Wildfire: A Post-Apocalyptic Pandemic Survival Thriller (The Hurst Chronicles Book 3)

by Robin Crumby

  “I don’t care about King. I care about you.” She reached out to touch his face, but he pushed her hand away.

  “Don’t try my patience.”

  “I’m begging you, please. I can’t stand by and watch you destroy everything we’ve worked so hard for. Those deaths will be on your conscience forever.”

  Briggs studied her carefully, and his stance seemed to soften. He let out a deep breath and looked deep into her eyes, tenderly stroking her face. She smiled in the hope that he wasn’t altogether lost to her. She still had some influence. He was yet completely immune to her power.

  For a moment, she imagined an inner conflict of indecision and uncertainty caught between two opposing poles. He pulled her towards him, squeezing the breath from her lungs in a bear-like embrace.

  For a few delicious seconds, she felt totally vulnerable, all pretence gone. She had faked it for so long, sometimes she couldn’t tell what was real any more. She tried to remember the point when she had stopped pretending.

  His eyes narrowed and the moment was gone. He disentangled himself and pushed her away. “Like you said, I’m going to a place you can’t follow.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “This is for the best. Trust me, you don’t have the stomach for this,” he decided, twisting her arm painfully to the side.

  “Wait, what are you doing?”

  She was shaking her head, terrified what he might do. She knew all too well what he was capable of. Those who ceased to please Briggs didn’t tend to last long.

  “I can’t have you messing up again. Nasser?” he shouted to the guard standing at the door. “Put her in the professor’s room. She’ll be out of harm’s way there.”

  “Briggs, please,” she pleaded as he strode away without looking back.

  Her cries turned to sobs as she was led towards the professor’s cell; a spartan cloister with an iron-framed single bed, a writing table and a wooden chair. The guard pushed her into the cell, slammed the door and turned the key, leaving her to cry herself to sleep in the darkness.

  ****

  Terra tried to get some rest but found it impossible to relax. She rolled over, trying to get comfortable on the bare mattress and pillow, her mind churning on their earlier exchanges.

  There was still no sign of the professor, and it was getting late. A noise from outside made her sit up. She heard a key in the lock, and the heavy oak door swung open.

  It took her a moment to recognise the figure standing in the doorway.

  “Well, well, well. Behold, the Whore of Babylon.” King laughed, holding up his hands. “The false Queen who conspires against us.”

  “If you’ve come to taunt me, you’re wasting your time.”

  “Come, come. Don’t give up so easily. Briggs may not be able to see what you’re up to, but I can.”

  Terra was confused and struggled to maintain her composure. Had Victor sold her out? Had he betrayed her confidence in some desperate attempt to win back favour?

  “I don’t know what you think you know—” she started.

  “There’s no point pretending. You’re not as good as you think you are. Don’t flatter yourself. I can read you like a book.” He waved his hand like a magician casting a spell. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You, Terra. You’ve got more faces than Big Ben, but you got sloppy, didn’t you? You thought you were cleverer than everyone else. Victor’s told me everything.”

  “Victor knows nothing. He’s lying.”

  “Well, I’ve known Victor for a long time, longer than you, that’s for sure. I know what he’s capable of. He’s ambitious, I’ll give him that, but he doesn’t have your guile. He told me the truth about your little pact.”

  “The truth? That he’s working his own angle, like everyone else around here.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, if I had my way, you’d be strung up like Jack, but Victor convinced me that we still need you. Forget your lovers’ tiff; Briggs is still very much attached to you. Mind you, what do you think Briggs would say if I told him the truth?”

  “He’ll believe me, of course. He trusts me.”

  “You really think he’ll listen to you after the stunt you pulled earlier,” mocked King. “Not any more.”

  “Look, your blackmail won’t work with me. You think you can manipulate everyone, don’t you?”

  “You of all people should know that everyone has their weak spot. You just need to know where to exert pressure.”

  “Did you tell Jack that, before you killed him?”

  “You know what Jack’s problem was? He refused to face up to reality. He seriously thought he could save the world, one person at a time.”

  “Jack was a good man.”

  “You wouldn’t say that if you knew how many hours I had to listen to him babbling on about there being ‘good in everyone’ and how you just had to ‘find it and channel it’. He was an idiot. I’m not surprised you managed to twist him around your little finger.”

  “People like you never built anything; you only know how to destroy. Jack and I made that Hurst community what it was. We were partners. Before you came along and ruined everything.”

  “In your own special way, I suppose you cared for him, didn’t you? Like a virus needs its host. How did Jack never figure you out? You’re so gauche, so obvious. For someone who claimed to be a ‘good judge of character’, he was blind as a bat.”

  “Don’t underestimate me, King,” she snorted.

  “Oh, I don’t. I take my hat off to you, Terra. After what you’ve done with Briggs? I’m your biggest fan. But then you’ve had a life-time of practice, haven’t you? I thought Victor was manipulative, but he’s a schoolboy compared to you.”

  “You’ve got me all wrong. I don’t suffer from delusions of grandeur. I’m just doing what I can to survive.”

  “We’re all susceptible, even you. You’ve been fooling other people so long, you fool yourself. You think you’re in control, but you’re not.”

