The Drift, page 14
‘I know,’ Carter said. ‘It’s probably a bad idea, right?’
Dexter cocked his head to one side, then turned and started to lick his balls. Carter shook his head. ‘And if I could do that, I wouldn’t be here right now, buddy.’
He pushed the door open. It wasn’t locked. As Carter stepped inside it occurred to him that Miles had probably already searched the room. In which case, he was very unlikely to spot anything Miles had missed. But still, the itch to try was there.
Jackson’s room looked just like his. But it didn’t smell like his room. This room smelt fresh, clean. The bed was neatly made. A digital clock and Fitbit rested tidily on the bedside table. Jackson had always struck Carter, from the scant thought he had given him, as a disciplined individual. Controlled, measured, calm. Not someone prone to irrational or impulsive acts. So what had he been up to? Why had he fled the Retreat? Where the hell did he think he was going?
Carter moved around the room, searching in obvious places even though a) they were obvious and b) he had no idea what he was searching for. He rifled through the clothes in the wardrobe. This didn’t take long. The recruits were provided with a few items of basic clothing, as well as toiletries and other essentials. Due to the nature of his own arrival, Carter’s clothes had been borrowed from the closets of the dead.
Jackson’s wardrobe consisted of the usual mix of leisure and gym wear. Plus, a pair of flip-flops, and trainers. Not much to search, but Carter checked the pockets and tipped up the trainers anyway. Nada. He walked into the small white bathroom.
Not many hiding places in here either. But, obviously, the first thing Carter did was lift the top off the toilet cistern and peer inside. Nothing but water. He opened the mirrored cabinet above the sink. Vitamins, shaving apparatus, deodorant, toothpaste. Carter shut it again and stood, turning in a circle. He stared at the shower.
Where would he hide something? He stepped into the cubicle, reached up and unscrewed the shower head. He took it off and squinted inside. Empty. He looked down, between his feet to the shower drain. Okay. He squatted and lifted off the circular chrome cover.
Bingo. The plastic shower trap had been removed and a plastic bag containing a mobile phone had been taped to the inside of the pipe.
No one at the Retreat had a phone. They had all been confiscated before arrival. The staff had been permitted to send emails, but communication was strictly monitored. There were no landlines. Only the Professor had his own phone. After the takeover, some of the group had used it to try to call people. Friends, family. No one had replied. They had left messages on voicemails, perhaps hoping that they might be returned. That day never came. After a while, they had stopped trying. Miles kept it charged. For calling Quinn, and emergencies.
Carter stared at the phone in the shower pipe. It was very small. An ancient Nokia. Almost an antique.
If Jackson had run, why had he left his phone here, hidden?
Carter reached in and carefully extricated the bag from the tape sticking it to the pipe. He slipped the phone out of the plastic.
He pressed a random button. The phone lit up. It was charged. And unlocked.
He stared at the green screen.
There was something else.
Jackson had messages.
NOW, WE ARE ALL SONS OF BITCHES
Hannah
Sleep seemed a ridiculous notion. Wedged uncomfortably between the twisted seats at the rear of the coach. Trying to ignore the biting cold, permeating even through several layers of clothes, and the smell from the chemical toilet, which had come loose from its fittings and was leaking across the floor now the coach had tilted almost completely on its side.
But fear and trauma had drained them. Despite the cold and the discomfort, the sounds of slow, measured breathing gradually filled the coach, broken only by Peggy’s groans and Ben’s hacking cough, reminders of death in their midst.
Hannah closed her eyes, but she didn’t sleep. Not properly. Even in the best of conditions, she had never been a good sleeper. Since she was a child, she had hated that feeling of slipping into oblivion. A fear that she wouldn’t wake up. It had worsened after her mother’s suicide. Every time she felt herself falling, she wondered if this was what it was like – death – and she jolted awake. Her father didn’t help. Never in bed till past midnight, and up with the dawn, he viewed sleep as an impediment. Something for the lazy and weak-minded.
