The Bug: Complete Season One

by Barry J. Hutchison

  If Daniel was downstairs, he’d probably be with Hoon. If he was with Hoon, chances were that he was pretty safe.

  Leanne turned right. Maybe Daniel had gone exploring, searching for anything useful in one of the other rooms. Of course, if that were the case, he’d probably have come back when the shooting had started.

  So why hadn’t he?

  She sidled up to the next door and tried the handle. Locked. She continued along the corridor toward the bend, checking each door in turn. None of them opened, and if Daniel was in any of them, he was keeping quiet.

  There was a crash from downstairs that made her jump. She spun around, rifle clutched at chest height, the barrel swaying side-to-side in her trembling grip. Leanne listened. For a moment, she thought she heard footsteps hurrying up the stairs, then realized it was just her heart thudding a panicky drumbeat.

  She turned back towards the corner, taking slow, deep breaths to try to bring her pulse back under control. The gun felt heavy and awkward in her hands. She wasn’t sure how to use it, or even how to check it was loaded. She knew to point it at the thing you wanted to shoot and pull the trigger, but if there were any other steps before that part… well, then she’d have a problem.

  The corridor around the corner was shorter than the one she’d just left. At first, she thought it stopped at a dead end, but soon understood she was actually looking at a T-junction, with another corridor leading left and right at the end of this one.

  As she approached the turning, Leanne heard a sound from up ahead. She stopped, holding her breath. It was a scurrying. A scratching, scrabbling sound, like something sharp scraping on something solid.

  Was it coming from the left or right? She couldn’t tell. Whichever direction it was coming from, though, it was getting closer.

  She retreated, tiptoeing backwards, retracing her steps. Her finger shook on the trigger of the rifle, her eyes darting left, right, left right.

  There was a squeaking from behind her and a sudden movement of air. Leanne yelped, her head snapping round. Daniel caught her by the arm. “In here,” he whispered, pulling her into a bedroom. He quietly clicked the door shut.

  Daniel stood with both hands on the door. Leanne held her breath again and listened to the scratching and scraping of whatever was outside. One of the room’s many framed paintings shook as the sound scurried past, as if whatever it was that was making it had run across the other side of the wall.

  The noise faded into the distance somewhere to their left. Daniel and Leanne both exhaled at the same time.

  “What the Hell was that?” Leanne whispered.

  “I don’t know,” Daniel said. He sounded irritated. “Caught a glimpse of it just before you turned up, but… I don’t know.” He turned to her. “What are you doing out of the room?”

  “I came looking for you,” Leanne said. “Wanted to make sure you were OK.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t have,” Daniel said. He sounded annoyed. Angry, even.

  Leanne shrugged. “Well… OK. Sorry. I was just worried about you.”

  “I can handle myself,” Daniel said.

  “Yeah,” said Leanne. “Yeah, I know, I just thought--”

  “Oh, you just thought?” Daniel snapped. “You just thought what? That you’d stick your fucking nose in where it’s not needed?”

  Leanne stepped back. “What?”

  His face contorted into a sneer. “Is that what you just fucking thought?”

  “Daniel? What’s wrong with you?”

  Daniel shook his head. Leanne’s eyes followed his hands as he scratched at his throat. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong with me,” he said. Leanne looked up to find his gaze boring into her. A lump moved beneath the skin of his neck, like a mouse running beneath a rug. “Nothing is fucking wrong with me, you interfering little slut. Nothing is fucking wrong with me!”

  “Oh God, no,” Leanne sobbed, then she stumbled backwards as Daniel slammed into her, and they fell over a coffee table in a tangle of arms and legs.

  FRANKLIN, MASSACHUSETTS

  May 25th, 7:18 AM

  Jaden woke up with a start, lashing out at the empty space around him. He spent a second or two frantically punching the air, before remembering he was sitting alone in one of passenger seats on the train, a thin white blanket tangled in knots on his lap.

  It had taken a few hours after they’d found the train again before he’d been able to get to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw his mom, pinned beneath the weight of the bug from the attic, her hand reaching out for him.

