The End Tide (Carrion Virus Book 3)

by M. W. Duncan

  “Medical team? What medical team?”

  “Good question. And over there,” he said pointing north, “that’s the command tent.”

  “I want to speak to those in charge.”

  He chuckled. “If they feel the need to speak with you, you’ll be summoned. Got to be of importance to talk to them. But they do alright. At least we’re functioning. We’re all contributing in one way or another. What can you do?”

  “Whatever’s needed.”

  In the first week of camp life Eric quickly grew accustomed to the rhythm of his new everyday life. The civilian population gathered every second day to discuss camp life and to bring any points of contention or question to those in charge. Most issues arose from dwindling supplies, and what was needed and what there was plenty of, and organising work details for the defences. The meetings lasted an hour. Attendance was not mandatory but was encouraged. Despite the pain at his ribs, Eric dug the trenches each day. He asked several officers about making use of his specialised skillsets but met with the same answer. It wasn’t their call to make.

  The children in camp called him Dog Man and Skye proved to be a welcome addition. She would often go running off to enjoy the affections others lavished on her. The kids threw sticks for her to fetch, or they’d simply lie down on the ground and encourage Skye to snuggle next to them while they petted her stomach. After the first week people were less guarded, opening up, chatting more freely. Eric listened to tales of survival. Every person in the camp had a harrowing story. A great many were swept up by the military in their rush to establish the camp. Some told stories of hiding in their homes until hunger compelled them to move, and seeing signs to the camp or hearing radio broadcasts. Some arrived after wandering aimlessly, only chance bringing them to safety. Everyone lost somebody.

  The military elements of the camp were polite and professional. Helpful, but vigilant. Eric built a fire pit outside his tent, and collected his own firewood from the forest floor, and fashioned his own cooking equipment from pieces donated to him by other camp residents. He sat outside his tent on the only chair he possessed. A pot of water bubbled above the flames to make tea. Skye’s barks were not far away. They were friendly barks. The camp kids must have been keeping her busy again with sticks or balls. On the air, someone cooked meat of some kind. The military was adept at living off the land. Several snares were set up around the immediate area. Birds were brought down from the trees. Rabbits were caught further out from camp. So far, only occasional trips out far were needed to raid for supplies.

  “Dog Man?”

  A teen girl stood above him.

  “Some people call me that,” he said. “Mostly kids. It’s Eric.”

  “Eric Mann, I know. You’re wanted over in the command tent. I’ll show you the way.”

  “I know where it is. I’ll find my way.”

  “Sorry, but I was told to bring you. Follow me.”

  Eric stood, grabbed his weapon and followed the girl. They navigated through the camp. A ripple of laughter sounded to their left. The sound was a rarity in camp. Skye appeared at his side, panting heavily from her play. They passed a pair of Warrior vehicles. A soldier worked on one, his hands black with grease.

  “Straight up there,” she said, pointing to a path that passed through a wall of containers and more military hardware.

  “As I said, I know.”

  “Whatever,” said the girl turning her back and walking away.

  A large green pavilion tent waited ahead. A soldier stood outside, a sidearm at his hip.

  He held the flap open for Eric to enter. “Dog’s to stay outside.”

  “Stay, Skye.”

  Inside two men waited, sitting behind a frail table, the kind that might be used for pop-up stalls. One man wore the insignia of a Major. The other, a middle-aged man, his greying hair slicked back, wore a suit jacket and an open shirt. He made a triangle with his fingers. The triangle collapsed as he stood and he held out a hand.

  “Ah, you must be Eric.”

  “Some call me Dog Man.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  The men shook hands and Eric sat in the offered chair. The two men returned to sitting on the other side of the table.

  “Do you know who I am, Eric?”

  “No, I don’t. Have we met before?”

  “No, we haven’t. I’m Alex Cunningham. I’m Scotland’s Secretary of State. For all intents and purposes I am the civilian authority in this camp, and this is Major Reid.”

  The Major nodded a greeting.

