Andy knows the jungle well, since he has spent many nights sleeping under the stars on SAS training in Belize or Borneo. He knows that the jungle comes alive at night and is he very familiar with the sounds and noises that are frustratingly inescapable. There are no such noises tonight, only the intermittent tone that is fading as darkness returns to envelop him.
***
The tone is there again—or is it his imagination? Andy fixes on it in his dream.
Who is watching what programme on the television? Why don’t they turn it down and stop disturbing my sleep? I need to sleep… my brain is too tired to wake up. My patrol will have to wait or go without me. I cannot run up that hill again… my shoulders are aching still from carrying the bergen filled with rocks. I still feel its weight dragging me down, pulling my shoulders from their sockets. Please turn that television down, let me rest.
Chatter, the blood-stained teeth chatter together, then they part, opening wide. Drool slides down over the black lips, across the grey chin and down, extending, stretching, flowing down, dribbling onto the skin of my bare exposed arm, making me shiver. The teeth move closer, opening wider for a dark rusty brown tongue to slither out, wet with drool. The dirty tongue licks across the side of my face, licking the wounds there. Why won’t my head move away? Fear paralyses me. Lick the wounds again! I want you to, the wounds you put there with your infected fingernails… clean them, you fucker.
Its tongue slides back inside its disgusting mouth, into that dark crevice, flicking across its lips on its way in, to moisten them. Relief comes as the creature’s head moves back away from me, its bloodstained teeth still on show, threatening.
The black pools of its eyes stare at me, and there is a dim reflection in them as if the moon is reflecting in the black waters of night. He looks closer, my eyes straining to see what’s there, reflected in the creature's eyes. Unknowingly, I lean forward to see what is hidden. I have to see. The reflection gets bigger, gradually coming into view. Panic stuns me as realisation hits. The black eyes of another creature are hidden in the reflection, staring back at me, the reflection of me…
The repulsive creature reflected is me!
I manage to back away, not wanting to see the horrible truth. There is a wall behind me, stopping me getting away from what I have been shown. I push against it, wishing it to give way. I look around for something to grab hold of, to pull myself away. There is nothing, only blackness; it surrounds everything. The only light is in front of me, bathing the heinous creature. It sits on its haunches looking at me, studying me and waiting, waiting for what, to attack me, to devour me? I have to escape—but escape to where there is only emptiness. Something touches my wrist and I look down to see what it is, fear welling inside me again. Is this the start of the attack? The creature's hand squeezes my wrist and then slides up my arm gently, caressing. It feels good, welcoming. My fear subsides and I look up again, look into the creature's eyes. It pulls me forward, towards it, and at first, I resist, unsure. The creature's eyes blink and its head tilts slightly. It pulls again, and I give in. As I move forward into the creature's body, its other arm moves around my shoulders to pull me in closer. The creature swaddles me into its body and I welcome its embrace, its affection caring and warm. Finally safe, I can rest and as my mind relaxes, sleep comes.
***
The tone is there again, squawking quietly into my head and it wakes me from my slumber. I feel for my companion, but its embrace has disappeared; where has it gone? My eyes strain to open as my weary body and head protest. Slowly, they open, my blurred vision impaired by the darkness. Gradually my head moves, looking around the blackness for my companion. A dim light not far away shows me where my creature is.
It’s crouched over with its back to me, but it knows I am awake, I can feel it. I long again for its embrace, so why doesn’t it come to me? Finally, my creature starts to move around, leaving whatever it is doing. My hope rises as its heads turns towards me. It lifts its head, its face coming into view. Deep red blood is smeared across its mouth and lips and covers its chin. Its protruding teeth are coated in blood, with flesh hanging down between them as blood drips from its mouth.
My heart stops as I see below, to what it has been feeding on; the long blonde curls are unmistakable even though her face is masked. Emily!