  He sat up and rubbed at his eyes, like he could somehow erase that picture. The inside of his mouth felt like he’d been gargling ashtrays. He yawned, stretched, and blinked in the harsh sunlight streaming in through the window beside him. He felt hungover, which was annoying, as he hadn’t had alcohol in days.

  Well, a day. Give or take.

  His mouth was so dry it made clicking noises when he moved his lips. He needed a drink. Way more than that, though, he needed to pee.

  Tiredness kept his eyelids heavy as he made his way back along the train, leaning on every second headrest for support. He passed Col, curled up in another chair, and briefly considered flicking his ear, but the bathroom was calling to him now, and his bladder was in no mood to mess around.

  Stumbling into the tiny cubicle, Jaden unzipped his fly and let rip. He placed his hands on the walls on either side of the toilet, aiming with his hips to try to minimize the backsplash from the bowl.

  When he was finished, he zipped himself up and spent a few seconds staring blankly at the sign above the toilet, trying to process what it said.

  “Do not flush while the train is stopped,” he read. He glanced back out through the open bathroom door, shrugged, then pulled the chain. A swirl of chemicals swished around the bowl as he stepped back out into the main carriage.

  A breeze tickled the back of his neck, making the hairs stand on end. The windows were all large, single pieces of glass that couldn’t be opened. The air conditioning only worked when the engine was running.

  So where was the draft coming from?

  The nearest door was closed. He passed it, following the breeze. “Amy?” he called. Maybe she’d gone outside to get some air. “Amy, where are you?”

  There was a groan from a few seats ahead on the left. Amy’s head popped up, one eye open, her hair flat against one side of her face. “What?”

  “Shit. Nothing,” Jaden said. He reached for the gun in the back of his belt. Gone. It must’ve fallen out on the seat. He looked along the aisle, considering whether to go back for it.

  Amy stood up and stretched. Despite everything, he couldn’t help glancing at her chest as the stretch pushed it towards him.

  “Hey!” she said.

  “Sorry,” Jaden said, his eyes flicking up to her face. “Couldn’t help it, they were just sort of there, you know?”

  Amy frowned. “What? What are you talking about? There’s a draft.”

  “Oh, yeah. Yeah,” said Jaden. “That’s what I was looking for. Definitely was not looking at your tits.”

  Amy looked down at her chest. “Asshole,” she scowled, folding her arms. “Go find where the draft’s coming from.”

  Jaden moved past her, then stopped. “Wait. Col gave you Mike’s gun, didn’t he?”

  Amy nodded up to the rack above where she’d been sleeping. “Up there. Knock yourself out. I gotta pee.”

  Jaden reached up to the rack. “Remember not to flush while the train’s stopped,” he called after her. “It’s kind of the law.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind,” she said, then she stepped into the cubicle, closed the door and made a point of loudly locking it behind her.

  The breeze whispered across Jaden’s neck. He pulled down the assault rifle, searched around until he found something that looked like the safety catch, then clicked it to the ‘off’ position.

  He pressed on towards the end of the carriage. The draft came in stronger gusts
the closer he got to the end, where two suitcase racks blocked the view of the doors on either side of the train.

  Keeping the butt of the rifle pressed against his shoulder, he crept past the empty racks. He could hear birds tweeting somewhere close by. A fly buzzed in a figure of eight in the air between the two doors, as if trying to figure out which one to choose.

  The door on the right was wide open. It wasn’t the one they’d clambered into the train through during the night, but they’d done a full check before going to sleep, and all of the doors – this one included – had been shut tight.

  Jaden leaned out through the open door. Without a platform to step onto, there was a good meter-and-a-half drop onto the grass. The button to open the door was the same again above that. Far too high for anyone to reach from the ground.

  So how was the door open?

  Maybe someone had been inside, and left during the night. But no, they’d have spotted them during the search.

  Although, it had been dark. Someone could have been hiding under the seats, just waiting for their chance to... what? Run away when no-one was looking? Jaden shrugged and hit the button to close the door. He’d leave the mystery-solving to Col. He was the detective. Or, named after one, at least, which amounted to pretty much the same thing in Jaden’s book.

