The Lingering

by Brown, Ben

  All eyes fixed on him as he slipped the cigarette between his lips, then lit it with his Zippo. They all watched in silence as he took a massive draw on the cancer stick. He lowered the glowing tube of tobacco to his side and exhaled slowly.

  “I think this is my last go round,” Dallas mused as he stared at the reddening sky. A flock of Galahs shot overhead, and he followed them with his eyes. “I don’t think I have it in me anymore. I …”

  Suddenly hands appeared from under the car, and grabbed Dallas by the ankles. Before anyone could move, the young warrior disappeared under the vehicle. Less than a second later, his screams cut through the air like a knife.

  For the briefest of moments, no one moved, but another scream seemed to jolt them all into action at once. Archer pulled his sidearm and threw himself to the ground; Fairclough and Bouchard were only a heartbeat behind him. Another scream, this time one filled with more pain than anyone could imagine, assaulted their senses.

  Somehow, a badly mutilated biter found itself lodged in the chassis of the vehicle, and it now took large chunks out of the panicking Dallas. Archer tried to get a clear line of sight on the biter, but Dallas made a clear shot impossible.

  “Can anyone take that thing out?” yelled Archer.

  “No,” came his teammate’s joint response.

  The biter dragged Dallas closer, then latched onto his throat with its blood soaked mouth. It no longer mattered that Dallas blocked a clear shot; the young man wouldn’t survive more than a second or two longer anyway. Archers first shot found Dallas’s head. His second found the biter’s.

  Archer rolled onto his back and stared at the sky. How many more of his people would these things take? He could feel an overwhelming sense of loss beginning to envelop him, but he stowed his grief away with the rest of his emotions.

  Fairclough loomed above him, and offered him a hand. Archer took it and heaved himself up, then looked back at the four by four.

  “Pete, you and Lucien see to burying Dallas. I don’t want that swarm digging him up, so make sure he’s covered well.”

  Fairclough nodded grimly. “Sure.”

  Archer looked towards Bartholomew. She stood staring at the place where Dallas had been a few moments earlier. She seemed in a daze. Archer approached her and took her gently by the shoulder.

  “Kathryn, are you okay?”

  He clicked his fingers in front of her eyes, and she gradually return to the land of the living.

  “He saved my life back there,” she mumbled, “he can’t be dead.”

  Archer patted her shoulder. He wanted to hug her, but that would overstep the mark. He needed to keep her at a professional distance. If he didn’t do that, then he couldn’t protect her.

  “He’s gone, Kathryn, nothing is going to change that. You need to clear your head and focus on the goal. Nothing but the mission matters.”

  She stared into his face, and his eyes were cold. “He was your friend, and you just forget him like that. You’re as big a monster as the thing that attacked him.”

  Archer felt a surge of anger, which he found hard to control. Nonetheless, he did. “Dallas was my friend, and I’ll mourn him when it is appropriate. But now isn’t the time. The mission is always more important than us, we all know that, and we accept it. You should too.”

  Her face softened. “You’re right, forgive me.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive. Now go get some rest while we bury him.”

  She shook her head. “No, I want to help. After all, I’m part of the team.”

  He smiled at her kindly, and then they both headed to where Fairclough and Bouchard worked on digging Dallas’s grave.

  It took a little under thirty minutes for them to return their friend to the earth. Then the small group huddled around the grave, and Bouchard recited the Lord’s Prayer in his native tongue.

  “Notre Père, qui es aux cieux,

  Que ton nom soit sanctifié,

  Que ton règne vienne,

  Que ta volonté soit faite sur la terre comme au ciel.

  Donne-nous aujourd'hui notre pain de ce jour.

  Pardonne-nous nos offences

  Comme nous pardonnons aussi à ceux qui nous ont offensés.

  Et ne nous soumets pas à la tentation,

  mais délivre-nous du mal,

  car c'est à toi qu'appartiennent le règne,

  la puissance et la gloire, aux siècles.

  Amen.”

