Mortal Skies Omnibus

by Rebecca Fernfield

  He nods within his suit and their eyes meet. For a moment his crinkle at the sides, and he holds her gaze before the helicopter banks and he’s thrown against her shoulder. “Sorry!”

  The helicopter suddenly increases in speed, taking an arc through the sky, the motel and petrol station now at their rear. Its nose dips as it powers forward and Ellie grabs the strap to steady herself, her stomach rolling as motion sickness swells in her belly.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  As the helicopter lands, four armoured vehicles drive past its chopping blades. Taylor Marks jumps out, grabs one end of the stretcher and pulls Josh out of the cabin. Nate holds the other end. Armed soldiers suited up with the now familiar bio-suits stand guard as the small group make their way across the grass. Nate’s focus is on Josh. His breathing seems laboured, his eyes flickering to show the whites, and his hands twitch; there is no sign of the mist but blood is smeared where his head rests against the suit.

  “You have a hospital here?” Nate shouts as Taylor guides him towards the entrance. Nates words are muffled within the suit and the helicopter’s blades still whir despite the engine being shut off. “I was promised medical help.”

  At the entrance a sign printed on A4 paper and laminated has been taped to the door. It reads ‘DECONTAMINATION’ in bold red capitals. The armed and suited soldiers close in around the group, and they’re guided through the building then taken through to a room where overhead showers spray a fine mist. Josh coughs within his suit and mist appears behind his visor. Ellie squeezes Nate’s hand as she notices the mist. He glares back, a warning to stay quiet as his heart thumps. The mist disappears. It’s just the visor fogging up. It has to be! He glances at Captain Marks. He’s staring at Ellie unaware of the appearing and disappearing fog behind Josh’s visor. Josh coughs again and this time his eyes flicker open. Nate notices the film of red glazing his eyeballs before the lids shut again. They’re just bloodshot. They have to be! His hands tremble.

  Captain Marks shifts to the light above the door - still red. His agitation is obvious. Several more minutes, and the light changes to green and unlocks. More armed soldiers wait on the other side. “Take the unconscious boy and his father to the medical room. The rest to D Block, and hold them in Room 5. No one is to enter or leave without my permission. Understood?”

  “Understood, Captain.”

  The next few minutes are spent removing the biohazard suits, and then walking from the temporary ‘Decontamination’ block to the permanent buildings that make up the base. At D Block they’re led along sterile corridors. The wheels of Josh’s gurney and the rapid patter of the group’s footsteps are the only noise. Nate only has time for a quick ‘see you later’ as he and Josh are separated from the group.

  A minute later and he’s ushered into a small room. The soldiers push the gurney into central position then leave without speaking. The door closes followed by the distinctive click of the lock. For a second panic rises; they’re prisoners! Alone with his comatose son, Nate scans the clinically white room kitted out with a bank of minimalist and wipeable cupboards with stainless steel handles. All have locks. At the head of the gurney a rack holds a variety of tubing in various circumferences and lengths, along with cylindrical plastic canisters. To Josh’s right is a hangar on casters which Nate presumes is for drip bags. In the corner is a low rack with a number of steel bottles which Nate recognises as oxygen. A plastic face mask is hung above them. His panic wanes; here is the help Josh so desperately needs.

  He steps beside his son. Josh’s face is sallow, the skin yellowing, but not the deeper colour of the truly infected. His lips are still pink, though far too pale. His eyes move behind closed lids. REM sleep Ellie had called it—sleep, not a coma. The tension across the back of Nate’s head throbs and, rubbing his eyes for relief from the pressure, he sits in the chair and waits.

  Time loses meaning as he listens to his heart thump, the soft buzzing of tinnitus rising within his ears in the quiet of the room. He relaxes a fraction, and leans back into the chair; he could be in any hospital in England. Taking comfort from the isolation, and the reassuring orderliness of the room, his heartbeat slows a little more. He listens for footsteps, but if there are doctors and nurses moving about outside, they can’t be heard.

