The End Tide (Carrion Virus Book 3)

by M. W. Duncan

  Roy was looking directly to where Brutus and his team gathered through his spotter binoculars.

  There was a grunt, and a sentry fell from the wall, clattering to the pavement below. The metallic ring of his weapon held in the air.

  Roy signalled four times with a small flashlight. The last guard on the wall to be neutralised was the one closest to them. Stuart Taylor scooped up the fallen weapon and put the strap over his shoulder.

  Brutus waved the team forward, making a dash to the wall. They reached it in a single breath. Brutus threw his back against the hard concrete. He shouldered the AK-47 and moved again. The entrance neared. At the cusp of the wall Brutus slowed and crouched.

  Without radios they would do it the old fashion way. Act and react.

  The forecourt was not a particularly well-lit area. The little light came from floodlights set further back from the gate. Brutus popped his head past the threshold. Three guards, armed. Standing together in quiet conversation. Not one looked out past the boundary of the wall. He pulled himself back. Brutus raised a hand with three fingers extended and motioned that they stood on the right of the gate, then signalled that Niall, Taylor and himself would take the three guards down.

  Brutus counted to three silently then stepped round the corner into the gateway, weapon raised. He sensed his team moving with him, a well-rehearsed machine.

  None of the guards were aware of the approaching danger. Brutus squeezed off two silent shots. His target jerked back, clutching his neck and fell to the ground. He thrashed on the ground. Niall and Taylor’s targets fell without a sound. Brutus stepped over the dead and fired two shots into the chest of his target. The thrashing ceased. He swore at himself, angered at his inaccurate shooting. Especially when Niall and Taylor shot like master marksmen.

  Loading crews who dealt with the deliveries were sitting off to the far left. They huddled against the rain under a thin canopy. Brutus waved Magnus to round them up. Freddo went with him.

  “Hey, you guys! Over here.”

  Magnus approached, not with his weapon raised but with a hand raised in salute. He let his weapon fall to its sling but kept his other hand on it. Freddo stood just behind, weapon ready but not aimed.

  They turned to the newcomers, not overly alarmed.

  “Who’s in charge here?” asked Magnus.

  An older man, clad in a reflective vest and hardhat stepped from the group. “I’m the foreman. Is there some kind of problem?”

  “There’s been some issues, we’re going to need you and your boys to stay in a contained area until it’s resolved.”

  Freddo stepped past Magnus. He raised his weapon at the group of men. “In fact, how’s about you all get down on your knees. Hands on your head, and now.”

  Magnus’s weapon was up, too.

  The foreman raised his hands, and stepped back to be with the group. “Do as they say.”

  “Wise,” said Freddo, shouldering his weapon and removing ties from his vest.

  Brutus brought his weapon around and opened fire on the kneeling men.

  “Jesus!” Freddo stepped back, checking himself for blood spatters. “Did you have to do that right now?”

  Brutus reloaded his weapon and stuck an unlit cigar in his mouth. A thud came, and a guard slipped down the steps, leaving a trail of blood on the concrete steps. Roy, the guardian up high, proved his reputation right.

  “So far so good,” Niall said. “I’m going up the wall. We still don’t know how many of them are in there.”

  Brutus nodded. “We’re good to proceed.”

  They moved past the dead guard, weapons raised, and took the steps. Indoors and out of the rain felt like another world. Brutus had become used to the constant downpour. The reception was empty. Terminals and office furnishings had been installed. No staff. It reminded Brutus of the hospital in Aberdeen. It was as if a force removed all humans from the facility; one moment there, the next gone.

  Movement caught his eye on the mezzanine. A figure moved at the cusp of the barrier, a head appearing for a second before ducking back to cover.

  “Get to cover!” Brutus threw himself right and slid across the floor, finding cover behind a column. A high powered weapon opened up from above. Rounds slammed into the masonry where Brutus sought shelter. Freddo angled himself from behind a row of seats and returned fire. Taylor waved to Brutus and pointed to the grenades on his vest. Brutus shook his head. He wanted to avoid damage to the building, as much as possible. More gunfire ripped through the vestibule, shattering seats and desks. Freddo’s cover was eroding.

