by A P Bateman
King turned to Caroline and winked. When he looked back at the two men, he already had his right arm scything through the air, the edge of his hand striking the man with the sniper rifle in the throat. He allowed his own momentum to throw him towards the second man, and swung a haymaker left fist into the man’s jaw. The man went down, but his finger caught the trigger of his rifle and a fully-automatic burst filled the air and threw snow and ice fragments over them as the bullets riddled the ice at Caroline’s feet. There was a crack like gunfire as the ice shattered all around Caroline, her weight accelerating the effect. A spider’s web of snow crust, widening until the blueish ice was visible underneath. Caroline looked up, stared directly into King’s eyes for a fleeting moment, then with a final crack, that echoed all around the valley, the ice gave way and Caroline fell through and disappeared.
King stared at the hole, the water lapping at the edges. He took a step forward, then hesitated and turned back to the two men on the ground. One was moving, moaning and reaching for his weapon. King raised his foot and pounded down on the side of the man’s head. He dropped lifelessly. King suspected he was merely unconscious, but wasted no time following up with another stamp. He did the same to the other man, who was clutching his throat and staring at the sky. King ripped the Dragunov sniper rifle off the man’s shoulder and worked the action and dropped the safety. He dug through the man’s utility vest and found a tactical torch and switched it on. The red light cut a swathe through the gloom and King shoved the handle in his mouth, bit down hard and took a deep breath, before sliding on his stomach over the lip of ice and into the water.
The water shocked his system, but he had been ready for it. He needed to move and not let the shock take over. Every ounce of his being wanted him to breathe in, but he willed himself not to. The cold water hurt his eyes and ears, but the water was thankfully crystal-clear, and the torch illuminated the underside of the ice and created a halo of red around him. He felt the current take him, and once he had established the direction of travel, he kicked and clawed with it with all his might.
Twenty-seconds in and he was fighting the need to take a breath, but he could see the dark shape in front of him, floating eerily in the current and scraping the underside of the ice. He gripped the rifle with all his strength, powered his legs and left arm until he collided with Caroline’s lifeless form and wrapped his arm around her chest. He already had the muzzle of the rifle scraping against the ice and he jammed it in hard to stop them in the flow. He fired, and the muzzle flash reflected against the ice like sheet lightning, but the sound was faint and supressed by the water. He fired again and continued to squeeze the trigger as he breathed out the last of his breath and felt himself go lightheaded. He had lost count of the gunshots, and he was losing his hold on Caroline. He shifted his grip on her and realised that he had to let the weapon go. He pounded the ice amongst the bullet strikes and felt it give. He powered his legs to keep him near the ice, but with his breath gone he had lost all his buoyancy and he was sinking fast. With the desperation to force an intake of breath almost too much to bear, he attacked the ice with punch after punch, not noticing the searing pain of his knuckles cracking, nor the fact he had started to taste the water as he sucked in minute breaths in his bid to break through the ice.
He could see the ice broken, the shards floating and bouncing on the surface, the torch lighting them from underneath. But they just as well have remained solid and locking them in their watery grave, because without the buoyancy, the air in his lungs, he could not get them to it. He watched, the ice getting further and further away as they sunk and caught the current. He closed his eyes. Just for a moment, he promised himself. Just a little sleep…
Something snapped to within him. It couldn’t end like this. He had been so close. He pulled Caroline with him, but it was no use. She weighed him down, anchored him to the purgatory beneath the ice. He glanced at her, her eyes closed, her face peaceful. He released his grip on her and fought with the last ounce of strength left in him. Hand over hand, legs pumping as he surged upwards towards the cracked and broken ice; everything that had been good in his life beneath him and sinking into the depths.
60
King powered out through the ice, the air tearing his lungs and bringing the light back to his eyes. His head steadied, and as he grabbed hold of the edge of the ragged hole, he could feel the water already freezing on his face. He took another breath, deep and steady, then pushed himself back down. He caught hold of Caroline by the ankle, pulled her against the current and heaved her close to him, hugging her with both arms and frog-legging towards the hole. He had dropped the torch, not sure when or how, but imagined it would have been as he breathed and gulped like a landed fish on the ice. He could see the hole, a faint circle where the water lapped, and the ice shards bobbed in the wake. He heaved Caroline to the edge, the hours spent training each week paying off, the weights and pull-ups, the press-ups and squats giving him just enough strength to get her out of the water. He almost collapsed, slipped back under with the exertion, but kicked and clawed, thrust and heaved until he was clear.
