by James Somers
“Because, if I can’t count on your help in striking back at the ones who did that,” he says, pointing toward the destroyed power station, “then I’ll cut my losses and go alone.”
Holly and Garth consider his words. Holly knows as well as anyone what that might mean. She has no doubt that Vladimir would kill them both right now, if it suited him. However, they might yet prove valuable to him.
“These Brits made an agreement with Minsk to retrieve Patient Zero,” Nesky continues, directing his tirade toward Garth. “Then Director Angela Sayers ambushed them with an Apache attack helicopter. That takes planning, young man. Minsk told me the deal he had with her, told me where they were taking the boy, told me how he left a Russian virologist with Sayers in good faith, told me about his allowing her special forces team to accompany them on the retrieval. In all these things and more, it becomes apparent to anyone with any common sense that the British meant to betray Russia the entire time. What do you think that says about their honorable intentions for the boy?”
Garth looks at Nesky. He doesn’t argue. Then he glances at Holly. Her expression is pleading. She wants him to consent to help her and this man retrieve Jonathan.
“Not to mention the girl who was with him,” Nesky adds off handedly.
“Girl?” Garth asks immediately.
“Yes,” he replies. “A pretty blonde was with Jonathan at the power station. Since she wasn’t among the wounded and dead, I assume they must have taken her with them when they took Jonathan.”
“I saw her getting into the second British helicopter that arrived, though I didn’t see Jonathan,” Garth says.
“What do you think, Garth?” Holly asks.
Garth sighs. “We have to go get them,” he says to Holly. Then he directs his attention to Vladimir. “You said you knew where they were taken?”
“Sayers’ base of operations is at the Government Communications Headquarters building, otherwise known as the Doughnut.”
When their course of action was agreed upon, it was also decided that they should all get some rest before departing early in the morning. Since the trip to Gloucestershire, where the GCHQ is located, is approximately 150 Kilometers, they would require another vehicle to convey them. Garth did not see this as any particular problem. However, Nesky hazarded that traffic conditions along their route might prove dangerous, considering so many abandoned vehicles that might be strewn along the road. If the road was blocked then they might come under attack from zombies alerted to a traveling vehicle in plain sight.
“If we have to change vehicles then it is highly likely we could just take one of those abandoned on the road blocking our way,” Holly says.
Garth and Nesky agree with nods of approval.
“Then I suggest we take advantage of our relative safety up here and get some much needed rest,” Holly says further. “We’re going to need it. By the way, since this block still has electricity, I would suggest you each take advantage of the facilities while you can and get baths and see if you can find new clothes in these closets.”
Vladimir and Garth look at themselves and then at one another, as though the idea hadn’t occurred to them.
“Believe me,” Holly says, “you both look dreadful and smell even worse.”
With that said, Holly departs into one of the bedrooms and beyond to the attached bathroom. They soon here the faint sounds of a shower running and then the door to the bathroom closing. Left to themselves, Nesky and Garth settle in to stare at one another again.
After a few moments, Nesky sighs, smiling wanly. “Well, I for one could use a hot shower.” He stands and walks into one of the two remaining bedrooms, each of which they already know have their own bathroom attached.
Garth watches the Russian spy go, waiting for him to close the door and turn on the light inside. He listens at the front door for a moment. There is nothing making any noise beyond. It would appear that they are safe from zombies at the moment. Eventually, he stands and walks into the remaining bedroom, closing the door.
He opens the closet and finds a man’s clothes. Rummaging through the available items, he finds a suitable pair of khaki cargo pants that appear to fit and a t-shirt. Clean ankle socks and underwear are found in a chest of drawers near the bed. At least they’re clean, he thinks. A pair of cross trainers under the bed completes his choices and he takes his pile to the bathroom.
Closing the door and locking it, Garth removes his katana. If it was a normal sword, he would have bothered with cleaning the carnage from the blade after all he had been through recently. However, one of the sword’s unique properties is the ability to clean itself. Literally, nothing will stick to the blade. He has watched it many times, putting different liquids and substances onto the blade only to have them dissolve away within moments.
He sets the katana, with its scabbard, at the end of the bathtub where he can retrieve it instantly, if need be. Garth doesn’t trust Nesky. Should the Russian spy try to come upon him unawares, he’ll find Garth ready to receive him upon his blade.
Stripping off his grime infested clothing; Garth examines himself in the mirror. He’s relatively free of injury, considering the past few days. Still, there is a layer of sewage clinging to him like a second skin.
Garth turns on the hot water, adjusts the temperature, and then slides through the curtain to stand beneath the stream of water. The shower feels instantly gratifying. Never before has he considered what a luxury hot, running water is.
A bottle of shampoo is discovered on one of the molded shelves of the shower stall, its contents half emptied onto Garth’s head as he lathers up dutifully with the hope of removing the layers of grime. Soon enough, he transforms into a soapy automaton, covered head to foot, standing out of water. When he heads back under the stream, all manner of foulness is washed away down the drain.
Garth shuts off the water, after standing under the heat for several extra minutes. The water soothes sore muscles and takes his mind off of current frustrations. He is in a situation that seems already beyond his control.
