by Robin Crumby
“Riley, you’re not listening. We’re not going in guns blazing, ok? We wait till it’s nice and dark and creep in ninja like round the back where no one’s watching. We’ll be in and out again before anyone even realizes we were there.”
Riley laughed sarcastically, but the look in her eyes was deadly serious. “Zed, it’s your call. OK, I’m not going to argue with you in front of the others. But I’m just telling you, I don’t like this. It’s risky. And it’s not too late to change your mind and turn back. No one will think less of you. For all we know, Will could already be dead or moved someplace else, anything. It’s a big call. What if more of us get captured, or one of those psychos decides to start shooting? What then?”
Zed looked down for a second, clenching his fist. He tore out a handful of grass and held the blades up to his nostrils, inhaling deeply. It was intoxicating, like pure bottled summer. He was reminded of mowing the lawn on a hot mid-August day, collecting the clippings, sitting in a deckchair reading the paper, t-shirt off, enjoying the sunshine. He closed his eyes for a second savouring the memory. He looked down for a second before sighing deeply and turning to face Riley. With a raised eyebrow he answered in barely above a whisper.
“We just have to make sure that doesn’t happen. Trust me, when have I ever let you down?”
He winked playfully and instantly regretted it. Riley wasn’t in the mood. She handed the binoculars back and slid back down the bank to join the others who were resting up against a crumbling old brick wall. Under her breath she muttered: “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Zed looked over his shoulder and watched her go before continuing his surveillance. Looking back down the grassy bank he swept the maintenance area of the hospital. Industrial bins overflowed with hospital waste. Trash now littered the entire parking area. A ten-foot high fence was flecked with bits of newspaper caught in the mesh like a fishing net. A gust of wind toyed with sheets of newspaper, dancing in the air, accompanied by the scrape of a cardboard box as it scuttled across the tarmac. Litter carpeted the whole area. In the corner, several vehicles had been abandoned, windows smashed in. An ambulance sat with its contents disgorged around it, tyres deflated, its bay doors swinging open in the breeze, broken. He moved twenty meters to his right so he could get a better look round the corner into the large staff parking area. The chimney for the incinerator towered over the main building, a wisp of grey smoke escaping from the rim. There were about twenty vehicles, a few of them abandoned wrecks, harvested for parts or fire damaged. Parked in a line closer to the main entrance, he saw several serviceable cars, trucks and a Tesco lorry backed up for unloading. Behind them all, he could make out the rear of a Range Rover, top of the line, parked up under an awning. His hunch had been right all along.
Zed shook his head and crept back down on his hands and knees to find the others who were talking quietly below him. The fence was the problem. It protected the whole of the back of the hospital from unwanted intruders and he had to assume that this fenced off area was also monitored by a guard on the roof or by a patrol. Judging by how these guys operated, observing the scavenger group when they had grabbed Will, watching the convoy of vehicles, how they disembarked and worked as a team, with almost military efficiency, Zed knew this crew was not to be underestimated. On his own he knew he could infiltrate this facility, but with a couple of kids in tow and an inexperienced team, he was less sure. Perhaps Riley was right after all, was this a risk worth taking?
Their best chance of entry was via a tree whose branches overhung part of the fence. If they could climb the tree and shuffle along a sturdy looking branch then he was confident they could make it over. Their next challenge was going to be getting in unseen to try and find where they were holding Will. They needed to find the right point of entry, a door or window, somewhere quiet and unseen. He had found what he was looking for on his final sweep: a fire door behind one of the industrial waste bins. The fire door would have been alarmed when the power was still on, but would now be protected only by a simple metal rod that locked in place top and bottom. The doorway was almost completely hidden from view by the waste bin and a burned out estate car. They could work on breaking in without fear of interruption.
After one hour of observation, he was satisfied that there were no patrols. If they could get over the fence, they had a good chance of getting in without being discovered.
The group would need to sit tight for another hour waiting for dusk, though not too dark that they couldn’t see what they were doing. Torches were a bad idea as they could be seen from miles away and would attract unwanted attention.
The hospital was a prime site and could comfortably host several hundred people, a much bigger group than Hurst. Its location in town made access to food and stores relatively simple. Zed didn’t fancy his chances in a firefight. From what he’d seen of their weapons and organization, stealth was their best option.
Once inside, Sean said he’d been to this hospital before so knew the approximate layout. The maintenance area was unlikely to be occupied and from what they’d observed, the overnight patient wards on the first or second floor of the east wing were the most likely places they’d be holding Will. And if not, that was as good a place to start as anywhere else.
They checked their equipment. As well as the revolver and the shotgun, they had an eclectic assortment of weapons. Between the others they also had a machete, an ivory handled dagger, plus the double-headed mace which Zed still had strapped between his shoulder blades. Riley un-cocked the sawn-off shot-gun she carried, peered down the barrels to make sure they were clear, loaded two shells and snapped the barrels closed with a satisfying click. In the side-pocket of her rucksack she carried a further box of shells and made sure she had a couple of spares in her hip pocket for easy access. Sean was lying on his back against the rucksack, meticulously sharpening the blade on the ceremonial sword he’d found earlier with a small metal file. He tested the edge with his finger every few seconds to check its sharpness before continuing.
