Carrion Virus (Book 1): Carrion City (9 page)

Eric thought of the last time he’d seen Martin alive, under heavy fire and smiling, sure they would make it. Uncommon bravery, but if the situation had been reversed, he would have done the same for Martin without hesitation.

The narration continued, but Eric’s thoughts had returned to Iraq. Martin hung there. Burned. Tortured. Martin, tied to a stake near the village well, where women and children would draw water and curse at his friend. Two chores completed at the one time. Eric knew their captors’ methods. The radical group that controlled the village indoctrinated the inhabitants. They cultivated a hate of Westerners to equal the necessity of water. Hatred necessary for the hard-line Jihadist, but to use Martin as the symbol … Eric held back the tears. Just.

‘And now, Lisa would like to share with you some words.’

Lisa Callahan looked elegant in her sorrow, regal perhaps. Always beautiful in her own way. A woman suffering, but through strength and will, determined to honour her fallen husband.

‘Three weeks ago, my heart broke with the news that Martin had been killed. My world fell apart.’ Lisa paused. ‘Martin was my husband, my best friend, the father of our children. The man I once dreamed of meeting but never believed existed, but he did. He touched us all, our lives were made richer for knowing him. He gave his life not because of duty to the company, but because he did what he believed in. A man of principle. If there was a doubt that what he did in Iraq did nothing to help the people, he would have been back home with his family. He gave his life for his principles, and for his friends. My heart may be broken, but it will always be filled with love for my Martin. Seeing you all here, I know he is well-loved and remembered.’

Lisa brought a crumpled tissue to her face and wept. A family member quietly helped her back to her seat.

The rest of the service passed in a blur of soothing oration, and strangers who read poems with metaphors and similes, and the mention of peace and rest and home and grief. Then the assembly stood for the last time as the coffin disappeared behind the heavy red curtains.

People filed out. Eric shook hands with fellow Black Aquila members. Many spoke of their relief that Eric made it out alive, and Jacqui thanked them for their kind words. Eric remained mute.

A patient line of people gathered closer to Lisa. Jacqui pulled on Eric’s arm, taking them closer still. A few more steps and it would be their turn to comfort Lisa.

Eric’s heart raced. For the last few days, he had been formulating what he would say. He hoped she’d never learn the full extent of Martin’s injuries, or the manner of his death.

‘Are you okay?’ Jacqui whispered, hiding her mouth behind a hand.

Eric gave one curt nod, and then faced Lisa. When their eyes met, she faltered. After a terse hug, she stepped back.

‘I’m sorry, Eric. It’s been a long day. When I saw you there, I expected Martin to be by your side. It’s silly, I know.’

‘Lisa, I’m sorry,’ Eric said, voice thick with emotion.

‘I haven’t had a chance to speak with you properly.’ She grasped his hands, squeezing with force. ‘Would you mind waiting until everyone has gone?’

‘Of course not.’

‘I’m glad you made it back.’ Lisa stretched up and kissed his cheek before turning to the others who waited.

‘You might as well wait in the car,’ Eric said to Jacqui.

‘I’ll stay here.’

Eric and Jacqui watched in silence as Lisa spoke to the last few to leave the crematorium. The usual sorrowful notes played out, then repeated. Employees of the crematorium went about gathering up the floral tributes.

Jacqui stepped forward as Lisa started towards them. The women embraced, then separated and shared a few quiet words. Eric could not hear the exchange, but noticed Lisa’s eyes flick towards him once. The women spoke a little longer, and then …

‘Eric—’

‘Lisa, please. Let me say something,’ His hands fidgeted at his sides. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘I know you are. We all are, but you have nothing to be sorry about.’

‘No, you don’t understand. It was my fault. It was my fault Martin died. He came back for me. If I hadn’t gotten out of the car …’

Lisa remained silent, her face set in an expressionless mask.

‘When we were ambushed, my car was hit. Martin rushed in to help me. I got him killed. Me.’ The emotion he’d concealed the last few days spilled. Deep sobs racked Eric’s body. His knees weakened. He expected Lisa to strike him. Instead, a soft hand reached out and cradled his cheek.

