The Drift, page 11
Caren shook her head. ‘Nothing. I just find it hard to believe. I mean, he’s not like Anya –’
Carter tensed at the sound of her name. No one talked about Anya.
‘Unfortunately, your belief makes little difference to our situation,’ Miles snapped, and Carter could tell it had rattled him too. ‘The point is,’ he continued, ‘even though there are now only four of us, we require boosters every four to six weeks. Our current stock will run out rapidly. We could stretch to eight, maybe even twelve at a real push. Worst-case scenario – we could go without. We’re safe and isolated here. But, in case any of you are forgetting, we still need to supply Jimmy Quinn. If we don’t –’ He looked around and let the implication hang. Long enough for them to imagine what might shiver and squirm on the end of it.
Up until now, the deal Miles had struck with Jimmy Quinn had suited them all. Even with the Farms, demand for blood plasma outstripped supply. Hence there was a big black market for it – for all medicines, in fact – and Quinn had associates who would pay handsomely. In return for regular supplies, Quinn and his burly sons had left the inhabitants of the Retreat well alone. But it was a deal with the devil. If their supply faltered, their days in the snow were numbered.
‘We need fresh supplies,’ Miles finished.
Carter shook his head. ‘No.’
‘We don’t have any choice.’
‘There’s always a choice.’
‘The plasma needs to be extracted from living survivors. If you have a better suggestion, I am all ears.’
Carter stared at him, opened his mouth and then shut it so hard he felt his teeth crunch.
‘How do we even …’ Welland stuttered, twisting his T-shirt again. ‘I mean … do you mean –’
‘He means Whistlers,’ Carter snapped. ‘Okay? He means trapping fucking Whistlers – out there.’
Caren’s face paled. Welland looked like he’d just dumped in his pants.
‘But how?’ Caren asked.
‘We have the tranquillizer gun,’ Miles said. ‘We get in fast, take down the weakest, drive the others away. Then drag the bodies back to the Retreat.’
‘You make it sound simple,’ Caren said. ‘We all know they’re not so easy to drive off. Most have Choler. They’re dangerous.’
Miles sighed and looked around at them. ‘Which is why we shouldn’t leave the decision too late. It might take several attempts to get what we need.’
Carter shook his head. ‘Fuck.’
‘In the meantime,’ Miles continued, ‘we have more immediate concerns – we need to dispose of the redundant supplies and the other bodies. We can’t have corpses hanging around, especially if our immunity is going to be compromised.’
They all nodded. Survivors, even dead ones, could still infect – through shedding and blood.
‘We need to clean up and get them into the incinerator asap. I am tasking you with that, Welland.’
‘Oh, man,’ Welland whined. ‘I mean, that’s, like, four trips.’
‘Indeed,’ Miles replied without sympathy. ‘Which brings me to my next point. The power situation.’
‘More like the lack of power situation,’ Caren muttered.
‘Indeed,’ Miles said again.
Carter could tell he was getting annoyed. Miles’s annoyance tended to work in direct correlation to how much he sounded like someone had stuffed a bunch of plums up his backside.
‘The automatic locks in the chambers are functioning again. For now. But the system is still compromised. The battery and generator are both failing. Welland does not seem to be able to provide us with an easy fix.’
‘I’ve tried, man,’ Welland moaned. ‘It’s not my fault. They’re both fucking junk.’
‘Precisely.’
‘What?’
‘We need to replace them.’
‘I don’t have a generator up my fucking ass,’ Welland grumbled.
‘That could be arranged,’ Carter said.
Miles’s lip twitched. ‘I am aware of this, Welland. However, the cable-car station has its own battery and generator, does it not?’
‘Well, yeah,’ Welland said slowly, like a goat being led into a bait trap.
‘So, if we fetch them and bring them here, then we might have a solution to our problem.’
Welland’s face crumpled. ‘But the cable-car station is, like, a three-mile hike. And it’s high, man. With my asthma –’
Carter snorted.
Miles smiled thinly. ‘Indeed.’
