For Those In Peril (Book 2): The Outbreak

by Drysdale, Colin M.

  Daz let go of the wheel and took the binoculars from Tom. ‘Those aren’t cannons; they’re field guns an’ howitzers, an’ that sort of thing. That’s some pretty intense hardware.’

  I looked at Daz curiously. ‘How’d you know that?’

  Daz shrugged. ‘I play a lot of computer games. Not much else to do most of the time.’

  ‘What could they do with them?’ I was concerned about what the army might be planning to use such large weapons for.

  Daz bit his lip nervously. ‘Blow this thing to pieces for a start.’

  I assumed Daz was being flippant, but the very possibility had me worried. I took the binoculars from him and studied the bridge myself. There were three large guns, one at each end and one in the middle, all pointing up the river and towards the city; and that meant they were pointing towards us.

  I handed the binoculars back to Daz, who ran them along the bridge, stopping at each gun in turn. ‘Looks like they’re still settin’ them up. They won’t be able to fire them yet.’

  ‘You learned that from computer games, too?’ Tom sounded sceptical.

  ‘Nah,’ Daz shot back, ‘the Discovery Channel!’

  ‘We’d better get a move on then.’ I stepped behind the wheel and pushed the throttle up until the revs reached 4,000. The engine was now working flat-out; if I pushed it any harder, I’d risk damaging it.

  Chapter Four

  We’d crossed about half the remaining distance to the bridge when the first shots rang out. The sound was deep and rapid, and the bullets crashed into the water about thirty yards in front us, each sending a small jet of water into the air.

  ‘Why’re they firing at us?’ Tom was crouching on the cockpit floor along with Daz. Claire had thrown herself across Sophie, trying to protect as much of her as possible, while I huddled behind the wheel.

  I scanned the bridge ahead of us, trying to see where the gun was being fired from. ‘Maybe they think we’re infected. Here, Daz, take the helm. I’m going to see if I can get them on the VHF radio, tell them we’re okay and not to shoot.’

  As he stood up, the machine gun fired again; this time the bullets were much closer. Daz swore and threw himself onto the deck, wrapping his hands over the back of his head.

  ‘Daz, you need to get over here.’

  Keeping himself as low as possible, Daz crawled over to the wheel and crouched behind it.

  ‘You can’t see anything from down there. I’m afraid you’re going to have to stand up and do it properly.’

  Daz remained where he was. ‘Are you mad? I’ll get my fuckin’ head blown off!’

  ‘Don’t worry. I think they’re just warning shots; I don’t think they’re actually trying to hit us.’ Just as I finished speaking, the machine gun fired again. The first bullets hit the water a few yards to our right, while the rest crashed into the foredeck, sending splinters of fibreglass flying into the air. I pulled the wheel sharply to the left, turning the boat as tightly as I dared. As soon as we were facing upstream, I straightened it up and headed back the way we’d just come. A fourth rally from the machine gun smacked into the water close enough to the stern that I felt the spray land on the back of my neck.

  I glanced round the cockpit. ‘All of you, get inside! Get right up front; it’ll be safest there.’

  Claire ushered Sophie down the stairs, and was closely followed by Tom; Daz didn’t move.

  ‘What about you?’ He sounded concerned.

  ‘Someone needs to keep us heading in the right direction.’

  Daz remained huddled by my side. ‘I’ll stay, too, then.’

  ‘There’s no point in two of us being out here. Just get inside. Now!’

  There was another burst of machine gunfire from the bridge. As I ducked down, I heard the bullets whistle overhead and smack into the water about ten feet ahead of us. It was all the encouragement Daz needed. He scuttled across the cockpit on all fours and disappeared down the companionway just as the machine gun fired again. I shrank down as low as I could get, trying to use the back of the boat to give me as much cover as possible. I didn’t see where the bullets landed, but I heard the spray they threw up hit the side of the boat. I shifted the throttle forward causing the engine to scream as I pushed it well beyond a level that was safe; it wouldn’t be able to run like that for long, but we needed to get as far away from the bridge as quickly as possible. There was another volley of shots, but they landed well short of us. I hoped this meant we were finally out of its range.

