Hikers - The Collection (Complete Box Set of 5 Books)

by Lauren Algeo

  Brewer closed the laptop and began to pack. He went back to the bedroom and threw the essentials in his rucksack. Before he left the room, he carefully made Georgie’s bed. Under the pillow, he found a folded photograph. It was of a young Georgie, smiling happily and full of life. Her hair was brown and tied in a ponytail, and she was wearing a white t-shirt and pink shorts. She was posing with her arms tightly around her mum and dad. He tucked the photo inside his wallet, with his own picture of him and Karen at their happiest.

  He left the bedroom and gave the rest of the place one last look over. He turned off the TV and made sure everything was tidy. He didn’t know what the future had in store and if he would ever come back here.

  Brewer left the flat and closed the front door, without glancing back. The hikers in America were waiting for him. It was time.

  ­Hikers

  Part Two: Passion

  By Lauren Algeo

  Text copyright © 2013 Lauren Algeo

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from this book (other than for review purposes), prior written warning must be obtained by contacting the publisher. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  This work of fiction contains adult situations that may not be suitable for children under eighteen years of age. Recommended for mature audiences.

  Table of contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Epilogue – 15th September 2017

  Prologue

  ‘It’s time.’

  The old man’s eyes fluttered open and the woman flinched subconsciously. For a fleeting moment they had looked black under the harsh airport light, but she could see now that they were dark brown.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you, sir,’ she repeated. ‘It’s time to board.’

  The elderly gentleman gave a weak smile. ‘Ah, yes… thank you,’ he rasped in a voice that sounded rusty and unused.

  He fumbled around for the navy holdall at his feet and she felt instant pity. This man looked to be in his eighties and he was travelling alone. She made a mental note to tell one of the cabin crew to look after him during the flight.

  She was working on the departure gates that week as part of her training and had so far experienced a lot of grief from people over delayed and cancelled flights. She was relieved to finally have a simple, on-time boarding.

  The man picked up his bag and slowly began to struggle to his feet. He was dressed smartly, in a navy suit jacket, dark trousers, and well-polished, black shoes. His face had deep wrinkles and he was almost bald, apart from some white, wispy tufts of hair behind his ears.

  ‘Here, let me help you.’ She smiled and took the man’s arm. He gratefully accepted and she hoisted him to his feet.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, patting her hand with his weathered, pale one.

  His touch was icy and sent chills through her body. His skin was so cold, and those dark eyes. She felt a stab of fear but couldn’t understand why. He was just a frail, kindly man – it was completely irrational. She shook off the sensation and helped guide him to the desk. The departure lounge was emptying swiftly and they joined the back of the queue for boarding.

  ‘Will you be ok from here, sir?’ she asked.

  ‘Perfectly fine… thank you.’

  She left him in the queue and walked briskly down the tunnel until she found a stewardess near the doors to the plane.

  ‘There’s quite an elderly gentleman on the flight,’ she told her. ‘He’ll be along in a moment. He’s travelling alone and I’m sure he’d appreciate any assistance.’

  The stewardess agreed and they spoke about flight times for a minute before she returned to her post at the desk. The old man was just leaving the desk opposite, fumbling his ticket stub into his jacket pocket with clumsy fingers. He gave her another brief smile as he disappeared through the doors only it didn’t reach his eyes. Perhaps he was apprehensive about flying at his age?

  She nodded back then carried on checking the remaining passengers’ tickets. When they were all on the flight, she closed the tunnel doors and tidied the desk. The old man was already put to the back of her mind.

  She didn’t think about him as she moved on to the next boarding gate, or as she sat in the staff room on her lunch break. She didn’t think of him as she went about her afternoon’s work, when she drove home after her long day, or as she prepared dinner for herself and her husband.

  In fact, she didn’t think about him at all until she turned on the evening news and saw the plane she’d helped to board that morning had been forced to make an emergency landing towards the end of the flight. A male passenger had become highly agitated and attacked several other passengers with a small blade he’d somehow managed to smuggle on board. The details were hazy but one man had been killed in the struggle.

  For some unknown reason, the image of the old man’s dark eyes swam back to the surface of her mind as she watched the TV with mounting horror. Then she couldn’t stop thinking about him.

  Chapter 1

  Scott Brewer drained the last of his coffee and put the cup down on the table in front of him. He checked his watch again. 12:13pm – the kid was late. He thought about getting up and leaving, he could just go back to the motel and forget all about it. A waitress appeared beside him to end that line of thought.

  ‘Refill?’ she asked, holding a pot of steaming coffee in her right hand.

  ‘Yes, please.’

  She filled his cup and returned to the counter. If she’d noticed his accent she didn’t let on. He picked up the full cup and lifted it to his lips. He didn’t bother adding any milk or sugar; he preferred his coffee strong and bitter. He alternated his gaze between the door of the restaurant and the people passing by the window to his right. He was sat in a booth about halfway down the room, alone. Where was this kid?

