Designated (Book 2): Designated Quarantined (25 page)

Broadhead Barracks

NCO quarters

'Corporal Stabbler, this conversation's not over with; return to your seat immediately.' Hawk ignored the anger-licked call as he pushed the doors aside and marched down the corridor, his rage-fuelled charge echoing around him as his heels clacked against the flooring.
 

A uniformed Marine stepped into his path, hand hanging by his holstered sidearm as Hawk advanced towards the entrance foyer. 'Boy, unless you want to be sucking dinner through a tube, you will get out of my way.' The young Marine bristled as he stared at the still advancing Stabbler and the charging officer behind him, the man's breathless cries echoing past Hawk as he continued to advance. 'Do not let that man leave. Do you hear me, Marine? Do not let that man through that door.'
 

The echoing crack of a pistol rolled through the hallway as Hawk stumbled, his hand rising slowly to his chest as he fell. A rolling ball of cold slowly seeped through him. Staring at his blood-slicked palm, his eyes caught the shifting spots of red as he sluggishly raised his head.
 

Staring upwards, Hawk tumbled forwards, his knees smashing into the floor as his strength faded like ink through water.
 

He stared with a detached fascination as his hands reached out, the image of the soldier fading to nothing as a slim figure clad in red slowly made her way towards him. The whimpering plea of a dying man slipped from his lips as he stared at the cold, blue eyes before him. 'Please, I... I tried... I tried to…'
 

His eyes followed her every move as she knelt before him and gently caressed his cheek, her fingers warm against his cold, pallid skin. Leaning forwards, her hair brushed his face as she whispered into his ear. 'You left him. Like you left me… both of us.'
 

Sarah pulled away from him, her hands growing cold as Hawk looked up into the ripped and distorted face before him. The eyes glowed with hatred as its hands slipped up to either side of his face. The foul, putrid scent of death and rotting flesh filled his nose as its mouth opened a full-throated scream, leaving its shattered lips.
 

'
You left us to die!'

Hawk sat upright, his skin running, alive with sweat as he stared about him, his chest heaving as he fought to ride the wave of panic and fear that had crashed over him. Tossing aside the soaked bed sheet, he swung his feet out and onto the cold floor. The thin stiff pile of the carpet scraped at the soles of his feet as he leant over, a rippling pool of nausea rising up from the pit of his stomach as he held his head in hands, trying in vain to stop the bubbling mire of acid and bile as it teased the back of his throat.
 

With shaking hands, he reached out to the small tumbler on his nightstand, lifting the condensation-slicked glass from the pot cupboard next to him. The cold droplets slid over the tumbler and down his knuckles as he opened the small drawer with his free hand. The rattling of pills in a bottle filled the air as he lifted the white pot free. With a practised movement born of months of repetition, he sent the lid curling from the bottle to land with an almost inaudible
thud
at his feet as he shook three pills from the bottle, letting them land in his open mouth.
 

The bitter taste of chalk and chemicals filled his mouth as he crushed the tablets to a white paste with his teeth. Lifting the glass, he sent the foaming paste of medication swirling down his throat as he drained the glass in one smooth pull.
 

The tumbler clacked with a diamond-like ring as he dropped it back onto the top of the pot cupboard as his mind screamed from inside the prison of his skull; dropping his head into his hands, Hawk fought back the overwhelming urge to scream as her face danced past his closed eyes. Her voice echoed through him as he stared at the lines in his palms. The unbidden memory playing like a movie across his scarred skin.
 

'Tell me, what do you want from this? If this all ends tomorrow, what happens then?' Hawk smirked as he held her in his arms, the smell of her hair filling him as she leant back against him.
 

'I don't know… marriage, children… a life.'

The lines in his hands danced as tears swirled in his eyes. Closing his eyes, he fell back into the memories as warm, swirling pearls fell, his tears crashing against his skin where they burst like stars in the night.
 

Her face twisted in a feral scream as she stared at him, his dirt-stained face reflected back in her eyes as he stood there with Remy's tags clutched in his fist. Her hands beat against his chest as she screamed and railed, his words falling dead in the air as his head snapped sideways, a shimmering red stain spreading across his face.
 