  ‘Ben?’ I looked up and saw Tom standing in the companionway, trying to keep his head as low as possible. ‘We’ve got a problem. There’s water coming in.’

  ‘How much?’

  He glanced over his shoulder and then back to me. ‘A lot.’

  ‘Shit!’ I thumped the wheel. ‘Come up here and take the helm.’

  Tom stayed where he was, looking petrified.

  ‘Don’t worry. I think we’re out of their range.’

  ‘You think we’re out of range?’ Tom repeated worriedly.

  I shifted the throttle down so the boat was barely moving forward. ‘Just keep us pointing upstream.’

  Tom climbed slowly out into the cockpit, his eyes darting all around him. ‘Won’t they chase after us?’

  ‘I don’t think so. They’re army; they won’t have boats, and anyway, their job is probably just to stop anyone getting out. As long as we keep far enough away from the bridge, I don’t think they’ll bother us.’

  Finally satisfied, Tom stepped forward and took the wheel as I ran past him and down into the cabin.

  ‘Ben, up here.’ Claire and Daz were in the front cabin staring at the side of the boat, while Sophie sat on the bed, her knees pulled up to her chest.

  Even before I got to where they were standing, I could see the problem: the bullets had barely been slowed by the fibreglass of the deck and had gone straight through the hull. Each had left a ragged hole about an inch across in the side of the boat. I could see daylight through the ones which were above the waterline, while water poured through the ones below it.

  Daz heard me coming and turned, his face etched with worry. ‘Can you no’ do somethin’ about it?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve got a repair kit somewhere, but given how much water’s coming in, we’ll need to move fast.’ I watched the speed at which it was coming through the holes. ‘By my reckoning we’ve got about fifteen minutes before we’re in real trouble.’

  Daz raised his eyebrows incredulously. ‘We’re no’ in real trouble already?’

  ‘No, not yet.’ I glanced round at my companions and came to a decision. ‘Daz, can you swim?’

  ‘Aye,’ he looked slightly confused, ‘but why?’

  ‘I’ve got plugs which can be used to block up the holes, but the only problem is that they need to be pushed in from the outside; and I’ll need an extra pair of hands when I’m in the water.’

  ‘I’m no’ goin’ swimmin’ in the river; it’s manky. You see what people throw in it?’

  ‘Daz, I’m not asking. I’m telling: my boat; my rules.’

  ‘Can’t Tom go?’

  ‘Not with that bullet wound in his shoulder, he can’t,’ Claire interjected. ‘There’s too big a risk of infection.

  Daz realised he was fighting a losing battle. He held up his hands. ‘Okay, okay, I’ll do it, but what am I goin’ to wear?’

  ‘You’ve got underwear on, haven’t you?’ Claire said matter-of-factly. ‘Just strip down to them.’

  ‘But ...’ Daz turned from me to Claire and back again.

  Claire shook her head. ‘Oh, don’t be so bloody modest. I’m a doctor: trust me, you won’t have anything I haven’t seen before.’

  ‘Come on, Daz, we’ve got to get the holes filled as soon as possible.’ I went back through to the saloon and found the water was already up to the level of the floorboards. I opened one of the lockers under the seats and rummaged through it for the repair kit. Finding it, I pulled it out and ran up on deck.


  Tom was crouched down against the back of the boat holding the wheel as low as he could. I ran my eyes nervously over the now distant bridge. ‘Any more shots?’

  ‘No.’ Tom glanced over his shoulder. ‘I think they’ve given up.’

  ‘Good.’ I slipped the engine into neutral and went forward to drop the anchor. As soon as it was in place, I stripped off and searched around for Daz. I found him standing in the cockpit beside Claire, wearing nothing but a pair of baggy boxer shorts and a sheepish expression.

  ‘Right, Daz, up front and over the side.’ I carried the repair kit forward and opened it, revealing a number of orange cones, each one about nine inches long and almost five inches across at their widest point. I’d never tried them before and I hoped they’d work as well as they were supposed to. ‘Once you’re in there, I’ll hand these down to you and then I’ll come in. Whatever you do, don’t let go of them.’

