Safe Zone (Book 1): The Greater Good

by Sussex, Suzanne

  Curious now, he focused on one of the larger groups who seemed the most excitable. He couldn’t hear everything that was being said, but judging by the pointing and staring at the guard on the entrance, he got the sense that people were becoming angry at the lack of information. He couldn’t blame them, he had no idea where his friends were, and no idea how long he had to be here.

  He pulled his phone from his pocket. He hadn’t used it in Alicante. It had been an unwritten rule that what went on tour stayed on tour, and no Facebook, Twitter or Instagram posts were allowed. Now the holiday was well and truly over. To kill time, he decided he’d check out what had been happening in the last few days.

  After waiting a few minutes for a signal, Sam switched it off and on again. Nothing. No signal at all. With nothing else to do, he lay back on his sleeping bag and stared at the ceiling. Just as he started to drift off again, an announcement was made through a loudspeaker.

  “Sally Carlton, would a Miss Sally Carlton please report to the admin desk at the entrance. That’s Sally Carlton to report to the admin desk at the entrance.”

  Sam’s head jerked up. He turned in the direction Sally had gone and watched as she stood up and looked around in confusion.

  She said something to her friends, names he couldn’t remember, then walked over to the entrance. She briefly conversed with the guard, before returning to her friends, conferring for a few seconds, then hugging them. Sam continued to watch as Sally made her way back to the entrance. The guard stepped aside to let her out. She hesitated and turned back in Sam’s direction, meeting his eyes. She said something to the guard and headed towards him.

  For a moment, Sam’s mood lifted, she might be a fat ugly cow, but it looked like she was leaving and maybe she was coming over to take him with her.

  As she approached, she called out loudly, "Sam, I know it was my first time and everything, but… well... was it supposed to be over that quickly?” she turned, ran her fingers through her hair, and left the tent.

  Laughter broke out from around Sam, his cheeks turning a distinct shade of crimson as he heard comments and snickers from others. One man, however, was not laughing at Sam. Instead, he was watching Sally as she headed out of the tent. A well-dressed man, who had clearly been away for business, rather than on holiday, judging by his suit and lack of dodgy tan lines that many others seemed to be sporting

  He called out loudly in the direction of the guard that had just let Sally through. “Excuse me, where is that young lady going?” Other heads turned towards the entrance, and the sudden onset of noise hit Sam like a tidal wave. Voices could be heard across the room, protesting Sally’s departure, and questioning why it wasn’t them leaving.

  A voice came through a loudspeaker, announcing that dinner would be available shortly. While this message in no way answered any of the questions being shouted out, it did serve to quieten everyone down.

  Sam’s stomach rumbled at the thought of food. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten anything. He watched hungrily as trays of food were put on a long table at the other side of the tent, and he got to his feet to follow the throng of people now pushing their way to the food table.

  Sam reached the queue and stood behind the well-dressed man who had shouted earlier. He watched as the man took two tablets out of a small foil packet and swallowed them.

  “Ere mate,” Sam said tapping the man on the shoulder, “Are they paracetamol? Can I have one?”

  “They are, and no you cannot,” the man replied, “I have a headache, heaven knows how long we will be in here for.”

  “Fair enough, I think me hangover’s going anyway,” Sam replied, watching as the man brushed his suit jacket off where Sam had touched it, the motion causing the sleeve of the jacket to ride up, exposing a small red stain on the cuff of the otherwise white shirt.

  “Is that blood?” Sam asked.

  “No,” the man responded, quickly pulling the jacket back over his sleeve. “It’s, um, it’s ketchup.”

  “I like ketchup,” Sam replied conversationally, “Although, I only ever have brown sauce on me bacon butties.” The man didn’t acknowledge Sam’s comment, so he continued, “Ketchup is better on sausage sarnies. I wonder what we’ll get for brekkie tomorrow. I hope it’s a fry-up. You can’t beat a good...”

