Designated (Book 2): Designated Quarantined

by Cooper, Ricky

  Slowly, her eyes opened, stung by the glare of the noon sun as it hung high in the cloudless sky. Shifting her gaze, she let her eyes settle onto Derek's as he stared at her, his breathing even and steady as his fist sat mere inches from her exposed throat.

  'Never watch their hands.' His only reply to her questioning gaze. Letting his body relax, he stood, pulling Janet none to gently upright as he did. His eyes were impassive and unmoved by the dishevelled and slightly scuffed woman before him.

  'We will pick this up next week. I cleared it with the hospital administrator. Kevin will fill in for you. Women's showers are over there. He jerked his head in the direction of the barrack block as he turned his back on her.

  'Clean yourself up and I'll meet you at the car in an hour.'

  Without another word, he left. His form quickly vanished to nothing as he strode away, leaving a slightly bewildered and none-too-pleased woman in his wake. Janet retrieved her coat from where it lay on the grass outside the ring. She winced as a sharp spike of heat lanced up from the base of her back. Grimacing, she pressed her balled fist into the bunched and over-tightened muscle, righted herself with a slow, deep breath, and made her way towards the barracks.

  ****

  The ride was silent; the only sounds filling the car were the incessant drone of the engine and the sound of the road beneath the wheels. Neither of them spoke as they began to wind through the slowly darkening streets as they chased the dwindling daylight.

  The hum of twilight insects filled their ears as they stepped from the car, her gait slow and uneven as she limped from the bruises on her hip. Watching her move like a half-crippled leper made Derek's heart drown in its own tears, but part of him knew, even relished the thought of being able to count on her to protect their daughter if anything should ever befall him.

  Silence reigned supreme as they stepped inside the house; its dark sanctum was a cool, inviting well, a safe hidden harbour from the oppressive heat of the day that seemed to linger on the air, even as the day slipped into night and the sun once more dropped from view, chased away by the snapping dogs of the moon's onward advance.

  Swallowing his pride, Derek cleared his throat, drawing Janet's attention away from the advancing silhouette that slowly approached from the darkness. Looking past her, he caught eyes with Siobhan as she stopped short of them, a small smile plucking at her lips as she pushed her glasses back into place.

  'Sib, could you go check on Maria, please, and give us a couple of minutes?'

  A small frown crinkled her brow for a moment, but any retort or reply fell away as she took note of the situation for what it was. Nodding, she quietly scampered up the stairway and vanished from sight. Baker turned and looked at Janet, his face a mixture of emotion as he stared at the set of emerald orbs.

  'About earlier, I...'

  He stopped, unable to think of anything beyond those three words, his mind a swirling mess of conflicted emotions and temperamental self-loathing.

  'Well, I don't honestly know what to say. I mean, I could say something but whether or not that is the right thing to say remains to be seen.

  'I could end up saying the wrong thing and just make things worse… or I could say the right thing at the wrong time and that would be just as bad as saying the wrong thing, which is just as wrong as saying nothing, and saying nothing doesn't seem like a good thing, as saying nothing means I don't care. But I do care, and I don't want to seem like I don't care by saying the wrong thing and saying the wrong thing is worse than saying nothing, and yet everything I say except the right thing would be just as bad as saying nothing or the wrong thing. Does that make sense?'

  Janet stood staring at her husband as he babbled like a confused teenage girl, his hands roving through the air, flitting about like errant birds as he stared at the floor, unable to make even the simplest of eye contact.

  A loud crack echoed through the corridor, a stark silence filling the void it left behind. Derek felt the heat spread through the side of his face as he went rigid, unable to fully process exactly what had just happened in the second it took for Janet's hand to connect with the side of face. A stinging welt of sour red spread through his cheek as he slowly felt himself gather the scattered pieces of his fragmented mind.

  A deep, coppery tang filled his mouth, the hot scent of burnt pennies filling his nose as he touched the inside of his cheek, his fingers coming away stained with the taint of his own blood. Nodding, Derek slumped back, coming to rest on the bottom of the staircase. The wide, open, bottom step rose up to meet his descending form.

  'I needed that, thanks. Never thought I would be thanking someone for slapping me in the face.'

  A soft snort left him as he finally glanced up at his wife, her palm glowing red, a look of pain and anger slipping across her features as she rubbed her thumb over her palm.

  'Derek, honestly, what can we say to one another about today? You did what I wanted you to do and I got what I asked for. You told me exactly what was coming and how it would play out. There is honestly nothing to say that would in any way change what has happened. Besides, I know you; you would have kicked ten bales of shit out of anyone else who had tried to teach me half of what you did, regardless of whether or not you knew about it. I love you, Derek, but there are times when we need to set aside feelings and just get on with it, and this.

  She pointed to the rising welt on the base of her chin and the swath of abraded skin that ran down her shoulder and across her side like a sadistic watercolour. A slowly purpling haze of blood flooded her shoulder and side; the pale sickly stains of bruised flesh were beginning to rise to the surface.