‘Eric, Martin’s gone. He knew the risks, just like you did. There won’t be a day that goes by that I won’t miss him.’

‘I wish … I wish it was me that died.’

‘Martin did what you would’ve done in his position. He gave his life for something he believed in. He loved you like a brother, but you know if it had been someone else from the company, he would have done the same. That’s what you do out there. So stop punishing yourself.’ She leaned closer. ‘Think of your family. Martin would want you to be happy. You’ve been given a second chance. Don’t waste it at the bottom of a bottle.’ She turned to Jacqui. ‘When things settle down some, you both should come out to the house.’

‘We will,’ said Jacqui, ‘and remember, if you need anything, I’m just a phone call away. I mean that.’

The last glimpse of Lisa, felt to Eric like an unspoken communication. The message was clear. For Martin’s sake, don’t ruin your life.

Chapter 7

Persistence

The little dog’s barks penetrated the wind. PC Galloway halted at the door. He pulled his belt torch out, switched it on, and stepped into the dark house. Using the tiny beam, he found the light switch. With a click, the room came to life, and he extended his collapsible baton.

The small vestibule gave way to a corridor. At the far side, a kitchen cloaked in more darkness waited. To his left, the stairs gave access to the first floor. Several doors led off either side of the corridor. Advancing step by slow step, he opened the first door he came to, a small bathroom, dark and devoid of occupancy. Another door. The same. This was no game show, but rather, a nightmarish situation guessing what was behind each door. Next, a living room. He checked behind the two sofas but found nothing. His sure steps displayed more courage than he felt.

The kitchen was next, but again he found nothing. After the dining room, a small utility room, housing a washer, dryer, and shoes and boots set up on a rack. Nothing more. No Gareth.

He made his way to the stairs.

‘Gareth?’ He flicked a switch at the stairway, but no light came on. ‘Gareth, it’s the police. If you’re up there, let me know.’

Nothing.

‘Are you hurt? Do you need help? Gareth?’

Still nothing. He swore quietly and began the climb. As his foot touched the third step, a noise came from above, a heavy knock, like a hardback book falling from a shelf.

‘Gareth? You’re not in trouble. I just want to make sure you’re alright. Your mum asked me to check up on you.’

The top of the stairs opened into a short narrow corridor. The three doors on his left were closed, while at the far end, the door to the bathroom was open. Its light was on. From where PC Galloway stood, he could see the full interior of the bathroom. Empty. No Gareth.

Three doors remained. An iron key sat in the lock of the middle door. It looked a relic from before the house was modernised. He stepped to the first, pushing his ear to the door. A sound came, but not from behind that door. Further down the hall, movement, the slow pound of footfalls.

‘Gareth?’ he called out again. He advanced down the cramped confines, stepping over an upturned clothes basket. The footfalls quickened in pace. Galloway’s remained slow and mechanical.

‘Gareth. It’s the police. Do you need help? I can get you help.’

He passed the door with the iron key. He was a few steps from the third door, and stretched out a gloved hand to take hold of the handle. The door opened inward before his fingers made contact. The doorway was filled with a figure dripping blood.

Gareth. Naked.

PC Galloway raised a hand as he might to control a crowd, the small torch balancing between thumb and finger. The beam of light danced left and right. ‘Back! Stay back!’

For a fleeting moment, their eyes met. Nothing resembling a human emotion came in Gareth’s glare. His eyes flickered left then right as if not focusing, and it, Gareth, bared its teeth. The snarl that came was canine-like. The infected charged.

‘Stop!’

It was upon him.

***

Magarth managed to get as far as the stairs before Dr. Holden caught up with both he and Coleman. His entourage was a flurry of activity. Men in white coats. Women in white coats. Figures in hazmat suits.

‘Tim. Thank God. Come with me.’

This is it! They know the blood touched me! It’s my turn to go to the basement!

‘Why?’ Coleman asked.

‘Decontamination.’

‘The thing never touched him.’

‘Regardless. Tim, you know the procedure.’

