The Dust: Book Three - Sanctum

by Sharp, David H

  ‘Can we use her?’ Willoughby asked.

  ‘Absolutely. It has a GET58 engine. You can use jet fuel.’

  ‘Brilliant.’ Willoughby now knew the find of aviation fuel wasn't in vain. ‘Can you fly one of those?’ He asked Waters.

  ‘I have never flown one of these exact models. But yes, I can take her up.’

  ‘Fill her up Travers.’ Willoughby ordered his newly promoted right hand man. ‘Waters will take us for a little ride.’ He patted the newly appointed pilot on the back. ‘This could be the answer to all our prayers.’

  Waters gently pushed the cyclic stick forward as the Sea Sprite whizzed above the fields. Tilting the control to the left, the helicopter manoeuvred towards the river Severn.

  ‘This is the way to travel.’ The Doyen, sat next to Willoughby, gazed out as they passed over the M4 motorway.

  ‘I bet you’re glad you made it now?’

  ‘It was touch and go. Clearing out the Cotswolds has been harder than first thought. We could really do with some more bodies on the ground.’

  Willoughby rubbed his chin. ‘This problem down at Taunton hasn’t helped.’

  ‘Indeed. Why hasn’t it been sorted?’

  Again Willoughby felt nervous. He didn’t have the answers that the Doyen wanted. ‘Nobody knows why it happened. Nobody knows how it happened.’

  ‘I thought that girl was on the case?’ The Doyen sat back in his seat. ‘Davis, is that her name? I hear she is quite the enforcer.’

  ‘Unfortunately she drew a blank.’ Willoughby fingered his collar as the cold sweat on his neck itched. ‘I was a bit disappointed to be honest. I’m sending another team down, maybe they can get some results.’ He looked across to Chris Travers, who sat silently opposite.

  The Doyen nearly leapt out of his seat. ‘Jesus, look at that.’ He pointed to the now fallen Severn Bridge.

  Underneath the helicopter, the vast site of destruction took on a whole new view.

  ‘Look at the rubble. Look how much has travelled down estuary.’ The Doyen had his face up against the window.

  Chris Travers had heard about the bridge collapsing, but hadn’t seen it. He gazed down in wonder at the gap where the bridge once stood. He shook his head.

  ‘Over there!’ Willoughby yelled, making Travers jump.

  About a mile in from the bridge, on the Welsh side of the border, hundreds of infected humans were moving on mass to the second crossing.

  ‘What are they doing?’ Willoughby asked.

  ‘It looks like a migration; they look like a herd of Wildebeest.’ The Doyen moved from one side of the helicopter to the other as they passed over them.

  ‘Can we use this to spray out the Norovirus?’ Willoughby tapped Waters on the shoulder.

  ‘Can’t see why not sir.’

  ‘It wouldn’t take much.’ Travers interjected. ‘Drone helicopters are used all the time.’

  ‘Why don’t we use those?’ The Doyen asked.

  Travers looked at Willoughby for an answer, but he stayed silent.

  ‘I suppose we have this now.’ The Doyen patted the helicopter seat.

  ‘I’m sure we can find a few more to use.’ Willoughby suddenly found his voice.

  ‘And we have this man here to train some more pilots up.’ Travers placed his hand on Waters shoulder.

  Waters had to fight every nerve ending in his body not to shrug the hand off. He had seen him take Emma Davis’s position as Willoughby’s right hand person over the past two days.

  A crackle on the handset in the Doyen’s pocket stopped the conversation.

  Pulling it from his jacket, he clicked down on the two way radio receiver. ‘Yes?’

  Willoughby looked down to the ground, and back over to Bristol. The voice on the other end of the radio was back in the city.

  ‘Okay.’ The Doyen started quite calmly. ‘How did this happen?’

  He then became slightly more animated. ‘This was last night?’ He then punched the side of the metal door. ‘And why didn’t anyone tell me last night?’

  He then lost his temper. ‘For fucks sake, how did this happen?’ He went to stand up, but realised there wasn’t the head room. ‘I want these fucking people tracked down. I want them crushed.’ He then flung the hand receiver at the opposite set of seats, narrowly missing a ducking Travers. ‘The cunts!’ He screamed, spittle filling the air.

  ‘What is it?’ Willoughby hadn’t seen the Doyen lose his usual calm and composed demeanour.

  ‘The cunts!’ He shouted again through gritted teeth.

