For Those In Peril (Book 2): The Outbreak

by Drysdale, Colin M.

  ‘Shite!’ Daz was tracking the object with the binoculars. He was clearly panicked.

  ‘Daz, what’s wrong?’ I strained my eyes as I tried to work out what it was about the object that had Daz so worried.

  ‘I know what that is.’ Daz was breathing rapidly as he spoke. ‘I’ve seen them before. It was in a documentary I watched. They used them in Afghanistan. Oh shit! OH FUCK!’

  ‘Daz,’ Claire was staring at him, ‘are you going to tell the rest of us what it is, or do we have to guess?’

  Daz took a deep breath. ‘It’s a fuel-air bomb. They’re bombin’ the city; they’re goin’ to incinerate the place ... an’ everyone in it.’

  ‘Hang on. Back up, Daz. What’s a fuel-air bomb?’ Tom sounded worried, but not as worried as Daz.

  ‘It’s like this really powerful type of bomb. It disperses fuel over an area an’ then sets it on fire. It’s so powerful, it’s like a mini-nuclear explosion. It’ll destroy the city an’ burn down whatever’s left.’

  Now I could see why Daz was so concerned. ‘What sort of range does it have?’

  ‘Dunno.’ Daz lowered the binoculars. ‘A thousand yards; maybe two; somethin’ like that.’

  I felt myself relax. ‘So we should be safe here then?’

  ‘If that’s the only one, yeah, but look …’ Daz pointed up. A second bomb had been dropped from the plane, this time closer to us. Over the next few minutes, four more bombs were dropped over different parts of the city and drifted slowly downwards, each on its own parachute; the nearest was going to come down about a mile from where we were anchored. Given what Daz had told us that could be close enough to cause us real problems.

  As we watched, a shimmering cloud started to spread out across the sky from the first bomb. It descended towards the city, and then exploded. First, we saw the light — it looked like the very sky was on fire — then we saw the blast cloud sweep down and across the city. Finally, we heard it. Even from this distance it was loud; loud enough to make Sophie yelp and cover her ears. Above the detonation site, a large, black cloud rose high into the air.

  By then, the second bomb had started dispersing its fuel across the sky, followed by the third and the fourth. Each ignited in turn, obliterating another area of the city and with it, both the infected and those who were still human. The fifth detonated and this time we not only heard it, we felt the blast front buffet us as it passed. The sixth was even closer and soon, it too, would explode.

  I shouted to the others. ‘We need to get inside!’ I didn’t know how much protection the cabin would give us, but it had to be better than nothing.

  Daz went in first, followed by Sophie, Claire and Tom. Only once they were all in the cabin, did I scramble down after them. I was securing the hatch over the companionway when I saw the flash of light. It seemed like it was almost on top of us, but it took a moment before the blast front hit us. When it did, it felt as if the whole boat was being lifted from the water. Then it fell and there was a brief pause before the blast returned, heading in the opposite direction as the explosion sucked the oxygen from the atmosphere, creating a vacuum at the detonation site. The boat lurched beneath us and turned violently in the water, heeling over until the mast was almost level with the surface, throwing us, and everything else around us, across the boat. Sophie cried out as Daz crashed into her; Tom hit the side of the boat with a loud and sickening thud. I landed next to him, my shoulder smashing one of the small windows in the cabin roof. Water started pouring in, but before too much could enter, the blast had passed and the boat started to right itself. Again we were thrown around the cabin like rag dolls, crashing into tables and seats, and into each other.

  Chapter Five

  Gradually, the boat settled itself in the water and I could finally stand up again. My head was throbbing and I could feel something running down the side of my face. I touched it, confirming it was blood. I glanced round: Daz was struggling to his feet, while Tom lay in a crumpled heap. Claire lay nearby, with Sophie stirring next to her.

  Tom seemed to be the most badly injured, so I went to him first. Kneeling beside him, I could see the dressing from his bullet wound had come off and he was bleeding again. There was also blood flowing down his face from a cut hidden by his hair and his arm lay at an odd angle to the rest of his body. I touched his neck with my fingers, feeling for a pulse; it took me a few goes to find it, but it was there. I checked his breathing: it was shallow and laboured.

  ‘Is he … you know … dead?’ Daz was standing over me.