The shock makes me jerk awake from my nightmare, adrenaline pouring through my body. Dread and fear consume me, almost shielding me from the pain that racks my body. My head spins, grasping to find reality. Am I awake or still asleep? The almighty agony tells me I’m awake. My head moves slightly, slipping my face on the slick, cold tiled floor, where I lie. Even that small movement sends bolts of excruciating pain thundering down my neck and back.
Emily; is she hurt? Is the Rabid here with me?
It was a nightmare, it must have been a nightmare, I tell myself.
Something is in my mouth, resting on my bottom cheek that is against the floor. My tongue pushes the rank chunk that was lodged in my throat out through my lips, but the foul taste remains.
My eyes stay closed, afraid of what they will see if they were to open. I must open them, however, to prove it wasn’t real, it wasn’t Emily, and it was all in my head. My eyes flash open quickly and widen to see what is waiting in the darkness. My eyes slowly adjust and begin to work. A flicker of light emanates from the dying torch that was left on the sink top above. The fading light is just enough for my struggling vision to see that I am alone, that there are no monsters here, tormenting me.
I am bent over on the floor, with my arm underneath me. The arm sears with pain from the weight of my body pushing it into the floor and my elbow feels like it is crushed. I have to move, but know that will only bring more excruciating agony.
A familiar high-frequency noise sounds and for a moment, I think I have fallen back into my nightmare. Dark flashbacks race through my head that I struggle to fend off. Fear of the nightmare increases my awareness and I suddenly know what the noise is. My radio headset is buzzing with interference behind me. Behind me, the torch Josh left me lies next to the headset. Can I move, can I sit back up to reach it? I’ve got to do something, I can’t just lie here to die—or worse, turn into the creature.
I do it, without thinking again about it. My right arm comes down and I push against the floor. Pain rips through my creaking body as my joints move, rubbing against each other. I force my back to take the strain, even though it feels like it might break in two. My right legs shifts back to help lever me upright. My burning left arm tries to help but it is dead, numb from being stuck under me, so my back has to work harder.
I scream out as my body moves up. The intense pain is overpowering, and I nearly falter and fall back down to the floor. Only the thought of how much that would hurt keeps me rising. As I reach the top, I almost blackout and nearly swing past being upright and fall down the other way to my right. I manage to catch myself though, just.
Upright again, the pain continues to wave through my body as it settles into its new position. Before I rest and let my body settle fully, my right arm flops down to the floor, and my hand touches Josh’s torch and manages to take hold of it to press the switch.
Fresh bright light brings a small relief to my exhaustion and welcome confirmation that I am indeed alone in my dungeon. The pain subsides somewhat as I sit still. Only my eyes move as they look around the room. The dull ache caused by my eyeballs rolling around their sockets is insignificant in comparison to the rest of my body’s torment, so I let them wander.
As I look at the kit lying around me on the floor, I decide that I am more lucid than I was previously. The agony aside, my brain is working to some extent and even without knowing if this is a temporary reprieve, I take some solace in it.
Just as my body is starting to settle and the pain with it, my eyes fall on a pack of syringes next to my helmet. At first, I wonder what they are for and why they are there? Eventually, through the haze, I remember somebody injecting me with some of
them. Is it a serum to fight the virus, or something for the pain—morphine? I can’t remember. Whichever it is, they have been left there for a reason. If they are for the pain, it isn’t worth the renewed agony to retrieve them. I can cope now that my body is readjusting, so I might as well leave them there.
Exhaustion is getting the better of me, and the effort to drag myself up was almost impossible. Rest would be good, but the only problem is, I’m scared to close my eyes again. I’m scared to fall back to sleep and into another nightmare. What if I fall back over? I don’t think I can handle either again.
Morphine would help. It would knock me out, put me too far under to remember any nightmare. It’s worked in the past, in the field, when I’ve self-medicated to help forget the horrors of the day and when sleep had to come, to meet the horrors of the next day.
