The Dust: Book Three - Sanctum

by Sharp, David H

‘Anymore of this and my hands will be raw.’ Jeremiah whispered to Sharon.

  ‘Shhhh!’ she sniggered, and then instantly straightened her face as a few eyes looked sternly towards her.

  ‘Thank you.’ Doctor Robert said quietly. He cleared his throat and took a sip of water. ‘It’s quite simple really. The bodies you recovered from the Cotswolds had died from natural causes.' He paused and took another sip. ‘This means we now have a way of killing them. Infecting the infected so to speak.’

  Davis sat there stony faced, with her arms folded. Whilst they were out on the front line, killing these grunts, the doc was in his warm lab with his test tubes. Now, all of a sudden because he had worked something out, he becomes the Doyen’s new prank monkey. She ever so slightly shook her head.

  Doctor Robert continued. ‘A simple stomach bug, which might see us out of action for a day or two, is killing the Infected. It’s as simple as that. We can use the Norovirus and infect them.’ He looked across at the Doyen, unsure if he wanted him to say anything else. He sat back down.

  The Doyen didn’t bother to stand. He tapped his pen on the desk and looked across at Willoughby. ‘We need planes, we also need spraying equipment. All we need to do is to force the Infected into an area that we can fly over and spray, and that should be that.’

  Jeremiah Rosser raised his hand.

  ‘Yes?’ Willoughby asked.

  ‘I understand you can herd a large number of the savages into a close proximity, where they can be controlled and sprayed, as you put it.’ He turned to look at the Doyen. ‘But what about the stragglers? The rogue maniacs who act alone? We all know that they like to congregate together, but we also know that some of them are solitary hunters.’

  The Doyen sighed. There was always someone to rain on the parade. He didn’t even know who this old man was. What was he doing in the meeting?

  Willoughby could see the Doyen was agitated by the old farmers questions, so he stepped in. ‘We will obviously try and cover every inch of the British Isles. If any of them evade contracting the Nororvirus, then they will be hunted to extinction.’

  Jeremiah wasn’t convinced. ‘Maybe we are looking at this from the wrong angle.’

  The Doyen moved forward in his chair. ‘Look, the whole plan has to be fine-tuned, and I’m sure everyone will have some sort of input.’

  Sharon Gough then interrupted him. ‘Surely the best way is to find a cure for this blood poisoning.’

  Willoughby stood up. ‘Excuse me, but I think the Doyen hadn’t finished speaking.’

  ‘Well I think we are going about this the wrong way.’ Gough said animatedly.

  ‘Let’s just wipe them out, old school style.’ Waters held up his rifle.

  ‘I’ll second that.’ Davis added.

  ‘That’s not the way; we are bigger than that.’ Gough was now getting angry, and Jeremiah held her arm to calm her down.

  ‘I think that’s enough for now.’ Willoughby shouted.

  ‘What are you? Some sort of spokesperson for the Infected?’ Davis stood up.

  ‘They are human beings just like me and you.’ Gough went to stand, but Jeremiah pulled her back down. ‘We can cure them, bring them back to life.’

  ‘Enough!’ The Doyen yelled, and slammed his fist down hard onto the desk. ‘We will continue this debate at a later date.’ He too stood up. ‘The doctor has work to do, and I have a lot of decisions to make.’

  With that the Doyen marched out of the conference room, clearly irritated by the backchat. Willoughby followed him, starring at Sharon Gough as he left.

  On of the henchmen got up and opened the conference door for the others.

  The group slowly dispersed, and made their way back to their quarters and vehicles.

  Sharon Gough slammed the trauma unit doors behind her.

  ‘Calm yourself.’ Jeremiah pushed his way through the swinging doors that had nearly taken his head off.

  Gough turned around. ‘Oh I’m sorry Jeremiah.’ She walked back towards him, realising how rude she had been. ‘I can’t stand this black and white way of thinking. It really gets my goat.’

  ‘Well that’s a fascist movement for you. It’s looking at subjects and making what they think are bold decisions, whatever the consequences are.’

