Carrion Virus (Book 1): Carrion City

by Duncan, M. W.

  ***

  Lewis Sawyer swore, slamming the phone into its cradle. He leaned back into his chair. Today was one of the many days he suffered a foul mood.

  Unlike the majority of the established newspapers, The Aberdeen Herald had two offices in Aberdeen. One dealt with the weekday edition, and the other focused on the weekend edition. Seven days a week of news coverage. That wasn’t a problem, but the parent company who owned the paper was based in Glasgow, and the paper was printed in Dundee. In the heated phone call he’d just ended, head office informed him the printing press was to be taken offline for emergency repairs in a few days, so his deadlines were moved up.

  The leather chair took his weight under creaking protest. Resting his hands on his gut, he stared up at the ceiling fan. The white plastic blades attached to the light fitting had never worked.

  A knock came at the door. Lewis kept his study upward. The paintwork was in need of attention, discoloured and chipped in places. Again the knock came, this time with more force.

  ‘Come in.’

  Gemma walked into the room. His problems no longer seemed so problematic.

  He wiped at his shirt, adjusted his tie, and flashed what he hoped was a welcoming smile. ‘Gemma, what can I do for you?’

  ‘Jeeze, what’s wrong with you?’

  Lewis patted at his cheeks and forehead, and felt his almost permanent blushing. The red glowed more prominent when he was flustered, or excited.

  ‘Nothing. Well it is something, but no need to bore you with my problems. Please, sit.’

  Lewis struggled to keep his eyes off her legs.

  ‘Come on, Lewis, it’s me. What’s up? You look ready to burst. If it’s bad news, then you know what they say. A problem shared is a problem halved.’

  He swept his thin fringe to the side. He’d gotten away with his blush being perceived as solely sourced from worry. ‘It’s head office. They’re repairing the printing press, and like last time, our deadline has been moved forward. I mean, most companies would find an alternative print for the two days, but not them. What do they want us to do? Make up the news? Or perhaps they think I’m bloody psychic? It’s bang out of order, that’s what it is.’

  ‘Are you finished?’

  He took a sip from his stained coffee mug. ‘Sorry. Venting.’

  ‘Look, my article’s done and dusted. I’ll help get everything else up to scratch.’

  ‘Gemma, you’re a lifesaver.’

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘It’s almost Christmas. We can’t let this rag go down the tubes. It just wouldn’t be right. Think of all the people desperately awaiting the outcome of the Festive Baby Competition.’

  Gemma looked gorgeous. He loved her hair pulled back off her face. Gave her that sexy professional look. ‘We couldn’t have that, and for what it’s worth, my money’s on the chubby one dressed as the pudding.’

  They referred to a competition their paper ran. Members of the public sent in pictures of their babies in festive settings. The winner won a luxury hamper and vouchers worth one-hundred pounds.

  ‘It’s up to me. I’m this year’s judge.’

  ‘And who are you going to pick?’

  ‘Not telling. I know there’s a sweepstake in the office.’

  They shared a laugh. The frustration Lewis felt about the deadline, had lifted. All thanks to Gemma. He cast an appreciative eye over her … yet again. The black suit jacket did nothing to hide the lovely curves underneath. The top three buttons of her white shirt were left teasingly undone. She was a little on the plump side but that just added to the attraction. The matching skirt had risen just over her knee. He noted the lovely calves when she first walked in.

  ‘Anyway,’ he said, aware Gemma noted his roving eye, ‘you wanted to see me about something.’

  ‘Two things, actually. The first is kinda silly, but some of the staff wondered when decorations will go up. You have to admit, the office is pretty dull without any. So come on, Ebenezer, you don’t want the three ghosts knocking on your door come Christmas Eve.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ Gemma could’ve asked him to strip naked and paint his penis blue and he would. ‘And what’s the other?’

  From her jacket pocket, she pulled a USB stick. ‘I want your opinion on this.’ She slotted the drive into the port. Lewis tore his eyes from down Gemma’s shirt and watched the screen flicker.

  ‘Open it and watch.’

