Carrion Virus (Book 1): Carrion City (15 page)

An alarm sounded. On the computer screen, a second countdown began.

Sixty … fifty-nine … fifty-eight.

‘Oh, Christ,’ Magarth whimpered. The second countdown. The infected were to be released from the tank, into the building. He punched keys. Nothing. He clicked over and again with the mouse.

Nothing. Nothing he did would override the system.

Tiny explosions popped. The hydraulic locking clamps on the tank began to disengage. In forty seconds, the outer door would begin its slow opening process. Impossible! The system protocols made sure of this. Yet, it was happening.

Magarth ran, stopping only long enough to retrieve his rucksack. He took the stairs two at a time before reaching the corridor.

‘Are you alright?’ It was the woman he had sat with earlier in the canteen. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

‘I’ll be fine,’ he told her. ‘I just need to get home.’

‘Okay.’ She sounded disbelieving of his reply. ‘Maybe cut back on the coffees during the wait. You’re shaking.’

‘Sure. Sure.’

You should tell her! You should say something!
He headed for the exit.
Don’t draw attention. Don’t draw attention.
He needed a good head start above everyone else. If five-hundred infected were about to be released he wanted to be the furthest away, the one with the best chance of survival.

Chapter 10

The Calm

Eric would make this as quick and as painless as possible. All he needed to do was grab a few things and then he’d be gone. Dr. Ironside agreed that a period of separation could help.

The door to the wardrobe was ajar. Inside, the clothing hung in regimented order. Hers on the right, his on the left. Thick coats first, and trousers last. He pulled a small suitcase from under the bed.

‘You’re leaving?’

‘I thought you were out. Are the kids here?’

‘No.’

‘Good.’

‘You’re actually leaving?’

‘For a few days,’ he said, stuffing a pair of jeans into the case.

Jacqui sat on the bed, her head bowed. Her mouth moved as if she were chewing gum.

‘You don’t have to worry.’ Another pair of jeans. Shirts. Jumpers. ‘I know I’ve been difficult. I need to get my head sorted. You might be able to forgive me then.’

Jacqui’s response was a soft cry. He didn’t react. Comfort was a foreign concept to Eric. Jacqui reached out, taking hold of the bag strap. He placed his hand over hers, giving it a quick squeeze and removed her hand. Jacqui shadowed him as he descended the stairs and went to the kitchen.

‘What happened to us, Eric? Things have spiralled out of control. I don’t understand how we got here.’

‘Neither do I, but we’ll figure this out.’

‘I want to believe there is a way back for us. I really do.’

‘Me, too. I’ll be in touch.’

Eric leaned over to kiss Jacqui, but she withdrew. It surprised him, but why, he did not know. He touched her cheek, wet with tears. The contact held a memory, something pleasant, something he wanted. ‘We’ll be okay. I just need time.’

‘I kissed Jason, weeks ago.’

The confession should have rocked Eric, knocked him to his knees, but it held no power, nothing like an RPG. She could have told him she bought a new toaster and the news would have been received the same.

‘That’s okay,’ said Eric, ‘I’ve put us all through hell. When I get back, we’ll talk.’

***

The lobby of The Riverside was grand and imposing, so different from anything Eric was used to. Gold and crystal to every point, nothing like the Iraq’s desert sands and his darkened cell. In the hotel’s restaurant, surrounded by suits instead of fatigues, he was left feeling as out of place as he had felt at home.

‘May I help you, sir?’ a waiter asked, eyeing him with a pointed eyebrow, and an angle of snobbery to his nose.

‘Ben Williamson should be expecting me. Tell him Eric has arrived.’

The point of the eyebrow transformed to an arc. ‘Of course. Follow me, sir.’

Williamson was clad in a tuxedo and studying a menu. He looked up when Eric’s shadow fell across the table.

‘Ah, Eric. You made it. Perfect. Take a seat. You’ll find this to be the best place to eat in London. They always keep a table open for me. Wine?’

‘Why not?’ Eric stared after the waiter as he darted away. He moved with the speed of a round from his FAMAS. He missed Iraq, as irrational as that was. It felt wrong here. Memories were just memories. None of this, this life, belonged in his world any more. Would it ever feel right? The feel of Jacqui’s cheek was the only thing that held promise.

