For Those In Peril (Book 2): The Outbreak

by Drysdale, Colin M.

  Claire pulled her daughter close once more and held her tightly. ‘The only thing I could do for him, honey.’ She wiped the tears from her face with her sleeve. ‘The only thing.’

  Sophie struggled free and pushed Claire away; she stared at her brother as he lay there, motionless. She ran to him and laid her head against his chest. After a few seconds, she glared at her mother. ‘Oh my god, you killed him, didn’t you? How could you do that?’

  Daz, Tom and I stood frozen, not wanting to intrude on the family’s moment of grief, but not knowing what to do instead.

  Sophie and Claire were staring at each other, tears streaming down both their faces. ‘I had to, honey. He would have become one of them if I hadn’t. I couldn’t let that happen to him. I couldn’t. You didn’t see the news last night; you didn’t see what happened in Miami. I couldn’t let him become like that. Please tell me you understand, please.’

  Sophie looked towards Jake and then back to her mother. ‘There was really nothing else you could’ve done?’

  ‘Really.’

  Sophie said nothing. Claire stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her, holding her tight, but I couldn’t help noticing that Sophie didn’t hug her back.

  After what seemed like an age, Claire broke away and went back to where Jake was lying. As gently as possible, she picked up his body and carried it below. The rest of us followed, but we remained in the main saloon as she laid him out in the forward cabin. As we waited for her to return, I switched on the television, trying to find out more about what was going on, and just as I’d watched Miami fall apart the night before, I watched Glasgow go the same way. Many of the scenes were similar, but it was so much worse watching it happen to somewhere you recognised, that you knew, that lay all around you.

  The official line was that people should stay inside and let the police deal with the infected, but no one was listening; everyone was trying to get out. In response, the army had put what they were calling a ‘ring of steel’ around the city, and were refusing to let anyone through. Just like the soldiers we’d encountered, they were heavily armed and there had been footage of them shooting into the crowds gathered at their barricades. The commanding officer claimed they were shooting at infected, but that wasn’t what it looked like to me.

  One of the news channels had got hold of a feed from a CCTV camera which overlooked Buchanan Street, and it was interspersing live footage of the near-deserted street, along which the occasional infected shuffled between the dead bodies, with repeats of the infected sweeping up it from earlier in the day. An hour of this was all I could take and I went on deck to try to think about what we should do next. By then, Claire had returned to the main cabin and she followed me up.

  ‘So what’s the plan?’ There was an edge to Claire’s voice that suggested she wasn’t doing as well as she appeared.

  ‘I don’t know.’ I looked out over the city. Smoke was twisting up from somewhere over by the university, while military helicopters circled above the centre and parts of the Southside. Occasionally, there were muzzle flashes from the machine guns which I could just make out protruding from open doors.

  Claire cleared her throat. ‘How about we just get out of here for now and work on a plan later?’

  I turned back to her. ‘Yeah, that’d work for me.’

  There was a moment of silence before Claire replied, ‘But we need to do something first.’

  ‘What?’

  She sniffed. ‘We need to bury Jake. I want it done properly.’ Her voice was trembling. ‘It’s the last thing I’ll ever be able to do for him.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Claire,’ I glanced away, not wanting to meet her eyes. ‘We can’t do that; we can’t go ashore.’

  Claire raised her head and stared at me. ‘You can do a burial at sea, can’t you?’

  ‘Yeah, but …’ I stood up and walked to the back of the boat, ‘but it’s not something I’ve done before.’

  ‘You can do it, though, can’t you?’ Claire implored me.

  I turned her suggestion over in my mind. I knew the basics of what to do, at least in theory, and it really was the only option we had left. I let out a resigned sigh. ‘Yes.’

