The Drift, page 21
Carter shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’ve no idea.’
Caren nodded. ‘I guess Jackson is dead anyway, so it doesn’t matter. But the point is that he had absolutely no reason to steal plasma. He was against plasma extraction. The Farms. All of it.’
Carter swallowed. ‘Sometimes people do things for other reasons. Perhaps he was sending them to someone else?’
‘Perhaps … but it just doesn’t add up. Also, someone aside from me and Miles had access to the basement.’
He tensed. ‘Who?’
‘Welland.’
‘Welland? You’re sure?’
She nodded. ‘I saw him.’
‘When?’
She looked a little sheepish. ‘When I was down there.’
Christ. Carter had thought the basement was a stronghold, one only he had breached. Turns out it was busier than old Piccadilly Circus.
‘What were you doing down there?’ he asked.
‘Just checking.’
‘On what?’
‘That Miles is being honest with us.’
Good luck with that, Carter thought.
‘Anyway,’ Caren continued, ‘I was down there, in the office, and I heard the lift. I thought it was Miles and I knew he’d kill me if he found me.’
‘Not even metaphorically.’
‘So I panicked and hid under the desk. I heard footsteps and someone came in, but it wasn’t Miles. It was Welland.’
‘What was he doing?’
‘I don’t know. I could only see his bottom half. He wandered around, then wandered out again. I crept out from under the desk and peered around the door. I saw him enter the isolation chambers.’
‘What? But only Miles has the code for the isolation chambers.’
‘That’s what I thought. But Welland definitely went inside.’
‘Could he have been doing a favour for Miles?’
A small shrug. ‘I don’t know. I didn’t hang around. I ran for the elevator and got out of there.’
Carter frowned. Could Miles have entrusted Welland with his code and sent him to run some secret errand? It didn’t seem likely. Personally, he wouldn’t trust Welland to run a fucking bath.
‘Should we tell Miles?’ Caren asked.
He debated. If Miles didn’t know, then Welland was in big trouble. A state Carter was perfectly comfortable with. On the other hand, if Miles didn’t want them to know, then they were in big trouble. Less comfy.
‘Let’s keep a lid on it for now,’ he said. ‘If … when we get back, we can confront Welland then.’
She nodded. ‘Agreed.’
They looked at each other and both managed a stiff smile. It felt weird.
‘Right,’ Caren said. ‘I’ll see you downstairs.’
‘Yeah.’
She turned. He found himself saying: ‘Caren?’
‘What?’
He swallowed. ‘I hope your family are safe.’
‘Thanks.’
She opened the door and disappeared down the corridor.
Carter waited a moment. Then he got up and shut the door again.
What the fuck was going on? Jackson being an anti-vaxxer did tie up with the messages on his phone. But Welland having access to the chambers? No. That stank. Carter wasn’t so naïve as to believe that he and Miles were friends. But he knew that if Miles needed something doing, secretly, then Carter would be the first one he’d approach. Welland was just the lackey who cleared up the mess.
So, what was Welland up to? How did he get the basement pass and the code to the chambers? And what else was the little shit hiding? Obviously, everyone here was hiding something. The only difference was the size of the secret and the depth of the lie. But Carter was starting to suspect that there was a lie here that went really deep. Right to the heart of their existence at the Retreat.
The question was – what did that mean for him?
Carter had waited a long time to get here, been patient. And now, he sensed, he was reaching the endgame.
He pulled out the photo again. Scribbled on the back in faded biro, barely legible, were two names. Daniel and Peggy. Invicta Academy. He didn’t need it, Carter reminded himself. He carried her face next to his heart. And if something happened to him, he couldn’t leave this here to be found. Not by Miles. Not by Quinn. Not by anyone. Because if they did, it might lead them to her. The person he sent the parcels to. The only remaining link with his sister.
Her daughter. His niece.
Carter took out his lighter, touched it to the corner of the photograph and watched the flames eat up the soft, crumpled paper.
The beautiful, brown-haired girl with the blazing smile curled up and died again.