No human needs more than four hours of sleep. We have become complacent. Wasting time in our beds when we could be working. Our ancestors knew that the darkness hours were the danger hours. Soon, there will be a time when we need to be awake – properly awake – and prepared.
Instead of sleep, Hannah had become used to lying in a semiconscious state, letting her brain meander. Unknotting problems that had been bothering her in the day, finishing essays, resolving equations. Sometimes, wandering off on tangents.
She found herself thinking about Indiana Jones. A hero from an old film their au pair had let her watch. She had loved that film and handsome Indiana, until some smart Alec had pointed out that, despite all his heroics, Indiana’s role in the whole thing was pointless. The outcome would have been the same had he never been involved.
She felt the same about their situation now. They were still trapped. Despite Josh’s sacrifice, their situation had not improved. True, they were not dead, but if what Hannah feared was correct, that was only a matter of semantics. They would be soon. Not only was rescue unlikely, anyone who did come looking for them wouldn’t be here to help. They would be here to shut them down.
That was why she had deleted her father’s message without telling the others. If she had told them about the message, it would mean telling them about the infections, and her suspicion that the crash was deliberate. It seemed cruel to admit that their situation was even more hopeless.
Ironically, right now the storm was their best ally. While it raged, no one could reach them. When it eased, a decision would need to be made. Stay here and hope the Department would be merciful. Unlikely. Or attempt to escape.
They could no longer dig themselves out. The new angle of the coach made that impossible. Even if they could get out, they would have to survive freezing temperatures, evade predators, find food and shelter. And that was if none of them showed symptoms or fell ill. All the while, the Department would be looking for them.
You’re thinking too far ahead, Hannah. Break the problem down.
Okay. Things she had learned from her father – trying to tackle the whole problem was like smashing your head into a brick wall. Instead, you had to slowly dismantle the wall, brick by brick. Smaller pieces.
Their immediate problem was containment. They could try the emergency exit again. But she was pretty sure that had been sabotaged. Which left? Trying to break a window on the other side of the coach. But they still lacked the means to do that. Perhaps they should check whether any of the seats had loosened more when the coach tipped again.
Her mind paused. Rewind. She was missing something. Something about the coach tipping. The emergency exit? No. Near it. The toilet. Something about the toilet.
How did coach toilets work? They drained into a tank, which had to be emptied. So, there would be a waste pipe running out of the toilet into the tank. Running out. Only a small gap. But if they could lift the toilet out and somehow remove the tank, maybe there would be a big enough gap to squeeze through. Hannah seemed to vaguely recall a mythical aircraft escape in an old movie using such a trope. But was it just a trope? Could it work? And even if it didn’t, could they use the toilet itself to break a window? Options, she thought. They just needed …
Her train of thought stalled. Her eyes sprang open.
Noises. From above her. Faint thuds, making the glass of the window vibrate. Something was climbing over the coach again. She raised her eyes. Could the wolves have returned, attracted by Josh’s blood? Or maybe it was new predators: lynx or wild dogs.
Hannah pushed herself up, her muscles protesting, eyes adjusting to the dark. The coach wasn’t quite pitch black. That made her think it must be early morning. Maybe two or three o’clock? And perhaps the moon and stars were no longer camouflaged by storm clouds?
She looked around, neck creaking. Cassie was curled into a tight ball in the seat in front of her. Lucas slept almost upright on another seat. Daniel lay lumpily next to his sister.
Hannah found herself wondering about him again. He wasn’t a typical Academy student. Academy students tended to fall into two camps, the rich, spoilt offspring of rich, privileged parents – and the scholarship students. The brightest and best in their fields, whether that be science, medicine, literature or art. The Academy could afford to employ the best tutors to teach tiny classes. Like her father.