  Daz peered over the side and then jumped, entering the water feet first. He disappeared from sight and then resurfaced, spitting and huffing.

  I looked at him. ‘Bit cold is it?’

  ‘Fuckin’ freezin’!’

  I chuckled and handed Daz the repair cones before lowering myself slowly over the side, giving my body a chance to acclimatise to the change in temperature. I took the first of the cones from Daz and ducked under the water. I felt around for a hole and when I found one, I jammed the cone into place. I repeated this again and again until all four holes were filled.

  I called up to Claire. ‘That should be it, but can you go and make sure?’

  She disappeared for a few seconds and then returned to the foredeck. ‘There’s no water coming in through the top three, but the bottom one’s still letting a lot in.’

  I dived down again and found the one that was causing the problem. I pulled it out and tried again, this time taking more care to make sure it was securely in place. I surfaced and Claire disappeared again; this time when she came back up she gave me the thumbs up. With no more coming in, the bilge pump would soon be able to clear out all the water which was already on board and we were safe. Well, maybe not safe, but at least we were no longer sinking.

  ‘What now?’ Daz looked enquiringly at the rest of us.

  We were sitting in the cockpit, trying to work out what to do next. I’d tried calling the people on the bridge on the radio, but there had been no response. I was sure they could hear us, but that they were choosing not to reply. We were riding at anchor and I’d spent the last hour and a half repairing the holes in the deck and the side of the boat. The smell of epoxy resin drifted around us and I knew it would take a good few hours before anyone would be able to go into the forward cabin again because of the fumes. ‘I don’t know. We need to get beyond the bridge somehow, but I don’t think they’re going to let us through.’

  ‘What if we waited for it to get dark. Could we sneak past without them seeing us?’ Tom was watching me as he spoke, trying to judge what I thought of his suggestion.

  I scratched the back of my head. ‘I guess.’

  ‘At least it’s an idea,’ Claire was clearly eager to be doing something, ’and it’s better than just sitting here. I’m telling you, when their current strategy for containing the outbreak fails, they’re going to try something more ...’ She hesitated as she searched for an appropriate word. ‘More, you know, drastic, and I think it would be best if we aren’t here when that happens.’

  Sophie looked up from her mobile phone where she’d been trying unsuccessfully, once again, to send out messages to her friends. ‘More drastic?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Like what?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Claire shifted uncomfortably on her seat and although I could tell she had a pretty good idea of what, she clearly didn’t want to say it in front of her daughter. ‘But the sooner we get beyond the bridge, the better.’ Before Sophie could respond, Claire stood up, ‘I’m going to check the news; see if there’s anything new.’

  With that, she went down into the saloon where I heard her switch on the television and turn up the volume. While the boat was riding at anchor, there was little to do on deck, so I figured I might as well join her. When I got down the stairs, the same reporter was still on the television, camped outside 10 Downing Street. She seemed to be responding to a question from the studio. ‘Well no, the current strategy — what General McDonald is calling “containment” — doesn’t seem to be working. I’ve just heard that they’ve had to pull the cordon back again. It now encloses an area that’s about five miles across and encompasses Glasgow city centre, the West End, Maryhill, and an area of the Southside which stretches for about three miles along the banks of the Clyde. The problem here is that each time they move back, the perimeter gets longer and more difficult to control. We’ve heard that a couple of checkpoints have already been overrun, either by infected or by people trying to get out of the city, and so far about forty soldiers are thought to have either been killed or have succumbed to the disease.’

  A disembodied male voice broke in, presumably from back in the studio. ‘So what are they going to do next? Is there another plan they can implement?’

  ‘Well, there is ...’ The woman hesitated and her eyes glanced to her left where an arm in a green jacket appeared briefly on screen before vanishing again. ‘There is another strategy, but at the moment, I’m being informed that it’s classified. What I can say, though, is that General McDonald is currently inside the building behind me,’ she pointed a finger over her shoulder, ‘discussing the alternatives with the Prime Minister with whom, I’m told, the final decision will lie.’

