Prey for the Dead (Book 3)

by Earl, C. A.

  ‘You do you remember, don’t you Henry, how that thing was dragged off you? How your arm was taken off, and the end of it cauterised to stop the infection spreading?’

  Sawyer gasped and tried to angle his head down and as far to his right as it would go. His arm, strapped to the chair, ended at the elbow in a bandage-swathed stump. Beset with panic, he cried out.

  Leaving him to struggle against his bonds, Isherwood stood and calmly placed the plastic tray down on the seat of his stool. Then he moved away to the right-hand wall and leaned against it while Sawyer continued to yell, thrashing this way and that in a frantic attempt to free himself. A full two minutes later, his energy completely expended, the prisoner slouched gasping in his seat.

  ‘That chair is bolted down and you are strapped to it’ said Isherwood. ‘It can’t be moved and neither can you.’ Wandering over to the door, he took a thick file of papers from one of the soldiers there and returned to face Sawyer once more. ‘Now’ he said, holding up a photograph, ‘what can you tell me about this man?’

  Without even looking up, Sawyer made a gurgling noise and shook his head. Using his tongue, he probed among his back teeth, finding only an area of recessed gum.

  Isherwood continued to hold the photo out. ‘If you’re looking for your poison capsule, it’s gone’ he said. ‘We had it removed.’

  Sawyer flinched at the comment. Breathing heavily, he ground his jaws together, confusion giving way to anger. When he looked up again he was shaking with rage and ready to unleash a barrage of hate.

  ‘Your kind are doom-‘

  The photograph stopped him in mid-sentence.

  Isherwood watched intently as Sawyer took in the image of a well-dressed man, woman and child. The child, pictured standing in front of her parents, was a tiny blonde-haired girl in a blue party dress. Sawyer’s eyes flickered from her to her mother and then focused on the man in the picture. Isherwood saw a glimmer of recognition in Sawyer’s face and seized upon it.

  ‘You know him, don’t you? Can you remember his name? Let me tell you. It’s Simon Rodgers. Or rather, it used to be.’

  Sawyer huffed and feigned disinterest. ‘I don’t care-‘

  ‘Ah, but you should’ stated Isherwood, tapping the photo with his index finger. ‘Because this man is the whole reason that your attack came when it did, instead of a month later as planned. Rodgers knew that he was in over his head, Henry. Oh, he might have been disillusioned with Britain, but as soon as he found out the extent of your plans he tried to blow the whistle. This is why your communication systems weren’t up to speed; he made sure that the EMP destroyed yours as well as ours and you didn’t have the time to plan around that. But you were too far down the line, weren’t you? You had to give the green light before you were ready.’

  ‘You don’t know a single thi-‘

  ‘Really? Well, I know about you, Henry. I know all about you and your father and your grandfather. And I know all about your so-called Phoenix Society...’

  This time Sawyer was unable to hide his surprise.

  ‘Yes, Henry’ Isherwood continued with a nod. ‘I know all of it.’ Placing the photo and the file of papers on top of the plastic case, he stepped back and took a deep breath. ‘Your grandfather was a very rich man, wasn’t he?’

  Sawyer scowled and tried to shift in his seat. ‘Do not talk about my-‘

  ‘He was a very rich man indeed, with a lot of very powerful friends: men and women with the same misguided aspirations.’

  Sawyer’s eyes blazed. ‘He was a god among insects! He had watched the steady decline of this once great nation and he would not allow it to continue!’

  Isherwood paused for a moment. ‘Which is why he founded The Phoenix Society...’

  ‘He’d seen our empire crumble. He’d seen Britain become a haven for the scum of the earth and a lapdog for other nations. He’d seen our bloodlines tainted and our identity lost. He’d seen all this and was determined to do something about it.’

  ‘So that’s how it started; a lot of wealthy people hiding out overseas while pooling their resources and making their plans. But your grandfather knew that it would take decades, didn’t he? Which is why I assume he raised your father in his own image, to continue the work after his death?’

