Wildfire: A Post-Apocalyptic Pandemic Survival Thriller (The Hurst Chronicles Book 3)

by Robin Crumby

  He didn’t respond at first, but she could hear him rummaging through a kitchen drawer. He walked in and handed her several bunches of keys of various shapes and sizes to sort through. On the fourth attempt, the key turned, and the door swung open.

  Inside were two antique shotguns with engravings on the stocks. She uncocked the first and checked the barrel. It was clean and well oiled. The firing mechanism seemed in good order, and there were more than a dozen boxes of cartridges. The other shotgun had a broken stock but she took it anyway in case it could be repaired. Before leaving, she loaded two cartridges, one in each barrel.

  “Here, take this, it’s loaded,” she said, handing the weapon to Scottie. “Safety’s on. Tommy, check upstairs.”

  “Let’s not push our luck, eh?” cautioned Scottie. “We’ve got a good haul already.”

  He opened his rucksack wide so she could inspect their booty.

  “Loads of tins, a can opener, cutlery, some sharp knives and some WD-40. Always comes in handy. Bedrooms are always a waste of time.”

  “We need bedding, remember?”

  “I’m not going up if there are dead bodies to deal with.”

  “Good point. Leave it then. No one wants to sleep in a deadman’s bed.”

  “What about the car in the drive?”

  “Battery’s almost certainly dead.”

  “Still, see if it’ll start or not. I’ll check the garage. Meet me outside in, say, five?”

  She heaved open the garage door a few inches, wrestling with a rusted mechanism. It jammed a few feet up, but the gap was just large enough to crawl underneath. Riley clicked on her torch and looked around the darkened room. The retired couple must have been keen gardeners or DIY enthusiasts. There was an impressive collection of nearly new shears, spades, rakes, spanners, screwdrivers, saws and other tools neatly organised on the wall. A pristine lawnmower sat on airless tyres, covered in dust but otherwise immaculate. Holding the penlight between her teeth, she made a note of these items in her notebook.

  From outside, she heard the Volvo’s starter motor turn over several times, but the engine refused to fire. Then the battery died, replaced by the repeated click of the ignition. She heard a car door slam shut followed by animated voices from up the road. Will was shouting her name. She lowered herself to the ground again, slid back under the garage door on her stomach and reached back to grab the rucksack.

  “Riley, you better come and see this.”

  “What is it?”

  “A few houses up. I don’t know what to make of it,” he stammered. “It’s messed up, that’s what it is.”

  ****

  As soon as she walked into the dimly lit house, she knew something was wrong. The windows had been boarded over, and black plastic sheeting used to block out the daylight. There was evidence of recent occupation: half-burned candles in saucers placed around the room and a can of baby carrots, empty but still containing a fork inside. It smelled relatively fresh.

  “There’s no one here. We checked upstairs already, but you need to see the garage, Riley.”

  She assumed Will was exaggerating, but the look on his face said otherwise. He nodded towards the kitchen.

  “I hope you’ve got a strong stomach this morning.”

  Riley took a deep breath and stepped over the threshold, holding the torch out in front of her with some trepidation.

  It was an empty double garage with a dirty-looking wooden workbench at one end. She could make out a vice and a circular saw attached to the bench, and a chainsaw underneath. On the far brick wall, she noticed several metal fixing points with heavy chain hanging down, collected in a heap on the ground. Her hand was shaking as the torch beam edged right, pausing to identify what she assumed must be dried blood splattered up the wall. Underneath the fixings, more blood had pooled on the concrete floor.

  Will’s voice from behind startled her. “Some sadistic bastard has been using this as a torture chamber.”

  Riley swallowed, hardly daring to complete her search. She had seen rooms like this before. They all had. It was hard to imagine what drove a man – it was always men – to vent their fury, to punish, to inflict pain on others in this way. There would be no knock at the door, no consequences for their depravity, as if all morality and humanity had been wantonly cast aside like a change of clothes.

