by Alex Scarrow
The real tragedy, she said, was all of those who lived before the virus came to our planet. All the generations of people before them, come, gone, and then lost forever, their memories just fading photographs and footnotes. The people still alive now, right here on this island and far away in New Zealand . . . they faced the same fate – the terminal end of the natural life cycle. From the moment you’re born you’re on a clock ticking down to death and decay, then gone . . . lost, forever.
He’d asked her about Leon. She told him he’d been there at Southampton.
Dad, if Leon is still uninfected, and he dies . . . he’ll be gone. Gone forever. Like Mom.
Her eyes focused, her face set with a determination. Dad, now listen closely. This is really important . . . And then she told him why she was here, why she’d surrendered herself to the Chinese aircraft carrier.
That had all happened an hour ago. Then Grace’s face had faded away and Freya had returned, slumped down into the passenger seat, exhausted by the process.
She stirred now, swiped her hair back and blinked sleepily.
‘You OK?’
She nodded. ‘Feel sort of hungover.’
‘I . . . I spoke with my daughter. I actually spoke with Grace.’
Freya smiled. ‘I know.’
‘She said the virus is coming this way. It’s coming to us. It wants to meet with us.’
Freya didn’t seem to hear that. She certainly didn’t respond to it. ‘Freya? Did you hear? It is coming this way!’
‘I know. I know.’ She flapped a hand to hush him down. ‘Grace is telling me that right now.’ She tilted her head like a cat listening for mouse squeaks beneath an old grandfather clock. She nodded to herself, then finally seemed to realize Tom was waiting.
‘They’re afraid of the survivors here on this island,’ she said. ‘Very afraid of them.’
‘Afraid? Why?’
‘Weapons. Bombs.’
‘You’re talking about the nuclear warheads?’
She nodded. ‘They’re well aware of the technology humans still have at their disposal. That they can still use on them.’ She paused again. She pulled herself up in the passenger seat and tilted her head once more. Listening. ‘Grace is telling me They’re undecided about how to deal with you. Some want to reason with you, to get you all to submit and join. Others don’t want to risk a mass death from the bombs – They want to strike hard and fast, and wipe you out.’
‘If the virus is coming our way,’ cut in Tom, ‘what’ll it do when it gets here?’
Freya shook her head and looked at him. ‘That’s what she’s saying. They don’t know yet. They’re still trying to decide.’
He rubbed a hand along his jaw. Jesus Christ. Maybe I’m hallucinating all of this?
‘You know, Leon and I made a pact back in England. A deal.’
He turned to look at her. ‘What deal?’
‘We wouldn’t let ourselves die this way . . . You know? Become infected.’ She closed her mouth, shook her head. ‘I’m beginning to understand how stupid that was. How wrong we were.’ She turned to look at him, frowning at something, perhaps at herself. ‘I’ve seen what it’s like. While you were talking to Grace . . . I saw . . . it.’
‘Saw what?’
‘The inside . . . I suppose.’ She looked around at the worn and scuffed metal dashboard of the ex-Soviet military vehicle. Then held her hands up, staring at them as if they belonged to someone else. ‘Did you ever play computer games, Mr Friedmann?’
‘What? No. Maybe a bit of Pac-Man as a kid.’
‘You ever try one of those Virtual Reality helmet things?’
He shook his head absently.
‘It’s weird, so weird,’ she said, staring at her hands, flexing them. ‘Coming back out . . . that’s kind of what it feels like. Like I’m wearing stupid Virtual Reality goggles. The outside world –’ she patted her hand along the dusty dashboard – ‘that’s the bit that feels . . . fake. But inside? That’s what feels real.’
She shook her head. ‘Back in England Leon and me both agreed we’d rather shoot ourselves than end up like everyone else. The thing is –’ she looked at him – ‘They are guessing that’s how everyone on this island feels. And They know the survivors here have bombs . . . nuclear bombs. They’re scared for themselves, for us . . . They’re scared the survivors will do something stupid.’
‘Which means we have some leverage! Something to negotiate with. Maybe if we let off another warning shot—’
She twisted in her seat, reached out and grabbed his wrist firmly. ‘No! No! You mustn’t!’
