Gordon shook his head. ‘That’s a good point. If none of us have run into that sort of thing, then it can’t be too much of a threat, can it?’
‘But it’s still a possibility, isn’t it?’ There was a warning note in Claire’s voice.
‘Yes, and we’ll need to keep it in mind, but I think there are more pressing matters for the time being, like setting up a clinic, and that’s what I really want to talk to you about.’ Gordon must have seen Claire’s face change. He held up his hands. ‘I’m not saying you have to move up to Rhum, or anything like that. All I’m saying is that if you tell me what would be useful, I’ll see if I can find it and give you a room to set it up in; that way, if you ever need it, it’ll be there waiting for you.’ He took a sip of his whisky. ‘You have to admit, it would be useful to have a place like that at your disposal … just in case.’
I could see the cogs turning in Claire’s head as she considered the offer. There was clearly a part of her which could see the advantage of what Gordon was offering, but there was also a part of her that didn’t trust him because of his military background, and her experiences with such people in the past.
Gordon saw this, too, and carried on. ‘How about this as a compromise? You draw me up a wish list, with no strings attached. I’ll see how much of it we can find, and then, maybe, we can discuss it further. Would that work for you?’
Before Claire could answer, we were interrupted by the sound of raised voices. I turned and saw Nick standing just a few inches from Hamish, jabbing his finger into his chest. ‘Don’t tell us what we can or can’t do, and who we can or can’t do it to. We’ll do whatever we fucking want. We’re in charge around here, not you.’
Hamish was bristling with anger. ‘Says who?’
‘Says the fact this country’s under martial law, and like it or not,’ Nick swept his arm across to where the other marines were standing, tensely watching the situation, ‘it seems we’re all that’s left of the military. That means we’re in charge.’
‘Country? What fecking country?’ Hamish spat back ‘There ain’t nothing left of your precious country.’
‘Yes, there is.’ Nick was swaying slightly as he yelled at Hamish. ‘There’s here. You might not want to admit it, but you won’t be able to survive for long without our help.’
‘Ach,’ Hamish waved his hand derisively at Nick, ‘why don’t you just feck off back to wherever you came from. We don’t need your help; we’re doing well enough on our own. And anyway,’ Hamish’s face was turning a deep, angry red, ‘where were you when we really needed you?’
‘What d’you think?’ I glanced at Gordon. ‘Should we let them sort it out between themselves?’
‘Yes.’ He nodded. ‘Hopefully they’re just letting off steam. You never know, it might help clear the air if they can get it all off their chests.’
Across the room, Nick jabbed Hamish again, this time hard enough to force him to take a step backwards. Nick advanced. ‘We were fighting on the front line, protecting sorry arsed people like you.’ He jabbed Hamish once more. ‘You don’t have a chance in hell of surviving around here without us.’
Hamish stepped forward until his nose was almost touching Nick’s. ‘We’ve been surviving around here since before fecking Sassenachs like you ever even knew places like this existed.’
‘What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?’ Nick looked confused. ‘What is it with you people? How do you expect to be able to run things when you can’t even speak proper English?’
Hamish sensed he was starting to get the upper hand. ‘If you don’t like how we do things around here, why don’t you go back to your precious London? Oh, because you can’t, can you?’ This time is was Hamish who poked Nick in the chest. ‘You fecking Sassenachs couldn’t even save your own capital, what makes you think you can help us any better than we can help ourselves?’
The room held its breath as it waited for Nick to react. Unsurprisingly, he exploded. ‘You fucking prick! My family was in London. I’d rather have been there, protecting them than trying to stop you fucking diseased Jocks killing each other. The moment it happened, we should have just walled the lot of you off and left you to it.’
Tom put his beer down on the bar and stepped forward, standing beside Hamish. ‘Don’t forget they tried that. It didn’t exactly work, did it? And I’d hardly say fire-bombing a city of half a million people’s trying to stop us killing each other.’
