No Escape

by Alex Scarrow

  “Yeah. The symptoms were getting worse quickly. Then, on the ship, I noticed I was feeling better.” She turned to look at him. “I don’t know when the symptoms started turning around. Could be months back. Maybe Grace infected me back at the castle!”

  “What about Leon? Do you think she infected him too?”

  He realized how bizarre his question sounded. He was actually hoping Freya would say yes.

  Unbelievable.

  Since the outbreak, he’d been praying that his children had somehow escaped the plague, that they’d dosed themselves up on enough medications to survive the clouds of spores and been smart enough to make it through the intervening years.

  Now he was praying that Leon had succumbed to it.

  “I don’t know. I suppose if I could be and not know about it, so could he. I just can’t think when it could have happened. We were together pretty much all of the time.”

  Tom steered the jeep onto the rough shoulder to bypass several rickshaw drivers and the line of traders now peeling off into the grounds of the marketplace. Tom picked up some speed as they headed into the large entrance to the Túnel de La Habana.

  “Trent might not even agree to see me,” said Tom. “I think I used up most of whatever we have between us on getting him to send ships to Britain. He thought the whole effort was a waste of time and resources.”

  “That was all your doing?”

  “My nagging. I convinced him we could cherry-pick from the British survivors—engineers, doctors, medics—and boost the numbers of the non-Cuban population. We’re unwelcome guests here, as I’m sure you’re well aware. Especially since Doug seized control.”

  At the far end of the tunnel, where the road ramped upward to rejoin the street level of Havana, he could see a military checkpoint.

  Tom slowed, lowered the window, and produced his ID card. The U.S. marine glanced at it quickly, recognizing his face and name.

  “Mr. Friedmann, sir. What are you doing outside the city perimeter?”

  “I needed to get some headspace.”

  “You should’ve taken a marine escort out with you.”

  Tom shrugged. “I know. I just needed to get some air.”

  “Sir, you know the president announced a lockdown on security this morning?”

  “No…no, I missed that.”

  “The British evacuees are going to be moved off island. The president wants to get all U.S. personnel—”

  Just then, Tom heard a voice raised in alarm. He looked over the marine’s shoulder and saw one of his comrades looking up into the sky. He heard another voice and another, more heads turning up, fingers pointing.

  “Oh, Jesus Christ, no…”

  Three vapor trails were arcing up into the sky from the bay. He realized what they were. Nukes.

  God no. One of the spotter planes must have located the viral island coming their way. And Trent’s reacted the only way he knows how…

  He turned to Freya. She was looking up at the arcing vapor trails, her mouth hanging open at the sight of them.

  “We’re too late, Freya.”

  “Are those nuclear bombs?”

  “Tactical nukes, yes.”

  “Oh…”

  “What’s going to happen?” he asked. “What’s that mean? How’s the virus going to respond to them?”

  She shook her head at all his questions. “I think this is going to end badly.”

  Chapter 40

  Rex Williams returned.

  It felt like a birth of sorts, emerging fully formed, into daylight from the womb-like smothering of soft tissue, as he stepped from the interior world of the artificial island.

  Fifty yards ahead, he could see the four men from his security team, their faces hidden behind the reflections of their faceplates. Dr. Calloway was farther back, the helicopter sitting still and quiet behind him. He blinked at the harsh light of day, shivered with the cool air blowing across the viral structure’s vast “foredeck.”

  “Prime Minister?” called out a muffled voice. “Are you OK, sir?”

  Rex nodded. “I’m OK,” he replied. “I’m fine.”

  The figure gestured. “You have to put the suit back on, sir!”

  He could see his biohazard suit had been laid out on the ground nearby, ready for him to step into. He realized he had to accept now that he was no longer going to be thought of as Prime Minister Williams, instead as a potential impostor, a viral agent.

  He nodded. “Of course.”

  “The girl and the Chinese guy—are they coming out too, sir?”

  “No. They’re staying here.”

  They’re home.

  “It’s just me.”

  He put the suit on, pulled the hood over his head, sealed the faceplate, and connected the air supply, then the soldiers led him back to the waiting helicopter, its engine beginning to whine in pitch as the rotors turned and began to pick up speed. He clambered back inside the cabin and sat down across from a wary-looking Dr. Calloway.

  The speaker inside his hood crackled. “So, Prime Minister?”

  Rex looked up at him.

  “What happened in there? What did you see?”

  And that’s when he realized why the girl, Grace, had insisted he come and see. Words of explanation just weren’t going to be enough. He looked around at the cramped and clumsy confines of the helicopter’s cabin—its hard, primitive edges, the grime and small blisters in the gray paint, the faint blooms of rust—and realized right then that he was seeing the crude mechanics of a redundant form of humankind.

  The men in the cabin with him were just lumbering water-sack giants held in an approximate shape by clunky, brittle, calcium frames and protected—barely—by a pink membrane sheath that creased and sagged and mottled and aged all too quickly. He was looking around at the crumbling remnants of the past.

  Mankind 2.0 is waiting patiently for us down there to wake up and join them.

  “What did I see?” replied Rex.

  Calloway nodded eagerly.

