by RR Haywood
They set off, walking round the large bay to head towards the spit of land. Nervous excitement builds in her stomach, the same conflicting internal arguments grow as both sides forcefully put their points across.
This is suicide. We’ll be shot on sight, slaughtered before we get anywhere near the place. They’ll torture us and burn the bodies. We should get more hosts, turn more and increase the numbers. March with a massed army and then try the negotiations, if it fails we can attack and turn them. Sneak inside and turn them with stealth and cunning. Find another way. This is wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
No, this is the right thing to do. The infection must evolve to survive, and that means our species has to evolve. We cannot survive on our own. We need to harness the good of our kind, the resistance to disease and pain and couple it with the intelligence and ability to learn the humans have. Only by combining our strengths can we survive. We take away their thirst for violence and control, we remove the greed and jealousy. A perfect blend creating a perfect being. No war, no starvation or famine, no suffering.
But we are the better species. They do not deserve what we have. Don’t share what we are, make them us. They will use it to further their twisted aims.
Neither is the better species. We must combine and integrate. The better species will be created from both of us. If we carry on then we run a real risk of both species dying out.
And so it continues. She walks in silence, feeling the scorching heat from the sun on her bare arms. Her skin continues to tan; the infection having drawn back as much as possible leaves her body still functioning in much the normal manner. Her long raven hair sways as she walks; her slender tanned arms swing gentle with the rhythm of her movement. Full pink lips part to lick the beads of sweat forming on her upper lip. Her hand moves without conscious thought to her backside, fingers gently brushing the bite mark that Darren left.
Sweat runs down her face, gently sliding over her jawline and down her slender neck. She shivers from the sensation and feels as the sweat follows the natural contours of her body.
They skirt the bay, keeping back from the shore line and sticking to the inner roads. All the time heading closer and closer to the fort. The big bastion that stands proud and defiant at the end of the spit of land. Sheer walls of grey concrete.
As she gains glimpses of the land she looks at the sweeping flatlands and imagines Darren there with his mighty army, getting destroyed by the few good men that opposed them.
The bravery of Howie is clear. That he chose to fight back instead of running and hiding. She saw glimpses of him on the Isle of Wight. Always one step ahead and she felt the power coming from him when he fought single handed on the stairwell of the church tower. She felt the fear of the hosts as they charged at him.
Still he spoke with kindness and respect, still he was polite and offered her a way out. Inviting her to come with them. But she was under Darren’s spell then, and without the ability to think like she does now. If only she had taken that offer and simply walked up those steps. Would it have changed the outcome or did all those things need to happen?
And at the end when he looked down on the dying form of Darren. Stood there so proud and true. He could have tortured Darren and made him suffer. But he didn’t, he acted with grace and decency.
Everything hinges on him. If she can just make contact with Howie and make him see through her eyes. Make him realise there is another way.
They reach the edge of the ruined estate, looking aghast the blackened surroundings with stumps of scorched brick walls. Vehicles melted into the twisted surface of the ground. The stench of death invades the air. High piles of bodies, stacked deep and wide and left to fester in the sun. Swathes of insects rise and fall from the corpses, generating a loud and sustained buzzing sound.
The small group pick their way through the mess, gaining the central road now cleared of debris with fresh tyre tracks running through it.
As one they stop and look to the sky, reacting to the deep roll of thunder that rolls across the sea. Puzzled faces stare up at the cloudless heavens. A slight tremor beneath their feet, coming from the ground itself. They glance around in alarm, fearing an earthquake.
‘There,’ Reginald points to the west at the thick plume of bright orange flames that sear high into the air. Dirty black clouds spume from the flames, creating a distinctive mushroom shape, like the television footage of nuclear bombs being detonated.
‘Must be Fawley,’ Reginald adds in a quiet voice.
‘Fawley?’ Marcy asks.
‘Oil refinery, just outside Southampton.’
‘Oh,’ she replies, staring in wonder at the sight. Even from this vast distance the fireball looks huge. Up close it must be dreadful, terrifying even.
