by M. W. Duncan
“I’m like you, Brutus. We’re killers. Thinkers. We’re looking to preserve ourselves no matter the cost to others. We’re the same. Can’t you see that?”
“You better have something good.”
Silas studied his fingers. “This facility, as I am sure you already realise, is not fully operational. The Athena Protocol was enacted far quicker than many in The Owls believed would happen. It caught this facility off guard. Orders were to have the supplies brought in. There has been an almost constant stream of supply wagons arriving and departing, but with the Carrion Virus taking hold in the city the deliveries stopped. Stopped suddenly. I’ve not checked the inventories as it wasn’t my place to do so, but I believe from what I overheard that it is less than forty percent stocked.”
“Stocked of what?”
“Food. Medical supplies. Clothing. Weapons. Essential mechanical parts. Fuel. Everything that should make this facility able to withstand years of siege by those infected with the virus.”
“None of what you’ve told me is of value, Silas.”
“It’s not just the lack of supplies that will become an issue for you. The people who are to be living and working here are on their way. The last radio contact we made with the convoy placed them just outside the city limits. This facility may have seemed like a glittering prize, Brutus, but appearances can be deceiving.”
“How many?”
“The convoy will consist of civilians important to The Owls of Athena. Top tier leadership and also the bulk of this facility’s fighting power, the strike teams responsible for operations outside of the building. They’ll be coming in heavy and hard.”
“They don’t know what’s gone on here, right?”
“They fly drones over the area regularly. Each facility is in contact with the other. They’ll know something is wrong due to the pause in contact.”
“That’s inevitable.”
Silas knew a lot more, of that Brutus was certain. If he could keep him talking, he may become an asset. They were yet to secure the facility, and someone with inside knowledge, someone who would cooperate, would be of benefit. The rest of his team would not like it. But like all problems, Silas Salt could be dealt with at a later date.
Chapter 7
All The World Will Be Your Enemy
Daybreak brought little comfort to Gemma Findley. The uncomfortable evening spent cowering in the tiny shop brought aches and pains and hunger. She ripped open packets of cereal bars and chocolate biscuits. It was not her usual choice of breakfast, but there was little else on offer, and she hoped the sugar rush would bring some measure of warmth to her bones. She washed it all down with bottled water. It did little to appease her stomach.
She found her way to the small bathroom, did the necessities, washed her hands and splashed the freezing water that trickled from the tap onto her face. It caught her breath. She looked into the small mirror that hung on the wall.
“What are you going to do now, Gemma?”
Gemma headed back into the shop and hugged the electric heater.
The town was quiet. No cars, no faces. She could stay in the shop, wait for someone to happen by. It might never happen judging by how infrequent the roads were being travelled. Not just that, there was no guarantee whoever she met would be of help, or be infection free. She considered trying to find a car in one of the garages and driving out. Where to, she wasn’t quite sure. What if she ran out of fuel in the middle of nowhere? She would freeze to death overnight. Or she could run into a group of infected. At least here she was safe and sheltered if only for the moment. The houses could hold useful items. She needed to check them first before deciding on a plan. Leave or stay, she needed to be as prepared as possible.
Outside, the wind whipped up throwing powdery snow into her face. She clung onto her backpack and pulled the lapels of her coat high. The few houses in the hamlet appeared much the same as they did the night before. Being alone never bothered Gemma a great deal. Before the outbreak she spent most evenings on her own. She wondered how many of her friends were still alive. It had been so long since she spared anyone a thought. Most were dead now, or perhaps shambling around the streets, one of the numberless infected.
No lights were visible in the first house, and the curtains were all drawn. Gemma traced a finger around the doorbell. She flipped the letter box open to look for signs of life. The hallway beyond was dark and quiet. Nothing moved in the house. She thought about calling through the letterbox but if there were infected she needed to avoid riling them. Stealth was paramount. The knife in her boot gave her a small measure of comfort. She waited a little longer, counting seconds in her head.
Still nothing. No noise other than the wind. Gemma moved around the house and through a flimsy side gate into the rear garden. Two footballs and a small set of goals protruded from the snow, the thin metal frame buckled and the net missing. Just behind them also poking out of the snow was a small, stone statuette, Hellenistic in design, a robed female with one breast revealed.
Large patio doors lead to a dining room. The sliding doors were both locked, not budging despite Gemma’s best attempts to pull them free. The rear door was also secured.
Gemma pulled the partially naked statuette from the snow, struggled at first with the weight, then she launched it through the glass. The whole pane shattered.
Gemma stepped inside and headed to the kitchen. The room could have been occupied by humans not minutes before. Dirty cups and plates sat on the bench. Clothes were draped over hangers to dry. But the cupboards were close to empty. All that remained were packets of stir-in sauces, lentils and peas, and bread so mouldy it looked like an oversize dirty sponge. The light in the fridge was not working, and on the top shelf sat butter and two shrivelling peppers.
On the counter, next to the kettle and microwave, a number of letters were arranged each overlapping the last. Each envelope had a name printed in large block capitals. The first was addressed to Aaron McGuiness. No address, no stamp. Whoever Aaron McGuiness was, she doubted he was going to return to inspect his mail. She ripped the envelope open.
