by Rick Wood
“Is he a liability?”
Gus didn’t answer.
“Because, if he is, we need to know now. We can’t afford to take any chances. This is too important.”
Gus folded his arms, sighed, turned around and leant against the windowsill. He considered the question deeply before producing his answer.
“No, he’s not a liability.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. Donny may have been through a lot, but the guy is still good. Not a bad bone in his body.”
Gus smiled to himself.
“I would trust him with my life.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
After trying to sleep for a total of thirty minutes, Gus gave up. His mind wouldn’t relax, and, even though he hadn’t spent long trying, honestly, he didn’t want to sleep. All he’d done for months was sleep to pass the time, and his thoughts were fluttering too fervently around his mind.
Being careful not to wake anyone, he made his way down the stairs, treading softly to mute the creaks of the floorboards. He made his way outside and into the night.
He didn’t go far. Just down to the clearing at the edge of the forest, where he paused and took in the cool night air. The air was clean, and it felt good brushing down his throat. The air in the compound had always been so stuffy, so full of the sweat and suffering of everyone in it – fresh air had never felt so welcome.
In a strange way, he wished he had a cigarette. Although that would void the freshness of the air, it just felt right at that time. It wasn’t something he’d done frequently, but in Iraq, if you didn’t smoke, you didn’t socialise. Having a cigarette to give someone when they asked led to conversation that led to solid comradery.
Sighing a deep sigh, he turned and looked back at the farmhouse. Everyone asleep in it.
Except the window at the top, to the left. A figure stood in deep silhouette. Gus could make that body outline anywhere; it was Donny. Yet, even Donny’s shadow was unlike him. He didn’t stand as he once did; his posture was more… solidified. Definite. Uncompromising. It had an unfaltering confidence that Donny had never previously had.
Gus watched the shadow. Neither of them moved. Gus was sure the shadow was also watching him.
But why?
What was Donny thinking?
Once, Donny’s mind would be churning to think of something useless to say. Something daft or stupid or comedic. Like he had to fill every silence with idle chatter about random nonsense. For someone else, that would have been lovely, but Gus had always relished his silence, and Donny had always interrupted it, to great irritation.
What Gus wouldn’t give to have that irritation back.
His wife had always loved Joni Mitchell, including one song in particular, Big Yellow Taxi. Strange how this made him think of that song, but he found the lyrics somewhat pertinent: Don’t it always seem to go that you don’t know what you got til it’s gone.
Maybe Gus had never appreciated Donny for being the person he was.
There was a night, when they were journeying to London under false pretences to save Eugene Squire’s child, when Gus had laid with his eyes closed. He’d been peacefully snoozing, but for a moment he’d come around, in one of those strange lapses in sleep when you suddenly become alert, before falling straight back to sleep again.
Donny had been sat with Sadie. He’d always been so good with Sadie, far before Gus ever cared enough to help her.
“Where do you come from?” Donny had asked.
Sadie had looked blankly back.
“Do you” – Donny sighed – “do you have a mum? A dad? A sister?”
Sadie looked as if she was trying to understand, as if some of the words were making sense, but she couldn’t form them into coherence.
“Mum? You – have a mum? Dad?”
Sadie raised her eyebrows to show she understood, thought, then nodded.
“Where are they now?”
Sadie looked over her shoulder, then down at the ground. Her lack of answer was enough confirmation for Donny.
“Dead, huh?” Donny concluded, no tact whatsoever. “Yeah, there’s a lot of that. You see Gus over there?”
Sadie looked at Gus, who kept his eyes closed, pretending to be asleep.
“His family died.”
“Family?” Sadie replied.
“Yes. Gus, family. Dead.”
“Oh…” Gus felt Sadie’s eyes turn sympathetically to him.
“But he’s brave, you see,” Donny continued. “Gus. Brave. Because he carried on. Strong.”
Gus held his eyes, and a moment of bonding occurred that went deeper than either of them acknowledged.
“Like you,” Donny said. “Strong. Like you. To keep going.”
Donny looked down.
“I couldn’t keep going.”
Sadie put an arm on his shoulder, a gesture of comfort, a reassurance he undoubtedly needed. He took her hand and held it, reluctantly smiling.
Gus, despite hating everything and everyone at the time, had let those words sink in.
He was brave. Donny thought he was brave.
That was the last thought he’d had before he sank back into a dreamless slumber.
He hadn’t remembered the exchange until a few days later.
Gus looked to Donny now, standing in the window, a silent mystery.
Gus knew Donny was the same person. Whatever happened to him, it had its effect; but trauma does that. Gus only had to look inwardly at himself, at what the death of his wife and daughter had turned him into.
And it took Donny and Sadie to get him out of that.
So it was time he repaid the favour. Letting Donny know who he truly was, so Donny could recover from his experiences.
He’d never thanked Donny, and he never would. Such words didn’t come easily to him. But this would be his way of gratitude. This would be the way he solidified that friendship.
He’d remember the Donny that was and hold onto the thought until Donny remembered it too.
Whatever it took.
