Sentinel: A post-apocalyptic thriller (The Hurst Chronicles Book 2)

by Robin Crumby

  “Well if they’re the same group as the guys manning the barricade, they’ll most likely be heading east from Bournemouth and Poole.”

  “What do they want with us though?”

  “That’s what I’m worried about. I can’t believe the Sisters could rally this big a group. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  Tommy shrugged his shoulders. The two of them took one last cursory look at the unfolding scene behind them and descended the wooden staircase to the courtyard below.

  Flynn had ordered the castle to lock down. The interior was bathed in an eerie orange glow from the powerful floodlights set on the walls. Jack could hear the generator rumbling gently as they passed, his trouser legs ruffled by the stream of warm air from the outlet vents. It was already pitch black around the castle, which made the arrival of such a large group in the darkness even more curious. The shingle spit was a dead end, it wasn’t like it was on the way to someplace else.

  They had seen large groups moving along the coastal road before now, but why would they come along the spit towards the castle? There was no sense to it. What possible purpose could they have in coming here? They must have known there was a heavy military presence, mustn’t they?

  “Everyone back inside,” shouted Flynn, “close the gates, raise the drawbridge. I want everything locked down just in case they try anything tonight.”

  There was a raised voice from the ramparts and a runner descended the steps two at a time and hurtled towards them.

  “Sarge, they’re coming. The convoy just passed the first barricade and they’re heading onto the spit. They’re definitely coming this way. What do you want us to do?”

  “Get command on the radio. We need those rules of engagement. No one fires until we are fired upon.”

  The private acknowledged the order and ran back to pass the instruction to the radio operator sat in the guardroom. From the front entrance, Jack could hear two men cranking shut the small drawbridge by hand. He walked round and watched as the two men wrestled with the chain mechanism. The gap above the drawbridge reduced inch by inch. The drawbridge was welded with metal plates to ensure no opposing group could force entry as they had done before. They had also dug out the original moat that surrounded the Tudor castle facing Keyhaven and the water was said to be several feet deep to deter a direct assault with ladders over the wall.

  They could hear mechanical noises now, carried by the wind. The sounds of engines straining in first gear. A hundred sets of footsteps displacing stones and rocks, advancing slowly towards them. Jack ran back to the stairway and climbed up to see for himself. The sight took his breath away.

  As far as the eye could see there were hundreds of people carrying torchlights dancing in the darkness, walking alongside the convoy. At its head was a Toyota pick-up truck with the silhouettes of a group of people standing up in the back.

  “You sure we’re not expecting visitors today?” shouted Flynn, an edge to his voice.

  “None that I’m aware of,” replied Jack, his voice thin and brittle.

  “What do they want?”

  “I don’t know for sure but I have a pretty good idea why they’ve come here,” sighed Jack. His hand had begun to shake, so he thrust it into his pocket before anyone could notice.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  On board the Chester, Zed was in the state room with Doctor Hardy and the Colonel. They were surrounded by paperwork, studying printouts of reports. For the last two hours, they had been arguing about how best to deploy their precious stocks of Tamiflu.

  The Professor had given instruction that each new arrival on the island, particularly those under eighteen years of age, should be given a flu shot at the earliest convenience to boost the collective immunity of the refugees. Doctor Hardy disagreed, siding with Lieutenant Peterson. Their reserves were limited and should be held back for key workers, military and medical personnel only.

  Zed was doing his best to ignore them and focus on his reading pile. He could not stop thinking about the confidential CIA briefing document Peterson had shown him. It proved that his theory about Project Wildfire was at least viable. The mysterious circumstances in which the project was shut down and mothballed had always made him deeply suspicious.

  His curiosity was piqued by one of the WHO reports detailing an H1N1 outbreak in the Seventies, which referred to an avian strain known as “Russian flu”. What made this incidence of H1N1 notable was its near twenty-year absence. It was almost as if the flu strain had been frozen in time from the Fifties and accidentally released as the result of a laboratory accident. It confirmed, in Zed’s mind, that the Russians had been running their own clandestine programme.

  Each government had always known that this type of bioweapon research project was akin to opening a Pandora’s Box. In order to prepare their country against attack, they had to create a vaccine based on a weakened version of a virus, capable of spreading terrifyingly quickly. When you thought about it, it was kind of back to front and upside down. Attack was the best form of defence, or something. Despite the mandatory level four biohazard containment protocols, everyone knew that a breach would be terminal. One mistake and they could unleash a pandemic of Biblical proportions.

  Zed shook his head at the sheer stupidity of the whole thing. He stretched his arms wide in a yawn, rubbing at his tired eyes. The others stared at him with some amusement.

  “Why don’t you take a break, Zed?” said the Colonel.

  “I think it’s time we all took a break,” agreed Peterson. “We’re getting nowhere. Let’s meet back here in half an hour. Zed, you want to join me on deck, clear the cobwebs?”

  “Sure,” said Zed, getting awkwardly to his feet. His left foot had gone to sleep.

  He followed Peterson through a doorway and out towards the water-tight door to a narrow walkway that ran alongside the ship’s bridge. After the stuffy warmth of the stateroom, up here it was freezing cold. A biting wind swept in across the Solent.

