For Those In Peril (Book 2): The Outbreak

by Drysdale, Colin M.

  Gordon smiled at Mitch. ‘That’d certainly be useful.’

  Nick seemed less keen on the idea. ‘I’m sure we can manage on our own.’

  Gordon glared at him. ‘We might as well take the help if it’s there. Now, go get the men ready.’

  ‘Yes, sir!’ With that Nick turned and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

  Mitch stared after him. ‘Was it something I said?’

  ‘Don’t worry about him,’ Gordon replied dismissively, ‘he can be a bit prickly sometimes. He just doesn’t like civilians telling him what he should be doing.’

  Mitch snorted. ‘He doesn’t seem to have a problem trying to give us orders.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve had a word with him about that; well, with all the men. I’ve told them they need to start thinking of everyone else who’s survived this far as their equals and not as people they can order around.’ Gordon stood up. ‘Come to think of it, that might have something to do with his attitude, too.’

  I pressed the transmit button on the plane’s VHF radio. ‘Gordon, there’s a small group of infected coming along the road from your left.’

  ‘Roger that.’ There was a burst of static, followed by ‘How far?

  I hit the transmission button again. ‘About half a mile or so.’

  ‘We should be out of here before they arrive.’

  Mitch tapped me on the shoulder and pointed off to the north where a larger group of infected were now heading towards the house below where we were circling.

  We’d been over Iona for almost an hour, watching Gordon, Nick and the rest of the marines as they took on the infected. So far, things had gone well and a total of ten survivors had been rescued from two of the houses surrounded by infected. It was amazing to watch the marines in action. They moved with efficiency and ruthlessness, dropping those with the disease in a hail of bullets before they even knew the marines were there. The survivors had been led down to the shore and taken out to a fishing boat which was tied to a mooring in the main harbour. One of the marines had got the engine started and they’d chugged off along the coast after the ribs, heading for the last building where survivors were holed up.

  Gordon and the remaining marines were now approaching the third house. This had the largest number of infected crowding round it, and to make matters worse, we could see more streaming towards them.

  I picked up the mike again. ‘Gordon, there’s a group of five coming in from the north and …’ I twisted in my seat so I could see over my shoulder. ‘And about twenty coming up from the south.’

  ‘Roger that.’ There was a shout in the background. ‘Keep us updated on their movements.’

  ‘Will do.’ I let go of the transmission button as Mitch circled the plane back round and we watched the first of the infected fall as the marines moved in, but this time things didn’t go quite as smoothly as before. With a greater number of infected, it wasn’t as easy to shoot them all before they realised the marines were there, and within a few seconds, infected were racing towards them: mouths wide, screaming and roaring. With unfathomable speed, the first of the infected crossed the ground between the house and the dry stone wall which the marines had been using for cover, but they didn’t panic. Instead, they systematically targeted whichever infected were closest at any given moment. Although some fell instantly, it was harder to hit targets which were moving so fast and most took several shots to bring them down.

  Below us, I saw one of the marines take his assault rifle from his shoulder and desperately pull at the bolt, fighting frantically to unjam it. There was a shout, audible even above the sound of the plane’s engine, and the struggling marine looked up as a skinny man leapt onto the wall in front of him. He dropped the machine gun and grabbed for his pistol, but before he could fire, the man was on top of him. Suddenly, the infected’s head exploded, and the marine pushed the now lifeless body to the ground. I watched as he put his hand to his neck, then inspected it, staring disbelievingly at the bright red liquid dripping from his fingers. He put his hand on his neck again as first comprehension and then terror spread across his face.

  A stillness descended across the battlefield, and now all that moved were the marines as they stood up slowly, examining their surrounding for any hint of further danger, but for the moment, there was none. Spotting the injured man, Nick lowered his machine gun and strode over to him. He crouched down beside him, and patted him on the shoulder before picking up the man’s pistol from where he’d dropped it. At first, I thought Nick was going to hand it back to him, but I was wrong. As Nick pushed it against the injured man’s forehead, the young man realised what was about to happen. He struggled backwards desperately, trying to get away, but before he got more than a few feet, there was a flash from the muzzle and he went limp.