Mila sat cross-legged on the grass, watching the others, her back to a tree. Her khaki shorts had ridden up, exposing a three-inch scar on her right thigh. She tied her hair back and picked a blade of grass out of her mouth, wiping it on her knee. Joe sat opposite her and took a long swig from his canteen before offering it to the others, who shook their heads. Despite their meagre diet, Joe’s early onset middle-aged spread had proven resilient. Everyone else seemed to be losing weight but him. He was fed up of being the butt of their jokes. Lard-ass, fat-boy, tubby. He had heard them all. But he was thick-skinned and laughed it off, refusing to let them get to him. Deep down, he was hurting but too proud to let them know they had landed a punch. He had been watching Mila all day, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Ever since she’d arrived at Hurst, he’d been crazy about her. She was at least fifteen years his junior, no more than eighteen, but she had so much vitality about her. She was athletic and slim-hipped and knew the effect she had on men. He hadn’t figured out whether Mila and Sean were just friends or something more. It had been bugging him for days. She caught him staring absent-mindedly and he looked away embarrassed.
“What you looking at Joe? Seen anything you like?”
Joe mumbled something back, struggling to hide his blushes. Sean grinned at the pair of them and mischievously threw a small stone at Mila, hitting her on her ankle. She looked up angrily. “Hey!” He ignored her protest and muttered: “Don’t waste your time Joe. She ain’t worth it.”
“Thanks a lot Sean. Just because I don’t fancy you, don’t mean nothing. Perhaps you’re just not my type,” said Mila coquettishly.
Zed shushed them and they fell silent again. “Alright that’s enough. Let’s get our heads together. Do you want me to run through the plan one more time?”
They all shook their heads. “No Zed, we get it,” said Riley wearily, unfolding the piece of paper with a crude map of the hospital and its layout.
“And we’ll keep going
over it until it’s locked and loaded. Planning is what keeps us safe. So, one more time. Is everyone clear? I’m on point, Riley you’re bringing up the rear, the rest of you stay alert and focused. Two teams sweeping the first and second floors, here, here and here,” he said pointing to the overnight wards. “Hand signals only. We can’t afford to make any noise. We don’t take any chances. OK? Now everyone get some rest. We move out in 30 minutes.”
They all nodded. Mila closed her eyes and started humming an old Aretha Franklin tune “Respect”. She finished tying back her long dark hair in a ponytail that reached down past her shoulders and part way down her back. When she was done, she put on a grey baseball cap from her rucksack that cast a shadow over forehead, blue eyes, petite nose and narrow lips. She wore no make-up and had a smear of mud or grease across her left cheek and part of her chin. It didn’t matter. Joe thought she looked beautiful. He titled his head back, put his cap over his face and rested his eyes for a few minutes.
Zed sat back against a telegraph post and tried to relax. Inside his heart was beating unusually fast. This was a big call, taking an inexperienced team into a well defended and densely populated environment that he knew virtually nothing about. They would need luck on their side. He looked around the group and weighed up their pros and cons, strengths and weaknesses. They were fit and able, from what he’d seen of the new arrivals. If they had to get out of there quickly, Joe was a weak link, heavy and slow. He had taught them all what little he remembered about self-defence and hand-to-hand combat. Joe was powerful, threw a good punch. Riley and Sean showed some skill with a knife. As for the rest, he had no idea. Did they even know what they were letting themselves in for? Riley did, Mila looked terrified but was hiding it well from the others. The others were hard to read, but chances are they were all bricking it.
If they could find out where they were holding Will, then maybe, just maybe they could get him out from right under their noses without anyone noticing. They owed it to Will to at least try.
He closed his eyes and ran through the plan one more time in his head. It was up to him to get them in and out safely, without casualties.
Chapter Twenty-two
Riley was last over the fence. The sleeve of her jacket caught on some barbed wire and ripped. Off balance, she let out a gasp as she landed heavily on the grass verge below twisting her ankle a little. The fence rattled metallically behind her and she cursed, admonishing herself: “Nice one Riley. Get it together.”
The rest of the group was already at the fire door. Zed had started loosening up the frame with a crow bar, before splintering the wood around the locking mechanism. It took around ten minutes before the reinforced surround caved in and with a loud creak, Zed levered the door open a crack. He got his fingers inside and pulled the door open wide, its rotten base scraping against the concrete floor. Inside, it took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the gloom and they picked their way carefully around some machinery and shelving units. Only the dying light from the doorway and from two narrow skylights that cast fading shadows lighted the room.