  It was lunchtime, however the restaurant wasn’t overly busy. About two thirds of the tables were full, with people eating quick meals of the giant sandwiches the place specialised in. Brewer just had his coffee. He was the only solo diner.

  He’d chosen a restaurant near 15th Street station in Midtown village for the meeting. It had taken a while to get there from the motel he was staying in near Willow Grove and he was starting to regret his choice. He’d seen an Irish pub down the road on his way in; maybe he should just head there and drink his life away. Was it too early for a pint of Guinness?

  He stroked subconsciously at a bandage on his left wrist. He’d m
ade a promise to himself not to do that. She would’ve been furious if he ducked out of this meeting. Brewer picked at the edge of the tape and snuck a peek at the small tattoo underneath the bandage. He’d had it done yesterday – his first tattoo at forty-two years old. It had hurt like hell on the thin skin on the inside of his wrist.

  He looked at the small, scriptive G that was now permanently inked there and embraced the stab of pain in his heart. Georgie would have thought he was an idiot to get a matching tattoo to hers, especially one that was so feminine, but he didn’t care. He needed it as a constant reminder of what she’d sacrificed, and what he was now prepared to do in her memory.

  He’d been in Philadelphia for nearly a week and still didn’t really have a clue what was going on in the city. It had all been on the spur of the moment. He’d aimed to take a flight from Heathrow to Philadelphia International airport and make a plan of action on the way. He’d only remembered about America’s strict access rules on the train to the airport and it had been too late to apply for a full visa. He’d been forced to opt for the Visa Waiver Programme instead so he could only travel around the country for 90 days. The 72-hour wait at the airport hotel to see if he’d been accepted had been nervy so he’d passed the time trying to wrap up everything else he’d forgotten.

  By the time he flew out of Heathrow, he’d transferred most of his savings into one accessible account and exchanged a large chunk for dollars. There wasn’t as much money as he’d hoped. He’d steadily been eating into his savings over the last couple of years and a trip like this was going to cost a fortune. He’d forgotten how much hotel rooms cost and he’d need to travel around unfamiliar cities. He budgeted that he could stay for the full three months if he slept in cheap motels and ate fast food. So far, he’d found basic motels in the suburbs and used the subway to go back and forth into Philly.

  Motels and subways, it was a far cry from his little flat and the good old tube. He and Karen had only been to America a couple of times together for short holidays – once to New York for a few nights for Karen’s birthday, and another time to Florida for a week one summer. Being a tourist in a strange city made him feel even more alone.

  He took another sip of coffee and glanced impatiently at the door for the hundredth time. He was supposed to be meeting the man behind the emails that had drawn him there. Striker25. Whose real name was in fact Mitchell Baines and he was a twenty-five year old shop worker, who’d lived in Philadelphia all his life.

  Brewer was apprehensive about the meeting. From their short email conversations he didn’t think this kid would make a good hunting partner. For a start, he was full of bravado but naïve along with it. He talked of government conspiracies and didn’t seem interested in hearing what Brewer already knew to be fact. He was young and headstrong, and could end up getting hurt. Plus, he was lacking a basic requirement for the task – he’d never actually encountered a hiker before and therefore wasn’t able to hear them like Brewer could. What good would he be if he couldn’t track the hikers? Mitchell would just hold him back, or get in the way.

  Then again, he could be wrong. Brewer picked absentmindedly at a napkin on the table. He’d felt the same way about Georgie when he’d met her and she’d turned out to be… well, like a daughter to him. He tore off small pieces of the napkin and tried not to think about that night at the Grand’s house.

  Besides, he was a stranger in this city and Mitchell knew everywhere. He could act as a guide and help him find places. Brewer hadn’t had much luck so far; he couldn’t go about his normal research routine over here. It had taken him a day to sort out his laptop to get free Wi-Fi in certain places and be able to charge it. He’d lost count of the number of wrong subway trains he’d taken this week. He didn’t know the areas or street names; everything confused him. He needed someone with local knowledge.

  Georgie would have wanted him to give this kid a chance, as he had done with her. If this guy even showed up that was. He was now over twenty-five minutes late. Brewer hadn’t sorted out a mobile phone here yet and didn’t have a number he could call Mitchell on either. He could do nothing but sit and wait.

  The minutes ticked by to 12:30pm and Brewer resigned himself to the fact that Mitchell wasn’t coming. He asked for the bill and left the waitress a small tip from his budget. He picked up his battered rucksack and hoisted it onto one shoulder, over his dark trench coat. The weather outside was cold and cloudy, however there was no rain in the air. He was wearing a thin, black jumper underneath his coat, blue jeans, and black Doc Martens. His brown hair hadn’t been cut for several months and flopped onto his forehead.

  He walked to the entrance and reached out to open the door at the exact moment a man came bursting in. They collided hard and Brewer stumbled back against the door, hitting his elbow on the frame and dropping his bag.

