Eden Chronicles Box Set Books 1-3

by James Erith

  Daisy squeezed her eyes shut and sucked in a lungful of air as if it were her last.

  Suddenly her legs were pulled from under her as she tore off, a combination of whizzzooming at breakneck speed down the fastest water chute in the world, being thrown around in a tumble dryer and blown about by an enormous hairdryer all at the same time.

  Two seconds later, she found herself lying on a cold, dusty floor, her heart racing.

  Those ridiculous trees encouraged her, she thought as she gathered her wits; and she’d taken their advice! Idiot! She should have tackled the undergrowth by the ditch like any normal person.

  With her eyes clamped tight and her head spinning, she spread her fingers and collected a thin, velvety substance on her hands. Dust. Fine dust. She pushed her hand in. A lot of dust. How long had this place been empty? She sniffed the air. It smelt like a combination of decayed cheese and old newspapers.

  Slowly, she opened her eyes. ‘Where am I?’ she whispered.

  Her voice echoed back to her several times, eerie and ghost-like. She shivered now that the heat of the warm glade had gone.

  A deathly silence surrounded her.

  Daisy picked herself off the dusty floor and began to survey the area. The first thing she could tell was that there was no one around, simply a flat surface that went on and on and on. Apart from the indentations of her marks in the thick layer of dust, there were no other footprints or signs of life.

  She turned and gasped. About fourteen football pitches away, a huge wall shot up from the floor, reaching high into the air. Under closer inspection, at the foot of the wall, a series of huge arches concealed dark mouths.

  Daisy looked up and squinted, her eyes adjusting to the change in light. She was in a vast cathedral-like room, bigger than anything she’d ever seen – so big that she couldn’t make out where the sides ended and the roof began.

  If I’m really dead, and this time I absolutely must be, she thought, I don’t think this is Heaven, or Hell for that matter. Maybe God couldn’t decide so he left me in between. In purgatory.

  Some way off, near to what she suspected was the middle of this vast, dull construction, stood a strange-looking dust-laden object. Daisy imagined it looked like an old grey tree with, as far as she could tell, spindly branches that poked out rather sadly, as if they were dead. Like a skeleton tree.

  She stood up and headed towards the gaping holes along the walls. As she approached, she frowned. Some were big enough for a ship to pass through and took minutes to walk past, their cavernous openings cold and black, while others were as small as fox holes. She walked gingerly down a tunnel that could have easily accommodated a pair of elephants but, after a short distance, found it blocked by rocks.

  She tried another, and another, but they too were sealed. After five tunnels Daisy felt lonely, frightened, lost and very, very small.

  ‘What … what is this place?’ she said, her teeth chattering as her words echoed back. ‘How do I get out?’

  She took off towards the strange grey tree but after a few steps she jumped in the air and squealed as something gave way underfoot and snapped. Her heart raced. Underneath the dust, lay a skeleton. She worked the dust away from the bones and found it to be human. Daisy winced; someone died here a long, long time ago.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said out loud. ‘Didn’t see you there.’

  As she studied the bones, her senses on high alert, she heard a rasp – a strange wheezing noise.

  Was it the ghost of the skeleton? She listened again, putting all her concentration into it. The more intently she listened, the clearer the sound. Now there was a grating – a kind of breathing – getting closer.

  Fear grabbed her.

  She had to get out. But how?

  The beginnings of a panic attack grew; the combination of hopelessness and fear, like a feeling she’d had in her nightmares. She jogged towards the wall.

  In the next moment, a terrible CRACK cut through the air like a huge branch snapping in two. The crack was followed by a scream and its shrill echoed around the huge room like deathly, wailing spirits.

  Every hair on Daisy’s body stood to attention. Her eyes bulged.

  ‘I’m not alone!’ she whispered to the room. ‘The devil’s coming to get me!’

  She ran.

  First towards the large holes to the side and then blindly, searching for a glimmer of light, a way out – a place to hide. After a few minutes, she drew up in front of a slightly different tunnel with worn markings surrounding it and caught her breath.