Uh-oh. Third one. Not good.
‘I’m not suggesting you come, Welland. It would be a shame to gain a battery and generator and lose you upon the way. You will provide instructions for their removal. Carter and I will retrieve them.’
Carter felt his world shift a little and imagined his face might look just as pale as Welland’s right now.
‘We will?’
‘Yes.’
‘Not to put a dampener on our little hiking trip – but have you seen outside?’ Carter nodded towards the picture window, now almost entirely sheeted in white.
‘The worst of the storm should pass tonight,’ Miles said. ‘We’ll set off first thing.’
‘If we can dig ourselves out.’
‘If that’s what it takes.’ Miles eyes were glacial. Carter knew there was no arguing with that tone.
‘What about me?’ Caren asked. ‘Am I supposed to stay here and bake cookies?’
‘Someone needs to hold the fort,’ Miles said. ‘And keep an eye on Supply 03.’
She sighed. ‘Fine.’
Miles looked at Carter. ‘Okay?’
No, Carter thought. Very much not okay. But he couldn’t explain why, not in front of the others, and Miles knew it.
‘Fucking dandy,’ he said.
He shifted Dexter from his lap to the sofa, got up and walked towards the stairs.
‘Where are you going?’ Caren asked.
‘To fish my dead best friend out of the fucking pool.’
The pool net wasn’t big enough. It was designed for fishing out sunglasses and shit, not dead bodies.
The best Carter could manage was to shovel both Julia and Nate along the bottom into the shallow end. It was hard work. Dead bodies always weighed more. And dead bodies in sodden clothes weighed more still.
Carter had already shed his top and was coated in sweat by the time he dropped his pants and waded into the shallows to haul them both over to the side of the pool. He propped the bodies against the steps. Then he climbed out and pulled them on to the poolside.
Their skin was white – Whistler white – and crinkly, shrunken. Touching it made him want to retch. When did that happen? he wondered. When did we stop being people that others wanted to touch and hug and become these revolting husks? Or was that what we always were? Lumps of meat given life by a flick of the sorcerer’s wand. Perhaps death didn’t take anything away. Perhaps it merely restored us to our natural state.
He stared down at them. Something else was wrong. Not just their deadness. Not just the fact that Nate was missing the top of his head. It was Julia.
Carter crouched down and lifted her T-shirt. The water had washed away the blood and he could make out three separate stab wounds. Deep. Jagged. Made with a large blade. A bread or steak knife, at a guess.
But 01 hadn’t had a knife.
Carter supposed he could have dropped it somewhere. They could have missed it. But it wasn’t in the pool. It wasn’t in Julia.
He frowned, trying to imagine the sequence of events: 01 escapes the labs, comes up in the elevator. Does he encounter Julia then, as she’s coming out of the storeroom, before going upstairs to the living area? If so, how did Julia end up in the pool and why wasn’t there any blood in the hall? And if 01 had killed Julia before killing Nate, where did he get the knife from?
Or did he go straight up to the living area, attack Nate, steal a knife and come back downstairs to stab Julia? No, Carter thought. Not enough time. Julia had only left to fetch candles. She would have gone back upstairs and discovered 01. Besides, why steal a knife and stab Julia if he already had the cleaver? It didn’t make sense.
Unless 01 hadn’t killed Julia.
‘Carter?’
He jumped and stood up.
Miles stood at the entrance to the pool. He glanced at the bodies.
‘Is everything okay?’
‘Besides the obvious?’
‘Yes.’
Carter hesitated. The knife. Julia. Then he shook his head. ‘It just sucks. All of this shit. It fucking sucks.’
Miles nodded. ‘But we always knew it might come to this.’
‘Did we?’
‘That’s why we had a contingency plan – to acquire fresh supplies.’
Carter glared at him. ‘Could you stop calling them that?’
‘How would you rather I refer to them? Whistlers? The infected? None of that is important. What they are. What they were. All that matters is what they can provide. You never had a problem with it before.’
‘That was different.’