  'It's all part and parcel of it; nothing can be avoided if I am going to learn what I need to. I can't play nursemaid to the injured and sick while you go out hunting the depraved and the wicked, then expect you to come running at the drop a hat to rescue me when things don't go how I want them to. Life doesn't work like that.'

  Derek sat mute as Janet stepped forwards and leant against the banister, her arms pulled tight around her as she looked down at the man who, through it all, was still the same bumbling boy she had met at nineteen when he had stumbled into the accident and emergency room of King George's hospital where she was working as an intern.

  'Sorry for babbling like that.'

  Janet smiled as she stroked the back of his head. Nudging his shoulder with her hip, she made him move and slid down beside him, her arm sliding through his as she leant her head on his shoulder. 'Not the first time I have seen that, is it? Or had you forgotten your bungled pickup lines as I sewed you back together?'

  Derek smiled as he slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him, placing a gentle kiss on the top of her head. 'You know, I had almost forgotten about that—the babbled pickup line, I mean; not the stitched back together bit. Still, it was nice work, although if I remember correctly, it was probably because that trainee nurse's uniform kept billowing open at the neckline and you were wearing nothing but a bra underneath it.'

  Janet grinned as she remembered the scene, a small giggle leaving her as she pictured the look on Derek's face as she had leant forwards.

  'So, you did notice that. I was wondering at the time if you had hit your head, you were babbling so much. Nice to know it wasn't the concussion drawing your attention away from your mouth.'

  Baker touched the small, ridged scar on his chest, the slim, three-inch-long line of puckered flesh a twisted reminder of just how lucky he had been that day. Easing away from Janet, he stood, his hand gently caressing his wife's cheek as he moved away from her.

  'I am going to relieve Siobhan of her duties and grab a shower; I'll see you upstairs.'

  Janet nodded as she watched him make his way upstairs, her body aching with the tension and stiffness in her muscles. A small wince shivered through her as she rolled her neck, listening to the soft clicking of partially displaced cartilage. Setting her hands against the side of her chin, she began to slowly apply pressure a
s she forced herself to push back against them.

  A soft crunch echoed up through her ears as everything, all at once, jumped back into place. Rolling her shoulders as she shook out the last vestiges of pain, she stood and followed the now vanished form that she called her husband. Her footsteps filled with the tentative poise of a five year old as she fought against the quivering fatigue that plagued her over-taxed muscles. Her feet moaned with every step she took. Stifling a groan, Janet pushed on, mumbling to herself. A deep undercurrent of annoyed weariness plucked at her as she moved.

  'If this is how he feels every damned day, no wonder he is such a grumpy shit in the mornings.'

  ****

  The smell of burnt cordite and gunpowder filled their nose as orange bursts of light flashed across their eyes. The pale-yellow glasses did little to dilute the already spots-inducing glare from each pull of the trigger. The target in front of him jumped and bucked as he sent the searing hot lumps of copper and lead slamming into it, the sneering head splitting open like a rotten melon as the magazine slowly began to run empty.

  The rhythmic thump of the pistol in his hands began to fill him, his mind dragging forth everything he fought to suppress. Images danced in his head… of Sarah and the look on her face as she fled from his arms. The look in her eyes saying more than screaming, tear-filled rage ever could.

  Hawk knew she blamed him for Remy's death, and in some small way, he agreed with her. He'd had all the chance in the world to latch onto the drag hoop of his best friend's vest and pull him free.

  John bit down hard on the inside of his cheek as he snapped a fresh magazine from the pouch on his belt and slid it into the well in one clean motion. Three rounds had left the muzzle before the empty printed piece of steel had a chance to hit the floor. The acidic taste of his own blood filled his mouth as his teeth slowly pierced the tender flesh of his cheek.

  With a heavy, meat-laden thunk, he smashed his fist into the button on the side of the range stand and listened to the mechanical whirring over his head as the target slowly made its way towards him.

  The mass of pulped paper that had once been the target's head and heart hung from the frame like wet wool, the singed edges coiling thin vaporous trails of smoke towards the ceiling as Stabbler ripped it from the frame and tossed it away behind him. Pulling another from the slot in the wall beside him, he tacked it to the metal stand and hit the button once more, watching as it was dragged, flapping and snapping away from him.

  The target stopped with an echoing clang as it hit the end of the rail. His pistol rose with a speed born of practice and a need to live longer than his enemy. The sights danced into his line of vision, lining up almost instantly as he squeezed the trigger once more, sending the round crashing through the paper in a hail of red-hot lead.

  19

  August Eighteenth

  U.S. Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases

  Fort Detrick, Maryland

  USA

  The radio hissed and crackled as the airwaves filled with a rippling sea of white noise. He watched the needle as it danced to the ever-looping bounce of the wavering signals. Carl's teeth ground together as he glared at the still non-functioning satellite link, its blank-faced monitor staring back at him with an all too human-looking grin as the light bent across the LCD monitor.

  'Fucking useless pieces of shit.' He smashed his fist against the top of the HAM radio, its casing echoing lightly as he watched it bend inwards. The needles jumped wildly as the table shook beneath it.

