‘Just pull over, we’re safe enough…it’s not like the things ever hurt him do they?’
Gregori stops the car, easing into the junction but angling out so they can flee if needed. His pistol in hand when he gets out to view the bodies one after the other, walking from the road to the woman slumped against the post. Her neck bitten too deep and the blood thick down her front.
‘Is it recent?’ Cassie asks, standing next to Gregori as they stare down.
‘More than one day,’ Gregori says.
‘Shame to let it go to waste,’ Cassie murmurs, shaking her head at the sadness of it all.
‘What?’ Gregori asks.
‘The luxury boutique hotel and spa…shame to let it go to waste…I mean they’re all dead aren’t they.’
‘These dead. Others may be okay.’
‘That’s a good point. We’ll go check and see.’
‘No do this,’ he says as she walks off back to the car.
‘Why not?’
‘We go. We get pull and swim…’
She pauses, midway into the car. ‘They’ve got a pool,’ she says, nodding at the pictures on the big sign.
Gregori looks at the image on the board and the gorgeous turquoise waters of the pool complete with a beautiful woman splashing about in a bikini. ‘We check, yes…’
‘Thought you would,’ she murmurs.
The hotel is picture perfect. Modern, sleek and refined. One large central building and a car park filled with high-end sports and executive cars. Landscaped grounds, fountains and box-hedges cut perfectly and the Range Rover crunches noisily over the gravel drive towards the double front doors standing wide open. No movement. No motion and Cassie’s heart flutters with nerves that Gregori will somehow realise what she’s done.
‘Can’t see anyone,’ she says, forcing a neutral tone. ‘Are the things here?’ she asks the boy.
‘Daudi has gone gone gone…’
‘Daudi?’ Gregori asks with a scowl.
Cassie laughs it off, waving her hand with a roll of her eyes. ‘More crazy names haha! Come on, let’s go and have a look,’ she says, pulling the sawn-off shotgun out from under the seat.
Gregori goes first, venturing inside the beautiful lobby filled with sleek glass and muted colours. Ultra-modern mixed with exquisite taste. A bar to the left. Deep leather chairs and sofas. A restaurant to the right. Gilt and golden.
The signs of life are clear. Empty bottles and glasses on the tables in the bar. The restaurant tables covered in used plates. Chairs turned over, tables too. Signs of a fight, of a massed panic that ripped through the hotel. Bloody footprints on the tiled floor and smears on the polished glass.
‘Oh wow,’ Cassie says, approaching the foyer to the luxury spa section. The double doors again wide open and they step through to see a fully equipped modern gym, steam rooms, saunas and then to the back of the building with huge picture windows overlooking the grounds and a beautiful large pool of turquoise water.
‘Guess they all left,’ Cassie says, one hand holding the boy while the other grips the shotgun. She shares a look with the boy, winking at the secret they share. He giggles softly, trying to wink back but closing both eyes.
Gregori frowns, wondering how the things got into a place where the survivors had taken the effort to warn people to stay away. Where are the bodies? Then he remembers the survivors would now be infected so would have left with the attackers, but why were three corpses were left on the entrance drive? A prickling of suspicion. His highly trained senses telling him something isn’t right with what he is seeing.
She spots his expression hardening and the way he looks around. A flutter of panic inside. She thinks quickly, looking for something to deflect his attention but not seeing anything.
‘Lovely pool,’ she says but he shakes his head and it’s obvious he’s going to order them to leave. ‘So hot,’ she gasps, fanning her face.
‘Come…we go…’ he growls the words out, unsure of his environment, unsure of everything, the pistol gripped in his hand.
There’s no other choice, she must use what she has. ‘Just give me five minutes…’
‘No,’ he says then balks as she pulls her top over her head, stretching up with her arms high to let it drop before unbuttoning her shorts that she tugs down to stand in her bra and knickers.
‘Quick swim?’ she asks the boy, feeling Gregori’s gaze on her, her heart thudding with pleasurably excitement. ‘It’s just so hot…’ she looks up at Gregori, lifting her eyebrows quizzically, demure and sensual. A pause, a second worth of life frozen in time then she smiles and turns to dive gracefully into the water, sliding in with barely a splash and leaving the boy and Gregori staring after her.