  Josh coughs. Rising on stiffened legs, Nate hangs over him, scanning his face, skin, and lips as he has done a thousand times since the first sign of illness. Nothing has changed and the boy’s breathing is regular. A smear of blood stains the pillow. Nate checks his pupils, prizing open a lid; they contract in the bright light, then his eyes squeeze shut; the first sign of consciousness.

  “Josh!”

  The boy groans.

  “Josh!”

  The boy opens his eyes and blinks, groans, and smiles.

  “Jesus H. Christ! Josh. You’re awake.”

  Josh opens his mouth to speak, but the words rasp.

  “Hang on. Let me get you a drink.” Nate fills a beaker from the sink and holds it to Josh’s lips. It spills down the sides of his mouth and he sputters. “Sorry!” Nate wipes it away with the back of his hand and helps Josh to sit. The boy drinks greedily from the beaker. “Slowly. Slowly.”

  Incredulous, Nate adjusts the bed to a reclining position and stares. “How do you feel? Are you in pain? Do you need another drink?”

  Josh raises a hand, and a smile curls onto his lips. “Slow down, Dad.” His voice is rasping. Nate swallows the lump that seems stuck in his throat. “Sorry! It’s just ... I thought ... it’s been tough.”

  “What happened?”

  “We’re waiting for a doctor.”

  “What happened?”

  “You have a head injury.”

  Josh checks the back of his head, grimaces, and when he pulls his fingers away, they’re tipped red. “My head kills!”

  “You may need stitches.”

  “When did it happen? I can’t remember hitting my head.” He lies back and closes his eyes. In the next moment he’s asleep.

  Frustrated, Nate bangs on the door. “Hello!” The colonel had promised medical help. “Anybody out there?” No answer. No sound of running or even walking feet. He bangs again on the door then turns back to Josh.

  His breath catches.

  The mist hovers above the bed in an undulating cloud. In a rage, he hurls himself forward, batting at it with an irritated flick of his hand. “Get away!” he bellows. “Get the fuck away!” The mist breaks, reforms, and rises to the ceiling.

  “Dad!”

  The mist lowers.

  Josh pulls back with a start, scrabbling at the sheets to move away from the particles swirling inches from his head.

  “Jesus! Get it away.”

  “Stay calm, Josh.”

  “But it’s that mist that makes people crazy!”

  “It is, but – how the hell can he say this – it ... – it has to be about both of them – it won’t hurt us.”

  “Won’t hurt us!” His voice is a forced rasp. “Are you insane?”

  Josh bats at the particles; they break apart, twist, turn then reform. Josh’s breathing is laboured with the effort. Nate joins him, hitting out at the fog. It lifts.

  As Nate pulls off his jacket to waft at the fog, and keep it away from Josh, the door opens.

  A man with silvered hair wearing a doctor’s white coat, stethoscope hung around his neck, clipboard in hand, fills the doorway. His mouth gapes. The fog shivers, reforms, and darts to the man. Within a second it has spun itself across the room and disappeared into the man’s mouth. Nate knows they have less than a minute before he turns. “Josh, get off the bed. I know you’re weak, but we have to get out of here.” Before Josh has a chance to move, Nate thrusts his arms beneath his son’s back and legs, and swings his feet to rest on the floor. He pulls the boy’s arm around his own shoulder and heaves. “You’ve got to help me, Josh.” The mist has disappeared. The man stands gaping, his eyes rolled to the back of his head. Nate pulls Josh. The boy steps. Nate pul
ls again and together they make it to the door. The doctor stands in the way, but with one hefty and callous kick, Nate knocks him back. He staggers then crashes to the floor and begins to writhe.

  “Run!”

  Josh increases his pace. Ahead, double doors lead into another corridor. Nate barges through to the sound of groaning then growling. Another door bangs shut and is followed by running footsteps. As they turn a corner, a scream rips through the air and Nate’s guts twist as he realises the spiral of chaos and death is about to infect the base. Following the corridor, pushing through doors, Nate struggles with Josh until they reach the final door and sunlight. His only concern is to get Josh to safety.

  “Can we rest?” Josh’s breathing is laboured. “Just for a second.”

  “Ten.”

