Chronicles of the Infected Trilogy Box Set [Books 1-3]

by Wood, Rick

  Eugene Squire was a coward. He needed to infect himself to give him any chance.

  Unfortunately, Gus knew how little chance this left him.

  “That’s it,” Eugene said. “That’s it, Gus Harvey. I can see it dawning on you. I can see it settling over you like a black cloud. I can see your thick, mediocre brain chugging along, figuring it out. However did I do this? And yes, there it is. You know. Don’t you?”

  “You’re a sick bastard.”

  “Am I?” Eugene stuck out his bottom lip as if to consider this suggestion. “What would you do, if you were granted the power to be stronger than anyone else in the world?”

  “I’d say no thanks, I don’t need it. And then I’d carry on with my life.”

  Eugene took a step toward him.

  “Liar.”

  Gus looked to Sadie, who was cowering.

  To Donny’s body.

  To the twisted monster above him.

  “You want revenge,” Eugene said. “I can see it. But you’re thinking… however can you compete with me now?”

  “That is not what I’m thinking.”

  “No?”

  Gus took a step toward Eugene.

  “I’m thinking, man, this prissy little posh prick is going to die.”

  Gus swung his fist, using as much leverage as he was able to attain, packing all his strength into it, lunging his beefy knuckles, and smacked it through Eugene’s cheek.

  Eugene’s head turned with the impact, but only slightly. He brushed himself off.

  Gus went to swing again, but Eugene had swung before he’d even managed, and he was against the wall and on his arse before he even realised what had happened.

  “Fuck, man,” Gus muttered. He was losing energy. The fight inside of him remained, but his body could not attest to that. It was weak, fading, chronically aching.

  Eugene lifted his pristine leather shoe and pounded the heel down upon the side of Gus’s head.

  A chug of water cascaded internally, and Gus was sure that it was blood dripping down his ear canal.

  Eugene went to strike again, but something caught his attention.

  It took a few seconds longer for Gus to register it, but he heard it too.

  An explosion.

  On the ground floor.

  And the sound of gushing water.

  Yes, Whizzo. Yes, Desert.

  They’d done it.

  “Looks like your army won’t be invading anywhere after all.”

  Eugene’s arrogance faded and his wrath took over, prompting him to pack even more strength behind his next punch.

  Chapter Fifty

  It was too late to get to the corridor.

  Whizzo’s invention was just too great.

  Even if they did get to the door, if they opened it the water would be released and the army would escape.

  In the end, Whizzo and Desert had no choice but to embrace the flood.

  The army sprinted toward Whizzo but didn’t get to him. Their arms stretched and their fingers scraped his jaw but the water took them in its arms and lifted them up, throwing them chaotically to and fro.

  Whizzo swam toward Desert and grabbed her hand.

  The water level was rising so rapidly there was no time for them to talk. No pause for breath or break for talking. They had no chance to form a plan – they just had to allow themselves to be lifted upwards.

  At least they could keep their heads above water. To look down was to witness the greatest massacre of the infected since London.

  The bodies of the army squirmed, arms reached out, eyes widened. A few were already limp and the rest were getting there.

  The plan had worked.

  Damn, it had worked.

  But how were they going to get out?

  The ceiling was approaching as the water level rose. Whizzo estimated less than a minute until the entire room was full and there would be no place for air.

  Whizzo finally gained enough thought to turn to Desert, who was looking back at him with fear and resignation in her eyes.

  “What do we do?” Whizzo cried, his voice drowned by gushing water.

  “What?” Desert shouted, unable to hear him above the rising tide.

  “I said, what do we do?”

  Desert looked around.

  What could they do?

  Were they even meant to survive?

  Maybe this was it. Save the world and die doing so. Become a martyr that would never be forgotten because they were never remembered in the first place.

  “I love you,” Whizzo said. “You’re my best friend.”

  “Don’t do that,” Desert said.

  “Do what?”

  “You know. Don’t act like we aren’t going to get out of this.”

  Whizzo looked around and shrugged, desperately paddling to keep afloat, rising with the surface, approaching the ceiling with imminent doom.

  “I think it’s probably time to accept we’re out of luck,” Whizzo said.

  Desert looked around. She pointed at something.

  “There!”

  Whizzo peered to where she was pointing. A shaft. A small one, mind, probably not big enough for them to fit.

  “I don’t know if–”

  His sentence was muffled by the water and they submitted to being under. The room was now a large box of ocean, and they could do nothing but look at each other and hold their breath.

  Whizzo saw his final few air bubbles creep away.

  Desert beckoned Whizzo and began her swim toward the shaft. Whizzo reluctantly followed. He wasn’t optimistic, but he also wasn’t about to die without her next to him.

  It took longer than he thought it would. His arms were aching, his body growing weary as he was deprived of oxygen.

  They reached the shaft and Desert tried to fit.

  She couldn’t.

  She waved for him to go through and he refused.

  Her face curled into annoyance and she pushed him into the shaft.