‘What?’
‘You drop a bomb on them and They won’t have a choice! They’ll swarm you. Wipe you all out!’
‘Freya, we’re not just going to simply lie down and let them crawl all over—’
Her grip tightened. He could feel her nails digging into his skin. ‘You have to convince Trent. You have to convince him to meet with them!’
‘There’s no way! Even if I agreed with you.’ He tried peeling her fingers off his wrist. ‘There’s no way I’d be able to convince him. Freya, let go of my arm!’
‘You have to see.’
‘What?’
‘You have to! You’ve got to see what I’ve seen!’
By the pallid grey light of approaching dawn he could see a glistening fervour in her eyes.
‘Freya! You need to calm the hell down! I’m not going to . . .’
He tried to jerk his arm back. But her grasp was firm.
She shook her head. ‘Not until you understand. Not until you’ve seen what I’ve seen!’
He tried to shake her off. But her grasp was surprisingly strong.
Then he felt a sharp stab into the underside of his wrist. ‘What the . . .’
‘Don’t struggle!’ she hissed. ‘It’s OK . . . It’s OK!’
‘– hell are you doing?’ He managed to wrench his wrist free of her hand and as he did he saw something thin and glistening, like the needle of a syringe, pull out of his skin. The ‘needle’ dangled from her palm, still pumping drops of a milky liquid on to the car seat.
‘Shit! What . . . what have you done to me?’
‘I’m sorry,’ she held her hands up before her. ‘I’m sorry. But . . . They’re right. We need you. We need you to reason with Trent.’
He looked down at the pale underside of his wrist. The small puncture in his skin was already puckering and reddening.
‘What the . . . ! You . . . you just infected me?’
He could feel warmth travelling up his arm and it reminded him of a childhood sensation: helping his mom with her dishes. A cold kitchen, but hot soapy water, his arms and hands blissfully warm while the rest of his scrawny body was enviously goose-bumping.
She’s killed you. The bitch just injected you. Shit. Shit.
A part of him that sounded like his younger self, like Technical Sergeant Friedmann, was screaming at him to get off his ass and do something quick. His eyes settled on the glinting metal of the handgun sitting on the dash. He reached out for it quickly. The cross-hatch of the grip felt reassuringly rough against his palm, the cold trigger even better against his index finger.
‘No!’ screamed Freya, reaching out to snatch it from him.
He placed the barrel against his temple. Hard. It hurt. It would leave a bruise there, if he was still alive tomorrow.
‘DON’T DO IT!’ she was screaming.
DO IT, asshole! screamed Sergeant Friedmann in his face. You wanna be slime? You wanna be a shitty crab? DO IT. DO IT!
That cosy warmth was spreading across his shoulder now, across his chest. He could feel his body losing a war. He had one good arm left, and at the end of it a good, solid, reliable gun.
DO IT! NOW!
His finger tightened round the cold trigger. He could feel the hard edges of the grip pressing against his soft palm – the last sensations his functioning mind would register as he squeezed.
The trigger wasn’t moving. It was lo
cked. His mind dimly recalled the safety was still on.
Shit. It wasn’t a Beretta. His fingers knew every contour of the standard issue M9. It was Russian. Not a gun he could unlock by touch. He needed to look at the damned thing to find the safety.
Shit.
And that’s when he felt his resolve beginning to ebb, a marine’s honourable way out fast receding as an option, becoming a hazy notion, as the warmth of invasion spread down his arm.
‘Don’t fight it,’ whispered Freya.
He slumped back in his seat. He could feel that warmth descending down his chest into his upper torso. Whatever was inside him was making use of his vascular system to get where it wanted to go. Travelling quickly and intelligently. He could feel the heat inside travelling upwards now, propelled by his pounding heart.
His face suddenly felt hot, then numb.
‘It’s OK,’ he heard Freya whisper. ‘It just wants to get to your brain as fast as it can.’
No shit.
He could feel his surroundings – the dusty dashboard, the smeared windscreen, the threadbare driver’s seat, the dark silhouettes of trees outside and the lightening pre-dawn sky . . . all pulling away from him. Receding. Strangely, it felt like he was shrinking. In a few seconds’ time, he’d be the size of an action figure with a comedy squeaky voice to go with it.
