I pushed my way into the shed, almost tripping over them sitting cross-legged on a wooden board on the ground.
‘There’s a killer on the loose and you’re sitting with your back to the world?’
Alice jumped.
Dash shrugged. ‘If they’re still out there, what would they want with us?’
‘We don’t really know what they want.’ I scanned the workbench along one wall, the nuts and bolts and tools spread across it. ‘How’s the generator looking?’
‘Had to strip the carb. Almost got it back together.’
‘Alice, go wait with Hurley and Marie, I’ll stay with Dash. Keep an eye out for Greenbow.’
She didn’t need telling twice, rustling out of the shed. I grabbed her arm. ‘Watch them.’ I waited until she’d squelched away and lowered my voice.
‘Any idea how it happened?’
Dash looked up and wiped the lens of his mask. ‘Yeah, I’ve got an idea.’
‘Care to share it?’
‘No fault in the fuel lines.’
I stepped round him and looked at the parts on the bench. ‘What’s your conclusion?’
‘How else does dirt get into a fuel tank?’
‘Suppose I’m stupid, say it out loud.’
‘Easiest thing in the world to dump a handful of mud into the header.’
‘Sabotage, then?’
He considered it carefully, holding the fuel filter up to the light. ‘I’ve checked everything else.’
‘I thought so. Someone’s in a hurry to leave. Can you tell when it happened?’
‘Could have been minutes ago or hours. No telling how long it took for the filter to clog.’
I crouched next to the generator, running my glove across the fuel line. ‘So it could have been anyone. Including Demeter.’
‘Or Greenbow, we don’t know where he is.’
‘What did you mean earlier about watching Marie?’
‘She left the lounge last night. When you guys were up at Camp Vollum.’
‘So?’
‘So who took the key from the comms room? She was in here yesterday too, who knows what she was doing.’ He placed the fuel filter on the generator. ‘Fucking respirators, it’s so much easier without them.’ He creaked to his feet and peeled off a strip of tape, pushing the gas mask up onto the top of his head to inspect a part in the torchlight. ‘Just gotta clean this and then—’
His mask fell off his head. Expletives poured forth as he tried to catch it, but in doing so he stepped backwards off the board, onto the mud. His feet slid out from under him. He flailed, grabbing for the bench, I jumped up, tried to catch him but wasn’t quick enough. He pulled the bench over on top of him as he collapsed on his back. Pieces of carburettor splatted into the mud all around him. Thankfully he managed to keep his face from going anywhere near the ground.
He screamed, first in shock, then pain, turning to panic. ‘Help me up.’
I righted the workbench, pulled Dash off the ground, and saw why he’d cried out. His protective suit hung open on one side of his thigh. His jeans were visible underneath, a dark red patch spreading across them. He tried to put a hand over it but I grabbed his arm just in time, pulling it away.
‘You’re covered in mud. Sit up on the bench.’
I pulled off my gloves, ripped open his suit, then tore his jeans carefully. There was a cut, small but deep. His leg was smeared with dirt.
‘Fell on the knife,’ he admitted, voice trembling.
‘Any water around?’
He shook his head. Speed was vital. Grabbing the plastic header tank, I wrenched the clip off the fuel hose, holding it above his leg, letting the petrol pour across his leg. He screamed again, pulling away but I held his leg firm.
‘What the fuck?’ he shouted.
I spread the cut open under the stream of petrol, using clean paper towels to wipe it down. ‘You’d rather get anthrax?’
‘It’ll be fine, it’s just—’
‘Wanna take the gamble?’
He shook his head, gritting his teeth.
‘I know it stings like a bastard, but petrol’s a great antiseptic.’
‘I don’t wanna know why you know that.’
After thirty seconds or so it was clean enough: no mud at least. Petrol’s not great for you, but here it was better than the alternative. I wrapped paper towels around his leg and tore pieces of the muddy suit away so it wouldn’t touch his leg. ‘You need to get inside and into the shower, wash that out.’