  ‘No, he’s okay.’ I stood up. ‘Well, he’s alive at any rate.’ I stared at Tom, wondering what to do next. I had a rudimentary knowledge of first aid, but that was all. For the moment, I decided it might be best if I left him where he was and I turned my attentions to Sophie and Claire. Claire was still motionless while Sophie was now crouched next to her.

  ‘Mum? Mum! Wake up, Mum!’ Sophie was shouting, ignoring the fact that she was bleeding from a deep cut on her own arm, but Claire didn’t move. I reached out and checked her pulse: like Tom’s, it was there. I cast an eye over her; she had no obvious injuries and, apart from the fact that she was unconscious, she seemed uninjured. I looked up at Sophie. ‘She’s okay, I think.’

  Sophie’s brow furrowed with concern. ‘Why isn’t she moving then?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Then I remembered something. ‘Where’s your mum’s bag? The big black one.’

  Sophie sniffed. ‘It was around here somewhere.’

  ‘Can you see if you can find it? You’ll need to be careful though, there’s a lot of broken glass around.’

  ‘Okay.’ Sophie started searching through the debris scattered across the floor. I glanced round the cabin, looking for Daz and found him anxiously watching Tom for any sign that he might be coming round. ‘Daz, can you help Sophie?’

  Daz didn’t take his eyes off Tom’s unmoving body. ‘Huh?’

  ‘Can you help Sophie look for Claire’s bag?’

  Daz finally looked up. ‘What d’you want that for?’

  ‘Because she’s a doctor. There might be something in it that will help.’

  ‘Oh, yeah.’ Daz started searching the cabin, too. A moment later, he called out. ‘Found it!’

  He handed it to me. I opened it and rifled through its contents, looking for surgical dressings and bandages. I found some and went over to Tom. ‘Daz, come here. Hold this onto his shoulder; just push down, not too hard; you only need enough pressure on it to stop the bleeding.’

  Daz knelt down and held the surgical dressing against Tom’s bullet wound, while I searched through his hair. The wound wasn’t deep, but it was bleeding heavily. I’d just taken another dressing and pressed it to his head when there was a moan from behind me.

  Sophie was back over beside Claire, leaning over her. ‘Mum?’

  ‘What happened?’ Claire was trying to sit up.

  ‘We got knocked down by the blast.’ I turned my attention back to Tom. His head wound was still bleeding, but the flow was starting to slow.

  ‘Everyone okay?’ Claire spotted Sophie. ‘Honey, you’re hurt. Where’s my bag?’

  ‘I’ve got it here. Everyone’s okay, except Tom.’ I watched him for a couple of seconds: his breathing was becoming erratic; his skin was pale; and there was a hint of blue around his lips. ‘I think he’s in trouble.’

  ‘Let me have a look.’ Claire shuffled across and I moved aside so she could examine him. Her face changed almost immediately from concern to panic. ‘I think he’s got a pneumothorax.’

  ‘A what?’ Daz was leaning over Claire, trying to see what she was talking about.

  ‘A punctured lung. He must have broken a rib.’ Claire’s eyes darted around the cabin. ‘I need some sort of tubing.’ She turned to me. ‘Have you got anything like that on board?’

  I sprang up and opened one of the lockers. Its contents had been thrown everywhere, but I eventually found the rubber tubing I was looking for. I held it out. ‘Will t
his do?’

  ‘Yes. What about a plastic bottle? Have you got one of those?’

  I moved over to the galley, picking my way through the shattered crockery that littered the floor. In one of the cupboards I found a water bottle which I handed to Claire. She poured some of its contents onto the floor, leaving it half full. Taking a scalpel from her bag, she cut the tubing in half, feeding one end of each half into the bottle; one right into the water, the other just above it. Using Elastoplast, she then bound them into position. ‘What about duct tape?’

  I found that quickly and passed it to her. She wrapped it round and round the top of the bottle until it was completely sealed. Next, she pulled open Tom’s shirt and examined his chest. ‘Have you got any alcohol? Whisky? vodka? Something like that?’

  I raced back to the galley and returned with an old bottle of gin which had been floating around in the back of a cupboard for the last couple of years. ‘Will this do?’

  Taking it, Claire examined the label. ‘Yeah, that’ll work.’ She unscrewed the lid and poured about half of it over her hands, the scalpel and the right-hand side of Tom’s chest.