  “Please be quiet,” the man interrupted Sam. “Have I not just stated that I have a headache? I do not want to get into a conversation with you about bloody breakfast options.”

  “Alright mate, chill out, yeah, I was just chatting, being friendly,” Sam muttered in response.

  Both men stood quietly and moved up the queue slowly. When they reached the front, the well-dressed man quickly piled his plate with food, and returned to where he had been standing earlier. Sam hesitated and looked over the choices. None of the dishes looked particularly appealing, but the pasta seemed the best option.

  As he lifted the spoon that was embedded in the cheesy pasta mix, he heard a commotion behind him. Sam laughed when he turned around and saw the well-dressed man on the floor, the plate of food he had been carrying adorning the front of his smart suit jacket.

  “Ha, serves him right, arrogant cock,” Sam said cheerfully, turning back to the food table and picking up the spoon once more. When he had piled a generous portion on his plate, he made his way back to where he had been sitting. He noticed one of Sally’s friends, Paige, crouching over the well-dressed man, shaking him.

  “Help, please someone, help, I think he’s dead,” she called out in panic, her cries muffled by the sounds of the hundreds of people talking.

  Sam froze in place as he watched a large woman running over to the soldier at the entrance, gesticulating wildly at him. Then turned his attention back to the man on the floor and the young girl trying to revive him. The man jolted awake and sat up. Sam let go of the breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding.

  Relieved, Sam carried on his way. Keeping an eye on the scene, he saw when the well-dressed man started hugging Paige.

  He was only a few metres away when she began screaming and struggling to pull herself free of the man’s hold.

  Sam let his plate fall from his grip, the cheesy pasta mixture splattering the floor. He could see blood spurting from a wound in Paige’s neck. Sam froze once more.

  “Everyone move. Now,” a voice shouted, causing Sam to jump. He felt himself shoved aside as the soldier from the entrance appeared and assessed the situation.

  “Clear the area,” the soldier shouted. “You,” he pointed at two girls approaching Paige. “Move. Leave her. NOW,” he bellowed the last word, and they quickly stepped back.

  The squadron had been briefed on the effect of the Black Flu. That it was fatal and that one bite would transmit the disease; that the infected were dying, then rising to attack people, and that only a headshot would take an infected person out.

  What he didn’t understand was why it was happening in here. This was supposed to have been the low-risk quarantine area. Anyone with any risk whatsoever of exposure should have been sent to the other tents. Apparently, the man had lied.

  However, his job was not to question, it was to react. The rules of engagement were clear. Anyone infected must be terminated. Just as he had been trained, he made ready and pressed the safety off. “Clear the area now,” his voice boomed through the crowd. Their reaction was instantaneous. The area was cleared. He took the shot. The head of the well-dressed man burst like a melon, splattering brain matter over a sobbing Paige.

  “He was biting me,” she cried, her hand clasping her neck, blood dripping through her fingers onto the floor. “I helped him. I don’t know why he was biting me.”

  The soldier regarded the young girl. Knowing what he had to do. “I’m sorry,” he whispered as he shot the girl in the head. Lex and Claire rushed over to their friend, both girls sobbing hysterically, and shouting abuse at the soldier. He responded by pointing the rifle at them.

  “Stop,” he roared, before continuing
more gently, “she’s infected, don’t touch her.” He kept his rifle trained on the two girls and spoke quietly into his radio. Lex and Claire collapsed onto the floor, sobbing. The rest of the crowd stood silently, no one knowing what to do, or what to say. What they had just witnessed was horrific, and they struggled to process it.

  A team in hazmat suits came running in and started to clean the area. Sam watched on, hunger forgotten, as the bodies of the well-dressed man and Paige were sealed in body bags. What the fuck was going on?

  Six

  The cool air circulating around the car sends goosebumps up my arms. If I ask the driver to turn it off, I’m sure he will oblige, but it will get too hot in here too quickly. The problem with leather seats is that you need to peel yourself away from them the moment you start to perspire. I’d choose a slight chill over being sweaty every time.

