Decimation: The Girl Who Survived

by Burke, Richard T.

  “Yeah, that arsehole Daniel Floyd. I have to admit, for all his faults, I never took him for a rapist. He was probably just trying to get back at me, but even so. He wasn’t happy when I got the security guards to throw him out.”

  Perrin stared at her without speaking.

  “Stop playing games, Nigel. I haven’t got time for this.”

  Perrin inhaled deeply then slowly released his breath.

  “He’s not the one I’m talking about. Daniel Floyd isn’t the child’s father.”

  Chapter 24

  Thursday 6th January 2033

  Anders Grolby waited at the side of the road, although all of his attention was focused on the screen of the head-up display inside his helmet. A map displayed the stretch of the A14 road where he sat stationary astride his electric motorbike, his feet keeping the lightweight machine upright. A green dot drifted slowly from right to left, approaching the blue icon of a car at the centre that signified his own position. A red dot trailed the green one by a centimetre, travelling in the same direction.

  Grolby muttered a series of instructions and studied the scrolling text to confirm the system had interpreted them correctly. Over the course of the next few seconds, the distance between the green and red dots halved. Satisfied that everything was going to plan, he extended his gaze to the grey ribbon of tarmac. The traffic was quieter than usual at this time of day. The schools weren’t back yet, and people were probably extending their Christmas break until the end of the week. He had no qualms about causing collateral damage, but the fewer witnesses who were present, the better.

  For what he planned, human observers were less of a worry than the electronic eyes of the cameras fitted to all modern vehicles. The bike he rode was a popular model, indistinguishable from the thousands of others, at least to the untrained eye. He had upgraded the motor and battery systems to provide far greater power and range than the unmodified version. The mirrored visor meant that nobody would get a look at his face. He had also disconnected a wire from the vehicle’s transponder. If the police stopped him, it would appear as if a damaged connector was the culprit, but the chances of them being vigilant enough to spot the absence of the signal were extremely slim. Even if a camera picked him up, they would have a hard job identifying him.

  Grolby consulted the map once again. The green dot overlaid the blue car symbol. He had fitted a tracker the previous evening, attaching the small magnetised disc to the underside of the body where it was parked on the road. They should be visible by now. He surveyed the passing traffic, seeking out the target. There it was, a small, silver autonomous vehicle, two passengers. He had a good idea where they were going. He had tracked them from their house to the local supermarket and now they were returning home – or so they thought. He pulled out into the traffic and slotted into a gap two cars behind them. If he was correct, they would take the next exit.

  This type of work was different to what he had done before joining the company. When he was in Iraq, the rules of engagement had been a major source of frustration. Anybody could tell that half the population would happily kill the infidel invaders given the chance. He could see it in their eyes. They tried to hide it with their lowered heads and subservient body posture, but it was all just a mask for their true intentions.

  Whilst on patrol, his contingent had come under attack from a group of insurgents. One of his team had died and another had taken a bullet to the thigh. As soon as the soldiers returned fire, the attackers melted away. Grolby had recognised one of them as a local shopkeeper. He notified his commander, but after interviewing the suspect, the decision had been made to set him free. Grolby trailed him along the bustling streets to the scruffy house where he lived with his wife and two sons.

  When Grolby burst through the door, the man was embracing his wife. The boys, aged ten and twelve, looked up at the blond westerner who had invaded their home. The man turned around and screamed in Arabic at the interloper, gesticulating wildly as he attempted to usher him out. Grolby smiled once then emptied his entire clip leaving the devastated bodies of the father, mother and two boys lying in an expanding pool of blood. The way he figured it, if he killed only the man, the surviving members of the family would have all the motivation they needed to become insurgents themselves. Best to deal with the issue before it became a problem.

  During the court martial he had denied ever being at the man’s house, and there was no proof other than a couple of eye-witnesses who described having seen a tall, blond, white man fleeing through the dusty alley. In light of Grolby’s initial accusation and the sighting of a man matching his description immediately after the incident, the circumstantial evidence was overwhelming. However, his lawyer had argued that the description matched half of the unit and the whole group knew the murdered man’s identity. In the end, Grolby received a dishonourable discharge from the army but served no time in jail.

  Working for Ilithyia had been tedious at first, but as time went by, Grolby had grown into the role. He had ample budget to put in place the security measures he wanted and was allowed to recruit his own team of like-minded men. Jobs like this one made him nostalgic for the old days in the military. Yes, he could have commanded one of his subordinates to undertake the task, but there was nothing quite like doing it oneself. Now that he was closing in on the target, the jolt of adrenaline and the racing heartbeat brought a smile to his lips.

  The silver car indicated left a good two hundred metres before the junction. Grolby twisted the throttle and surged ahead of the vehicle before veering off at the exit. Once again he muttered instructions into the microphone located inside his helmet. He raced down the slip road and arrived at the roundabout at the bottom of the slight incline just as the traffic lights were turning amber. He accelerated, hugging the inside of the traffic island and leaning into the curve. He reached the opposite side, just over one hundred metres away, as the target drew to a halt at the lights. Turning off the bike, he dismounted and propped it on its stand.