  ‘What d’you do that for?’ Daz was following Claire’s every move.

  ‘She’s sterilising everything.’ Sophie was standing behind Claire, watching her mother work on Tom. She glanced over at me. ‘You’re bleeding.’

  ‘So are you.’ I retorted and pointed to her arm. She looked down briefly before taking a surgical dressing out of Claire’s bag. She applied it to her arm and then wrapped a bandage around it to keep it pressed tight against the wound. When she’d finished, she pointed to the nearest seat. ‘Sit!’

  I didn’t move. ‘No, not until I know Tom’s okay.’

  Claire looked up. ‘There’s no point in me sterilising him if you’re just going to bleed all over the place. Let Sophie sort you out,’ Claire smiled at her daughter. ‘She knows what she’s doing.’

  I sat down and watched as Claire took the scalpel and cut deep into Tom’s chest between two of his ribs. There was an audible wheeze as air escaped from the wound. Almost immediately, Tom’s breathing started to become deeper and more regular; Claire let out a sigh of relief before turning to Daz. ‘I need you to help me.’

  Daz stood, staring, as if mesmerised by the blood oozing from Tom’s chest.

  ‘Daz, snap out of it and get down here!’

  ‘What? Oh! Yeah.’ Daz knelt down next to Claire.

  ‘Take that bit of hose and pour some of the gin over it.’

  Daz did as Claire told him.

  ‘That’s right. Now, while I hold this open, I need you to slowly feed the tube into it.’

  With her fingers, Claire levered open the cut she’d made in Tom’s chest, causing blood to rush out; Daz grimaced in horror, but he did as he’d been told.

  Claire smiled encouragingly. ‘Perfect. Now I need you to take that Elastoplast and use it to hold the tube in place.’

  Daz wrapped the tape around the tube, securing it to Tom’s chest. There was a noise from the bottle as air started bubbling into the water and colour finally started returning to Tom’s face.

  ‘That’s the worst of it dealt with. Now let’s get the rest of him sorted.’ Claire ran her eyes over Tom’s body. ‘Looks like he’s dislocated his shoulder. Daz, hold him down.’

  Daz put his weight on Tom as Claire pulled and rotated his arm. There was an audible pop as it slid back into place. As Claire sorted out the dressings Daz and I had applied earlier, Sophie took some gauze from Claire’s bag and tipped some of the gin onto it.

  ‘This is probably going to hurt.’ With that Sophie dabbed it onto my face. Pain shot through me like a lightning bolt and I jerked backwards.

  ‘Sorry.’ She drew back her hand apologetically. ‘I’m trying to be as gentle as I can.’

  She dabbed at the cut on my forehead again: it still stung, but not as badly as the first time. After she’d cleaned the blood away, she opened the surgical dressing and applied it, using some of the Elastoplast to keep it in place. Claire glanced up. ‘Good job there, Soph. Ben, you’ll need to keep some pressure on it until it stops bleeding.’

  I held my hand up and pressed the dressing to my forehead. I turned to Sophie, ‘Thanks.’ Then to Claire: ‘why’s he still unconscious?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Claire sounded concerned. ‘Daz, Can you help me get him up?’

  Together, they lifted Tom onto the seat on the other side of the table where he lay motionless.

  Claire walked over to the galley and washed Tom’s blood from her hands. ‘There’s not much more I can do for him now. We’ll just have to wait and see what happens.

  To take their minds off Tom’s condition, Claire set the others to work, putting everything back where it belonged down below. I chose, instead, to go outside and make sure the danger had passed, at least for the time being. As I pulled back the hatch, the first thing that hit me was the smell of partially burned fuel and of thick, acrid smoke. Darkness was falling, but the eastern sky was ablaze as far as the eye could see. Tongues of fire leapt fifty or sixty feet into the air, consuming the city and all those who’d still been in it when the bombs had been detonated. Above the fire, thick black clouds were building, rising high into the air until they disappeared into the descending night. Grabbing the handheld spotlight from its bracket just inside the hatch, I moved round, checking the boat for damage.