Dear Aaron. If you’re reading this we’ve gone. It’s no longer safe here. We’ve lost power so often over the last few days we’re not willing to risk being stuck. The TV for the most part is not broadcasting. The radio still works and we’ve been listing to updates. I’ve tried so hard to call you and your brother. Emails too. Nothing works. I hope and pray that you’re both safe. Your dad is running low on medication. He’s okay for the moment but things will become difficult if we can’t find more.
We’ve decided to leave. The army has been broadcasting the last few hours. They’ve set up a camp not too far from here. They’re calling all survivors to them. Your father agrees that we should go. They say they have medicine and can provide safety, food and shelter. We’ve no other option. We’re leaving tonight. Your father has taken one of his maps and marked the position of the camp. If you read this, find us.
I know you wanted to stay and volunteer in the displacement centres but we need you. I need my boys with me and now more than ever. Help the people you meet. Always be kind. But come back to us, Aaron. You and your brother. Come back to us.
With all our love,
Mum and Dad x
Gemma studied the map. A thick marker had circled the exact location of the army camp. She traced a finger down the main arterial road that linked Aberdeen with Dundee. If she had a car, then she could navigate her way there. The camp itself seemed to be quite a distance to the West of the A90 road, beside a long snaking body of water. The nearby location names were not familiar, and travelling alone would be dangerous. But the army camp would perhaps offer her the only chance.
Gemma moved to the window and looked out to the garage.
***
Jane dimmed the lights and turned the car into the driveway of Carter’s former employer. The children and Jacqui slept soundlessly. Carter bled from his arms. They had been forced to stop many times,
the roads blocked by debris and wreckage, and Carter moved quickly to clear the way. Jane had applied makeshift bandages, all to the tune of Carter’s protests, but the blood had seeped through.
The location of the home was exactly what Carter promised. Isolated. It was a grand house undergoing renovations. Parts of the roof were still to be installed. Sheets of blue canvass covered the holes. But a healthy billow of smoke rose from a chimney stack.
“You see that smoke?” asked Jane.
“I see it,” said Carter, grimly.
“What should we do?”
“It’s not our problem if someone is in there. It’ll be their problem.”
Carter pulled his handgun free from the holster and passed it to Jane. She accepted the heavy weapon with both hands.
“Stay here and keep an eye on Jacqui and the kids. I’m going in to investigate.”
“What if you don’t come back?” The words were out of her mouth before she could regret them.
“I’ll be back, Jane. Keep your eyes open and don’t be afraid to use that if you need to. Assume anyone out here is not friendly.”
Carter opened the door quietly and stepped out. He readied his AR-15, slipping the sling into place. A light drizzle caused the evening sky to be a light shade of black. Carter moved like the consummate soldier he was, weapon up and scanning for threats. His movement was slightly hampered by a limp Jane had not previously noticed.
Jane unbuckled her seatbelt. There was a tightness in her chest, a clench that had visited her the first time she ran down an infected. It was yet to leave. Carter reached the door and pulled keys to the house from his vest pouch. He unlocked the door and disappeared.
“Where has Carter gone?” asked Jacqui, her voice sudden and low.
“We’ve arrived at the house. Carter’s gone inside to make sure it’s safe.”
“There’s smoke coming out of the chimney.”
“I know,” said Jane.
“I wish Eric was here.”
“Carter is doing his best.”
“What we saw on our way here. The people, those things. I could never have believed it all had gotten this bad. Eric never talked about what happened in Aberdeen really. But I knew it was bad. I could see it in his eyes. He wanted to tell me but didn’t. And I’m glad he didn’t.”
“I don’t talk about it either, Jacqui. I guess when you’ve gone through something like that the last thing you want to do is talk about it.” Jane let out a sigh. “Maybe I’ll check outside. Carter told me to keep a look out.”
Jacqui stroked Luke’s hair.
Jane slipped the Glock into the pocket of her coat. The rain was cold, but brought a peculiar calm. The tightness at her chest disappeared. She touched her pocket.
The property was protected by a thin screen of evergreen trees. There was only one road to the house and it snaked through the cover of trees, their high branches reaching across and touching. She looked back to the car. Luke’s face was pressed to the window.
On the journey to the house, something bothered Jane. Many of the cars they passed contained the dead. Windows broken from the inside suggested an infected in the car killed the other occupants then made their escape. Carter had commented on it, too, and figured that families refused to follow the government’s advice to make authorities aware of those who fell ill. No one wanted those they loved locked up in isolation. No one wanted those they loved executed. What would she do if it was someone she loved? But Jane had witnessed the progress of the virus. Those infected were no longer the people they once were. Those infected were no longer people.
“Jane.”
She jumped. Carter stood at the door, his weapon in hand.
“What did you find?”
He walked down the steps. “There’s people living in there. A family of three. I’ve secured them for now.”
“Who are they?”
“I didn’t stop to ask. A man, a woman and their teenage son. They didn’t put up much resistance.”