  ‘Jesus!’ I swallowed hard. ‘D’you see what Nick just did?’

  ‘No, I was too busy watching them.’ Mitch pointed ahead, where infected were racing towards the house in ever-increasing numbers; the first were only 100 yards away. Pushing what Nick had just done from my mind, I grabbed the mike. ‘Gordon, you’ve got to get out of there. There’s a whole heap of infected coming your way. You need to get those people and get out of there!’

  Gordon must have heard me because I saw him signal to two marines, who rushed forward towards the house. Even before they got there, the door opened and people started pouring out. Leaving their dead colleague where he lay, the rest of the marines guided the shocked survivors towards where the ribs floated a few feet from the shore, ready to ferry them out to the waiting fishing boat. The distance they needed to cover wasn’t great, but some of the survivors were elderly, others were children, and this slowed their progress. With the infected closing in, there was little we could do but watch. Occasionally, one of the marines would turn and fire, but for the most part they just ran.

  I looked, horrified, at Mitch. ‘They’re not going to make it. We’ve got to do something.’

  Mitch stared at the scene unfolding below us. ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I shifted in my seat, trying to get a better view, ‘but we’ve got to do something.’

  ‘Hang on, I’ve got an idea.’ Mitch pushed the stick forward, and almost immediately we were diving towards the ground. The moment before impact, she levelled the plane, and we sped, just a few feet above the ground, towards the infected.

  Bracing myself against the back of my seat, I turned to Mitch. ‘Just what exactly is this plan of yours?’

  ‘You’ll see.’ She tensed up. ‘Hold on!’

  I felt the heavy floats hanging below the plane smash into the infected with a series of sickening thuds. Glancing down, I saw them sprawled across the ground: some struggled back to their feet, but others were clearly dead, heads smashed beyond all recognition.

  Mitch pulled back on the stick as we turned. I tried to keep an eye on what was happening below, but I was forced back into my seat as we climbed almost vertically. A second later, we were heading for the ground again. Mitch pulled back on the stick and we skimmed towards the infected once more. We’d taken them by surprise the first time, but this time they knew we were coming; yet they didn’t try to escape: instead they sprinted towards the speeding plane, drawn by the noise of the engine, giving those on the ground the few extra seconds they needed to escape.

  I felt the plane judder as we made contact for a second time; sending infected flying in all directions and blood spraying across the windows. As we climbed again, this time more slowly, I saw the survivors clambering into the ribs as the marines pushed them away from the beach. I looked back at the scene of devastation we’d left behind, amazed that despite all the infected, only one of the marines had been lost. At first, the remaining infected ran as fast as they could after the rapidly departing plane, but gradually they slowed, and then stopped; my last glimpse was of them standing amongst the low, scrubby vegetation, almost motionless, gazing blankly after us.

  With everyone now safely off the
island, Mitch brought the seaplane down onto the water and taxied over to the fishing boat, reaching it just before the ribs. I flung the door open and stepped out onto the right-hand float, trying not to slip on the blood and gore spattered across it. I greeted the approaching marines. ‘That looked pretty hairy.’

  ‘Nothing we couldn’t handle.' Nick stared at me, fists clenched, bristling with anger. ‘Just as well your little stunt didn’t get in our way.’

  This wasn’t the reaction I’d expected and I didn’t know how to respond. If it hadn’t been for Mitch distracting the infected, there was a good chance a lot more of them would have ended up dead.

  ‘Nick, this is not the time or the place. Keep it civil.’ Gordon turned to me. ‘Sorry about that, Ben. We lost someone back there and everyone reacts in their own way when that happens.’ Gordon reached out a hand. ‘Thanks for your help.’