‘Can I do swimming please, Gregoreeee?’
He turns to look at the child with all thoughts of dead bodies and open doors now gone from the front of his mind. ‘Yes. Is good. Swim. Yes.’
Ten
Day Twenty Four
Ten minutes after Danny’s first close-quarters fight and Howie looks round at the mangled broken bodies as the energy eases back, the lessening of the flow between them that was needed to get through the battle. That Danny is one of them is now beyond doubt. They all felt him within the thing they have. Whatever that is they still cannot say, but then many things of this new world are beyond their understanding.
To kill is wrong but what they are doing is right. Howie knows that, but it’s not enough. That pressure is there and growing. The feeling in his bones that they are trying to hold the ocean back with a sponge. A few days ago, he would have relished a kill-rate like this. Scoring hundreds per day, but now it just doesn’t feel right. A niggle. A nag.
‘It’s not enough,’ he says to Reginald and Clarence.
‘It rather does feel that way doesn’t it,’ Reginald remarks thoughtfully, his mind whirring with thoughts, ideas, facts and knowledge.
‘We need a plan, Reggie,’ Howie says. ‘If not then we’ll just go north like Blowers said…’
‘Understood,’ Reginald says, staring around at the bodies then over to the others gathered around Danny and giving silent thanks the precious unity is coming back. Howie is right. What they are doing now is of no real consequence to the other side but it’s bringing them back together, and right now that is the priority because without unity there is but one option left.
‘What about Marcy?’ Clarence asks, clocking the way Reginald is staring at her. ‘Her idea…’
‘No,’ Howie say firmly.
‘Not unless all else fails I would suggest,’ Reginald says. ‘I rather think of Marcy as being the nuclear option…she’ll win, my god she will win but there will be nothing left…’
‘Rather her than it though,’ Clarence says.
‘Wise words,’ Reginald says genuinely.
‘So if it comes to it then we’ll have no choice,’ Clarence says, looking at Howie who nods but stays silent.
‘Which makes Marcy our secret weapon,’ Reginald says. ‘Which in turn will feed her narcissism and vanity and make her intolerable. But yes, my advice would be to protect her at all costs.’
‘Hang on,’ Howie says, a light-bulb illuminating in his head with a staggeringly simplistic realisation. ‘We need to find the Marcy equivalent then…if she controls what she takes then there’ll be one like her making them talk and writing those he is coming things everywhere. Why the fuck didn’t we think of that before?’
‘We did,’ Reginald replies stiffly. ‘Or rather, I did.’
‘Then why aren’t we looking for it?’
‘What do you think we are doing? We are looking for it,’ Reginald says. ‘That is precisely what we are doing…are they smaller groups working independently of each other or one larger hive mind? What on earth do you think I have been studying and thinking about for the last few days? That is exactly what I meant when I complained previously about having sordid little squabbles here and there and that we needed to find the source.’
‘Oh,’ Howie says.
‘Indeed. Oh,’ Reginald says haughtily. ‘What did you think I was doing in Roy’s van?’
‘Dunno, drinking herbal tea? That was a joke,’ he adds quickly on seeing Reginald start to bite. ‘Okay. At least we’ve got a plan now. We’ll find the Marcy-equivalent and in the meantime, Dave, from now on you stick by our Marcy’s and keep her safe.’
‘Mohammed will be assigned, Mr Howie.’
‘It’s better if it’s you, Dave.’
‘I protect you, Mr Howie. Mohammed will be assigned. Simon should also be made aware she has VIP status.’
‘Oh god, don’t tell her she’s a VIP,’ Howie says quickly. ‘Blowers, you got a minute?’
He walks over, breaking free from the others. ‘What’s up?’
‘I can’t even say it,’ Howie sighs.
‘Marcy has VIP status and is to be protected at all costs,’ Dave says flatly. ‘Mohammed will be assigned for close-protection.’
‘Right,’ Blowers says. ‘Understood…does she know?’
‘God no,’ Howie says.
‘Don’t tell her,’ Clarence whispers.
‘Don’t tell her what?’ Marcy calls over.