Caroline’s lifeless body lay face down in the snow. Her soaked clothing starting to freeze. King could barely move his arms and legs. He crawled to her, rolled her over and felt for a pulse. He couldn’t even feel his own fingers. He put both hands on her, midway between her chest and stomach and pumped six times in quick succession. Water pumped out of her mouth, and he kept pumping another two revolutions. He then clamped her nose shut and breathed into her mouth, a full and steady breath. He moved to her heart, linked his fingers and pumped out to the Bee Gees song Staying Alive. An ironic title, but the lyrics worked in perfect time with CPR. He stopped and breathed for her, repeated the process. More water seeped from her mouth, but she still wasn’t breathing, and when he tried to check her pulse, all he felt was his own fingers burning as if he’d touched the stove. He was getting desperate, could feel his stomach knotted and his chest pounding. He was getting lightheaded again. He knew that he had to get warm, or the elements would claim him. And if he did not continue, then death would claim Caroline. He pumped her around the chest and stomach again, then breathed for her and started chest compressions. He had done this before, and he had seen it done. He knew enough to know that it wasn’t looking good.
He looked across at the two men laying inert on the snow. They were thirty-metres further away. That was how fast the water had been running, how long they had been under. He pushed himself up, staggered in the snow towards them. He fell onto the sniper. The man moaned, and King hit him in the face, but it was a feeble attempt. It did nothing more than shake his head a little as he slept. King crawled over him and tore at the pack on the other man’s back. He recognised its squared form. Designed to carry a specific item, or various items in compartments. He could not release it, but instead he drew the knife on the man’s belt and sliced through the strap. He pulled and fell backwards onto the snow. He pulled at the tabs, his fingers barely able to grip them, but he opened it enough to see the medical supplies within.
King crawled most of the way, his legs too unsteady to stand. He emptied the contents onto the snow, pulled through the items looking for something that would help him. A defibrillator would have been ideal, but he found the next best thing. He opened the packet and took out the syringe. He removed the cap to reveal a wicked-looking needle over four-inches long. He tore at Caroline’s clothes, opened the zippers and Velcro enough to get to her chest. He knew where her heart would be. He did not need to feel. In his time, he had reached people’s hearts with bullets and knives, it had been second nature. He held the syringe, placed his thumb on the plunger and struck down hard, driving the four-inch needle directly into Caroline’s heart and releasing the shot of adrenalin. Almost at once, her back arched and her limbs went rigid. King clamped her nose tightly and breathed for her. He pounded out six chest compressions and breathed for her again.
Water spewed from Caroline’s m
outh and he turned her head as she started to cough and splutter. He could hear her breathing hard. Huge intakes and sharp and ragged exhales. King got unsteadily to his feet, caught hold of both her ankles and dragged her the thirty-metres to the two men. He dropped onto his knees and picked up the man’s knife. He saw Caroline looking blankly at him, like a child woken in the middle of the night by the bedroom light. He couldn’t spare the time to reassure her, but he told her he loved her and that she would be ok as he cut and slashed at her clothing and started to strip one of the unconscious men bare. He tore off her boots, pulled on the man’s clothing, warm and dry from his own body heat. As King got more of Caroline dressed, she started to come around more. He kissed her cheek, before wrapping the man’s hood over her head and pulling his military-style beanie down over her ears.
“C… cold,” she said slowly.
She sounded drunk. King hoped and prayed she had not suffered brain damage from the rush of adrenaline. But it had been a Hail Mary and he had no other option. What he counted on was the freezing water shutting down her body in such a way as to put her to sleep, rather than suffer instant cardiac arrest.
“It’s okay, my darling,” he said. He found himself thinking of his wife, Jane. How he had discovered her body, still and peaceful. How he had hugged her close and talked to her, reassured her for hours. He had known she had died, but he couldn’t find it in him to say goodbye. He remembered his tone, echoing in his ears, his senses nulled from grief. He sounded the same now. He stroked Caroline’s forehead.
“C… cold,” she said again.
She looked at the ground, an expression of bewilderment upon her face. She wasn’t coherent. She was seated upright, but there was no attempt to get to her feet.