  He had barely turned away from the now closed door when he heard the hiss. It came from the next carriage along. The narrow door leading through to it stood open, the way they’d left it after the search last night.

  A figure stood halfway along the carriage, staring back at him. A man. No. Not a man. An asshole. An asshole with a big, bristly beard.

  “Holy shit,” Jaden whispered. “Dave Fucking Gatward.”

  The former captain of the school sprint team broke into a run. He was limping, though, his legs seeming to fight back against him as he stumbled along the carriage.

  Jaden raised the rifle to his shoulder. He took aim. “Fuck you, Gatward,” he spat, then he pulled the trigger.

  There were a series of cracks, much quieter than Jaden would have expected. A rainbow of colors splattered across the charging Gatward’s chest and spattered over his beard.

  Jaden gawped down at the rifle. “Paintbull gun? Mike, you fake-ass lying fuck!”

  Gatward roared as he hurled himself the last few meters towards Jaden. Lunging forwards, Jaden slammed his hand against the door button. It closed with a hydraulic hiss, just in time for Dave Gatward to smash, face-first, against it.

  “There, that ought to hold you,” Jaden said. He stepped up to the glass and raised his middle finger. “Bow before my superior intellect, bitch.”

  Gatward slapped the button on the other side. The door swished open.

  “Ooh, fuck,” Jaden yelped, turning and running as Gatward made a grab for him. “Amy, don’t come out!” he cried, tearing past the bathroom and powering his way along the carriage. Gatward was behind, but not gaining. If anything, he was falling behind.

  “Not so fast now, are you, Gatward?” Jaden crowed. “Sprint team my ass.”

  He reached the seat he’d been sleeping on and searched frantically for the gun. “Fuck. Fuck, where is it?”

  Gatward was closing now, but looking more unsteady than ever. No, not unsteady. Uncontrolled. Like he was just learning to use his legs for the first time.

  “Wargh!” Col jerked awake in time to see the bearded, rainbow-colored figure striding past him. “What the fuck?”

  Gatward stopped. He turned.

  “Shit, no, no, no,” Jaden babbled. He launched himself at Gatward, slamming a shoulder into his ribcage and knocking him off his feet. Gatward let out an inhuman squeal and held on, dragging Jaden down with him.

  Drawing back his fist, Jaden punched him in the beard. Once. Twice. “Fuck,” he hissed. “That hurts.”

  Gatward’s hands were suddenly on his face, thumbnails digging into his flesh. “Argh! Ow, ow, fuck off,” Jaden spat. He tried an open-hand strike to Gatward’s cheek. While it didn’t hurt his fist this time, it didn’t seem to bother Gatward much, either.

  The thumb’s squirmed upwards, searching for Jaden’s eyes. He tried to pull free, but he was trapped by a chair behind him, and there was nowhere to go.

  He caught Dave’s wrists, tried to force the hands away. Down on the floor, Gatward opened his mouth wide, and the horror of it almost made Jaden forget the fight.

  Gatward’s tongue was gone. In its place was a squirming, wriggling insect which seemed to fill Dave’s whole mouth. Its mandibles were like long-nosed pliers. They snap-snap-snapped as Gatward’s thumbs hunted for Jaden’s eye sockets. And speaking of eyes…

  “Well, that’s unpleasant,” Jaden grimaced. Two spindly legs were extending up and out through Gatward’s bottom eyelid. They danced in the air, as if feeling their way. Jaden wanted to look away, but didn’t dare. “Ew,” he said, swallowing back his nausea. “I fucking touched your face with my fist.”

  “Look out!” Col cried. Jaden managed to lean to the right just as Col pointed the police revolver at Gatward’s head. Col pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. “Hang on,” he said, studying the gun.

  “What do you mean hang on?” Jaden yelped, still struggling against Gatward’s insistent thumbs. “Just fucking--”

  The carriage was filled with the roar of gunfire. The top of Gatward’s head exploded, but it did little, if anything, to dampen his resolve.

  “Argh, let go of me you headless bearded fuck,” Jaden sobbed, still fighting the arms. “In the mouth!” he said, shouting so he could hear himself over the ringing in his ears. “Shoot him in the mouth.”

