Breathless - Swarm Book 2: (An Epic Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller), page 25
Ron scrolled through his contacts and hit a number. “Veedal? Smirnov? Like the wodka?”
“Da?” Veedal had been more than happy to take Ron’s money when he was searching for the missing crates. Chances were good he’d be doubly pleased to earn double that money for doing little more than going on a shopping expedition. “Veedal. You, four men, meet me at the address I’m sending.”
“Who this?”
Ron rolled his eyes. How many Americans had Veedal talked to in the last week? One, that’s how many. “We met on The Fairwinds. You loaded my crates.”
“Ah! Mr. Columbus, sir. Da, da!”
“Double the money for an hour’s work?”
Veedal shouted, the phone too close to his mouth, rousing his comrades to action. The words were different, but the meaning the same: come on lads, this idiot American is giving away ‘money for old rope’ as the Brits said. Easy money, for little or no effort.
Ron texted the address to the hardware store to Veedal then hopped in his Jag and made his way there. The ruse—that he had a huge job and needed all the diatomaceous earth they had in stock—didn’t even garner a raised eyebrow. The clerk took his order and his credit card, handing him a receipt with a lukewarm smile.
“My staff will be by in about half an hour to pick them up.” He left Veedal’s name and number and headed back outside. A drop of rain plopped from the awning, onto his hand. Ron wasn’t given to hysterics, but he shook it off so violently he almost lost a finger.
His next stop, the copy shop, was tucked away in a cobbled alley, the sign indicating that the owner would be “Back in five. – Bill.” Ron used those precious minutes to dig through Ann Pilkington’s holdings and pull the Better Bio logo off the website. It wasn’t an exact match for the one on the crates, but it was close enough. All he needed was the magician’s sleight of hand—look this way while I move that way—and he’d be home free.
The copy shop proprietor hustled down the street when he spotted Ron. “Been here long?”
“I haven’t, Bill. You’re Bill, yes?” Ron peeled the ‘be back’ sign off the inside of the door.
“Bill Binder of The Bindery, at your service.”
Ron followed Bill into the store, catching the bell over the door as a matter of habit. Not weird at all, Ronnie Boy. Everyone mutes the bell when they go into a public store. He was more on edge than usual and it was starting to show.
“A three-hundred page print run, at poster size sir? Could have it ready for you by Friday.” Bill beamed a smile so wide, he might as well have said he could produce gold bars on command.
“I need it this afternoon.” Ron extracted a wad of cash from his inside pocket and lay it on the counter. “Name your price.” He didn’t have time to mess about, nickel and diming someone. “Get it done in an hour and you can double it.”
“Right-o. It’s a color job, which usually takes longer, and there are a few jobs ahead of you in the cue.” He closed his hand over the bank notes. “But never say never. An hour it is.”
Ron stepped back into the street and texted Veedal. “There yet?”
“Need van, boss,” came the reply.
Of course they did. “Can you sort it?” Surely a dock worker knew how to get hold of transportation.
“Ten minutes more, only, boss. All good. All very, very good.”
Ron scrolled as he waited, willing there to be news of the swarm while also willing them to have flown—or been blown out—to sea. The accident had happened on his watch and though he wasn’t much fussed about crooks dying, he had strict rules about not injuring bystanders and civilians. They hadn’t signed up for his life and he didn’t want their blood on his hands.
There were no reports of cicada attacks, not even when he searched for info about the fish and chip shop on South Street. He had none of his gear to hand, which meant he couldn’t listen in to the police department’s encrypted broadcast. Working solo was great, flying naked, not so much.
Ron’s phone buzzed. Text, incoming: “Van, yes. Men, yes. We go, now.”
Ron texted Veedal the printer’s address. “Next stop, here.”
The plan came together with astounding speed. Ron had the print run in hand when Veedal pulled up, the Russians were more than happy to create a chain to hand the bags of insect killer off the van, slap a glued-up Bio Better logo onto the bag, then stack them three wide and twenty high in the van.
“Wait for my message, Veedal. Don’t come back to the Fairwinds too soon, you understand?”
The Russian held out his hand. “Half now, boss.” It wasn’t a question.