  Reluctantly, he climbed through, feeling the walls enclose around him, claustrophobia never more apparent.

  He looked back at Desert, who waved for him to go, and tried to get in.

  Whizzo twitched. A minor convulsion as he grew dizzy.

  He pulled himself further through the shaft, and further still, finding his body working slower and slower.

  The shaft directed him vertically. He pulled himself upwards and finally found his way to the water’s surface.

  He lifted his head above the water and took a large intake of breath.

  As his mind returned and the patches left his vision, he looked up to see light.

  There was a way out.

  He turned to tell Desert.

  She wasn’t there.

  Desert was not there.

  He looked back to the light, then back to the water.

  He took a few more breaths, then took a large one and plunged himself back under.

  He travelled through the shaft and returned to Desert’s body.

  It was limp.

  He could not tell if she was dead or unconscious.

  He did not care.

  He grabbed hold of her arm and pulled her into the shaft.

  She wouldn’t fit.

  He swam behind her, straightened her body and pushed her instead.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Where was that damn gun?

  Gus knew he’d brought one.

  But he’d thrown it away.

  He’d shown it to Donny and thrown it away to show that he was ready to be killed, that he wasn’t going to hurt Donny, that he was prepared to be unarmed.

  Now he really needed it.

  Eugene grabbed Gus by the throat and hoisted him into the air, pushing him against the wall. Gus battered his fists against Eugene’s arms, but it was like a kitten fighting a lion.

  Gus used to be the lion and Eugene used to be the kitten – but the greatest trick the lion ever played was convincing the lion tamer that it was working.<
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  Gus choked, but didn’t give up yet, as he watched Sadie rise from her huddle and dive upon Eugene’s back. Eugene refused to let Gus’s throat go at first, but once she had bitten into his neck, he had no choice but to release him.

  Gus dropped, landing on his elbow, sure that he heard it crack.

  And then he saw it.

  Around the corner of the corridor.

  Glinting in the reflection of the artificial light.

  He was distracted by the wild screams of Sadie’s terror as she was grabbed from Eugene’s back and thrown across the corridor. She landed on her back and took to her feet.

  Gus went to run, but Eugene stomped a foot on the back of his one real leg, making Gus kneel and scream.

  “Wherever did you get this leg from?” Eugene asked, looking at Gus’s artificial limb.

  Gus ignored the question and went to punch the knee of Eugene’s leg that pressed down upon his calf. Eugene batted it away like he was swatting a fly.

  Eugene did scream, however, from the unexpected bite of Sadie’s sharp teeth in the back of his leg.

  This gave Gus the second he needed to free himself and continue his run.

  Eugene plunged his fist downwards and into Sadie’s head.

  The poor thing wasn’t used to taking a beating. Gus had taken many and was used to battling through pain – but he was sure that Sadie hadn’t lost a battle in her short life. He winced as she yelped, falling into a pool of her own blood.

  He wanted to go back and help her, to make sure she was okay, but their only chance was for him to retrieve his gun.

  He made it to within an arm’s reach, but Eugene grabbed him by the back of the neck. Gus swung his boot between Eugene’s legs and Eugene instinctively loosened his grip for a moment.

  Finally, Gus had the opportunity to grab the gun.

  Eugene can’t have realised, as he went to punch Gus again, successfully meeting a bloody nose with his bloody fist.

  “You’re untrained,” Gus muttered.

  “What?” Eugene snarled.

  Gus rolled onto his back, onto the hand holding the gun.

  “You think you can beat the shit out of me. Yeah, fine. But you’ve got the ability and none of the awareness.”

  “Awareness! You are–”

  Gus revealed the gun and pointed it upwards at Eugene.

  Sadie, who was just about to pounce, paused.

  Eugene, who was just about to strike, hesitated.

  “That’s the thing, isn’t it?” Gus mused. He went to give a cocky smile, but it hurt too much to move his cheeks.

  “What?” Eugene retorted, venomous and hostile.

  “Nature versus nurture and all that.”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about, but–”

  “Basically, you can pump yourself full of nature’s toxin – but you’re still a weak little prick.”

  Eugene went to retort but was cut off by a gunshot, and the bullet that found its way through his open mouth and out the top of his skull.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Whizzo pushed with all he had.

  She was practically stuck in the shaft now, but that was fine, as every time he pushed her, she shifted a little further.

  But pushing under the water was tough.

  And the water was stinging the open wound of his missing finger.

  He needed to pant. To breathe. To gather strength and allow oxygen to his muscles. He was using oxygen at a greater rate and he knew he was in danger of passing out himself.

  But he would not give up.

  Desert would not have given up for him.

  So he pushed.

  And pushed and pushed.

  And twitched.

  He felt his body shutting down. No longer responding to him. A disobedient dog turning on its owner. A drunk rebelling against their poison.

  He went to take a breath and remembered he couldn’t. He choked on water then came to terms with it being there and allowed it to settle into his lungs.