‘Ominous,’ Reginald remarks.
Marcy smiles at his clear nerves, looking down as he nervously taps his hand against his leg.
‘It’s miles away, nothing to do with this,’ she replies.
They set off, working down the central rutted road and out into the flatlands. The fort in the distance but getting closer with every step they take.
Thirty-Two
She stands by his side watching the hundreds of interactions that take place all around. People everywhere and the smells they produce are fascinating. Far stronger than when she lived in the den with the pack. The scent of cooking, unwashed bodies, faeces and urine, blood and vomit. The loss of her little one still weighs on her soul. She felt stronger when she was with the new pack. Fighting with them and being with them seemed right and natural. Now they are gone too and she has this man.
He has strong energy and is a leader. She senses this and accepts that she is to stay with him, moving where he moves, going where he goes, standing when he stands. She doesn't mind this as plenty of people rub her ears and head which she likes, and the man keeps offering her water to drink and food to eat.
She stares down at the ground, sensing the rumble before hearing it. Her head cocks to one side as she feels a change in air pressure. The rumble comes, like the noise that is made when the water falls from the sky and the sharp lights spark everywhere. The people around her all stop and listen, feeling the tremor from the ground.
She senses the fear increase in the people as they rush to the far side trying to see over the wall, they run to the front and back, climbing the slopes to get higher.
The man runs through them, heading towards the hill that goes to the top. She runs easily by his side, her long legs striding gracefully as her pink tongue hangs down, bouncing out the side of her mouth.
The man makes noise and the people move out of his way. His status of pack leader is strong here. All the people stop and stare across the sky. She can smell burning but it’s from far away and not a threat to them.
The people make noise to each other. The noise gets louder and faster as their excitement grows. A sense of unease comes over the man. She feels his hand stroke the tops of her ears, something she’s become accustomed to just in this day.
Chris stares at the fireball, knowing in the pit of his stomach that Howie and his team will be involved. The deep worry lines increase as he scans the horizon as though seeking some sign that they’re alive. Dave and Clarence will keep them alive. Both of those men would sacrifice themselves for Howie, but then so would he.
Howie has a rare ability, something so seldom seen it beggars belief. The way he captivates people and gets them on side. That funny self-depreciating manner that erupts into passionate fury, but done in a way that doesn't scare people, it doesn't intimidate; it brings his words home with a deep poignancy. All of those that stood close to Howie on the field that day feel it. All of them that felt the power pour from the man. The way the things wilted from him. At that point he was undefeatable and the pure energy of the man was like something never seen before.
More than anything, Howie and the dog have to survive. Chris feels it deep within his soul. Knowing that Clarence and Dave both feel the same gives some com
fort at the sight of the fireball. The whole area must have gone and he shakes his head at the power and destruction being wrought in that place.
With a sigh he turns away, spotting Ted at the far side of the fort ushering a group of survivors back through the gate. Silly buggers must have gone out for a better view, at least the rear should be safe with that small beach and the deep water.
He looks out over the wall, to the estate in the distance and thinks of the bodies stacking up, then down at the dog stood patiently next to him.
‘Let’s hope they got that fuel eh?’ She looks up at him with a big doggy grin, blinking her big brown eyes. Chris watches as her head snaps to look back inside the fort. Ears pricked and eyes set. She sniffs the air, smelling them. Scenting them amongst the people.
She makes noise.
‘You’ve fractured your elbow,’ Doctor Roberts looks down at the man sat on the chair in the examining room, ‘normally we’d put it in plaster, but we do not have plaster. Normally we’d give you strong painkillers, but we cannot spare them either…so a good old fashioned sling it will be and we’ll get you some Paracetamol and Ibuprofen.’
‘Is that it?’ The man winces as Doctor James starts to apply the sling round his neck, drawing it tight to lift and hold the arm into the body.