  “Get yourself out of there,” said Brutus.

  “Cover me!” shouted Freddo.

  Brutus slipped from behind the column and sent five rounds upwards at the unseen enemy.

  Freddo scrambled from the floor, slipping on shell casings, then regained his footing and sprinted to Brutus. Brutus fired two shots and stepped back next to Freddo.

  “Got any ideas?”

  “One. Hey,” he called out. “You guys up on the balcony. Time to talk.”

  A round of gunfire erupted in response. Brutus was not surprised. He waited for the echo to subside.

  “Are we going to spend the morning shooting at each other? Nobody else needs to die here today. I’m offering you a way out of all this.”

  “Doesn’t look to me that we need a way out of here,” said a voice from above. “We can hold this point indefinitely. We’re in no rush to go anywhere.”

  “About that, I wonder how much food you have up there, how much ammunition. Killing more of you doesn’t fill me with joy,” he lied. “You are simply an obstacle to my objective. I’m giving you a choice. Free passage out of here or die defending something you have no interest in.”

  The silence that followed was encouraging.

  “How do we know we can trust you?” asked the voice.

  “Trust is earned, my friend. If we do this, I meet you face to face. You have my word that none of my men will fire on you. But I need more from you.”

  “Such as?”

  “How many men do you have?”

  “You think me stupid?” snapped the faceless soldier.

  “Come on, now. That’s not fostering trust. My patience is limited. How many men?”

  That hesitation came again.

  “There’s ten of us and three managers upstairs.”

  Yes, I think you stupid, Brutus said to himself. “Who are the managers?”

  “The ones in charge of the building. Two men and a female.”

  One more than Brutus guessed.

  “Here’s what you’re going to do, my friend. You’re going to secure the managers in restraints and bring them down to the lobby. You’ll store your weapons and my men will escort you out of the building and to the city. There, your weapons will be given back on the condition that you never return here. There will be no further terms. You accept them or you die.”

  “You’ll give us time to consider the offer?”

  “Ten minutes. If we don’t hear from you within that time, we’re coming in hot.”

  The rest of the team waited, weapons ready.

  “What do you think?” said Brutus.

  Freddo inspected a thick splinter of wood protruding from his forearm, then pulled it free. “I think we’ve a shot at getting this place without a bloodbath.”

  “Yeah, if we have to kill them it’ll get messy.”

  “Hey! Are you there?”

  “I’m here,” replied Brutus.

  “Let’s have a face to face. I’ll come down the stairs. No weapons. My men won’t fire as long as yours don’t.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Taylor shook his head, cautioning against such a move.

  Brutus nodded. It was going to happen, no matter the protest. He removed his AK-47 and handed it to Freddo, then pulled his Glock from the holster at his leg and tucked it down the back of his trousers.

  Heavy footsteps thumped down the stairs. A figure rounded the s
tairwell and descended the last few steps. He waited at the bottom, his hands open at his sides. The soldier wore the same uniform as those outside.

  Brutus stepped out from his cover. Above on the mezzanine more of the security team watched, still hugging cover. Brutus’s boots crunched on shell casings. Off to his left, behind a row of seats offered the best cover if he needed to opt out of the face to face. Both men walked toward each other until they met in the middle of the lobby. No man’s land.

  The soldier stood several inches shorter than Brutus. He was bald with a trimmed beard more white than dark. He had the look of a weary soldier, too long on deployment.

  “Who would have thought the person responsible for killing my men would be a face from my past?”

  “I sure as hell don’t remember you,” said Brutus.

  “No? Funny how fate throws people together. A time ago we stood on the same side of the line. Now, as the world changes, we find ourselves as opposing forces.”

  “A goddamned philosopher,” said Brutus.