  He gave the final set of commands. The distance between the green and red dots on the display narrowed to a couple of millimetres. He glanced up expectantly and grinned as a massive yellow driverless truck appeared at the top of the ramp and began the descent downhill. The sound of the goods vehicle changing gear reached his ears, but instead of slowing down it increased velocity down the gentle incline.

  The traffic lights changed to green, and the small silver car pulled away but not fast enough. By now the truck had achieved a speed in excess of seventy miles an hour as it gained momentum from the downward slope and the straining engine. The blunt nose of the cabin smashed into the slow moving car, instantly crushing the vehicle to half its original size. For a second or two, the concertinaed body of the car was shunted forwards before the front wheels of the articulated truck lifted off the road, dragging what remained beneath it.

  The truck careened across the lanes of the roundabout and towards its centre. For a moment, Grolby thought it was coming straight for him, but the front wheels dug into the soft earth causing it to jack-knife. He felt the tremor through his legs as the goods vehicle toppled onto its side, churning up huge piles of earth and vegetation. The screech of tortured metal accompanied a subsonic rumble, the energy of the sounds creating a deep vibration in his chest and setting his teeth on edge. Chunks of soil and fragments of metal pattered down around him. He dropped to the ground as a wheel from the car flew past like a bouncing bomb, centimetres from his head.

  A metallic clang made him flinch. He glanced behind and was relieved to see no discernible damage to the motorbike. If something took it out of action, he would have a serious problem.

  After what seemed an age, silence returned to the scene of devastation. Grolby stood up and brushed dirt and shredded vegetation off his black leathers. The truck lay on its side, a great gouge of broken earth trailing behind it. One of its wheels continued to rotate. Amidst all the bent metal, nothing was recognisable as the remains of the car.

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nbsp; He strolled to the cab of the heavy goods vehicle and placed a small, black plastic box on the radiator grill. A metallic ticking sound emanated from somewhere inside the engine as it cooled. He retreated from the wreckage. When he had reached a distance of fifty paces, he withdrew a second unit from inside his leather jacket. A solitary red button was the only feature to break the smooth black surface, and he stabbed it with a gloved finger. Nothing visible happened to the truck, but his head up display flickered for a second or two. The electromagnetic pulse generated by the first box would wipe the memory of all the electronic devices on the vehicle, leaving no evidence of the software he had inserted allowing him to control it. He hurried back to retrieve his equipment before returning to the motorbike.

  He mounted the bike and glanced back once more at the twisted metal.

  “Jesus Christ!” Grolby muttered to himself. “Now that’s what I call a crash.”

  Chapter 25

  Thursday 6th January 2033

  “When are you going to let me out of here?” Antimone asked.

  The nurse looked up from the computer screen then rose to her feet. “That’s up to Dr Perrin.”

  “You can’t keep me locked up like this without my permission.”

  The nurse approached the bed, lifted her surgical mask and stared down at Antimone. “I don’t think you’re in any condition to be going anywhere, young lady.”

  “That’s a point. When can I have my wheelchair back?”

  The woman tutted. “You’re not getting out of that bed until the stitches are taken out.”

  “When’s that going to be?”

  “They have to be left in for at least five days, so maybe another forty-eight hours.”

  Antimone sighed. “I want to see my baby and talk to my parents. Do they even know I’m alive?”

  “That’s–”

  “Let me guess,” interrupted Antimone. “That’s up to Dr Perrin.”

  The nurse smiled humourlessly. “Yes. You’re learning fast.”

  “Anyway, why can’t I see my baby? And don’t tell me I have to ask Dr Perrin.”

  “We don’t want either of you giving the other an infection. It’s a miracle you survived, and we don’t want to risk the health of you or your child.”

  “I thought breast milk was supposed to help strengthen a baby’s immune system. These,” she indicated her nipples, “are really sore and they keep dribbling. They’re not going to like, burst or anything?”

  The woman laughed. “No, I wouldn’t worry about that. You’ll stop lactating in a day or two. The baby’s being fed on artificial milk, but it’s every bit as good as the real thing, if not better.”

  Antimone remained silent for a moment. “Do they know why I survived yet?”

  “They’re still working on it. That’s why you’ve been having all these tests. I’m sure Dr Perrin will let you know when they find anything out.”

  “Yeah, I feel like a pin cushion, all the blood they’ve taken the last day or two. I’m surprised there’s any left.”

  “I know it’s uncomfortable, but they only take a small amount–”

  “They took quite a lot actually, at least five or six of those little tubes last time.”

  “Your body soon makes more,” the nurse said. “Is there anything you need?”

  “Just to get out of here.”

  “Apart from that.”

  “Nah. Although a book or some music would be good. When are they going to give back my ear implants?”

  “You can’t keep those in when you’re in the scanner. You’ll–”

  “… have to ask Dr Perrin,” Antimone said, completing the sentence. She blew out her cheeks. Her eyes drifted across the room and settled on the telephone handset resting on the nurse’s desk.

  The nurse tracked her gaze. “You can’t dial out from down here – even mobile signals are blocked, so I wouldn’t even think about it.”