  ‘Surely life isn’t just about black and white, but about the grey areas. The hard questions that make you think.’ She continued to walk with the farmer back into the high dependency ward.

  ‘Well I would agree with you. Some though, wouldn’t.’

  ‘I can’t stand by and watch this, this ethnic cleansing.’

  Jeremiah smiled. ‘I don’t think I would quite call it that.’

  ‘Well they just want to wipe them out. Without even trying to find a cure.

  ‘Remember my dear, these are the same people that killed our families. My wife, my only son.’

  Sharon stopped to think. ‘I know, I don’t mean any disrespect, you know that.’

  ‘I know you don’t.’

  ‘It’s just, since we have been working with them, studying them; well I see them more as people, people that are ill.’

  Jeremiah agreed. ‘That’s because you are right, they are ill. They are also very dangerous.’

  ‘Oh god.’ Sharon shouted. ‘My mind hurts, what shall we do.’

  ‘It’s just like you said, life is all about the grey areas.’

  Sharon stayed silent. She had made up her mind. She couldn’t stand by and watch all these sick people be murdered in cold blood. Whether Jeremiah was with her or not, she would find a way to stop it.

  Chapter Eleven

  For four days Jake and Amber had walked the fifty miles from Westward Ho to a mile outside Bovey Tracey. Jake was so proud of his little girl; she was weak from hunger, and her little feet were badly blistered.

  After escaping the butcher’s cellar, where Pip had led them, Jake was determined to keep away from any built up areas. They had skirted around Great Torrington and Winkleigh, making sure they kept their distance from any signs of life.

  Jake had long since worked out that where there are humans, there were Infected. The two now seemed to come hand in hand.

  The land had been pretty bleak. Dartmoor had been a struggle as the gale whistled through the open countryside, straight at Jake and Amber. Only Young Red, covered by his wiry fur, hadn’t been affected by the biting wind. Jake remembered Amber’s joy as the little dog had waited for them both at the entrance of the cellar. That had been the last time he had seen her smile.

  No food had been on offer, so he had rationed the three tin of beans and four packets of crisps he had squirrelled away from the shop in Swansea. Walking for hours on end sapped the energy, and Amber had felt it the most. Her young body was still growing; it needed replenishing more than most. Water hadn’t been too much of an issue, as Jake had liberated a dozen or so small bottles from the boat.

  He had toyed with the idea of refilling his plastic bottles from the many rivers and streams they encountered. The amount of corpses, and dead animals, he had seen floating in the waters during his odyssey had made him change his mind.

  The fourth day had been the hardest, traipsing across the harsh moor, and Jake had become convinced someone was following them. He first noticed it on day two, even setting up a trap to see if they passed them. It never happened, no one was there.

  Jake put this down to lack of food and exhaustion.

  Now, looking up at the road sign to Bovey Tracey, he knew he was close to the ultimate goal. Bickington and Old Mill cottage lay only fourteen miles to the south.

  ‘Daddy.’ Amber tugged on the sleeve of Jake’s jacket.

  ‘Yes sweetheart?’

  ‘Are there any crisps left?’

  Jake looked deep into his daughters eyes. She was tired, looked vacant. She couldn’t stop staring; her eyes were in a trance. He stroked the top of her hair. ‘Sorry sweetheart, we have nothing left.’

  Amber let go of her father’s jacket. S
he was so weak she couldn’t be bothered to moan. She really wanted to cry, but she hadn’t the energy.

  Jake crouched down beside her. ‘I promise you that very soon, maybe only a few hours, we can have as much food as we like.’ He kissed Amber’s cheek. ‘And a tin of dog food for Young Red.’

  Amber smiled, but said nothing.

  Jake hugged her. He knew that when he got to his uncle’s cottage the dream could so very quickly turn into a nightmare. It could have been ransacked, it could have been burnt down. The best he could hope for was untouched and empty. That would mean not so much food either. A half-eaten packet of biscuits or even an old tin of soup would feel like winning the lottery at the moment though. They both had to remain strong, focused.

  ‘Do you think we can walk for another three hours?’ He asked his little girl.

  Amber again said nothing, just nodded slightly.

