Now Lewis was leaning forward as well, nodding enthusiastically. “If you had mentioned this to me yesterday, I would probably have said something like, ‘that sounds like a great idea but is too much of a risk,’ because it would be a risk; and an enormous one at that.
“Now though, having found one survivor my outlook has pretty much changed. I agree with you; hiding inside the protection of the station is not the answer. We have got to do something more, something to help humanity recover. So I guess I’d have to say, absolutely. When do we go?”
The three beamed at each other for a few seconds, as happy as if they had actually completed their new mission already.
Doubts returned to cloud Lewis’s mind though. “Do you really think it’ll be possible to make a cure? Are you guys qualified in these areas?”
Singleton’s grin faded as well and she frowned. “Well it’s a long shot at best. There are many potential hurdles and any one of them could totally thwart us. We may get there and find the place has been trashed by diseased or it may even have burnt down like so many other buildings have done. If it is all still there we may not find what we’re looking for anyway. And if after all that, we do find the data from the research done on Mnemoloss and can actually access the information, we may not be able to do anything with it. Both of us have studied a wide range of medicine and we do have some experience with neurological disorders but the guys who designed this drug were specialists, experts in their field and brilliant at that. For us to be able to make head or tail of their research is possibly the longest long-shot of them all. But it really is the best option we have and I personally would risk my life for it.”
She looked absolutely determined as she held his glance. He was humbled by her unwavering selflessness. How could he possibly refuse to at least consider it when both doctors were so clearly willing to offer their lives in sacrifice for the remote chance of helping others? He simply nodded. “I’ll go and talk to Denny but rest assured you have my utmost support in this and I will make sure it happens. God speed us, we’ll need all the luck and help we can get.”
Denny was not in his office when Lewis entered, having knocked and waited at the closed door. He had a quick look around while he was there, although he was not totally sure what he was looking for. What exactly are the signs that someone is having a mental breakdown? Maybe some empty bottles of spirits, a carelessly abandoned weapon or macabre and disheartened scribbling? He found nothing and did not like lingering and snooping amongst someone else’s personal effects, so he left quickly.
From his vantage point by the tree outside, Denny had seen Lewis enter his office and watched as he poked around. It was dark now and he knew that he would not have been seen from within. Denny mumbled under his breath something about inappropriate behaviour of a subordinate but found it hard to muster any great feelings of righteous indignation. He had been outside for nearly three hours, patrolling the grounds of the station in case there was a breach of security at the main gate.
“There’s no way I’m going to allow any of these damned creatures onto my base,” he muttered. He no longer felt sure that he could trust the soldiers on guard to be rigorous enough. There had been too many incidences of lapsed concentration or poor judgement, and too many people had paid for these failings with their lives. It was high time that he took matters into his own hands and ensured the safety of everyone. As he stamped his feet he idly flicked the safety catch of the Browning off and then on again before continuing his solitary patrol.
Lewis checked for Denny in the dining area but again to no avail. Pethard and Williams were there though, chatting away to their new charge enthusiastically. The room was the busiest Lewis had seen it for some time and there was quite some buzz. Having such an unexpected yet welcome responsibility to look after had indeed been just about the best thing that could have happened to Pethard. He looked to Lewis to be relatively content and relaxed. Or perhaps he was just temporarily distracted, but either way is was beneficial.
Earlier when Pethard and Williams had first entered with Josh, everybody in the hall had gone quiet before erupting into excited chatter. The effect that Josh had upon the station was amazing and really quite uplifting. Pethard felt proud to have been given the task of looking after the boy and had thrown himself into the role enthusiastically. He had found a table in one corner and seated Josh and Williams while he went to get food for them. Even Vallage was in good spirits, and on seeing the trio, he came out from the rear of the kitchen to welcome Josh to his dining hall. He had made a small cake for the boy with some dried eggs that had been found in the supermarket, and he presented it to Josh with great flourish and a beaming smile. Neale and Scovell were both being kept busy in the kitchens by the large number of people, but that did not stop Scovell from constantly teasing Neale for having dropped the tin of peas in the supermarket. Whenever Neale went to clear anybody’s plate Scovell seemed to be looming behind him.
“Careful with that, you might drop it. Look, you clean the table, I’ll carry that.”
All Neale could do was to try and laugh it off but the joke wore thin fairly quickly.
Having been checked over, Bannister had been released from his confinement and sat in the centre of the hall on a table with Millington, Corporal Gillen and Samuels, who had a bandage on his head where he had knocked himself unconscious. The medical centre had kept a close eye on him but he felt relatively normal and his only side-effects were a mild headache and slight, intermittent nausea. Bannister sat quietly as the others chatted away but he was not hungry. He played with his food, pushing it round his plate and occasionally looked up and faked a smile in response to something that Millington said. Otherwise he did not really contribute much. His thoughts were still dark and brooding and the prospect of eating did not appeal. He sat at the table for what seemed like a reasonable length of time before excusing himself and leaving. Normally Millington would have noticed his friend’s ill humour but for the fact that everyone was so overwhelmed at the new arrival. As Millington had been the one who had found Josh he had assumed a level of responsibility for him in some way too, and was very keen to ensure that the boy was okay. Samuels was naturally more introverted than Millington and as he felt somewhat delicate due to his injury he had been quite reserved over dinner. It was he who noticed that Bannister had not really engaged and had hardly touched his food, both of which were atypical for Bannister who was usually boisterous and had a large appetite.