  I’ve been parked up outside Heathrow Airport for hours, and now I’m getting annoyed. We’re in one of the bays outside the entrance to departures, usually reserved for the coaches that ferry passengers in from the long-stay car parks. Today there is no traffic.

  Earlier, the airport was closed for outbound flights. A few planes still seem to be coming in to land, but not as many as would normally.

  What’s odd is that in the time I have been here, I haven’t seen anyone. Or more accurately, I’ve only seen people dressed in military attire. I can only assume the passengers aboard those planes have been shepherded straight into quarantine.

  For the hundredth time today, I pick up my work phone and check my emails. I spent the first thirty minutes sitting here, replying to any that had come in since I finished work on Friday, and the next half an hour reading an online paper. Now I am bored. Very bored. For the first time in my career, I want to hear the phone buzz to tell me that I have an email.

  I’d only just got back in the shop, having battled the crowds at my local supermarket, when I received a call from George. He told me a car would be arriving soon and I was to go to the airport and pick Sally up from quarantine.

  I’ve worked for George for so long now that I’m used to being ordered around. I don’t like the man.

  If I’m feeling kind, I’d call him an arrogant, manipulative bastard. Today I’m not feeling so charitable, so when Steve asked me who had been on the phone, I told him it was The Cockwomble. He knew exactly who I meant.

  I stay because the money is good. Every time I’ve had enough and threaten to leave George just throws more money at me. So now I’m paid way more that I deserve and when I look at other jobs, the salary seems pitiful.

  Sally, thankfully, is the opposite of her father. Her mother died when she was four, and she was bought up by a string of different au pairs, none of them willing to put up with George for more than a few months.

  As a result, I’ve been the only constant female influence in Sally’s life. While it’s not in my job description, I spend a lot of time with her.

  It was my shoulder that she cried on when she was bullied at school. It was me that explained what her period was, and took her shopping for sanitary towels. I was even responsible for persuading to George to let her go to Alicante with her friends, which probably explains why I’m the one giving up my Sunday to collect her.

  I must admit, it was pretty cool when I received the email George had forwarded to me from the Prime Minister. I had naively assumed that it would get Sally released quickly. I was wrong. It turns out that to release someone from a quarantine centre, there are a lot of forms to fill in, and a lot of conversations required. Nearly four hours later, and there is still no sign of Sally.

  The last form I completed asked for Sally’s hobbies.

  It was at that point I began to suspect that they were intentionally making the process as difficult as possible. Maybe they felt that being obstructive was like sticking two fingers up at the PM. I didn’t have the heart to tell them that he wouldn’t know I existed, let alone cared if I was delayed.

  Eventually I see Sally walking over to the car. I get out to meet her half way, and as I approach I can see she’s crying and my heart melts. I rush over to her and pull her in for a cuddle.

  “Don’t worry, sweetheart, we’ll get you out of here. Did they hurt you?”

  Sally almost laughs, “I’m not crying because of that,” she sniffs, “there was a boy and …”

  “Ah,” I nod with understanding. “What happened?”

  We get in the car and fasten our seat belts, as Sally begins to explain the events of the last few days. She is inexperienced for her age, never having had a boyfriend. She had only been kissed once. She was on cloud nine for ages after that until she found out it was a cruel dare. I listen intently to her story; my fists clenching in anger as I hear the way she was treated. Although my anger does abate when she tells me what she said to him on her way out.

  “Oh Sal, I’m proud of you, sweetheart. I bet he feels like a right idiot now. Chalk this up to experience and move on.”

  Sally nods, “You’re right. He was a dickhead, so fuck him.”

  The shock of hearing Sally swear makes me burst out laughing. Maybe this experience might help her grow up a little. Make her a little less naive. She’s stopped crying now, but I sense that she’s hurting deeply.