  The ancient words flowed from the Frenchman’s lips like music, and they seemed all the more poignant because of the passion with which he recited them. Throughout the prayer tears flowed down his dark cheeks, and at the finish, he simply bowed his head.

  Through it all, Archer stood in silence with his eyes riveted to the tiny patch of soil that shrouded one of the funniest men he had ever known. Dallas didn’t deserve to end his life this way, no one did. For a little over one hundred and seventy years, The Lingering dictated humanity’s end, but soon that would all change. The mission had to succeed, otherwise Dallas’s death, and the deaths of those before him, would be pointless.

  Archer looked out into the distant darkness, and wiped at his tear-filled eyes. He cleared his throat and looked back to his team.

  “Okay, we’re done here. Let’s move.”

  Bartholomew went to say something, but Bouchard took her arm and shook his head. She looked at the Parisian, and nodded. Archer was hurting, but he needed the pain to focus his resolve. Any kind of sympathy, or kindness, would only undermine his focus.

  The group headed for the vehicle, and Bouchard made for the driver’s side.

  “Lucien, you’re shotgun, I’m driving,” said Archer as he overtook the Frenchman. “Pete, you’re with the doc.”

  Without a word, the men complied with his orders. Moments later, Archer clambered behind the massive steering wheel and studied the dash. In the middle of it, just in front of the gearshift, sat a nine-inch LCD screen. He started the engine and the screen instantly displayed the Westbourne Corporation logo. It took him a minute or so of fiddling, but finally he found what he wanted.

  The device controlled every element of the vehicle’s climate control and communication systems. However, the functions that interested Archer had nothing to do with climate or communication. He tapped at a tiny map, and the screen instantly displayed the locations of every division of the Melbourne compound.

  He tapped the tab for the compound holding the oldest of The Lingering, and a route appeared on the screen. He pressed an icon in the bottom left of the screen to initiate the guidance system, and gunned the engine.

  He tore off in the direction indicated by a tiny blinking arrow. However, as he guided the vehicle towards their goal, and hopefully the salvation of humanity from The Lingering, a feeling of foreboding washed over him. By now, Westbourne must surely know they were coming, and he wouldn’t take their arrival sitting down. His mind turned to all the options and all the possible outcomes. In every case, he and his team came off second best.

  This would take some serious thinking outside of the box. It would take something that no one would expect. He doubled his grip on the wheel and thought, the mission has to succeed, no matter the cost.

  Chapter 19

  Location: one mile from the ancients’ compound

  Date: June 24th 2013

  Time: 1:13 a.m.

  Archer looked at his watch. He and his team had been lying in wait for close to six hours, and in another ten minutes, he and Dr Bartholomew would make their way into an uncertain future. His plan was risky, and would likely see them all dead before morning, but it was the only option left to them.

  Archer turned his gaze to his oldest and closest friend. “So you’re clear on what you and Lucien have to do?”

  Fairclough looked at him for a long moment, and nodded grimly. “Yes, Boss, but are you sure it should be you going with the doc, shouldn’t it be me or Bouchard?”

  Archer smiled. “No, Pete, it has to be me.�
� His eyes fixed on Bartholomew. She looked awfully pale, and more than a little frightened. “Kathryn, are you sure you’re up for this? One word is all it’ll take for you to pull out.”

  She swallowed, and nodded determinedly. “All that matters is the mission.”

  He looked deep into her eyes and saw a strength that belied her body language. In that moment, he knew she wouldn’t flinch at what she would have to face, and do. He looked towards the distant lights, then back at his team.

  Over the years, he’d lost countless people, but he remembered them all. The first, Blake Knightly, a thirty-year-old ex-marine who died protecting a wounded civilian from a pack of biters. The last, Dallas, died because of a momentary lapse of concentration. How they died didn’t matter anymore. All that mattered was that a part of him died with each of them. No more would he send someone to do a job from which they may never return. It was his turn to shoulder the burden. If it was his turn to die, then so be it.