Miles smiled thinly. ‘No. It wasn’t. Morally, ethically, it was just the same. The only difference now is your personal feelings.’
He was right.
‘I saw her,’ Carter said. ‘In the woods.’
Miles shook his head. ‘No. You saw a ghost … someone or something that looked a little like her.’
‘What if you’re wrong? What if she survived and she’s out there?’
Miles tutted. ‘And what if she is? You know what she’ll have become. You concern is touching, but it changes nothing.’
Carter stared at him, wondering – not for the first time – if he had the guts to kill Miles. To hold his smug, blond head under the water while he thrashed and kicked until the last gasp of air had bubbled out of him.
Carter didn’t. The man had saved his life. He owed him. And without Miles, none of them would have survived this long.
‘Carter,’ Miles said evenly. ‘Anya is dead.’
Carter stared at him. ‘I hope so,’ he said. ‘I really fucking hope so.’
Hannah
They took it in turns to tunnel, working to Josh’s instructions. He was too tired to do it all on his own. They needed to work quickly, not meticulously. Darkness was falling fast outside, and time hung heavily over them. Less than two hours. Those not tunnelling shifted snow back into the coach, where it melted on the floor.
Tunnelling was the better job, Hannah thought. At least it kept you warm. The heating had died. The lighting had dimmed to a feeble flicker. If they managed to find and dispose of the bomb, night would bring the next real test. Without light or heat they were vulnerable. Cold could be a stealthy killer.
She found herself glancing around at the rest of the group, assessing them. Josh was back in the tunnel, digging. He was physically strong and level-headed. Hannah wasn’t worried about him. Nor Lucas, with his steely pragmatism. Cassie might be spiky, but she was tough. Daniel, she couldn’t get a handle on. He had retreated to the back again to tend to his sister. When Peggy died – because she would, one way or another – how would he cope?
Right now, Ben was the one who worried her. He had struggled with his tunnelling stint and was curled up on a seat a little way back. His breathing was harsh, his eyes half closed. Exhaustion? Hypothermia? Or infection?
Hannah dumped a pile of snow on the floor. Even with gloves on, the cold was eating into her bones. She lowered her voice so only Cassie could hear her: ‘I’m worried about Ben.’
Cassie glanced up. ‘Yeah, he doesn’t look so good.’
Their eyes met. The unspoken suspicion passed between them.
‘I’m going to get us some more clothes from the back,’ Hannah said. ‘It could be the cold. None of us should let our body temperature drop too much.’
Cassie nodded. ‘While you’re there, you might want to tell Daniel he’s up to tunnel next, dying sister or no dying sister.’
Hannah climbed over the twisted seats to the rear. Daniel was crouched next to Peggy, administering water to her dry lips. A waste, Hannah couldn’t help thinking. Giving her water would do nothing. It just meant less for the living. In a way, trying to sustain her was a cruelty; maybe better to let her go than prolong the inevitable.
But then, Peggy wasn’t her sister. When you loved someone, you tried to hold on to them because letting go meant admitting you would never hold them again. Few of us were prepared for that. So, we clung on, even when Death’s bony grasp would have been kinder.
Daniel looked around as Hannah approached. ‘My turn, right?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Can you watch Peggy?’
‘Of course.’ And then, because she felt she had to, Hannah asked: ‘How is she?’
Daniel regarded her with his sharp blue eyes. Not slow, or stupid, she reminded herself.
‘Why don’t you tell me?’ he said.
Despite herself, Hannah crouched down next to the girl. Her skin was clammy, her breathing rough. The leg was still a mess. Hannah could smell death upon her. Not a metaphor nor an exaggeration. You really could smell when someone was dying. As the body failed it gave off a distinct acetone odour. Changes in the metabolism affected the scent emanating from the breath, skin and bodily fluids. Part of the deteriorating body’s chemical breakdown.
It was a miracle the girl hadn’t yet died from blood loss. Although that was probably why her consciousness was intermittent. When oxygen is depleted, the body concentrates on diverting it to the most vital places to keep us alive. Consciousness isn’t necessary for survival.