  I shook it and then watched as the fishing boat, accompanied by the ribs, headed off into the distance. As I climbed back into the seaplane, an uneasy feeling settled over me. The way Nick had killed one of his own men, seemingly without a second thought, and his response to Mitch’s actions made me glad that it was Gordon, rather than him, who was in charge of the Rhum community.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘I know you don’t like it, but they really put themselves on the line to rescue those people on Iona, and I think it’s the least we can do.’ I glanced at Claire. ‘Anyway, it’ll give you a chance to hear what Gordon has to say for himself.’

  When we got back from Iona, Mitch and I had filled the others in about what had happened. While everyone was pleased the rescue mission had gone so well, there was a lot of concern about how the disease had got onto the island in the first place. It seemed the sea hadn’t acted as the impregnable barrier we’d always assumed it would, and suddenly everyone felt less secure, even in the most distant island communities.

  However, there was also much less resentment towards the naval personnel, and what they were trying to do on Rhum. The survivors from Iona had already moved there and there were mutterings amongst other communities that perhaps this wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

  In order to make the most of this easing of tensions, Mitch and I had arranged for Gordon and some of the marines to come down to Tobermory that evening for some much needed socialising. We thought it might be a way to bring everyone together and put the initial friction between the locals and the naval personnel to rest, once and for all.

  Gordon readily agreed, both because he, too, thought it would help to bring our two groups closer together, and because it would give him the chance to speak to Claire about his idea for creating a well-equipped medical clinic, to encourage the remaining survivors to relocate to Rhum.

  Claire, needless to say, was dubious about the benefits of getting everyone together, and she was particularly against the idea of having to listen to Gordon and his plans. ‘I’m just saying that I can’t think of anything Gordon could say that would change my mind.’ She stood up and leant on the guard rail. ’I know it would be good to have access to some proper equipment and drugs, but I don’t think it’s something worth giving up our independence for.’ She turned back to face me again. ‘If we decided to set up camp there, and then we change our minds, do you really think they’re going to let us just get up and leave?’

  ‘After what Gordon and the marines did on Iona, can’t you at least give him the benefit of the doubt, and listen to what he has to say?’ Mitch was sitting beside me in the cockpit and from what she was now saying, it seemed she was coming round to my point of view. ‘I’m not saying you have to like it or go along with it, all I’m saying is that you should at least hear him out.’

  ‘Okay, okay.’ Claire could see she wasn’t going to win. ‘I’ll listen to what he has to say, but I really think it’s going to be a waste of time.’

  ‘Here they come!’ Sophie’s excited voice drifted down the companionway. She’d been up on deck for the last hour, keeping an eager eye out for the appearance of Gordon and the marines.

  I looked up at Daz. ‘Are you okay taking the others ashore in the dinghy?’

  Daz nodded, his mouth full with the last of his supper.

  ‘In that case, I might hitch a ride ashore with Gordon and show him around a bit.’ I turned and made my way up to the cockpit, where I found Sophie with the binoculars trained on the approaching boat. I cleared my throat, and she jumped. ‘Sorry Ben, I was just, ummm …’ Her voice trailed off.

  ‘Checking out who was on board?’ I ventured.

  A tinge of pink spread across Sophie’s cheeks and I laughed at her embarrassment. ‘You’d better not let Daz catch you looking at other men. You might make him jealous.’

  A grin leapt on to her face. ‘Really?’ Then she realised quite how much she’d given away, ‘I mean …’ The pink on her cheeks turned into a deep red. Cringing slightly, she turned and headed for the companionway. She paused when she got there and glanced back. ‘D’you really think Daz would be jealous?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I nodded slowly. ‘I think he probably would.’

  Sophie smiled and disappeared inside.

  I leant forward. ‘So what d’you think about this place?’

  Gordon, Claire and I were sitting round a small table near the back of the one pub which was still at least partially operational. Sophie and Daz were next to us, lost in their own conversation, while Tom was over at the bar where he alternated between flirting with Mitch and chatting with Hamish and some of the other locals.

