The Hurst Chronicles | Book 4 | Harbinger

by Crumby, Robin

  The teenager glanced up with disinterest as Riley approached.

  “Come on. We’re all waiting for you.” Riley was already regretting her decision to bring Heather and Jen. They were always playing around.

  Heather shrugged her shoulders. “Why do you always have to treat me like a baby? I’m nearly fourteen,” Heather fired back.

  “Then stop behaving like one. If you’re not going to listen, you can go sit in the car with Sam.” Heather’s silent stare could barely conceal her insubordination. “Come on. Get your head in the game,” she barked. “Everyone’s counting on you.”

  “Yes, Riley,” acknowledged Heather with a scowl, unholstering the Glock pistol Captain Anders presented her with as a birthday gift. Riley made her keep the weapon in the armoury, under lock and key, despite the girl’s protests. After the attack in the field back at the farm, in their own backyard, Heather said she needed to be able to defend herself. Riley suspected a darker purpose yet, in the end, she relented and, on scavenging trips, Heather was allowed to bring the Glock with her. The girl had become expert at dismantling and reassembling the weapon with her eyes closed.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on them,” reassured Tommy with a heavy sigh. “Come on, let’s get started.”

  Chapter 20

  Will and Riley checked the first row of houses, crowbarring the hinges and locks to reveal darkened homes, sunlight partially blocked by newspaper lining each pane of glass. Dirty crockery filled the washing-up bowl. A kerosene lamp hung from an improvised hook in the ceiling. A set of golf clubs stood by the door with assorted extras: an umbrella, hockey stick, even a cricket bat.

  Riley set to work, rifling through drawers and cupboards, hunting for smaller items on her mental list: hand tools; knives; tinned food, and fuel. Will checked the garage and shed for a new chainsaw, portable generator or car batteries. Not having their vehicles close by would cost them time, ferrying loads back and forth. They would need Sam’s trolley for anything heavy. If there was sufficient time, she might find space in her rucksack for a handful of CDs, DVDs, perhaps even some paperbacks. She had given explicit instruction to be back at the castle by nightfall. There was tacit agreement never to stay out after dusk, unless extenuating circumstances demanded. Darkness beyond the high walls of the castle was a foreign and unfamiliar place, filled with unseen dangers.

  As they emerged from the first property, a wolf whistle from the other end of the street directed their attention to double garage doors. Scottie beckoned to them excitedly. Neatly-spaced wall hooks displayed orderly rows of tools, fishing rods, nets, a shotgun, boxes of shells, knives of all shapes and sizes, axes, gardening shears, even handcuffs. In the room next door was a cage large enough for a Husky, German Shepherd or Ridgeback. The entire place appeared spotless, like a show home.

  “It gets better,” claimed Scottie, gesturing towards the doorway to a cellar, passing Riley a flashlight. Down the varnished wooden staircase she panned the torch beam around the darkness to reveal free standing deep shelving units filled with orderly rows of tins, labels facing forward like a supermarket aisle. Baked beans, tinned vegetables, pineapple chunks, beef stew, tomato soup. Riley gasped at the wonder of finding such a haul. She picked up one of the cans and turned it over in her palm. It was even still in date.

  “It must have taken months to assemble this haul.”

  “There’s that supermarket warehouse up the road,” explained Scottie. “Guarantee it came from there.”

  “Right, grab the team next door. Prioritise this lot.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  Riley climbed the stairs with a smile, wondering what else the Bunnies had left behind. Out on the pavement, Will shielded his eyes against the sun, admiring the row of three twelve-foot tall wind turbines spinning in the light breeze.

  “What do you think? Might take half an hour to disassemble each one.”

  “Do we need them?”

  “We can never have enough.”

  “Then I’ll get Tommy to help.”

  Will patted Riley on the back, laughing at their good fortune. The way things were going, this would more than make up for the stores lost over the Winter.