As quick as return-fire, the waiter was again at their table, filling two glasses with red. It flowed from the bottle as easily as the blood had flowed from Kelly, and as easily as Jacqui’s tears.

‘I agree. Provisionally, I agree.’

‘Provisionally?’

‘I want details. Where and who with? The truth. I don’t have much faith left. Not even for you.’

If he was slighted by the comment, Williamson hid it well. It was a little disconcerting. Eric liked to think he could read people, but something about Williamson made this difficult.

‘You will be working in the UK. There is a situation developing in the northeast of Scotland. Aberdeen specifically. A situation that is as unique as it is serious. We’ve been contracted to provide security and risk assessments.’

‘Sounds like a step down from what I’ve been doing for the past few years. You want me to guard buildings?’

‘Not exactly. You have the necessary qualifications for this operation.’

‘Like what?’

‘It’s a flu. Some kind of flu, but with some very unusual traits. From what I understand, this flu is transferable from person to person through direct contact. Blood. Saliva.’

‘A cold?’

‘There’s a great deal of confusion surrounding this. There’s no explanation as to why Aberdeen has the highest concentration of cases. No one is even sure where it came from. You remember the last outbreak of C-strain influenza?’

‘I was in Iraq at the time. It never reached us.’

‘There’s a working theory that it’s some kind of altered version of that.’

Eric undid the top few buttons of his shirt. ‘Why Black Aquila?’

‘Black Aquila has been sourcing workers to the DSD for a month now. You know what the DSD is?’

‘I’ve heard of them.’

‘They were covertly collecting those infected with this new virus, delivering them to a containment centre for research. The numbers spiked. Their operation has been suspended for the moment.’

‘Why suspended?’

‘Too many agents fell to the infection. It’s a mess. A pure screw up.’ Williamson picked up his glass. ‘I don’t think they were prepared or knew how to handle it. The Prime Minister is to address the nation in under an hour. That’s when the story breaks in the press. Can you imagine the panic?’

‘It’s more than a cold.’

‘It’s a flu.’

‘It’s more than that if you’re talking to me.’

Williamson drained his glass. ‘When the news breaks, Aberdeen will be placed under a form of martial law. Everyone will be told to stay at home, and those not native to Aberdeen will be sent to displacement centres. Emergency services will continue and they will be assisted by the army and other organisations. That’s where we come in. While the situation could prove dangerous, the government wants us there to secure key buildings.’

‘And you want me to stand guard at doors?’

‘I want you to lead the team.’

‘A team of door guards?’

‘You now know as much as I do.’

‘I doubt that.’

A British city under martial law? The army on the streets? A strange flu? It all screamed madness. If Eric heard it from anyone other than Ben Williamson, he would have laughed in their face.

Williamson reached into his tux and pulled out a phone. ‘This is a pre-recorded news conference. It goes public in an hour. Maybe you will take the word of the Prime Minister.’

A few minutes later, ‘I’m in.’

Williamson smiled. ‘I thought you would. Tell me, what do you think of Richard Desai?’

‘Brutus? He’s a bruiser and a liability unless you’re in a firefight. Why?’

‘He’s on your team. Now let’s order some food. We leave in an hour.’

***

Rain lashed the windscreen. Jacqui reached over and touched Jason’s arm.

He smiled before changing gear. ‘You alright?’

The kids slept in the back of the car. Jacqui craned her neck, checking on them. ‘For the first time in a while, I think I am.’

‘You think there’s hope for you and Eric?’

‘He’s not a bad person, Jason. What he’s been through, what he’s going through, everything. Eric and I both struggled to deal with things.’

There was silence for a few seconds.

‘Are you going to tell him about our kiss?’

‘I told him today.’

‘And?’

‘And what?’

‘What did he say? Surely, he blew a fuse. Do I need to go into hiding or something?’

‘He said we’d talk.’