  It was a clear night and a crescent moon cast a pale light across the island. A faint shimmer of scattered lights danced on the water from the towns of Ryde and Cowes. To Zed, since they had restored limited electrical power to the island, it remained an unfamiliar sight. The warm glow from living rooms and the occasional street light in town centres were somehow reassuring and comforting. It was a sign that things were slowly returning to normal, or at least an approximation of normal. Nothing would ever quite be normal again, he mused.

  Peterson joined him at the rail. Both men looked out across the water in silence.

  “This is where I come to get peace and quiet. The crew knows that when I’m out here, I’m not to be disturbed unless the ship is sinking or under attack.”

  Zed smiled and nodded. “I know what you mean. There’s something so peaceful and relaxing about the sea. It’s what I love about Hurst, being surrounded by water, listening to the waves and the wind. It’s my little slice of heaven.”

  “I hear the place you’re moving to on the island is every bit as special.”

  “Ah, but it won’t be the same. It could never be quite the same.”

  “I don’t know, I envy you. Being able to settle down, relax, grow vegetables, that sort of thing. Deep down, I’m just a farm boy from Idaho. I miss the fields of corn, riding horses, that simple life. Hey,” he said pointing to Zed’s arm, “your fighting days are over my friend. You can take it easy on the island, let others take up the slack.”

  “Not really my style. I’m not really the settling down type. I’m like a shark. If I stop swimming, I’d probably die. Besides, after you showed me that report, my brain went into overdrive. My place is with the research team.”

  “You really think there’s a link between the Millennial Virus and the project you worked on all those years ago, Project Wildfire?” he asked incredulously.

  “After what you showed me, I’d say it’s definitely possible. Doctor Hardy pulled down all the archived reports from the Porton Down servers before we le
ft. I’m slowly working my way through the folders. There are thousands of scanned documents covering the last thirty years. Right now, working on my own, it’s like looking for a needle in a haystack, but if I keep looking, I know I’ll find something. I could do with a team. Don’t suppose you have anyone you can lend me?”

  “Not without compromising security. Like I said, that report stays between the three of us. If the Porton team discovers a link, a genetic marker that proves the virus was bioengineered, so be it, we come clean and share the intelligence report, but until then, you’re on your own.”

  “I don’t understand why you wouldn’t want to vaccinate everyone on the island. Even if it’s only twenty per cent effective, it’s better than nothing.”

  “Because the illusion of immunity is a dangerous thing. The quarantine protocols are designed to keep the island virus free. If people start thinking that the virus is no longer a threat, we risk a fresh outbreak. This way, we use that fear, channel it towards vigilance and a heightened sense of preparedness.”

  “Do you remember the war on terror?” continued Peterson. “The US government went to great lengths to ensure that the American people were always vigilant, aware of the threat. It was critical that they supported the war effort, that they were prepared to sacrifice a degree of privacy for the greater good. The idea of a virus and the threat of an outbreak is similar. It’s an awfully effective way of instilling discipline and exercising control in a potentially chaotic situation.”

  Something about Peterson’s language troubled Zed. His desire to control others, to manipulate the truth to his own ends, struck him as Machiavellian. He started to shiver uncontrollably. He was only wearing a t-shirt and thin sweater and the temperature had plummeted quickly now the sun had set. They were just turning to head inside when Jones appeared at the doorway. He waited inside, making way for them.

  “Sorry to disturb you sir. I’ve got Captain Armstrong on the radio. He’s getting reports that there’s been a firefight at Lymington, that the detachment there are under attack again. He’s requesting air support, a show of force.”

  “It’s the same as we’ve seen at Southampton over the past few days. These people are desperate. They’re coming in greater numbers than we can possibly process with the resources we have right now. I don’t think a show of force is going to do anything other than stir things up. Anyway, the Brits need to take care of their own dirty work, we’ve got our hands full at Southampton.”

  “Is there any update from Hurst?” asked Zed. “Riley mentioned before she left that you’re monitoring huge numbers of people in the area.”

  “So I heard. Captain Armstrong didn’t mention anything about Hurst. We’ve got our own problems to deal with,” he sighed before noticing Zed’s concern. “Listen, why don’t we get the drone airborne and see what we can find out. What do you say?”

  “I’d really appreciate that. Thanks Lieutenant.”

  “Not knowing is the worst, right? Jones, put your team on standby just in case. So much for a quiet night eh?”

  Peterson set off towards the Command Centre as Zed and Jones exchanged worried looks.

  “Don’t worry Zed, if things turn nasty, I’ll get her out. I promise. She’s got my number if she needs to reach me,” he winked.

  ***

  Back in the Command Centre, Zed was looking over the shoulder of the drone operator with his arms crossed. The video feed showed an infrared outline of the Lymington river estuary, as the drone flew on at an altitude of around one thousand feet towards the ferry port. The heat differential between the water and the land showed as shades of grey on the screen. Zed was admiring the mastery of the pilot who had a simple joystick that reminded him of the Atari games console he had grown up with all those years ago, playing Mission Control and Asteroids.

  “What kind of weaponry does this thing have?” asked Zed.