  “I don’t even think I can begin to describe what I saw. But I know what I’m going to say when we get back.”

  “What?”

  Rex was aware the soldiers were listening in on this conversation too. They were on an open channel inside the helicopter. “We shouldn’t be afraid of the virus.”

  * * *

  The tips of all three nuclear missiles dipped further, and their altitude began to rapidly decrease in twenty-yard increments. Their paths, parallel for the majority of their journey, began to diverge slightly, one heading to the rear end of the viral island, one to the front, one to the very middle.

  Two seconds before impact with the leathery, lumpy ground, they detonated.

  For a few moments, three miniature suns blinked into existence above the empty ocean, dazzling in their intensity. They rose up, lifted carefully by columns of superheated steam and framed by concentric garlands of shockwaves that stirred and combed out the few natural clouds in the vicinity.

  The entire mass of the viral island above water was incinerated in a nanosecond, tens of thousands of tons of nearby water instantly converted to steam. In the superheated area of ground zero, a void was left behind by the rapidly rising balls of flame and columns of steam.

  The nanosecond passed. The sea crashed in on itself, covering over the gory, excavated gouges of the island.

  The enormous underbelly of the viral structure, having survived the initial heat and shockwave of the blasts, now had salt water cascading down through its delicately built insides. Raw organic fluid, un-leathered, unprotected, began to bubble, boil, and disintegrate. Flow tubes a yard in diameter that were this living structure’s arterial system ruptured and spilled their superhighways of liquid traffic into internal spaces. Scout, maintenance, storage, research, and message virals in their tri
llions were inundated by a descending tidal wave of salty ocean water as it roared downward from cavity to cavity, internal walls of flesh and fiber corroding and tearing along the way.

  The island might have been over three miles from tip to stern, but beneath the water, it had hung down like a large, fleshy polyp five miles deep. Within ten minutes, this subsurface leviathan was catastrophically dissolving on the inside, a bloody carnage of viral creatures screaming as they frothed and corroded. Outside, the dark calloused envelope of dead tissue began to twitch and convulse like a heart shredding, the surface tearing and spilling a cloudy pink broth into the ocean.

  From the rear of this dying mass there was another thick flow tube: the three-thousand-mile-long “umbilical” that had been trailing behind it. It began to detach itself from the dying organ. As water began to flood into its open end, it contracted on itself, sphincter-like, muscle tissue instinctively understanding there was an opening to close. Several dozen tons of seawater got in and wrought havoc, killing trillions of cells floating in its highway carrier fluid and burning huge stretches of the tunnel wall. But with the breach now quickly and effectively sealed, the damage was contained.

  The seal was reinforced with raw scar tissue and finally tore itself away, jettisoning this section to face its own doom as it dissolved from the inside out, ruptured, and spilled its guts into the sea, joining the remaining large fragments of the island’s underbelly in their doomed descent to the bottom of the Atlantic.

  Within the now-sealed flow tube, billions of cells coalesced together, forming a temporary supercell cluster, a large jellyfish-like coalescing of soft tissue floating in carrier fluid and gathering information and awareness.

  After a few minutes of internal discussion, a chemical message was settled upon. Agreement reached.

  The Outsiders are a threat.

  Chapter 41

  Waiting is what idiots without a valid plan do. Waiting is for dumb cattle lining up to be slaughtered.

  Dad used to have a saying for everything. That was one of his. However, he was equally likely to say better to do nothing than to do stupid. So no help, really.

  Leon decided to opt for Dad’s first piece of wisdom. If the virus could now just walk up and announce it was meeting to think about what to do with them, then…it seemed pretty damned stupid for them all to be sitting around waiting to find out.

  Jake Sutherland had wandered off down the jetty and into the mist with that girl twenty-four hours ago. And they’d heard nothing since.

  Doing nothing felt like stupidity; it felt like he was laying his head on the block and urging the executioner to get on with it.

  “You guys ready?”

  He’d only spoken to those he’d arrived with: Cora, Adewale, Howard, Finley, and Kim. All five of them felt exactly the same. They’d escaped together once before, and they could do it again. Sitting around and just waiting for their fate to be decided for them was not an option. The truck was still parked up at the far end of the broken bridge, still had supplies, guns, and half a tank of fuel.

  Cora nodded. “We’re ready, love.”

  Everyone had a backpack stuffed with water bottles and dried noodles plundered from the community’s waterfront supply house. That was all they were stealing. Once they were in the truck and on their way, they would figure out what they should do next.

  Leon checked his watch. It was eight in the evening and dark enough to get going.

  The plan—for what it was worth—was simply that they were going to make their way down to the bridge. If some of Lawrence’s unsteady home guard were on duty, they’d deal with them first, then slide the plank across the gap and make a run for the truck. Each of them had a one-liter sports bottle loaded with kerosene and a lighter. If any snarks started to emerge from the roots zigzagging along the bridge, then squirting burning kerosene might be enough to allow them to reach the truck.

  Leon nodded. “OK. Let’s go.”