It was a lot of money to hand over on trust, but Ron didn’t have many options. The Russian had played fair so far, but with The Fairwinds sailing at dawn, he had to be surer than sure that he’d get what he needed when they left the dock. “I’ll double the price if this goes well. And by ‘well’ I mean you deliver this without any ruckus. Do you know ‘ruckus?’”
Veedal shrugged so Ron looked up the Russian for ‘ruckus’ on his phone.
“Da! Da! We make big rucks!” Veedal reached for the van door.
“No! No rucks.” Ron held a finger to his lips. “Quiet. Like mice…”
Veedal shrugged. “Fine. Good. No rucks. We come like mouse. Like always! No one see my men. We inwisible. Always!”
Ron watched the van peel away—far from discrete—and prayed that he could pull off the next phase of his plan.
The drive to the dock was smooth, the roads clear and quiet. He tried a couple of radio stations, but the news was as stale as the oldies that clogged the airwaves. He parked a couple of blocks from the dock, closed the door to the Jaguar, almost tenderly, and clicked the fob. He collected the carboard box from the trunk of the car, and rounded the corner to The Fairwinds.
Captain Alva stood at the head of the gangplank, legs braced and arms folded. “You’re late.”
Last time he’d checked, Ron didn’t work for the good captain, but it was as well to have her sweet, rather than cranky. “I had some business that couldn’t wait.” He strode up the swaying plank and joined her on deck, keeping his box of supplies cradled in one arm. “I thought we weren’t leaving until dawn.”
“You commandeered one of my crew members. You’re not to do that again.”
He’d paid some schlub to keep an eye on Ann’s crates. That scarcely seemed like a breach of etiquette. “The Bio Better crates need to be guarded at all times. I would’ve thought Ms. Pilkington made that clear.”
Alva flushed and turned away. “Don’t do it again.”
Ron fished his phone out of his pocket and shot Veedal a text. “Deliver now. Quiet and orderly.”
The van screeched around the corner, spilling the men onto the dock, joking and laughing like they were there for the fun of it. Veedal hailed Ron, then threw the back doors to the van open. “Bring now, boys. Like always!”
“Clever.” Ron tipped a salute at Veedal. He’d made sure his men behaved the way they always behaved, which was rowdy.
Veedal hitched a bag over his shoulder, careful to have the Bio Better side facing upwards.
Ron waved him into the hold. “Beside the crates. Fast as you can.”
There were eyes everywhere, a pissed off captain at the helm, rain picking up the pace, but Veedal and his men kept at it, bringing bag after bag of diatomaceous earth onto the ship. No one challenged them and when it was all done, Veedal was there with his hand outstretched, ready for payment. “Always call Veedal when in Southampton, da?”
“You can count on it.” Ron turned his collar up against the spray that showered the ship and made his way into the hold. The crates were just as he’d left them, but knowing what he knew, they’d morphed from a wall of wood to a towering façade of agonizing death.
He unfolded the flaps of his carboard box and sorted the supplies, pulling the bag of diatomaceous earth out and laying it at the end of his mattress. He’d taken the clerk at his word, but it was a gamble. What if the magic dust didn’t do it for cicadas?
The urge to just blow the entire ship and be done with it all loomed large, but Ann would know it was him and there was no guarantee he’d kill all the bugs in a single blast. He hunted for, and found, the box Ann had given him. He had no idea if the creature inside was dead or alive, but what he did know was: it wasn’t a swarm, which meant his chances of surviving were exponentially higher than if he opened a crate.
In the cupboard below the metal stairs he found ball point hammers and monkey wrenches, saw blades and drill bits, but all he needed was a trusty old nail.
Back in his bunk, he pulled his shirt up over his nose and mouth, then pried the edge of the tiny box loose. No sooner had it opened, he clamped it shut and held it up to his ear. No sound. ‘A drop…’ Ann had said. ‘A drop can kill a colony.’
Ron marched right back to the supply closet and found himself a pair of gauntlet-style gloves and a visor. If winged death was coming for him, he wanted the odds to be in his favor.
The bag of insect killer was open at his side, the box primed and waiting, his heart hammering in his chest.
“One, two, three…” He ripped the lid off the box, dumped the powder inside, and slammed it back down again.
