The Bug: Complete Season One

by Barry J. Hutchison

  Marshall felt himself frowning again. It was becoming a habit. “So… what? We just leave you in there?”

  “Aye, you wish,” Hoon said. “No. You’re going to open the door, then slam it behind me before any of them get out. Got that?”

  Marshall nodded. “Got it.”

  “Right,” said Hoon. He rocked from foot to foot. “Don’t hit the button until I tell you. I’m going to scare these wee bastards back a bit.”

  Marshall shot Leanne a concerned glance. “Scare the bugs back?”

  “Aye. They won’t come near me. Christ knows why. Not that I’m complaining.” He cricked his neck. “Right, get ready,” he said, then he turned and ran into the corridor, roaring at the top of his voice.

  “Is he always like that?” Leanne asked.

  Marshall started to shake his head, then stopped. “I’d like to say ‘no,’ but… pretty much,” Marshall admitted, then he jumped when Hoon screamed at him to hit the button.

  A single tone rang out as Marshall slapped the door open button. Hoon hit the door hard and tumbled through. “Shut it!” he bellowed, tripping and falling forwards onto the floor.

  Marshall put his weight behind the door and slammed it closed. There was a sound like heavy hailstones hitting the metal on the other side.

  “Check the floor!” Hoon barked. Marshall swung the beam of the torch down. He found himself sighing with relief when he saw the floor at their feet was a bug-free zone.

  “It’s OK. Nothing came through,” he said.

  “Something nearly did,” said Leanne.

  She bent at the waist and leaned down to look at the bottom of the door. There, trapped between the door and the frame, was a shiny black insect. Only its head and front pincers had made it through the gap. It wriggled and squirmed, the pincers grabbing at the air.

  Marshall shuddered. “That’s the biggest beetle I’ve ever seen,” he said.

  “It’s no’ a beetle,” said Hoon, standing up and dusting himself down. In the glow of the torch, Marshall saw a spray batter of blood on his shirt and heavy grazing on his knuckles. “It’s a bug.”

  “How do you know it’s not a beetle?” said Leanne. “It looks like one.”

  Hoon rolled his eyes. “I don’t care what it fucking looks like, sweetheart, it’s no’ a beetle,” he said. “And how do I know? Because it told me.”

  Leanne’s brow furrowed. “It told you?”

  “Aye,” Hoon growled, rounding on her. “What’s wrong with that?”

  Leanne quickly shook her head. “Nothing.”

  “Bollocks. I just told you a bug talked to me. Everything’s wrong with that. Grow a fucking backbone, sweetheart,” Hoon said.

  “So… it didn’t talk to you?” Marshall asked.

  “Oh, no. It did,” said Hoon. “Well, no’ that one, but another one. It’s talking to me now, actually.” He looked slowly between them both. “It’s telling me I should kill the pair of you. Shove my thumbs through your eye sockets.”

  Marshall and Leanne stiffened. They both reached for the knives they had tucked into their belts.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not going to listen to it,” Hoon said. “See, I think I’ve figured out what’s happening.” He glanced left and right, as if about to impart a great secret. “I think these bugs are turning people into big angry mad bastards, but I had something working in my favor.”

  He tapped himself on the temple again. “I was a big angry mad bastard to begin with. I think about killing half the bastards in this place on a daily basis.”

  Marshall swallowed. “That’s… uh… reassuring.”

  Hoon nodded his agreement, then puffed out his cheeks and pointed upwards. “Now, what’s say we go up there and find out just how fucked we all are?”

  ***

  “Pretty fucked, I’d say,” said Marshall. He and DCI Hoon stood in the station doorway, gazing out at the city. Most of it was burning now, but there were no more sirens to be heard, just shouts and screams and breaking glass. The sound of a city dying.

  Marshall looked at his boss. “What do we do? Should we try to help?”

  Hoon shook his head. “We’re far past that stage. Get your girlfriend. We need to go.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend, she’s only thirteen!”

  “Fifteen,” corrected Leanne from behind them.

  “Still illegal, though,” Marshall protested.

  Leanne joined them in the doorway. “What’s illegal?”