  “It’s filtered back that you have been requesting a meeting with us, so given your persistence we thought we owed it to you. And we’ve heard that dog of yours is quite popular around camp.”

  “Skye,” Eric provided.

  “Perhaps first, a little information about yourself, if you please.”

  Major Reid was the quiet one, but Eric felt him studying his every move more intently than Alex Cunningham.

  “I was employed with Black Aquila until things fell apart.”

  “Black Aquila?”

  “A private security firm that worked with the DSD in Aberdeen.”

  Alex looked to the Major. “You were in Aberdeen?”

  “I was. Before that we were operational in Iraq. We were rendered ineffective after Aberdeen. Too many people died for too little gain. I was back home, just outside London before everything went to shit. My family is still down there.”

  “How did you get up here?”

  Eric detailed his task to search for Gemma, the helicopter crash, his stay on the farm and his escape, all the way up to spotting the skiers in the snow. He left little out. Eric finished, saying, “I wouldn’t have left my family if I had known the real situation.”

  Alex whipped off his glasses and rubbed his forehead. “You’re angry and you’ve every cause to be that way. The main reason for this place is to collect survivors, protect them until such a time as safe zones can be set up. At the moment, no zones have been identified. There is no functioning government. Other elements of our armed forces are setting up camps like this. For now, we’re on our own and can’t expect reinforcement or additional supplies until order is maintained. That takes time. We’re reeling but not defeated.”

  “How is London?”

  Major Reid answered, “London is lost. Our projections are that ninety percent of the population has fallen to the Carrion Virus. All elements of the armed forces have been ordered to disperse and work toward setting up safe zones where they can protect those left.”

  “What about the wider world?”

  Alex said, “India and Pakistan are in a state of all-out war. There have been clashes in the DMZ in Korea, artillery exchanges. It’s like the virus has opened the floodgates to all the world’s issues. The middle-east has pretty much gone silent from what I understand. In America, the cities are all but a nest of the infected. Like us, they’ve been moving forces to rural locations. As for the rest of the world, we just don’t know.”

  “So what is your plan, Eric?” asked Major Reid.

  “To get back to my family and then survive. I’m willing to work toward that. If I can help out here, I will.”

  “That’s no small task. It’s not as easy as picking up a phone or taking a flight across the country. Information is hard to come by. Half the people in this camp are missing someone and want to be elsewhere. For the moment that is not possible,” said Alex.

  “I know that,” said Eric. “Yet finding them is what’s keeping me alive. May I ask a question?”

  The Secretary of State indicated he should go on.

  “What if you’re the highest ranking official in government still alive?”

  “If we can establish that, then Major Reid and I will work on certain plans to put into effect. I can tell you’re a useful man to have here, Eric. We’re planning to replenish certain supplies in the coming days. Perhaps you can go along. I feel your talents are wasted digging the defences of our camp.�
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  “Like I said, I’m willing to help while I’m here.”

  “Then we’ll talk again soon.”

  Eric stood.

  “One thing before you go,” said Major Reid. “What do you know of The Owls of Athena?”

  “I’ve heard rumours they’re the ones responsible for all this.”

  “Nothing else?”

  “No.”

  “Thank you. You may leave,” said the Major.

  Eric walked from the tent, leaving the soldiers behind. Skye followed. He thought it best to keep his limited knowledge of The Owls to himself, especially their infiltration of Black Aquila and the DSD. At least for now. Trust was a rare commodity these days. Alex Cunningham and Major Reid seemed to be decent men but time would reveal if Eric was correct or otherwise.

  “Eric? Oh my God, it is you. Eric!”

  ***

  They drove for over an hour before finding a retail park, and bounced over a grass verge avoiding abandoned cars that blocked the entrance. The carpark made for grim viewing. It was littered with dead. Hundreds of them. There was a choking smell of death. Crows hopped between the bodies, their beaks busy.