  Reconciling with his own mortality was one thing, but placing Kathryn in such extreme danger didn’t sit well with him. The mission came first, and he was sick of the mission. Not just this one, but all of them. Successful missions always came at a high cost, and the cost of this mission might be too high for the world to pay.

  He stifled his concerns with years of training and discipline and said, “Pete, Lucien, you both know this is a dicey plan, so I just want you to know it’s been an honour serving with you.”

  “You’re talking like a dead man, Boss,” said Bouchard as he choked back a tear. “I don’t want to ‘ear any more of this. We will all meet back at the rendezvous in twelve ‘ours. Is that clear?”

  Archer smiled and said, “Yes, sir.” He looked at his two friends, for that was what they truly were. They weren’t just his subordinates. They weren’t just teammates. They were friends.

  “You both know what to do. I don’t want any heroics. The mission comes first, and this is our only chance of success, so don’t balls it up.”

  After several seconds of just staring at each other, the three men shook hands, and parted.

  Archer and Bartholomew walked towards the compound making no attempt to hide their approach. As the buildings came into view, powerful spotlights swung in their direction. Archer had spotted the infrared proximity sensors, but he’d made no attempt to avoid them. He wanted them to know they were coming, so what better way of achieving that, then tripping one of their early warning devices?

  “Nathan.”

  He looked towards the beautiful woman at his side. “What is it?”

  “Is it too late for me to change my mind?”

  He started to laugh. “Sorry, Kathryn, but it was too late about two seconds after the chopper left the Singleton.”

  “Oh well, just thought I’d ask.”

  A vehicle appeared from the blinding light concentrated in their direction. It drew to a stop a few feet in front of them, and its doors swung wide. The driver jumped from the vehicle and ran to the passenger side. A few moments later, he helped an elderly man out and led him to the front of the car. The old man eyed them both as he freed his arm from the driver’s grip.

  “Allow me to introduce myself,” began the nonagenarian as he straightened his jacket. “My name is Sir Richard Westbourne, and this is my aid, Mathew Samson.” He gestured to the man who had led him from the car.

  Archer looked to Bartholomew, and gestured for her to do the honours. She cleared her throat and said, “I’m doc …”

  Westbourne held up his hand. “Please, I know exactly who you both are. My only question is, where are the rest of your team?”

  “They’re dead,” answered Archer in a flat tone. “We hit a swarm. Dr Bartholomew and I were lucky to make it out alive. We borrowed one of your vehicles, but it died on us a while ago. I think we must have cracked the sump when we made good our escape.”

  Westbourne eyed them both suspiciously. “So you just decided to give up. I must say, that doesn’t sound like the Nathan Archer I’ve read so much about. Your service records speak volumes, and I’d never put you down as a quitter.”

  Archer undid his weapons and threw them to the ground. “Go and take a look at the car, you’ll see I’m telling the truth. As for quitting, this mission has failed. All my team are dead, and a swarm stands between the extraction point and us. My priority now is to keep Dr Bartholomew alive. After all, she is a civilian.”

  Westbourne’s posture eased a little. “In that case, allow us to show you our facilities. Dr Bartholomew, I know you’re interested in seeing our ancients, so the least I can do is make that wish come true.”

  Westbourne motioned towards the car. Archer and Bartholomew looked at each other, then headed for the vehicle. As they drew closer to it, two large men stepped out of its rear doors and stood waiting for them. As Archer drew closer, he eyed them both. He could tell they were ex-military, most likely Special Ops. One of the goons gestured towards the open door, and the pair climbed into the lavish vehicle.

  The car pulled through the compound’s massive gates, which quickly slammed shut behind them. Archer looked over his shoulder at the immense steel obstacles. Getting past them in a rush would be all but impossible. As he returned his gaze to the compound, he set his mind to work on the task of circumventing them.

  Westbourne sat beside the driver, Samson, and rattled off details about the complex. The old man gestured out of the window, and pointed at machines, vents, and anything else that came into their line of sight. He followed each gesture with a ream of tedious information.