Carter let the tears fall, extinguishing the flames.
Hannah
They traipsed through the dark forest, their strange little group.
Lucas led, Hannah followed, then Cassie with Daniel at the rear, tenderly cradling the baby. He had fashioned a sling from a jumper taken from the hold and tucked the newborn inside, pressed to his chest. He put his jacket over the top for added warmth. The baby dozed, lulled by the motion.
Lucas had been methodical in searching through the rucksacks in the hold, all eleven of them. He had separated out food, water and some milk (which also might do for the baby, at a push). He had also found three torches, two lighters and numerous phones. All dead, of course. No one had thought to turn their phones off when they handed them in, presuming they would have them back in a few hours. It was something none of the survivors had considered. Even if they could get a signal, without power to charge the phones, they were useless.
There were more clothes, of course. Again, Lucas had separated out essentials and spread them equally between four of the larger rucksacks. Hannah located the Pedialyte. Six sachets. It would be enough for the baby for now. There were also some cards and cash in the belongings. If they ever made it to a town, they could buy supplies. That’s if they didn’t freeze to death before then, or get eaten by wild animals, or killed by the Department. Or kill each other.
The forest was dark and dense. The thick canopy of green shut out what little daylight was left. Their torches didn’t seem to penetrate more than a few feet ahead so they walked carefully, conscious of needing to put distance between themselves and the coach but also wary of tripping or twisting an ankle, which would slow them down far more. There was no path, not even a rough one, so they meandered around the massive tree trunks, pushed their way through snagging bushes and climbed over the fallen skeletons of ancient pines.
It was hard to gauge if they were heading in the right direction, or any direction. For all they knew, they could be walking around in one giant circle. Lucas seemed to be checking his watch quite often. Perhaps he was trying to use it as a compass, or maybe he was just checking how long they had been walking.
It felt like days but had probably only been an hour. They were exhausted from trauma and lack of food. Hannah’s chest felt tight and her breath short. Beneath her layers and despite the freezing cold she felt sweat soak her body. Her head felt heavy and clogged.
It occurred to her that she wouldn’t make it. And the realization didn’t feel as frightening as she had always imagined. Instead, it came with resignation and a vague relief. She wouldn’t have to do this for much longer. Sometime soon, she could rest.
‘Do you think we should stop?’ Cassie asked. ‘Try and make a shelter or something?’
‘Not yet,’ Lucas replied. ‘We should keep going while we have the energy.’
‘Yeah, well, hate to break it to you, but my energy is running low.’
Lucas glanced back. ‘This is not a suitable area to make camp. There is no space. We need to find a clearing. We keep moving.’
‘Fine,’ Cassie grumbled.
They stumbled on in near-silence, the only sounds their laboured breathing and the awakening murmurs of night. A distant owl hooted. The undergrowth rustled with things stirring into nocturnal life. Hannah shivered but concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.
She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she noticed that the trees were starting to thin. More twilight filtered through their branches. Ahead of them, the forest opened out into a tiny clearing. But not just a clearing. Tucked into the trees, overgrown with moss and fungi, was the distinct shape of an old hunter’s shack.
‘Is that … a house?’ Daniel asked.
‘More like a witch’s cottage,’ Cassie said.
She wasn’t wrong. The crooked shack did look like something out of a Grimm fairy-tale. Hannah knew there were abandoned shacks dotted around the forests here. Some had been built by hunters, some by survivalists back in the days of the first viral apocalypse.
This place must have been abandoned for some years. The windows were all gone. The wood was rotted, bits of tree poked through the roof and out of the lopsided chimney and it was creeping with so much greenery it looked like the forest had started to reclaim it.
‘What’s that kid’s rhyme?’ Daniel said. ‘In a dark, dark wood –’
‘– there was a dark, dark house,’ Hannah continued.
But at least the shack still had a roof and walls and a chimney. Shelter.
They looked at each other. Lucas smiled.
‘Shall we?’
The bad feeling struck Hannah as they climbed the rickety steps to the front porch.