  Carl watched the needle jump once more, the broken hiss of static dying away as a smooth Welsh-laced voice rolled from the speaker, its deep gravel-dashed tones crackling through the haze of crackling backwash.

  'Colony, this is Monarch, you there?'

  Carl snatched the handset from the table, his thumb driving the button deep into the side of the microphone as he spoke.

  'Yeah, we're here!'

  His voice quivered, a slithering worm of fear riding through all he said. Carl looked at the microphone in his hand as his nerves began to tremble, the heavy cloak of fear and self-doubt falling over him, driving the air from his lungs as he listened intently to the calm, self-assured voice rolling through the radio.

  'How many you got? What's your status?'

  Carl felt his stomach boil as he ran through it all—the deaths, the countless wall of slathering, carnivorous flesh that dogged their every step.

  'Not good, Derek. Not good at all. We lost two million in the first break, seven million in the next. New York, Chicago, Manhattan, anywhere with high-rises and dense populations, they... they just vanished. Whole islands and cities just going dark in minutes. We blasted bridges, dropped skyscrapers into the streets; it was nine eleven in stereo... none of it worked. They rolled over everything we tried to set up, just brushing us aside like paper.

  'We're scattered to the four corners here, regrouping is all but impossible. I made contact with two units of SEALs, a half battalion of Rangers out of Fort Lewis, and the Third Battalion out of Fort Benning in Columbus. They weathered well, pulled everything they could in from the outlying areas, and sealed up tighter than a Dutch whore's buttocks, so we've some decent manpower in those areas, but fuel's in such short supply that we can't get them to where we need them without suffering ridiculous losses.

  'We are getting mismatched reports coming in from other holdouts; but... it's not good. Losses are heavy, suicides are worse; we lost three units last week. One of the boys cracked when his little sister got Infected and went for him and the others in the room. He... he choked her to death, Derek; he couldn't bring himself to shoot her so he strangled her with the straps of her dungarees. It was brutal. Then he turned the gun on those around him and eventually himself; it was over before we could even dream of doing anything to stop him.

  'Supplies are rarer than rocking horse shit. At AMRIID, where I am, we have about a month or two of water with extreme rationing. Food is dwindling, as we can't spare water for the gardens, and the vehicles are running on fumes. We've no way to restock what we use up. Anyone we send out to recover dead drops and ammo dumps, they just either abandon the ops or just vanish. One thing is certain though, if something doesn't change soon, we're finished.'

  The silence hung heavy in the room. Carl watched the dials dance and jump as the signal slithered through the aerial antenna, his heart beating out a slow, dull rhythm as the orange glow bathed his gaunt and weary form in cold light.

  'Hang tight; I'll have the boys from Brize run a drop over to you. If we can get some of the aerial tankers into position, we should be able to drop enough munitions and food on or around your location to allow you to re-supply and re-arm… at least enough to give you a fighting chance at getting to those Rangers and the other outposts. What's JSOC's or SOCOM's situation?'

  Carl chewed at the inside of his cheek, small lumps of dead flesh peeling away as his teeth pinched and pulled at the tender lining. Wincing slightly as his canines dug deep into the meat of his face, he drew in a deep slightly shaky breath and replied.

  'Honestly, I don't know. They grouped tight in on their key locations, pulling their families in with them, as well as all the top-tier government members and went silent. We don't know if they're even alive and kicking. We get rumours from time to time but, other than that, it's just one big black hole—nothing in, nothing out. Our only link to any form of government here has been the Special Activities Division; they blow through about once a month, sometimes twice. We were blessed a while back; they had a full complement of their tactical boys in their sealed armoured suits, that look like a cross between a wetsuit and motorcycle armour, and carrying those bracketed Lexan shields.

  'Thing that got me most, though, was that they were all armed with those Gladius machetes and the Kel-Tec bullpup rifles. They must have carried at least three thousand rounds per man, all in magazines on their chest and legs; it was nuts. They just rolled up in heavy trucks—at least fifty of 'em—then
these guys all piled out, formed into pairs and just started pushing forwards, the men with the shields firing out of ports mounted into the side and the ones behind them taking out any that slipped past.'

  Carl paused, his hands shaking as he desperately searched for something else to say, trying in vain to keep his one connection to home and his old life alive as long as possible.

  'And... uh...'

  His mind faltered, his words sliding into a lump in his throat so thick he found it all but impossible to breathe. He swallowed in a vain attempt to clear the mental obstruction as he felt the tears begin to prick at the edges of his eyes.

  Cuffing them away, he shook slightly with fright as Derek spoke. 'Carl, you need to check yourself; have you been sleeping?'

  Carl sighed as he felt himself sag against the chair, its solid steel back biting into his skin as his weight pulled him against its unyielding surface. His tongue skimmed against the dry, flaking, split skin of his lips. The searing yelps of his mind slipped through him as he found the paper-thin slits of tender, living flesh that cowered beneath the layers of dead skin.