When Bannister left, Samuels leaned forwards with an earnest look in his eyes. “Did you notice anything about him?”
Millington had been chatting to Straddling on the next table but turned back to Samuels when he saw the serious expression. “Hmmm, can’t say that I did. Why?”
“I dunno, he just didn’t seem himself. I mean, I know we are all pretty strung out most of the time, but he hadn’t really seemed to have been affected as much as most people until now. Tonight he hardly spoke, and look, he’s barely touched his grub. You know Bannister, normally he likes his groceries.”
“Yeah maybe you’re right,” Millington said. “Maybe he’s still bothered by the little fire-fight you all got into yesterday.”
“That could well be it. He hasn’t been himself since then. I went to visit him a couple of times during the day today and he’s hardly had a good word to say, at least not to me anyway, although that could be ‘cos I screwed up.”
“No you didn’t,” Millington rumbled with a chuckle as he clapped a large hand on his friend’s shoulder. “From what I heard, if you hadn’t given them covering fire who knows what would’ve happened. Anyone could have taken a tumble. Look, if it makes you feel better I’ll go and have a word with him, all right?”
Wood and Collins were leaving at the same time, having had dinner together on a table by themselves. Wood touched Collins on the arm lightly as they got to the door. “Hang on a second would you?”
She watched as he ducked into the kitchen quickly, and came out
with a bottle partly concealed under his arm.
At that moment Lewis glanced in. “Oh, I meant to ask you earlier,” he said to Wood, “what was with the spirits from the supermarket?”
Wood smiled. “Like I said - cocktails.”
Lewis looked puzzled. “What?”
“Of the Molotov variety. Thought they may come in handy sometime.”
“Ahhh,” Lewis grinned. Of course. He reproached himself for not having guessed already.
Wood led Collins gently by the elbow. Now it was her turn to be confused. “Cocktails? Really?”
“Well no, not exactly. Molotov cocktails are basically fire bombs, named after the Soviet foreign minister during the Second World War. If you stick a wick of some sort in the top of a bottle of flammable liquid, light it and throw it you have a fire bomb that’s really easy to manufacture. I just thought that a few of those might be useful sometime.”
“So is that what that’s for?” she said, pointing at the bottle under his arm. “Are we going to go and make some now?”
“No. This is for our personal consumption. After all, all work and no play is very boring.”
He smiled, a half smile that lightened only one side of his face. Collins thought it was as though he could not be bothered with the effort on both sides, too economical with his emotions. Or perhaps the expression was forced and not genuine enough, as though he was detached and merely reacting as he thought she expected of him. However it somehow suited his laconic attitude and she was getting used to it. Maybe she just needed to get to know him a bit better, if only he would let her in. He had also managed to acquire a couple of decent brandy glasses. On seeing them Collins laughed.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“Crikey, Sergeant Vallage really must like you if he gave you the mess’s finest brandy glasses. That’s not like him at all to be so generous.”
They lay on the bed facing each other and chatting as they swirled the fiery liquid in the tulip glasses, allowing it to gently warm. It was not the best of brandies but Collins was not normally particularly keen on the liquor anyway, so even the finest would have been mostly unappreciated by her. Her father used to drink it sometimes. She would sit on his lap with the scent of his aftershave mixing with the fumes from his glass. As he slowly sipped it he would tickle her neck with his stubbly chin, the prickles just like the tears that prickled her eyes now. She blinked them away quickly, not wanting to ruin the moment. Most of them on base were at times given to morose reflections these days. No one questioned it, nobody felt the need to ask, it was just accepted as part of life now, the remorse and regret and painful memories. She did not know if Wood had noticed her tears and did not look to him for comfort. The mildly choking scent of the liquor and the whole time-consuming experience seemed to her, back then, like an exotic, adult ritual, but try as she might she had never been able to acquire the taste for it. Nevertheless on this occasion it seemed perfect; the gradual slowing down of time as they worked the glasses, the liquid sloshing up towards the rim as they chatted and then the burning hit as the fluid coursed down the back of her throat, slightly painful and not entirely pleasant and a gentle reminder that they were alive. Perfect.
As the first sip of brandy made its way down they heard a distant noise from somewhere along the corridor as Millington knocked forcefully at Bannister’s room and then pushed the door open. Bannister was standing with his back to the door and swung round guiltily as Millington entered.
“Are you all right mate?” Millington was genuinely concerned.
“Yeah, sure, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” The sharp tone to Bannister’s voice went unnoticed.
“You hardly ate anything tonight.” Millington walked fully into the room and plonked himself down into a chair.
“Didn’t I? Oh, I guess I’m just tired.”
“That never normally stops you.”