  Tommy used the sack trolley to ferry box after box through the passageway to the front entrance, where Sam loaded the tins into the Defender until the rear axle groaned in protest.

  An hour later all three vehicles were fully laden, a wind turbine secured to each roof rack, together with three high-capacity marine batteries that could add significantly to their renewable power storage capabilities, complementing the more than sixty solar panels installed on the roofs of the castle’s wing batteries. For the many days when the sun didn’t shine, the turbines might pick up the slack. Long term, they planned for self-sufficiency. Will dreamed about, one day, harnessing the strong tides that raced past the castle, setting up a buoy array off the spit, to provide a consistent and totally reliable source of sustainable energy.

  Riley froze as a woman’s scream interrupted their silent labours. A dog barking. Liz rounded the corner as if pursued by the devil himself. She slowed down once she realised she had given the hound the slip.

  “Quickly, Greta needs help.”

  They found her cowering atop a children’s climbing frame. A huge Alsatian kept its vigil, growling, tail wagging. Will distracted the dog, throwing a half-eaten apple through an open gate and slamming the door behind it. Will inspected the bite mark on Greta’s wrist, her sweater sleeve torn and shredded. Two puncture wounds pulsed with blood.

  “What happened?” he asked sympathetically.

  “It was my own stupid fault. I should have checked through the window first.”

  “How did the dog look?” asked Tommy.

  “Scary. Lots of teeth.”

  “No, I mean, was it foaming at the mouth?”

  “I was too busy running away. Why?”

  “Only that Doctor from St Mary’s was saying there’s been a spike in rabies cases. At first they thought it was the virus. Rabies has similar symptoms: fever, sore throat, aches and pains.”

  “Doesn’t sound so bad.”

  “Until it enters your brain. That’s when you start getting hallucinations, hypersensitivity to light and noise. The Doctor said people get really aggressive and confused.”

  “But it’s treatable, right?” asked Greta.

  “Sure, if you catch it early enough. We’ll need to get you checked out by a doctor.”

  Scottie supported her back towards the car, nursing the injured arm as he put pressure on the wound.

  The remaining houses yielded fewer surprises. Tins and tools. Riley would have liked another few hours on site to conduct a more thorough search. It was not uncommon for groups to hide stores underground, beneath floorboards, or behind false walls. A compound this large might take several days to inspect. She doubted whether they would get another chance before Salieri’s men discovered the Bunnies’ departure.

  It was almost five by the time they gathered by the convoy ready to leave. Riley blew several sharp blasts on the yellow whistle she carried in her breast pocket. One by one, the final members of the team reemerged, carrying heavy backpacks, relieved to be heading home.

  “Two short,” realised Will, counting heads. “Tommy, where are Heather and Jen?”

  “Last I saw, they were working their way down Marine Drive,” he explained. “I broke off to help Will dismantle the wind turbine. I’ll go check.”

  “I’ll come with you,” insisted Riley. Together they jogged back to the seafront, shouting the girls’ names. There was no response. She blew the whistle again and waited, increasingly alarmed by the eerie silence, bar the dog barking in its confinement.

  “Get the others, now.”

  The entire group spent thirty fruitless minutes systematically rechecking every property within the compound. Several houses remained untouched, their doors and windows locked. They satisfied themselves that there was no activity inside, nor any sounds of
current occupation.

  “Where are they?” demanded Riley, her worst fears dominating her thoughts. “They can’t have vanished into thin air.”

  Tommy jogged back from the clifftop. “I thought they might have gone for a swim or playing on the beach, but there’s no sign. Nothing. You don’t think they left the compound?”

  “Not if they’ve any sense,” answered Riley, exchanging a knowing shrug with the others.

  “I just came from the other entrance,” explained Will. “The gates are still locked. There’s no way through.”

  “Maybe they lost track of time,” suggested Scottie.

  “Or this is one of Heather’s little pranks.”

  “Even Heather’s not that stupid.”