  They crept out of the terraced council house Leon and Jake had been living in, into the drizzling rain, and walked in silence down the narrow lane toward the seafront road. Normally there was no one out and about at night in this little community. They’d grown so used to taking the sea on all sides as an impenetrable defense that Lawrence had long ago abandoned the idea of a night security team. But tonight, it seemed, at least half the island’s population was outside, some with flashlights, some with lanterns, some wandering up and down the coastal road, some down on the beach and staring out at the calm, rain-speckled sea and the drifting fog.

  No one was sleeping.

  They trooped past a cluster of old boys gathered around a wood burner, holding their hands toward the flames and rubbing them every now and then.

  “You all right there?” one called out to Cora.

  “Aye,” she replied casually. “Can’t sleep.”

  “Don’t blame you, love. Everyone’s out and watching for spooks in that mist.”

  “We’re going to keep watch farther down the beach,” said Leon, his breath puffing out into a cloud.

  “Well, lad, just make sure you stay in sight of someone else, in case you spot something. All right?”

  “Right. OK.”

  They walked up past the chip shop; the lights inside were still on as tonight’s cooking team cleared up. Leon could see several lamps on at the end of the wooden jetty and people standing guard there.

  Adewale drew up beside him. “Leon?”

  “What?”

  “We’re leaving Jake behind. It feels wrong.”

  “He’s dead.”

  “He might return.”

  Leon looked up at him. By the moonlight, he could see the gleam in Adewale’s eyes. “But it wouldn’t be Jake anymore. It’d be a copy.”

  Ahead of them, looming out of the night, was the barricade wall that ran right across this spit of land. They approached, and no one challenged them, so they pulled the gate open and stepped through.

  Beyond the barricade, Portland Road veered to the right, while the long beach continued on. They followed the road as it curved, and then ahead of them, Leon could see the old abandoned boatyard, the portable toilet, and the bridge.

  There was a light on in the cabin. As they drew up outside, Leon poked his head inside to see who was on duty.

  Peter and Dereck. They had halfway finished a bottle of rum on the table, and a cloud of cigarette smoke was hanging above them.

  “Hey, young man,” said Peter, spotting him. “You coming to join us?”

  Leon shook his head. “We’re leaving.”

  He wasn’t sure how the old man would react, and maybe it was stupid just coming flat-out with it, but he couldn’t imagine either of them pulling a shotgun on him.

  Peter sighed. “Leaving the sinking ship, eh?”

  They’re drunk.

  “The virus doesn’t need to try growing across this bridge anymore. It can reach us from any side now. It’s not safe here, Peter.”

  “Aye. True.”

  “So…yeah, I’m leaving.”

  “And yer friends too?”

  “Yup.”

  Peter reached for the bottle of rum and took a slug, swished it around his mouth before gulping it down noisily. “In that case, take good care of yerself, lad.”

  “You’re not going to stop us?”

  He shook his head. “Why would I? If they’re coming for us all soon, it’d be daft to force you lot to stay, wouldn’t it?”

  Leon was about to duck back out but hesitated. “What are you going to do?” He stopped short of offering both old men an invitation to join them.

  “Well now, we got another one of these,” he said, tapping the neck of the bottle, “and we got our shotgun. We’ll be fine, lad, if it comes to it.”

  Leon nodded. “Don’t let it take you alive, Peter.”

  �
��No plans to, boy.” He looked at Dereck, and the other man nodded. “We’ll be fine. You better get off before the party starts.”

  Leon lingered in the doorway.

  “Go on, lad,” said Peter, “before I change my mind.”

  Leon nodded and ducked back outside. “Let’s get this gangplank across.”

  Adewale, Finley, and Howard maneuvered the plank across the gap. In the still of night, silent except for the pattering of light drizzle and the lazy sloshing sound of the sea below, the rasping of the wood against the asphalt sounded worryingly loud.

  In the background, Leon could hear both old men murmuring quietly inside the portable toilet, chuckling at something.

  “What’s waiting for us out there?” whispered Cora.

  He looked where she was staring. The mist was lingering beyond the ragged gap, thick and ominous, the army truck barely a dim outline in the distance.

  “Just our truck,” he replied quickly. “That’s all.”

  “Do you have any idea where we’re going once we get in it?”

  He looked at Cora. “No. But at least while we’re driving, while we’re moving, we’re safe.”

  “We can’t just drive forever, Leon.”

  “Why not?”

  The plank was now across, and Adewale, the heaviest, tested it to make sure it was stable. “It is safe.”

  All eyes settled on Leon. He gazed out at the mist on the far side, his breath curling in the cold night air. “Right…”

  Come on, MonkeyNuts…the truck’s just there. You can see it.

  It’s what he couldn’t see that worried him.

  You run, Son. And you keep running. OK?

  “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 42

  Cayo Cruz del Padre is the northernmost place you can go in Cuba. Beyond the tip of this marshy island, it’s Caribbean blue water all the way until you hit the bottom of Florida.

  Private First Class Germaine Lewis, for his sins, was standing on a coarse block of whitewashed concrete that had been dumped here three years ago as a secure base for construction cranes that had never had a chance to arrive. According to Jorge, one of the Cuban soldiers posted to stand in this humid swamp-like hellhole along with him, this place was once upon a time going to be built up into a luxury vacation resort.