  He did.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘It’s a fake.’ He knew his voice held very little certainty. ‘Search YouTube and there’ll be hundreds of videos like that. Probably some kid’s drama project.’

  ‘Did you just throw me a joke? I’m not laughing. That’s real.’

  ‘Not a chance.’ Lewis pulled out the USB stick and handed it back to Gemma.

  ‘Lewis.’

  ‘It was sent to the office in the post. Am I right?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Let’s look at the history of our surprise packages.’ He raised a finger with each count. ‘Old man, wrinkly penis. The fake ghost picture. The white powder, turned out to be talc, and I can raise more fingers if you’d like. It’s fake I tell you. Some kids obviously get their kicks doing this kinda thing.’

  Gemma’s hands flew to her hips. ‘I’m not an idiot, Lewis. I know a fake when I see one and this is as real as the nose on your face, your red nose.’

  He fanned his face, and knew it burned brighter. ‘Either way, there’s nothing we could do with it.’

  ‘Yes there is.’ Her voice took on a conspirator’s tone. ‘I know it’s not right for our paper, but why not put out feelers to others agencies? Some of the big tabloids would pay a lot for something like this.’

  Lewis jumped from his seat, and closed the door to prying ears. ‘You shouldn’t be thinking about going down that path.’

  ‘You know as well as I do it goes on. Think about it. It might make head office take more notice of us. A bigger budget in the new year.’

  ‘No, Gemma. They’d be as likely to fire me as pat me on the back. The best thing to do is forget about it.’

  ‘What’s going on here? There’s something you’re not telling me.’

  Outside, a car horn sounded twice in quick succession. The small heater in the corner seemed to be pumping out a greater heat than before.

  ‘Well?’ demanded Gemma.

  Lewis’s eyes were everywhere but on Gemma. ‘Okay. If I let you in on this, promise to keep it between you and me.’

  ‘Promise.’

  ‘I mean it, Gemma.’

  ‘I promise.’ She crossed herself.

  He pulled open the third drawer to his desk, and handed over an A4-size package brimming with correspondence.

  ‘The gist?’

  ‘Three weeks ago I received a very strange visit from a man who brought me that. What you have in your hands is a Government edict. The short of it is we’re forbidden to report any stories regarding the activities of the DSD that may cause undue panic. I checked with head office and it’s official. What we can report, is there are limited cases of a new flu with those infected taken into specialist isolation for treatment. He made it very clear any breach of the gagging order and I’d be held personally accountable. So you splashing that little baby around might get my balls nailed to the board.’

  ‘They can’t do that.’ Gemma leafed through the documentation. ‘That’s censorship of the media.’

  ‘It’s the government. They can do whatever the hell they want, and I like my job.’

  ‘You realise this is ridiculous?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Lewis returning to his chair. ‘I don’t like it any more than you do, but our hands are tied. Best just to forget about it.’

  Gemma chewed at her bottom lip, and her fingers taped a tune on the desk. ‘I’ll keep my promise. Besides, we’ve these new deadlines to reach.’

  ‘Gemma,’ he warned.

  ‘I said I wouldn’t.’

  Lewis knew this was
n’t the end of it. ‘One other thing, Gemma, before you go. About the Christmas decorations, would you mind picking some up tonight after work?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘I’d be happy to take you out to dinner. Just to say thank you for all your hard work. Just as friends. If you want to.’

  ‘Oh, Lewis, that’s sweet of you, but can I take a rain check?’

  ‘Sure,’ he waved a hand, ‘some time when you’re less busy.’

  ***

  Gemma pained to keep her hands off the desk phone. Her notepad was blank. She stabbed at it with the pencil a few times, and then doodled. A fish appeared, the limit of her artistic streak.

  Lewis came to see her twice since their talk in the office. Both times, she assured him the video was forgotten, which of course, was a lie.

  Gemma had done a little digging. So far, her usual sources were dry. Nobody talked. There was one person left to try, but Gemma was reluctant to dial the number.

  Stacey Newman was a college friend, a close friend, a friend Gemma once suspected she had feelings for, and suspected those feeling were returned. Neither girl confided, and their friendship fell away. She had to try.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Stacey, it’s Gemma.’