  Sawyer stared directly into the camera above and gave a proud but somewhat disturbing smile. ‘My father advanced the Society in ways that were incomprehensible for lesser minds.’

  Isherwood approached the stool and leafed through the file of papers. ‘By conducting illegal experiments on cadavers?’

  ‘He solved the mystery of death...’

  ‘That’s one way of looking at it. Or you could say he created a virus that turned dead bodies into cannibals while also planning mass murder.’

  Sawyer huffed. ‘He set about making this country great again by wiping the slate clean. What you call a virus, I call a gift from God. What better way to eradicate the hordes of scum than by having them devour themselves?’

  Isherwood lifted up the papers and the plastic case and re-took his seat on the stool. ‘And yet, Henry, for all his genius, there were miscalculations, weren’t there? As I understand it, the dead should only have re-animated for three to four days. After finishing off the remaining survivors, they were supposed to rot away at an advanced rate, leaving you and your troops to stake a claim in your so-called New Britain. But that didn’t quite happen, did it? The virus mutated, keeping the hosts ‘alive’, that is, until of course their brains could be destroyed. Admit it, Henry, your father wanted to play God, but he was way out of his depth.’

  Sawyer huffed again and shook his head. ‘Whatever you are trying to do, you are wasting your time. Time will show my father to be the greatest Briton this country has ever known.’

  Isherwood glanced behind at the two men standing by the door. Their eyes were locked on him, as if expecting a moment of great importance.

  ‘So,’ Isherwood asked softly, ‘this great hero of yours, this messiah; where is he now?’

  ‘Ha! Even if I knew I would not tell you. I will not betray him or the Society, no matter what you do to me...’

  ‘You misunderstand me, Henry. I don’t need you to tell me because I already know where he is. I just wanted to see if you did...’

  Sawyer gave a dismissive scowl and turned his head away. A twitch in the corner of one eye revealed his annoyance. ‘You’re lying.’

  ‘You know, one thing has been puzzling me. Your father believed in keeping his advisors close, yet for some reason you were put on the front line rather than being by his side or held somewhere safe. Why would a man risk his only son’s life like that, Henry? And why do I think that you would not be happy with that?’

  ‘You are pathetic. He knew that I would do as instructed without question! He knew that I would see his orders through. Pah! Your juvenile attempts to rile me will not work. If you want to kill me – idiot - then do it. At least then I’ll be done with these ridiculous mind games.’

  Isherwood shook his head. ‘There are no mind games here, Henry, but I will get to the point. Your father is dead.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘He was in Guatemala, hiding out in one of his training complexes. An American assault team tracked him down and breached his fences. It’s strange, really. For a man of such reputed intelligence, he really didn’t know people. His oppressed staff turned on him first.’

  ‘No. You’re lying.’

  ‘Am I?’

  Leafing through the file, Isherwood gathered up a handful of photographs. Sawyer began to breathe heavier as he shuffled them into a pile and held up the first one.

  ‘No!’

  Unable to tear away, Sawyer looked at the ragged image of a man reclining in a bloodstained chair, dozens of stab wounds across his belly and chest.

  ‘How about this one?’ asked Isherwood, presenting another picture taken from a slightly different angle. Then he held up a third photo to wave in the other man’s face. ‘And this?�
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  Sawyer finally twisted his head away. ‘Your kind are doomed!’ he screamed. ‘The Phoenix will rise, and-‘

  ‘No, Henry. It’s over. Your army is defeated and your soldiers are scattered. Your followers are almost all gone.’

  Dismissing the soldier’s words, Sawyer cried out and continued to struggle against his restraints, finding no give in them whatsoever.

  ‘Kill me, then!’ he yelled. ‘Put an end to this!’

  Isherwood stood calmly again and put the file of papers back on the seat of the stool before placing the plastic case on top and opening it up. Sawyer watched as he removed a large syringe from it and held it up, putting the needle inside a plastic vial and filling it with an amber-coloured liquid.