His vision was clouding, dimming. Fading.
Freya was still talking to him, but he could only hear the muffled tones of her voice, just like ducking your head underwater in a bath. He could hear the thumping of his own heart, the roaring of his own veins like the hiss of distant traffic on a free-flowing highway.
It felt like a descent. Like a deep-water submarine sinking away from the shimmering light of the surface into the dark abyss below.
CHAPTER 35
Leon looked around at the others. Then at Lawrence and Jake. ‘This is crazy. No one’s going. No one’s actually giving this a thought, right?’
Camille shook her head. ‘We are not monsters. We are you. We were you. All we want is what is best. We just want someone to come and see.’
‘No one’s doing it!’ said Leon. ‘No one!’
‘We want someone to come to us willingly. No one will be taken by force.’
‘Lawrence! For Christ’s sake . . . tell her! No one is going! No one is—’
‘I’ll do it,’ said Jake. ‘I’ll go . . .’
Leon looked at him. ‘What?’
‘I’ll go.’
‘Don’t be a frikkin idiot!’ He turned to Lawrence. ‘Tell him! We’re not doing this. We’re not looking for volunteers!’
‘What if she’s right?’ said Jake. ‘What if everyone I knew . . .’ His voice faltered. ‘What if Connor’s in there somewhere?’
‘Not everyone,’ said Camille. ‘There were some . . . far too many . . . who got lost in the process. But They did the best They could. They tried to save as many as possible.’
‘This is complete bullshit,’ said Leon. ‘They just want us to lower our guard.’
Jake placed the extinguisher down on the ground beside him. ‘You’re saying I get to return back here? And I’ll be uninfected?’
‘Yes. I promise,’ replied Camille.
‘I won’t be, you know, changed in any way, or anything?’
‘Any scout cells left in your bloodstream will switch off their self-defence mechanism. Your immune system will destroy them quickly and easily. They will die to ensure you return as you were. Unchanged. Uninfected.’
It’s a lie. It’s a trap! Leon wanted Lawrence to step in. Bring this insane exchange to a close. And if he wasn’t going to . . .
‘Jake! We’ve both fought to stay alive this far! And you’re just going to lie down and let her infect you?’
Jake shrugged. ‘What if she’s right? We’re hanging on, that’s all we’re doing . . . hanging on. If the food runs out, if we can’t catch fish, if this winter is going to be worse than the last two . . . Shit, Leo, if They can just wander up to us like this girl has, we’re already screwed!’
‘For Chrissakes, we’ll relocate! That’s what we’ll do!’
‘What if she’s right, though? What if being infected is like being uploaded to the internet or something? What if it is life, but different? Something better than this? Life 2.0? I volunteer.’
‘Hold on!’ cut in Lawrence. ‘Look, how will—’
‘My choice,’ said Jake firmly, turning to Leon. ‘My choice, mate. Don’t worry. I’m good with this.’
‘Jake. Don’t!’ It was Cora, standing with Howard, Adewale, Finley and Kim. They had instinctively grouped together, an old allegiance resurfacing. ‘We escaped the warehouse together, love. We got so far. Don’t give in now!’
Jake shook his head. ‘I’m not giving in. I’m just . . . I need to know.’ He glanced back at Camille. ‘She’s made it sound OK. What if it isn’t that bad?’
‘Shit, Jake!’ said Leon. ‘You’ve seen it with your own eyes! We all did! Those things were monsters! Those things were screwed up!’
‘I’m just going to see, mate. Then I’ll come back and tell you what’s going on.’
Leon shook his head slowly and took a few steps towards his friend. ‘You won’t be able to come back to us, Jake. You go, then you’re gone for good.’
‘I think this girl’s right. We’re on borrowed time. It’s just going to get worse and worse until we die out.’
‘Jake is correct,’ said Camille. ‘In my world, there is no death. Not any more.’
‘Immortality,’ added Jake. ‘Come on, that sounds better than this.’
Not as a bug. Or some twisted mutant.