  ‘Gemma.’ There was genuine delight in the voice. ‘It’s good to hear from you. How have you been?’

  ‘Good. Great. Listen, I called about something important.’

  ‘Shoot.’

  ‘What do you know about the outbreak of a new infection in Aberdeen?’

  ‘You got that, too, huh? Best not to ask questions from what I hear. Between you and me, there’ve been stories popping up here and there, but they’re kept under wraps. I’m not sure why. Do you?’

  Gemma ignored the question. ‘I need a name. Someone that’s seen the DSD at work or the isolation area at Forrester Hill. Anything.’

  ‘You realise you can’t report any of this? They’ll shut you down or worse.’

  ‘Do you have something?’

  There was a pause and a click; sounded like a drawer closing. ‘Okay.’ Stacey read out a name, number, and address. ‘The woman claimed she’d seen something.’

  ‘Thanks, Stacey. You’re a life saver.’

  ‘It’d be good to hear from you again.’

  That caught Gemma off guard. Before she took stock of what she was saying, the words were out. ‘Are you free tonight, for a glass of wine?’

  ‘I’d love that. I’ll call you later.’

  ‘Cookie?’ The suddenness of the voice caused Gemma to snap the point of her pencil.

  ‘Jesus, Ted! Were you a burglar before a reporter?’

  Ted held a steaming mug of coffee in one hand, in the other, an open packet of cookies.

  ‘Since you did elevenses break, I thought I would do afternoon coffee. I’m a softy for a pretty smile. Come on, give me a smile and I’ll let you have two of these babies.’

  Gemma flashed her teeth, more a grimace than a smile, and then took the proffered coffee and two cookies.

  ‘What do you think of the new deadlines? Bit of a bugger, eh?’

  ‘We’ll muddle through. We always do.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s just not the way I wanted to spend the week. I’m in a festive mood now. I can almost taste turkey.’

  ‘I can taste chocolate and digestive,’ said Gemma.

  ‘What’re you working on?’ Ted’s eyes darted from the screen to the note pad.

  Gemma laid an elbow over the notepad in what she hoped looked like a natural movement. ‘Not much at the moment. Someone is seeing to that.’

  ‘Aw, you’re no fun, but I can take a hint. Better get back anyway. Lewis looks like he’s about to have a pulmonary. His red has climbed to burgundy.’ Ted turned on his heels, striking up a version of Jingle Bells.

  Gemma stuffed the notepad into her bag, and then retrieved her coat and scarf.

  ‘I’m off to get some Christmas decorations,’ she said to the row of co-workers she passed.

  ***

  From the window, Lewis watched Gemma climb into a taxi and disappear down the Lang Stracht. He shouldn’t have let her in on the secret. He dialled her number.

  Gemma answered. ‘Yes, Lewis?’

  The sounds of traffic travelled down the line. ‘What’re you doing?’

  ‘I remembered I have something on tonight, so thought I’d pick up the decorations now. Be back soon.’

  The line went dead.

  ***

  The taxi halted on Chestnut Row. Gemma handed over a crisp ten-pound note and left the driver two coins in tips. A sudden flurry of wind cast the debris of autumn about her feet. Dead leaves and dried mud clogged the pavement, waiting to be cleansed by the imminent winter. Flanking the street were rows of two-storey buildings. At one time, they would have been townhouses, now they were separate flats, the granite construction solid and sombre.

  Gemma found the address. Before she rang the bell, the communal door opened. A petite, elderly woman stood in the doorway. Despite her age she stood unbent and without assistance.

  ‘Mrs. Findlay?’ the old lady queried, the wind almost stealing her voice.

  ‘It’s Miss, actually,’ corrected Gemma with a smile. ‘Thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice.’

  Caroline Rennie accepted the offered hand and shook with surprising strength. ‘Come in, you’ll catch your death out in this. A storm coming I should think.’ She pulled her cardigan tight about her body, and led the way up a set of stairs.