  Jane crouched behind an abandoned car, Carter next to her. Behind them, Harold and Elliot Crossly. After a week of relying on the meagre supplies they brought with them, it was time to venture out and gather more. Harold and his son and Jane accompanied Carter, and Jacqui remained at the house with Isabelle and the kids. Carter insisted Jacqui carry two sharp kitchen knives with her at all times. Isabelle pleaded with Carter to let Elliot remain but he would not relent.

  “He’s not a young child. He can earn his keep, and that of his family.”

  Isabelle hugged Elliot tightly before they left.

  “Remember,” urged Carter to his companions, “you do as I say and we get out of this in one piece. You don’t listen and go running off nobody will risk themselves bringing you back. Understand?”

  “Mr. Carter, you won’t have any bother from us. All we want to do is our part. My son and I want to pay back the kindness you’ve shown since we’ve met. If we can be of service out here, we will. I understand you’re a man of experience.”

  “And just remember that if the shit hits the fan.”

  Jane tailed Carter moving to another abandoned closer to the shops. Harold and Elliot scuttled up from the behind.

  “Look’s deserted,” Harold said. “That’s good.”

  “No.” Carter did not take his eyes off the front of the shop. “Those things are clever. They won’t wait out in poor weather. They seek shelter when they need it. The entire shop could be a nest of them.”

  Much of the glass facade was cracked or smashed. The security shutter was buckled and suspended.

  “Then why don’t we head back? We could search those houses we passed,” suggested Harold.

  “I doubt we’d find anything we can use.”

  A distant rumble rang out overhead.

  “You hear that?” said Jane.

  “It’s been raining pretty hard,” said Harold. “Wouldn’t surprise me if we got some thunder and lightning at some point.”

  “Aircraft,” said Carter. “Flying low.”

  All three looked to the sky. Two fighter jets roared overhead, the noise loud enough to make Jane sink to her knees. Two helicopter gunships appeared, moving slower and at a lower altitude. Elliot pushed himself between Jane and his father.

  “We’re still in this,” said Harold, striking a fist to the sky. “We’re still fighting.”

  Carter pulled Harold’s fist down. “Look about you, asshole. You see everyone dead in this carpark? How many do you think there are? Hundreds? Close to five-hundred? The infected didn’t do all this. Skulls blasted apart by high-powered weapons. Children blown from their mother’s arms and gunned down. Infected don’t shoot guns. It’s them up there.” He pointed heavenward. “They can’t recognise friend from foe right now.”

  “Carter, maybe right now isn’t the best time to be a prick,” said Jane.

  “No! It’s the perfect time to be a prick. It’s time he realises this is the world we live in now. All this is what to expect day in day out. There’s no place for being timid. Those who are end up dead or worse.”

  “Stop. Please,” pleaded Elliot.

  “And you, you little streak of piss. You want to go on living? You need to be prepared to do what it takes out here.”

  Jane stood and walked from the cover of the car.

  “Jane! Get back here!” Carter leapt the bonnet of the car and caught up with her. “Are you deaf?”

  “I don’t want to hear any more of your bullshit bullying, Carter. What the hell’s the matter with you? I’m going in. I’ll grab what I can and we can be out of here.”

  Carter seized her arm. “You’ll do what I tell you.”

  Jane pulled free, grabbed the Glock from her coat and pointed it at Carter’s face. “I swear to God if you lay another hand on me in that fashion, you’ll regret it.” The gun felt heavy. She had never pulled a trigger before. Her fingers fidgeted trying to discover the correct way to hold it. It felt awkward. She felt clumsy.

  Carter snatched the weapon from Jane’s ill-prepared grasp. “This isn’t a game,” he said. “I’m trying to keep you alive. Don’t piss about with this. I know how to survive out there.” He held the gun out to her, handle first.

  Her hands shook.

  “Take it. You might need it in there.”

  She did, and those shaking hands returned the gun to her pocket. “I’m sorry.”

  “No, you’re not. Go and find supplies if you’re so determined.”

