by Alex Scarrow
‘Oil logistics is about the distribution networks of oil.’
‘And was he, like, an inspiration for you?’
‘Sort of. But not in the way you’re thinking.’ He glanced at Leon again. ‘Dad was a crackpot. A real conspiracy nut. He believed we were almost out of oil. The world was about to run out of the stuff.’
‘Uh, OK. And was it?’
‘I’m not sure. But I wanted to find out for myself rather than just take his word. Hence the choice of subject.’
‘Right.’
Leon had to ask. Because that seemed to be the way conversations went these days. ‘What happened to your folks?’
‘Mum and Dad and my older sister died in the outbreak. I was at uni when it happened. They were in London. I managed to get back home after the first week and . . .’
Leon nodded. Everyone’s story ended up this way.
‘. . . they were dead. But my little brother, Connor, was alive still.’
Leon looked at him. ‘Shit.’
‘Yeah.’ Jake nodded. ‘I found him in his bedroom. He’d been drinking bathwater and eating Play-Doh to stay alive.’
‘What were you both on? Meds, right?’
‘Yup. I was on anti-inflammatories for an elbow injury. Connor had been on chemotherapy. Leukaemia.’
‘Jesus, cancer. Sorry.’
They drove on in silence for a while. It was Jake who broke the silence. ‘I managed to keep him alive for nearly two years.’
Leon nodded.
‘So, what about you, bro?’ asked Jake.
‘Kind of similar to you. I was looking after my younger sister. My mum died, so then it was just me and Grace.’
‘You’re American . . . How did you get over here?’
‘We were living in London when it happened. Well, me, Mum and my sister were.’ Leon looked at him. ‘I was born in the UK. So, technically, I’m not a Yank by the way.’
‘So?’
‘So . . . we did a pretty good job of surviving. I was on meds for migraines; she had a fractured arm. So, you could say we survived because we were screw-ups.’ He watched a petrol station and a Starbucks pass by. ‘We got as far as Southampton. Me, Grace and Freya.’
‘Who’s Freya?’
‘My survival buddy.’
‘Right.’ Jake nodded. He turned to Leon. ‘Buddy? Or . . . you know . . .’
‘What?’
‘Orrrrr?’
‘Jesus, man. None your business!’
‘Right. So she was more than just a buddy, then.’
‘No. We just fell in together and . . . and stuff.’
‘OK. Chillax, mate. Just being a nosy git.’
Leon shook his head and sighed. ‘It’s OK. It’s OK. We got pretty close. Maybe we would’ve ended up, like, you know, a couple, but we never quite got there.’
‘So the three of you got split up when the camp went tits-up?’
‘Yeah – it all just got crazy. The stampede. I lost my grip on them and then I was alone, running for my life.’ He gently bumped the knuckles of his fist against the window on his side. ‘Man, that was the crappiest-organized rescue ever.’
Jake laughed. ‘Wasn’t it?’
‘I was kinda hoping somewhere else in the world the authorities had managed to get their shit together. But the whole thing seemed like they were just playing catch-up.’ Leon sighed. ‘But I mean, how the hell does anyone prepare and plan for something like this? This is right off the page.’
‘Off the page?’
‘Out there. Random. Freaky. Like, bird flu, Ebola, those are viruses you can isolate even if you can’t cure them. But this . . . A virus that manufactures a whole bunch of living shit?’ He shook his head. ‘We were screwed from day one.’
‘People I was with said it had to be man-made. Like a genetically engineered thing.’
‘Seriously?’ Leon frowned. ‘As far as I know, genetics had got as far as tweaking out disabilities and cancer and stuff. Not creating something like this!’
‘I’m not saying I agreed. I reckon it’s got to be aliens.’
Leon’s laugh sounded sarcastic. It wasn’t meant to be, but any sentence that ended with ‘got to be aliens’ sounded like it belonged on daytime TV.
‘I’m serious, though!’
‘You mean this is the whole War of the Worlds thing?’
Jake shrugged. ‘As good as. But instead of parking stupid giant robot tripod things in the ground it makes crabs out of people.’