I eye the pack, which is out of arms’ reach. To get it, I will have to lean over. I am confident that the risk of falling over is small, but I am sure the agony of moving will be fierce.
I calculate that the pain is worth the potential reward.
Pain rips up my back as soon as I slowly start to lean over towards the pack. I bite down hard, crushing my teeth together as my right arm rises and reaches over, increasing my agony still further. My fingertips touch the pack and I slide it closer until my hand can close around it. I flop back upright against the support behind me, my back creaking to a stop. The shooting pains up and down my spine calm gradually as sweat drips down my forehead.
Letting the pain subside before I attempt to open the pack of syringes, I don’t even look at them. I sit with my head back and run through some breathing exercises to control my lung movement. Even breathing hurts, Goddamn it.
With my breathing under control, my eyes look down at the pack in my lap. Of course, it is no good! I can’t read the label; my eyes are at too much of an angle to focus on it. A decision has to be made to either bring my arm up and lift the pack closer or move my head forward to look down at it. My neck is killing me as my left arm starts to lift the pack up. Shooting pain courses through my arm and up into my shoulders as it moves to bring the pack into view. The thought of the morphine flowing into my bloodstream like nectar and up to my welcoming brain excites me. It will make the pain bearable.
Favipiravir (T-705) is written across the packet in big green letters. I am confused for a moment is this a new make of morphine? My disappointment is felt deeply when I read the smaller writing which tells me the syringes are a rabies antiviral. My arms drop uncontrollably back down into my lap, taking the pack with it. There will be no imminent relief from the agony, no feeling of euphoria as my body soaks up the morphine, just more suffering in this dark hole.
The disappointment nearly brings me to tears. I had convinced myself that relief was on the way. I fight the tears away, chastising myself for letting my exhaustion let my mind run away with itself. A memory then presents itself, of somebody injecting the wounds in my face and the pain of the sharp needle puncturing the wounds returns, if only in my mind. Have the injections stopped me turning completely into a Rabid yet or have they delayed the onset? Is it still to come? Is that what I am going through now?
I should have turned by now. I have no idea how long I have been here since I was scratched and infected. But I know it is long enough that I should have turned. From the reports I remember, the turning process can vary from almost instant to a few minutes, ten or fifteen at the most. So why haven’t I turned fully? Is it the injection I was given… it can’t be that simple, and if it were, they would be injecting everyone at risk?
In the movies, there always seems to be somebody who is immune to a viral outbreak, and maybe that’s me? I would laugh at myself if it weren’t so painful. This isn’t the fucking movies, dickhead, I tell myself.
Something is fighting the virus inside of me, I am sure of that. And if there is one thing I have learnt in my life, it’s that while you’re still fighting, there is a chance and that chance could be to see my children again.
My fingers fumble the packet of syringes open, there are still four inside. Fishing one out, I see that the plunger is up and ready to go. For a second, I debate reading the instructions, but I haven’t the energy and decide to just go for it before I change my mind.
The stiff top pops off the syringe, exposing the long needle. I take a breath and start the painful process of raising my arm up. I’m going to inject myself in my cheek with the wounds again, that’s where it was done before and must be the most effective place for the serum to go in. Am I becoming immune to the pain? I can feel it penetrating the muscles and bones of my arm and shoulders as my arm moves, but it doesn’t have the same horrific effect. Or is my mind being taken away from it by the thought of the impending injection?
As the syringe appears before my eyes, level with my contaminated cheek, I turn the needle to point at the wound. My index and middle finger hold the syringe whilst my thumb moves to the top of the plunger, ready to push the antiviral serum out. I can’t see the wound so I’m going to be shooting blind, I take a moment to aim as best I can. My tongue unconsciously curls out of the way as I jab the syringe into my cheek, my thumb ready to push. I barely feel anything until the needle pierces my inner cheek and sticks into my top gum above a tooth, where it is stopped by hitting something hard, either bone or the root of the tooth. Agony rushes across the gum and into my eye which immediately fills with water. I pull the syringe out as quickly as it went in.