  “Why don’t you try and get some sleep, we’ve got at least an hour till we get you home.” She nestles back in her seat and closes her eyes. I pick up my phone and tap out a message, first to George and then to Steve, letting them know we’re on our way.

  I shake Sally awake an hour later, as we pass through the wrought iron gates that signal the start of the driveway. “Wake up sweetie, we’re nearly home.” She opens her eyes sleepily. “How are you feeling?” I ask.

  “I’m okay,” Sally replies, “Do I look like I’ve been crying?”

  I look at her red and puffy face, “Just a little,” I lie. “Why don’t you go straight up to bed. I’ll let your dad know you’re home. It’s probably best he doesn’t see you looking upset. You know how he gets.”

  Sally chuckles, “Yeah, remember the debate team debacle?”

  I laugh, remembering his face when he discovered her in the kitchen crying. “Haha, yes, his face was so red I thought he was going to pop.” She’d been crying because she hadn’t made it onto the school debate team. He had marched down to the school and shouted at the Headmaster for half an hour. It had worked, Sally ended up on the team. She never told him that she’d been crying because she knew he would be disappointed in her. She hated debate and dropped out after a few weeks.

  “Chloe … You won’t say anything to him … will you? You know, about last night.”

  “Don’t worry, my lips are firmly sealed,” I reassure her. There is absolutely no way I would tell him that his daughter had lost her virginity on the holiday I had encouraged him to let her go on.

  Getting out of the car, I hug Sally and give her a kiss on the cheek. “You know where I am if you need to talk,” I say as she heads up to her bedroom.

  Although I’ve been in this house many times, it’s too vast and ostentatious for me to feel comfortable here. It feels like a museum and my footsteps echo around the hallway as I walk over to George’s office and knock on the door. I wait until I hear the familiar booming “Come,” then I step inside.

  “Sally’s home now, but she’s had a long day, so she’s gone straight up to bed. Is there anything else you need from me before I leave?”

  “My printer has jammed,” he replies.

  Taking this to mean that I need to clear the jam, I head over to the printer and get to work. It takes me half an hour to detangle the paper and get the printer working again. I’m sweating and covered in toner when I turn to George and ask if he needs anything else.

  “I’ll work from here tomorrow, so move the meeting with Bill to Tuesday,” he replies.

  “No problem,” I say and rush out of his office before he asks me to do anything else.

  “Thank you, Chloe,” I mouth as the door c
loses behind me. I do not mind hard work, and I am not the type of person who needs constant praise and appreciation. However, a little acknowledgement that I had spent most of the day, say, outside the bloody airport, and then spent more time fixing his damn printer, would have been nice.

  ~

  “About time,” Steve says, as I walk through the front door. “So how was The Cockwomble?” he asks, then laughs when he notices my face. “Did you fall down a coal mine on your way, or is the cam-cream look fashionable this season?”

  I spin around and look at my reflection in the hallway mirror. My face is covered in smears of printer toner. I wipe it with my sleeve. “Printer toner. He was the same as usual. I swear if that man ever had to do anything for himself he would fall to pieces.”

  Seven

  During rush hour, over five hundred tube trains thunder across the London Underground network. Seasoned commuters suffer the daily torture of crowded, hot trains. Their bodies press together to allow as many people to fill the carriage as possible.

  Long ago, marketing companies capitalised on the numbers that would spill out of the stifling underground stations into the fresh air. They would offer a free trial of a new product or give away a product that would proudly display their brand. Even the most hardened of commuters will accept the proffered freebie. Their pace not slowing, their eyes still staring straight ahead, they hold out their hands for the goods that they are entitled to as the busy, hardworking people that they are.

  On this warm Monday morning, the promotion of choice was bottled water. A new brand that offered advanced science in water filtration; electrolytes that would boost the immune system and add a spring to your step. Most did not read the label, did not even look at the brand. Some opened the water immediately, taking large gulps to combat the thirst that the morning commute brought. Others put the water in their bags and carried on with their day.