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

by Robin Crumby

  His movements were slurred, and she wondered whether they had been drugged. His hands were still tied behind his back, but she levered him into a sitting position. His eyes were struggling to focus.

  “Sam, I need to know what you saw.”

  He looked puzzled as if the question made no sense.

  “Please tell me you didn’t shoot those men.”

  “No, no,” he repeated. “We didn’t shoot anyone. We were just snooping around, trying to figure out how to get in.”

  “Doing what? Why are you even here?”

  “Will brought us here. He knew his way around. He’d been here before. Look, it’s true, we came here looking for King, but we didn’t have a proper plan. We got cold feet.”

  “So you’re saying it wasn’t you who shot King? Who then? Will?”

  “No way,” he said, with his eyes closed. He seemed to be struggling to stay awake. “We only had that stupid rifle between us. I kept telling Copper it wasn’t us, but he wouldn’t listen.”

  Terra shook her head, not sure what to make of this. “So, where did you get the rifle?”

  “Will brought it.”

  Terra thought back to her brief inspection of the weapon Copper had shown her. There was no physical evidence to suggest the bullets were fired from that rifle. If Copper was trying to frame the two boys, it was amateurish, to say the least. Her instinct was screaming that these two were innocent, but why would Copper lie?

  Victor took Terra to one side and whispered, “We’re wasting our time, the boys know nothing.”

  “They’re telling the truth.”

  “Which means Copper is lying.”

  “It’s the only possible explanation.”

  “Someone wanted King and the professor dead.”

  Terra was studying Victor carefully. The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced his fingerprints were all over this. It was an odd play for Briggs to have his new partner killed.

  Victor read her thoughts. “I know what you’re thinking. I swear I had nothing to do with this.”

  Terra nodded, unsure how much further she could push him without any hard evidence to challenge him with. Besides, he was the only ally she had left. She needed him more than ever.

  Terra sat back down next to Sam and put her arm around his shoulders. “I wish you hadn’t involved yourself in all this.”

  “I had to come. For Jack.”

  “You don’t know these people, Sam. They’re murderers, all of them.”

  “If you knew what they did to Jack…” Sam’s voice caught in his throat.

  She hesitated, unsure whether to admit her part in Jack’s death. She still blamed herself for being so naive to trust Briggs. “Sam, I saw what happened. I was there.”

  “You were there? I don’t understand. How?”

  “It was me who persuaded Jack to open the gates. Briggs and King used me. I tried to save him, but no one would help me…” Her voice faltered.

  “Why did they hang him?” sobbed Sam. “What had he ever done to them?”

  “Revenge. King was angry at being locked up for so long. Jack refused to hand him over to the allies.”

  “But we treated him well, didn’t we?”

  “You’re not to blame for all this. No one’s to blame.”

  “So King murdered Jack. All this time, I thought it was Briggs.”

  “No, it was King. He got what he deserved. He’s dying, Sam. Justice has been done.”

  Sam stopped sobbing and wiped the tears from his eyes. “Not until I look into those dying eyes and put a bullet through his skull.”

  “Let it go before it gets you killed too,” cautioned Terra.

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Time’s up. You need to leave now,” said the guard.

  “We’re nearly done,” said Victor.

  “Listen,” said Terra, “I’ll try and speak to Briggs. Explain you weren’t the ones. Trouble is, I’m not exactly flavour of the month either. In the meantime, just cooperate with Copper, answer his questions. It should keep you alive till I can sort this mess out, okay?”

  Sam rested his head on her shoulder. There was a smile on his face, that same sweet smile she was so fond of.

  “Somehow I knew you’d come. I never stopped believing you were still alive…” His voice trailed off.

  “I wanted to come back, Sam. I wanted to so much, but I couldn’t leave. They’d have killed me if I tried.”

  “Come on,” said Victor, getting to his feet. “Time to go.”

  “Okay, but I need one more favour,” said Terra.

  ****

  They found the professor in a private room on the second floor. At this hour of the night, most of the hospital was deserted. They crept past a guard snoring gently, his rifle leaning against the wall.

  The professor was propped up on several pillows with his bandaged leg raised and heavily strapped. His eyes were closed, but he jolted awake, startled at the sound of them entering, sending an open book crashing on to the floor.

  “It’s me, professor,” Terra whispered, holding the lantern high so he could see her face.

  “Terra, what on earth are you doing here? Have you brought me flowers?”

  “I must have left them in the car.” She smiled, squeezing his hand with affection. “I was worried about you. Pleased to see you’re still in one piece.”

  “The doctor said the bullet nicked my femoral artery. I could have bled out if I hadn’t have been surrounded by medical professionals. I hear King wasn’t so fortunate.”

  “He’s still in theatre,” said Victor.

  “I don’t suppose you know who did this, professor?”

  “I heard they’d arrested two boys.”

  “It wasn’t them.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Because I know them. They wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  “I remember three or four shots. Then I must have blacked out.”

  “Copper says they were from long-range with a high-powered rifle,” added Victor.

  “It must have been very frightening. Why were you there?” asked Terra.

