by Jack Lewis
Prologue
A meadow, 3 miles away from the Dome.
In a country ravaged by decades of death, what were the chances Dale had found the only meadow free of infected? Maybe it was wishful thinking. He set his gear on the ground and put his hand to his forehead to block out the sun. Better check again.
He scanned for the tell-tale spots where an infected might lurk, but there was nothing dangerous. That was what worried him most. They had to be around here somewhere, and it went against every survival mechanism he had to think otherwise.
The grass reached as high as his knees, but it didn’t hide any infected in it. They were too stupid to sneak, and they only crawled when severed at the waist, so the danger today was the infection in the air.
The perimeter was clear, and the wind carried the muffled shouts of two children, not the moans of infected. Luna and Eric chased each other up the hill in the same way Dale and his brothers used to chase each other decades ago. The world had gone to hell, but kids still acted the same. It was reassuring.
Luna, the younger and more boisterous of the twins, tugged the hair on the back of Eric’s head. His mask smothered his yelp. He stopped and tried to punch his sister’s arm, but she side-stepped at the last second.
“Come on, idiots,” said Dale, hoping the command was loud enough for them to hear him through his mask, and that the word ‘idiots’ was taken affectionately.
Stephanie was standing at the bottom of the hill with her hand sideways across her forehead. She stared out into the distance, her body still, her ears oblivious to the antics of her kids. Dale followed the direction of her stare.
He had to pinch himself when he thought about how much his life had changed since the day he saw Stephanie and the kids fleeing down his street. Capita soldiers followed them, but by then the woman and children were standing in Dale’s hallway, their faces ghost white.
A rush of nerves hit his stomach and made him uneasy. Oh, shit. Am I gonna do it? Today was the day he would let Stephanie know how he felt.
He put his hand to his face and ran his finger over his mask. The straps secured it tight enough to his head they’d made his skin sore at first, but he was long passed that. He put his hand over his mouthpiece and felt his filtered breath drift through.
He took his Air Virus Sensor from his pocket. The solar-powered sensor registered three out of four bars worth of power, which was reassuring.
Stephanie approached him, her hips swaying in tandem with the grass. “How’s the air?”
“One sec.”
He held it above him, pressed the button and held it in until an LED blinked green twice. The device sucked in air, whirred, and flashed red five times. Damn.
“Five reds? You shouldn’t be here Dale, mask or not.”
He remembered the day the government planes flew over every city and town in the country. The drone grew louder as the four-engine aircrafts swopped overhead, opened their cargo doors and dropped parachute-covered boxes to the ground. They dropped around sixty million cheap air-filter masks and ten million AVS modules across the land.
“What are we doing here?” said Stephanie.
“Yeah, well, I got you a present. Take off your mask.”
Stephanie scanned the meadow around her. At home, she wore the boss hat. It was Dale’s house, but he’d never dispute who ran it. Out here in open air, she looked vulnerable. It was strange she’d be that way when she had the advantage over him outdoors.
“There’s no one around,” said Dale, “Take it off.”
Stephanie glanced side to side. Satisfied they were alone, she untied the straps of her mask as though it was the top of a cocktail dress and pulled it away from her face. When she took a deep breath, her eyes widened. “Wow.”
Eric walked toward his mum, but he didn’t see his sister’s outstretched leg. He fell, but he was back on his feet within a second. He turned to meet his sister, clenching his fists.
“You wanker,” he said.
“Stop pissing about and take off your masks,” said Stephanie in her blunt northern accent.
Eric and Luna fiddled with their masks. They breathed deeply, but they didn’t enjoy the smell of the meadow as much as their mum. Stephanie sucked in more of the air.
“Does it not make you sad?” she asked Dale. She was alluding to the fact he couldn’t take off his mask and smell the air himself.
“This is what makes you special. You, Luna and Eric. You’re the future of this world. I know that sounds corny, but it’s true.”
Stephanie's stare turned hard. “You haven’t seen what the Capita do when they know you’re immune. May as well get my mask grafted to my face.”
The sound of galloping came from across the field. The pounding of horse hooves wasn’t unusual, but strangers rarely had good intentions. Dale turned to Stephanie and the kids.
“Get your masks on. Come on, don’t mess about.”
Stephanie and Luna put theirs on with fluid movements, but Eric fumbled with the straps of his. Dale helped him, aware of the galloping sound growing louder.
A horse’s angry face came over the crest of the hill fifty feet away. Since petrol was rarely an option, people had started dusting off their riding boots and jumping on horseback. Horses weren’t free. You had to be part of the Capita to get one, unless you lived far away from their borders; somewhere remote where their greedy fingers couldn’t reach. Living in such places gave you a heap of other problems, like mobs of infected waiting to tear out your ribs and have a feast.