  ‘What?’ Willoughby was now concerned. ‘What is it sir?’

  ‘Some snatch squad have broken into the Taunton base and removed that farmer.’

  ‘Farmer?’ Travers asked.

  ‘He was involved with the removal of the infected prisoners, along with the female doctor.’ Willoughby answered the question quickly.

  ‘I want them dead.’ The Doyen slammed another fist into the seat. ‘Track the cunts down and kill them.’

  Willoughby looked at Travers. ‘That’s your next move.’

  Travers nodded back. ‘Can we use this?’ He tapped the side of the helicopter.

  ‘You can use whatever the fuck you like.’ The Doyen sat back down and wiped his chin. ‘Just find them and kill them. Use whoever, and whatever, you want.’

  Willoughby leant over to Waters. ‘Take us back to Filton. We have a busy time ahead.’

  Waters twisted the cyclic stick to the right, and the helicopter swung away from Wales and the smashed up bridge. He knew a hunt was on the cards. Perhaps this was Davis’s way back into Willoughby’s good books. He needed to get in contact with her.

  Chapter Nineteen

  ‘This land is pretty bleak, isn’t it?’ Naomi Hardcastle surveyed the skyline.’ Hills, a few trees but not much else.’

  ‘Don’t you like the countryside?’ Harry James asked.

  ‘Nah. It’s overrated.’

  The two had been out patrolling for nearly two hours. There was no sign of life. Not even a rabbit; they usually saw plenty of rabbits.

  ‘I love it, the fresh air.’ He took in a large lung full. ‘No smells, pollution, people bumping into you.’

  ‘No smells?’ Naomi looked down at the tightly knitted grass. Sheep droppings littered the ground like small black ball bearings. ‘Yes, very nice.’ She said sarcastically They both walked on for another twenty minutes, before deciding to turn back to Old Mill.

  ‘Is there any point in this patrolling malarkey?’ Naomi kicked the dust off the heather as they turned around.

  ‘Can’t be too careful, can we?’ Harry James spotted some rocks in the distance and stopped.

  ‘We should be sorting Old Mill out. Not wandering around the moors looking for trouble.’

  Harry laughed. ‘You crack me up.’

  ‘Why?’ Naomi joined in with a giggle.

  ‘You can blow hot and cold; I never know where I am with you. You see things differently to the others.’

  ‘Elaborate?’

  ‘What?’ Harry looked confused.

  ‘Explain what you mean.’ Naomi huffed.

  ‘Well you always stick up for me. You can also put the boot in unexpectedly. Plus the others, Roger and Angel in particular, well they always ask for your opinion.’

  ‘And?’ Naomi felt a bit put out. Why not include her input?

  ‘Well, they are both pretty strong willed; they buff up against each other.’ Harry James searched for the binoculars. ‘They both look to you to make the final decision.’

  Naomi shrugged. ‘I didn’t really notice. I like to be involved though.’ She pulled the binoculars from her back pack. ‘Angel had enough on her plate before Old Mill. Lou Pepper to look after, and missing Jake.’ She went to hand the binoculars to Harry James, and then pulled them away last minute.

  Harry smiled. ‘You’ve always been good to me.’ He moved a little closer. ‘I thought, you know.’ His words suddenly dried up.

 
Naomi pulled away. ‘You are not serious are you?’

  ‘What?’ Harry, slightly embarrassed at her reaction, half turned from her.

  ‘Nothing can ever happen between us.’ She was mortified he had even thought it. ‘Not after what you’ve done.’

  Harry James looked at the ground. He was crestfallen. His thoughts went back to Lonny and Archie. Why had he ever joined forces with them? He never fitted in with them, and now he had the same problem with Naomi and the others.

  Naomi continued to rant. ‘I saw everything you did. It was disgusting; my mother was raped and another hanged.’

  ‘I didn’t rape anyone!’ Harry shouted. ‘I was forced to do the other thing.’ He couldn’t bear to say the word hang.

  ‘It was your choice!’ Naomi yelled back. ‘You ran with the pack; you’re even worse than the other two. You’re too gutless to fight for your own ideals. To stick up for yourself.’

  Harry James just stood there; he had no answer. Naomi was right. He looked up into the sky. He wasn’t wanted by her, or by any of the others. He had to make a decision; whether to stick or twist?

  ‘Holy shit!’ Naomi shouted.

  Harry spun around to see her with the binoculars held up to her eyes. They were pointed at the rocks in the distance.