King was fading fast. He could barely feel his hands and feet. He sliced himself out of his clothing and tore off the other man’s snowsuit. He got it on, felt the warmth of the other man’s body heat. King pulled on the boots. They were far too small, but he couldn’t feel his feet anyway. He looked at both men. He could clearly see one of the men breathing, although he was starting to shiver now. The other man lay still. King picked up the two utility vests and put them over his shoulder. The AK-74 was empty, so he dropped the magazine to save weight and slung the strap over his neck, letting the weapon dangle. Then he pulled at Caroline, heaved her to her feet.
“Move!” he shouted. She flinched, looked at him like he was mad. “Get moving!” he shouted again. He pushed her forwards and she stumbled on the snow. “Move your arse woman!” This time, he punched her in the kidney and she howled. He did it again. “Move! Left foot, right foot!”
“Stop…”
“Shut up!” he snapped. He jabbed her again. The sharp punch made her wince. But it also got her breathing rapidly, sent the flow of blood around her and spiked her adrenalin. It broke his heart to hurt her, but he didn’t stop there. She floundered, and he punched her other kidney. “Move, woman!”
“Please… stop…”
“What’s my name?” He shoved her hard, kept his hand on her shoulder and pushed her onwards as he broke into a jog. “My name, what is it?”
“Please…”
“My name!” He punched her again and she yelped. “My name, damn it!”
“Alex…”
“Your name?”
She hesitated. “Caroline.”
“Surname?”
“Darby.”
“Age?”
“Thirty-seven…” her answer sharper this time.
“Right, now pick up the pace and breathe only through your nose.”
“Okay,” she said sharply through ragged breath. “But punch me again, and I’ll kick you in the bollocks.”
Behind her, King smiled. “That’s my girl,” he said quietly. “That’s my girl…”
61
“Well, you should have shut the bloody door behind you!”
“I was more concerned about Rashid!”
Ramsay scoffed. “I knew that people in relationships and working together is no bloody good in this game,” he paused. “What were you thinking?”
“I’ll have you know; Rashid and I are not in a relationship, and I was as worried as you that my colleague, and friend, may have been in trouble,” she glared back. “And King and Caroline are working together…”
“And if they weren’t together, then last summer wouldn’t have happened and we wouldn’t bloody well be here!” He looked up as there was a sharp rap on the door. He walked over and opened it a touch, the chain stopping it from opening further than six-inches. He saw Rashid, then stared blankly at him. “What the…?”
“Just let me in.”
Ramsay eased the door to, took off the chain and opened the door. Rashid walked in and Marnie stared at him with the same blank expression as Ramsay had.
“What…”
“Oh, shut up,” he said. “Neil got me all wound up thinking I’d been contaminated with something, so I took precautions…”
“I can see you’ve done something,” she said. “But what precautions were they?”
Rashid walked over to the mirror and sighed. “Well, I scrubbed all over, used a full bar of soap, then I saw the bleach down beside the toilet brush…”
“Oh,” she smiled. She looked at Ramsay, who was trying not to laugh.
Rashid shrugged. “I’ll shave my head.”
“No, don’t,” she said. “Red really suits you.”
“Red?” Ramsay laughed. “How about orange?”
“Ginger?” Marnie countered.
“I like the way it flows,” Ramsay commented. “You’ve done a cracking job at streaking and highlighting. If this intelligence work doesn’t work out for you…”
“Piss off,” Rashid said with a smile. “Anyway, what’s with all the shouting?”
“I didn’t lock the door,” Marnie said. “We rushed to you and while we were charging down the corridors, somebody took the laptop.”
“And the USB that King took off Peter Stewart was still plugged into it.”
“Thanks,” she said succinctly. “But all of it was sent to GCHQ. They can quite easily send the files back.”
“To what?” Ramsay asked laconically.
“I…”
“I’m pretty sure we can use a computer from the hotel,” Rashid interrupted, winking at her. “We can save the data to a cloud facility and delete the files from the hard drive. Marnie, you’re the techie, you should be all over that,” he paused and smiled at her. “And thanks for your concern.”
Marnie smiled and nodded. Her phone sounded in her pocket and she took it out and scrolled down to her emails. “That’s GCHQ, the scientists at Porton Down have confirmed that in their opinion, the data shows that the virus is not contagious. As such.”
