Chronicles of the Infected Trilogy Box Set [Books 1-3]
Page 29
Nothing happened. He remembered nothing, so nothing happened. The time he spent in the compound was locked away somewhere in the confines of his memory, and he neither wished nor intended to access it. The information wasn’t required. Not for what he was doing. Not for this.
“Okay, fine,” Gus resolved, after a long enough silence. “Just know that when you do want to talk, I’m here.”
Gus sped up, walking back to the head of the group to talk to Desert.
Lucy Sanders.
Her name was Lucy Sanders, not Desert.
How did he know that?
Whizzo was a kid from the south west town of Tavistock. He grew up with two parents, had a pet cat. He had done his IT GCSE by the age of eleven. He can take apart and reassemble a computer in under a minute. His real name is Harry Segworth.
Prospero’s real name is Luke Worth. His codename, Prospero, was derived from a character in Shakespeare’s play The Tempest, who was betrayed and left to die on an island, then goes on to free the spirit Ariel – very much like the way he met Desert after he’d been betrayed by Hayes, and helped to free her from the shackles of her persona as Lucy Harvey.
Prospero is proficiently trained as a sniper and is sufficient in hand-to-hand combat.
Donny knew all this and more. He knew everything about these people. Everything except for the reason that he knew this.
He just did. Because it was his job to know.
And it was his job to not tell anyone.
The Journal of Doctor Janine Stanton
Day 3
Transcript from webcam journal by Janine Stanton, third entry
I spoke to him.
I actually spoke to him.
Or, rather, he spoke to me.
Just after I gave him today’s dose. Just after my more concentrated solution was implanted into his arm:
40% blood of mutation
15% blood of infected
10% blood of subject
15% ketorolac
10% cortisone
10% water
You will notice that I have amended the figures rather drastically. Well, I never intended to be using such a quantity of mutation, or pumping in so much blood of infected and, I, er… reduced the other substances. The steroids, the water, they just – seemed to be diluting it too much.
I had no choice.
And, just after I put the needle in his arm, pressed down, that’s when he said it.
He didn’t look at me. He barely moved, in fact. It was a slow, monotonous tone, a few dry words, and he said – he, he went and said:
“Why are you doing this to me?”
(long pause)
I mean, how willing was he to agree to this? Does he even know what he’s doing?
The subject, I mean.
How willing was the subject?
I’m not supposed to call him he. He’s the subject. But, then again, isn’t that the kind of… alienation… the Nazis intended? Isn’t that how dictators, propaganda, all of it – isn’t that how they got to where they are? With, with this, blind, utterly blind reign of terror, with legions of followers following blindly, just, completely blind.
I knew there would have been some coercing, I get that. No one would give themselves up to do this without a huge death wish or something. But I never thought someone would be forced into doing this.
I mean – would I put it past Eugene Squire?
(long pause)
I don’t know. I don’t know how to answer that question. Should I be honest? Is anyone going to see this but me? Surely, if Eugene is the kind of man I’m led to think he is, then this log will be checked and scrutinised and taken apart daily. You know my every action, don’t you? You’re everywhere.
I mean, it’s like you’re everywhere.
I don’t want to do this anymore.
I never wanted to in the first place. It wasn’t like I was given a choice. I thought when I created a successful mutation in the blood that would be it, that was my ticket out, I’d had success, I’d done it, great, send me home, just send me…
But no. There’s this. Injecting shit into some guy so brainwashed by whatever Doctor Emma bloody Saul did that I don’t even think he knows what day of the week it is!
Then again, do I?
I’ve been working here so long, I’ve lost track. Does anyone even keep track anymore? Like, what season it is, what time it is – does it matter? If the world out there has gone to – I mean, if the world isn’t what it was, if it is this big, infected pit, then why, why would anyone…
I don’t know what the end of the sentence was meant to be.
I’ve a pretty big hunch Eugene isn’t completely innocent in this whole infection outbreak thing.
(shakes her head)
But what exactly am I saying? What am I accusing him of?
I just – I don’t know. I, I really don’t know what to say. What to tell you. Tell… you, in the sense of this webcam, not the you in the sense that I actually have an audience, that would be… I don’t know… crazy. Crazy!
But the whole thing is crazy.
What I’m doing here is crazy.
I’m injecting – injecting infected blood, combined with blood of that girl, combined with shit I thought might make it more tolerable, and it’s just, it’s doing nothing but aggravating him, I mean, he doesn’t react, but I can see it, I see it in the little twitches he does with his eye, like he’s trained not to react, so trained, so conditioned that he can’t, but he does – it hurts him.
Who even is this guy?
This… Donny Jevon.
Sorry.
The
subject.
No. I won’t call him that. That makes it seem like he’s not a human being; he is, he is a human being.
At least…
At least, he was, I mean, before he became whatever it is I’m making him become.
(long pause)
Is this my fault?