I jab it straight back in, swearing to myself. This time, I go easier and the needle stays within the flesh of my cheek. My thumb and fingers push together, pushing the fluid out and into the wound. My thumb falters, almost coming to a stop as the fluid goes into my cheek, lighting it in burning, searing agony that spreads across the whole side of my face. The fire burns into my eye that now overflows with water, which does nothing to extinguish the flame. My thumb regroups and pushes until the syringe is spent. As my hand falls away the fire has spread to my brain, threatening to melt its soft delicate tissue to dust. The empty vicious syringe dangles down from my cheek, wobbling but refusing to let go.
Deliriously insane as my brain melts, a picture of Josh, Emily, Catherine and Stacey together, on some non-existent beach, with the sea lapping at their feet is before my eyes. I have to join them. I have to find them.
I grab the box of syringes, my whole being fixated on killing the bloody, fucking depraved virus in my body, trying to take my family from me. Syringes scatter, falling and skidding across the floor as the box rips open. One tumbles against my thigh, and it bounces but doesn’t drop to the floor. It stays precariously balanced there. I grab it and in one swift motion pull the top off and plunge it into my belly. As my thumb pushes the plunger down, the fire spreads to my stomach. I don’t care in my delirium though; I welcome the fire that will scorch the virus from my body and finally purge me of it.
I’m hurting and spent, with no more energy to fight. My arms flop down either side of my body, now useless limbs. My head goes back and eyes close as exhaustion takes me in. Unconsciousness comes again; nightmares or not, it doesn’t matter—there is no stopping it. The vision of my family takes me into the darkness, easing my passing, overriding my agony until they too fade into black.
Chapter 7
“I have something, Major,” one of the analysts across the table from Winters and Major Rees announces, lifting a file above her head as if she is at the bingo hall.
“Show me,” Major Rees replies, not looking up from the file he is studying.
The female analyst, with short blonde bobbed hair and glasses, rises from her chair. Winters has found himself sneaking looks at her whenever he can, which is very unlike him. He has tried to stop himself, especially after she caught him gazing at her. She has the look of intelligence that Winters is drawn to and her pretty face only adds to the attraction, Winters has to admit to himself.
She comes around the table and stands in the gap between where he and Rees are seate
d, with her back to him, to show the Major the data she has discovered. Winters receives a waft of her perfume as she stands there, and he finds his eyes have left the file in front of him.
“Have you found something, Lieutenant?” Major Rees asks bluntly.
Winters finds himself staring at the analyst’s bum, tightly packed into light blue jeans. Flustered for a second—which rarely happens to him—he nearly drops the file in his hand.
“No, Sir, not yet,” he manages to blurt out as he regains his composure. He scolds himself for letting his concentration lapse and worse, for getting caught.
“Be sure to let me know if you do, Lieutenant, won’t you?” Rees adds.
“Yes, Sir, of course.” Winters feels his face flush with embarrassment as he scolds himself again.
Rees and the analyst study the file she has brought around for a good few minutes, discussing the contents, and their voices have excitement in them. Winters has his eyes under control again but still finds himself more interested in her voice than in the mundane information in front of him. He hopes that she has indeed found the data they have been searching for and that they will finally have something to take to Colonel Reed.
“Lieutenant?” Rees says.
“Yes, Sir,” Winters replies, looking directly at him.
“It seems that Sam has possibly found some of the data we are looking for. That’s not to say other relevant information isn’t here that we haven’t discovered yet, but I would say that this file is related to the type of virus we are dealing with. Wouldn’t you agree, Sam?”
“Yes, from my understanding, I would agree,” she says as she turns in Winters’ direction.
“Excellent, Major and well done, Sam,” Winters says, looking up to Sam, feeling his face redden slightly as their eyes meet.
Capital Falling Trilogy Box Set [Books 1-3] Page 51