  She wiped her forehead and listened. The sound of wailing, or screaming, filled her eardrums. How the heck would she get out?

  She took a deep breath and readied herself to go when she noticed the stonework. It was a real arch, not the crude arch of a cave hole, but more a built arch – made from stone – with carvings. Under the brow of the arch was the outline of a gate and, below this, a familiar looking motif, like a crest you might see on a shield, with the curious, circular tree emblem exactly like the ones in the cave.

  Below the circular tree were two distinct icons. She studied them. One bore a leaf, like an oak’s, and the other, the picture of a bee.

  As she looked around she heard a new noise, a terrific shrill that seemed to be growing.

  The oak leaf and the bee, she thought. She realised she’d seen it before, but where?

  She stared hard, her heart thumping. Where and what did the bee and a leaf mean?

  She concentrated on the images as the piercing, high-pitched noise filled her ears. She had to work fast. Then it struck her like a bolt of lightning – it was a clue from her dream. She remembered it now. She had to join the images! That was it!

  “BEE-LEAF.”

  ‘Bee leaf,’ she said out loud. It struck her. ‘It’s about BE-LIEF! That’s it!’

  All I have to do is believe!

  Without looking back, she took a deep breath, shut her eyes and walked straight towards the doorway without hesitating, thinking only of Eden Cottage.

  THE NEXT THING SHE KNEW, the wind was blowing and the rain pouring down. She was back in a ditch, but this time the other side of the gate, way below the house. She shrieked with relief and punched the air as if she’d scored the best goal of her life.

  She didn’t care that she was drenched through. She laughed aloud and splashed the water, crying with joy. Daisy de Lowe had just escaped from Hell itself.

  She had to tell the others. But, as she went, doubt filled her. What if they don’t believe me? I mean, it’s a bit … nuts. Actually, she thought, it’s totally bonkers. But they must believe me. They have to.

  And if they didn’t, she’d make them, whatever it took, and then they’d start making sense of things and then they could begin the search for the tablets.

  Daisy ran, slipping and sliding as fast as she could up the hill towards Eden Cottage.

  SIXTY-SIX

  THE YORKSHIRE STRAIN

  Commissioner Stone was proud of his accomplishments on the Force, proud that he had the respect of his team and proud that, at the age of fifty-two he could still fit into the suit he had bought with his first pay cheque aged nineteen: a sharp black pinstripe. He prided himself on his fitness, his well-being, and his full head of hair. He liked the fact that others complimented him on his sense of fair play and his ability to understand and uphold the rule of law in an uncomplicated manner. He liked the way ladies half his age stole admiring glances at him. But this, this silent and deadly enemy, which was growing at an alarming rate, terrified him. Nothing, no charm offensive nor training manual could combat it, even if operations for this kind of “natural event” had been planned years in advance.

  Biblical happenings here in God’s own county of Yorkshire. Storms! Plague! It was unbelievable.

  Ironically, he’d been looking forward to the day for some time. His older cousin, known only by his surname, Solomon, was headmaster at Upsall school and had sent him an invitation to a banquet in celebration o
f his twentieth anniversary in charge. Rumour had it that it was to be quite an occasion.

  In any event, he didn’t get as far as his local town of Masham, on the edge of the Yorkshire Dales.

  Only an hour after the rains began, he found himself stranded. Fortunately, it was as he drove past the front drive of the Swinton Park Hotel that he decided enough was enough and took refuge.

  It was a huge stroke of luck.

  Geographically, the hotel was perfect. Directly across the Vale of York from the village of Upsall, the hotel was isolated enough to prevent unwarranted intrusion and perched high enough in the dales to be out of danger from flooding. Furthermore, the hotel was big and comfortable; able to house the army of experts summoned at short notice from around the UK.

  Over the following day, as the hotel guests were airlifted out, his team and their equipment moved in. The luxurious facilities were turning into the headquarters of the largest police and medical operation ever seen in the country.

  He stroked his moustache as he drew himself up, patted his pressed uniform and addressed the team in front of him.

