by Perrin Briar
Drugging them would not stop the virus, but it would stop them feeling any pain. But there was a chance they could still wake up. He didn’t have nearly as much of the powerful compound as he would have liked, and so they were reduced to the lazy stupor before him.
He thought about what he had to do, and it made him cry. Could he bring himself to do it? He shook his head. No, he couldn’t. It was what he needed to do, what he had to do. He wasn’t the one that should do it. But it was the only way to stop Daniel and his diabolical plan.
And Hamish was just going to let it happen, because he was weak.
Kate mumbled something under her breath.
“I’m sorry, what?” Hamish said. “I didn’t hear you.”
“I love you too,” Kate said. “And you have to do this. You must…”
Her head lolled back and she fell unconscious. Hamish just looked at her, unable to move. The wind howled outside. He was alone, alone at the end of the world.
He thumbed a tear out of his eye and shook his head. This was no time for emotional weakness. He needed to be strong, tough. Relentless and unyielding. Kate had told him to do it. And so he would do it. He blocked off his emotions as best he could. They beat at the wall he placed around them, a glass-walled prison, but they could not break free, not yet.
He walked down the long corridor, like the tunnel that greeted the dead after death. He looked at each of the rooms as he passed them, at the various stages of their drama. He moved to the changing room at the end of the corridor and smashed the glass case. He hefted the fire ax. It felt heavier than it really was. He didn’t feel like he could carry it, and so he dragged it behind him, a resigned agent of Death.
After their most recent attack, Hamish, Kate and Patrick had dragged the undead bodies back into their rooms. They didn’t know if they were alive or dead at the time.
But as Hamish approached the first door he heard a figure banging on it. Hamish was a ghost, unfeeling and empty. He was the only one left uninfected, though he doubted that was going to last long. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. All that mattered was what he had to do.
He hacked at the door’s lock, cleaving a gash into it, digging the lock’s fastenings clear. Weakened, Hamish kicked the door open with a single strong thrust.
Undead Jeff’s face was curled with rage. Hamish wore a mask of impassivity. He unleashed all his fear and hate upon the hapless creature. Undead Jeff reached for him, but Hamish was already bringing the ax across at head height. The creature took the blade at the base of the neck, burying the ax an inch into the monster’s flesh.
Hamish brought the ax up and around again and again, hacking the thing’s neck from his shoulders. He didn’t stop hacking, even after the ax met bone and tinged against it. He found himself ten minutes later, standing over the mutilated zombie corpse, lying prone and still, its face caved in and unrecognizable. The same as the face Hamish now wore. Unrecognizable.
Hamish wiped his face with the back of his sleeve, staining it red. He turned and dragged the splattered ax behind him. He hacked another door open, and dealt with Undead Lindsey.
Ian’s shadow moved back and forth like a caged animal underneath the door. Hamish picked the ax up and held it in both hands and waited for the shadow to move away from the door. He kicked the door open.
Splattered with thick crimson blood, Hamish headed down the corridor, back toward the communal area. Toward his nightmare.
Patrick and Kate were fast asleep, in the same positions they had been when he’d left them. Kate was an angel, her face impassive. There was no sign she was dreaming or having a nightmare. Calm. And he was going to end that peace, though she, thankfully, would never know it. Hamish’s mouth was dry. He bent down and kissed her on the cheek.
He raised the ax and held it above his head. A whimper escaped his lips. Tears blurred his vision. He screamed and brought the ax down on her neck. Her whole body jerked, spasming, her fingers fidgeting. Hamish hefted the ax and hacked at her again, this time severing the spinal cord. Her head lolled to one side, her tongue hanging out of her mouth. Her hair was dyed red at the base of her neck. He told himself it was a greater kindness than the one that would greet her if she turned, but it was a speck against a mountain of self-hatred.
He reached for her, but couldn’t bring himself to touch her. His stomach spilled itself. Kate’s blood dripped from the sofa and puddled, meeting his vomit, stretching across the floor like lovers’ hands.