  Two hours later, we gathered on the deck as we continued to drift slowly downstream. In that time, we’d travelled a couple of miles, and we were now passing through the outer suburbs of the city. I’d wrapped Jake’s lifeless body in some old sailcloth and weighted it down with a spare anchor. Since I was the closest thing to a captain we had on board, it fell to me to perform the ceremony. It wasn’t something I’d ever thought I’d have to do and I didn’t really know where to begin. I looked round at the others, trying to get some inspiration. Despite all we’d been through, it was only when we were safely on the boat that we’d had time to introduce ourselves properly. Daz was seventeen and came from Maryhill: not the best part of Glasgow, but by no means the worst. His real name was Darren, but his friends called him Dazzler, or Daz for short. He was just under six foot and skinny in an unhealthy kind of way, like he’d never eaten anything home-cooked in his life.

  Claire and Sophie were from the more prosperous west end of the city. Claire’s shoulder-length hair was a mess and her make-up was tear-streaked, but there was still a certain sense of refinedness and self-confidence about her. She worked at a local medical practice as a general practitioner, but before she’d settled down with a family, she’d spent time working in casualty departments across two continents, as well as numerous stints overseas with Médicins sans Frontières. This gave her a level of experience rarely needed when listening to middle-class mothers complain about their child’s latest food intolerance, or giving well-heeled pensioners their annual flu vaccinations.

  Sophie was fourteen, but tall for her age. Although she had the same dark hair as her mother, it was longer, hanging down over her shoulders, with a slight wave to it. Given all that had happened, she seemed to be holding up about as well as could be expected. Mostly she was angry and confused, but the enormity of what her mother had been forced to do and the realisation of what the disease would have done to Jake was starting to sink in. It didn’t make it any less devastating, but it at least made it more understandable.

  Claire was holding it together, too, but much of this seemed to be her professional persona, no doubt honed over years of working under stressful conditions. Daz just looked lost. He was clearly well out of his comfort zone, and he didn’t seem to know what to do next. Physically, Tom looked the worst out of all of us. His shirt was torn where Claire had pulled it open, and it was soaked in blood from the gunshot wound. Yet, somehow he’d maintained his naturally upbeat attitude. It wasn’t that he could see a bright side to everything going on around us, it was just that he was doing his best to try to stay positive despite everything.

  In contrast, I was close to losing it. I kept reliving the events we’d witnessed and I was beginning to wonder whether we had any real chance of surviving for anything longer than a few more hours. I worried about family and friends I was leaving behind. Should I have done more to try to get them out of the city, too? Could I have done anything even if I had? There was still no phone signal and no way I could communicate with them. I just had to hope that they were lucky enough to have found a way out, just like I had.

  I stared down at where Jake’s body lay wrapped in sail cloth on the deck near the bow; it seemed so small and delicate. Suddenly, I knew what to say.

  I took a deep breath, trying to remember the words. I couldn’t recall them exactly, but I began nonetheless: ‘Do not stand by my grave and weep, for I am not there.

  ‘I am in winds that blow, I am the light glinting on snow.’

  I glanced quickly at Claire and Sophie’s tear-stained faces, then across to where Tom and Daz were standing with their head’s bowed and hands held behind their backs. I carried on. ‘I am the sun on ripened grain, I am the gentle November rain.

  ‘I am the song of birds circling in flight. I am soft star-shine
and the moon shadow cast at night.’

  I bent down and picked up Jake’s tiny body. ‘Do not stand by my grave and cry,’

  Holding Jake across both arms, I crouched down and held him as close to the water as I could reach. ‘For I am not there,’ I let his body slip into the water, ‘I did not die.’

  I watched as the white sailcloth sank from sight, then I stood up and walked over to Claire, hugging first her and then Sophie. Daz and Tom followed suit. Moving back to the cockpit, I turned the engine on again and pointed the boat down the river. We were leaving Glasgow behind, and with a heavy heart, I realised it was unlikely I’d ever return.