  ‘We have to get back to Old Mill, now.’ Without handing Harry the lenses she pushed past him.

  ‘Come on!’ She shouted at him. ‘This is deadly serious.’

  ***

  The Doyen patted Chris Travers on the shoulder. ‘Chris here will take the land vehicle, whilst Waters takes the helicopter.’

  ‘A blitzkrieg?’ Willoughby nodded enthusiastically.

  ‘Sort of.’ The Doyen walked over to Emma Davis. ‘You travel with Travers, report everything back to Willoughby.’

  ‘Understood sir.’ She looked over to Waters. It was only his quick thinking that had got her onto the search team. It had taken her twenty fours to get down to Bristol, but it was a trip worth making. Otherwise she knew she would have been left in the cold.

  ‘If.’ The Doyen stopped himself. ‘When you find these renegades, the same people undermining our authority, you will take them alive and bring them back to me.’

  ‘What happens if they fight? If they have guns?’ Waters asked.

  ‘I want them alive.’ The Doyen started to lose his temper, but composed himself. ‘I’m sure you will find a way.

  ‘I thought you wanted them dead?’ Willoughby asked. ‘Why the change of heart?’

  ‘I want to make an example of them.’ He frowned at Willoughby. ‘Put them on trial. Followed by a public execution.’

  Davis smiled to herself. That was her kind of plan.

  ‘Surely it would be easier to just kill them on sight.’ Willoughby continued. ‘Why go to all this fuss?’

  ‘Because!’ The Doyen yelled. He then composed himself a little. He had been losing his temper too easily lately. Hopefully this would stop soon. He had other plans to deal with. ‘Because I want to be seen to do the right thing. A trial will be legal. We are now the rulers of this land, so we shall act like government.’

  ‘I agree.’ Travers nodded. ‘It looks like the action of a well organised ruling power.’

  ‘Exactly.’ The Doyen smiled.

  ‘Am I flying alone?’ Waters asked.

  Willoughby looked over at Waters. He should learn to shut up, speak when spoken to.

  ‘Willoughby will go with you.’ The Doyen turned to Travers. ‘Is there anyone else you can trust? We need a few more hands.’

  Travers’s heart swelled. The Doyen was asking for his advice. ‘Gilman is a good man. Not the sharpest tool, but a loyal one.’

  ‘We can’t all be go-getters, Travers.’ The Doyen patted him on the arm. ‘Gilman will ride shotgun in the Sea Sprite. Alongside Waters and Willoughby.’

  Willoughby, whose heart had not swelled but shrunk a little, wasn’t really up for a fight. ‘I’m thinking my qualities would be best served in the Cotswolds sir.’

  The Doyen’s eyes narrowed. He liked Willoughby; he did as he was told. He could trust him, his allegiance wasn’t in question, but his intelligence was. Mistakes had been made in the Cotswolds. Mistakes had been made running the Infected into Wales, and not finishing them off. It was time for a cabinet re-shuffle. ‘You will lead the search team. You are the only man I can truly rely on.’ He held Willoughby’s left hand. ‘My friend, you are my eyes and ears.’

  Willoughby swallowed hard; he could feel the cold blanket of sweat rise on his back. When The Doyen became personable it licked like a double edged sword. He just hoped he was being grazed by the friendlier side.

  The Doyen walked to the exit. He turned and smiled. ‘Good luck. I know you won’t let me down.’ As he turned and entered the corridor he called out. ‘Davis, could you escort me to my vehicle?’

  Emma Davis blinked as if she hadn’t heard correctly. She smiled at Waters. She was back in the game. ‘Of course sir, right behind you.’ With that Davis also left the room.

  The Doyen sent his personal bodyguard ahead, to open up the blacked out transit van. He slowed his pace; Davis walked out into the open air beside him.

  ‘Davis, I have a little job for you.’

  Her heart rate rose, she felt honoured. ‘Anything sir, just ask.’

  The Doyen stopped and turned to her. ‘If Willoughby had a little accident, something subtle, well let’s just say he wouldn’t be that missed.’ He looked Davis straight in the eyes.

  Emma Davis’s eyes widened, but she tried not to show too much emotion. She knew he was reading her body language. ‘You want him taken out?’

  The Doyen smiled, he liked Davis. He also liked her nickname ‘Leila K’, she had been given by some of the Purebloods. She was cold, she was ruthless. A sociopath? Maybe he wouldn’t go that far, but cut-throat none the less. ‘I’m sure you will know what to do, and when to do it.’