‘We should have bombed the whole damn country back to the Stone Age. We should have done it years ago.’ Nick stopped, looking around in an exaggerated manner. ‘Oh wait, how would anyone have been able to tell the difference?’
The other locals watched intently, trying to get a read on where the situation was going before making a decision as to whether or not to get involved. The marines were doing likewise. To my left, I heard Daz make a move to get up and I put my hand on his arm, ‘This isn’t our fight.’ He shot me a look of disdain as I carried on. ‘Not yet at any rate. We’ll only get involved if we have to. Otherwise, it’s best to just let them sort it out between themselves.’
Daz settled back onto his seat, but he didn’t seem 100 per cent convinced.
Suddenly, Hamish lunged at Nick, but Nick stepped back and pulled out his pistol, pushing it into Hamish’s face as he tumbled onto his hands and knees. The room froze, no one quite sure what to do next.
Keeping the pistol pressed against his cheek, Nick leant forward and growled into Hamish’s ear. ‘Not so brave now, are you?’
Tom stepped forward and Nick turned the gun on him. ‘You stay where you are!’
Tom held his hands up. ‘Look, let’s just cool it. I get it, we’re all pretty stressed; it’s no big surprise; we’ve all got to let off a little steam, but it’s over now. You won the argument, everyone can see that. Why don’t you put that away and I’ll get you another drink?’
Nick straightened his arm and pressed the barrel against Tom’s forehead. When he spoke his voice was cold. ‘Don’t you tell me what to bloody well do!’ He adjusted his grip on the gun. ‘Just remember that around here, I outrank you.’ He pointed back to the other marines. ‘We all do. In the pecking order, we’re up here,’ he held his other hand out parallel to the floor at shoulder height, ‘while you … you’re all the way down here.’ He dropped his hand to waist level. ‘And don’t you ever forget that!’
Tom remained stock-still. ‘Sorry, what did you say? I wasn’t listening.’
A look flashed across Nick’s face and there was a click as he cocked the gun.
The last time I’d seen Nick like this, he was preparing to execute one of his own men and I had no intention of letting him do the same to Tom. I moved to stand up, not quite knowing what I was going to do, but Gordon beat me to it. In a firm voice, he called out across the bar. ‘Nick, stand down.’
Nothing happened. Gordon took a step forward. ‘Nick, I think you’ve had enough; I think we all have.’
Nick remained where he was, staring furiously at Tom.
‘Lieutenant!’ Gordon stepped forward again. ’Since you seem to be so keen on who outranks whom, you’ll remember that I’m your commanding officer, and I outrank you.’ He kept walking slowly across the room as he spoke until he was standing next to Nick. ‘This is a direct order.’ Gordon wasn’t shouting; instead, his voice was quiet and authoritative. ‘Stand down. Now!’
Nick finally took his eyes off Tom. ‘Oh for fuck’s sake, Bucky, I’m just having a bit of fun.’ He lowered the gun and uncocked it before shoving it back into its holster. He glowered at the locals. ‘None of you are worth the fucking trouble!’ With that, he turned and stormed out of the bar; the other marines filed out silently after him.
Gordon returned to the table and smiled apologetically at Claire and me. ‘I guess this didn’t do as much for improving relationships as I’d hoped it would.’ He looked towards the still open door. ‘I should go after them, just to make sure they don’t cause any more trouble.’ He pic
ked up his drink and finished it in one gulp. ‘Maybe this whole idea of bringing everyone together in one place just isn’t going to work. Maybe we should just leave you to get on with it.’ He sounded a little sad and deflated. ‘After all, now the world’s changed, who says we really know any more about surviving around here than you guys do?’
Gordon put down his glass before walking to the door and disappearing into the night.
At seven the next morning, I heard the sound of the rib’s engines starting up. Gordon and the marines were leaving early, not even waiting around for breakfast. The previous evening, which was meant to have built bridges, had clearly failed; instead, it had only served to further sour the already strained relationship between the locals and the naval personnel. I went up on deck to see if I could get a word with them before they left, but they were already heading out of the bay. On board, I could see Nick yelling at Gordon and gesticulating wildly. I wondered if this was all about last night, or whether it ran deeper. The argument continued as they disappeared from sight a few minutes later, leaving me with a growing sense of unease in the pit of my stomach.