  Jane blinked, then opened her mouth to snap back. But instead of cursing, she turned and ran to the door of the shop. She picked her way through the dead. So many. So many lives lost. None showed signs of infection. Many were in poor condition, ravaged by gunfire and by birds or other animals. Some still clung to their bags of meagre possessions. They died together, clustered close. Carter was right, many seemed to have been executed or riddled with indiscriminate gunfire. Death did not usually bother her. Being a nurse installed some professional desensitisation. But this, this was horror.

  Jane tapped the shutter with the Glock three times then waited. Nothing. She ducked beneath the crumpled shutter. Glass crunched beneath her feet. She pulled a torch from her pocket and clicked it to life. A narrow beam shot out enough for her to navigate by. Cash tills were open and notes and coins sat untouched in their compartments. Funny how at the beginning of the outbreak people sought out money. Now it was a worthless reminder.

  Jane pulled off her backpack and grabbed two long-life bags at the end of one of the checkouts. There wasn’t a lot on the shelves but whatever was left would have to do. The days of picky eating were over. Jane swept her arm across a shelf, dumping tins into the bags. She found cereal boxes and squashed them into the second bag. More tins. More small packets.

  A noise halted her movements. It was like someone tenderising meat, hammer blow after hammer blow into soft meat. She pulled the torch to her chest plunging the aisle into darkness. Her heart raced. The sound came from a few aisles away. She placed the bags on the ground, and the torch into a pocket, and fished out the Glock. It felt just as heavy and just as awkward as it had earlier. Her finger felt for the trigger. The noise stopped, but the shop fell too quiet. She breathed deeply, her eyes darting in the dark. Something sniffed in the darkness. Close. She wanted to scream to Carter, but he wouldn’t make it before the infected reached her.

  She released one hand from the Glock and pulled the torch from her pocket and pointed the light to the end of the aisle. An infected filled the thin beam of light. It wore a store uniform, tattered and ripped. It sniffed again and turned to the light and focused on Jane. Its mouth opened, revealing bloodied teeth. Jane closed her eyes and pulled the trigger. She missed. The infected let out a howl and then a scream and charged. Jane dropped the torch, and squeezed the trigger again and again and again, stepp
ing back with every shot.

  A weight knocked her back. She dropped the gun and fell to the floor. The weight followed. The infected emitted a high-pitched sound. Its legs wiggled, and then it ceased all movement. Warmth trickled down along Jane’s neck and chest. She pushed and pulled but couldn’t climb free of the weight.

  A light flicked on.

  “You see what happens when you don’t listen to me, Jane?”

  “Carter, get it off! Quick. It’s bleeding out on me.”

  “You got yourself into this mess, Jane.”

  “Please, Carter! I don’t want it on me! Take it off!”

  “You have to take it off yourself, Jane. You need to find a way to survive yourself. Remember, I’m a prick, and you know everything.”

  Jane summoned a hidden reserve of strength and pushed the bulk aside. She jumped to her feet. Carter ran his torch over her body.

  “You bastard!”

  “There’s blood on your hands, some on your neck, and all over your clothes.”

  “You could have helped me!”

  “Yet you believe you know better than me.” Carter retrieved the Glock from the floor, and kicked the torch back over to Jane. “Did it bite you?”

  “No.”

  “You should wash yourself down. Ditch those clothes.”

  “And wear what?”

  “You’re not coming with us covered in its blood.”

  “How long were you here for?”

  “Long enough to see you should have been more careful.”

  “You piece of shit, you could have stopped this?”

  “I can’t always be there to save you. Strip down, wash yourself and find something in here to cover you up. On second thoughts, I should leave you here.”

  “I didn’t swallow any of its blood, Carter. I wouldn’t put you all at risk if I had.”

  Carter studied her from head to toe for a long time. “Get changed and cleaned up. You’ll be wearing restraints in the car. I’ll have Jacqui check you twice a day for infection.”

  ***

  “It’s really you.” Gemma flew into Eric’s arms, and clung to him as if her life depended on it. Tears rolled down her cheeks and onto his shoulder. He had saved her before. He would save her again. “What are you doing here?”