  Col leaned in. He shoved the barrel of the gun into Gatward’s mouth. He turned away.

  The gun fired. The arms stopped. Jaden fell backwards, his face a mess of blood and brains and bits of bug. He kicked away from the body, scrabbling along the aisle until his arms gave out and he collapsed to the floor. Col knelt on one of the chairs, keeping the gun trained on the body, just in case.

  “Dave Gatward,” Col wheezed, shaking his head in disbelief.

  “I know, right?” agreed Jaden. “Dave Fucking Gatward.”

  Along the corridor, a toilet flushed. The bathroom door opened, and Amy stepped out, wiping her hands on a paper towel. She looked at the body on the floor, across at Jaden, then up at Col.

  “So,” she said. “What’d I miss?”

  INVERLOCHY CASTLE HOTEL, FORT WILLIAM, SCOTLAND

  May 25th, 12:48 PM

  “Leanne? Leanne, where are you?”

  Hoon’s voice echoed along the corridor and up the grand staircase. He waited until it had faded, then listened for a reply, before trying again.

  “Marshall?” he shouted. He turned to his sister. “What’s the other one’s name again? Darren?”

  “Daniel,” Moira corrected.

  “Aye, that’s right.” He raised his voice again. “Daniel? Marshall? Where the fuck have you got to, you useless pair of cu--”

  A door just along the corridor opened a crack. “Sir?”

  Hoon strode towards it. “There you are, Marshall.” He pushed open the door and gave the room an admiring glance. “Fuck me. How the other half lives, eh?”

  He noticed Immy, asleep in Marshall’s arms. His eyes darted across the room again, searching this time, rather than taking in the scenery. “Where’s Leanne?”

  “Hmm? Oh, aye,” Marshall said. “She… eh, I think she…”

  Hoon closed the gap between them in two quick paces. He raised his hand to grab Marshall by the throat, then remembered Immy and stopped himself just in time. He kept the hand raised, though, like he could do a Darth Vader and choke him through sheer willpower alone.

  “Where the fuck is she?”

  “She went out,” Marshall said. “Looking for Daniel.”

  “She went looking for Daniel? Why the fuck did she go looking for Daniel? Why didn’t you go?”

  Marshall’s mouth opened, but no words emerged. He wilted under Hoon’s
glare.

  “I know that, chances are, the organization we both work for probably no longer exists,” Hoon said, “but just in case it does, let me make one thing very fucking clear, Marshall. Very fucking clear.”

  He leaned in, bringing his voice down to a low growl. “You’re fired.”

  Hoon stepped back, much to the disappointment of the whispers in his head. “Where’s your gun?”

  “Sh-she took it,” Marshall stammered. “Leanne… I told her to take it with her. I wanted her to be safe.”

  Hoon shook his head. “Safe? You are some fucking piece of work.” He turned to Moira. “I’ve left my gun in the bar. Stay here. Make sure nothing happens to the baby. That useless arsehole’s expendable, so don’t fret yourself over him, but keep the wee one safe.”

  Moira nodded. “Will do.” She held out her shotgun. “Want to take this?”

  “Naw, you’re fine,” Hoon said. “Spotted something out in the hall that’ll be just the very dab.”

  “Right you are,” said Moira. She watched him open the door. “Bob,” she said. “Be careful.”

  “Aye.” Hoon nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  He stepped out and pulled the door closed behind him. On the wall directly across from the room hung a round wooden shield. Behind it, crossing over each other, were two claymore swords. He slid one free, gave the blade an appreciative nod, then turned right along the corridor.

  He didn’t know she had gone that way, but the bug did. He was beginning to understand it now, its instincts becoming almost an extension of his own. She had gone that way, but there was something else down there, too. Something… new.

  Hoon hurried along the corridor and around the corner. His eyes went to the ceiling in time to see the back end of something scurrying around the next bend. He moved to follow, then heard a thud and a muffled squeal from the room beside him.

  “Leanne?” he called, rattling the handle. Locked. “Leanne, hold on!”

  He stepped back, then drove his shoulder against the door. Once. Twice. It held fast. Something smashed inside. Leanne screamed. “Help! Help me!”