  Nate counts to ten, counts five more, then, unable to stand waiting for another second, pulls Josh outside. The air is fresh and smells of freedom. Resting against the wall, Josh catches his breath. Nate scans him again, seeking evidence of fog; it had fooled him last time, he won’t let that happen again. He continues to watch then moves him along the side of the building, unsure where to go. A soldier runs past and then another, oblivious to Nate and his son. In the distance, he can hear the rumble of vehicles and the heavy chop, chop of a helicopter.

  AS NATE SEARCHES FOR somewhere to hide with Josh, Ellie is at the end of her patience as she waits with Mac, Todd, and Mimi in a locked room. The room is stark and utterly dull. A strip light has been switched on, filling the space with a soulless light unsoftened by the dark brown utilitarian office carpet. The walls are a harsh white. Along one wall are two metal filing cabinets above which a white plastic grille sits, presumably covering a ventilation duct. A large window is shuttered with white Venetian blinds. A gun-metal grey desk sits at one side, along with a seat covered in black plastic. Its position, off-centre, tweaks Ellie’s need for symmetry; everyone knows that a desk should be in a central position, not pushed up against one wall. It isn’t even in front of the window. Ellie itches to open the blinds to look outside.

  Mac leans against the desk as every muscle in Ellie’s body seems to ache as she sits ramrod straight with Mimi on her knee and Todd at her side. Mac’s long legs stick half-way out in the room as he slouches; that he can be so casual, and take up so much space in the confined area, grates on Ellie’s nerves, and the uncomfortable band across her chest tightens, increasing the sensation of suffocation. Forcing her attention away from the man, she looks to the viewless window, and cracks. Shifting Mimi off her knee with quick movements, she steps to the window, and pulls the cord. The blind tips to open, and she takes a breath of air as though starved of oxygen. The window is locked shut, and the tension doesn’t ease, but the sensation of gasping and not being able to fill her lungs with enough air passes. Movement to her left catches her eyes and she recognises the disappearing figure of Nate. She gasps as she realises the hobbling figure at his side is Josh. “They’re outside!”

  Mac turns to look. “Who?”

  “Nate and Josh. Look.” He peers out of the window, but the figures have disappeared.

  Ellie strains forward. “I thought he was supposed to be getting medical attention.”

  Todd pushes up against her to see. “He’s awake?”

  “Yes!” A smile broadens across her face despite the confusion. That Josh is awake and walking seems like a miracle. Concern quickly returns as she remembers the mist fogging up Josh’s visor. Surely Nate wouldn’t be that irresponsible? If Josh is still a carrier, he could infect the entire base and compromise everyone’s safety.

  Outside soldiers pass and vehicles roll. The place is a hive of activity.

  “Why have they locked us in?” Mimi whines for at least the tenth time.

  “Well ...” Ellie checks around the room at the bare walls, and repeats a previous answer. “I think it’s because they don’t want us to wander around the base by ourselves.”

  Her voice is placating but Mac’s quickly raised eyebrows tells her he knows she’s lying; he knows, as well as she does, that they’re prisoners.

  “But I’m hungry,” Mimi adds.

  “I’m sure they’ll bring us something to eat.”

  “If they’re out, then we should be out.” Mac pushes up from the desk and strides to the door. “Hey!” The door rattles in its frame as he bangs with a clenched fist. Grabbing the knob, he yanks and twists. The door rattles but doesn’t open.

  “Mac! I’m sure they’ll come back in a few minutes. They won’t just leave us here like this.”

  Mac’s not so sure. “If they don’t then I’m breaking this door down.” He turns back to the door and pummels it with his fists. The anger rises and he kicks it. Pain shoots through his foot and shin, adding to his rage.

  “Cool it!” Ellie shouts. “You’re scaring the kids.”

  “Sorry!” He glances at the children then looks away.

  The sound of approaching footsteps comes from the corridor and silence falls in the room as they listen. The footsteps pass, a door opens, closes and then the muffled noise of voices carries through the ventilation system. The voices are just a noise and Ellie can’t discern words. She slumps in the chair and Mimi hugs to her side.

  “Hell! I thought we were getting out of here for a minute.” Mac returns to the desk fumbling in his pocket. “I need a smoke.” A squashed packet of cigarettes appears along with a lighter. He takes a cigarette and places it in his mouth.