  Beneath my feet, the deck was coated with a greasy film which was mixing with ash falling from the sky, making it difficult for me to keep my footing. I was relieved to see that, despite the battering it had received, the boat seemed to be undamaged and the anchor was holding firm. I turned the key in the ignition, but the engine remained lifeless. Checking the batteries, I found the wires had been knocked off. I put them back in their rightful places and retried the engine. This time it turned over, but it didn’t catch. Pulling up the covers of the engine compartment, I peered inside; the smell of diesel hit me almost immediately. Looking at the fuel tank, I saw the fuel line had come loose. I shimmied into the confines of the compartment and reconnected it, then tried the engine again, but still there was nothing. After three more attempts, the engine finally started. This was a relief: even though it was several hundred yards wide at this point, we’d have difficulty navigating in the confines of the river without the engine.

  Not wanting to waste any more fuel, I turned it off again and was just about to go below when I heard something bump against the bow. I shone the spotlight onto the water and saw a large plastic dumpster floating past the boat. It had partially melted and fused to its lid was the burnt remains of a human arm. Shining the light upstream, I saw the river was filled with debris which had been blasted into the water by the explosions; some of the larger pieces still burned and smouldered. In amongst these floated charred and disfigured bodies, or parts of them, and as they drifted past, the smell of incinerated flesh lodged in my nostrils, making my stomach churn.

  Suddenly, I glimpsed a movement. I pointed the spotlight forward and illuminated a large section of what might have once been a roof that was floating towards us; three figures clung to it, their singed clothes hanging from their bodies, their skin charred and blackened: yet, somehow they were still alive. As they grew nearer, they seemed to sense my presence and turned towards me, their eyes burning with anger and rage as they let out low, guttural growls. I called out to the others, ‘Daz, Claire, get up here. We’ve got a problem.’

  Daz stuck his head out of the cabin door. ‘What? Claire’s busy with Tom.’

  ‘This is more important. I need both of you up here now. Sophie can stay with Tom.’

  Daz disappeared and then a second later, first he and then Claire emerged from the cabin. By this time, the roof, and its unwanted cargo, were only thirty feet from the bow.

  Daz took one look at the figures, and blurted out, ‘How’re they no’ dead?’

  Claire stared at them. ‘Are they infected?’

  ‘Yeah, I�
��m pretty sure,’ I played the spotlight over them again. ‘Look at the way they’re moving; look at their eyes.’

  Concern raced across Claire’s face. ‘Are they going to be able to get on board?’

  ‘If they get close enough, yes.’

  Daz gasped. ‘What’re we goin’ to do if that happens?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ I stared at the figures, trying to come up with a plan, but I couldn’t. I turned to the others. ‘Any ideas?’

  Daz was the one that answered. ‘Have you got any guns?’

  ‘Only a flare gun, and that’s not really a proper gun.’

  ‘Can we no’ just move out of their way?’

  ‘No, there’s not enough time to get the anchor up before they get here.’

  ‘Shit!’ Daz was starting to panic.

  As the roof drifted closer, the infected clambered unsteadily to their feet, but they found it difficult to stay upright on the battered and uneven surface as it bobbed up and down. One slipped, falling heavily onto the wood. By then, they were close enough that I could hear the snapping of bone as it landed. With much difficulty, it climbed back to its feet, its left arm dangling uselessly by its side, but it didn’t seem to notice.

  I looked around frantically, searching every inch of the deck, eventually landing on the boathooks which were tied, one on each side, to runners on top of the cabin. They were the closest thing to real weapons I’d thought of so far.

  ‘Daz, take this!’ I thrust the spotlight into his hand. I pointed towards the approaching infected. ‘And keep it pointed at them.’

  As I struggled to untie the first boathook, I heard the infected snarling and screeching as they floated ever closer. The moment boathook was free, I passed it to Daz before moving round to where the second was lashed to the cabin’s roof.

  I felt a shudder as the debris hit us across the bow, sending it spinning lazily down our left side as the infected clawed at the boat, desperate to get on board. I glanced at Daz; he stood, clutching the boathook in one hand, rooted to the spot with fear. Lit by the light Daz was holding in his other hand, I could see every line on the faces of the infected as they howled, mouths open, saliva dripping from their teeth. Up close, I could see they weren’t as badly injured as I’d first thought; their hair and clothes were singed, but their skin was mostly blackened rather than burnt. As they scrabbled against the hull, their fingers drummed against the plastic, leaving dark streaks on the white paintwork. I turned my attention back to untying the second boathook, eager to have it free in case any of them made it on board.