Chapter Forty
Morning arrived with a rush of sunlight. The heavy rain had parted, if only momentarily, and the spring sun interspersed its light between the shadows, breaking apart the cold of night with the warmth of dawn.
They had already travelled three miles by the time Gus realised how much he was perspiring. It felt oddly refreshing – it was the first time in a while he’d sweated from heat rather than fear. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and relished it.
Gus and Desert led the group, eyes alert at all times, ready for anything. Sadie, Donny, and Prospero were behind, and Whizzo took the rear. Whizzo held the radio as tight as he could. He had been trying it continually since they had left the farmhouse. He’d fiddled with the tuning in a way he’d explained but Gus had not understood; Gus’s basic understand was that Whizzo was scanning multiple radio frequencies at once, all frequencies to which the rest of the AGA could be listening.
Gus grew slightly perturbed by the lack of contact Whizzo was receiving, especially considering they were supposedly approaching the location. Their imminent arrival left Gus on edge, and although his gun and knife remained in his belt, he kept a hand on each, ready for whatever may come.
“What is it we’re looking for?” Gus asked.
“It’s an old school,” Desert replied. “Like, one that was meant for the worst kids. A pupil referral unit, I think they used to be called. My cousin ended up in one.”
“You know, I’m surprised you were once an office worker. The way you fought, the way you hold yourself. You look like you’ve been fighting this fight forever.”
She gave a sneaky smile. “Feels like it.”
“I’ve got something!” Whizzo announced, his voice palpable. “I’ve got something!”
They all turned toward him, waiting intently to hear the voice through the radio themselves.
“Whizzo, transmission confirmed, over,” announced a voice on
the radio.
They all cheered, leapt into the air, jumped for elation. Gus and Desert exchanged a triumphant smile.
“Boy, are we glad to hear you,” Whizzo confirmed. “I’m going to hand you to Desert, over.”
“Roger.”
Whizzo passed the radio to Desert.
“This is Desert, over.”
“Desert, we thought you were a goner. It’s good to hear your voice, over.”
“And it’s good to hear yours. We’re around a mile out, are you ready to receive us, over?”
“Please confirm other survivors, over.”
Desert looked at the others. “We have me, Whizzo, Prospero – then we’ve picked up a few stragglers. Gus Harvey, Donny Jevon, and a girl called Sadie. They escaped from a compound held by Eugene Squire, I can vouch for them.”
“Perfect. That’s perfect. We’ll have someone waiting. Over and out.”
“Thank you so much, over and out.”
Desert handed the radio back to Whizzo.
“We’ve done it!” she yelped. “We’ve actually done it!”
She hugged Whizzo, Prospero, then turned to Gus. Ah, to heck with it, he decided, and he returned her hug, which she then passed on to Sadie and Donny.
“What do you say,” she said to everyone. “Shall we run for it?”
They all grinned.
She turned and ran. Gus followed, running freely on his aching leg and his new nimble leg, again relishing the liberation of a perfectly working limb.
The rest followed, keeping up as best they could. Whizzo wasn’t much of a runner and almost choked on his breath, but he kept going nonetheless, too eager, too keen to see everyone, to be back with them, to have to do no more fighting – just creating awesome gadgets to help the AGA to victory.
Sadie ran faster than any of them, running ahead, then slowing down to keep the rest of them in her vision.
Prospero enjoyed leaping over random twigs and ducking low-hanging branches.
Donny ran with hesitancy.
Why did he have such a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach? What was it about this place that he couldn’t remember?
It seemed important somehow. Crucial. Like he should warn them, do something.
But he ignored it. He didn’t know why, but he ignored it. Pretended he didn’t feel that way. Knew, somehow, that the best thing would be to just go along with it.
Maybe it was just paranoia. Yes, that’s what it was. A lot of what he’d been feeling he needed to ignore. He wasn’t well. Hopefully these people would be able to help him.
The group emerged from the trees and bushes and grass and green onto a gravel road. They followed it, and within minutes, they came to a large building. An old-fashioned one, with large, blacked-out windows and a classical brick structure.
Desert reached the door and burst it open, Gus following closely behind. Prospero waited and held the door open for the others.
They entered what must once have been an assembly hall. Where the headmaster would talk to his students. Pass his messages on, and all that.
But there was no headmaster.
There wasn’t even any AGA.
Gus stumbled to a stop, as did Desert, as did the rest. Falling. Stumbling. Regaining their footing as their minds struggled to take in the shock.
Gus’s entire body stiffened.
How could they be so stupid?
A line of soldiers stood before them, their guns directed forward. Behind them was another line of soldiers doing the same, with another line behind, and another line behind them.
From behind this line, General Boris Hayes emerged, his cocky strut announcing his unmistakeable presence. A grin on his face glowered gloriously.
And, from behind Hayes, came another person.
Someone they all recognised.
Someone with a socially awkward stance that held more authority than it should. Someone with a suit more expensive than he deserved. Someone with a smugness no one could deny.
“Well done, Donny,” sang a victorious Eugene Squire, with cockiness that incensed his enemies until they shook with rage. “You led them right to us. You are a good boy.”
Chapter Forty-One
Donny was the first to act.