  “You can’t smoke in here!”

  Mac looks around the walls and then back at Ellie. “There are no signs telling me I can’t.”

  “I hardly think ...” Ellie stops as the voices filtering through the ventilation shaft grow louder and argumentative, then continues. “There are children in here. You can’t smoke.”

  Mac gives Mimi and Todd a cursory glance then stuffs the cigarette back inside the packet without a word and leans up against the wall, flicking at the lighter; the flame pops up, then shuts off, pops up, then shuts off.

  “Can you stop that ... please?” Ellie asks as the lighter is flicked yet again.

  Mac stares at her for a moment then lowers the lighter. The tension is palpable.

  Mimi sighs as the lighter disappears then turns to Ellie, “Why are we still OK, Fitz?”

  “I’m not OK.” Mac replies.

  “There’s no need to be so negative!” Ellie’s voice is snippy. Mac’s eyes narrow.

  “What do you mean by OK, Mimi?”

  “Well, we’re not ... angry, like the other people when the fog comes.”

  “I think we’re immune.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means we don’t get sick like the others. Somehow, our bodies fight off the infection.”

  “Oh.”

  “It’s like when you get a cold. Your body sends out little soldiers to fight the virus so that the cold goes away.”

  “So, my body kills the fog?”

  “Maybe.” Ellie looks across to Mac. “What do you think?”

  He sighs with a roll of his eyes.

  Ellie decides she really doesn’t like him.

  He flicks the lighter again. “I have no idea.”

  “Hazard a guess!” Ellie bites.

  He casts her an irritated glance. “Right. Well, it’s unlikely that we have anti-bodies against an extra-terrestrial bacterium. Our bodies create anti-bodies and immune cells to destroy specific infectious organisms once they’ve been exposed to them. These have come from outer-space.”

  “But doesn’t everything come from outer-space? Like, everything is carbon in the universe, isn’t it?” Todd asks.

  “Sure, but ...” Mac frowns. “I don’t know kid!” He flicks his lighter again.

  “Alien blood!” Ellie blurts.

  “What?”

  “I’ve got alien blood. Didn’t you read about that? There are some people who believe that if you have Rhesus negative blood, then you’re descended from aliens. I’m O Rhesus negative.
”

  Mac scoffs. “That’s just bloody stupid.”

  Ellie manages a smile. “It is.”

  Todd shifts next to Ellie. “I think my dad was O negative. He had it printed on his bike helmet. You can’t have a blood transfusion if you’re O negative.”

  “Nope,” Mac returns. “You can only have a transfusion of O negative if you’re O negative. If you had some other type, it’d kill you.”

  “Oh.”

  “There’s a chance that you’re O negative too, especially if you’re mum was. And ... Nate and Josh are too!”

  “You are not seriously suggesting that you’re all immune because you have a rhesus negative blood group?”

  “No, but ... it’s possible.” Ellie’s tone is defiant. “Do you have a better idea?”

  Mac shakes his head. “I’m B positive,” he says and flicks at the lighter again, “so I guess that’s that theory out of the window.”

  Mimi sits up on Ellie’s knee. “Maybe the fog just hasn’t got you yet.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  As Ellie considers the fact that at least four of them are known to have O Rhesus negative blood, Colonel Littleton is deep in conversation with Dr. Connaught. The Perspex container straddles the central table in the laboratory, it’s thick walls opaque where the gas hovers. The creature sits in one corner, unmoving; a spider in its trap. The only sign of agitation is a single click of its horned foreleg. The horn, Connaught has informed Littleton, is razor sharp at its point, not unlike the barb of a manta ray. Whether it is poisonous, is yet to be proven, though is suspected.

  Connaught steps to the cage containing the rats as Littleton coughs, the research scientist’s face is flushed. “We’ve noticed that it taps the barb just before we feed it.” Excitement glimmers in his eyes.

  “Do you feed it regularly?”

  “Originally, hourly, but now every twenty-minutes.”

  “So, it knows when the time is up,” Littleton states.

  “It would seem so.”