'Why you? Why aren't you dead? Why him?'

Hawk stood mute as he tasted blood on his tongue. Her seething, rage-soaked body only feet away as he set the tags on the table beside him.
 

'He made me leave; if we could swap places, I would.'

His soft words floated on the air as she spun and stared into his eyes. Her shrill scream sliced through to his heart, cutting his so deeply, he had no idea if it would ever truly heal.
 

'
He's still dead
.'
 

Hawk's mind cracked as he screamed back, his rage giving way to all he held inside as he slowly began to crumble.
 

'
He sent me back, for you!
 

Sarah sneered, her eyes brimming with un-shed anger-laced tears as she stared straight into his face. 'All he sent me was the constant reminder of all that I don't have. Some consolation.'

Hawk ground the balls of his hands into his eyes as he dropped back into himself with a sickening thump. Lancing shafts of light carved their way through the gloom as the blinds began to glow; the birth of a new day filled the room as Hawk pushed himself to his feet, which wavered beneath him as he slowly made his way to the bathroom.
 

Stepping into the watery sunlight, Hawk squinted as he stared about him. His uniform hung from his frame like a wet potato sack as he moved with all the purpose and drive of a narcoleptic sheep dog.

The stifling warmth of the air soaked into his lungs as he drew in a breath that weighed on his chest like a block of lead. Pushing open the door to the mess hall, he stepped forwards, weaving and bobbing through the tables as he moved towards the bubbling silver urn at the far end of the hall.
 

Steam boiled over the edge of the cup in his hand as he pushed the lever down, sending the boiling hot liquid sailing into the bottom. The tar-black fluid was like the blood of Hades as he lifted it to his lips, the sharp bitterness filling his senses as it scorched a path from tongue to stomach. The caffeine slithered through his veins, igniting his mind like a flare as he sent the scalding liquid falling down into the depths of his gullet.
 

He stared at his reflection; the dark shadows lined his eyes, drawing his gaze as he watched his face twist and bend in the curved metal mirror in front of him. Setting the cup down on the steel countertop at his elbow, Hawk turned and strode back through the hall, his footsteps echoing off the walls around him.

20

August Twenty-sixth

Lillingston

Lovell

Buckinghamshire

Rufus Shaw swung his feet down onto the carpeted floor of his bedroom, the strong scent of body odour filling his nostrils as he sat at the edge of his mattress and stretched; the heavy tension reverberated through his spine and neck, tickling the bottom of his skull. Slipping his feet into the backless lamb's wool-lined slippers, he padded into his kitchen, scratching at the crease of his backside through his pinstriped boxers, the tightly woven cotton catching at the curled hairs clinging to his buttocks.
 

With a half-stifled yawn, Rufus yanked the wall-mounted cupboard open, the faux pine door covering tickling his skin as he stood staring at the four solitary mugs pushed into the corner of the shelf. Hooking his finger through the handle, he dragged one towards him as he plucked a small premixed sachet of coffee from the jar on his countertop. The sound of the packet slapping against his skin echoed through the kitchen as he set the cup down and tore the sachet open with his teeth as he jabbed his finger down on the button for the chrome steel kettle.
 

The kettle bubbled and hummed as the water slowly began to boil. He paddled into the small, cluttered living room, stepped over to the IPod dock next to his television, and scrolled to his workout playlist. Tapping the centre button, he opened the list and scrolled down to the first song and hit play. The room filled with the heavy strains of 'Hero' by Skillet as he stepped back towards his kitchen, rolling his shoulders and neck as he moved.
 

The hot water streamed from the spout as he poured it into the cup, watching the granules of coffee and powdered milk swirl and dissolve under the deluge of boiling liquid. Taking a tentative sip, he moved into the living room once more and set the cup down on the floor as he dropped into the waiting seat of his weight bench and lifted the barbell from the rack.
 

****

His chest was heavy, sweat running off his brow as his feet pounded against the tarmac. Traffic flashed past him in a spray of grit and a tumbling pall of exhaust fumes, the cloying stench filling his lung as he drew in another sharp breath.
 