  A body floated past his face, making him jump. The open eyes of the genetically superior infected stared as the empty corpse travelled onwards.

  He entered the shaft himself, using his shoulder to push Desert further.

  She shifted ever so slightly.

  He had to get out himself now. But that was no longer possible – she was blocking his escape.

  So he had to push.

  For both their sakes.

  His eyelids drooped; his body emptied itself of tension.

  He was slipping away, and he knew it.

  He convulsed; this time harder.

  With a surge of energy, he pushed as hard as he could against the water and rammed his head into Desert’s backside. Using the walls of the shaft he forced her forward.

  He fell limp.

  And he reminded himself he couldn’t.

  He couldn’t give in to fatality.

  He couldn’t give up his consciousness.

  Because that’s how it would start – with his unconsciousness. Like Desert. Then he would gradually settle into an eager death.

  He pushed her once more.

  Nearly there.

  Nearly…

  What?

  Nearly what?

  His thoughts were leaving him.

  He gave a final push and she reached the vertical part of the shaft. Her body floated upwards and Whizzo watched her go, watched her as she rose to the surface, rose to the air.

  Watched her as he fell behind.

  His body wouldn’t move any longer.

  He was so tired. His body felt so light.

  Is this what dying felt like?

  And, with that final thought, he passed out.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  A vague sense of satisfaction filled Gus’s poisonous mind as he watched Eugene Squire’s body thud to the ground.

  He always expected to feel bad for causing death, but he often didn’t.

  It was always the enemy who died.

  He fought the Taliban in Afghanistan and never once hesitated in firing his gun – and he didn’t hesitate this time either.

  Eugene deserved death.

  Then again, death was the easy way out – he deserved a far graver consequence. But who would put him in prison?

  Did prisons even exist anymore?

  Gus thought of how Eugene would have been treated in prison and it gave him a distant smile; a smile that faded as soon as he remembered why he was there.

  He daren’t look at Donny yet.

  He wasn’t ready.

  Instead, he looked at Sadie, who was on her knees, staring at him with that same vulnerable look his daughter used to give him when she was scared or being told off.

  He was never that good at telling her off. She made him too soft. She was the only one who could warm his frozen heart and she must have known it, because she pulled those eyes every time he attempted to be a disciplinarian.

  And here they were again, in Sadie’s eyes.

  Sadie looked over Gus’s shoulder.

  He knew what she was looking at, but he didn’t want to look at it, so he kept looking at her.

  Once he looked at it, it was real.

  Once he saw it, he would have witnessed incontrovertible proof.

  Once he saw it, Donny would be dead.

  For now, Donny was still alive in his thoughts. Waiting to be rescued. Waiting to pummel Gus to within an inch of his life and be saved, because that was what the plan was, and it was working – damn, it was working.

  And now…

  Sadie bowed her head. She sobbed. Quietly and ashamedly.

  “It’s okay,” Gus told her.

  Those eyes looked up at him again.

  “It’s okay to cry,” he said, despite never having believed such a statement himself. He cried when his family died, but never before and never since. It was a weakness he would not allow himself.

  “It is, honestly,” he insisted. “It’s okay to…”


  He dropped his head and closed his eyes so he didn’t cry himself.

  It wasn’t a weakness.

  Donny had taught him that – had taught him that suppressing emotions isn’t what makes you a man.

  He turned his head slightly, and he could see the body out of the corner of his eye, so he turned his head back.

  He was going to have to look.

  Get it over with, he begged himself.

  Come on, he cajoled.

  Just do it.

  He stood. Wiped the profusely bleeding features of his face on a sleeve that was already crusted with dried blood.

  And he turned.

  And he saw it.

  Not moving. Not twitching. Not thinking or talking or fighting or doing anything that someone alive would do.

  He walked over, stumbling from wall to wall, and fell to his knees beside Donny’s head.

  He tried lifting the head and shaking it, but it was heavy in the way that only a corpse was.

  “Go find the others,” Gus told Sadie.

  Sadie shook her head, adamant that she would not leave.

  “Do it,” Gus insisted. “There’s nothing else we can do here, find them and make sure they are okay.”

  With a reluctant stutter, she ran.

  He was left alone.

  Just him and his buddy.

  Just them and the lie he’d just told.

  There’s nothing else we can do here.

  The water was leaking through the walls.

  The compound was about to be destroyed, and all the knowledge within it.

  But the facility still remained.

  And Gus had a decision to make.

  Within the facility’s walls was the research that would potentially cure the infection. The knowledge and substances created that someone with a far greater mind could utilise to create a cure, or at least a vaccine.

  The end of the world could be over.

  But then again, inside those walls was the research to create a vastly superior army that a deluded dictator could use to cause further genocide. The knowledge and substances created within those walls could mean that someone with a far greater mind could cause the death and suffering of those that still remained alive.

  The question for Gus was how much he trusted the human race.

  How much he trusted others finding this information and how they would use it.