He hooked an arm over my shoulder and I half carried him round to the others at the entrance. Alice’s beam was casting around like a lighthouse.
‘What happened?’ asked Marie. ‘We heard a shout.’
‘Idiot cut his leg. We need to get him inside, get him clean.’
Hurley rushed forward to take Dash’s other arm. We mounted the steps, blood dripping onto the metal. The sodden paper towel was hanging down, his leg was completely red. He looked worried, face pale, hands shaking.
‘That’s a good thing,’ I said, pointing at the blood spattering the steps. ‘If blood’s coming out, anthrax isn’t going in.’
Marie and Hurley bundled him into the HADU. I grabbed Alice’s arm as she stepped inside.
‘Will he be okay?’ I asked. ‘What’s the treatment?’
‘Clean the wound up best we can, then an immediate course of antibiotics. Ciprofloxacin, we have it in the medi-kits in the HADU.’
‘The immunisation’s got to count for something, right?’
‘Not guaranteed. Especially as there are some strains on this island that… well, they’re exotic, not the strains we’d normally encounter.’
‘Get him in the shower while the batteries still have power, and get the drugs. I’ll get the generator going.’
She nodded, following the others inside.
Chapter Fifty-eight
Fortunately Dash had been right, he had nearly finished. I’d no experience with generators but have rebuilt enough cars to know the basics; the principles are the same, the parts easily recognisable. The carburettor was mostly reassembled, though I had to give it all another spray and wipe-down since it had fallen into the mud. It took me a good while to find the part Dash had been working on when he’d fallen. I finally dug it out of the mud near the door, cleaned it up, and proceeded to refit the carb to the top of the generator. Fifteen minutes later, and after a good flush of the fuel lines, I finally connected everything back up, flicked the primer, hit the starter. It fired up immediately, roaring on choke before settling into rhythm. I checked my watch before pulling my gloves back on. Nearly seven, dawn was still a way off.
Dash had done all the hard work but I still felt pretty chuffed when I saw the corridors all lit up as I made my way back towards the steps. Now I needed to herd everyone into the dining room for breakfast, because in about forty-five minutes there was going to be a hell of a commotion.
Something flashed in the corner of my eye, or as close to the corner as you get in a gas mask. A glow from the tool shed, through a splintered panel, casting shaking shadows onto the fog. Someone was moving around in there. I tried to look but the crack was too small to see through. Had Dash finished cleaning up his leg and come back out to help me? Hurley, Alice, or Marie?
Or was it Captain Greenbow?
The mud around the door was churned up, and as far as I knew I was the only person to have been in the shed since the rain had stopped. I paused outside, holding my breath, an electric hum from inside just audible through the thick rubber mask. I snatched a quick breath, held it again, gripping the door handle, bracing myself.
I pulled it open, stepping inside. It took me a couple of seconds to realise how stupid I’d been.
A couple of seconds too long.
Chapter Fifty-nine
A torch swung upside down from the roof by a length of string. My own torch beam showed it was tied to a cordless screwdriver, wedged up under a partially collapsed roof truss. The low se
tting had kept the torch constantly swinging to create the impression that someone was moving around inside. Which meant…
I ducked.
It felt as if the blow split my skull in half. Luckily as I moved it glanced the back of my head, losing most of its energy in pushing me forward, into the shed. I stumbled, dropping my torch, throwing my arms out as another blow slammed into my shoulder. My torch rolled away under a pile of boxes, my gas mask hit the shelves, yanking my head. The screwdriver fell from the ceiling, that torch smashed across the floor, plunging the shed into darkness.
I scrabbled at my mask to keep it on, lashing out with my leg, not aiming at anything but putting plenty of force behind it. My boot connected with something but twisted my ankle in the process. I reached out to the side but grabbed empty space. I scrambled my other hand and closed my fingers around the only object within reach, throwing my arm up as I spun, letting go at just the right moment before I fell backwards.