  As we headed west, Tom and Daz took turns scanning the banks of the river with my binoculars. Here and there small bands of people ran, some being chased, others just fleeing. Occasionally, there was the sound of a racing engine and the screech of tyres. Once, a convoy of camouflaged vehicles roared by, men in uniforms clinging to machine guns mounted on the back. Behind us, helicopters continued to fly over the city, moving in ever-expanding circles. I wondered if this tracked the spread of the infection: if so, it seemed to be moving fast. I looked across to where Claire and Sophie sat, holding each other, lost in their grief.

  ‘Hey, Tom.’ He turned to face me, ‘How d’you feel about taking the wheel for a bit? I want to check on something.’

  ‘Em, I don’t really know how to drive a car, let alone a boat.’

  ‘It’s pretty easy. All you’ve got to do is keep us pointing in the right direction and not go too near the banks.’

  ‘Still ...’ Tom seemed reluctant.

  ‘I’ll do it.’ Daz shot to his feet. ‘I mean, how hard can it be?’

  I hesitated; I didn’t know Daz, or what type of person he was. He was young, but at least he was eager, and there wouldn’t really be too much that could go wrong. It also wouldn’t hurt to have someone else on board who knew how to drive the boat, just in case something happened to me. I came to a decision. ‘Okay. Come stand here and I’ll show you what to do.’

  As Daz stepped behind the wheel, I moved to the side. ‘This is the throttle here, but you don’t really need to touch it at the moment. That’s the rev counter; it shows how fast the engine’s turning over. You want to keep it at about 3,000. The wheel’s just like a car’s; turn it in the direction you want to go, but try to only make small movements, not big ones. For now, you’re just trying to keep us going forward in a straight line. If you want to see how well you’re doing, you can look back at the wake.’ We both looked over the stern, the wake lay in a straight line behind us, or at least it did until the point where Daz had taken the wheel: after that it snaked from side to side as Daz moved the wheel back and forth, trying to keep us on course. ‘Any questions?’

  Daz glanced around nervously. ‘Where’re the brakes?’

  ‘Boats don’t have breaks.’

  He frowned. ‘So how d’you stop?’

  ‘You don’t, at least not quickly at any rate. That means you’ve got to look ahead and plan your movements carefully.’

  Concern spread across Daz’s face; I patted him on the shoulder. ‘Don’t worry about that for now. Just keep us in the middle of the river and we’ll be fine. There shouldn’t be anything you can hit out here.’ I watched him for a few minutes, making sure he’d got the hang of it; he was learning fast and already we were steering a much more consistent path. ‘I’m going below. Call me if you need me.’

  Before Daz could say anything, I disappeared down the companionway and into the saloon. The television was still on, but the sound was off. A worried-looking woman clutched a microphone as she stood on a near-empty road. Behind her, the door of the Prime Minister’s residence at 10 Downing Street was visible. A small, but persistent, trickle of visitors came and went as the woman spoke. I picked up the remote and turned up the volume.

  ‘So far there has been no word from the Prime Minister, but he is believed to be in discussions with military leaders and the heads of other European states. Meanwhile, the latest reports suggest that while the situation in Glasgow is getting worse, the army are still managing to contain the outbreak within the city itself. Everyone in the affected area is being told to lock their doors and stay inside as this is their best chance of avoiding the infection. This is also critical to the army’s strategy as it allows them to identify those infected with the disease and neutralise them.’

  ‘Neutralise them? That’s a rather nice way of saying they’ve been given orders to shoot them on sight.’ I turned and found that Claire had come into the saloon behind me. ‘And since they can’t really tell who’s infected and who’s not, it means that they’re just going to shoot anyone they see. It’s one way to deal with the situation, but a lot of innocent people are going to end up dead.’

  ‘Surely they wouldn’t do that, would they? Just shoot anyone they see.’

  ‘The soldiers are going to do what they’re told. They’ll be scared; they’ll be panicking; they’re going to shoot first and ask questions later.’ She crossed her arms as she stood beside me facing the screen. ‘I’ve seen it before, when I was in Africa: when soldiers are faced with a threat like this, one where they can’t tell the enemy from the innocent, one where they’re so heavily outnumbered; they stop thinking and just do whatever they’ve been told to do.’