It wasn’t just the innate creepiness of the shack and the associations with fairy-tales and horror films. Hannah had never been someone given to flights of fancy or the heebie-jeebies. The dark didn’t scare her. And gut feelings were usually down to indigestion rather than premonition.
But something was wrong here.
Lucas reached the door, rotten and half hanging off its hinges. He pushed it open and they followed him inside, torches held out in front of them. The shack was small and dark. Hannah could make out a sagging sofa and a rickety-looking chair, a couple of tables with half-burnt-down candles in bottles standing on them. No electricity, she guessed. To their left, a stone fireplace and … Cassie shrieked.
A pair of amber eyes gleamed back at them.
‘Fuck!’
Hannah raised her torch. A stag’s head was mounted on the wall above the fireplace. She swivelled her torch around the room. More glass eyes peered down from the walls. Animal heads. Deer, badgers, coyote. Her stomach rolled.
‘Nice to have company,’ Lucas said.
‘At least they’re not human,’ Daniel offered.
Cassie scowled. ‘Comforting.’
They moved through the living room/abattoir into the tiny kitchen. ‘Basic’ was one word for it. No cooker, or even a fridge. Just a rusted stainless-steel sink and an old camping stove. Hannah flicked the switch on the stove. Out of gas. Lucas opened a few cupboards. Some tins of beans, soup and canned meat. Probably out of date, but they might still be edible, if they were desperate, which they were.
They checked out the bedroom and shower room. The bedroom contained a stained mattress with a few dirty blankets flung on top and an empty chest of drawers. The shower room was just that. A faucet over a drain, with a filthy toilet and sink. Hannah turned the tap. It squeaked and a trickle of brown, foul-smelling water petered out. She wrinkled her nose. There was probably a water tank behind the shack, but if it hadn’t been used in some time the standing water would have turned stagnant. No washing for them tonight.
They moved back into the living room.
‘Well,’ Lucas said, ‘it is basic but more than we could have hoped for.’
‘It’s still fucking freezing,’ Cassie said, rubbing at her arms. ‘And what’s that smell?’
Right on cue, the baby began to cry. Daniel shifted uncomfortably. ‘I think it’s Eva.’
Cassie rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, great.’
Hannah cast her torch around again. The roof was intact in here and although the floor was hard and dirty – except for a cleaner square, perhaps where a rug used to be – it was still preferable to the stained mattress in the bedroom.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Our first priority is light. There are candles in here, and we have lighters. Let’s get the candles lit so Daniel can deal with the baby.’
‘On it,’ Cassie said, taking out a lighter. She moved around the room, lighting the half-burnt-down candles. The walls flickered with dancing shadows.
‘Next – heat.’ Hannah knelt and poked her torch up the chimney. It didn’t appear to be blocked. There was ash and bits of burnt log in the grate.
‘It’s usable … but we need firewood –’
She jumped at a sudden loud crrrrack from behind her. She turned. Lucas had picked up the rickety chair and smashed it on to the floor.
He stamped down on it with his false leg. ‘Now we have kindling.’
Hannah smiled thinly. ‘Good. Cassie and I will search for more wood outside.’
‘We will?’ Cassie said.
‘Yes. Lucas can get the fire going while Daniel changes the baby.’
Cassie sighed. ‘Just like being back at Grandpa Joe’s.’
Hannah stood. Dizziness swamped her. She leaned on the fireplace. She was breathing more shallowly, to avoid the hacking coughs. That and the pain in her chest.
‘You ready?’ Cassie asked.
‘Yeah,’ she said after a moment. ‘Let’s go.’
They traipsed out of the shack into the clearing. The sky had darkened in the time they had been inside. Twilight hovered. Insubstantial and transient. Soon it would melt away into night. Again, Hannah felt that shiver of unease. What was it about this place? Or was it her? Was the virus affecting her mind? She didn’t think so. Her thoughts felt sluggish, but not fevered or corrupted. Something wrong. Something forgotten. She just couldn’t put her finger on what.