“You didn’t hurt them, did you?”
“It’s not a time for being tender, Jane. Get Jacqui and the kids. We’ll decide what to do when inside.”
Jacqui reached into the car and unbuckled her daughter, removing her gently. Katie was asleep in her mother’s arms. Jane reached in and helped Luke out. She lifted him up and urged him to silence. Carter led them down a wide hallway, bare and lacking decoration. The walls were freshly painted, a bland shade of eggshell. The vague scent of paint hung in the air. A long sideboard with a plastic covering was on the left. Lights hung low down the centre of the hallway. Their footfall on the floorboards echoed. They reached two doors.
“Head in there. It’s a bedroom,” Carter said, opening the smaller door. “The other door leads to the living room. You stay with the kids, Jacqui. You come with me, Jane. The sooner we get this over with, the better.”
Carter grabbed Jane by the wrist with unnecessary vigour.
***
Eric followed long and twisting roads which were little more than tracks cutting through snow choked farms. It seemed no vehicles had traversed that way for a time, and progress was slow. He occasionally caught sight of a lone figure on foot battling through the drifts but none made any attempt to move closer to Eric. Everyone was suspect of everyone. No one dared ask or help. The road eventually opened up, and the vehicle gained some speed.
Some miles on smouldering ruins of vehicles blocked the entire dual carriageway. Eric brought the Land Rover to a halt. He opened the door and put a foot out. Skye looked up from her sleep. He needed to see if there was a viable route through the destruction. If the road was clear, he would never have stopped.
Eric patted Skye. “You stay here and look after the car.”
He pulled his weapon around. Years in the field told him he was looking at the result of an airstrike, a sustained bombardment. Over fifty cars ruined. Eric did not need to examine the wrecks closely to know there were charred bodies inside. Off to the left a bus lay on its side down a verge. The concussion of the blasts must have thrown it from the road. All the windows were shattered.
Eric’s ankles dug into the wet earth. The seats of the bus had been ripped from the floor, and bodies lay covered in shattered glass. Those bodies wore the same blue ski jackets and furry boots worn by the infected that attacked the Ingram’s farm, and the infected he saw not far from the farm. It may have been coincidence, or perhaps some were thrown clear, became infected and made their way toward the farm. Why did they wander in that direction? Why not elsewhere? They could have marched for days and never come into contact with another living soul. Was it just stupid chance that brought them to the Ingram’s home?
Eric returned to the road. Skye’s front paws were up on the dashboard and her tail wagged furiously. A flickering light far off to his left caught his eye. Did he miss something in his short reconnaissance?
“If there’s anyone down there,” he called, “you better come up now.” Nothing moved. “Last chance.”
Still nothing.
Eric moved forward, his feet wide ready to react to a threat. Two hundred metres away from his car, a flashlight pulsed weakly on a grassy mound. At the base of the mound and half-submerged in a pool of muddy rainwater lay a man, his face covered with a thick scarf. His skin was pale with the pallor of death, but unblemished, no signs of the virus. Two puncture wounds were positioned in his chest, markings consistent with a high-powered weapon. Did he run away from the fires? Was he gunned down? Where military troops nearby? Did they assume the man to be infected?
Eric hurried back to the Land Rover. He jumped in, and Skye tried to lick his face.
“Back in your seat, Skye.”
She obeyed.
“You hungry?”
The dog’s ears flew up.
“Me too.”
Securing supplies would be his next priority. There was no break in the concrete barrier separating the north and south roads. He would have to double back until he found one.
***
Brutus headed into the courtyard, back out into the rain. Freddo stood under the shelter of the doorway, smoking a stubby cigar. He blew smoke into the gloomy morning, his eyes on Taylor and the minibus.
“We’ve got a problem,” said Brutus.
“Just one?” Freddo flicked cigar ash to the ground.
“We’re keeping Silas Salt.”
Freddo shrugged as if expecting that course of action.
“A convoy’s battling its way through the city. They’re a few hours away at best.”
“It was a matter of time before we’d be tangling with them.” Freddo pointed to the minibus. “We need to get them out of here. Now.”
“We need to break the news they’ll be sent off without weapons.”
“Your guess at the response?”
“It won’t be a square dance with balloons.”
The two men nodded a greeting to Taylor at the minibus.
“Alright!” shouted Brutus into the minibus. “I know certain promises were made however the situation has altered. You’re leaving in this fine vehicle, but not with an escort, and not with weapons.”
“You know what you’re sending us out to?”
“That’s bullshit!”
“What? You’re kidding right?”
“Shouldn’t have trusted you!”
“Where’s Silas?”
Brutus raised his AK-47. Behind, Freddo’s weapon clicked to ready, Taylor’s, too. Brutus considered shooting them all down where they sat. It would eliminate the chance of them linking up with The Owls of Athena units. But he would save the ammunition. Unarmed and in a lumbering vehicle, they would not last long.
“One of you get into the driver’s seat and get the hell out of here,” he ordered.
One man climbed behind the wheel. “You know you’re all dead men, right? All of you. You don’t know who you’re screwing with!”