Double doors led through to one of the main corridors of the hospital running north to south as far as the eye could see. From Sean’s crude drawing of the hospital layout, Zed figured this would take them to the stairwell that led to the upper floors. The corridor was eerily quiet. There was not a soul about.
They regrouped in a consultation room off to the left, huddling together around Zed, who crouched down, one knee on the linoleum floor. “Where is everyone?” asked Riley. Zed shrugged his shoulders. “Looks like no-one’s home. So let’s make the most of it. According to Sean’s map there’s a stairwell just up here, right?” Sean leaned in, angling the crude map towards him to check and nodded. “OK. So let’s head up to the next floor. Mila, you’re with me. Stay together. Let’s get this done and get out. ”
Zed led the way out back into the corridor, keeping to the left side and pausing at each doorway to listen. Where the walkway opened out into a lobby area, there was a lone flickering candle in a saucer, but still no sign of anyone.
Riley pointed to a blue sign directing them to the stairwell. She put her hands to the heavy door and put her weight against it, easing it open silently. At the foot of the stairs, she craned her neck to the side to peer up between the railings making sure there was no one coming down. It was all going a little too well, which made Zed suspicious. Were they walking into a trap?
At the top of the flight of stairs, Riley cracked open the door on to the first floor and put her face up close, her breath hot against the metal handle as she listened and waited. She could hear voices and put her finger to her lips to warn the rest of the group who had gathered just behind her. She opened it wider and stuck her head round the corner. About thirty meters away she could see half a dozen people with their backs turned, arms crossed. They appeared to be having some sort of meeting.
They stole across the corridor and waited out of sight. Zed gestured to Riley, Sean and Joe to start their search, checking each of the rooms, while he and Mila stood guard and spied on their conversation. The first floor was poorly lit with candles and kerosene lamps. They had no trouble keeping to the shadows. Skirting round the back of the group, they followed the U-shape till it opened out into a large atrium that overlooked a lobby area. Below them they could hear voices and the unmistakable sounds of a large gathering, bodies pressed tightly together, feet shuffling and a man coughing some distance away. Zed crouched down next to a large pot plant, his senses alert. To their right around a dozen doctors and medical staff were leaning over the railing listening. A few of the doctors had their arms crossed, their body language seemed hostile as if they were removed from whatever was being discussed below. Two men in white lab coats whispered conspiratorially, but he couldn’t catch what they were saying from this distance.
Zed crept forward, Mila beside him and peered between the railings at the sea of faces gathered tightly together below. A couple of hundred heads were facing away from him, craning necks and squinting into the relative gloom to see what was going on at the far end of the lobby. He crouched low but still couldn’t see what they were looking at. The crowd fell silent as a man’s voice carried across the room. It was a voice Mila recognized instantly from earlier in the day: clipped, Mancunian, slightly nasal with a hard edge. The hairs at the back of her neck prickled as she remembered the man in black from earlier and what they had done to poor Bob.
“You all know how hard we’ve fought to get this far. It hasn’t been easy. We’ve all lost someone or something. But together we’re strong. Look around you. We have food, we have a roof over our heads, we have weapons, we have security, and we even have our own doctors to treat us when we get sick. But if we are going to do more than just survive here, we need to grow and expand.”
There were murmurs of approval and nods from a few of the heads.
“Every day our patrols bring back men, women and children from places round here. Every day we learn about other survivor camps throughout this area. Dozens of them, big and small. Beyond the New Forest, there may be hundreds more groups like us, surviving, holding on, waiting.”
“We have a good set up here. We have everything we need. So why do we need to change?” He paused, letting his question gestate and resonate with his audience.
“Let me tell you. We have a chance, a chance to become something more. To take a lead. To build a new world, to create a new world order, based on our rules. No one can tell us what to do any more. Tell us how to think, how to act. The old world is gone. We don’t have to go back to the way things were. We can build something new, something better.”
The whispers grew to a louder discussion, and another man’s voice, deeper and menacing, appealed for quiet before putting his fingers to his lips and whistled. The room fell silent again.
“Even now, our research team is working hard to find a cure. In time, to synthesize a vaccine, however long that takes. I can tell you that we have alread
y discovered that certain individuals have natural immunity to the virus. We don’t know why yet, but we’re getting closer every day. With the right resources and support, there’s no reason why in the future we can’t mass-produce a vaccine and start inoculating hundreds, maybe thousands of survivors. Spreading the word, spreading the cure not just to the New Forest but also to the world. Imagine for a second the power and influence that discovery would deliver. Starting tomorrow, we begin reaching out to other groups. We invite them to join us. To join forces with us, to expand, to rebuild.”
A voice from the back shouted out: “What if they don’t want to? You can’t make them join us.”
The man in black laughed dismissively: “You’re right. No one can force them to join us. But they would be foolish to stand against us.”
There were hoots of derision from those members of the audience who distrusted the man in black and his thinly disguised ambitions. He had to wait until the raucous noise from the increasingly partisan crowd abated before continuing.