  ‘Right. I need speech analysts to try and fathom what the boy was trying to say. If it was the word “Algae”, maybe the boy is referring to the water, so I want results from those water samples today, please. I need to know what the “Dunno” is – if it’s a thing, a person, a piece of rock or if the boy simply cannot speak clearly. I want teams to work on his family, figure out where he’s from: blood samples, DNA screening – whatever it takes. Understand so far?

  ‘I need an up-to-date on the boy’s burns – who or what could have given them and how. And we need to understand if this is a terrorist attack on the country – a form of international sabotage or simply a freak, biblical phenomenon. Find out what you can – even if there’s a possibility it’s an alien attack – is this all perfectly clear?’

  The officers nodded. Two ran out of the room.

  ‘OK. Has everyone arrived for the briefing?’

  ‘Yes, sir. They’ve been flying in all morning. The last guest put down ten minutes ago.’

  ‘Good.’ He made his way out of the reception area and into the grand hallway where a large, white sheet hung neatly over the paintings of the past owners of the once-grand ancestral home. Crammed in the hallway were a mix of scientists, the military and civil servants. Top brass. Commissioner Stone made his way up the wide staircase.

  ‘Ladies and Gentlemen – Doctors, Generals, I appreciate your coming here at such short notice. I trust you saw the scale of devastation from your helicopters. You’ll appreciate we don’t have much time.

  ‘The situation, in regards to the viral infection, is far worse than anticipated.’ Stone paused as he caught the eyes of the people spread out below him. ‘In fact, it’s worse than our biggest nightmare. Not only is the contagion rate astonishing, but worse still, we have no idea how it is spreading. I’m handing you over to Chief Medical Officer Harries. He’ll give you the latest update.’

  Harries was one of the thinnest, leanest men you could imagine, with a pointed nose and a large, ill-fitting pair of spectacles on his nose. His thinning, scraggly hair made him appear far older than his forty-five years and the way he wore an almost permanent frown didn’t help matters. But he was the leading authority on viral strains in the country, if not the world. He made his way to the front, a bundle of files tucked under his arm and nodded to the projectionist. The lights dimmed and the white screen above them burst into life.

  ‘This plague, the Yorkshire strain or Ebora, from the Latin Ebor meaning York – and I do believe that this will become the common noun – is a most curious one,’ he said as the first slide came up. ‘Here are the strains of the virus that we’ve been able to map so far. You will notice how many there are.’ A new image slid into place. ‘Now, here is the Yorkshire strain in comparison with the Plague of Athens, Spanish flu and Ebola?’

  ‘These pandemics are spread through touch or via carriers – the virus moving from one organism to the next. The difference of the Yorkshire strain is multi-fold. Our Ebora strain is smaller and considerably more aggressive. Moreover, it appears to mutate both randomly and rapidly. As I’ve shown you, we have already identified several varieties of the strain. And we believe there are many others out there.’ The slides moved on.

  ‘See here the effect of the Ebola virus on a victim in twenty-four hours. Now compare it with ours.’ A loud gasp came from the onlookers. ‘Yes, indeed, the Yorkshire strain is a great deal deadlier. Worse still, we’ve found animals – cattle, foxes and birds – bearing similar symptoms. So it appears that this outbreak doesn’t stop with humans. It has the ability to attack every living thing.’

  Another slide came up. Harries straightened. He looked pale and drawn. ‘This slide will try and explain our current understanding of how the virus spreads.’ He pointed his cane at the newest image. ‘The known area of infection is coloured in blue.’

  The map showed the entire area between the dales and the moors, reaching from Teesside at the top to Nottingham at the bottom. ‘Two hundred miles and counting. This inner red ring is a five-mile radius around the likely source at Upsall, the exact same place as the epicentre of the storm. We don’t know why, or even if there’s a connection, but we’re working on it.’

  On the slide, a geographical map showed the flooded region of Yorkshire. ‘Now here’s the truly worrying part.’ On his signal, a translucent sheet was placed over the map. ‘This,’ he continued, ‘shows us the known victims as of early this morning. The lighter green circles around the dots indicates the victims’ approximate movements.’