***
Over the next few weeks, we saw Gordon and the marines in their ribs off in the distance from time to time, but we had no direct contact with them. They weren’t obviously avoiding us, but neither were they going out of their way to speak to us. Maybe I was just imagining it, and it might just have been that they, like us, were feeling the strain of how things were changing. Infected were now turning up regularly in communities spread across the islands, and one by one they were being overrun. To give them credit, the marines were doing their best to help out wherever they could, and on more than one occasion they’d been lucky enough to be in just the right place at the right time to save many lives when this had happened.
An infected had even turned up in Tobermory early one morning, and it was only by chance that it had been spotted as it staggered up the shore, seemingly sluggish after its time in the water. Hamish had managed to dispatch it with his hunting rifle before it got much further and we gathered around the body as Claire examined it.
After a few minutes she stood up. ‘This doesn’t make any sense. It doesn’t look like he’s been in the water for more than a few minutes. Look at his hands.’ She pointed at the body. ‘They’d be all wrinkled if he’d been in the sea for any longer, and they’re not.’
Hamish bent down and stared closely at the man’s face. ‘I know him.’ He looked up at me. ‘You do, too.’
I knelt down beside Hamish. The man did seem familiar, but the disease had changed him: he’d become gaunt, his cheeks hollow from lack of food. ‘I don’t thi— Wait! That’s Martin Gallagher!’
Martin was well-known locally, although most people simply referred to him as ‘The Professor’, both because of his eccentric looks and because of how he’d ended up on Mull. He’d taken early retirement after selling some energy saving gadget he’d invented to a big multi-national, and had used the money to buy a long-abandoned farmhouse on the south coast of the island. He’d rebuilt it from the ground up and made it completely self-sufficient by installing wind turbines, solar panels and even a small tidal power generator of his own design. Much to the bemusement of the locals, this resembled a gigantic duck whose head dipped in and out of the water as the tide rose and fell.
Both Hamish and I straightened up. I glanced at the man again. ‘How the hell could the Professor have got here? If he went into the water anywhere near where he lived, the currents would have been against him all the way.’
Hamish shrugged. ‘I don’t know. None of this makes any sense.’
***
By the end of the month, the only community where no infected had appeared was the one on Rhum, and the result was that the number of people living there was swelling rapidly as more and more of the locals chose to relocate: some forced from their own homes by the rapidly spreading infected; others doing so by choice, believing that the naval personnel could offer far better protection than they could provide themselves.
The infected were certainly a growing threat, but it was still unclear why they’d suddenly started turning up with such regularity, or where they were coming from. The morning after Canna had been overtaken, Mitch and Hamish came out to the yacht, and together we tried to work out what was going on.
‘Ben,’ Mitch pressed her temples in frustration, ‘I know you think there could be infected drifting around out there, and while I agree it’s possible, the fact is, in all the time I’ve been flying around, I haven’t seen a single one. And neither have you.’
‘I know, but how else can they be getting onto the islands?’ I blurted out exasperatedly. ‘It’s the only way that seems remotely feasible’
‘There’ve been eight attacks in the last week, including when the Professor turned up here. With Canna gone, we’re the only place, other than Rhum, where people are still holding on.’ Hamish shook his head. ‘For this to be happening so often, there’d have to be a lot of them out there … and there just aren’t.’
‘Maybe you’re missing them somehow,’ Tom interjected.
Mitch turned on him. ‘Are you saying I don’t know what I’m looking for?’
‘No, it’s just …’ Tom fumbled around, trying to put his thoughts in order. ‘Maybe we’re just not out there at the right time of day. Haven’t you noticed? The infected always turn up late at night or first thing in the morning, like the Professor did. Maybe that’s got something to do with it.’
I hadn’t noticed the pattern before, and now I thought about it, I saw Tom was right, but I struggled to work out what it meant.