  ‘Sodium pentothal was just the start’ said Isherwood. ‘The science division have been developing this for years.’ Leaning forward, he stared straight into Sawyer’s face. ‘Henry, you’re oblivious to this but I’ve been coming to see you every day for over three weeks now, and each time you have given us more information. You see, it’s to our gain that you have a photographic memory, and you’re going to keep giving us more locations and more names, no matter how seemingly inconsequential. We won’t rest until we have all of you...’

  Sawyer tried to look away but hands were suddenly across his forehead, preventing him from moving. He hadn’t even seen the other men leave their places by the door but now they were behind him, holding him securely.

  ‘No!’ he cried, clenching his teeth.

  ‘This stuff isn’t perfect’ said Isherwood. ‘It blanks out your short-term memory while making your long-term memory clearer than ever. It means that you keep forgetting that you lost half your face to that spike. It also means that I get to see the look on your face when I tell you every single day how you failed. You didn’t win, Henry. We’re still here.’

  Sawyer flinched as he felt the needle pierce the skin of his left forearm. The two men behind him glanced uncomfortably at each other as Isherwood pressed on the syringe and then leaned back on his stool.

  ‘Now’ said Isherwood. ‘We’ll start again in a few minutes.’

  ~ 21 ~

  Chris McReedy swung the backpack over his shoulder and headed toward the door, stopping by the light switch and flicking it on and off twice to make the bulb flash behind him. It had become a strange ritual for him ever since the power had returned. After a few weeks of hot meals and hot showers, he knew he would never again take electricity for granted.

  He pulled open the door just as a figure on the other side was about to knock. Her right hand still aloft, Paige Ryder gasped as he appeared in the open doorway.

  ‘Sorry’ said Chris, apologising for making her jump.

  Paige noticed his backpack. ‘So it’s true, then. You are leaving?’

  ‘Yeah. Hey, I wasn’t gonna go without saying goodbye. They need some help over at the Westerham compound so I volunteered, that’s all.’

  ‘I’m surprised they’re letting you go.’

  Chris raised his eyebrows and lifted his right leg. Hitching up the bottom of his jeans, he revealed a tracking device strapped to his ankle.

  ‘It’s a compromise’ he said with a wry smile. ‘I can help out but I’m not allowed near any of the red zones until they clear out a few more of the dead.’

  ‘That’s understandable. We can’t have the hero of the nation getting himself killed.’

  ‘Yeah, right. Anyway, haven’t you heard? It turns out that I’m not that unique, after all.’

  ‘I heard. What is it, three people now?

  ‘Five including me, but they still can’t work out why we’re immune. I’ll tell you though, I feel sorry for the others if they’re taking all the tests that I did. There must be more of my DNA in test tubes and on Petri dishes than there is in my body...’

  Paige smiled. ‘You’re a teenage guy. There’s probably tons of your DNA everywhere...’

  ‘Well, ha-ha...’

  She stepped away so that he could pull the door to, leaning against the wall as he locked it.

  ‘So..., I hear the anti-virus works pretty well..?’

  ‘Seems to - if they catch the infection early enough. Maybe they can improve it after they’ve finished testing the others.’

  Tossing the keys into the air and catching them, the youngster hoisted the backpack further up his shoulder and then glanced at his watch.

  ‘Oh shit..., sorry’ said Paige. ‘I’m holding you up.’

  ‘No, no. I’ve got time.’

  Walking slowly side by side, they moved to the end of the corridor and down a flight of stairs toward the main entrance. The building, once a small office block, had been converted to accommodate convalescing survivors with Chris being one of the very last to leave. The other rooms would not be vacant for long; a large construction crew was due in a few days time and would be here for at least a couple of months while work was carried out in the surrounding area. As much as Chris had enjoyed the place’s relative luxury, he knew that it was time for a change of scenery.

  ‘So,’ asked Paige, ‘how long do you think you’ll be gone for? I mean, you are planning on coming back, right?’