“Ah well, maybe a little preoccupied after everything that’s been going on, you know? All the killing, the death, especially the patrol yesterday.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Then Millington noticed Bannister’s military boots were by the door. Also, Bannister was wearing his field jacket. “Are you going somewhere bro?”
“No, I was cold, that’s all, so I put it on.”
“And the boots?” Millington was getting suspicious now. Samuels was right, Bannister was acting strangely.
“Err, I was just going to polish them.” Bannister blushed slightly as the lie stumbled inarticulately from his mouth.
“You what? You? Polish your boots? You gotta be kidding me.” Millington threw his head back in a loud laugh. “You are the scruffiest person on base, we all know that. You haven’t polished them since the state of emergency was declared.”
“Well that’s exactly the point. I thought it’s about time I made some effort. Raise my game a bit.”
“Are you still trying to impress Charlotte Collins?”
“Yeah,” Bannister forced a laugh. “Something like that.”
“You know you’re rubbish at polishing. Look, give it here amigo.” He grabbed the nearest boot and found some black polish and a swab of cotton wool under the sink. “Give it to the master and let me show you how it’s done.” He spat on the boot and started working the polish into the leather in small circles, peering closely at his work.
Bannister stared down at him for a few seconds, glaring malevolently. They had been best mates for several years but now he could not help but curse his insatiably cheerful friend. Right now Bannister just felt like taking the other boot and clouting him with it. After a few moments Millington looked up from his toil.
“Well the other one isn’t going to get polished by itself, is it? Here.” He chucked the polish and the cotton wool at him. Bannister had no choice but to sit in the chair beside him and start on the boot, still mentally attacking the other with shadowy thoughts. The frown that creased his brow went unnoticed, and had Millington seen it he would have put it down to something other than his own intrusive help. The two sat in silence with Millington occasionally looking up and comparing their efforts and laughing good naturedly. Bannister watched the time tick by and cursed inwardly.
Lewis had virtually given up on finding Denny but tried his office once more. The door was slightly open as he approached, although he was certain that he had closed it when he had left. He knocked and quickly entered. Denny stood in the middle of the room and whipped around as he entered, the pistol in his hand pointed straight at him. Lewis jumped back in fright but Denny smiled and lowered the weapon.
“Sorry old boy. I didn’t mean to scare you. Just making the weapon safe.”
“Doesn’t seem very safe to me,” Lewis said under his breath. “I’ve been looking for you all over sir. Seems nobody’s seen you all evening.”
“Really? Well I’ve been here.”
“I came myself to see you, you weren’t here then.”
“Oh right, I must have just slipped out, toilet or dining hall maybe. Anyway, I’m here now.”
“Are you okay sir? You seem a little,” he searched for the correct word, “distracted, of late.”
“Yes sure, thanks, never better.”
Lewis had to admit that he did indeed look well at the moment. The heavy, preoccupied shadow that had been hanging over him seemed to have lifted and in fact his cheeks were red and his eyes were shining fervently, like a crazed disciple in some strange religious cult.
“How’s the boy settling in?” The force of his interest took Lewis aback.
“Very well sir. I’ve given him to Pethard and Williams to look after. It seems to have done Pethard the world of good, just what he needed to take his mind off things.”
“Yes, very good move that, well done. Any sign of any more of those vampire creatures out there?”
“No sir, no sign at all,” Lewis answered with a frown. This was the first time anyone had mentioned the occurrence at the petrol station since the debrief and it made him feel extreme
ly uneasy. It brought it back to him that it was still very much an unresolved issue and one that he needed to address, when finally he had some spare time and energy. Denny nodded as though this had been a perfectly normal question to have asked.
Lewis continued. “I’ve been talking with Singleton and Handley. They suggested going to Cambridge, to the GVF research labs where much of the work on the Dem-buster was done, to see if we can find anything that could help us make a cure. I think it’s a great idea, we’d like to go. Soon.”
“Hmmm, yes, yes,” Denny was nodding enthusiastically, perhaps a little too enthusiastically and Lewis started to think that he had not really taken in what he had said. He decided to push it a little in order to check.
“We’re hoping we may find a cure, save all of mankind, that kinda thing.”
“Yes, yes, an excellent idea, I totally agree,” Denny bumbled.
Lewis was surprised at the ease with which he acquiesced but decided that Denny was probably not really devoting much attention to the conversation, as though he was just paying lip service to it in order to get rid of him as fast as possible. He had not asked any questions about the proposed plan, not pointed out any of the obvious, inherent problems with it, nothing. He had just immediately and whole-heartedly embraced the idea as though it had been his own.
“Would you like to come with us when we go?” Lewis asked, pushing further still.
The question brought Denny up sharp, as if he had been slapped. “No. No I don’t think so. My place is here on the station. You go and bring some more survivors back and maybe a cure. I’ll stay here and guard the base.”
The conversation faltered and Lewis was at a loss for anything further to say. After an awkward pause he said, “Well I’ll be off then. Are you sure there’s nothing I can do for you?”
The Blood of the Infected (Book 1): Once Bitten, Twice Die Page 31