  “Us, you know, having… uh… sexual relations.”

  Leanne’s eyes went wide. “Jesus.”

  Marshall blushed. “No, I’m not… I wasn’t saying…” He looked imploring at Hoon, but the DCI was shaking his head and frowning so deeply he appeared to have just one big eyebrow.

  “Fuck’s sake, detective inspector,” Hoon muttered. “Get a hold of yourself. As I was saying, we need to get out of here.”

  “And go where?” Marshall asked.

  “My sister’s got a place up north. In Highbridge.”

  “Never heard of it,” said Marshall.

  “No-one’s fucking heard of it. That’s the point, there’s no bastard there. It’s just outside Fort William. We’ll head there and see what the score is.”

  “What about my mum and dad?” Leanne asked.

  Both officers turned to look at her. “Where are they?” asked Hoon.

  “Spain.”

  “Oh, well in that case we’ll swing by and pick them up on the way,” Hoon said. “I’ve got my private jet on standby. We’ll whizz over there and--”

  “Uh, OK, sir. She gets the point,” said Marshall.

  Hoon opened his mouth to say something else, then stopped himself. He looked at Leanne, but she kept her face turned away. “Sorry,” Hoon said. “That was out of order.”

  Leanne shrugged, but said nothing.

  “I’m sure they’re fine. I bet none of this is happening over there. They’re probably having a great time,” said Marshall. “And we’ll look after you until it’s all sorted out. Then you’ll be back with them.”

  Leanne glanced up at him. “That’s bollocks,” she said. “But thanks.”

  Hoon clapped her on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit. Right then, campers, let’s hit the road.” He made for the door, then hesitated. “Oh, but before we do, has anyone got the key for the gun cabinet?”

  Marshall shook his head. “No.”

  There was a jingling of metal as Hoon held up a hefty bunch of keys. “Good job I have then, eh?”

  SHOP WISE GROCERY STORE, BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS

  24th May, 8:55 PM

  Jaden flipped the keys once around his finger, then stared at the lemon-yellow monstrosity in front of him. “Holy shit,” he said. “That’s the ugliest car I’ve ever seen.”

  Col thought briefly about arguing, but decided it was a losing battle. Joe’s car was a rusted old Fiat Multipla, and while Col didn’t know a whole lot about cars, everything about this one, from its odd shape to the way it slouched to one side screamed ‘no’.

  “It’s got headlights on the windshield. Who builds a car with headlights on the windshield?” Jaden asked. “And who then chooses to buy said car?”

  Col shrugged. “You know, Joe’s old.”

  “Yes, old, not fucking blind,” said Jaden. “Sorry, end of the world or not, I cannot be seen driving this thing.”

  He tossed Col the keys. Col fumbled for a moment, but managed to keep hold of them. There was a keyring with a little picture of Joe on it. A girl, maybe around four-years-old, was hugging him tightly. A granddaughter, Col guessed. “Poor Joe,” he said, then he unlocked the doors.

  The driver’s seat was pushed almost all the way forward. Col had to shove it all the way back so he could fit behind the wheel. Jaden jumped into the seat behind him and immediately wrinkled his nose. “Ew. It smells like old person.”

  “Jesus, Jaden, have some respect,” Col said. “Joe’s dead.”

  “Well then he isn�
�t going to take offence then, is he?” Jaden said. “Besides, we’re stealing his car, that’s not exactly respectful either.”

  “We’re not stealing it, we’re borrowing it,” said Jaden, turning the key and spluttering the engine reluctantly into life. “We’ll go find help. Flag down a cop or something, and get all this sorted out.”

  Jaden gave a dry laugh as Col reversed out of the parking bay. “You don’t get it, do you?” he said. “You still think it’s all going to be fine. Have you seen The Walking Dead? Dawn of the Dead? Pretty much anything with ‘dead’ in the title, actually? This is how it starts. This is the beginning of the end.”

  Col pulled up at the exit to the car park and stopped. “Yeah, but those are movies and TV shows,” he pointed out. “Real life doesn’t work that way.”

  “Tell that to Joe,” he said, then something off to the right caught his eye. “And if everything’s fine, what about that?”