The ache in his shoulders made him smile as he carried on forwards. Turning left, he followed the road as it left the paved and covered roads of civilisation, falling into the trodden and water-laden pathways through the patchwork blanket around him.
 

Shaw's feet aquaplaned on the thick, cloying mire of mud and fermented cow shit that filled the gateway in front of him. His arms flailed and spun as he fought to keep his footing. The swinging body ahead of him, battered by the breeze, sent the branches swaying, a dull creak echoing out from the rope around its neck as the deadweight pulled it back and forth like a metronome.
 

The glimmering bead-like eyes of the crows on its shoulders swivelled to him as they sunk their beaks deeper into the disgorged sockets of the dead man's eyes. A soft glinting of shifting silver caught his eye as he stared at the round steel disk nailed to the man's forehead.
 

Dropping his hand to his hip, Shaw jabbed his thumb sharply down on the three and waited for the autodial to kick in. Lifting his phone to his ear, Shaw listened to the buzzing ringing as it slithered through his mind, sifting his brain like a sieve as the sound buzzed around inside his skull.
 

'Please confirm identification.' Shaw sighed as he spoke, his voice slightly breathless as he drew his breathing back to normal. 'Sierra, Alpha, Three, Four, Three.'
 

'Thank you, patching you through to Lt Colonel Colinson now.'

Shaw listened to the deep rumbling tones as the line shifted and bounced from one point to another until it was cut like a knife through silk by the crisp tone of Colinson's voice.
 

'What is it, Shaw?'
 

'Tenth man down, sir.'

Shaw had to pull his phone from his ear as a wall of cursive-filled noise boiled from it. Setting the phone once more against his ear, Shaw listened as Colinson spoke with an agitated sigh lacing his voice. 'Where?
 

****

'Damn it; it's Eccleston. He was on leave for two weeks. His son turned three last week and he wasn't supposed to be back until Monday.'
 

Running his hand through his hair Colinson stared up at the rope that still ensnared the branch twelve feet above their heads. Colinson stared at the sodden soil beneath his feet, the deep-rutted tracks marking the passage of many a vehicle. Kneeling, he traced his fingers through the water-filled indents, his long slender digits dancing over the ridges and dips as his brow furrowed. The offset marks made his eyes widen slightly as he felt a noticeable dip in the pattern that slowly reared its malignant head every three feet.
 

'Shaw, can you get onto Westing and Lincruster? I want a full inventory of the Motorpool and a check on our fuel reserves. This doesn't feel like an outside job. Someone had to have access to our records to know when we would be out and vulnerable. I just hope nothing else was siphoned off. Well, there is fuck all we can do standing here; let's get out of the way so the SOCO boys can get the job done.'
 

They turned and trudged back through the gateway, careful to not disturb the area any more than they already had.
 

****
 

Colinson stood in front of the assembled clerical staff, the motley collection of civilian and military as they waited for him to speak.
 

'We are going back to basics. Our systems have been compromised; someone, be they one person or group has gained access to our systems and this has compromised the safety of not only our operations but also our team members and their families.
 

'So I want the systems scrubbed, all data on them synced to hard drives then pulled from the system, and anything left on them wiped clean. I do not want anything left—not one word file, data packet, or jpeg left on any system connected to our severs.
 

'From now on, we are hard data only. Paper files will be held in the vault under twenty-four hour guard and only removed by an authorised clerk. That goes for all invoices, inventories, deployment rosters, flight manifests—even the amount of ink in our printers. Am I understood?'
 

They nodded with annoyance and mild anger simmering beneath a layer of stoic perseverance as they turned and moved off to their desks and offices to begin the purge.

Over the next three hours, the hum of a thousand computers fell into a silence so filling that it smothered everything it touched. Colinson's ears rang, a high-pitched keening squeal reverberating through his skull as he stood in the now tomb-like room. The corpses of a hundred steel towers standing sentry over the desolate remains of the now eviscerated hard drives.
 

The heavy scent of static-filled ozone and recycled air invaded his lungs as he drew a deep breath. The room once so alive with the flickering of LED lights and the hushed hum of cooling fans was now little more than a tomb for the ill-gotten gains of evil men.
 