  I looked around the bar; there were about forty people in the small room: sixteen marines; the rest locals. At first glance, it was no different than it had been on any Friday night before the disease swept across the island, and, for a moment, I was transported back to how it used to be.

  A braying laugh from one of the marines brought me back to reality with a thump: uniformed men, armed with pistols, were certainly something you’d never have found here before. The two groups were keeping themselves to themselves for the time being, but there were signs that with a little help from the lubricating effects of alcohol, the tensions between them might ease.

  I turned my attention back to the conversation at our table as Gordon finally answered my question. ‘You’ve got a pretty good set-up here, given the circumstances; better than I’d realised.’ He took a mouthful of whisky from his glass. ‘But it’s still vulnerable. There are infected just beyond your barricades. All it would take would be one little slip and they’d be inside.’ He put his glass carefully on the table. ‘All in all, I think Rhum’s much safer.’

  Claire swigged her beer. ‘But how would the infected get in? The walls might be made of straw, but have you seen how thick they are? There’s no way they’re coming down accidentally.’

  ‘I suppose.’ Gordon picked up his glass again, ‘but look at Iona. There’s clearly some way of infected getting across water. What if that happens here?’

  ‘But we don’t know what happened there.’ Claire was waving her bottle in Gordon’s general direction. ‘So there’s no way you can say for sure whether Rhum’s any safer than here.’

  Seeing the conversation starting to go in circles, I intervened before it descended into something less pleasant. ‘So what d’you think happened on Iona?’

  Gordon put down his drink again. ‘I really don’t know, but it’s rather worrying. I’d always assumed that the water would keep us safe.’

  Claire took another mouthful of her beer. ‘Then don’t you think we should be trying to work that out?’

  Gordon nodded. ‘Yes, but with only one incident to go on, there’s not much we can do. D’you have any ideas?’ He looked round the table.

  ‘Well, as a matter of fact, I do.’ Claire turned to me. ‘Ben, remember what happened when Glasgow was bombed? Remember all those infected clinging to the debris? What if it’s as simple as that? The infected can’t swim, we’ve seen that, but they can hang onto things, can’t they? What if one wa
s just drifting around out there, clinging onto something, and it just happened to come ashore on Iona?’

  I pondered this possibility; it would certainly explain what had happened, but if it were true, then nowhere was really safe. I shuddered at the thought.

  Gordon was clearly worried by this possibility, too. ‘You think it could have come all the way from Glasgow? That was weeks ago. Could they survive in the water that long? Surely, they’d die of exposure within hours.’

  ‘That’s just the point.’ Claire set her beer firmly on the table. ‘We don’t know what this disease really does to people. Maybe it changes their physiology in some way; maybe they don’t need to stay warm like us. Anyway, I’m not saying that it was necessarily someone from Glasgow, but there are other places much closer where they could’ve come from. We ran into some on a fish farm just outside Port Ellen. Maybe they came from somewhere like that, and they’d only been in the water for a few hours.’

  Suddenly a thought struck me. ‘Maybe they weren’t even in the water at all.’

  Claire looked at me questioningly. ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘Well,’ I took a gulp of beer. ‘Think of what would’ve happened if we hadn’t found those people in the rowing boat when we did: the man would’ve turned and attacked the others. Chances are they’d have ended up dead and he’d have been left on his own, drifting around in the dinghy. Something like that would be a floating time-bomb, just waiting to come ashore somewhere.’

  Gordon stared through the window and out into the gathering darkness. ’If there are things like that drifting around out there, we could be in big trouble.’

  ‘There can’t be that many, though, can there?’ We turned to find that Daz and Sophie had been drawn into our conversation. Daz continued. ‘In all the time we’ve been out here, we haven’t come across anythin’ like that, no’ an infected just floatin’ around on its own, an’ Mitch hasn’t mentioned seein’ anythin’ either.’ Daz looked at Gordon. ‘Have you seen anythin’ like that?’