  Claire changed the channel, first to one, then to another: all of them were showing the same live feed from Downing Street. She snorted derisively. ‘Looks like the military’s nobbled the press.’

  I carried on watching the television; the reporter was half-turned from the camera, holding her finger to her ear. After a second, she looked up. ‘I believe we can finally link up with a reporter at BBC Scotland’s offices in Glasgow and see if we can find out a bit more about what’s going on. Gavin, can you hear me?’

  There was a crackling sound and the screen flickered before a new picture appeared of a man holding a small camera at arm’s length. He was hunched down in the corner of a room which looked like it was an office rather than a studio. Then the man spoke. ‘This is Gavin Kessington here at the BBC’s Glasgow studio.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘It’s now been six hours since the outbreak of Haitian Rabies Virus started in Glasgow city centre just a few miles from here, and I can tell you the situation inside the military containment zone is getting desperate. If you look outside,’ he shifted the camera so the viewers could see out of the window behind him, ‘you’ll see there are many, many people milling around out there. I’m not certain, but I think they’re all infected: I’ve seen them attacking people, killing them, even eating them. They show no mercy to anyone they encounter, but they’re not attacking each other. There must be some way they know who’s infected and who isn’t.’

  The female reporter’s voice cut in. ‘Have you seen the army at all? Are they doing anything to help?’

  Gavin pressed his finger into his ear, as if adjusting an earpiece. ‘I did see them initially, but that was when we were at the edge of the containment zone. Since they pulled back, I’ve only seen helicopters flying overhead.’ He shifted his position. ‘And now, it seems, even they’ve gone. When they were here, there didn’t seem much they could do. There’re just too many infected; they’re everywhere.’

  ‘And how are you holding up, Gavin?’

  ‘I think the phrase is “as well as can be expected”.’

  ‘How many of you are there?’

  ‘It’s just me. Some of the people from my office tried to get out, but I think they got caught by the infected. There might be people in other offices but it’s not safe to move around to find out. There are infected in the building itself. I’m not too sure how they got in, but I’ve seen them in the corr
idors. At the moment, I’ve got the door barricaded with a desk, and I just hope that will be enough to keep them out.’

  ‘Okay, Gavin. Can we come back to you for an update in a couple of hours?’

  ‘Yes.’ There was a sudden crash and the man’s head snapped to the left before returning to the camera. He spoke again, almost whispering this time. ‘If I’m still here.’

  With that, the picture switched back to the woman in Downing Street. She straightened her coat. ‘That was Gavin Kessington reporting from Glasgow, where, if you’re just joining us, there’s been an outbreak of the Haitian Rabies Virus. This is the same virus that has been spreading slowly through the Caribbean and some parts of the US in recent weeks, and it is thought to have been responsible for much of the destruction we witnessed in Miami yesterday. The Prime Minister closed the country’s borders this morning, and it’s still not clear how the outbreak in Glasgow started. Now, back to the studio, where we will be discussing what we know about this emerging virus and where it came from.’

  Suddenly, Daz poked his head into the cabin. ‘Hey guys, I think you need to see this.’

  Claire and I went back out on deck where Daz was now staring towards the city with the binoculars. There was a plane, just visible high up in the sky, circling slowly. I shielded my eyes with my hand as I watched it. ‘What’s up?’

  Daz lowered the binoculars, looking concerned, and pointed at the aircraft. ‘That is.’

  I carried on watching the plane for a few seconds, and couldn’t see anything worth being concerned about. ‘I don’t get it.’

  ‘That’s a bomber; I recognise the shape.’ He lifted up the binoculars again. ‘Why would they have a bomber over the city?’

  I glanced at Claire and wondered whether this was part of some new strategy. As we watched, something fell from the back of the plane. At first, I thought it was a bomb, and I was relieved when I saw a red and white parachute open up. Whatever it was, it drifted slowly through the darkening sky towards the ground. As far as I could work out, it was going to touch down somewhere near the city centre.