‘And me?’ Coleman asked.

‘You can go.’ Dr. Holden’s tone was that of a teacher addressing a troublesome pupil.

Coleman disappeared from sight before the squeaks from his Converse faded. The other agents followed, leaving Magarth and Dr. Holden alone in the corridor. Never before had he felt such crushing inevitability. How long till he had one of those stun-rods forced into him? He considered running. He considered crying. He considered grabbing one of his pills. He did, from his pocket, and with shaking hands popped one into his mouth then fell into step with Dr. Holden, and headed back to the scene.

DSD agents were busy scrubbing the area. The infected had already been moved to the basement. A figure in a bright-red hazmat suit threw what could have been flour onto the bloodstains dotted around the floor. Another worked at the hinges of the shattered door with an electric drill.

Down another corridor.

‘It’s unfortunate what happened to you tonight. I for one am sorry you had to go through it. To be honest, I’m not sure how this could happen. As you know, checking staff for signs of the virus is a priority.’

‘What’s going to happen to me?’

‘Standard decontamination process. I can’t guarantee you’ll have your clothes returned for a few days. Our cleaning service has lapsed of late.’

‘No!’ Magarth grabbed Dr. Holden’s arm, spinning him around with force.

‘Tim?’

‘I’m not going into the tank. I would rather die than that.’

‘Why would you go into the tank? You had no physical contact with the infected or … did you?’ Dr. Holden took a step back.

Magarth couldn’t keep the lie going. There was something about Dr. Holden. He held up his hand for inspection.

‘From the infected?’

He nodded in defeat. ‘As it broke through the door some blood spilled onto me. Just a drop. Maybe two. I lied. I didn’t want to end up in the tank.’

Dr. Holden seemed to grow a few inches. ‘I need you to be honest. What you tell me in the next few moments is crucial. Do you understand?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you ingest the blood or expose yourself in a way that would risk secondary infection?’

‘It spilled on my hand and that’s it. I swear. It was hardly any.’

‘Has you hand been near your mouth or eyes since then? Think.’

‘No!’ Magarth looked down, revisiting the past hours, replaying every step, every movement. ‘No!’

Dr. Holden pulled a latex medical glove from his pocket. ‘Put this over your hand, and do not, do not touch anything or anyone until I say.’

The glove was a tight fit, but Magarth did as was asked.

‘We’ll take some tests to screen.’

He was going to the basement.

***

Several issues troubled Dr. Holden. How could a DSD operative become infected and escape detection only to turn whilst in the building itself? Granted, the infection was still a mystery, but the signs should have been picked up. Had the expected period of transformation decreased? Was Stage One, Two, and Three, now rapidly altering phases? They needed more resources, more to study, more to study and analyse. It was, as he feared. There was a fundamental lack of organisation in the department’s structure. Dr. Holden knew their operations in Aberdeen could be rightly labelled shambolic, and Peterson repeatedly ignored his requests to bring in more assistance. They needed trained men and women. It was negligence bordering on insanity. Sending Magarth out was criminally inept and by no means was it an isolated case.

Dr. Holden resolved to speak to Peterson again, urge him to see reason, for the good of them all. He would not allow the response teams to suffer these conditions further. Dr. Holden scanned his ID card at the decontamination point. The security door opened.

***

The thing gave a strangled cry as it charged. Saliva fell from its gaping mouth. PC Galloway swung the steel baton at Gareth’s head. It stumbled, scrambled backward, and then regained its footing. He swung again. Gareth ducked from the line of the weapon and charged again. Both men toppled, landed hard, one on top of the other. PC Galloway’s face was inches from Gareth’s. The saliva dripped down in strings, hitting his shoulder. His baton slipped from his grasp and rolled further away as Gareth thrashed about.

His gloved hands grabbed at Gareth’s neck, keeping snapping teeth at bay. The growls that came were wolfish. The stench was beyond horrid. He heaved against the weight. It moved little. Gareth’s hands tore at PC Galloway’s wrists, then at his face. He tried to struggle out of the way of the hands, but he was pinned. Its strength was incredible.