“As such?” Rashid asked. “Not feeling good about this…”
She looked at him earnestly and said, “It’s early days, but they sent back the salient facts for us to deal with this as safely as possible. The virus is a biological agent designed to be air-dispersed. It renders the population incapacitated. Such symptoms as rapid heartrate, thirst and hunger are common,” she read. “Sensory breakdown, sometimes leading to complete blindness. The Russian’s research, as far as Porton Down can decipher it, has tested it in animal trials, including strict vegetarians like gorillas, and found that when the hunger persists enough, they will eat flesh. In short, cannibalism.”
“Sounds like some horror flick,” Ramsay mused.
“Sounds like a bloody zombie apocalypse,” added Rashid.
“Apparently, the Z word was never mentioned, but Porton Down consider that after initial air-burst dispersal, it then goes on to be spread by saliva and blood.”
Marnie shook her head. “Jesus…”
“Allah and Buddha,” Rashid added.
“What sick minds invent such things?” Marnie said quietly.
“We do,” Ramsay said. “And the US. Or at least attempt to. A virus dispersed by air, just onc
e, that can be spread by the population by the simplest of means. Hunger. Incapacitate, degrade, turn that person into the most primitive form, and instinct will prevail.” He looked at them both in turn. “Humans are pretty rubbish on the primal scale. We are intelligent. But we were born to be vegan, if you think about it. We do not have the natural tools - the claws or teeth - to kill, dismember tough hide and eat an animal. We had to evolve and turn to using weapons, traps, cutting implements and preserve or cook the meat. So, when someone has been returned to a primal state and has lost most function, all inhibition and has a terrible hunger, what will be their easiest prey?”
“Other humans…” Marnie said coldly. “But we don’t make such awful biological weapons. This is pure evil.”
Ramsay shook his head. “You are naïve, my dear. We have wanted a weapon like this, the Americans probably more so, ever since it was first imagined by science fiction writers in the fifties. The Russian’s simply beat us to it, that’s all.”
Rashid shook his head. He was a soldier. He had been trained to kill and outsmart his enemy, but the idea of weapons such as this was something he would never get his head around. His idea of what was intolerable in battle ended at conventional smart bombs. If chemical and biological agents were needed, then perhaps the war wasn’t ever going to be won, or even worth fighting in the first place. Time for the politicians to work harder. “Alright,” he said. “But who stole the laptop?”
Marnie put her phone away and frowned. “I’m convinced it was the man who Neil bumped into in the corridor. He was near my room, he would have seen the door ajar as he walked past.”
“Well, let’s go and find him,” he said. He turned to Ramsay and said, “And we can’t forget the asset. She will be hungry and thirsty.”
“But hopefully not too much…” Ramsay said thoughtfully. “Hopefully not too much.”
62
They had pushed it. Driven each other on. Not a long march by any means, but the ice and snow, the freezing air and the exposure to the water and elements afterwards had sapped them, drained them to their core. Caroline had recovered enough to walk, but not much else. She was quiet, subdued and concentrated solely on breathing. King knew she inverted into herself when she was scared, concerned or uncertain, so he did not push in getting her to talk. There were many concerns on his mind, not least secondary drowning – whereby water still in her system, her lungs and throat, collects and drips back into the lungs where it pools, and drowning happens all over again – as well as the effects of the adrenaline injection – sending too much to the brain resulting in brain damage. The heart and lungs themselves suffer from the effects of oxygen starvation, as well as the brain. But the cold had been Caroline’s saviour. She had held her breath for as long as she could, had passed out from the cold and starvation of oxygen, but had thankfully succumbed to just one intake of breath and sucked in the icy water, which in turn would have shrunk her lungs to half the size. The fresh water did not induce gag reflux in the same manner that seawater did, so there had been no multiple respiratory function to flood the lungs. King knew that his best bet would be to use the shot of adrenaline to kick start her heart, but the damage to the heart from the needle would also have been less because of the extreme cold, tightening and hardening the muscle of the heart wall. Like many things in his life, it had been a gamble. He would only rest easy once she had seen a doctor, but he had done the only thing he could have and right now, she was alive. Every fibre of King’s being had wanted to hold her, to say how much he loved her. He wanted to sweep her up in his arms and carry her, but it had been essential for her to get warm and this could only happen through exertion. Her muscles needed to work and pump oxygen around her bloodstream, and her lungs needed to work to drive the residue of water from them and oxygenate the blood. He had stripped their snowsuits off and put the dry clothes on over their wet underclothes. Once they got moving, the damp clothes warmed and created an insulated layer which warmed them more quickly than if they had simply put the snowsuits on over their cold, bear skin. Similar in principle to how a wetsuit worked.