‘I’m not a great believer in the aliens-from-other-worlds thing. You know what’s out there? Lots and lots of nothing.’
‘But you were saying it can’t be home-grown either?’ Jake shrugged. ‘What does that leave . . . ? God made it?’
Leon laughed, good-natured this time. ‘Hell, no. I don’t believe in that crap!’
‘So it’s not from Earth, it’s not from space, it’s not supernatural. And it’s not from God. Where the crap did it come from, then?’
‘It’s accidental,’ said Leon.
‘Huh?’
‘I’m serious. Look, this whole world’s ecosystem, the whole flora and fauna family tree, was built on the back of a biochemical accident anyway.’
‘An accident?’ Jake glanced his way. ‘You going to explain your thesis, mate?’
‘When was it, something like three billion years ago? The first replicating cells? If I’ve got this right, there was one kind of single-cell life that could, like, generate energy from sunlight or whatever, but didn’t do the whole genetic thing. And there were viruses that had DNA or RNA and could change and adapt and stuff . . . because that’s what viruses do, right? But viruses are parasites and have to live off the backs of cells, because they can’t do the energy-conversion thing. So one day, about three billion years ago, in one particular muddy pool, somewhere on planet Earth, a cell caught a cold that didn’t, you know, kill it.’
Leon paused for a moment, before continuing. ‘So that’s where we came from – a virus got inside a cell. They decided they could both work with each other, and it turned out really well for them.’
‘Nice way of putting it!’ Jake laughed. ‘Mind you, depressing, right? We’re just the result of some mix-up in a mud pool. An accident.’
‘So it simply happened again. Another accident. Jesus, it’s been three billion years – I guess we were due another one. That’s what I reckon anyway.’
‘What were you back before . . . ? A science nerd or something?’
‘No. I just like reading.’
‘Books?’
‘Internet.’
‘I miss that so much.’
‘The internet?’
‘Yup. Just the whole being linked-up thing. It’s like, you can have an Xbox, but what’s the point in having one and not being hooked up to Live? You used to go on holiday with the fam, and the first thing you did when you got to the hotel was check on the WiFi.’ He sighed. ‘I really, really miss being hooked up.’ He laughed again. ‘Is that sad, or what?’
‘It’s totally sad.’ Leon shrugged. ‘But totally true.’
His mind drifted back to lazy sofa-Sundays, his phone in one hand, laptop on his chest and the world, his mates back home in New York, all one keyboard tap away from him.
‘Whoa!’ Jake slammed on the brakes, shifted down gears and eased the truck to a crawl. ‘Look!’
Leon was jerked out of his reverie and saw the sign in the middle of the road ahead of them. They could easily have driven round it. It wasn’t a roadblock – just placed, bang in the centre so that it was guaranteed to be read.
Next Left – will take you south on the A354 to us.
We are a community of 1,235 1,264 1,301 1,342
We are located on the Isle of Portland.
We are friendly.
We promise!
Leon noted the last population number seemed to have been scrawled recently enough not to look as weather-worn and faded as the rest of the message.
‘Call me
paranoid,’ said Jake, ‘but isn’t that the kind of sign that leads directly to a bunch of wonky-eyed, man-eating weirdos?’
‘Stop,’ said Leon.
Jake brought the truck to a standstill. ‘Come on, Leon. That’s got to be a lure.’
‘If this was a shitty post-apocalyptic movie, then sure. I’d be like, drive on past, bro.’ He looked around. There was nowhere nearby that an ambush might spring from; just open road and flat, overgrown fields either side. Nothing to see.
‘Clichés exist in real life too,’ said Jake.
‘We’re going to get the others out and we’ll all vote on it.’
‘Seriously?’
‘We’re going to vote,’ he said again. ‘That’s my call. Final word.’
‘What?’ Jake frowned at him. ‘Who made you the boss of—’ Then he stopped himself, rolling his eyes at his own stupidity. ‘Oh, yeah . . .’
‘That’s right. I’m still project manager.’