  “Looks like they were still alive when they dragged them to that workbench then into the kitchen. You don’t think—”

  “Don’t even say it. It’s inhuman.”

  A whimper from the corner made Riley jump. She flashed the torch towards the source of the noise.

  A woman’s half-naked torso was hanging from two rings set high on the wall, almost reaching the flat roof. Her long matted hair masked her features, her head facing the floor in defeat. Her bare feet were secured by garden wire to a further ring just above floor level. The young woman was topless, her arms taut and filthy. Riley leaned forward and lifted her head up as gently as she dared. Her mouth was gagged, her eyes stared blankly back at her. She was likely drugged, barely conscious. Blinking into the light, her pupils were dilated. She tried to vocalise something but the words wouldn’t come out, gurgling as she tried to wrestle free of the gag.

  Riley untied the fabric and inspected the chains securing her hands.

  “Will, there was a pair of bolt croppers in the garage of that last house. Would you mind? Scottie, Mila, keep an eye on the road, will you?”

  She turned back to face the woman, leaning close to her right ear.

  “Don’t worry, we’re getting you out of here.”

  “They’ll be back soon,” the young woman whispered, her throat hoarse.

  “Which animals did this to you?”

  “Two guys. I think they’re brothers.”

  Will was gone a few minutes before reappearing with the bolt croppers. Riley shone the torch up to the rings so Will could cut through one of the links. The chain fell to the floor, clanking heavily in a heap. Riley braced herself as the full weight of the woman’s body slumped forward into her arms. She lowered the woman gently down on to the floor. As sensation returned to her limbs, her whole body began convulsing, shivering from the cold. Riley took off her jacket and helped her sit upright, wrapping the coat around her half-naked torso.

  Outside, they heard the distant sound of a car engine approaching the cottage, and Scottie shouting.

  “Someone’s coming,” said Will. “What do we do, boss?”

  She stared back at him, wondering whether they should stay and confront the men who did this, or run.

  ****

  Between them, they carried the woman’s barely conscious body out through patio doors towards a gate at the back of the garden that gave access to a narrow rat-run separating the back gardens. Through a bush, they could just see back into the patio area the way they had come. Scottie took aim at the doorway, covering their retreat.

  “The rest of you follow this path up to the main road,” she whispered. “Scottie and I will make sure whoever this is doesn’t try to follow us.”

  From the house came the sound of someone kicking over a chair and shouting. A man’s face appeared at the doorway. He had long, dark hair and a heavy beard. He was wearing combat trousers and an angler’s jacket. He looked directly at where Scottie and Riley were hiding, and instinctively they both shrank down out of sight.

  When she popped up again to take a look, Riley saw him striding towards them. There was a deafening boom close to her ear, and for a few seconds, she was disoriented, clasping her hand to her ringing ear. When she looked back, the man was writhing on the ground, and the door slammed shut behind him.

  Scottie dragged her out, her hand still to her ear. Once they were further down the road, she got out the walkie-talkie and turned the power on.

  “Corporal Carter, this is Riley!” she shouted. “You there?”

  “Go ahead, Riley. What’s up?”

  “We need backup. We’re searching the houses on Bedbur
y Lane on the way up to Warren Farm. Two hostiles, male, one in his early thirties, dark hair. One of them is wounded or dead, the other is likely following us.”

  “I told you to avoid Bedbury Lane.”

  “We didn’t have much choice. It looks like someone’s been torturing young women.”

  “That’s terrible, but what do you want us to do about it?”

  “I don’t know. Arrest them? Shoot them, for all I care.”

  “If you’re not in any immediate danger, I suggest you vacate the area as soon as possible.” He paused.

  Riley stared at the walkie-talkie in disbelief. “We only saw two of them, but there might be more. There could be other prisoners being held there. You need to do something,” she implored.

  “Look, I’ll ask Private Dennis to swing by later when they pick up the beds and mattresses you need for the hotel. Tell him which house they’re in, and we’ll go and have a word with them.”