  “They’ll be back any second.”

  “No, they knew we were leaving at five. That’s half an hour ago.”

  “It’s going to be dark soon.”

  “Riley.” Liz called her attention to a curtain twitching in the window of a semi-detached house further down the road. A white-haired man observed the group through binoculars. He shrank back in to the shadows realising they had spotted him.

  Will banged on the glass, attempting to wrench open the window but found it locked. The old man was terrified, gesturing for them to leave.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” said a frail voice, gripping the occasional table next to him for balance, fumbling with his keys.

  “We’re just looking for our friends. We mean you no harm.”

  “I haven’t seen anyone. Leave me alone.”

  “Two young teenage girls,” continued Riley. “Did you see them?”

  The old man hesitated, afraid to admit what he knew. He hobbled over to the window and opened it a crack so he could hear them better. “The men took them.”

  “What men?”

  “The ones who’ve been watching you the whole time you’ve been here. Right over there,” said the old man pointing towards the cliff top. “They were here yesterday too, scouting the place.”

  “Did you recognise them?”

  “Yes, from Highcliffe. Been making a nuisance of themselves for days, issuing threats.”

  “Why?” asked Riley.

  “We were behind on our payments. We trade with them, you see. When people started getting sick, they raised their prices. Demanded early settlement. When we couldn’t pay, they started taking our stuff.”

  “What happened to the others?”

  “They left while there was still time. It was different this time. People died so quickly. Anyone with symptoms was moved to the care home down the road, but it didn’t seem to make a difference.”

  “Why didn’t you go with them?”

  “Me?” The old man shrugged. “I’ve lived here all my life. I’m too old to start again.” He paused, looking at each of them in turn. “You’re from Hurst Castle, aren’t you?”

  “How did you know that?”

  “I heard one of the men asking the girls.”

  “Do you know where they took them?”

  “That way,” he gestured to the west. “Back to Highcliffe. You should be leaving too. It’s not safe around here after dark.”

  “He’s right,” said Will. “We should go, Riley. If the girls aren’t here, we’ll find them at Highcliffe in the morning. Let me talk to the Italians. We’re mixed up in someone else’s turf war, that’s all.”

  Riley nodded, submitting to reason. Stupid girls, she thought to herself. Why didn’t they listen? No doubt, Salieri would demand an inflated price for their safe return. That’s if they hadn’t already killed them.

  Chapter 21

  The drive back to St Mary’s was painfully slow. The minibus carrying Zed and the doctor’s team got stuck behind a convoy of trucks crawling along the narrow lanes from Ventnor, returning to the refugee camps in the island’s north. After much encouragement, flashing their lights and sounding the horn, the lorries pulled over to let them pass.

  Daniels tapped Zed on the shoulder and handed him a cup of coffee from the thermos flask he took everywhere with him. Perhaps a relic of a former life spent protecting others, ever watchful for danger. Daniels had proven as invisible as the colonel promised. A forgotten, though reassuring, presence in the background of every given situation. The few times they had exchanged more than a few words, Daniels seemed to relax his shoulders and shared the occasional anecdote from his various assignments minding diplomats, a Cabinet Minister, even a Saudi prince.

  Doctor Hardy joined them at the back of the minibus, peering at the printouts of the trials data, covered in scribbles. Zed quickly closed the notebook, open at a page headed ‘Renaissance Island’, circled in red.

  “You’ve been talking to Anton then?” There was an edge to Hardy’s question.

  “Just getting his views on the vaccine. He was reminiscing about VECTOR.”

  “Always glass half empty that one. He says we’re barking up the wrong tree. That a new strain of virus will emerge before we have a viable vaccine.”

  “Are we? Barking up the wrong tree, I mean?”

  Hardy ignored the question. “Like I tell all my team: prepare for the worst, plan for the best. It’s pointless worrying about something that may never happen.”