  On the map were a number of random marks stretching north, south, east and west.

  A voice rang out. ‘sir, what does it all mean?’

  ‘I was getting to that,’ Harries barked. He straightened and smiled thinly. ‘In simple terms, we think it means that the virus is spreading arbitrarily.’

  A murmur spread around the room. Harries raised a hand in the air. ‘The virus is spreading in a way we haven’t seen before. By contact, by wind and by water. Perhaps, it is a combination of these. The incubation period is like nothing we have ever come across. There will be thousands of people with the symptoms already and I am afraid that, until we know more about it, we are at its mercy.’

  An explosion of questions shot out. Harries absorbed them and then raised his arms for silence. ‘We can only work with what we know,’ he said. ‘Scientists from all around the world are battling night and day to try and understand how this virus works so that a vaccination can be hurried through. But, as I mentioned, the Yorkshire strain is mutating fast and the sequences are enormously complex.’

  ‘How long have we got?’ yelled a female voice.

  ‘In two days,’ Harries said, ‘the virus has spread uncontrollably. I’m afraid I don’t have an answer.’

  ‘Do you have any leads, any positive news?’

  Harries looked glum. ‘Even with the best scientific minds working flat out, we are unable to pinpoint the cause and effect of this strain. The common denominator is the fact that the outbreak appears to have started at the storm’s epicentre. And that, my friends, is the small village of Upsall.’

  SIXTY-SEVEN

  ISABELLA RUSHES OUT

  Isabella hoped like mad that, when she looked again, the panels wouldn’t be there. She opened her eyes.

  They were.

  She groaned. She could see her outline in the first panel and Archie’s in the last, but the middle panel showed only a blank, empty space. She waved her feet in the air and the panel reflected her movements. If the panels were a true reflection of them at this exact point in time, she thought, then where was Daisy?

  She leapt off Old Man Wood’s bed and raced down the wooden stairs three at a time and into the hallway. Then she dashed along the corridor, through the door to the kitchen, where she all but crashed into the table. ‘Have you seen Archie or Daisy?’ she demanded, as her eyes searched
the room.

  Mrs Pye was not impressed. ‘Good day to you, too, Isabella,’ she said.

  ‘Well? Have you?’

  Mrs Pye puffed out her chest and faced her. ‘Good afternoon, Isabella.’

  ‘Oh. Good afternoon. Well—?’

  ‘Why, not for a little while. Archie went out early and …’

  Isabella didn’t need to hear the rest. In a flash, she was pulling on her boots and donning her coat. She found her leather, wide-brimmed hat and as she drew the toggle under her chin she flew towards the door, inadvertently slamming it behind her. As she turned the corner she narrowly avoided smashing into Archie.

  ‘Oi! Watch out!’ he said.

  ‘There you are!’ she said clasping his shoulders. ‘Great! Good! Fantastic!’

  Archie reeled. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Quick question – honest answer,’ she panted. ‘I’m not going to be cross.’

  Archie didn’t know what to say.

  ‘You’ve been throwing your knives, haven’t you?’

  Archie bowed his head. ‘Er, well—’

  ‘You have – great!’ she said. ‘That’s fine, excellent, good. Next question. Have you seen Daisy? She went off looking for you ages ago.’

  Archie shook his head.

  ‘OK. Didn’t think so,’ she said. Isabella knew that, if what she’d seen was correct, Daisy wouldn’t be found anywhere. But she had to be sure.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Archie asked.

  ‘Up to the ruin and then round the farm. I’ll meet you in the cupboard, in twenty minutes … I’ve got to find Daise. It’s important.’

  Archie was confused. ‘Right round the farm? It’ll take you an hour at least. If you want Old Man Wood, he’s in a bunch of willow trees by the water’s edge. He’s gone totally dotty.’

  But Isabella wasn’t listening and, in a flash, she’d shot off towards the ruin.

  ISABELLA THOUGHT hard about which direction to take. She’d head up to the ruin first, check around the rocks and then make her way back down the hill, circumnavigating the garden.