  Riley couldn’t believe how desensitised he seemed, as if what she had just described was barely worthy of punishment. If the soldiers weren’t prepared to deal with it, then she would. It was inconceivable that they would let murderers and torturers co-exist in the local area. Men like them had to be taught a lesson.

  “Before I forget,” continued Carter, “the padre said he’d swing by tomorrow and pick you up at 0530 hours. Said you’d know what he was talking about. Something about Ryde.”

  She turned off the power and put the radio back in her pocket. “Fat lot of good they are.”

  “What’s the point of having soldiers here to protect us if they can’t be bothered to lift a finger? At least give us some weapons, and we’ll do it ourselves,” suggested Will.

  “Come on, let’s get the girl back to the hotel. You lot finish your sweep of these houses. I’ll come back and meet you at Warren Farm around eleven. I want to try and talk to that old woman, see if we can’t come to an arrangement.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The padre had kept his promise. He collected them at five thirty sharp, hoping to make it back to his barracks near St Mary’s by seven o’clock.

  As the first light of dawn broke over the horizon, Riley was nudged awake on the back seat of an unmarked staff car. They had stopped at a checkpoint on the main road into Newport.

  The chaplain had been kind enough to secure the relevant passes and paperwork. With any luck, she could drop off Adele for her hospital tests, pick up Heather from Ryde Boarding School and be back at Freshwater before the day was out.

  Riley yawned and sat up straight. Her T-shirt had ridden up to expose her midriff. In the rear-view mirror, she noticed the driver staring at her. She met his gaze until he looked away.

  The road sign to their right suggested they were not far from the outskirts of Newtown on the Bowcombe Road. In the dawn mist and gloom, she could just make out the silhouette of a castle high on the hill, dominating the skyline.

  “Is that Carisbrooke Castle up there?” she asked no one in particular. The driver glanced out the window and nodded.

  “Why are we stopped?”

  “Checkpoint,” he responded flatly, still red-faced at being caught ogling her exposed flesh. Riley smiled at his embarrassment, quietly pleased that at least someone in this world still found her attractive.

  “Would you mind finding out how much longer? We’re on a tight schedule,” she said, checking her watch.

  The driver didn’t move, recovering his sangfroid. Riley got the impression he was the type of young man who took issue with being told what to do by a stranger, let alone a woman.

  “You heard the lady, private,” barked the padre, eyes still closed. The front passenger seat was fully reclined, an overcoat clutched to his throat for warmth. He adjusted his position, struggling to get comfortable.

  Reluctantly, the driver opened the door and stepped out into the chilly morning air. He set off up the road, hands thrust deep in his pockets, following the line of vehicles. The barrier remained down, the way closed to all traffic. It was just before seven. Curfew was still in effect.

  She looked over at the curled-up shape beside her, straightening the blanket around Adele’s shoulders. The little girl was fast asleep. Riley got out of the unmarked black saloon to stretch her legs. She massaged her frozen fingers, trying to get the circulation going again.

  The vehicle in front was a split-screen vintage VW camper van. Inside the steamed-up windows, she could see a family arguing. The mother was wringing her hands while the father rummaged in their bags, shouting about something she couldn’t catch. Perhaps they had mislaid their passes.

  Further up the line, she could see their driver sharing a cigarette with the soldiers at the barrier. One of them was pointing towards Riley. The soldier seemed to straighten and shout something to the other guards.

  The driver double-timed it back to her, gesturing for her to get back inside. He restarted the engine, breathing hard, and manoeuvred out of the line and up towards the barrier.

  “Sorry to keep you, sir,” said the guard with begrudging respect as they reached the barrier. The soldier leant on the driver-side window, chewing gum. The padre handed him the signed transportation order, which the guard angled towards the light to check the official military stamp. He looked at Adele in the back, sizing up the other occupants of the vehicle, before winking at Riley. When he was satisfied everything was in order, he nodded towards his partner who leant on the red and white striped counterweight to allow them through the barrier.