  Zed was thinking about what the old man said at the clinic. “Admit it, these people have no idea what they’ve signed up for, do they? We’re conducting human trials with an unproven vaccine.”

  “You’re exaggerating.”

  “How many more children need to die before we get the formulation right?” rebuked Zed in frustration.

  “We would never place the lives of children at risk. Who told you that?”

  “All those terminations,” began Zed, shaking his head.

  “Birth complications are beyond my control. It’s an unpredictable business,” acknowledged Hardy, his voice devoid of empathy. “A small price to pay to save humanity from extinction.”

  “I suppose we must all do what we can to support the search for a cure,” replied Zed with heavy sarcasm.

  “You’ve seen for yourself. We’re being as transparent as we can. Between the Council and Sister Theodora, everyone seems intent on tying us up in red tape. I bet Anton never had to deal with health and safety diktats back in Russia. Sounds like he had an unlimited supply of so-called volunteers.

  “You mean orphans, criminals, the mentally ill, socially disadvantaged?”

  “And you wonder why Russia became a world leader in vaccine research. Science moves a damn sight faster without the handbrake left on. Whatever you think of my team, none of us are unaware of the moral dilemma, Zed. Hazarding one life to save another?”

  “How many more people need to die before we find the answer?”

  “As many as it takes. Hundreds, thousands. There are always trade-offs. These brave men and women will one day be honoured as heroes.”

  “I don’t know how you sleep at night. I can’t knowing the truth.”

  “I can prescribe you some pills for that. Look, you’re not the only one. We’re all strung out. Perhaps you hadn’t noticed. Most of this lot work every waking moment, sixteen-hour days. Everyone’s aware of the urgency. The sooner you set aside emotion and stop pursuing this personal vendetta, the better. Let bygones be bygones. Redirect those fabled powers of analysis to find a solution, rather than raking over the past to identify someone to blame.”

  Zed shrugged his shoulders and stared out the window. Perhaps the doctor was right? His was a fool’s errand. He had allowed personal feelings to cloud his judgement. He returned to the print-outs in front of him, redoubling his efforts to find the answer.

  On the approach road to St Mary’s, the driver turned sharply, speeding through the open gates, barely acknowledging the guards. The roar of a helicopter swept over the compound, landing out of sight. By the time Zed reached the raised landing platform, the Seahawk’s twin engines were already powering down. In the building’s shelter, Zed spotted the pilot in his flight suit sharing
a cigarette with the ground crew. The operations manager redirected Zed towards the lecture theatre on the ground floor of the main building, where the briefing was already in progress. As he took his place at the back, the colonel briefly looked up from the podium.

  “As I was just saying, the United Nations has set up a forward operating base here,” he said, pointing to an area on the northern outskirts of Folkestone on a map of southern England. “So far, they have unloaded forty thousand tonnes of humanitarian aid and medical supplies, with a further seventy thousand tonnes en route by the weekend.”

  “How many troops have they deployed?” asked Captain Armstrong.

  “The expeditionary force is comprised of almost five hundred men with a second wave arriving next week.”

  “And do we have any idea what they’re planning?” asked Armstrong, his nose clearly out of joint.

  “Security Council resolution 392C provides for a phased clean-up of the south-east. Once Folkestone and Dover deep water ports are made fully operational, they will begin further landings in the south and south-west. By June, Group East plans to advance westwards towards Brighton, and north to Canterbury, Ramsgate and Margate, linking up with Group South and Group South West. All being well, they will be in London by Christmas.”

  There were a few concerned glances and murmured exchanges around the theatre.

  “Who’s in command?” asked David Woods, the former cabinet minister, sat on the front row.

  “Secretary General LaSalle himself.”

  “I see. Then how can we be of assistance?”

  “Until Group South becomes operational, he’s asked that we sit tight.”

  “Which explains why they’ve made no attempt to contact us.”

  “The situation is far from clear. They’re in contact with several other groups.”