  “Briggs wanted me there to talk about the vaccine. The group from Southampton were going to join us. It was all going so well.”

  “Professor, there’s one more thing I need to ask you about the virus. When Victor and I spoke to the crew from the Santana, they called it ‘English Flu’. Have you ever heard that name before?”

  The professor smiled. “Well, we’ve had Asian flu, Aussie flu, Spanish flu, so I suppose it’s not surprising that the Europeans would blame it on the Brits.”

  “So you’re saying it’s just a name?”

  “Potentially. There is a precedent though. During the bubonic plague, Europeans called the outbreak Sudor anglicus or ‘English Sweat’. The word ‘influenza’ is actually Italian. ‘Influenza di freddo’ literally means ‘influence of the cold’. But you know Spanish flu wasn’t really from Spain?”

  “Then why was it Spanish?”

  “Because Spain was neutral in the war. Their newspapers weren’t restricted by censorship like other countries. They reported it first. I suppose the name just stuck. ‘English Flu’ is as good a name as any other.”

  “I’m not so sure. The Santana skipper was suggesting that the United Kingdom had been placed under special measures by the United Nations. Exclusion zone, quarantine, etc.”

  “Well, in that case, there’s probably more to it then. They wouldn’t invoke special measures unless they had actual proof that the virus originated from these shores. Did they say anything else about a vaccine?”

  “I don’t think so. They said there were pockets of survivors along coastal regions in northern Spain, Cornwall, Brittany and the Channel Islands.”

  “Remote areas would have fared much better. Like us, the further away you are from population centres the better chance you have of surviving. Do we know yet whether King’s volunteers made it through quarantine on th
e island?”

  “There’s no way of knowing,” said Victor.

  “It’s been almost five days since they were infected. Say a forty-eight to seventy-two-hour incubation period. By now, there should be dozens of secondary infections. We can only hope that I was wrong and the allies intercepted them before it was too late.”

  “What will happen if the outbreak takes hold?”

  “I fear it will be similar to the last time the island was devastated by a pandemic.”

  “The last time?”

  “The bubonic plague in the fourteenth century. Entire villages were wiped out. One local priest who survived the initial outbreak wrote in his journal that the plague destroyed the bonds of family and friendship. The very fabric of society was torn apart. Neighbours shunned each other in their time of need. Trust collapsed. People stopped helping each other. Eventually, whole villages were abandoned for decades. It led to wholesale social change, some say for the better.”

  “Social re-engineering in one fell swoop. That’s what Briggs has been talking about for weeks,” recalled Terra. “So you really think there’s a chance of history repeating itself?”

  “King knew full well that natural immunity to this new strain was going to be far lower. It’s fairly common with pandemics of this nature. Just when people think they are safe and the immediate danger has passed, a secondary outbreak hits. The same happened with the plague. An airborne, pneumonic strain proved far more deadly.”

  “We can’t just stand by and watch those people die.”

  “We always knew this was going to happen,” challenged Victor. “Whether they die from the virus or some other way.”

  “We have to warn them. Those are my friends stuck on that island.”

  “There might be a way,” admitted Victor.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Zed found the colonel in one of the laboratories deep within the Porton Down bunker complex, peering into a large microscope.

  “There you are,” said the colonel, without looking up.

  “Sorry, am I interrupting?”

  “Not at all. Just wanted to see for myself what all the excitement was about with this trial vaccine. Want a look?” he said, stepping to one side.

  It took a moment for the blue and green cellular structures to come into focus under high magnification.

  “These are lung cells taken from one of our volunteers,” chirped an enthusiastic lab technician. “Thirty-six hours after contact with the virus and no signs of infection.”

  “Impressive,” said Zed, stepping back, waiting until he had the colonel’s full attention.

  “Still early days, but Doctor Hardy is already describing it as a ‘tipping point’. So what is it I can do for you, Zed?”

  “I need to ask you about Gill Stephens.”

  “Yes, I thought you might. Bad business. Do they know how it happened?”

  “If they do, they’re not saying.”

  “The doctor thought it might be a delayed reaction. He referenced another case in a different department on a different level which may also have come into earlier contact with the VX.”

  “Possibly. I checked with the maintenance team – the main air filtration system on sub-level two was offline. It was just recycling air within that department.”

  “So?”

  “I’m just saying there’s no way the severity of her symptoms was caused by secondary contamination.”

  “And that’s the opinion of the experts, is it?”

  “She must have come into direct contact with the nerve agent. That would seem the only logical explanation.”

  “What about the missing glass you mentioned? Did you ask the paramedics?”

  “It’s something of a mystery.”

  “Are you absolutely sure?”

  “One hundred per cent.”

  The colonel leaned forward and whispered into Zed’s ear so that no one else would hear. “I hope you’re not suggesting a deliberate cover-up? That would be a grave accusation indeed.”

  “I don’t know what to think. But in my experience, once you’ve eliminated all others, the remaining explanation, however unlikely, is normally correct.”

  “That Miss Stephens was deliberately poisoned?”