  The soldier gave a gruff laugh. “Don’t all soldiers who have seen what you and I have seen turn such a way in the end?”

  “You speak in riddles. Not wise when negotiating for your life.”

  “And I thought I was conversing with an old companion.”

  “The offer still stands for the moment. Free passage. Supplies and transport for you and your men. In return, you leave here and never come back. And the managers stay.”

  “I’m wondering as we stand here speaking what do you want with the managers. Surely you have everything you want here already?”

  “One last time. The offer stands. Take it or leave it.”

  “Is it as bad as I suspect out there?”

  “Getting worse by the minute.”

  “This will become a place of death, Brutus. The people you’ve gone to war with, they won’t allow you to take what’s theirs. But I think you know this, no?”

  “You have my word.”

  “My men have orders to hold position for the moment until my return. Perhaps we can take a walk to the motor pool? I can select a vehicle?”

  The soldier was enigmatic and confident, while relying on some past familiarity. Perhaps Brutus was incorrect to label him stupid. Better to assume him capable.

  “If you’re men attempt to move from their position they will be fired upon.”

  “Nobody else needs to die here today,” said the soldier, echoing the words of Brutus.

  ***

  Explosions far off rumbled and lit the morning sky like fireworks. Ryan stood naked and watched from his window, his lights out. Aircraft dropped ordinance over the buildings across the river, the brilliance of each attack reflected in a hundred windows. A war was being fought in London, and the Owl’s made their nest at the heart of it.

  Ryan drained a bottle of water and let it fall to the floor. Three urgent knocks came at the door. Ryan pulled on a shirt and his jeans. He crossed to the door, found the light switch and opened the door.

  Hector Crispin pushed past Ryan.

  “Close the door.”

  Ryan never knew how to address Hector correctly. Mr. Nippon? Hector? Mr. Crispin? Whatever name Ryan used it felt incorrect. He wondered if he would ever get over being nervous around the man.

  Hector’s top button was undone and his tie loosened to over causal.

  “Hello, um, Mr. Crispin. I was hoping you would seek me out.”

  “How do you like our magnificent work?” He spread his arms wide.

  Ryan didn’t respond, feeling the question to be rhetorical. Hector crossed to the window and gazed out at the city. His gait told Ryan the man was drunk.

  “All the years of planning. A generation of preparation. Millions of dollars sunk into this project, every detail considered, contingency plans put into place. The very culmination is this point and do you know what I was told not two hours ago?” He turned.

  Ryan opened his hands. “I have no—”

  “Glasgow Sanctuary is behind schedule! The residents are in transit to the facility through a city rapidly being consumed by the Carrion Virus. Behind schedule! We cannot fail in this, Ryan. Your father dedicated his life to this cause. We have to succeed.” Hector sat heavily on the bed. “And are we doing anything to address the situation?”

  “We?”

  Hector frowned. “Of course, we.” He gestured to every corner of the room.

  “Well, I’m not sure, sir.”

  When did The Owls of Athena and Ryan become we? Probably around the same time he realised his survival depended on them entirely. He never liked the group. Never liked the idea of the group. He had simply been swept up in it all, excited about an adventure, foregoing the warning that tapped at his conscience in the niggling form of fear.

  “Last progress we received suggested they were a few hours away. There is a hostile city for them to battle through yet, and it won’t be easy.”

  “Is there something I can help with, Hector, I mean, Mr. Crispin?”

  He blew out his cheeks and returned to the window. He swayed slightly. “Not the auspicious start we were hoping for. Information from the world at large is difficult to come by. We believe hostilities have broken out between Indian and Pakistani forces. I imagined when the enemy of mankind arose, the notion of butchering each other would fall by the wayside. But no. Two nuclear-armed powers skirmishing at the border, while the infected devour their cities. The Owls of Athena have ushered in a new period of madness. As brief as it will be, humanity will continue to stupefy me.”