‘Let’s skirt around the edge of the clearing,’ she said. ‘We should be able to find some dryish bits of wood there.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ Cassie said. ‘I used to do this shit when I was a kid. My grandpa had a shack just like this.’
‘Oh, right.’ They crossed the clearing to the woods and began to pick up bits of branch.
‘You were close to your grandfather?’ Hannah asked.
‘Nope. Hated the crazy old coot. But he was my only living grandparent, so I was forced to visit every week. Dad had done well for himself but thought it would do me good to “see where he’d come from”.’
‘Oh.’
They moved slowly, scanning the ground with their torches.
‘Yeah. By the time I was ten I knew how to shoot a shotgun, skin a deer and gut a rabbit. I could break a chicken’s neck or slice a goat’s throat so it would bleed out fast.’
‘Sounds like quite an education.’
‘Oh yeah. He was a real Mary Poppins.’
They started to work their way back round to the shack. Hannah’s arms were full of musty-smelling wood. Dry enough to burn for a few hours at least. She stared around at the forest. It seemed still for now. Too still? Or was she just being paranoid? She glanced back at the shack. From a distance it looked almost homely. Orange candle flames flickering through the windows, the glow of the fire, smoke drifting from the chimney.
Wrong. What was it?
‘’Course, he was an old-school survivalist,’ Cassie said, standing next to her. ‘Basement full of guns and tinned goods. His “apocalypse bunker”, he called it.’
Hannah stared at her. ‘What did you say?’
‘Apocalypse bunker?’
The realization struck her like a sucker punch.
The candles burnt halfway down. The chimney that should have been blocked by birds’ nests. The lighter square on the floor. Not a square. A trapdoor.
‘It isn’t deserted,’ she muttered.
‘What?’
‘A basement,’ Hannah said. ‘We never checked for a basement.’
She dropped the logs and sprinted for the door, shoving it open. Daniel was nowhere to be seen, but Lucas stood in the middle of the room, near the fireplace.
‘Lucas!’
He turned.
‘What is it?’
The floor erupted beneath his feet.
Lucas was thrown backwards. He toppled and crashed into the lit fire. A filthy figure in animal skins with a mane of matted hair burst through the trapdoor. He screamed – a terrible, high-pitched whistle – pulled a gun from his belt and unleashed a hail of bullets around the room. Hannah ducked. Lucas rolled out of the fire, putting out the flames, but as he tried to crawl away, hair and clothes still smouldering, the figure let loose another round of bullets. Hannah saw Lucas’s body jerk as they hit him.
She had to do something. And then she remembered – she still had the knife. Before the figure could turn Hannah pulled it from her pocket and launched herself at him, throwing herself on to his back and wrapping her legs around his waist. The basement dweller’s stench was foul, almost unbearable, but Hannah clung on, raised the knife and drove it into his neck.
Blood spurted. He howled. Hannah yanked the knife out and stabbed him again, and again. He bucked and twisted. Hannah’s grip slipped and he managed to throw her off. She landed hard on her back, sending bolts of pain shooting up her spine.
The figure whirled around. His face was bone white, teeth all but gone, eyes red and wild. Whatever he had been – hunter, survivalist – now he was pure Whistler. Blood poured from the wounds in his neck. He barely seemed to notice. He could well have been insane before the Choler corrupted what was left of his brain, but it was hard to tell.
He raised the gun and took a step towards her. Hannah scrabbled backwards on the floor. But there was nowhere to go. No help coming. Lucas was injured, Daniel and Cassie were both hiding, trying to save their own skins. Hannah braced herself for death. She heard the crrrack of a gunshot …
A red crater opened in the Whistler’s forehead.
With a look of surprise, he fell to his knees. The gun slipped from his hands. Another shot. Blood exploded from his chest. The Whistler squinted at her, face puzzled, mouth working pitifully to find long-forgotten words. But all that bubbled out was more blood. Hannah stared at him, feeling a moment of pity. Then he collapsed forward onto the floor, twitching. Finally, with a soft, keening moan, he lay still.