‘Afraid so,’ Doctor Roberts replies, his bushy eyebrows dropping to a deep frown, ‘we’ve got far worse cases that need the strong stuff.’
‘But it’s bloody killing me.’
‘Oh don’t whine, I hate whiners…would you rather we amputate it?’
‘What?’ The man looks up with shock.
‘Amputate it?’ Doctor Roberts barks, ‘cut it off man! We can do that if it makes you feel better!’
‘No,’ the man gasps, ‘I don’t…you said it was only a fracture…’
‘Well then stop your bloody moaning and bugger off, we’ve got other patients to see.’
The man stands up, looking in horror at the fierce doctor. He turns to look at the other doctor who just shrugs and smiles.
‘Nice work Doctor James,’ Doctor Roberts says as the man scurries out.
‘Thank you Doctor Roberts,’ he smiles, ‘you know he’ll be in agony with that elbow.’
‘Yes I know,’ Doctor Roberts says with a deep sigh, ‘poor blighter…still there’s always someone worse off wouldn’t you say?’
‘Yes Doctor Roberts,’ Doctor James smiles. Having worked with Doctor Roberts for long enough, he knows the man is one of the most skilled doctors he’s ever worked with, and although his bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired his compassion knows no bounds.
He follows the older doctor through to the adhoc hospital room crammed with an assortment of beds and mattresses, all of them filled with the worst cases.
They ignore the first few and head straight towards a bed on the right. Both doctors nod respectfully at the worried looking man sat next to the bed holding the hand of the young pale looking boy.
‘How are you feeling?’ Doctor Roberts asks in a deep soft voice. He bends closer to the boy and rests a hand on his head, smiling at the young face.
‘It hurts a bit,’ the boy says quietly.
‘I bet it does,’ Doctor Roberts replies, ‘but you are being so very brave, and I would say,’ he leans in closer to whisper, ‘you’re the bravest patient we’ve got in here…wouldn’t you agree Doctor James?’
‘Definitely without doubt,’ Doctor James says with a wink. The man in the next bed looks over and smiles, nodding his head.
‘Now I’m just going to check, so you stay still and carry on being the bravest boy I have ever met,’ Doctor Roberts pulls the thin sheet back to reveal the boys pale body. He gently eases the dressing away and examines the stitches from the incision made to remove the boys burst appendix. The wound looks clean and healthy, resulting in a warm smile at the boy. ‘Very good, very good indeed…you’ll be up on your feet in no time at all, out there playing in the sun and causing more mischief no doubt.’
‘I like it here,’ the boy says, ‘it’s quieter than outside…’
‘I’m sure you do,’ Doctor Roberts tussles the boys hair giving him another big grin. ‘I’ll come back and check on you in a little while.’
‘Thanks Doctor,’ the man says with real meaning, he stands up respectfully as the doctors leave the bed.
‘Any news on the fuel?’ Doctor Roberts asks.
‘Not yet, Howie’s still out I think,’ Doctor James replies.
‘That bloody Sergeant was in here again earlier, talking nonsense to the patients…I gave her what for and sent her packing,’ Doctor Roberts speaks quietly as he strides down the room.
‘Very worrying, we may have to step in if it gets much worse,’ Doctor James says, hurrying after him again.
‘Yes…yes…keep an eye on her, Chris has already been in asking if we’d speak with her.’
‘I think we should,’ Doctor James says with a hard tone.
‘Well we can’t section her…and we don’t have any sedatives to spare…hmmm, but then it’s a clear cut case of mental incapacity so we’ll have to do something.’
‘Maybe we should just talk to her quietly first, the two of us…we can have Chris nearby if…well in case he’s needed,’ Doctor James suggests.
‘Agreed, get that Ted chap too, she listens to him. Find somewhere private and quiet, we don’t want to humiliate the poor woman.’
‘Okay Doctor, leave it with me…I’ll send someone for you when we’re ready.’ Doctor James walks off, his own white lab coat flapping at his knees. Doctor Roberts stands quiet for a second, thinking of the best way to approach the subject. It’s been a long time since he had anything to do with this kind of thing.