‘I’m staying human, Jake. Right to the bitter end if it comes to that.’ Leon wanted to grab him and shake him. Scream at him that they could just burn this creature and run. Get their stuff, get off the isle and go find somewhere else.
‘Leon?’
‘This . . .’ Leon felt his throat tighten, his eyes brim, threatening to spill a tear. ‘You know, this is just . . . giving up.’
‘You know what she’s just described?’
Leon shook his head, not sure where his friend was going.
‘Heaven, mate. That’s what it could be.’
‘Or hell,’ Leon whispered.
‘Or . . . the other alternative, a bullet in the brain, and then it’s just nothing for evermore.’ Jake held out his hand. ‘Nothing just sounds shit.’
‘If you return . . . you know we won’t be able to trust you. You’ll be a viral. That’s it.’
‘And you’ll burn me?’
Leon didn’t know what he’d do if Jake came back among them and started evangelizing like Camille. Looking like Jake, sounding like Jake, but talking about the virus like it was some hippy-dippy chill-out zone.
‘Yes. If we have to . . . whatever the hell you come back saying. You’re gonna be one of Them.’ He bit his lip. ‘I’m staying human, Jake. Right to the end.’
Jake reached for Leon’s hand and grasped it. ‘Look, if I come back, at least gimme a chance to try and say something. OK?’
‘Don’t do this.’
Leon turned to the faces lining the back walls of the restaurant. ‘This is complete crap. Isn’t anyone else going to bloody well say anything?’
He got nothing back. Cora had tried, and the others, gathered around her, said nothing. The rest of this morning’s diners shook their heads.
He suspected they all wanted Jake to go. To be the sacrifice . . . until next time. Until Jake came out of the goo and, asked for another volunteer to come and join him. And one by one, they were all going to be led like pigs to the slaughterhouse.
Jake turned to Camille. ‘So, what happens now?’
‘We will both leave on my boat.’ She turned to Lawrence. ‘I can see you have men outside and they have petrol. Please? Will you ask them to back away? To let us go?’
Lawrence nodded. ‘Uh . . . all right.’ He cleared his throat and raised his voice. ‘All r
ight, everyone, listen to me. The girl and Jake are leaving us. Everyone just stay where you are. Stay calm while I go inside and explain what’s happening.’
Leon watched him as he went over to the door, pulled it open, then stepped inside to address the crowd with the same message. Through the foggy window he saw their response. Their eyes suddenly widening, peering through the window at their visitor, then starting to back away.
‘Hey, Leon?’
He turned to his friend.
‘Just don’t burn me, Leon. OK?’
They flamed Grace, remember? They didn’t stop to ask her a damned thing, did they? They just burned her because they were frightened. Is that what you are now, Leon? Frightened? Ignorant?
‘I think you’re an idiot agreeing to this.’
‘I’m taking one for the team, mate. If it’s a crap deal . . . I’ll let you all know.’
Leon huffed out a dry laugh and offered his hand. ‘You do that.’
Jake grasped it. ‘And if I don’t come back – for whatever reason – you stay safe, bro.’
‘I’ll do whatever it takes.’
‘You’re a real fighter, mate.’
Not always. Leon let him go. ‘Good luck.’
The crowd had cleared back far enough and Lawrence stood before them, arms spread wide.
Camille turned to Jake. ‘We will go now.’
Leon heard Lawrence telling someone to calm down and stay well back.
He watched his friend and the viral creature walk down the long jetty, slowly becoming indistinct silhouettes amid the afternoon fog, and then, finally, they were gone from sight.
Leon heard them stepping into the dinghy, oars being dropped into their holes and the gentle dip and splash, dip and splash, as the small boat pulled away.
CHAPTER 36
For a while Rex Williams felt weightless. That was the only word he could use.
Weightless. Disembodied.
It was a pleasant state. However, if the virus had tricked him into allowing himself to be infected and this state of being was to last forever, how long would it be before he began to feel this nothingness close in on him, suffocate him?
He became aware of sensations beginning to stir. First taste and smell together. He suddenly had the distinct impression that he could smell, or had just eaten, something flavoured with vanilla pods. One of his favourite flavours.