A man was sitting on top of the horse holding its reins in one hand, directing the animal across the meadow with smooth control. He cut a frightening sight. He wore the mask of a fourteenth-century plague doctor. Black leather covered his face, and a sharp beak extending eight inches out from it, sharp enough to poke someone’s eye out. The guy belonged in a horror dungeon.
Eyeholes were cut into the mask. Stern eyes stared out from them, their glare trained on Dale’s face. His long leather coat flapped against the side of the horse and made him look too fat to sit on it. The head of a pickaxe poked above his shoulders as a teasing threat.
Dale clenched his fists. Now we’re in trouble. His heart thudded against his chest, and the wind teased its way through his jumper and chilled his skin. Everyone knew who this man was, and what he did. He wanted to be far, far away from the meadow. It was a stupid, selfish idea to come here.
As the man got closer, Dale tried to catch Stephanie’s gaze. He wanted to tell her to be calm, but he was far from calm himself.
The man stopped his horse in front of them. The mare bulged with muscle, and it must have weighed a ton. It could have crushed Luna or Eric with the rise and fall of one hoof. The horse snorted, and spit flew from its nostrils.
“Do you know me?” said the man.
Dale tried to keep his voice level. “I know of you, yeah.”
“What’s my name?”
Dale’s swallowed and tried to lubricate his vocal chords, but it was like rubbing two rocks together. “The Bull,” he said.
The man swung a leg over the side of his horse and dropped to the ground with more agility than his body should have allowed. The grass trembled against him. There wasn’t much height difference between him and Dale, but the way he carried himself made him seem giant.
“Charles Bull, actually” he said, stopping a few feet in front of the family. “Mum didn’t christen me The Bull, you know. It’s a nickname. Please, call me Charles. What else do you know about me?”
Dale didn’t want to offend The Bull. He knew what his job was, but should he say it?
“Go on,” said Charles.
Stephanie found the words before Dale. “You’re a hunter,” she said.
Charles straightened
his leather coat, and his pickaxe swung behind him. He back must have been made of steel to carry it around with him all the time.
“A hunter is a person who hunts game for food or sport. A bounty hunter hunts criminals or fugitives for reward. I hunt the enemies of the Capita, and they reward me for it. Do you know what I want?”
“I’ve heard the rumours,” said Dale.
“And?”
What should he say next? Stephanie squeezed his hand. Her movements were small and hidden, but Charles didn’t miss them.
“I can see I’m interrupting something,” he said. “Such a sweet family, and a sweeter moment. I apologise. Hold on a tick, I need to write this down.”
He opened his leather coat and took out a battered notepad tied together with string. Dale and his family watched in silence as Charles unwound the string from his book. He wished for the seconds to pass quicker, for Charles to say what he wanted and leave. If only it were that simple.
Charles opened it at a blank page. He started writing, murmuring to himself, “Meadow of flowers. Twins. Happy parents.”
When he’d covered half the page in his squashed handwriting, he shut the book and put it back in his pocket.
“I like to write these down, little moments that warm a heart as cold as mine. It helps during the tough times. A self-help technique I learned from my reading.”
Charles took a few steps closer. Instead of backing off, Dale puffed out his chest and stayed where he was. Despite the ominous figure Charles cut in front of them, Dale hand tingled from Stephanie’s touch. Had they ever held hands before? What a time for a first.
Charles stroked the bloom of a high sunflower. The petals shrank from his touch. “I miss the air,” he said. “I know we still breathe it, but only my lungs feel the benefit these days. It used to be my nose as well. Our senses are the biggest losers in all of this.”
He snapped his glance to Luna and Eric. Watching Charles look at the kids -his kids? - made Dale’s face burn. It was like the hunter’s gaze drained their vitality. One punch and I’ll knock the bastard clean off his horse.
“Do you miss it, kids?” said Charles.
Luna met Charles’s gaze without a scrap of fear, while Eric looked at his mother for reassurance.
Charles put his hand to his mask and rubbed his fingers across the leather beak. “Silly me. You’ve never known the smell of the air, have you? The only children who have are the Darwin’s Children. I hope there aren’t any around here.”
The words hammered into Dale’s skull. Darwin’s Children; the name given to people blessed with immunity to the virus, those who could breathe tainted air without lapsing into a virus coma and waking with a hunger for flesh. The DC’s were blessed, and the Capita responded by hunting them.
“Do you wish you had the gift, Dale?” said Charles.
Stephanie’s hand tightened around his. Dale squeezed back. “The gift?”
“The gift of immunity. Of lungs that can breathe the decay and stay pure.”
“No,” said Dale.
“Rumours are spreading like the clap; they say there’s a family around here. That’s why I’m here and not at my house near the Dome where a hot bath is waiting. A bunch of mouth-breathers live nearby. God knows why, they must be crazy to live close to the Dome”.
Dale rubbed the rough hairs on back of his neck. He needed a haircut. “I don’t know what to say.”