  “It’s hardly the first time toxic agents have been used in this way. It’s textbook counter-espionage. Russian dissidents were routinely poisoned with nerve gas or radiation. The Kremlin admitted training KGB and GRU agents this way. Remember, Kim Jong-Un’s brother was killed in Kuala Lumpur airport with a rag laced with VX, and the Skripals with Novichok.”

  “Really, Zed, you must learn to keep your imagination in check. This is all beginning to sound like a spy novel. Whatever next? Poisoned umbrellas and fountain pens filled with arsenic? We don’t have time for this.”

  The colonel wandered off, shaking his head in disbelief. Zed watched him leave before banging his head gently on the desk. If he couldn’t convince the colonel, what hope did he have with anyone else?

  He had witnessed at first hand the doctor’s attempts to intimidate Gill. He refused to accept that this was merely an accident. What if someone had tried to silence her? He doubted the doctor would get his hands dirty with something like this, but he could have ordered the attack.

  A cough from the open door returned him to the here and now. Ephesus sat in his wheelchair, watching him with some amusement.

  “I came to say goodbye. Major Donnelly tells me you’re leaving us?”

  “We need to get back to St Mary’s as soon as possible. There’s a helicopter due within the hour,” said Zed.

  “Before you’ve solved the mystery?”

  “The wall of silence is killing me. Miss Stephens was the only one prepared to go on record, but someone got to her. Thanks to you, I have more pieces of the puzzle to take home with me. I’m afraid the whole picture still eludes me.”

  “I suspect the truth is somewhat more mundane. Times of war make fertile ground for conspiracies.”

  “War?”

  “What else would you call it?” Ephesus paused, studying Zed as if he was undecided about what he really came to say. “After our last conversation, I took another look through the archive. I couldn’t put my finger on it until just this morning. Something’s been nagging me. The digital archive has been edited, but I have the original copies in the library.”

  He handed Zed a single folded sheet of paper and gestured for him to put it somewhere safe. Zed scanned it quickly before sliding it into his notebook. At first glance, it was a photocopied document on headed paper, faded and heavily redacted. Written in bold lettering across the top of the page: “War Office: Directorate of Military Operations and Intelligence”.

  “You understand, this document never came from me.”

  He waited for Zed to nod before continuing.

  “In May 1943, British Intelligence captured a high-ranking German scientist. Are you familiar with the work of Doctor Vengele?”

  Zed shook his head.

  “Vengele was Hitler’s last great hope. A brilliant man, captured in an elaborate sting. Many of the weapons he was working on at Spandau were rumoured to be expressly designed to spread disease. If deployed against the Allies, they could have altered the course of the war. Weapons that spread cholera, typhus, bubonic plague, anthrax and others were at an advanced stage. Many were tested against the Red Army at Stalingrad. Under interrogation, Vengele described an experimental virus he called das Lauffeuer. Translated literally it means ‘running fire’.”

  Zed’s eyes went wide. “Or ‘Wildfire’?”

  “I thought you might be interested.”

  “But there was no mention of this in the archive.”

  “Exactly. Officially at least, Lauffeuer did not exist, but I assure you Vengele’s claims were verified. He was a genius, way ahead of his time.”

  “But if that’s true, then…” Zed’s voice trailed off. “The doctor has always maintained that first-generation biological weapons
were unstable, difficult to transport, and ultimately did not align well with the Axis goal of developing bacterial weapons that could be used in artillery shells or bombs. He said it was only in the last twenty years that a technological solution became available.”

  “That’s right. Vengele admitted there were issues with stabilisation, accidents were common. We know Lauffeuer produced symptoms not dissimilar to Spanish flu, stimulating the body’s immune system to start attacking itself.”

  “Was Lauffeuer ever tested in mainland Europe?”

  “Not that we know of. Hitler feared retaliation in kind by the Allies. In the end, he chose not to deploy his arsenal of biological and chemical weapons.”

  “So what happened to him?”

  “At the end of the war, he was spirited away, like so many German and Japanese scientists. Granted immunity from prosecution in exchange for continued cooperation. The Allies managed to recover a catalogue of data on human experimentation on a breathtaking scale.”

  Zed finished scribbling notes in his pocketbook and put the elastic band around it again, patting its cover. There was something about the librarian’s candour that made him suspicious. Was this just another false trail to keep him off the path to discovery?

  “This is all ancient history, Ephesus. What does it prove?”

  “One studies the past to understand the future. Where knowledge is at best fractured and incomplete, we learn to fill in the blanks and understand what motivates. History teaches us about human behaviour. It allows us to extrapolate and interpret actions which otherwise would remain a mystery.”

  “I suppose it proves that scientists, like Vengele, have been attempting to weaponise viruses for many, many years, long before teams in Iraq or Russia.”

  “Don’t trust anyone who tells you otherwise. The mere fact that documents about Lauffeuer were removed from the archive should tell you something. Who knows, perhaps Vengele’s programme itself was the original inspiration for Project Wildfire?”

  The two men shook hands.

  “Thank you. Without your help, I’d still be nowhere. If you think of anything else that might be relevant to my investigation, please let me know as soon as possible.”

  “Good luck,” said Ephesus, his chin raised, straightening his tie. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”