‘She’s a fucking bat,’ Howie mutters before calling out. ‘I just said we should call it a day…this heat is too much.’
*
‘Urgh, this heat is too much!’ Marcy says, dropping onto the bench seat in the Saxon. ‘I’d go and sit in Reggie’s van if it wasn’t so boring…and if Reggie wasn’t in it.’
‘Fact.’
She looks to her side at Mo nodding earnestly then leans forward to look down the vehicle to the back doors to see Dave and Nick now in the end seats.
‘It’s hot innit,’ Mo says casually, smiling at Marcy then at Paula.
‘What are you doing?’ Marcy asks him.
‘Nuffin’,’
‘Mo,’ Paula says, ‘why are you up here?’
He shrugs innocently and full of that rakish boyish charm. ‘I wanted to be closer to you…’
Blowers blinks his one good eye while everyone else finds something to look at.
‘Didn’t have no family,’ Mo says sadly, looking from Paula to Marcy. ‘You’s like my sisters, you get me?’
Nick coughs. Cookey winces. Blowers shifts. Charlie rolls her eyes while Danny just takes it all in.
‘Aw you are so sweet,’ Marcy says, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to pull him for a hug.
‘He is,’ Paula says, leaning over to pat his knee. ‘You sit up here with us, are you hungry? I’ve got some of those snack bars you like somewhere…’
‘Why can’t all men be like you?’ Marcy asks him, kissing the side of his head while Mo grins down at the others all shaking their heads.
‘Unbelievable,’ Nick mutters. ‘Can I have a snack bar?’
‘There’s some in your bag,’ Paula calls down without looking. ‘Here you are, sweetie, let me open it for you.’
‘Thanks, Paula,’ Mo says.
‘Danny, one for you too,’ she adds.
‘Thank you, Ma’am.’
‘You’re a sweetie too,’ she tuts at him.
‘I’m a sweetie,’ Cookey says.
‘You’re not a sweetie,’ Marcy says.
‘I am,’ Cookey announces, thinking to pull Charlie into the conversation then spotting the distant look in her eyes again. A hardening in her expression that stills his tongue and the moment passes as that weighted silence comes back and suddenly the joke of Mo cuddling into Marcy seems flat and forced, awkward even and the fragility of their state shows once again.
In the new van Reginald also shakes his head in surprise. ‘Well now, Mr Doku…I really don’t know what to say.’
‘Just say if you need anything else.’
‘I will, yes…but gosh. I didn’t even see you get them.’
Maddox decides to stay quiet and watch Reginald peruse his selection of scale maps, writing pads, notebooks and pens. A magnetic wipe clean white-board stuck to the side of the van next to his desk. Clips and fasteners for paperwork. Stationary of all types and all taken in the blink of an eye by a young man highly skilled in the arts of getting what’s needed for the bossman.
Maddox isn’t altruistic. They both know that, but Maddox and Reginald also both know he is a part of this, whatever this is, and Maddox wants to be in this van, so he’ll do what it takes to keep his place.
‘Unity is important then?’ he asks conversationally.
‘It is indeed,’ Reginald says, unfolding a map. ‘Vital I might add.’
‘Did Lani turn because that was broken?’
Reginald leans forward as though trying to find their position while his mind runs fast. ‘It is a possibility…along with many others.’
Maddox nods as though only half-interested. Both of them playing a game of which they are acutely aware. ‘They made us do team-building exercises in young offenders…’
‘Ah is that so? Did they help?’
‘For some.’
‘I should imagine you learnt skills otherwise unintended,’ Reginald says, smiling ruefully. ‘How to make others do as you desire by Maddox Doku eh?’
Maddox grins, unable to stop himself. ‘Something like that. I had an idea…it’s just a suggestion but…’
Reginald listens intently and gives a little bit more respect to Maddox.
‘Reginald to Howie? Can you switch to channel three for a private conversation?’
‘Doing it now,’ Howie transmits back as Clarence reaches over to switch his radio to channel three. ‘Yeah go ahead, Reggie…a what? Really? How far? Okay…we’ll do that.’