He cannot trust this Vladimir Nesky. Garth doesn’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure out that much. Nesky will do whatever it takes to accomplish his goals. However, currently, that goal is to free Jonathan and Cassie from the GCHQ building in Gloucestershire.
That much he can support, but what happens when they do manage to break inside and escape? Vladimir Nesky intends to return to Russia with Jonathan in tow. At that point, he will certainly kill anyone who stands in his way.
Then there is Holly. Nesky was right about one thing: Garth intends to forgive her. He just doesn’t want to make it so easy. After all, she did lie to him—in a manner of speaking. Certainly, she never told him the truth about who she is.
Yet, he does like Holly and he still can’t manage to hold it against her. Garth can’t bring himself to judge her too harshly. The world is a complicated place.
Still, there is the matter of her loyalty. If they can free Jonathan and Cassie from this Director Sayers person, Nesky will act to keep Jonathan. What, he wonders, will Holly do? When given the choice to stop Nesky or help him, will she betray them in a more tangible way then?
Stepping out of the shower, Garth towels himself dry and dresses. He retrieves his katana, placing it over his torso to rest on his back. He glances at the pile of soiled clothes he removed earlier. It’s hard to believe he ever wore such things. He leaves them lying on the floor and retires to the bedroom.
The bed is made. Garth sits down on the side, wondering if he should bother with sleep. Generally, he’s always been somewhat of a night owl. Still, he needs rest as much as anyone else. The day has been all hard running and fighting.
The soft mattress invites him to take his leisure. He hears a television operating in the next room where Nesky entered. At the other wall, Garth hears faint noises as Holly moves around.
He stands again, crossing the room to the door. He locks it and then returns to the bed. Removin
g his katana again, he lays down on the bed, placing the sword beside him. His hand remains on his weapon twenty minutes later when he falls asleep.
Holly dries her hair with a towel, combing her fingers through to remove as many tangles as possible. She’s not desperate enough to use some stranger’s hairbrush, or their toothbrush. Still, she does put some paste on her fingers and makes an effort. She rinses at the bathroom sink and then walks out into the living room of the flat.
Passing one closed bedroom door, she sees Nesky through the open door of the other. He is surfing television channels. She wears a woman’s robe she has found in the master bath. She turns from that bedroom and does not go inside.
The dim living room light she leaves on. It wouldn’t do to come out of her room during the night to a dark room where zombies might be lurking. It seems unlikely. The flat is locked up tight, but you never know.
Holly glances at the closed bedroom door. Her deception nags at her thoughts. She doesn’t want Garth to be hurt by it. She finds that she does want his trust. She hadn’t admitted it to Cassie, but she does like the young man. He might be a couple of years younger, but he is still a handsome man.
Glancing at Nesky’s room again, she finds him closing his door. He is still wearing his disheveled clothing. The door lock clicks into place a moment later.
She hesitates a full sixty seconds, looking between her open door and Garth’s closed one. Crossing the living room, she heads toward the bedroom she has commandeered for the night. Reaching the open door, she pauses and then turns toward the other.
She attempts to turn the knob very lightly. It turns only a little before stopping. Garth has locked his door. She wonders if he meant to lock her out or only Nesky. Sighing, Holly releases the doorknob and steps away, going back through her own door. She closes and locks it, before getting some much needed sleep.
Alternating Reality
The Watcher finds himself drawn to Vauxhall Cross. The lingering energy of the people he searches for is strong here. Indeed, all through the Lambeth area he has found evidence of their trials and tribulations, fighting for their lives against these infected plague victims.
When he came earlier this evening to the Battersea Power Station, there remained all the aftermath of a great battle having taken place. Two helicopters have been destroyed. One smaller crashed some distance away into a neighborhood, while the other much larger vehicle plowed right through the eastern wall. Quite a lot of the new construction was brought down into the resulting conflagration.
A great number of soldiers, both British and Russian, were killed in the process. Numerous infected persons were found greedily engorging themselves upon the many bodies. He did not like to think that most of these had probably still been alive when the infected found them.
There was no sign of the individuals he seeks. Now, standing upon the pinnacle of the SIS Building at Vauxhall Cross, the Watcher knows already that these residual energies are not indicative of their presence. They were here at one time, but not now. In fact, the trail seems hottest—literally—at Battersea.
He senses a trail leading northwest, but something is happening nearby that has caught his attention. Even now, he attempts to pinpoint what it is and precisely where it is coming from. The Watcher’s keen hearing picks up strange noises.
In a flurry of motion, the Watcher leaps from the top of MI6 Headquarters. His human body transforms almost immediately, taking the shape of a peregrine falcon. Where once there was a man plummeting to the Earth, now a raptor flies gracefully.
Quickly the guise is changed again, in consideration of fallen night and the need for better hearing. An owl is chosen instead. The great eyes search out the ground beneath a moonlit sky, while every sound is picked up by owlish hearing with uncanny accuracy.