  ‘Don’t worry about your boots, dear, they look clean enough. Just give them a wipe.’

  Gemma obeyed and followed her host through to the living room. Three glowing bars from the electric heater pumped out enough heat to make the room more than comfortable.

  ‘Well, don’t just stand there,’ said Caroline, not unfriendly, ‘take a seat. I’ll fetch some tea. How do you take it?’

  ‘Milk and one sugar, please.’ Gemma pulled off her coat and settled onto a sofa.

  The room was neat. Everything had a place. The coffee table was polished to a shine. Cork coasters and a dog magazine were squared to perfection. Pictures on the wall were of Caroline dressed immaculately with what Gemma assumed was her family. There was a scattering of ornaments, mostly of miniature houses, but a few animal likenesses thrown in, too. A large LCD TV was switched on, the volume muted. The newsreader’s lips moved.

  Caroline returned with a delicate floral teacup and saucer, and a plate of home-baked sweets. A Pekingese followed closely, tongue lolling, eyes fixed on the food.

  ‘You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble.’

  ‘This? It’s nothing. Besides, you’d be needing something to warm you up.’

  Everything on the plate looked delicious. Gemma’s hand hovered over the bakes before selecting a rock cake. It was still warm and loose sugar clung to her fingers.

  Caroline poured the tea. ‘May I ask which paper you report for?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Miss Rennie. I thought I mentioned it on the phone. I work for The Aberdeen Herald. I have my ID here if you’d like to see.’

  Caroline shook her head.

  ‘I realise we’re not the paper you first contacted, but your willingness to talk was brought to my attention.’

  ‘Which brings us to why you want to interview me?’

  ‘I’m finding first hand information hard to come by, shall we say?’

  The woman took a sip and sat the cup back on its companion saucer. The break in conversation was painfully long. Gemma nibbled at the rock cake. She took another bite.

  ‘Shall I begin telling you what I saw?’

  ‘Yes, please do.’

  The dog barked.

  ‘No, Suki. Not for you.’

  The dog gave a whimper of disappointment.

  ‘Is it okay if I use this?’ Gemma held a small memo recorder.

  ‘For?’

  ‘For my own use. I’ll delete it if you like, when I’ve finished making my not
es.’

  Consent was given in the absence of any protest.

  ‘About a week and a half ago two of my neighbours, Bruce and Emily, reported children causing trouble in the street. Emily phoned me that night to see if I could see anything out my window. Emily is such a worrier. I didn’t see anything but I heard the noise. Later that night, Suki and I had just returned from our walk, only the length of the street and back. I turned on the kettle, and then, I heard sirens. Silly me thought the kettle was whistling at first. Through the window, I could see police cars and an ambulance. I thought Bruce had taken ill. He has trouble with his heart. Then, one of those long black vans appeared. Out of the van came three men, dressed in red overalls, but with their faces all lit up blue. I went down to see if it was Bruce, or perhaps Emily. A police woman wouldn’t let me near the house and ushered me back inside. They cordoned off the house. She explained there was a possible infection and that Emily and Bruce would be fine, but were to be taken into isolation until they recovered. I returned to the window. The whole street was a commotion. I wish I’d been able to see more.’

  ‘What do you think was going on?’

  ‘Miss Findlay, I was a science teacher for thirty-five years. I know a hazardous-material panic when I see one. I suspect they were doing just what the police officer said, containing the infection. The police were here for an hour, at least. I went to bed after that.’

  ‘Have you had any contact with Emily or Bruce since?’

  ‘No, but I did telephone the hospital twice, only to be greeted by an answering machine. May I ask something, Miss Findlay? Are you going to write an article on this?’

  She couldn’t reveal what Lewis had spoken of. ‘I think this story may be too big for The Aberdeen Herald. Perhaps one of the nationals will pick it up.’

  ‘I see.’ Caroline’s eyebrows arched. She looked like someone who knew they had just been told a lie. ‘Have you ever seen one of those vans?’

  Gemma spent most of her days in the office and her free time in her flat. She saw little between the screen of her mobile phone or the rush of buildings as the bus raced past.