‘Do what?’ Marcy asks. ‘I thought we were finishing for today…’
‘Just one more thing,’ Howie calls back with a heavy tone. ‘Sorry…’
‘Fuck’s sake,’ Marcy mutters. ‘We can’t move in this heat…’
‘It’s fine,’ Blowers says to the restless shifts coming from everyone. ‘It’s work…get hydrated. Drink, Danny.’
Danny drinks and wipes the sweat from his forehead. The air so hot and thick in the Saxon.
Paula rests her head back against the Saxon wall. She could be in the van with Roy enjoying cooler air, but it felt important to be with the team right now. Especially after losing Blinky and now they’ve got young Danny. Besides, the mood is still so fragile.
‘Two minutes,’ Howie calls out.
‘Make ready,’ Blowers says as everyone starts checking rifles, magazines and glugging water.
The Saxon stops on a wide country road just a few feet back from the junction with a dual carriageway. Only one building in sight, a huge sleek thing of polished plate glass windows.
Everyone gets out, rifles up and ready, all of them looking around wondering what they are doing.
‘That building,’ Howie says, moving off with Dave and Clarence as the rest follow behind with Marcy frowning at a smiling Mo walking at her side. ‘Ah now, someone’s opened it for us too,’ Howie grins, stopping in front of a broken plate glass window.
‘Hadley’s luxury car dealership,’ Paula reads the sign on the front. ‘Why are we here?’
‘All in good time, Miss Paula,’ Howie says, leading the way in.
It’s big too. A mini-warehouse of a building with a white tiled floor on which high-end cars rest on clean black tyres with doors open to show their exquisite interiors.
They go in after Meredith with Howie, Dave and Clarence pushing through to the back area, kicking doors in to check the offices, washrooms and workshops. Thick dust on every surface. The air stale and musty. All good signs.
‘Everyone okay?’ Howie asks, walking into the main display room.
‘Fine but why are we here?’ Paula asks.
‘Downtime,’ Howie says simply. ‘Maddox’s idea…too hot to work and there’s a big open road right outside…’
‘No way, are you being serious?’ Nick asks as the others start grinning in surprise. ‘Like not
fucking about serious?’
‘Not fucking about serious,’ Howie says.
‘Maddox,’ Nick calls out, turning to look at him. ‘You’re still a complete cunt but best idea ever…’
‘Ferrari 458 over here,’ Roy calls out.
‘Lamborghini Gallardo here,’ Nick replies. ‘Shit colour though…lime green?’
‘Yellow one over there,’ Blowers says.
‘Maserati,’ Cookey says, reading the small display plinth position behind one of the cars.
‘Lotus over here,’ Roy says.
‘Got a Porsche,’ Nick says.
‘Which one?’ Blowers asks.
‘Which one,’ Nick scoffs. ‘There is only one...’ he adds as Paula looks to Clarence who shrugs.
‘You not into sports cars?’ she asks him.
‘I can’t fit in them,’ he says simply.
‘Oh,’ she says, looking up at him. ‘Too big.’
‘Too big,’ he says, looking down at her.
‘Yeah,’ she says, caught in his eyes.
‘Hmmm,’ he says, unable to look away and wishing only to push the loose strand of hair from her forehead.
‘Ahem,’ Marcy says, moving between them.
‘Right! Are we going?’ Paula booms, clapping her hands as everyone looks over.
‘We just got here,’ Nick says in alarm.
‘Eh, what?’ Cookey asks. ‘Aren’t we driving them?’
‘Er, yes, carry on,’ she announces, blushing furiously. ‘Cigarette I think.’
‘Really?’ Roy asks.
‘Don’t even start. It’s too hot,’ she fires back.
‘So what’s missing?’ Nick asks, nodding at the empty space within the display line up.
‘Er…’ Howie says, walking over to read the information plinth. ‘Ah, that’s a shame.’
‘What was it?’ Nick asks.
‘Bugatti Veyron,’ Howie says.
‘Fuck,’ Nick groans.
‘They’ve got a Veyron?’ Blowers asks.
‘They had a Veyron,’ Howie replies. ‘It’s gone now.’
‘What cunt nicked that?’ Blowers asks. ‘Selfish prick…’
‘What are we doing then?’ Cookey asks.
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