Is all of this my fault?
Like, should I have never volunteered that synthesis? Should I have pretended it didn’t work?
Was I thinking selfishly? Naively?
Like it would make a difference to anything. Like any of this…
Shut up, Janine.
What are you on about?
Just rambling for the sake of it now.
Just… delaying. Going back. Checking on the status of the sub – the human being. The person. The – living – man – that sits in that chair. Without moving. All day, all night. Just sits. Blankly stares.
There’s something behind those eyes, I know it. It’s just, something’s been done to him, something so, so – I don’t know. Something so… bad. So mentally scarring. Something that you can’t recover from.
(sighs)
Oh, Eugene. What am I doing here?
What are you doing here?
What is the subject doing here?
The man. Not the subject.
Donny.
His name is Donny.
What is Donny doing here?
What is the point of this? Of doing this to him?
What is he meant to become?
(long pause)
You know what the worst thing is?
I reckon I know the answer to that question, I just can’t bring myself to admit it.
26 Hours Until Trap
Chapter Thirty-Two
It was like being awarded a new life. Like being given something remade, that works even better than what was before.
Every step Gus took, every soft sponge into the surface, every pace his new prosthetic limb took, every superbly executed placement of his new foot on the ground – it was like magic. It reacted to the pressure he gave and reacted with the exact amount of precision his body needed.
Even if he still had his leg it would probably have been worth exchanging it for this one.
“How’s that baby working out for you?” Whizzo asked, catching Gus staring idly downwards.
It took Gus a moment to rea
lise what Whizzo meant by baby. The guy was skilled, but his demeanour was so… youthful.
Only seventeen. Jeeze. So young.
Then again, Gus was already serving in the army at his age. Sometimes you have to grow up fast, and the state of the world must be having such an effect on Whizzo.
I mean, ‘Whizzo’, he considered. Surely you could think of a better nickname than that… It sounds like someone who always pisses themselves…
“Yeah, it’s good,” Gus replied.
“Glad I went ahead and did it for you now?”
Gus grimaced. The cocky bastard.
Still, couldn’t be too hostile – look at what the guy had done.
“Yes,” Gus reluctantly surmised. “Yes, I’m grateful. Thanks.”
“Welcome,” Whizzo replied, completely eluding the word you’re from the beginning of his sentence. You know, because to say a full sentence would waste way too much time.
Kids.
They travelled on for miles. Gus hadn’t moved so much in months, but once he was over his initial stitch, his pride and perseverance kept him going.
Sadie didn’t show any fatigue whatsoever. She ran ahead, excited, like his daughter used to do when they were going to a toy shop. Gus knew Sadie was far from cultured or a normal human being, but so many of her childish characteristics reminded him of Laney.
Bizarre, really. How Sadie could have such childish, pet-like qualities, seeking approval and enthusiasm over social activity – yet, at the same time, be as ruthless as she was. Gus knew that, should they be threatened by someone who wasn’t infected, Sadie would still not hesitate in decapitating them or destroying them with the gusto she would use against the undead.
Donny was not so recognisable. This guy, who had originally been immensely irritating, who couldn’t stop talking at him, still had this expressionless silence, a coldness about him.
Gus knew it would take time. He was a veteran, Sadie was… well, whatever she was. Donny entered this whole façade without any idea about what war was like. This was new to him. And, to have to recover from what they probably put him through, would take time.
Gus decided he was just going to have to be patient.
As they made it through the wilderness, paths entwined between trees, some they had to forge themselves, Gus eventually looked up and saw the sun begin to sink in the horizon.
He caught up with Desert.
“It’s going to be dark soon. How much further?” he enquired.
“’Bout another day, I’d say,” Desert responded.
“In that case, we should find somewhere to rest for the night. It’s getting dark soon, and we don’t want to be caught out.”
“Fair. Right, shall we say, give it another hour or two, see if we find somewhere we can bunk up – if we don’t, we create a camp somewhere? Makeshift shelter with logs or something?”
Gus sighed. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the same conclusion he’d come to.
“Yeah. Sounds like a plan.”
They walked on for a few minutes of comfortable silence. Gus noticed Desert glancing over her shoulder a few times, her face puzzled, as if trying to figure something out.
“What is it?” Gus asked.
“I – I just – I don’t know. I don’t get it.”
“Get what?”
She glanced over her shoulder again.
“How you ended up with those two. You just seem like such a bizarre group. It’s kinda strange.”
Gus smiled. He couldn’t help it.
“Yeah, I guess it is. One could say we are an odd combination.” Gus looked to Sadie, chasing a butterfly. “One could say they saved my life.”
Desert went to speak.
Sadie stopped walking, prompting everyone else to stop. She was motionless, like a statue, poised, unmovable.
“What is it?” Gus asked.
Sadie’s eyes widened. They turned to Gus.
“The infected?” Gus said.