  ‘Sorry man!’ The young, black guy in front of him was clearly in a rush. ‘You ok?’

  ‘Fine, thanks,’ Brewer replied and he noticed the other man’s eyes widen.

  ‘You’re British, right?’ The man broke into a wide grin. ‘Are you Scott?’

  Great. He was going to be working with someone who was both late and clumsy.

  ‘Scott Brewer, yes. Are you Mitchell?’

  ‘Yeah man, just Mitch.’ He held out a hand, which Brewer shook briefly.

  They stood awkwardly for a moment, sizing each other up. Mitch looked older in the face than Brewer had imagined, although he was dressed like a teenager. He had on baggy blue jeans, hung low to reveal his bright purple boxer shorts, a white t-shirt with a slogan so distressed Brewer couldn’t read the type, and grimy white trainers. He had a shaved head and a gold stud glittered in one ear. All he needed was a backwards cap and he’d have looked like the clichéd college kids Brewer always saw in films and TV programmes. Mitch was fairly tall, almost his height, but it was hard to tell his build under the baggy clothes.

  ‘You don’t look how I thought you would,’ Mitch said in his strong Philly accent. His ‘O’s were overly pronounced, so ‘how’ sounded more like ‘heowuh’.

  Brewer raised his eyebrows in surprise. He was just wearing a pair of blue jeans and a black jumper – was he being judged on his plain dress sense by this kid? A waitress shuffled past and he was aware they were blocking the entrance.

  ‘Let’s sit down.’ He led Mitch back to the booth he’d departed only a minute ago.

  ‘Really, man. You look younger than I thought, and you don’t seem very… English.’ Mitch carried on talking as he took a seat. ‘I thought you’d be in a suit or something!’

  With a bowler hat, Brewer wondered. It sounded as though Mitch had the same clichéd ideas as him.

  ‘You’re late,’ was all he said in return.

  ‘Yeah, I’m sorry. I got held up after my shift and didn’t have any way to hit you up. You know how it is.’

  Brewer didn’t. The same waitress who’d been serving his coffee came over and stood by the table.

  ‘What can I get you?’ she asked. ‘More coffee?’

  Brewer didn’t think he could handle any more strong coffee; he’d already had two cups at the motel that morning before another two here. ‘What teas have you got?’ he asked.

  The waitress stared at him vacantly and Mitch laughed out loud. ‘Now you sound English!’

  Brewer shrugged and considered picking up the menu then decided it wasn’t too early for that beer now. ‘I’ll have a lager please, whatever you’ve got.’ He half-turned and glanced at the specials board. It was lunchtime and he hadn’t eaten since 7am. ‘And a steak sandwich please.’

  ‘Fries and ‘slaw?’ The waitress scribbled in her pad.

  ‘Yes please.’ He looked expectantly at Mitch.

  The kid must have come before as he ordered a meatball sandwich without looking at the board or menu. He added a strawberry shake to his order and Brewer nearly rethought his beer, until the kid started speaking again.

  ‘It’s good to finally have someone in to
wn who knows what I’m talking about!’ he exclaimed as soon as the waitress left the table. ‘I’ve been telling all my friends on the forums about you.’

  Brewer groaned inwardly. All the weirdos and whack jobs on those sites didn’t have a clue what was going on in the real world.

  ‘When did you get here?’ Mitch asked.

  ‘About five days ago,’ Brewer replied. ‘I’ve been staying in motels just outside the city.’

  ‘Yeah. I live in north Philly. You know Nicetown? I’m not far from Hunting Park.’

  Brewer stared back blankly.

  ‘So, have you found any yet?’ Mitch fidgeted excitedly in his chair. ‘What did you call them again, hikers?’

  ‘Yes, hikers,’ Brewer said. ‘No, I haven’t found one for definite yet but that doesn’t mean they aren’t here. My research has been a bit slower so far.’

  ‘How come?’ Mitch asked.

  ‘I don’t really know the area or which news websites and channels are reliable to use yet. You have to find clues to a hiker’s whereabouts first.’

  ‘Gotcha,’ Mitch nodded. ‘Then we can go and kill it.’

  Brewer’s beer arrived just in time. He took a sip while he thought of how best to respond. If there was hiker activity here, there could be more than one in a city this size. And if there were some here, then who knew how many there could be across America, the country was huge. He’d been trying not to think about it all week; the prospect was too overwhelming. If the Grand’s reach hadn’t made it this far, there could be hikers still alive in other countries too.

  He also didn’t want to tell Mitch there was a large gap between them locating a hiker and killing it. They’d have to start from scratch with getting hold of a virus to use against it. Besides, he wasn’t even sure if he could work with this kid yet.

  ‘I read over your email earlier,’ Mitch carried on, oblivious to Brewer’s hesitation. ‘We’re going to need to start looking into things to kill it. There might be something else we can use besides what Georgie told me you’d tried.’