The paint can hit the shape in the doorway at the same time as my head connected with the shelves. Agony, my vision dimmed even more, I gritted my teeth but watched with satisfaction as their head smashed sideways, the can hitting so hard the lid pinged off. The stuff they’d used to mark up grids on the grass, thick paint, slopped across the gas mask, covering their head and shoulders, the only bit of the figure visible in the slim moonlight. They dropped the wood, clawing at the mask, backing away into the darkness.
I rolled onto all fours, lights exploding like Bonfire Night behind my eyes, blood already soaking into my hair. I blinked rapidly, concentrating on the doorway, wondering why I hadn’t received a bullet in the head like the others. I guessed they hadn’t wanted to draw attention, which meant they intended to get rid of me quietly. So they could sneak back inside with the others, to wait for the evacuation.
When the wind returned to my chest and the fireworks in my brain died down I managed to stand, swaying against the doorframe and holding my injured foot off the ground. Nothing moved out on the black moorland, no lights in the base, no life. I tried one step and collapsed, only just managing to get my arms out to break my fall before faceplanting in the mud. I’d stood too quickly, could feel blood running down my back. I’d be okay, but a heck of a headache was inbound.
I crawled back into the shed to find my torch, pulling it from under the boxes and shining it around. Yellow paint splattered the door and grass outside. I tried my legs again, this time making it all the way back to the doorway without collapsing. Gripping the frame, I swayed for another second, letting the nausea subside and my eyes clear, then shuffled out.
My torch beam jumped as I limped along, a hamster inside a swirling white ball. The steps of the base appeared. I took one last look around before stepping up, catching something in the light. Since the rain had stopped a while ago, our footprints were easily discernible in the mud. A mess of boots led the way I’d come from, our tracks stirred into the mud between the sheds and the steps, spots of Dash’s blood occasionally spattering the grass. But another set of tracks broke away from the others at ninety degrees, heading off into the fog. They must have been made recently, but why had someone headed out across the island? And who?
A closer inspection confirmed the obvious. The light caught on the smudges of yellow paint trailing it, a satisfying drag on the left foot implying its owner was limping more than me. I set off at as much of a jog as I could muster, wishing I hadn’t relinquished my pistol, no time to go get it now.
The tracks took me over the hill. Occasionally they strayed from the well-trodden path, exploring the heather to reappear a few metres further on. My attacker was circling. Looking for something? Or checking if they were being followed? There was only one place they could be going: Camp Vollum. Why, I couldn’t be sure. Something to do with Demeter’s body? Knowing we’d found it, did it contain some crucial evidence? I picked up the pace.
After another few minutes I spotted something in the distance. At first I thought it was a trick of the fog but as I approached I could see it was a dim light. No way of telling how far I’d come but I was pretty sure it wasn’t Camp Vollum, which could only mean it was a torch. The killer’s torch. I snapped mine off and let my eyes adjust to the murky black. The torch in front bumped along, circling, searching. Closer now. Was I catching up or were they heading back? I stopped, crouched, ears extended. The only sounds were the waves crashing against the cliffs near the camp. I know from time at sea that fog can play tricks with your ears as well as your eyes, but the waves were close. The torch was in between me and the camp, and hadn’t moved for a while.
I kept my torch off, moving to the left, away from the path, circling the light. I maintained an equal distance as I moved around it. The booming grew louder, the ground rockier, fog swirling and condensing on the lens of my mask. It reminded me of when I’d landed in the helicopter, had it really been less than twenty-four hours ago?
I was too fixated on the light, tripping, almost falling over. My foot had snagged in the undergrowth, reminding me of Marie’s stark warning. Bending to free my foot, I saw it wasn’t vegetation, it was a hosepipe; the yellow network still pumping seawater and formaldehyde across the hillside. I continued onwards.
Orientation by sight was impossible but by stopping every few seconds I could estimate my location by listening to how loud the sea was, guessing the distance, triangulating in relation to the torch. I reckoned I’d moved round over ninety degrees, so with the torch in front of me the cliffs were directly on my left. I crept closer.