  Archer felt like a sightseer on the world’s most boring tour. One thing he knew for sure, Westbourne wouldn’t be telling them all of this if he intended on letting them go.

  “I don’t suppose we could get cleaned up somewhere?” interrupted Archer as Westbourne gestured to yet another device.

  The old man stopped mid-sentence and turned to look at him. Archer saw a flicker of annoyance in his eyes, but Westbourne quickly mastered it.

  “Of course,” said Westbourne with a smile. “You must be hungry too. Mathew, take us straight to our guest’s accommodation, we can carry on with the tour once they’re showered and fed.”

  “Actually,” said Bartholomew as she moved forward in her seat. “I’d rather see the ancients; the tour could wait ‘til morning.”

  “Ever the scientist,” chuckled Westbourne. “As soon as you’re both ready, we’ll take you to see some ancients.” He looked at his watch. “It’s very late though, wouldn’t you rather wait ‘til morning?”

  Bartholomew shook her head. “I’ve been waiting my whole life to see one; I don’t want to wait any longer.”

  Westbourne nodded slowly. “I understand.” He looked towards Samson. While they’re getting washed up, we can set about the task of bringing over some of our oldest residents for Dr Bartholomew to study.”

  The car drew to a stop beside a somewhat squat, ugly building, and the two goons exited the vehicle. One stood by the car, and the other opened the door to the building.

  “Move,” growled the goon beside the car.

  Bartholomew and Archer shuffled across the seat, and stood beside the man holding the car door. He pointed to the building’s entrance, and the pair headed for it.

  As they entered, each of the huge henchmen flanked them. Archer turned and watched as the car pulled away; his eyes then fixed on the thugs following them. One of the men returned his gaze with nothing short of contempt, but the other seemed indifferent to his stare.

  The goon with the icy gaze shoved him and said, “Eyes forward.”

  After a few yards, they came to a stop in front of a row of doors. One of the men escorting them pulled out some keys, and unlocked two of the doors. He shoved Archer into one, and Bartholomew into the other.

  Archer stumbled, and skidded to a stop. He turned to fire obscenities at the goon who’d shoved him, but the door was already shut. With a shrug, he turned and looked around the room, which was well appoin
ted. His eyes fell on a plate of sandwiches, and a steaming pot of coffee. He took another look around, and headed for the snack.

  Archer picked up one of the sandwiches, opened it, then sniffed at its filling. He figured that poisoning them wasn’t Westbourne’s style, so he shoved the whole triangle of food into his mouth in one hit.

  He quickly downed four more, and poured a cup of coffee. He sipped at his drink and started to wander around the room. As he paced, his well-trained eye flicked from one thing to the next. He started to pick up lamps and look behind pictures, but after a short inspection, he could find no evidence of surveillance devices. Of course, that didn’t mean there weren’t any, it just meant he couldn’t find them. Westbourne most likely had them built into the room, which would make them harder to spot. He looked up at a vent in the ceiling, and gave a little wave. He wasn’t one hundred percent sure it hid a camera, but what the hell.

  From behind him came a ringing. He turned and spotted a cream coloured phone beside the bed. He ambled up to it and picked up the receiver.

  “Hello?”

  “Mr Archer, it’s Mathew Samson here.”

  “Yes?”

  “Now that you’ve had something to eat, you might want to have a shower. Miss Bartholomew is already getting dressed.”

  Archer looked up at the vent. He now knew Westbourne was watching them both. “Is that how you and the old fart get your thrills? You watch women as they shower.”

  “You’ll find a fresh change of clothes in the wardrobe, I suggest you hurry.” Samson’s voice showed no signs of being insulted, or rattled.

  Archer slammed down the phone and headed over to the small brown cupboard, which sat in the corner. He opened it and pulled out a clean set of Westbourne Corporation overalls, then threw them onto the bed and stripped naked. He moved to the middle of the room and stared up at the vent.

  “Maybe that old fuck prefers men.” He spread his arms wide and smiled. “Is this getting you hard, Sir Richard? Or should I just call you Sir Dick?”