This is it!

Turning his head in a final act of defiance, he waited for teeth to rip at his flesh. No brave final words. No last gambit for freedom. He waited for the pain, and then what? Death? If he was lucky. Or become one of them?

The stench came on hot blasts of breath. Gareth delivered a sharp elbow to PC Galloway’s cheek, and then held it there keeping his head from moving. He could see his baton. It was out of reach.

Be brave! Don’t cry out!

***

The decontamination room was one of the few areas to be manned twenty-four hours a day. Magarth stood naked, arms outstretched. The water washed over him, but instead of being soothing as a warm shower should, with his fear, it felt like stones scratching down his skin. Dr. Holden and two women witnessed the event from behind a protective screen. All three were united with expressions of concern. Perhaps they saw stones instead of water.

‘Turn,’ commanded the electronically projected voice of Dr. Holden. Magarth obeyed without comment. It had been a night of life-changing proportions. He wished he had acquitted himself well, but he knew he hadn’t. He had been terrified, close to blind panic, yet was somehow still alive. Surviving that attack wasn’t a reason to be elated. Surviving that attack meant pain and torture were close. He was lost. Destined to become the infected.

The shower fell silent. This time a woman’s voice came from the speaker. ‘Okay, Mr. Magarth. Out you come.’

Out you come?

The security door opened. A female technician entered with a white robe and towel. Magarth dried himself off, and put on the robe. On his third attempt, his shaking hands knotted the belt.

Out you come?

The technician turned towards the open security door. ‘Come with me, Mr. Magarth.’

He followed.

‘Ah, Tim.’ In the small booth, Dr. Holden bent over a table, deep in study. ‘It’s as we suspected. You’re infection-free.’

‘I am?’
Out you come!
‘You’re sure? How do you know?’ Magarth tried to relax. The persistent shaking of his hands refused to react to the news.

‘We analysed your white blood cell count. We searched for a substantial increase that would indicate infection. None.’

‘Thank God. I thought …’ Tears gathered in his eyes.

‘Compose yourself,’ Dr. Holden whispered. ‘I need to speak to you. In private.’

So, he wasn’t yet in the clear.

‘You’re shivering.’

‘You’re scaring me.’

Dr. Holden smiled. ‘I’ve never thought myself to be a scary man. Do you have spare clothes in your locker … where your taser still remains?’

‘You were right. No, I have no clothes.’

‘Follow me.’ His voice remained at a whisper.

‘Where are we going?’

‘To get you suitably dressed. Then, I could use a coffee. Or something stronger.’

The two men walked through the labyrinth of corridors to the beat of Magarth’s bare feet. He was safe.

***

The anchoring force on PC Galloway’s head disappeared, yet the oppressive weight on his chest remained. His arms were held fast. The infected’s fetid breath no longer stung his exposed neck. Was Gareth toying with him, the way a cat would with a mouse beneath its paw? PC Galloway waited for the inevitable, but it never came.

The creature growled low, its body shuddered. Heavy footsteps raced up the stairs. Where PC Galloway had stepped as lightly as he could on the uncarpeted steps, whoever ascended them now took little pains in subterfuge. The sound rocketed around the hallway.

‘Jesus Christ!’ Keith, the fireman, halted at the top of the stairs, his eyes wide.

In a deft move, the infected leapt to its feet. The once human eyes fell in the direction of the fireman.

‘What the hell is going on?’

PC Galloway twisted, smelled the blood saturating his clothing. ‘Run!’

Keith didn’t move. The infected headed for the fireman.

PC Galloway struck out his hand and managed to catch a leg. Keith seemed to ready himself for a fist fight.

‘No! No! Run you idiot!’

Despite the warning, Keith held firm. The infected came free of PC Galloway’s hold. Keith delivered two sharp strikes to Gareth’s chin, and then another. The third sent the infected back a pace, and as he righted his balance, a howl filled the hallway. Another blow. That one slipped across the cheek as a boxer’s glove would slip across an opponent’s oiled face.

‘Don’t let him touch you!’ Too late.