CHAPTER 14
‘Mr Friedmann, sir?’
Tom looked up from Captain Donner’s small desk. The two of them were sharing the same tiny cabin. He worked in here while Donner was on the bridge, and let the captain have his room back when he came off duty. He was halfway through compiling the data they’d got as a result of the fleet-wide second testing: names, ages, professions, qualifications. Among the rescued were seven doctors, a dentist, a wind turbine engineer, three garage mechanics, a train driver, a food hygienist, five chefs, two IT experts and a network specialist. Useful stuff.
A marine stood in the doorway. ‘That girl’s turned up again, sir.’
He cursed under his breath. Every day, for the last four days, since the sinking of the Sea Queen, she’d turned up at the bridge requesting to speak with him. At least he presumed it was the same one. The description was consistent: young, long dark hair, a limp and a walking stick.
Tom vaguely recalled the girl had said something helpful several days back as they’d observed the cruise ship from afar while deciding what to do. But he was damned if he could remember what it was.
‘OK.’ He sat back in the chair and stretched. He could do with a quick break and getting this girl out of his hair.
‘Go get the pest and bring her down.’
‘Uh, she’s already right here, sir.’
‘Huh?’
‘Captain Donner already sent her down. Said he was fed up of seeing her face too.’
Tom nodded. The marine stepped to one side, allowing the girl to stand in the doorway. She braced herself against her walking stick and grabbed the door frame as the ship rolled gently.
‘Pest? How utterly charming,’ said Freya.
Tom shrugged apologetically. ‘I didn’t realize you were standing right outside my door.’ He gestured at the small cabin’s one other chair. ‘Come in. Sit down.’
She stepped in, reached for the chair’s back and eased herself down. ‘My name’s Freya Harper.’
‘Hello, Freya Harper,’ said Tom. ‘This’ll have to be brief. What can I help you with?’
‘I just need to check on something. Your surname’s Friedmann? Double “N” at the end?’
He nodded towards the door. ‘It’s on there. In genuine plastic lettering.’
She turned to look. ‘Oh yeah.’ Then turned back. ‘Tom Friedmann?’
‘Correct. That’s my name.’
She nodded. ‘Do you have a son called Leon?’
He felt his heart skip a beat . . .
‘Also a daughter called Grace?’
‘Yes. Yes . . . I do.’ He was suddenly light-headed. Dizzy.
‘I may be wrong, but I think I know them,’ said Freya.
‘My kids,’ he whispered. Not exactly a question nor a statement. ‘My children?’
‘Yes. I’ve been living with them. If it is the same two people, that is.’
Tom took a deep breath, put down the pen he’d been fiddling with and clasped his left hand with his right to stop them both from trembling. ‘OK, now look . . . Freya, isn’t it?’
She nodded.
It’s likely to be a hoax, Tom. She wants something. Special treatment.
‘Freya, so, I’m thinking you know my children’s names because I carelessly revealed them over the fleet’s channel. I’m well aware the entire fleet heard me talking with the Sea Queen—’
‘That’s why I’m here. It’s probably a coincidence, but Leon said you had a job in the US government or something, so—’
‘Describe him.’
‘Leon?’
Stay calm, Tom.
‘Describe him or get out. I really haven’t got time for games.’
‘He’s nineteen. He’s slim, slight I guess you’d say.’ She smiled. ‘He looks a lot like you, actually. Um, let me see, dark hair . . .’
‘Long or short?’ He realized as soon as that was out it was a stupid question.
‘Longish. Now. Although, I think he’d prefer it shorter.’
It’s not enough. I’ve got dark hair. Of course he looks like me. Safe guess for her.
‘What else?’ he asked quickly.
Freya cocked her head. ‘He’s pretty pissed off with you.’
Tom could feel the trembling in his hands spread to his legs. ‘Why would that be?’
‘Because he said you left him and Grace and his mum for someone else just before the outbreak.’
‘Describe Grace.’
‘She’s very small for her age. She’s fourteen now. Dark hair like Leon.’ Freya grinned. ‘And quite – no, very precocious.’