Stepping from the room, he paused momentarily at the keypad by the door. Sliding his fingers over the heavy chromed siding, he searched, poised for any sign of deviation or variance in the otherwise flawless block of machined aluminium. He felt a sharp tugging at the pads of his finger as they slipped over the curled and damaged edge. The split seam of brushed metal bit into the tip of his finger, a fine line of scarlet slipping through the ridges of his fingertip as he pulled his hand away.
 

'Hmm, thought as much; sloppy, whomever it was.' Lifting his finger to his lips, Colinson gently sucked the blood from its tip. With care-filled ease, he tapped in a code and set the room to automatic cleanse, watching as the casings filling the room began to smoke and bubble, the heavy acid eating through the remains of everything in the room.
 

The echoing clatter of retreating feet filled the small anterior room as Colinson moved towards the stairs and up into the bitter August sun.
 

****

Derek stared at the disc in his hand, the twisted hole in the top a testament to the arrogant and callous disregard with which the man was treated even after death. Baker sighed as he dropped the dog tag onto the desk in front of him, an overwhelming sense of fatigue and anger boiling through him as he watched the shimmering dance of the metal tag as it slowly settled against the veneered desktop.
 

He stared at his reflection as it danced in the light playing off the steel circle; the shifting wave of letters and numbers seized his eyes, slithering into his mind like water as he gazed upon them.
 

'It's a message, ain't it?'
 

Baker nodded as Shaw stepped partially into the room, stopping just inside the doorway, his hands clenched inside the pockets of his jeans. The light streamed around him, casting an incandescent, almost ethereal halo of white about Shaw making Derek's eyes water slightly as he stared at the man.
 

His footsteps shattered the silence as Shaw made his way forwards, the rough threadbare carpet doing nothing to mute his passage as he reached the desk and stopped. Rufus' eyes lingered on the dog tag as Baker shifted and turned to face the window. Shaw reached forwards, plucking the tag from where it sat on the desk.
 

'So, whose is this, anyway? Name's been carved out of it. It's a naval number; other than that, it's not one I recognise.'
 

Rufus stared at Baker, watching as Derek's shoulders slumped forwards and his head fell into his waiting hands. His reply was muffled, the words nothing more than a jumbled hiss of baritone noise as he spoke. Shaw frowned intensely as his ears strained to pick out the words. 'It's my tag number; it's a part of my old set of tags. Only one person I know could have gotten his mitts on them and that bastard has been dogging my footsteps for well over twelve years.'
 

Shaw nodded as he twisted the piece of steel through his fingers. 'So, you're saying that Ridgmont's picking off my boys because of you?'

Shaw watched as Baker spun his chair away from the window and looked directly at Shaw. 'How do you know about him?'
 

Rufus smirked, the sarcastic sneer twisting his lips as he flicked the steel disk at Derek. 'Every squaddie here knows about that mother fucker and his band of scum. Division fucking Twelve; bunch of sadistic bastards.'

Derek picked the steel disk from off his desk, turning it through his fingers as he dipped into the wells in his mind, his gaze never leaving the battered and dented piece of steel that slid over his palm.
 

Anger blossomed within him, glowing like a ball of flame as it swelled; the searing sphere of boiling rage flowed from his deepest depths, sweeping aside all reason as he slammed his hand against the desk. Pain lanced through him, blood seeping through his fingers, pooling around his hand in a crimson print. The thick, gelatinous mess sealing his hand to the desk as the burred edge of the steel disk sliced deep into the palm of his hand.
 

Lifting his hand away, he stared at the glinting lump of metal as it ran alive with his blood. Derek gritted his teeth as he teased the two-millimetre-thick piece of steel from his palm, letting it fall to the desktop with a dull
thunk
. With an agitated grunt, Derek pulled open one of his desk drawers, took out a wad of tissues, and stuffed them into the rent in his palm.
 

Pushing himself to his feet, Baker stepped past Shaw, heading for the door as the wad of snow-white tissue slowly bloomed red.