  “Carry on, private,” smiled the padre, touching his forehead in salute.

  Something about their exchange pleased Riley. A mutual respect and military code still bound these men together, united by a common purpose to keep the island safe. Perhaps it was their professionalism or just an unshakeable faith in the chain of command.

  The charade was plain to see if you chose to look. They were merely going through the motions. All of these people were locked in a repetitive cycle. Tied to their routines, enslaved by constructs designed in a different time. Riley chose to accept the display at face value. They were putting on a show for her benefit. A pretence of order and control.

  She remembered a time when Britain had one of the finest professional armed forces in the world, before the chain of command became broken. Blind obedience was no longer enough. In a fractured organisation that had splintered into multiple factions, the operating parameters had changed overnight. An invisible enemy, civilian infrastructure that had collapsed, old rules that no longer applied, yet many still struggled to adapt, obeying orders that no longer made any sense.

  The fatalist in her was whispering that these people were merely rearranging deck chairs on a sinking ship. If there was a fresh outbreak on the island, they would all be as helpless as each other. She remembered the professor saying that nature always found a way to disrupt mankind’s best-laid plans. It was simply a matter of time.

  As they drove slowly through the improvised security zone, Riley spotted a flurry of activity to their right. A battered old Ford Galaxy had its doors flung open. Three male occupants were hauled out and dumped unceremoniously on the grass verge by the side of the road, guns pointed at their heads. They looked no older than teenagers. The guard was shouting questions, his boot pressed firmly into the small of one boy’s back. The guard leaned forward, pushing him into the dirt.

  “Stay down!” he shouted. “I said keep your hands behind your heads.”

  The scene disappeared from sight as they continued on, but not before a single shot rang out, followed by a flurry of others.

  Adele sat up violently, startled by the gunfire.

  “Shhh,” soothed Riley, stroking the back of Adele’s head. “Just some kids trying to get through the checkpoint.”

  The driver flicked his eyes across at the padre who was craning his head to see what had just happened.

  “Do you want me to go back?”

  The chaplain shook his head, chewing his lip. “There’s no poin
t. If those lads were resisting arrest or trying to get through without a valid pass, then the soldiers have every right to use force. They’re simply following orders.”

  “They were just teenagers,” said Riley.

  “We don’t know the circumstances. It’s not our place to interfere.”

  “Even so,” started Riley before she was interrupted again.

  “Look, I’ll raise it with the area commander when I’m back in the office,” he said, swivelling round to face her. “These are not normal times. These people have to learn that the control orders exist for their own protection. If one infected person makes it on to the island and we get another outbreak, we’ll be right back to where we were two years ago.”

  “The soldiers are not above the law. You can’t treat people like that and expect them to support you.” Riley shrugged, crossing her arms. “And you wonder why the rebellion is gaining more and more support.”

  “You’re right, but don’t forget, we’re all operating in challenging circumstances. Most of the island is under martial law. We don’t have enough men or resources. Without civilian support, there’s a limit to what we can achieve. Civilians can’t just go wandering off without there being consequences.”

  “What about the people who still live here?”

  “The same rules apply. Just because they were here first doesn’t mean they qualify for special treatment. Even the kids,” he said, looking over his shoulder at Adele.

  Adele ignored him, well aware that his comments were intended for her. She continued staring out of the window. As if struck by a thought, she turned to face Riley.

  “What’s this new treatment they’re going to try on me?” she asked.

  Riley sighed. She had answered this same question half a dozen times but knew the little girl was terrified of going back there. It was the smell of the place, the men in white coats, not to mention the needles.

  “I don’t know. They’re hoping your blood can still teach them more about the virus.”

  Riley noticed the padre’s raised eyebrows.

  “She has acute lymphoblastic leukaemia. They think it’s affected her immune system in such a way that she has increased resistance, but they don’t know why,” she explained. Turning back to Adele, she continued, “They’ll give you some more of those pills you don’t like. Remember what that nice American doctor told you?”