Hamish approached Patrick. He looked peaceful, in the land of dreams. His eyelids fluttered, and then opened slowly like shutters. Hamish didn’t need to hear his pleas and cries. It was already hard enough. But something in Patrick’s bloodshot eyes stayed Hamish’s hand, and he hesitated.
“Get him back,” Patrick said in a weak voice. “For Ian. For Carl. For Jeff. For Lindsey. For Kate. For us all. Get him back.”
“I will,” Hamish said. “You take care of Kate for me.”
“I will,” Patrick said.
His eyes rolled back, his head lolling to one side. Hamish brought the ax down and found Patrick’s neck with ease.
“I won’t be long,” Hamish said.
Patrick’s death slid off Hamish like hot butter off a knife, smooth, clean, and without mark. After losing Kate, there was little emotion left to spend on anyone else.
Hamish stood up. He barely even noticed the loud grinding noise of the ax as it trailed behind him. He forgot he was still carrying it. He let it drop to the floor. He made it another few steps before he fell to his knees and held his head in his hands.
He wept. He wept for everything he’d done, everything he hadn’t done, everything he hated, loved, dreamed about. Images and memories and snatches of dialogue from forgotten discussions flittered through his mind like wayward bees.
His eyes burnt and glistened with tears. He heard a moan, so angry and resentful and full of pain that he couldn’t believe it’d issued from his own throat.
“No…” he cried. “No, no, no…”
He had blood, death and murder on his hands. Daniel had taken everything from him. In return, Hamish was going to take everything dear from Daniel. He was going to bring his plans crashing down around him, even if it cost his life.
Z-MINUS: 14 minutes
Bloody up to his elbows and splattered over his face and neck, Hamish unplugged the fuel canister from under the kitchen counter. He unscrewed the cap and doused the walls and bodies. He made a trail down the corridor, and inside each room. He lit a match and tossed it.
The flames woofed and bit deep into the wood. They rushed through the station. Hamish unbolted the main entrance doors and let the wind grip it, throwing it open. The wind beat at the flames from the outside, breathing onto it, inadvertently giving it life.
The fire whipped into a frenzy, melting the snow and making it spit. The storm was already beginning to wane. The temperature was still extreme, but the wind was restrained, the snow no longer a flurry but a drizzle.
The center had stood decades, had withstood storms of incredible magnitude. Hamish had feared countless times that the shack would not be able to stand the storm much longer, and yet somehow, it had. It had been from within, from one it had been protecting, that it was destroyed, just as the other scientists had been.
The fire was a rage, a torrent that pushed back against the sleet and snow. The storm was dying, though it wasn’t without its surprise jabs and thrusts that almost knocked the fire into submission. The fire recovered and blasted back against the ice and sleet and cold. Hamish walked away from it, his shadow dancing on the snow, flickering in one direction and then another.
The rescue helicopter would be arriving soon. Hamish had to deal with Daniel before they had a chance to get involved.
It wasn’t hard to know which shed Daniel had hidden in. The slats had been pulled back and snapped off. He’d crawled inside to get some protection from the bitter cold. The wind howled and bit into Hamish’s face and arms, but fo
r once he didn’t feel it. The heat lost its small sphere of influence, until it was but a distant memory.
It didn’t matter. Hamish wasn’t expecting to return. This was a one-way trip. He wasn’t going to come back. He was going to stay at the end of his journey, no matter what happened. He just hoped he wouldn’t be alone when that moment arrived.
Hamish unlocked the padlock and pulled the chains free. The wind snagged the doors and threw them wide open.
The two jet skis were parked in the middle of the room, still wearing their protective cases. They hadn’t been moved. It was no surprise Daniel hadn’t taken one of them out. Neither Daniel nor the machine would have lasted long in the storm. And the rescue team were coming to him. Why travel out into the wilderness and risk getting lost when he could bite one of the rescuers? Daniel’s mission would be complete.