  ‘Uh, yeah. I mean, they said I can keep my room here for as long as I want. I shouldn’t be gone more than a few weeks. I was just getting a bit stir-crazy around here. Wanted to do some good, y’know?’

  Paige nodded. She had taken a liking to Chris and found that she was a happier person when in his company. Normally into older men, she didn’t know if it could go anywhere with this guy one year her junior but she did want to give it the chance. She made a promise to herself to get to know him better when he returned.

  ‘Hey’ she said softly, testing the water. ‘You’re welcome to stay at my place when you come back. It could be pretty raucous here if the new crew are like some of the others...’

  ‘Yeah, sure’ said Chris as they arrived at the front entrance to be met by three men. ‘Thanks.’

  Twenty-five minutes later Chris McReedy was leaning his head against the window of a packed minibus as it trundled into the battered village of Westerham. Looking out into the morning sky, he watched the sun appear from behind a lone cloud and adjusted the peak of his baseball cap to avoid it flashing into his eyes. The cap itself had been Paige’s suggestion, albeit for an entirely different reason.

  ‘You might wanna hide you know what’ she had told him. ‘Just to avoid extra attention. They probably already know you are coming but, well, some of them are missing their reality TV stars. You’re the closest thing to a celebrity that they have now...’

  The comment had made Chris smile at the time and it made him smile again now. He wouldn’t be able to hide his partially bitten ear forever but he aimed to keep it a secret for as long as possible. If not a baseball cap, maybe he could get away with wearing a bandana at meal times?

  ‘Looks like it’s going to be a nice day’ said the person next to him, a former librarian called Nigel.

  ‘Yeah’ replied Chris, enjoying the warmth through the window. It was already late May and the days had been growing steadily balmier, with talk that June could bring temperatures into the nineties. With that prediction also came the theory that the remaining dead would decay and de-animate much quicker as summer reached its peak. For his part Chris hoped that was the case; he certainly didn’t want to imagine zombies as an active threat come wintertime.

  ‘Well, we’re here’ mumbled Nigel, a comment that was overheard by others on the bus. Some shifted in their seats to get a better look outside while others began talking among themselves.

  ‘Okay’ shouted the driver. ‘Please stay in your seats until we’re inside the compound. It’s for your own safety.’

  Chris rubbed the window with the cuff of his jacket to get a clearer look outside. As the vehicle swung around he saw two huge wooden gates, like those from some ancient fort, open up in readiness. Four men, two on either side of the entrance, were waiting with hatchets and mall
ets in their hands. It did seem a little overcautious; Chris had only seen three zombies on the way here and they were all far off in the distance.

  Well, I guess they know best, he thought.

  Once inside the compound, the minibus was directed over to an area of scrubland next to three other vehicles including a digger and a bulldozer. As it pulled to a halt the occupants gathered their belongings and stared out in eager anticipation.

  Chris was impressed by what he saw, from the rows of barracks to the thirty or forty tents on the other side of the settlement. There were other undetermined buildings too, as well as a large gazebo-type structure at its centre. Beneath the structure were rows of tables and chairs, half of which were occupied. The people there greeted the arrival of the minibus with either a ‘thumbs-up’ or a polite wave rather than excited cheers. That worked for Chris, he was here to blend in. Being the centre of attention did not sit well with him, even if his DNA potentially held all the answers...

  ‘Okay’ shouted the driver again, turning the engine off. ‘Please gather all your things and head over to the debriefing area. You’ll be assigned your duties there. Thanks again.’

  Hopping from the cab, the driver wrenched the side door open and one at a time the passengers stepped down onto bare earth. Chris held back until most had exited the vehicle and then did likewise, before being approached separately by a man in army fatigues.

  ‘Chris McReedy?’

  The teenager nodded and stopped in his tracks as the other volunteers drifted away. The soldier, probably in his mid-thirties, offered a greeting and introduced himself as Phil Marshall. Chris shook his hand.

  ‘You knew I was coming?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. I’m going to be your chaperone for the time that you’re here. My superiors don’t want you in any danger until they finish all the research on your DNA results.’