  Jake felt terrible, as if he was pushing his daughter to the brink of collapse. There was nothing else he could do. They had been lucky up until now. They needed to find shelter; they needed to get to Old Mill before nightfall.

  Would Angel be there waiting for him? He couldn’t wish for anything more; Yanto working hard in the allotment, Iris and the girls playing in the back garden. These were the images in his head that kept him, and ultimately Amber, going. They were so close now he could reach out and touch it.

  ***

  ‘Can you believe this?’ Roger looked across at Angel.

  She shook her head.

  He looked back across the fields, to the outskirts of Taunton. There in front of them lay a huge compound. Several outbuildings, all ring-fenced by a huge wire barricade with razor wire rolled out along the top.

  Inside, white boiler suited bodies scurried about like ants. Vehicles came and went; lorries unloading people, and what looked like caged infected humans.

  ‘It’s like a small city.’ Roger watched again as another truck pulled up to the main gate, and two armed guards stopped it to check the vehicle over.

  ‘Where have all these people come from?’ Angel wiped off the dry grass from Lou Pepper’s T shirt as she sat down beside her.

  ‘Purebloods, it can’t be anyone else. They are the only organisation left to mount such an operation.’ Roger smiled across at Lou.

  ‘That’s the same people I saw back in Bristol.’ Harry James added, standing behind the others.

  ‘I suppose you were going to join up with them?’ Angel scoffed. ‘Or were you going to sell some of the women you were keeping prisoner to them?’

  Roger glared at Angel. He had enough of all the fracturing inside their small group. He had come to the conclusion that Angel was going to take time, if ever, to forgive young Harry. What they needed to do was concentrate on the overall goal.

  ‘What?’ Angel asked, reading Roger’s glare. She was ready for a fight.

  ‘Bloody hell, look at that!’ It was Naomi who spotted the four truck convoy, heading towards the huge camp. ‘Where are they getting all these vehicles from?’

  ‘And the diesel it takes to run them?’ Roger added.

  ‘Fuck this for a game of soldiers. I’m going to take a closer look.’ Angel slid down the grass bank.

  ‘No, wait.’ Roger tried to pull her back. ‘We don’t need to get involved.’

  ‘I think she already is.’ Naomi added.

  ‘I’ll go after her.’ Harry James followed Angel down the bank. ‘You lot stay here, I’ll make sure she keeps out of trouble.’

  With that, Harry James followed Angel to the bottom of the hill.

  ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Angel was crouched low in the long grass, trying to get a glance inside the huge compound.

  ‘You might run into trouble.’ Harry James crawled through the grass to lie alongside Angel. ‘I thought an extra pair of hands would come in handy.’

  ‘I don’t need you babysitting me.’ Angel moved forward to get closer to the perimeter fence.

  Harry James went after her and placed his hand on her shoulder. ‘You’re getting too close. You are going to give our position away.’

  Angel swung back around, grabbed the boy by the throat and wrestled him to the floor.

  Surprise more than anything caught him unawares, and Harry James buckled under the weight of his attacker.

  Angel pulled out a knife and held it to the boy’s throat. ‘Don’t ever fucking touch me again.’ She growled through gritted teeth, trying to keep the volume down. She pressed the tip of the blade into his skin, and a trickle of blood appeared.

  ‘Do it, go on, do it.’ Harry James stared into Angel’s eyes. ‘I don’t care, I have no one.’

  Angel kept pressing, and could see the skin start to split. Harry James’s eyes were burning into hers. She could see the boy didn’t care if he lived or died.

  For a few seconds they said nothing. She was sat straddled over Harry James, clutching at her knife. The seconds felt like hours, and the silence was deafening.

  Angel rolled off and withdrew her knife. What the hell was she doing? She wasn’t a cold hearted killer.

  Harry James laid there for a few seconds, more of his life flashing past his eyes. Eventually he wiped the blood from his throat and sat up.

  ‘See what you have reduced me to?’ Angel couldn’t quite believe how her anger had got the best of her. ‘Just stay the fuck away from me in future.’