  The drone pilot looked up from his screen and pushed the headphones to the side so he could hear better. “None sir, this is a surveillance quadcopter model, no armaments. It just gives us eyes on the situation and targeting capability for the ship’s weapon systems.”

  “So you could launch a missile at them or something?”

  The pilot stifled a laugh. “We could do that, yes sir. My job would be to relay the target coordinates and the fire team would make that call.”

  “Ever had to do that?”

  “No sir, not yet. But there’s a first for everything.”

  The pilot slipped the headphones back into place and resumed his vigil on the flight systems, which were displayed as an array of on-screen data showing course, speed and altitude. The drone was passing over the top of outlines of pleasure craft, yachts, day fishing boats and larger power boats of all shapes and sizes. The enormous shape of the Isle of Wight ferry came into view and the ferry port beyond.

  On the infrared display, a large number of heat signatures was evident inside the compound. Nearest the ferry, furthest away from the entrance, were what looked like several groups of men, women and children huddling together, sheltering behind a building. It quickly became clear why.

  The drone came into a hover overhead and showed scattered defenders manning the barricades and fortified positions overlooking the road. Rammed against the perimeter fence was a truck that was on fire and several shapes lay on the ground around it where they had fallen. The shapes of the bodies showed as a dim grey as if their life force had already ebbed away. They could see muzzle flashes and a firefight in progress. The pilot relayed his report into his microphone and Peterson and another officer joined them at his station, looking over his shoulder.

  “Have we made contact with Lymington yet?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Well, keep trying. Any sign of a perimeter breach?”

  “Not that we’ve seen so far. Looks like they tried to ram-raid the front gate, but the line is holding. They are still under attack from the first group here in the tree line and beyond these buildings on the far side of the main road,” he said, pointing to indistinct shapes on the screen. “There’s a second group approaching the river side of the enclosure, four vehicles, one of them looks armoured, possibly equipped with a heavy weapon.”

  “Where the hell did that come from? Okay, relay those coordinates to the fire control team.”

  “How do you know they’re the bad guys? Couldn’t they be reinforcements or something?” asked Zed innocently, despite the disparaging looks of those around him.

  “Sir?” interrupted one of the operators from another station, “we’ve just heard from the team at Lymington. Commander Jackson confirms that they are under attack by a superior force, one heavy machine gun, mortars, small arms. Requesting fire support from the Chester.”

  “Very well. Fire control?”

  “Fire control aye. GFCS has the co-ordinates locked in. Five-inch ready to fire.”

  “Clear to fire.”

  “Firing now.”

  Zed heard a distant thump as the five-inch gun mounted on the Forecastle of the ship fired a single round. His eyes flicked back to the screen as they waited a few seconds for the projectile to cover the five miles or so to its intended target. The corner of the screen where the cluster of attacking vehicles had taken up position erupted in a fireball, showing as a white-out on their screen. When the contrast returned, there was smoke and a large crater surrounded by twisted metalwork and fragmented heat signatures.

  “Target destroyed, sir. And looks like the second group are having second thoughts.”

  “Good job, gunner. I think we’re done here. Check in with Commander Jackson and make sure he’s got the situation back under control. Pilot, let’s get that drone returned to base.”

  “Lieutenant,” Zed intervened, “can we continue on to Hurst and see what’s going on there?”

  “Pilot, how much flight time do you have left?”

  “I’m showing twenty-six minutes of remaining flight time. Say ten minutes to return to the ship, so s
ixteen to spare, sir.”

  “Very well. When you’re ready then, let’s take a look at Hurst Castle please.”

  The drone banked round and set off across the river, passing houses and boatyards underneath as it skirted Lymington town and headed south-west towards Keyhaven over the mudflats and marshland below. After a few minutes, the far edge of the spit came into view.

  Along the castle walls, they could see body shapes occupying defensive positions and a flurry of activity in the courtyard. Zed wondered which of these heat signatures belonged to Riley. Knowing her, she would be in the thick of the action, making a nuisance of herself.

  The drone continued on its course towards the far end of the castle enclosure and up the spit towards Milford. Zed suddenly saw what all the commotion was about.

  Stretched out for several hundred yards was a convoy of vehicles and crowds of people walking slowly up the narrow ribbon of land.

  “Where the hell did these guys come from?” said Zed in surprise. “There’s got to be several hundred there.”

  “I don’t know where they came from or where they think they’re going. But if they think they can just bust their way in to the castle, they have another think coming,” said the Colonel dismissively.

  “Let’s hope they just want to talk, not fight,” yawned Zed.

  “Jones, can you fix this man up with a bed for tonight?” said Peterson looking round and noticing how tired Zed looked gripping on to the chair in front of him to stop himself falling over. “By the looks of things, it’ll take them a while to reach the castle. Why don’t you get your head down for a while? It could be a long night. We’ll wake you if there are any developments. Go get some rest.”

  Reluctantly, Zed realised he was right. He needed another shot of morphine to take away the pain in his arm which had returned. He would be out of action for a while at least. He just had to hope that the convoy was there for another reason. He just couldn’t figure out what that could be, other than to attack.