Did his voice sound different? Did he sound nervous? His heart hammered, and his throat closed tighter around every word he spoke. He hoped Charles couldn’t sense it.
“Forget the mouth-breathers. I’m sure we’ll catch them. Have you heard anything of the rats?” said Charles.
“Rats?”
“The Resistance, Dale. Rats living in plain sight.”
How did Charles know his name? He didn’t remember telling him. Charles knew more than he should. Ugh. My stomach’s turning to water.
Over Charles's shoulder, in the distance, was the road that led into a town full of empty buildings and wandering infected. Right now, streets full of the cannibal infected seemed safer than sharing a meadow with Charles Bull.
“We haven’t seen the Resistance,” said Stephanie. “But you’re a flawless investigator. Tell me, have any Resistance members ever given themselves away when you came out and asked them about it?”
“You’re a funny lady,” said Charles. “Let me share something with you. Forget the Resistance for a minute; they're worms in the soil. There’s more to the rumours of the mouth-breathers, and I think you’ll find it interesting.”
“Go on,” said Stephanie. Her voice was cold, and given their predicament, Dale wished she’d act less hostile.
“They say the mouth-breathers are a woman with two children,” said Charles, and cast his beady gaze on the children. “Twins.”
Ice spread across Dale’s chest. He knew where this was going, but he didn’t know how to stop it. Charles’s leather coat creaked as he stepped forward.
“It’s a funny thing this genetic mutation, don’t you think? Some of us are immune, yet others get hungry for flesh. And the cruel trick of it is the only way you can find out is to contract the virus in the first place. Breathe tainted air. Get bitten by one of them. How long do the virus comas last, by the way?”
“A couple of hours “said Stephanie.
Charles’s eyes lit up. “Caught you, mouth-breather,” he said, smiling. He put his hand to his chest and laughed. “No, you’re right. A couple of hours in a coma and you wake a person, or a monster. Some think the mouth-breathers are still monsters, but a different kind. I don’t take stock in that.”
“We better get going,” said Stephanie, peering at the sky where the colours had shifted to a dark grey. “It’s getting late.”
“Do you mind if I speak to your children?” said Charles.
“I’d rather you didn’t. We need to get back,” said Dale.
Charles turned his head to Dale. His eyes chilled Dale’s skin. “Don’t mistake my politeness for weakness.”
Charles towered over the children. Most people, when speaking to children, crouched to their level. Charles was standing above them, his pickaxe hanging from his back, his bulky frame blotting out the sky. Charles studied the children, lingering his gaze on Eric.
“Your boy’s mask is damaged,” he said. He crouched beside Dale. “You better get him inside before it breaks. Or better still, maybe I should fix it now? Hold your breath, little boy. We don’t want any of those nasty bugs getting in.”
He ripped the mask from Eric’s face. The boy’s cheeks bulged as he held the air in his lungs. Thank god he had the presence of mind to pretend to hold his breath. Anything other action would have given him away. Stephanie had taught him well.
Charles puzzled over the straps of Eric’s mask as if it were a Rubix cube. Eric’s face turned red as he held in air under the pretence he couldn’t breathe the air without a mask. His cheeks puffed out more, and blood seeped through them and coloured them crimson.
Come on, thought Dale. He watched Charles mess around with the mask. Hurry, you bastard.
Eric’s cheeks grew redder. He was on the verge of breathing, and if that happened, it was game over. Charles would figure out Eric was immune, or he’d expect the boy to become infected. Either way, it would involve a one-way trip to the Dome.
Finally, Charles went to hand the mask to Eric. Eric stuck his hand out for his mask, but Charles yanked it away at the last second.
“Almost there. One more fix thing to fix.”
Eric’s face cheeks bulged, balloon-like and ready to pop. As his agitation increased, so did Dale’s heart rate. Sweat stuck his shirt to his armpits.
Eric’s eyes were wide and pleading. I can’t keep this up, he seemed to say, I have to breathe.
Charles handed back the mask and strapped it to the boy’s face. Eric took deep, devouring breaths and slumped against his mother.
Well done, thought Dale. You did good,
lad.
Charles arched an eyebrow at Stephanie. “No reaction? I have to say, I’m surprised. Your son nearly filled his lungs with infected air, but you don’t seem upset about it.”
Dale didn’t know what to say, and Stephanie felt the same way.
“Still, you might be beside yourself, for all I know,” said Charles. “It’s hard to read a person’s feelings when they wear a mask.”
Luna collapsed on the floor with a thud. She banged her head on the ground and convulsed, jerking and twisting as if invisible cattle prods zapped her.
Oh shit, Dale thought. Not now.
Charles rubbed his head. He stood over the girl and watched her spasm. Stephanie got to her knees. She took off her cardigan and cushioned it under the girl’s head. Dale expected her to be worried, but she moved with the deliberate calm of a nurse.