  “So when is Dr Perrin coming back?”

  “Whenever he’s ready,” the nurse replied. She was on her way to the desk when the swing doors opened, and a middle-aged woman, whom Antimone hadn’t seen before, swept into the room. Her hair was tied back in a severe bun, and she could have been attractive were it not for the permanent expression of distaste on her face. She wore a white coat and flat shoes.

  The newcomer strode up to Antimone’s bed. “They need to repeat a test.”

  Antimone groaned. “Not more blood.”

  “Not this time.” The faintest glimmer of a smile. “Just a cheek swab. Open your mouth please.”

  “What if I don’t?”

  “We sedate you and take it anyway,” the woman said, her face returning to its original disdainfulness.

  Antimone reluctantly opened her mouth and allowed the woman to run the tip of the white plastic rod across the inner surface of her cheek. The medic removed the stopper from a transparent tube, dropped the sample inside then resealed it.

  Seconds later she had departed, leaving the doors swinging in her wake.

  Chapter 26

  Thursday 6th January 2033

  Jason took the stairs two at a time. He rarely came to his mother’s place of work, but Julian Stefano, the little toad, had called and said his mother urgently wanted to see him. He could have taken the lift to the second floor, but after the Christmas and New Year break, he decided he could use the exercise. Her personal assistant wouldn’t say what it was about, just that his mother needed to speak to him face-to-face. A car had been sent to pick him up and dropped him off outside the front entrance.

  He strode along the plushly furnished corridor, past the original oil paintings hanging on the wall, his feet swishing against the deep pile carpet. The place seemed quiet, but it was a quarter to one so people were probably still on their lunch breaks. He reached the door bearing his mother’s name and thought about knocking. He decided against it. His mother’s secretary occupied the outer office and would let her know he had arrived.

  He pushed the door open and stuck his head in the gap. The secretary’s desk was empty. Presumably, she was on her break. The inner office door was partially ajar, and he detected the sound of muffled voices. He crossed the floor, the heavy carpet masking the approach of his footsteps. He raised his hand to knock but halted as he recognised the familiar voice of his mother.

  “Where is the little bastard, Julian?”

  “He should be here by now. Do you want me to find out if the car’s here yet, Mrs Baxter?”

  Jason took a step back. His face flushed, and his ears burned. Was he the subject of the conversation?

  “Yes, and if the little prick has arrived, get Grolby to locate him and bring him up here.”

  A rapid sequence of beeps signalled the start of a telephone call.

  “Yes Anders, it’s Julian. Check whether Mrs Baxter’s son is here, and if he is, please escort him up.”

  So they were talking about him.

  Several seconds passed while Stefano listened to the Head of Security.

  “What? You’ve tracked him down? Excellent news. Where is he?”

  Jason’s heart sank. They knew he was here.

  More silence.

  “I don’t know Bedford that well. What, near the railway station?”

  They were obviously discussing somebody else, but who?

  “Okay. Don’t do anything for now. I’ll discuss it with Mrs Baxter and get back to you. And like I said, bring the boy up here when you find him. Bye”

  “What was that about?” his mother said.

  “Grolby’s managed to track Floyd down. He’s hiding out in a derelict building in Bedford. What do you want to do about it?”

  “Good question. Well, we know he’s not the rapist, but he’d still make an excellent scapegoat. I assume the police don’t know his whereabouts yet?”

  “No. We could just make an anonymous call and tip them off.”

  “Hmm. I want to think this through. I’ll talk to my son first then let you know.”r />
  “Do you want me to go and look for him, Mrs Baxter?”

  “Go on then, Julian. He must be here by now.”

  Jason thought about slipping away, but part of him wanted to find out what this was all about. In any case, Anders Grolby would know by now that he had arrived and would be looking for him. He ran back to the door, pulled it open then spun around as if he had just come in.

  Stefano appeared shocked to see him there. “Your mother’s waiting for you.”

  Jason strode towards his mother’s inner office, aware of the man’s gaze on his back. He didn’t bother to knock and entered, shutting the door behind him.

  His mother looked up sharply. “Jason, about time.”

  When he showed no sign of taking a seat, his mother stood up. “Sit,” she said, pointing at the chair.

  Jason reluctantly settled into the visitor’s chair. “What’s this about, Mum?”

  Rosalind paused, gathering her thoughts. She remained standing and leant forwards, her hands resting on the surface of the desk. “Do you know how much this company is worth, Jason? The nearest billion will do.”

  “I don’t know. Four, five billion?”

  “Close enough. And what do you think would happen if it became known that the CEO’s son was a rapist?”

  Jason’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.

  His mother’s face flushed apart from two white patches on her cheeks. “After everything I’ve given you,” she screeched, “what the blazes do you think you’re doing raping that girl?”

  “I … I,” stammered Jason.

  “What? Did you think the police would just forget about it when the baby was born? How could you be so bloody stupid?”

  “But …”

  “She was in a wheelchair, for Christ’s sake. What the hell were you thinking?”

  “But I …”

  “Jesus. I can’t believe you would do this to me.”

  “But I didn’t.”