It sounded like her. But he needed to be absolutely certain. ‘What side of her face is the birthmark?’
‘What birthmark?’ The girl look confused at that. ‘Uh . . . I don’t remember seeing one of those. Is it—’
He waved her silent, then clenched his eyes shut, his mouth shut. His hands went to his face and he rubbed at his closed eyes with the balls of his hands, fighting the overwhelming sensation of queasy shock for a moment.
Grace didn’t have a birthmark. This girl was telling him the truth.
‘You OK, Mr Friedmann?’
He felt dampness on his hands and was vaguely aware he was leaking tears. ‘Just gimme a sec, will you?’
‘Sure.’
He swiped a forearm across his eyes then let out a long deep sigh before he finally opened his eyes again.
‘You know Leon and Grace?’
Freya nodded. ‘We’ve been surviving. Together. For some time.’
‘Tell me they’re OK,’ he said softly. ‘Please tell me that.’
‘They’re OK. They were OK. They were both with me at Southampton.’
‘Southampton?’
Freya nodded.
‘In the compound?’
‘Yes.’
‘Jesus.’ He clamped his eyes shut again. ‘I was that close to them?’
‘Were you the one walking up and down with the clipboard?’ There’d been one figure in particular that she and Leon had noticed wearing a biohazard suit and pacing the fence perimeter with a clipboard tucked under one arm.
‘Yes, that was probably me.’ He sighed. ‘Where are they? Tell me what happened to my kids? The breakout? Where did they end up?’
Freya shook her head. ‘We were together when it happened. Holding hands when the viral people erupted. People just panicked. There was a big surge towards the exit and we got pulled apart. I got knocked down and by the time I managed to get up they were both gone.’
Tom wanted to scream. He needed five minutes alone in some soundproof padded cell to scream and smack the walls with his fists.
I was that close! His eyes might even have rested on their faces for a fraction of a second, but he’d been so distracted with running this damned fool’s errand that he’d missed the very thing that had triggered the whole operation in the first place.
‘Then what happened?’
‘Well, I got out of the pen. I think I was one of the last to get out. Everyone was
running in different directions. I ended up going through those testing tents.’ Freya didn’t want to mention that she’d picked up someone else’s red ‘passport’.
‘Some of us got rounded up by your soldiers and herded aboard. I was expecting to find Leon and Grace on the ship already.’
Tom nodded slowly. The whole thing had turned into a disaster. They’d had something like six or seven thousand people crammed into a space no bigger than a couple of football pitches and the only thing holding them in place was some flimsy wire mesh with far too few armed men watching it.
He looked up from his hands. ‘They were OK, though? When you last saw them?’
‘You’re asking if I thought they were infected?’ The girl shook her head. ‘No. They weren’t infected.’
‘You know that?’
‘I know that. I know Leon pretty well!’
‘And Grace?’
She hesitated a moment. Just a nanosecond. Just enough to tell him there was something she was holding back. ‘She was fine too. The three of us and another bloke, we came down to Southampton together because of the radio message.’
‘Tell me about Grace.’
‘What . . . ? She and Leon were—’
‘Stop fooling with me. What’s up with her?’
The girl would have been crap playing a hand of poker. It was written all over her face.
‘You’re holding back on me. What’s up with my daughter? Come on, please . . . Freya.’
She shook her head. He could see tears welling, fighting to spill out. ‘She’s had . . . a hard time, over the last few years.’
‘Everyone has. What, specifically?’
Jesus. Go easy on the girl. You’re gonna frighten her!
‘Please, Freya. I’ve been trying to find them since it happened. I . . .’ Now his voice was damned well catching. He coughed to clear his throat. ‘I knew they had to be alive. They got out of London before things collapsed. They were heading to their grandparents in the countryside. They had to have survived.’
‘Well, they did.’
‘What about their mother?’
Freya shook her head. The movement dislodged the first of her tears. ‘Leon told me she died quite early on.’
‘How?’
‘The snarks got her.’
‘The crablike things?’