  Harry James sat in silence. He didn’t know quite what to do. He had tried his best to win over Angel, but to no avail. Perhaps he should just sling his hook, he knew he wasn’t welcome. He was just about to tell her she had won when Angel shot up out of the grass.

  ‘Oh my God, it can’t be.’ Her voice was loud enough to be heard from inside the compound.

  Harry James didn’t care what she had just said, Angel was giving everyone’s position away. He grabbed her hand and pulled her back to the long grass.

  She turned to Harry James. ‘No, it can’t be; I must be seeing things.’ She rose again, but this time being careful not to be seen.

  There in one of the huge outdoor yards, walking alongside the wounded, was someone Angel recognised.

  ‘I have just seen Jeremiah.’ Angel actually smiled at Harry James.

  The boy shrugged, not knowing who he was.

  ‘Jeremiah Rosser. He fought with us in York; he’s our friend.’

  ‘You know him?’ Harry James also watched, as the older man helped tend to the sick.

  ‘We must get him out of there. He is a man of the land, a farmer. I can’t believe he is cooped up in that pen under his own will.’

  She looked back up to Roger and the others on top of the small hill. ‘We must tell Roger, we must get in there and rescue him.’

  Chapter Twelve

  Jake stood at the bottom of the path. He looked all around and the memories came flooding back.

  Old Mill cottage, in all its glory, stood before them in the fading evening light.

  On their right hand side stood the steep grassy bank, which shielded the cottage from the north.

  As Jake and Amber walked hand in hand down the narrow gravel path, it swung around to the left where a huge wooden gate kept out unwanted visitors.

  With his heart pounding, he tried the rusty metal latch with eager anticipation. Would it be unlocked?

  The gate clicked, and then opened.

  They both walked onto the vast block paved patio, where three greenhouses sat. Where the patio ended the huge lawn began, which was the size of two football pitches. In the far right hand corner were the vegetable plots. It was looking a bit tired. Jake guessed his uncle, who hadn’t been in the best of health before he had left the cottage, had neglected it somewhat.

  He remembered his mother telling him the new owners had bought the house, but hadn’t moved in. They lived abroad, the south of France he thought she had said. Anyway, they had planned to move back to the UK, and this was going to be their project. It looked as though they had never made it back.
r />   ‘Daddy, listen. I can hear water.’ Amber looked over to the big garden where the willow trees swept down, their long green branches nearly touching the floor. Jake remembered he had thought it looked like old men with big beards, bent over, their hands dragging across the grass.

  ‘It’s the river.’

  ‘River!’ Amber shouted with excitement.

  ‘Yes, at the bottom of the garden is the river Lemon. It’s full of juicy fish.’

  Amber licked her lips. ‘I love fish fingers.’

  Ushering his daughter across the patio, they both reached the back door. Jake pulled out the old house keys. Again he could feel his heart beats begin to push upwards into his throat. The last thing he wanted to do was smash a window and break in.

  He turned the long silver key. The lock snapped back; Jake turned the handle and the back door opened.

  As he walked inside he was hit with a familiar smell. It’s funny how a house from your childhood smells a certain way. It created so many memories and visions. He tried the light switch, nothing happened. The natural light was fading fast, but Jake could still make out the big, farmhouse style kitchen table. The Aga, now running cold, was still in same old place and the pots and pans that hung above it were still gleaming. He gently pulled Amber into the kitchen and closed the door behind them.

  Standing on the flag stones he looked up at the wooden beams that ran along the ceiling.

  Jake felt warm, he felt at home. This was their sanctum.

  As the sun broke through the curtains, Jake looked across the bedroom to where Amber was sleeping soundly. He had pulled one of the single beds into the master bedroom so they could both spend the first night together. He didn’t want to let his ‘Barnacle’ out of his sight. Not for the first few days anyhow.

  After arriving at Old Mill yesterday evening, weary and hungry, Jake rooted through the cupboards for food. He had found some rice, some dried herbs and a tube of tomato puree. With the cottage having its own gas supply Jake was pleasantly surprised to find the small gas stove working.

  Rice had never tasted so good. Amber was so hungry she polished off two full bowls with gusto. That had made Jake very happy. He could see the colour return to her face in front of his very eyes.