  Col leaned forward and looked out through the passenger side window. A white hatchback was on its roof a hundred yards or so along the street. By the looks of it, it had rolled a few times before coming to rest.

  “That’s just an accident,” said Col. “Just an unfortunate accident.”

  “Yeah? Then where are the cops? Where are the paramedics?” Jaden asked. “In Heaven, that’s where. Because they’re all dead.”

  “Shut up,” said Col.

  “I’m fucking telling you, dude,” Jaden continued, but Col interrupted him before he could go any further.

  “No, Jaden, shut up. Look!”

  Jaden followed Col’s finger. At first, he thought his friend was pointing at the car, but then he saw it: a silver shape in the sky above the wreckage. It was big, and getting rapidly bigger. “Is that…?” Jaden’s eyes went wide. “Oh shit. Drive, drive, drive!”

  Col wheel spun out of the car park and skidded left onto the street. The car whined pathetically as he floored the accelerator. Col jumped up and down in the seat, as if that would somehow force the thing to go faster. “Move, you piece of shit!” he sobbed.

  Jaden was sitting half-turned in his seat, ducking low so he could see out through the back windscreen. “It’s gaining on us!”

  “Of course it’s fucking gaining on us!” Col shouted. “It’s a plane!”

  Two miles back, but less than half a mile in the air, a passenger jet plunged after them, tilting as it fell.

  “Hurry up!”

  “I can’t hurry it up! It’s going as fast as it can!”

  Jaden whipped round and grabbed for his seat belt. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck?”

  “What?” Col demanded. “Is it going to—?”

  There was a sound, louder than any Col had ever heard before. No, not a sound, lots of sounds. Hundreds of them, thousands, all happening at the same time behind them, every one of them terrible.

  There was a light which flared the evening sky in orange. There was a warmth, which became a heat, which became a hiss of pain on Col’s lips.

  The terrible sounds caught up. Col heard Jaden scream.

  And the world went dark.

  GLASGOW NW POLICE HQ, GLASGOW, SCOTLAND

  25th MAY, 2:57 AM

  Leanne hurried along beside Marshall, her knife gripped tightly in her hand again. Hoon marched on ahead, muttering below his breath.

  “He’s not happy about the guns, is he?” Leanne whispered.

  “No,” said Marshall, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t fancy being whoever took them if he finds them.”

  “What do you think about all that stuff he said? About the bug?”

  Marshall puffed out his cheeks and shrugged. “No idea.”

  “Is he dangerous?” Leanne asked.

  “What? Uh, no, no he’s not dangerous,” Marshall said, although he felt the need to add, “Don’t think so,” just to cover himself.

  Hoon looked back over his shoulder. “Keep up, you pair,” he called. “I swear, if we get to the car park and find out there’s no riot wagons left, I will not be a happy man.”

  A moment later, they reached the car park. There were no riot wagons left. Hoon, to his word, was not a happy man.

  “Bastards! The fucking robbing bastards!”

  “The wagons would’ve been out on call, sir,” Marshall pointed out. “You know, dealing with rioting like they’re supposed to.”

  Hoon shouted a few more obscenities at the world at large, then took a deep breath and smoothed down his overcoat. “Right. We need a vehicle.”

  “My car’s parked out front,” Marshall said.

  “Right. OK. What kind is it?”

  “A Renault Clio.”

  Hoon buried his face in his hands. “Fuck!” he shouted. “OK, fine. That’ll have to do. Let’s go.”

  They turned to find a small crowd of people gathered behind them. Leanne raised her knife, and Marshall fumbled in his belt for his. Hoon cast his eye over the crowd and stepped forward.

  “What do you lot want?” he demanded.

  Marshall spotted an elderly woman in a dressing gown among the crowd. His heart, which had been racing pretty much constantly for the past few hours, seemed to crash to a halt in his chest. “Uh, sir,” he began.

  “No’ now, detective inspector,” said Hoon. He took another step closer to the crowd. There were thirty or forty of them, most of them at least partly hunched over, their faces twisted in anger, their fingers curved into claws. “I’m going to give you folks the count of three to fuck off,” Hoon said. “Station’s shut. You’re on your own. One,” he began.

