chest. “There is something you don’t know about.”
Garrick waited, visibly working the muscles in his jaw.
“Julia was working on resonant frequencies and using them to power explosives.”
He listened without comment, his lips pinched.
“I didn’t know who the hell you were,” her voice rose, defensive. “The first time I saw you, you were stealing my armour. You could easily have been a scavenger taking advantage. I was hardly going to launch into some detailed discussion of all the tech we’d been working on.” She reached out and touched his hand. “Now it’s different. We’re on the same side.”
He rubbed his eyes with the back of his wrist. When he opened them again, his face was calm.
“What is it?”
Anna started walking again, setting a brisk pace, her enthusiasm giving her a new burst of energy. “Julia took sound-cannon technology and adapted it into a bomb. The Sweeper. It’s powerful enough to destroy the hive and all the young queens inside.”
Garrick followed, his face serious, silently absorbing this new information.
He didn’t ask any questions, so she continued. “The Sweeper uses high-peak power pulses to broadcast waves of hypersonic sound. Each Chittrix resonates at a particular frequency. As the Sweeper broadcasts through a continual range, this allows it to resonate with every individual insect. If the frequency is powerful enough and matches the frequency of the insect, then the insect will literally explode.”
“Right.” His voice was deadpan while they walked further, skirting mangled grass and litter lying sodden on the boggy dirt. “Is it safe?”
“The sound frequencies don’t harm humans or animals, just insects. The issue is that we’ve only trialled it on a small scale. Earth insects. Not Chittrix. It’s a prototype, but if it worked, it would decimate the Chittrix in the hive. I’m not even sure how much of the hive is biological in construction; there’s a chance it could damage that as well.”
Garrick: Scifi Alien Invasion Romance (Earth Resistance Book 1) Page 14