  “I never claimed I was in control. I leave that to you geniuses.”

  “Have you ever heard of Stockholm Syndrome? They should use you as a case study. Long-term captives developing imaginary feelings for their captor. They think they’re in love with the person who’s been inflicting pain and suffering. It sounds messed up, but it’s scientifically proven.”

  Terra was silently digging her fingernails into her wrist, trying to keep her composure, but finding it more and more difficult. Perhaps he was right. She had been doing this for so long, she had forgotten what real feelings were like. She felt exposed and defenceless, fighting back tears of anger, tears of shame at what she’d done.

  “Just admit it. You’re using Briggs to get what you want, just like you used Jack.”

  She shook her head, refusing to confess. She knew that denial and silence were her best defence.

  “So what’s Victor promised you then? I suppose you’re going to shack up with him next, once you’ve got rid of Briggs. Or is that your moment to break free of the shackles and reincarnate yourself as something new? Start calling yourself Debbie again?”

  Terra stared back at him dumbstruck. She had told no one, not even Victor. She decided to ignore the question, hoping he would let it go.

  “I wouldn’t trust Victor if he was the last man on earth.”

  “Maybe it will come to that.”

  “You just called me Debbie…” She couldn’t resist temptation.

  “Debbie Sanderson. That’s your real name, isn’t it? One of the officers we captured at Osbourne House said he knew you, but he couldn’t figure out why you blanked him at the reception. You pretended not to know him, didn’t you? It took him a while to figure out why.”

  “Whatever he told you, it’s not true.”

  “At first, he couldn’t remember the specifics, just the rumours of some ugly little fraud. What did you do? Con someone out of
their life savings? He remembers you disappearing, leaving the country all of a sudden. You just walked out on your life, left everyone and everything behind. He said you had a kid. You abandoned her when you thought you’d been rumbled.”

  “It wasn’t like that. Izzy lived with her father. It was all a big misunderstanding.”

  “What was it? Drug habit? Gambling?”

  “Look, I was stupid, that’s all. I borrowed from the wrong people, ran up some debts.”

  “Shit happens. It’s not like you killed anyone. The guilt’s the same. Must be hard to live with though, walking out on a kid like that?”

  “Yeah, it hurts,” she conceded. “Not knowing what happened to her. She’d be nearly six now.”

  “We’ve all done worse. Look, this virus did us all a favour. It wiped our slates clean, gave us a fresh start without all that…” He searched for the right word. “Baggage.”

  “I did what I had to do. That’s all.”

  He was staring at her, trying to figure her out, enjoying her discomfort. She decided to return fire with fire.

  “Don’t tell me, you’re the only honest person around here? A man like you, you must have deserted people you cared about? How did you learn to live with yourself?”

  “Let’s just say, unlike the rest of you, I prefer to keep my past where it belongs: in the past.”

  “Man of mystery, eh? From the accent I’m guessing you grew up near Manchester,” she gambled, wiping away the tears. “Somewhere posh though, like Altrincham.”

  “Close. Go on.” He nodded, folding his arms.

  “But I reckon you lived abroad.” Her eyes narrowed. “Judging from the sun-damaged skin and the clipped vowels, you spent time in South Africa?”

  “You have a good ear. I’ll give you that.”

  “You’re not the only one who can read people.”

  “Touché. I’ve clearly met my match.”

  “Sometimes it’s subtle. A word here, an intonation there.”

  “No, you spent far too long with that South African Neanderthal back at Hurst.”

  “You mean Will? How did you—”

  “He used to visit me in the dungeon each week to remind me what we did to him at the hospital. He was very expressive with his fists.”

  “Well, he’s no friend of mine.”

  His eyebrows furrowed, unsure whether she was telling the truth. “I always wondered what Briggs saw in you. He could have had anyone, but he chose you. I could never figure that out, before now. Maybe now I see.”

  “Look, King. Help me get out of here, and I’ll do whatever you want me to.”

  “Victor was right about you. You’d turn on anyone in a moment to save yourself. Morals of an alley cat.”

  “Just give me a second chance. I’m begging you.”

  “Why would I help you, Terra? You’re right where I want you.” He sniffed loudly and turned to leave. “It’s a shame really. You falling out of favour with Briggs, just when things are about to get interesting.”

  He slammed the door behind him as he left, and she heard the key turn in the lock. His footsteps grew fainter down the corridor.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Riley, Heather and Sister Imelda were shown into a small waiting room at St Mary’s hospital while the nurse went to find the doctor who had been treating Adele.

  The sister put her hand on Riley’s shoulder. “She’s in good hands. They know what they’re doing here.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “Baby Adam has been here several times for tests.”

  Riley closed her eyes, clutching her hands together in supplication. She spotted the doctor and nurse conferring at the end of the corridor.

  A stooped Asian man in a white coat shuffled towards them, his rubber-soled shoes squeaking on the linoleum floor tiles. There was a sheen about him that suggested things had not gone their way in the operating theatre. Beads of sweat on his top lip caught the light.