  “Martin?” Leanne whispered. Marshall took her hand and squeezed it.”

  “Two!” boomed Hoon.

  “Uh, sir,” Marshall hissed.

  Hoon held up a hand for silence. He opened his mouth to say, “Three,” but before the word could escape his lips, the crowd surged forwards.

  Marshall looked around, searching for a way past the onrushing horde, but there was a wall behind them, and the crowd was closing in on all other sides.

  Leanne’s grip tightened in his hand. They looked at each other, and both saw fear in the other’s eyes.

  They were surrounded. Trapped.

  And there was nowhere left to run.

  EPISODE THREE

  GLASGOW NW POLICE HQ, GLASGOW, SCOTLAND

  25th MAY, 2:57 AM

  Martin Marshall was scared. That wasn’t in itself a new experience for him, but the level of fear was pretty much unprecedented. His fingers wrapped around the handle of a kitchen knife, the blade shaking as he held it out in front of him. It was more an attempt at a deterrent than a serious plan of action. The idea of actually using it - of actually plunging the sliver of metal into someone’s flesh - was so alien as to not even be a real possibility.

  He hated violence. Always had. Even back on his beat days, before he’d made it to detective, he’d steered as clear of throwing punches as he could. Now, though, all those years of avoided violence had caught up with him. And they’d brought reinforcements.

  Beside him, the fifteen-year-old daughter of his upstairs neighbors held her own knife in front of her, too. Like Marshall, Leanne had no real desire to use the weapon. She’d already killed one person tonight, and that was a streak she wasn’t exactly keen to continue.

  The crowd rushing towards them didn’t seem the type to be scared off, though. Marshall recognized some of them from back at his flat, but they’d picked up a handful of others along the way, too. They raced at them in a vague semi-circle, snarling and hissing and gnashing at the air, their backs hunched, their fingers flexed into tight claws.

  Between Marshall and Leanne and the… people - yes, still people, Marshall reminded himself - stood Detective Chief Inspector Robert Hoon. Most of the city - most of the world, as far as they knew - had been having a spectacularly shitty night. Hoon’s, though, had arguably been worse than most.

  He stood with his hands on his hips, his long overcoat swept back behind him like a Wild West sheriff, slowly casting
his gaze across the twisted faces drawing closer around them. If he was nervous, he wasn’t showing it, but then from what Marshall had gleaned over the past few years, he never did.

  The crowd was focusing all its attention on Hoon. Marshall glanced left along the side of the building they were backed up against. There was a fence, but not so high they couldn’t climb it. The figures were closing on Hoon, not paying him and Leanne any attention.

  “We should go,” Marshall whispered. “Get over the fence, get away.”

  “What? What about him?” Leanne asked.

  “There’s nothing we can do,” Marshall said. He caught Leanne by the arm and dragged her towards the fence. “He’s on his own.”

  “Wait, look,” Leanne said.

  Marshall turned to see the crowd stumbling to a stop in front of Hoon. One by one, they came to a halt just a few yards from the DCI. Then, to Marshall’s surprise, they slowly backed away.

  “What are they doing?” Leanne asked.

  “I don’t… I don’t know,” Marshall admitted. “They’re not attacking him.”

  “Maybe whatever’s affected them is wearing off,” Leanne said hopefully.

  A few of the faces in the crowd turned their way. They’d lost interest in Hoon, but their thirst for blood hadn’t eased any. “No, doesn’t look like it,” Marshall groaned, shoving Leanne towards the fence. “Go!”

  The first of the figures - a man in a shirt, tie, and blood-stained underwear - lurched towards them. He covered a couple of yards before Hoon caught him by the collar and pulled him back towards him. The man squealed and thrashed, and at first Marshall thought he was writhing in rage. He soon realized he was wrong, though. The man wasn’t angry. He was afraid.

  Hoon drew back his big fist and smashed it into the man’s face, exploding his nose across his cheeks. Tossing the squirming figure aside, Hoon spun around, positioning himself directly between Marshall and Leanne and the snarling throng.