Sweat poured down his sides. He hadn’t seen a damned thing—not a twitch or a tremble—but he had to hope the sample Ann had given him had been alive. Otherwise, why make such a song and dance about it?
He’d failed to ask the clerk how long it took for the powder to kill an insect, but the back of the bag indicated that his prey would die “within 48 hours of exposure.”
By that time, they’d be out to sea and he could implement Plan B, if he had to.
Chapter 26
KIM WALKER. WYONG, AUSTRALIA
With both hands wrapped around Shannon’s desperate fingers, Kim shifted her weight from one aching foot to the other where she stood close to the gurney and uttered another soft word of encouragement. A gloomy corridor with flickering lights, and one lone nurse in attendance, wasn’t an ideal place to give birth, but Shannon was off the ground, they were out of the smoke, and they were finally in a hospital. But yet another day had passed and Kim was still nowhere near discovering whether her daughter was safe and free from any danger from the deadly fires rampaging through the state.
People with worn faces and ash-stained clothes hurried in all directions. Luke, Shannon’s husband, had been rushed to Emergency, and a harried doctor had assessed Shannon and assigned a male nurse before disappearing at a fast clip and with a flap of his white coat as he raced back to the ICU.
Alarm after alarm pierced the atmosphere in the chaotic hospital. It was after 2 a.m. and Shannon still struggled to give birth to her first child. But the nurse had assured them the medication he’d given Shannon earlier would increase contractions and speed up the labor. The problem was, no sooner had he spoken those words than he’d been paged to assist a woman who was hemorrhaging and they hadn’t seen him since.
“Don’t leave me,” Shannon gasped out in between grunts and groans. Sweat plastered her hair to her head and beaded over her mouth as she rolled her eyes in Kim’s direction.
“I won’t. You’re doing fine.” Kim slipped one hand free and, picking up a damp washcloth from the side of the bed, wiped Shannon’s face.
A grimace tore across Shannon’s face. “Aaah. Luke. I need him.”
“He’s safe, Shannon. He’s in the ICU and the doctors are doing everything they can.” Despite the waves of fatigue crashing over her, Kim summoned up a reassuring smile.
There’d been one gut-wrenching moment in the carpark when she’d faced having to deliver Shannon’s baby alone. Even though that responsibility was in more professional hands, she hadn’t been able to leave the young woman. Not with a husband in a coma with tubes down his throat so he could breathe, and a world gone to hell just outside the hospital’s doors. But even though Kim stood her ground beside Shannon, her thoughts and heart were elsewhere—Sydney, where Emma lived. Hopefully, safe with her adoptive parents. Hopefully, sheltered from the toxic smoke. I’m coming, Emma. I haven’t forgotten you.
“Where’s the nurse?”
“I’m sure he’ll be back soon.” Kim frowned. Earlier there’d been people rushing along the corridor but now there was no one. “I’ll go and check.”
“No!” Shannon shrieked, mangling Kim’s hand in her desperation. “No time. The baby’s coming.”
Kim tried for humor. “I’ve heard that one before.” She raised her voice. “A little help here!” There was a group of people gathered at the end of the corridor but no one turned around.
Shannon lifted her head and locked eyes with her. “No. Seriously. You have to do it.”
“Maybe I can find a doctor.” She went to tug her hand free but Shannon’s grip turned into a vice.
“Kim! I can feel the baby’s head. Please!”
Kim’s mouth sagged for a split second before she snapped it shut. “Okay, Shannon, I’m just moving to the end of the trolley.”
Eyes squeezed shut, Shannon gave a feeble nod, her hold on Kim’s hand slackening. A blue-gray tinge underlined the pale hue of her face, especially around her eyes and mouth. After giving her fingers one last pat, Kim moved to crouch near her feet. Nausea rocked her belly as the memory of her own nightmare labor hit her. But she’d had a doctor and two nurses in attendance. Poor Shannon only had her.
Wiping her trembling hands on her pants legs, Kim lifted the blanket covering Shannon’s legs and her heart skipped a beat. “Baby is almost here, Shannon. You’re doing fine. Next contraction I want you to bear down and give that push everything you’ve got. Nice and slow and keep it coming.”