Hannah sighed. ‘Not good.’
‘She’s going to die, isn’t she?’
‘I think that is the most likely outcome.’
Daniel swallowed back tears. ‘Well, thanks for not sugar-coating it.’ He looked back at his sister. ‘Our parents died young. I always swore I’d look after Peggy. Big brother, you know.’
Hannah didn’t, but she nodded anyway. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘D’you have any brothers or sisters?’
‘No, I’m an only child.’
‘Right. Well, I guess your parents doted on you.’
‘Not really. My mother killed herself when I was ten and my father was always busy with work. I went to boarding school and then came here to the Academy.’
‘Right. That sounds … cold.’
‘I never really thought about it.’
But she had, of course. She had wondered why her father didn’t come to take her home for the holidays like other children’s parents did. She had wished she had a mother who could send her lovely parcels decorated with ribbons and notes with hearts on (not that her mother would have ever done that when she was alive). The parcels her father sent were dull and practical. Always signed P.G. rather than Love, Dad. For all his brilliance in medicine and science, her father had never managed to grasp the concept of love. Unable to comprehend something he couldn’t put under a microscope or dissect.
Daniel was still staring at her. The intensity of his blue eyes made Hannah uncomfortable.
She smiled tightly. ‘Anyway, my father ensured I had the best education.’
‘Well,’ he said. ‘That’s what’s important, of course.’
Before she could decide if he was mocking her, he turned and kissed his sister’s forehead. ‘I’ll be back soon, Peg.’
She found herself squirming at the gesture. Her father’s daughter. Uneasy around affection. Incapable of love.
‘’Scuse me.’ Daniel stood, eased his bulk around her and started to clamber heavily up the coach.
Hannah sat and stared at the girl. She wished she hadn’t agreed to stay with her now. Why won’t you die? It would be kinder, she thought. Kinder for all of them. Peggy’s presence at the back of the bus was a distraction. Bad for morale. In a hospital a nurse would probably already have upped her morphine, just enough to ease her away. But they didn’t have any drugs here, not even paracetamol. Hannah looked around. Her eyes fell on the bundle of clothes. All it would take would be a coat, placed over her mouth and nose.
Her father talking again. But maybe this time he was right.
She’s going to die anyway. And who would know?
Hannah stretched out a hand and picked up a heavy padded parka. She glanced down the coach. Daniel had reached the others. No one was looking her way. It would take seconds. She raised the coat over the girl’s face.
‘I’m sorry,’ she lied.
Peggy opened her eyes. Hannah jumped.
The girl’s hand grasped her wrist. She opened her mouth. ‘Save her!’
Hannah winced at the smell of decay on her breath. ‘Save who?’
Peggy’s eyes found hers. The same startling blue as her brother’s. ‘Please. Save her.’
Just as suddenly, the girl’s hand dropped. Her eyes fluttered closed. Hannah sat back, heart thumping.
Save her.
A shout from up the coach.
‘He’s there!’
She turned. Daniel was staring back at her. Had he seen? Had he guessed her intention? Hannah hugged the coat to her chest, then grabbed a handful of other clothes, as though that was what she had been doing all long. Without looking at him, she hurried back to join the others.
‘Did you say Josh had made it?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ Lucas replied. ‘He is just opening up the exit to make it large enough to climb out without collapse.’
Hannah peered into the tunnel. She could just see Josh’s feet and the faint light of the phone which – message deleted – she had given back to him. Of course, getting out was one thing. Then Josh had to open the luggage hold, find the bag containing the bomb, get it away from the coach and crawl back inside without the tunnel collapsing and suffocating him.
Still, their chances of survival had edged up. Just a little.
‘Why don’t we all crawl out?’
The question came from Ben, who had uncurled from his seat and stood, arms wrapped around himself, staring at them through puffy eyes. He coughed. ‘I mean, why are we standing around in here, waiting to get blown to smithereens?
It was an obvious question. And one Hannah was surprised no one had asked before. Perhaps because they hadn’t really believed that Josh would succeed.