  I was about to say something when the picture on the television changed. The woman had disappeared and instead they appeared to be showing a football match. Given the situation, this seemed odd. I turned my attention to it as a voice-over put it in context.

  ‘This footage was recorded in Glasgow a few hours ago, at Ibrox football stadium, where the home team was taking on its local rival. It’s still not clear quite what happened, but it seems that somehow someone with the infection got into the crowd. Younger viewers and those of a nervous disposition might want to look away now.’

  Suddenly, the camera shifted from following the players on the pitch and zoomed in on an area high in one of the stands, where it looked like people had started fighting. The commentators could be heard tutting and criticising the fans. Then the violence started to spread, slowly at first, then faster and faster as more and more people became infected, turned, and then passed it on. Those who could, struggled onto the pitch, trying to escape the violence that was engulfing them. Others, those who were already infected, pursued them, pulling them down, tearing them apart. The camera kept having to pull further and further back to keep all of the action in the frame. By this time, the commentators where shouting over each other as they tried to understand what was going on. Then there was a crash and one of them yelled. A scuffle could be heard in the background, as well as swearing and screaming, and then the screen went blank.

  A second later this was replaced by the live feed from Downing Street and the reporter was speaking again. ‘That was the scene at the Rangers-Celtic match earlier today, and it shows how quickly the Haitian Rabies Virus can sweep through a crowd. This is the justification that the army are using for their shoot-on-sight policy for anyone who is known, or even suspected, to have the disease. Remember, there’s no cure for rabies, no treatment once people start showing symptoms, and they are claiming that only if the number of infected can be kept to a minimum, can there be any hope of stopping this outbreak. A military spokesman has already warned that if this strategy doesn’t work, more serious measures may have to be taken. Back to you in the studio.’

  A man’s voice cut in. ‘Hold on, Michelle. “More serious measures”? Do you know what they mean by that?’

  The woman held her finger to her ear and then glanced down at the bundle of papers she was holding. She shuffled through these, trying to find the one she was searching for. When she found it, she looked back at the camera. ‘All we’ve been told is that the current strategy is to shoot any people who are infected, or who are suspected of being infected, on sight. If it looks like this strategy is failing, then they will reassess the situation and consider whether more se
rious measures need to be implemented.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound good.’ Claire turned to me. ‘How fast can this boat go?’

  ‘About four miles an hour tops.’

  Claire considered this for a moment. ‘What are we doing now?’

  ‘About three. Why? What are you thinking?’

  ‘I’m thinking they aren’t going to be able to handle this just by shooting people. There are too many already infected for that to be possible. Think about the size of that football stadium. There had to have been tens of thousands of people in it, and god knows how many of them are now infected.’ Claire unfolded her arms and placed her hands on her hips. ‘I’ll bet they’re already preparing to implement their “more serious measures” and I think the further away we are from Glasgow when that happens, the better.’

  ‘Well, we should be coming up to the bridge any time now, and once we’re under that, we’ll be well clear of the city.’ I’d just finished speaking when there was a shout from the deck.

  ‘I guess I’d better get back up there.’ I turned and climbed through the companionway and out into the cockpit.

  Claire clicked off the television. ‘I’ll come with you.’

  Up on deck, Sophie sat huddled in one corner, staring blankly into space. Daz was still at the wheel; Tom was standing beside him, peering through the binoculars. Both had concerned expressions on their faces. I looked down river, towards where the span of the Erskine Bridge stretched across the water about a mile ahead of us.

  ‘What’s up?’ I glanced at Daz, but it was Tom that replied.

  ‘There’s something going on … on the bridge. A lot of people moving around up there, and ...’ He swept the binoculars from left to right. ‘And I think they’ve got cannons or something.’