Shannon scrunched up her face and let lose a moan that lifted the hairs on the back of Kim’s neck as she bent over the girl. “Keep going. That’s it. Come on, Shannon.”
“I can’t…”
“Yes, you can.” Plucking a pair of disposable gloves out of the box on the bed, Kim slipped them over her hands. She gave Shannon’s left ankle a gentle squeeze. “I’m here. I won’t leave you.”
A sob burst from Shannon. “I’m so tired.”
“I know hon. But it will be over soon. I promise. Now come on. I can see bub’s head. So, bear down and push! Push!”
Shannon let out an animalistic groan, her fists pounding into the thin mattress as she strained.
“Keep pushing.”
Grunting and panting like mad, Shannon bore down again, her face furrowed in intense concentration and let out a long, blood-curdling howl.
“That’s it! A bit more. Keep going… oh my….” And a tiny wet bundle slipped into Kim’s waiting hands. She looked up, tears welling. “It’s a boy.”
Crying and laughing and gasping for air, Shannon fell back onto the hard makeshift bed.
Hands shaking, Kim gazed at the squirming baby as he opened his mouth and emitted a thin cry. As if it was as shrill as a siren, the nurse bounded down the corridor.
“You did it! Fantastic.” He reached Kim’s side and beamed. “I’ll take over now.”
Kim sniffled while the nurse dealt with the birth cord then quickly wiped over the baby’s small form before swaddling him in a blue wrap. With a big smile on his face, he stepped over and placed the baby into Shannon’s outstretched arms.
“Look, Kim, isn’t he wonderful.” A brilliant smile erased the exhaustion from Shannon’s face as she gazed at her son.
“He’s gorgeous,” Grinning, Kim agreed leaning over to touch the little fellow’s satiny cheek.
“Something good happened today. Something special.” The nurse’s hand came down friendly and brief on Kim’s shoulder. “You did a great job.”
He moved to the end of the gurney. “Okay, Shannon, let’s see how this placenta is going.” Snapping on a fresh pair of gloves, he smiled at Kim. “You look knackered. I’ll get these two settled into a ward. They’ll be fine. Why not go home? You can check on them in the morning.”
Home. The word conjured up a vision of her café with its cream curtains, pale daffodil walls, and bleached pine furniture with bright, multi-colored cushions, the tantalizing scent of baked cakes and fresh bread, the buzz of happy people. Joyce, her loyal waitress, humming as she bustled about the ovens. A bitter taste filled Kim’s mouth. She didn’t know if she had a home.
Cradling her new baby in her arms, Shannon looked up. “Thank you, Kim. If you hadn’t insisted that Toby give us a lift in his van, we’d still be stranded on the motorway. You saved us.” Her eyes filled with fresh tears. “I wish Luke could have seen this.”
“Don’t fret. I’m sure he’ll be with you soon. You’re both safe now.” But even as she said the words, Kim’s gaze took in the people at the end of the corridor badgering the nurse behind the counter. Their faces were grim, shell-shocked, dazed, and fearful. Desperation tainted the air, in much the same way the foul smoke poisoned the air outside. It wouldn’t take much more to happen and their thin veneer of politeness would be stripped away leaving what truly lay buried in the human psyche—the need to survive.
She shivered, her desperate urge to be with Emma threatening to reduce her to a puddle on the floor. “I’ll come by and check on you before I leave.”
“Thanks, Kim.”
After one more smile for the baby, Kim scooped up her green bag and set off toward the main entrance in search of a landline. She found one close to the Emergency department, but the area was packed with people, shoving, pushing, elbowing their way to the nurses’ station, where they yelled and demanded help, the façade of civilized behavior already abandoned. Some were holding onto others who swayed and coughed and spewed blood down their clothes. Fathers and mothers carried their hacking, bleeding children in their arms, grief distorting their features as they sobbed and begged. The air rang with coughing and curses. Nurses sifted through the shifting crowd, their green uniforms distinctive amidst ash-smothered clothes. Every few seconds the front doors whooshed open and someone else staggered over the threshold seeking medical attention or searching for loved ones. Young. Old. Male. Female. Whatever was causing this disaster didn’t discriminate—it was like a tsunami, hellbent on the total destruction of the human race.