Either the sun had begun to rise or my eyes had become more accustomed to dim moonlight percolating through the fog. Probably a bit of both, I could just about make out the huts of Camp Vollum below. My attacker was only a hundred or so metres away, near the incinerator. I ought to rush them, throw the bastard in and be done with this place.
I continued my slow creep. The torch didn’t move. I began to doubt it was my quarry, possibly a light on the pump? I took a moment to determine my next move. The tracks led in this direction, the killer was here somewhere. Had they gone inside?
No. This was the same trap they’d just sprung on me in the shed, they were trying it again – drawing me in so they could attack. I understood now what had happened; they’d set off down the path, knowing the mud would give away their direction, checking behind them now and again to see where I was. Maybe waiting in the darkness to watch for my torch. When I’d drawn closer they’d left their torch, doubling back, circling round, waiting to ambush me. Probably hiding somewhere they could watch for me. I backtracked slowly, away from the light.
There was movement, a squelch in the mud, but not from down the hill. Something in the darkness, off to my right. I froze. They had followed me across the hillside. Again I cursed not having my pistol on me. Given how Demeter, Gambetta and Ingrid had ended up, I was sure my adversary was armed, and wouldn’t hesitate to use their gun now. Had they deliberately drawn me away from the base, where the fog would smother the sound of my death? Gun or not, if I could get in close enough I was confident I could deal with them, but would I get the chance?
I crouched and lay on the ground, pressing myself into the mud, training my eyes on the black, just like I had a few hours earlier when the Marines had arrived. What I’d have given for their presence now. I didn’t regret sending them away – the risk was worth the reward – but I’d have killed for that rifle and night-vision.
Another movement, my hunter moving slowly. I took solace in the thought that I was better at this; if I’d had my pistol on me they’d already be dead.
I shuffled backwards, heather whispering across my suit. Saturated ground sucked at my boots. I was well aware that I was crawling across what had been some of the most contaminated dirt on the island, and despite the fact it was probably decontaminated, I could still imagine bacteria crawling across me.
There, again, movement. Still to my right but closer now, hard to judge but maybe twenty metres. A dangerous distance; too far for me
to use surprise, but close enough that they could easily shoot me. No use lying here in the mud; soon they’d walk over me. Either that or the sun would come up and I’d be laid here like a sunbather on a beach.
They had a gun, but they were injured, and despite my splitting head, the walk over had sharpened my edge, refined my senses. I was pretty sure I could outrun them, and if I set off now I’d be lost in the fog before they could react. Then double back, get to Camp Vollum and retrieve Gambetta’s Walther hiding on the top of the cupboard.
The shape moved closer.
If I didn’t move I was a dead man. Now or never.
I leapt up, taking off back up the hillside. Immediately there was a sharp crack, but nothing hit me so I kept going. Another crack, something sprayed my suit; the bullet had hit a hosepipe. I changed direction, sprinting right, towards the cliffs. Another crack followed by lead slapping mud, a flash as their torch beam momentarily found me. They were a better shot than I’d given them credit for, must have started after me, knowing if I got out of range I’d be lost. I couldn’t risk looking back so changed direction again, running to the left then going right again, zigzagging up the hill, trying to open up distance between us.
The mud exploded in front of me, I ran through water spray from another damaged pipe. The ground suddenly changed colour. I slid to a halt and strained my eyes; it wasn’t the ground that had changed colour – there was no ground. I was on the cliff edge, looking out over the sea. I turned. My hunter was closing fast. Another shot buzzed past my head. I was silhouetted against the sky here on the cliffs, an easy target. My attacker was a good shot and getting closer, and I was running out of island quicker than they were running out of bullets. The mud to the side of me was bathed in light, the beam moved ever closer, and I knew the nasty end of their gun was just behind.
Only one option left, possibly a one-way street to a different death, but one that was less nailed on – and I’d take the possibility of survival over the certainty of those bullets.
Anthrax Island Page 22