Jacqui closed her eyes, allowing the gentle rock of the car to relax her. For the first time in longer than she cared to remember, calm settled over her. Eric had been right in guessing something went on between her and Jason. A mindless kiss, a result of too much wine, much stress and too little sleep. They could rebuild this family. She was sure. Eric would be gone for a few days, letting the dust settle, and when he got back, things would be better. Yes, Jason should disappear for a time. Something about that thought brought a silent giggle.

***

The Prime Minister was told that the reception room at the Ministry of Defence was full, and as always, members of the press jostled to gain the best position, and an array of cameras awaited his arrival.

Mathew Muldoon endured the endless fussing of his aid, Lydia. She pulled at his tie, making sure it was at the correct parameters, and then moved her attention to brushing his shoulders free of non-existent specks. His Foreign Secretary, the wily Howard Boon, studied Lydia’s movements then smirked at the Prime Minister.

The whole day had been spent in discussions with military, medical and civilian specialist advisors. It was so much to take in. After the day’s briefing, he was sure the announcement would be the most profound since Winston Churchill’s heyday of speechmaking. Where Churchill offered belligerence and hope, Mathew would be urging endurance and acceptance.

The rear door to the antechamber opened. The leader of the opposition was dressed in a sombre suit and tie.

‘Charles.’ Mathew noted the dark bags beneath his eyes, and knew they mirrored his own. ‘I’m glad you could make it.’

‘Something of this nature needs a unified response. Has the First Minister arrived?’

‘A half-hour ago. He’s going to be a very busy man soon.’

Charles gave a gruff laugh. ‘We all will.’

They had been briefed by COBRA the day before, and agreed to appear in a unified front.

‘I have to admit, I’m finding it difficult to come to terms with everything,’ Charles added.

‘We all are.’

‘You’re going through with the plan then?’

‘I don’t see another option.’

Charles removed his glasses and held them up to the light. ‘You realise this is the biggest crisis since World War Two. It will eclipse Iraq, even Afghanistan.’

‘What else can we do? If you will excuse me?’ said Mathew, brushing Charles off.

It was a comfort, a small comfort to the Prime Minister that Charles Wordsworth was prepared to stand with him. In times of severe crisis, political agenda and adversity could be put aside for the good of the nation. He checked his watch. In a few minutes, he would be facing the press. They waited behind the sturdy oak doors, as wolves kept out at winter. They were baying for him, desperate for the story.

‘Prime Minister, it’s time,’ said the Foreign Secretary.

‘Let’s get this over with.’

Cameras flashed. The small group that followed was made up of members of the senior cabinet, medical and scientific specialists, and military officials.

An aide approached the low podium and spoke to the assembled media. Mathew scanned the room. Behind him, on either side of the door, the Union flag hung marking the importance of the occasion.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, the Prime Minister.’

More flashes.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, members of the public, thank you for joining me this evening. It is with a heavy heart that I speak to you this night. For the past five weeks, the Department of Special Diseases has been combating an outbreak of influenza in Aberdeen. While the initial symptoms follow along the lines of the flu we’re familiar with, if left untreated these symptoms progress. Shakes and confusion. High fever. Unpredictable behaviour. Open sores and nosebleeds. It is imperative that if you, or your loved ones, develop any of these symptoms, you inform the emergency services at once. We have a vaccine, one that will be administered on admission to Aberdeen Royal Infirmary and other designated centres. The infection is spread by contact or the sharing of bodily fluids. I would urge you all to maintain a high state of vigilance in identifying the symptoms.’

Mathew glanced down at his notes. ‘We have been in constant discussion with leading experts in the scientific community. They have concluded that this infection could pose a direct threat to Great Britain as a whole. Therefore, I’m announcing the creation of the Civilian Assistance Force. This organisation will be made up of the DSD, and our military and emergency services. Their primary role will be to keep those in Aberdeen safe. It will be necessary for the city to be quarantined. All sea, rail, and road travel will be suspended and Aberdeen airport will remain closed for the foreseeable future. Checkpoints manned by the military will be set up at every road into the city. Anyone seeking to enter or leave will be turned back. Aberdeen will be under martial law as of midnight. On a final note, under no circumstances should you open your doors to anyone. Secure your home and wait this out. We will rise above this.’