‘Maybe it’s something to do with the way they behave.’ Sophie looked quizzical. ‘Could they be doing it on purpose?’
Claire leant forward. ‘There’s nothing we’ve seen so far which would suggest they’re capable of anything other than basic functions like running and biting: all they seem to care about is attacking uninfected. The disease seems to burn out everything else in their brains. I don’t think they can do anything which isn’t innate. That would rule out them using a boat, or even swimming, so I don’t see how they could be doing it on purpose.’
‘But they’re doing it somehow!’ Sophie retorted.
I could see the discussion was getting us nowhere and that tensions were beginning to show. We badly needed to work out what was going on so that we could protect ourselves, but there seemed to be no logical explanation.
Letting out a deep sigh, Claire sat back in her seat. ‘Maybe we should think about moving up to Rhum after all.’ She glanced round nervously. ‘As far as we know, it’s the only place which hasn’t been affected yet, and even if infected make it there, they’re better prepared to deal with it than we are: they’ve got the guns and the training, and there’s the Big House to hole up in until the infected are dealt with.’
Tom stared at her. ‘That’s quite a change of attitude.’
Claire shrugged. ‘Sometimes you’ve got to be pragmatic about these things. If Rhum really is safer, then maybe it’s our best option.’
‘Aye, but how do we know if it really is?’ Hamish glanced round the group. ‘Maybe there have been attacks there and they’ve just kept it quiet. They’re keeping pretty tight control of the place nowadays, not letting anyone off once they move there.’ He turned to Mitch. ‘When was the last time they let you visit?’
Mitch nodded. ‘True, but even if they have had infected turn up there, they haven’t been overrun, have they?’
‘So are you saying we should leave here?’ There was anger in Hamish’s voice. ‘After all we’ve done and all we’ve been through?’
‘No.’ Mitch looked down to avoid making eye contact with Hamish, ‘but I think we should at least consider it if we can’t work out what’s going on.’
Chapter Eighteen
The sun was just about to drop below the horizon when a black rib raced around the headland and into Tobermory Bay. Daz was the first to spot it, b
ut by the time it was clear they were making a beeline for us, we were all up on deck. As the rib turned sharply and bumped alongside of the yacht, I could see Nick was at the wheel.
He wasted no time in announcing why they were there. ‘We’ve got a badly injured man. We need Claire.’
Claire stepped forward. ‘What happened?’
‘We were trying to get supplies for the clinic Bucky was setting up for you when we got jumped by some infected. Things got messy and one of our men got caught in the crossfire.’ Nick looked to Claire. ‘He needs your help. Please.’
‘Okay, I’ll get my bag,’ Claire turned just as she reached the companionway, ‘Where is he? Has Gordon taken him back to Rhum?’
‘Bucky’s dead.’ Nick spoke in a perfunctory tone as he kept his eyes locked on Claire. ‘An infected got him. I told him it was too risky, but he was hell-bent on getting supplies for the clinic. He just wouldn’t listen to reason.’ We looked at each other, shocked and not quite knowing what to say.
Claire was the first to speak. ‘But I never even gave him a list. I never agreed …’
‘I know, but he thought he could make up for the trouble I caused in the bar by putting the clinic together for you anyway.’ Nick shook his head. ‘I feel so responsible.’ He looked down for a moment and then quickly back at Claire. ‘Anyway, what’s done is done, and I don’t want to lose anyone else.’
This stirred Claire back into action. ‘I’ll just be a minute.’ With that she disappeared below. As we waited, I watched the marines: despite their loss, they seemed to be holding up well.
A moment later, Claire reappeared. ‘Sophie, you’re coming with me.’
Sophie protested for a moment, but then saw the expression on her mother’s face and ducked into the cabin, grabbing her waterproof jacket and pulling it angrily over her head. Just as Claire was about to climb into the rib, Tom stopped her. ‘Wouldn’t it be faster to fly up with Mitch?’
For Those In Peril (Book 2): The Outbreak Page 27