Sadie didn’t move, but her face was his confirmation.
“What do you suggest?” Desert said to him, a sense of urgency compelling her voice.
“It was inevitable,” Gus said. “I’m surprised we haven’t come in contact with them so far. Get your weapons. We carry on, and we fight any that come.”
Groans hovered along the air.
The stench of death caused Gus to flinch.
The rot grew closer. The shuffles along the ground grew closer.
He readied a hunter’s knife from the back of his belt.
He turned to check on the others. Sadie was ready. Donny was…
Not there.
Donny was not there.
The infected approached.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Rain.
Soft droplets of bullet water. Gently collapsing, bombarding Donny’s skin with its harsh elegance.
He looked to the sky.
He’d had to get away. To be on his own. Get a break. It was tough. Not knowing why he felt so detached, not knowing why he no longer felt anything toward his friends.
Were they his friends?
They were miles behind him now.
He shook himself out of it.
Stop it.
He closed his eyes. Tried to silence the ruthless shouts of his mind. Squeezed every word away from his conscious acknowledgement. Pushed every image to the crevasses of his thoughts, quelled every delusion that questioned his sanity.
He just lifted his face to the sky. To the rain. Pounding him delicately. Brushing him with a mother’s touch. It was the only thing that made him aware. Aware of where he was, what he was, what he was doing.
Oh, God, he realised what he was doing.
He fell to his knees.
It all came back. Every droplet another recollection. The things they did to him. The things they told him, branded against his skull, forced into his thoughts.
Gus Harvey. The enemy. The murderer. The neglectful, suicidal alcoholic. He deserved it. All of it.
Except, he didn’t.
Gus was his friend.
His friend.
Gus had sacrificed…
What?
What had Gus sacrificed?
Why was his memory so distant? Like he was running toward the answer, reaching out and brushing his fingertips, all the while out of reach. Obscured from his…
A sudden cramp in his calf prompted him to fall onto his backside. And then–
His calf.
The pain in his calf.
It all came back. Rushing like a flood that had broken down a dam. Like the rain that grew heavier, the thoughts spread through the rivers of his mind, soaking everything until he was illuminated with the conviction of knowledge.
Cannibals. A family of them. Three. A mum, a dad, a daughter. The dad was dead. Donny did that. He thought he did that. He remembered pointing the gun.
But not the girl and the mum. He remembered his arms being restricted. Like he was restrained. So was Gus. Across from him, so was Gus. Helpless. Like Gus had come back, tried to save him, but then…
Gus did something. What did he do?
What did he do?
What. Did. He.
His calf. A bullet. He had a bullet lodged in his calf. He took it out, put it into a gun, and shot them.
That’s how he lost his leg.
Saving Donny.
His body fell. His head buried in his arms, in the mud, weeping. Uncontrollable weeping.
What had they done, that had hidden this memory from him? Such a strong memory, such an important memory. Gone. Hidden. Obscured. Gus had sacrificed the ability to walk. To save Donny’s life. To save. Donny. And his life.
He thought back to the facility. To being sat in a chair. A woman injected him. He asked her why. He asked her why she was doing this.
But, that wasn’t it – it had come before. Some psychologist.
She had told him stuff.
Boris Hayes.
He had been there.
And the enemy was…
A shuffle in the bushes spurred him to life. He stood. Watched as an infected ran by. Ignoring him.
Gus.
More infected came. Then more. Until there was a horde. Too many to count. All running in the same direction.
A scream.
Coming from across the wooded area. From behind the trees, down the path he had walked.
In the direction that the infected were running.
They wouldn’t touch Donny. He wasn’t sure why. But they wouldn’t.
A scream again.
Sadie.
That was Sadie’s voice.
But Sadie doesn’t get scared. She can handle herself. Of course she can. So why would she scream?
And how could he hear them?
The infected finished running past him. He saw the end.
And he realised his friends were in danger.
He ran as fast as he could.
Chapter Thirty-Four
They were surrounded. There were too many.
The AGA was dead.
They were all dead.
“Form a circle,” Gus said, taking charge, coming up with the only tactic he thought doable.
“What?” Desert responded.
“Let’s play this zonally. We form a circle. We’re all responsible for the ones coming at us.”
“It won’t work.”
Gus lunged his knife hand and sliced through the jaw of an approaching undead, removing the top half of the ill-fated corpse’s head.
“Trust me,” Gus assured her. “Okay, in formation, do not break!”
They did as he instructed. He put Whizzo between him and Desert, knowing they would have to pick up the slack; the kid was good with his gadgets, but Gus assumed that combat wasn’t his forte. Behind him were Prospero and Sadie. He kept Sadie close – strange, really, why he would feel so protective, when Sadie would most likely be the one protecting all of them.
And on they came. Disordered, chaotic, with speed no man could outrun. From behind trees, beyond the bushes, the rumble of thunder accompanying the rumble of the ground.