  “Can I get you some water, Mr. Crispin, sir?” Ryan picked up his empty bottle from the floor and threw it in the rubbish bin. He wanted to enquire as to whether recycling was undertaken in the building. Perhaps one of his fellow travellers was a recycling expert. They couldn’t allow rubbish to build up in a place like this, could they? The stench would soon climb to be uncomfortable then disgusting then choking. But he thought it best to leave such a question to later. Maybe he’d discover for himself.

  “You will hear gunfire soon. Close. Defensive fire. Formations of infected have been spotted not far off. There’s no effective resistance in this part of the city other than us. Our gates are barred. Let us hope they hold. I expect this will be a daily occurrence from now.”

  “Mr. Hector, sir, Mr. Crispin?”

  Hector turned appearing startled, as if he just became aware of Ryan. “Yes, Ryan?”

  “The sanctuary is very close to the centre of the city. We’ll be surrounded by the infected soon, no?”

  “You think it was an ill-advised move?”

  “I … I wouldn’t presume to know the thinking of people more intelligent and influential than me.”

  “Being surrounded by infected is only dangerous for those who aren’t prepared. And having a hostile city surrounding us provides protection from elements who might wish to do us harm. We hide in plain sight, among the afflicted.”

  “Oh, I understand,” said Ryan.

  “I doubt that very much,” said Hector matter-of-factly. “You should get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a busy day. The first official operational day.”

  “I would like to talk again, sometime soon?”

  “A great number of matters will require my attention. And I am sure you will be kept busy.”

  “Doing what? I mean, Mr. Crispin, may I ask what my role is here?”

  Hector smiled and did a bad job of straightening his tie. “You’ll find out soon enough. Get some rest, my friend. Tomorrow is a new day in a new world. A new day in a new world,” he repeated before stepping out the door and closing it behind him.

  ***

  The car pool felt like a concrete tomb, cavernous and burrowed beneath the ground level. It boasted a fuel pump and small off-road dirt bikes, cycles, 4X4s, electric cars, a small bus that could seat fifteen, and a heavily modified Land Rover with armour plating. To the rear of the chamber was a machine shop for repairs and alterations.

  “
You’ve not asked my name,” said the soldier, his voice echoing in the concrete vault.

  “No.”

  “It’s Silas Salt.”

  The name, unusual and familiar still escaped Brutus, but he said nothing.

  “What about the loaders you’ve got under guard?”

  “None of your concern,” said Brutus. “You can take the minibus. Where are the keys?”

  Silas pointed to a small cabin by the ramp leading up and out of the underground lair.

  “Get the keys.”

  “As you wish,” said Silas.

  Brutus followed his every move. Silas snatched the keys from the cabin.

  “Back to the hallway. To your men,” ordered Brutus.

  Silas opened his mouth but closed it before words spilled. They returned to the main building and shook off rain that caught them between the subterranean vault and the entrance.

  Brutus waved Taylor over. “The garage’s out the front door and down. There’s a minibus. Bring it up front and leave the engine running.”

  Silas handed over the keys. Taylor headed off to do as ordered, and Freddo handed Brutus his weapon.

  “Tell your men to pile your weapons at the top of the stairs, then with hands on heads they’re to come down the stairs. They’ll be searched before boarding the minibus. Your men first, then we’ll collect the managers and you’re last.”

  Silas nodded then climbed the stairs. Brutus pulled his handgun from the back of his trousers and slid it back to his leg holster.

  “He says he knows me,” Brutus said to Freddo.

  “Do you know him?”

  “I don’t think so. Maybe.”

  “What’s his name,” asked Freddo.

  “Silas Salt.”

  Freddo scratched at his head. “I’ve not heard of him.”

  “Well we won’t need to worry about them for much longer.” Brutus stroked his beard. The wound on his face burned. He patted it, expecting to discover that it seeped. He’d dispatched the author of the newer cut, and if he ever caught that bitch who created the older cut she would pay, that’s if she wasn’t already dead. And that was more than likely. Aberdeen was a dangerous place.