The rest of them stood dumbfounded, dumbstruck, dumb-faced. Looking to one another in an attempt to form a plan with the glance of their eyes, to engage each other into some instinctive strategy of attack.
It didn’t work.
Gus’s hands remained clutching his weapons, but his weapons remained in his belt. He was outnumbered, it was clear to see. He put an arm out to halt Sadie from bursting forward.
Whizzo backed away, behind Prospero and Desert, as the two stood in a stance mirroring Gus, poised between fight and flight.
Eugene’s words hung in the air like the potent stench of betrayal.
Donny was their good little boy. Or, so it would seem.
Desperate to prove them wrong, desperate to go against all the thoughts Donny knew would undoubtedly be flooding Gus’s mind, flooding all of their minds, he attacked. He did it alone, but he did it.
He drew his blade and charged at the first line of soldiers.
The soldiers looked to Hayes with an expectant look, a look that asked him what they should do.
Hayes didn’t say a word.
He just smiled as he watched his pet unleash the skills Doctor Janine Stanton had injected into him.
The sharp sting of Donny’s blade took to the face of the soldier immediately to his left, for the blade to be brought back across the throat of that soldier once more. Blood trickling through Donny’s fingers, the soldier fell to his knees and began the prolonged suffering that induced death.
With the element of surprise gone, the next few soldiers lifted their guns.
Donny’s speed was such that his actions weren’t comprehended until it was too late. A few swift swipes of his hands and the nearest three soldiers collapsed in a bloody mess. Their guns fell to the floor with their fingers. One of them slipped on his own entrails, another grasped at the sprays of blood flying from his gullet, and the other pressed his hands over his eyeballs that boasted a cross in each.
“Donny, stop,” said Hayes, raising his hand to halt the rest of the soldiers from further attack.
Donny obeyed with an immediacy that took him by surprise. Aside from his heavy panting, Donny’s body didn’t falter.
Gus was perplexed. Dismayed and invigorated. Stumped and resolute. Donny was faster than Sadie. Way faster. Sadie was oddly fast, yes, but the way Donny was moving was beyond inhuman. The barbaric swipe of his weapon after the ruthless precision of his speedy attack – it was wrong. It all felt wrong.
“Donny, why are you stopping?” Gus whimpered, loud enough to prompt Donny to turn and look at him.
They maintained eye contact. Donny a sweaty assailant, his face caught between a snarl and a weep. Gus a confused friend, stuck between shock and horror.
“Donny,” Gus said, trying to make his voice louder, only to find himself croak. “How the hell did you do that?”
It was a good question.
How did he do that?
Months ago, Donny could barely survive the easy level on a zombie computer game. Now he could tear three men apart with a single blade in under six seconds.
“I…” Donny tried. “I… don’t… know…”
Gus stepped forward, his arm out.
The soldiers gripped their weapons and readied themselves, only to be halted again by Hayes’ upraised hand. The smug look on that bastard’s face incensed Gus, but Gus was not ready to deal with him yet. He was dealing with his friend.
“Donny,” Gus said, “this is… Look at what you’ve done. I don’t even know how…”
Donny was trying not to cry. Gus could see that. A complexity of emotions contorted Donny’s features. The realisation of what he’d just done to those soldiers, what he was able to do, and how he understood none of it.
“Im
pressive,” Hayes declared. “Ain’t he?”
“Don’t you start,” Gus retaliated.
Hayes stepped toward Donny, reaching out a hand.
Donny backed away, like an animal threatened by a stranger.
“Now, now, Donny,” Hayes said, his arrogance unphased. “Janine wouldn’t want you to be uncooperative.”
“Janine…”
The name.
The face.
The doctor. The one who was talking to him. Injecting him.
The one who…
He shook his head. He couldn’t remember. He didn’t know.
“Donny, who’s Janine?” Gus asked, but he was ignored.
“And you don’t want to let down Doctor Emma Saul, now, do you?” Hayes persisted. “Remember all the things she taught you.”
“Who?” Donny innocently replied.
“She taught you about what you had to do. How you had to find the AGA. Bring them here, with your friends. They are here thanks to you.”
Desert looked at Gus. “Is this true?” She turned to Donny. “Did you lead us into this trap?”
“No…” Donny whimpered. “It’s not true…”
“Oh, but it is,” Hayes said. “Only, you don’t remember, do you?”
Doctor Emma Saul.
He recalled her face. Her desk. Her title. Expert in psychological conditioning.
Conditioning? What had she conditioned him to do?
“He’d have known nothing about it,” Hayes told whoever cared, not taking his eyes off Donny. “But, before it escaped his mind, we planted the thought. We planted everything he needed. The knowledge that he somehow had to ensure you made it here.”
“Do you think this infection outbreak was just a mistake?” Eugene interjected with his irritatingly self-important voice. He kept to the side, out of the way of the soldiers. Away from the firing line, where he could remain a coward.
“What?” Gus snorted.
“You think it wasn’t engineered? We were trying to create something. Something better.”
“What the hell could you create with a bunch of mindless walking corpses?” Gus objected.
“They are the basic level of the infection. The infection has further mutations. Look at your friend Sadie, for example.”