Daniel didn’t really seem to fit into either category. And she didn’t remember seeing him around the campus. Of course, it was a large school. Different groups didn’t necessarily mix. She didn’t remember seeing Peggy, Cassie or Lucas either. Maybe she was just being judgemental again.
More scuffling sounds from above. Hannah didn’t like it and she wouldn’t get to sleep while they continued. She pushed herself to her feet and started to clamber up the coach. The gangway was almost vertical, so this meant balancing on the twisted seats, trying not to slip. Harder than ever in the dark.
Above her head, the furtive shuffling followed her. Furtive. Yes, she thought. That was the word. A different sound to the wolves. More deliberate. Like whatever was making it was aware of the coach and its inhabitants and wary of disturbing them.
She reached the front of the coach. Despite the cold, there was a discernible whiff of staleness emanating from the dead bodies. Gas, Hannah thought. Although it had been less than twenty-four hours, organs started to decompose first. Visible signs wouldn’t show for another few days but, inside, the bodies were already breaking down.
Another thump overhead. Hannah jumped. She turned away and climbed into the driver’s cab to peer out of the windscreen. The snow had cleared a little, but it was fogged by condensation. She raised an arm to wipe it away.
A face stared back at her.
She scrabbled backwards, fear and shock seizing her voice.
The face was pale, teeth yellowed, corneas red-rimmed. For a second, their eyes met. Then the figure slid from the windscreen and ran back into the dark folds of the woods. Hannah stared after it, heart thudding.
Someone grabbed her shoulder. She screamed and swivelled, fists raised.
‘Whoah! Halt! It’s me.’
Lucas. He stared at her in concern. ‘What is it?’
Hannah glanced back through the windscreen, almost doubting her own eyes, her own sanity. No sign of the figure. Just the dark woods, still smoking slightly, and a bloody mass lying in the snow. Josh’s remains.
She swallowed. ‘I saw someone. Outside the coach.’
‘What?’ Lucas’s face creased in disbelief. ‘Rescue?’
Hannah shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Then who else would be out there in this storm? A villager?’
But there were no villages nearby. They both knew that. Just the snow, the mountains and the wilderness of the woods. A place where wild animals lived. And other creatures.
She turned, the word slipping out before she could help herself: ‘A Whistler.’
So called because of the way the virus ravaged the lungs. Making each breath a hideous, wet whistle. No one knew who had come up with the name. But, like many things, it had quickly become absorbed into the language.
There weren’t many options for the Whistlers. Those left almost living. Survivors but still contagious. Especially those infected with Choler, a dangerous and dominant variant that affected the brain. That was why her father had created the Seclusion Centres. Secure places where they could be looked after, and help the scientists to battle the virus.
Public opinion was divided on the centres. Some thought they were necessary. Others – like Cassie – claimed the centres were no better than prisons or concentration camps. Critics had coined the name ‘The Farms’, which had stuck.
Once, when Hannah had dared to ask her father, he had said:
‘In any war, Hannah, there are casualties. We are fighting a war against an enemy who is ever changing. In order to protect the world, there must be sacrifices. For the greater good.’
But not everyone wanted to sacrifice themselves. Many of the infected ran, hid, formed their own communities. In isolated places, away from the general population. When they were found, they were rounded up. But a lot of people had sympathy for the Whistlers. They were still people. Still someone’s mother, brother or child.
A few years ago, there had been an outbreak at a tiny village not far from the Academy. One of the villagers had sourced some infected meat. The infection had spread rapidly. Her father and his team were called in. The village was quarantined. But the rumour was that some of the infected escaped into the woods. Where they still lived today.
‘You think they’re dangerous?’ Cassie asked.
They had re-grouped at the back of the coach. Hannah’s scream had woken the others and she didn’t see any point in lying about the situation.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Shit,’ Daniel muttered. ‘This just gets better and better.’
‘We’ve no reason to think they pose a threat,’ Lucas said. ‘At least, not while we remain inside the coach and they remain outside.’
‘But how long are we supposed to sit tight for?’ Daniel asked.