He glances up at the deep rumble of thunder before walking out the front of the examination tent to stare up at the clear sky.
‘What was that?’ He asks Doctor James stood a few metres away and also staring up at the sky.
‘No idea,’ he replies.
‘Bugger it, I hope they aren’t blowing something else up,’ Doctor Roberts tuts and walks back inside.
‘More work for us if they do,’ Doctor James mutters as he walks on.
‘What the bloody hell are you lot doing down here?’ Kelly snaps as she walks into the workshop to find the small group of engineers sat round drinking tea.
‘What?’ One of the engineers jumps up looking guilty.
‘You should be up the top fixing that gun in place,’ she walks towards them with a scowl.
‘They said not to, that sergeant lady came up and said they were moving it.’
‘They? Who are they?’ Kelly asks with a confused look.
‘I dunno, she just said there was some experts that were deciding where to put it,’ the man says defensively.
‘The experts did decide where to put it…which is on that bloody wall where I showed you. How long have you been in here?’ She moves to the carrier bag used as the makeshift bin, ‘quite a while by the looks of all these teabags in here…and where did you get biscuits from?’ She fishes the empty pack out, holding it up while staring with an accusing look.
‘The sergeant gave ‘em to us,’ the man mutters weakly knowing they’ve been caught red handed.
‘Did she now?’ Kelly asks slowly, ‘and that was at the same time as she suggested not fixing the gun in place was it?...Was it?’ She asks louder.
‘Yes,’ the men nod, looking at their feet with a sense of shame.
‘Right, well from now on…you do not take any orders or instructions from Sergeant Hopewell, if you are in doubt you ask me or Chris…got it?’
‘Yes Kelly,’ the men murmur.
‘Good, now…did you eat all the biscuits or did you leave any for me?’ She softens her tone knowing when to ease back, after all, they were just following instruction from Debbie.
The men grin, holding up a chipped plate with a small stack of digestives piled up.
‘Well get the kettle on then…I’m
gasping for a brew,’ she smiles taking a seat and groaning from taking the weight off her feet for the first time in hours.
‘How’s the alarm?’ One of the men asks, more relaxed now their fearsome boss was sitting down and doing something mortal like eating a biscuit.
‘Okay,’ she nods, holding her hand over her mouth to prevent biscuit crumbs from flying out, ‘should be done in an hour or so.’
‘Bloody hell….what’s that?’ The men all stare towards the open door, then back at Kelly as though expecting her to know.
She shrugs, shaking her head as they all move quickly outside. The deep rumble fills the air and a slight tremble in the ground vibrates through their feet.
‘Ain’t thunder,’ one of them remarks.
‘Earthquake?’ Another asks.
They stay near the door. Their expert eyes watching for any signs of movement from the structures. Scanning the walls, tents and the visitors centre.
‘What was it?’ One of them shouts to someone up on the top of the inner wall.
‘Fawley by the looks of it…must have gone up,’ the man shouts down.
‘Fawley? Bloody hell, I used to work there,’ one of the men mutters.
‘Didn’t you do a stint there Kelly?’
‘Only for a few months, contracted in for a job,’ she replies, ‘big site though…I wouldn’t want to be near it right now.’
‘Luckily we ain’t,’ another engineer adds softly.
Sarah sits quietly at the desk, reading through yesterday’s admissions to the fort and checking the job skills. The engineers have enough people for now, the cooks are doing well. Cleaners are what they need. People to move amongst the tents and remove the litter and debris building up. Oh and more guards, always more guards, and of course medically trained people.
She admires the detail entered on the sheets by Terri and Jane. The clear handwritten notes of any skills or training the refugees have, with comments added to the top of the sheet for people with vital skills.
‘Hi Sarah,’ she looks up as Roger Hastings strolls into the room, ‘oooh it’s cooler in here,’ he says fanning his face with a hard backed note book.