  ‘Okay sir, leave it with me.’

  ‘Do you trust Waters?’

  ‘I trust no one.’ Her answer was quick and precise.

  Again the Doyen smiled. ‘Good, if you want to use him, it’s your call.’

  ‘I work alone.’ Davis paused. ‘I will get you the results you need.’

  ‘Good, good.’ The Doyen started to walk again. ‘We need to be more merciless, we need to move faster, striking harder. I like your style Davis. Keep it that way.’

  ‘Yes sir.’

  The Doyen waved her back to the building. ‘I expect good news on your return.’

  ‘Of course sir.’ Her heart pounding, Davis jogged back to the reception block. She licked her lips in anticipation. She was aroused, stirred to almost breaking point. Waters, she needed to find Waters, he was the cure to her awakening.

  ***

  ‘I still can’t believe it.’ Jake sat back in his chair. ‘Both of you holed up in the same camp.’

  Jeremiah was sitting in a big leather armchair; a thick blanket over his legs, sipping his tea. ‘Well I didn’t know the man, he was just a patient.’

  ‘Was he there when you arrived?’ Angel asked.

  ‘Yes, and had been for a month. He was in a bad way.’

  ‘You said he has no recollection of who he was?’ Roger looked out of the patio windows onto the back garden.

  ‘No, his head injuries were too bad. To be honest, he shouldn’t have survived.’

  ‘He was in a bad way.’ Angel sat down. ‘I can’t believe he survived. I said my goodbyes, it was that horrific.’

  The door opened and in walked Klaudia. In both hands she was holding a steaming bowl of soup. ‘I have made you some fish soup.’ She placed it on Jeremiah’s lap.

  ‘Thank you my dear.’ Jeremiah picked up the big steel spoon.

  ‘That smells amazing.’ Jake tilted his head forward to take a look.

  ‘I used the bodies of the, I’m not sure of the word.’ Klaudia snapped her thumb and finger together. ‘Like a crab.’

  ‘The crayf
ish?' Roger turned around.

  ‘Yes, them.’ She smiled back at him. ‘I made a stock with the waste, and some of the vegetables.’

  ‘What about the meat?’ Jake was worried Klaudia had discarded the best bit of his first catch.

  ‘I have made a big salad, with some placuszki.’

  ‘Some what?’ Angel asked.

  ‘Rice pancakes, a polish speciality.’

  Jake stood up. ‘That sounds fantastic, I could eat a scabby horse.’ He lifted up Klaudia’s hand and kissed it. ‘You are welcome to stay forever.’

  Klaudia blushed and laughed. Using the blue tea towel she had used to bring the soup in, she flicked Jake’s leg. ‘Stop it.’

  Angel looked up at the two of them. She felt uncomfortable with the over familiarity.

  Using the last piece of rice pancake left on his plate, Roger mopped up the remaining droplets of sauce. ‘Klaudia, that was a triumph.’

  ‘Here, here.’ Jake agreed.

  Angel held up a glass of red wine. ‘Compliments to the chef.

  ‘You are starting early?’ Roger asked, noticing Angel had poured herself a drink.

  Angel dabbed her mouth with her napkin. ‘I thought such a nice dish needed a glass of wine. It compliments it well.’

  ‘I concur.’ Jake agreed, and grabbed a glass from the oak dresser. ‘Fill me up.’

  ‘We have work to do.’ Roger complained. ‘We need to sort the raised beds out, and reset the crayfish traps.’

  ‘Stop whinging and have a drink.’ Angel offered him the bottle.

  All heads turned when the door to the hallway opened and Jeremiah tottered in.

  Jake shot out his chair, closely followed by Roger. ‘You should be taking it easy.’

  ‘I can’t sit in there, I’m missing the wine.’ He smiled at Angel.

  ‘Sit down here.’ She quickly pulled out a chair next to herself. ‘Here we are.’ She poured him a sizable glass of red.

  Jeremiah took a long, slow slurp. He savoured every drop as it danced on his taste buds. ‘Nectar.’ He placed the glass down. ‘Do you want to get your friend back?’

  ‘Yes.’ Both Jake and Angel answered in unison.

  ‘We need to move fast.’ Jeremiah put his elbows onto the table and became more serious. ‘If he doesn’t show any signs of improvement then he will be culled.’