Whatever Daniel’s plans were, and Hamish suspected they went deeper than they knew, he wanted to remain here, to see everything through. He wanted to make sure the first domino had fallen correctly. There was something else at work here, something Hamish did not yet understand. Fear drilled deep in his stomach, twisting like an adder around its prey.
“They’re all dead,” Hamish said to the shed’s shadows. “I killed them. The virus too. You’re all that’s left.”
He didn’t know if Daniel was there or not, was still alive enough to hear him, but he didn’t care. He needed to say this.
Then he felt it – another presence in the shed. He turned to face the far corner.
“I gave them enough pills to sleep for a week,” Hamish said. “And then I chopped off their heads and set them on fire. There’s only you and I left now. After I’m done with you, I’ll do what needs to be done with myself.”
The shadows began to move. Daniel stepped out, a demon from a nightmare. The temperature had taken its toll. His feet and hands were wrapped with flimsy, ragged strips from his shirt. It did little to provide protection against the biting cold. Severe frostbite had crippled his hands, feet, ears and nose. His skin had a pale icy sheen to it. His voice croaked, his muscles unable to provide the movement required for comprehensive speech.
“You’re more ruthless than I expected,” Daniel said. “Your friends still had time.”
“It would not have been good time,” Hamish said. “It would have been tainted time, time that would give them false hope of a cure that would not come. I did them a mercy.”
“And now you’re here to do me one?” Daniel said with a weak smile.
“No,” Hamish said, hefting the ax into his hands. “I’m here to get bloody revenge. By all rights you should be dead already.”
“I very nearly am,” Daniel said. “But the cold… it slows my blood. I will die, of course, and turn, but it has given me life for a little longer, long enough to do what I need to do, anyway. It’ll turn you, just like it turned the others.”
“When were you infected?” Hamish said.
“Ian,” Daniel said. “He scratched me when I released him from the morgue. The damn fool broke his bubblehead, spilling the virus I had injected into it. They’re fragile little things. They weren’t meant to break until later once everyone was home.”
“Why did you do this?” Hamish said. “You couldn’t have always been crazy.”
“I’m not crazy now,” Daniel said. “I see things clearly. I saw them clearly in the eye of the specimen we found, in the secret it contained. Dr. Scott realized what it was. That was why he killed himself, the old fool. He thought he could take its secret to the grave with him. And he almost achieved it. Save for a single blood stained cotton bud. But it is a power that needs to be embraced, not destroyed.
“The day everyone thought he’d locked himself in his room again, consumed with a new project, I knew what he’d really done. I jimmied the lock and crept inside. I found he’d left all the documents and analyses of the specimen on the table and computer, for anyone to find. They would have known what he’d found, what it had done to him, why he’d chosen to destroy himself. I couldn’t let anyone else read them. So, I destroyed them.
“Dear Dr. Scott didn’t have time to warn us of everything that was happening to him, with the virus. Not without risking infecting the rest of us too. But he did have enough time to pen a letter. I destroyed it, naturally. It was a warning to the others that should the virus fall into the wrong hands it had the power to destroy the world.
“Dr. Scott was like a grandfather to us all, but even a grandfather has favorites, and despite all the time and effort I put into assisting and aiding him, despite all the sacrifices I had made, he did not favor me with scholarships or money or fame or fortune, but only scorn. The way only a rich man can ever feel toward his subordinates.
“He always believed the world was in the hands of the rich and the educated, and he was right. But the world wasn’t in their hands anymore, but mine. And I had a choice to make: to save the world, and everyone would never know me, forget me the way it always had done, or to destroy it, and have the prize of anonymity. The fate of a proud species, in many ways the most dominant species on the face of the earth, contained within a discarded swab. The same as I was discarded. It was almost poetic.
“All this history, and humans never existed. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that we’re not good for nature. We are an abomination. We were never meant to achieve consciousness. It was a mistake, and one I am very glad to rectify. We were given a gift: the virus that would answer all our prayers. All we need to do was get it out to the masses. That is my job. And I’ve done it.”