  “Adele’s a fighter. It was touch and go for a while, but she’s stable now. She’s had quite a night while we fought the infection,” he said, shaking his head. “You can go straight in. She’s sitting up and talking. She’ll be relieved to see you. I warn you, she’s on some strong medication so she might be a little confused.”

  “Do you know what happened?”

  “We’ve not seen a reaction like this before, and we’ve been running these trials for days now.”

  “What are you testing?”

  “We call it 197C. It’s a phase two trial. There are twelve of them in Adele’s volunteer group. We administer the vaccine to each of them and then monitor how their immune systems respond.”

  “So what should have happened?”

  “We inject a trace amount of the virus itself. Trying out different variations until we find the one that works best. Inevitably there’s a degree of unpredictability. There’s a lot of trial and error. Hundreds of different combinations.”

  “Doctor, Adele knew the risks when she signed up. She wanted to help.”

  “She’s a courageous girl. We’re very grateful.”

  “Was the reaction something to do with her leukaemia?”

  “We’re not sure why but the leukaemia seems to be causing her body to produce very high levels of antigens. Antigens fight the infection. At 5.30pm yesterday, she was injected with 197C. Almost immediately she experienced respiratory problems. Something similar to anaphylactic shock.”

  “That sounds serious.”

  “In rare cases, the body’s immune system overreacts to an infection and literally starts attacking itself.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, vaccines generally work by fooling the immune system into thinking it’s being attacked. Injecting a trace quantity of the virus allows the body to develop defensive capabilities, but sometimes, when the human body encounters a virus for the first time, in trying to destroy the virus, the body actually starts destroying itself. It’s caused by a defective feedback loop where too many immune cells are activated. It can be very dangerous if not treated immediately.”

  “Then you know what to do?”

  “Luckily, we caught it early. We’ve been using a dialysis machine to filter out the cytokines and other toxins. Generally speaking, anti-inflammatory and immunosuppressive drugs have limited impact. She’s still got a high fever, but she’s stable.”

  “Well enough for visitors?”

  “Yes, go ahead,” said the nurse, glancing at the doctor for his approval. “She was asking after you when she came round.”

  Inside the small wardroom were six beds, each of them occupied. Adele was at the far end, hidden behind a curtain to afford some privacy from the other adult patients. Surrounding her bed were several machines connecting wires and sensors to her wrist and forehead.

  Adele stirred as she saw Riley, but was too weak to move her head. There was a rash across her exposed neck and chest. Riley gripped the little girl’s hand and felt Adele faintly squeeze back. The effort seemed all too much for her. Her swollen fingers resembled fat little sausages, tender to the touch. Riley lifted the hand a few inches and gestured to the nurse.

  “It’s fairly common. Nothing to worry about. The infection is dying down now. You should have seen them earlier.”

  Adele seemed to stir at the sound of voices, her lips parting, but no sound came out.

  “How are you feeling, sweetie?”

  “Bit better.”

  “You’re going to be fine now,” said Riley, stroking her hair and resting her hand on her burning cheek. It felt clammy to the touch. The beep of the monitor next to the bed struck a regular rhythm, watching the pulse chart bounce up and down.

  Adele closed her eyes, leaning her head against Riley’s hand, enjoying the cool touch.

  “She’ll be exhausted,” added the nurse. “She’s been up and down all morning. Why don’t I get you all a chair?”

  “Actually, I really should be getting back,” said the sister, readying
herself to leave. “I don’t want to leave it too late, travelling on my own, especially with the likes of those boys we met roaming the countryside, taking the law into their own hands. I’ll stick to the main road this time.”

  Riley stepped back from the bed and hugged the sister. “I appreciate you bringing us here. Promise me you’ll look after Stella and Adam?”

  “I will.” She smiled, turning to face Heather. “Good luck. I hope you find your father. He’s a good man.”

  Heather nodded but showed no sign of emotion. When the sister had gone, they settled in to watch Adele sleep, listening to the conversations around them. In the bed next door to her sleeping figure was an elderly man watching the pair of them.

  “She’s lucky to get visitors.”

  “Are you one of the volunteers too?” asked Heather, studying the man. He had silver hair, but Riley suspected he was younger than he appeared. There was something off about him, something that didn’t seem right.

  “I know what you’re thinking. Why do we do it? I can’t pretend it hasn’t taken its toll. I’m fifty-three, you know. People say I look much older.”

  Riley tried her best to hide her surprise. From his wrinkled hands and age spots, she might have said he was in his late seventies. She imagined the cumulative effects of all these tests had accelerated the ageing process.

  The man rolled up his sleeve and revealed a series of scars and what looked like burns on his skin. “That’s nothing. You should see the rest of me.”

  As he began to unbutton his shirt and expose his chest and left shoulder, Riley glimpsed the true extent of his sacrifice. Heather recoiled and turned her head away to the amusement of the recumbent man. He was horribly disfigured by successive exposure to whatever it was they had tested on him.

  “I’ve been volunteering for medical trials for years. Ever heard of the CCRU?”

  “Cybernetics?”

  “No, the Common Cold Research Unit based up near Porton Down. Closed years ago. They used to call me the Duracell Bunny. You remember the TV ad. Always coming back for more? They said I was longer lasting.” He smirked playfully.