‘The authorities must have missed us by now. The storm looks to be easing. Maybe they are already putting together a search party,’ Lucas said.
Cassie glanced at Hannah. ‘D’you want to tell them?’
No, Hannah thought. But it was probably time.
‘We may have another problem,’ she said.
Lucas glanced at her sharply. ‘Which is?’
‘The coach crash might not have been an accident.’
‘What?’
‘Cassie was involved in testing. Two students on board had positive tests.’
‘So how did they get on board?’ Lucas demanded.
‘I don’t know. But the point is my father would never have let infected students leave the Academy –’ Hannah looked around at them. ‘And if he found out, there is no way he would have let them reach the Retreat.’
‘But causing the coach to crash … that is surely a stretch,’ Lucas said.
Hannah shook her head. ‘Not if you know my father.’
‘So the driver crashed on purpose and killed himself?’ Daniel asked.
Hannah saw Lucas’s face shift.
‘The driver isn’t among the dead,’ Hannah said.
Daniel stared at them. ‘So do you know where he is?’
‘Best guess – he got out and sabotaged the exit, leaving us trapped.’
But as soon as she said it, Hannah realized what had been been troubling her about this scenario. The driver had left without his jacket or cap. No outerwear at all. How would he survive out there?
‘Of course, there is another possibility’ – Cassie smiled thinly – ‘He didn’t escape.’
‘You just said he’s not amongst the dead,’ Daniel said.
‘Exactly. Maybe he’s still here and one of us is an interloper.’
‘You’re joking?’ Daniel looked around at them nervously. ‘I mean, I can’t even drive.’
‘Okay.’ Lucas held a hand up. ‘This is ridiculous. No one is an interloper.’
‘What about you?’ Cassie asked.
‘Me?’
‘Yes. You don’t seem much like a student. I don’t remember seeing you when we got on. Is it you?’
‘Can we drop this?’ Hannah said steadily.
Cassie shot her a look. ‘Let him answer.’
Lucas sighed. ‘No, it is not me. But you are right – I am older than most students here. I was forced to take a break in my education after an accident … and I only returned two years ago.’
‘What accident?’
Lucas bent and rolled up his right trouser leg.
Cassie gasped.
‘Fuck, man,’ Daniel hissed.
Even Hannah felt a small jolt of surprise.
Below Lucas’s knee was a prosthetic leg.
‘I lost it in an automobile crash,’ he said. ‘I almost lost my life. I was lucky to survive, but recovery and rehabilitation meant I was out of schooling for a while.’
He looked around at them meaningfully. ‘It also means I am unable to drive a manual vehicle without modifications, so there is no way I could drive this coach.’
Hannah couldn’t help noticing he said this with some satisfaction. Cassie had the decency to look a little shamefaced.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
Lucas gave a small nod. ‘Accepted.’
‘Yeah,’ Daniel said. ‘I think we’re all getting a bit stressed out.’
‘Hardly surprising,’ Lucas said. ‘We have just seen an acquaintance killed. We are trapped with a pile of dead bodies, some of which are infected. Not quite the trip we were expecting.’
A long pause.
‘Do you really believe your father would leave you to die?’ Daniel asked Hannah.
‘No, he wouldn’t leave me to die. He wouldn’t leave any of you to die. He would make sure of it.’ She let this sink in. ‘When the storm eases, his people will come. But not to rescue us. To kill us.’
‘Okay,’ Lucas said. ‘We need to review our options.’
‘What options?’ Cassie asked. ‘We’re trapped. Again.’
‘We need to find another way out.’
And then Hannah remembered her night-time musings. ‘There might be a way. The toilet.’
Cassie raised an eyebrow. ‘What? We’re going to flush ourselves out like in a cartoon?’
‘No. I think it might be possible to remove the toilet. Underneath, there’s a tank. If we could dislodge that, the gap might be big enough to crawl out of.’