“The others are all dead,” Hamish said. “There is no more virus. Your plan has failed. The virus will die here, along with us.”
“You didn’t honestly think this was my A plan, did you?” Daniel said. “To entrust the fate of the new world order in the hands of a team of scientists? That’s why I sent for you, though I never expected you to put such a spanner in the works. I suppose that’s why Dr. Scott wanted you here. To figure things out. But your appearance played its part.
“This whole episode with you and the others has been fun, but it was never the main pursuit. The main pursuit should be arriving anytime now.”
“Dr. Scott was never part of this, was he?” Hamish said. “He was never a part of your plans.”
“No,” Daniel said. “The old man never knew. Whatever happened here doesn’t even matter. I was going to win anyway.”
There was something in his tone, dark and yet playful, that grabbed Daniel’s attention. There was something about it that Hamish didn’t trust. He stayed his hand.
“You’re wondering if I know something, aren’t you?” Daniel said. “Or just playing for time. Except our time has already run out. We have no more time and we will both die. Then what I’m telling you must be true. Or is it?”
He chuckled.
“The rescue team will be too late,” Hamish said. “You won’t be able to infect them. I’ll kill you before then.”
“The rescue team is not my A plan,” Daniel said with a grin. “Go on. Take another guess.”
The shed grunted and then breathed a sigh of relief. The wind softened. The storm was blowing itself out.
“Sounds like the storm’s almost over,” Daniel said. “The rescue team will be here any minute.”
“Maybe,” Hamish said. “But we won’t.”
Hamish roared and raised his ax high. Daniel didn’t move, didn’t uncross his arms, and just stood there with a superior grin on his face. Hamish brought the ax down, striking Daniel’s leg above the knee. The bone snapped like it’d been petrified.
Daniel cried out, but not in pain. Hamish suspected the cold had numbed him to it. Instead, it was a laugh of success. It made Hamish angry. He swung the blade around and slammed it into Daniel’s ribs. Half a dozen cracks, and Daniel’s whole body gasped. Blood sputtered from his lips and dribbled down his chin, but the smile remained.
Hamish gripped Daniel by the collar and dragged him through t
he snow toward the waving doors. The center was fully afire now, burning with bright intensity. Daniel offered no resistance as Hamish took him toward the immersion shed. He stopped only to open the locks.
A deep thudding on the air, somewhere in the distance, like the heartbeat of the storm, and a flashing light, drawing near in the darkness. The undercarriage lights of a helicopter flashed, bright and full of hope. Of salvation. Of death and destruction. There could not be any evidence of the infection when the rescuers arrived.
“They’re here,” Daniel said with a smile in his voice.
Hamish pulled the doors open and dragged Daniel inside. Hamish picked up the metal pole and pierced the skin of ice that had formed over the top. It almost immediately began to freeze over again, like a wound healing itself. The fragments of ice floated like smashed glass.
He tossed Daniel’s body into it. He came back up, bobbing for a moment. Hamish poked him, pushing him back under the surface with the pole, holding him down. Daniel struggled, splashing water. He was weak, and did not take long before he stopped. Hamish waited a moment longer, in case it was a ploy. Daniel’s body lay facedown in the pool.
The thudding helicopter blades thundered as it touched down, shaking the shed’s flimsy roof.
Hamish put on a coat and protective clothing. He shouldered the air canisters and climbed down into the hole. A mist of ice was kicked up by the helicopter.
He approached the hole in the ice. The water was clear and fresh and lapped gently against the thick edges of the thick crust they’d drilled through. The water was five degrees. The human body, without protection, could survive for perhaps ten minutes. There would be a weak, but significant, pull of the current underneath. He was relying on it being there when he entered.
He put on a pair of thick goggles. He took one of the air canisters and strapped it on his back. It was heavy. He inserted the mouthpiece and took a few deep practice breaths.