Waterloo Station catches the predator’s interest. Something is happening there. Many figures—plague victims no doubt—move there. There is some agitation among them. Curious, the owl descends, flying beneath the great frosted canopy into the concourse area where, strangely, many more of the infected are found. Obviously, they appear to be about some sort of organized business, but it is not hunting.
The owl comes in among them to land, making a transformation back to a human. The Watcher reveals a silver-topped ebony cane with a flourish as the infected respond hungrily to his arrival. In the twinkling of an eye, the walking stick is transformed into a mercurial blade.
Plague victims come to him, seeking to make prey of him. They remain heedless to the danger of the weapon he possesses. He begins to move with balletic grace through their ranks, striking down as many as come within his range. Still, they do not stop—even when a dozen lie dead around him.
However, the Watcher soon breaks off. He leaps as easily as a gazelle to the top of a kiosk in order to get a better view of what is happening here. He vaults again to Waterloo’s four-faced clock. Something is not quite right.
Perched like an eagle, the Watcher notices a steady flow of traffic. These creatures are not so organized to call their activity a march, but it is very close to it. Also, they move very slowly in comparison with the majority he has seen so far. These are almost sluggish, shambling along toward the underground portion of the station.
The power is still offline in this part of the city, but the Watcher can see well enough. While a great many are agitated enough to continue seeking him out high above their heads, the others shuffle along mutely toward the same underground destination. Then he notices something he had not before. He is being watched by something other than these shambling zombies.
Perched among the steel girders supporting the frosted concourse roof are more than a dozen other beings. At first, he is not quite sure what they are. They resemble beasts in some ways, but are definitely human. There is a predatory affect about them. They sit, watching him, as still as stone gargoyles. Their eyes possess an amber glow, as though light is being reflected from their retinas.
A chill crawls up the spine of the Watcher. He has not seen any like these before. Or has he? There is a glimmer of recognition; something that reminds him of…the Breed.
Garth sits in the back of the SUV commandeered by Russian agent, Vladimir Nesky. Holly sits in the passenger seat up front with Nesky, but they hardly speak to one another. However, she does often attempt to make conversation with Garth.
He keeps his answers short and to the point, mostly, not having any desire to bare his soul before Nesky. Garth has agreed to help with freeing Cassie and Jonathan, but he feels absolutely no loyalty to the Russian spy.
Occasionally, he glances at the rearview mirror and finds Nesky staring at him. Then the Russian grins menacingly at him until Garth looks away. No, he does not like this man at all. Every look Nesky gives him seems like a foretelling of their imminent altercation—one that will likely leave one of them dead.
Holly seems oblivious to all of this. At least, if she is aware, she hasn’t said anything. Still, Garth is mentally preparing himself for Nesky’s inevitable betrayal. When that happens—because he is quite sure there is no if about it—Garth intends to kill him swiftly.
That will leave Holly. He wonders what her reaction will be. He hopes to allow Nesky the first move. Then he will be justified in her sight when he kills the man. However, she might still choose to complete the mission on Nesky’s behalf. Garth won’t let that happen. He knows he could never kill Holly, but he might be forced to stop her.
Dawn has not quite come, as they make their way northwest toward Gloucestershire. By the time Holly and he awoke in the flat, Nesky already had the SUV waiting before the apartment building. Apparently, whatever zombies had been present earlier had moved on. So much the better.
They ate a quick meal and then took some nonperishable snacks with them in a plastic grocery bag along with bottled waters left in the flat’s refrigerator. Though they passed a few meandering zombies on the way through town, for the most part, their trip has been uneventful. The few that attempted
to pursue them were soon left behind in the crimson wake of taillights.
With Gloucestershire approximately 150 kilometers away, they have about two hours of travel time. Hopefully, there will be no obstacles to slow their progress. Garth tries to relax, keeping his eyes from the rearview mirror and Nesky. In no time at all, they’ll arrive at the Government Communications Headquarters, a huge flying saucer-shaped building also known as the Doughnut. With any luck, Cassie and Jonathan are still there and still safe.
The Watcher is being watched, yet none of these new predators have moved from their perch to attack him. He still holds his sword in plain view. Perhaps they know something of the danger it represents.
Upon closer inspection, he finds remnants of the clothing these people wore when they were still human. These are not Breed warriors. They are plague victims, certainly, but not of the sort presently clamoring below or those plodding their way underground.
These are changed. They have intelligence. That may not mean that they have their minds restored. Apparently that is far from the case here. They are no longer human, but they are not the ravenous killers that attack without thought of injury or fear, though the Watcher can sense no fear in these. These seem to be calculating, though they’ve done nothing but remain where they are, watching him.
The Watcher begins to summon his energies. These creatures react to what he is doing, despite there being no visible evidence of it. They hiss at him—a sound that goes from one to the other like a chain reaction. They all become rigid with anticipation.
The Watcher curbs his buildup slightly in response, curious to see if they are, indeed, reacting to what he has done. Immediately, their agitation lessens, but only slightly. He wonders at them. Definite intelligence, he believes. However, it is more than mere intelligence. They perceive what no human should be able to perceive. These mortal plague victims—as different as they are from the others—now sense matters on the spiritual plane very keenly.