The Dust: Book Three - Sanctum (12 page)

Harry James didn’t care what she had just said, Angel was giving everyone’s position away. He grabbed her hand and pulled her back to the long grass.

She turned to Harry James. ‘No, it can’t be; I must be seeing things.’ She rose again, but this time being careful not to be seen.

There in one of the huge outdoor yards, walking alongside the wounded, was someone Angel recognised.

‘I have just seen Jeremiah.’ Angel actually smiled at Harry James.

The boy shrugged, not knowing who he was.

‘Jeremiah Rosser. He fought with us in York; he’s our friend.’

‘You know him?’ Harry James also watched, as the older man helped tend to the sick.

‘We must get him out of there. He is a man of the land, a farmer. I can’t believe he is cooped up in that pen under his own will.’

She looked back up to
Roger and
the others on top of the small hill. ‘We must tell Roger, we must get in there and rescue him.’

Jake stood at the bottom of the path. He looked all around and the memories came flooding back.

Old Mill cottage, in all its glory, stood before them in the fading evening light.

On their right hand side stood the steep grassy bank, which shielded the cottage from the north.

As Jake and Amber walked hand in hand down the narrow gravel path, it swung around to the left where a huge wooden gate kept out unwanted visitors.

With his heart pounding, he tried the rusty metal latch with eager anticipation.
Would it be unlocked?

The gate clicked, and then opened.

They both walked onto the vast block paved patio, where three greenhouses sat. Where the patio ended the huge lawn began, which was the size of two football pitches. In the far right hand corner were the vegetable plots. It was looking a bit tired. Jake guessed his uncle, who hadn’t been in the best of health before he had left the cottage, had neglected it somewhat.

He remembered his mother telling him the new owners had bought the house, but hadn’t moved in. They lived abroad, the south of France he thought she had said. Anyway, they had planned to move back to the UK, and this was going to be their project. It looked as though they had never made it back.

‘Daddy, listen. I can hear water.’ Amber looked over to the big garden where the willow trees swept down, their long green branches nearly touching the floor. Jake remembered he had thought it looked like old men with big beards, bent over, their hands dragging across the grass.

‘It’s the river.’

‘River!’ Amber shouted with excitement.

‘Yes, at the bottom of the garden is the river Lemon. It’s full of juicy fish.’

Amber licked her lips. ‘I love fish fingers.’

Ushering his daughter across the patio, they both reached the back door. Jake pulled out the old house keys. Again he could feel his heart beats begin to push upwards into his throat. The last thing he wanted to do was smash a window and break in.

He turned the long silver key. The lock snapped back; Jake turned the handle and the back door opened.

As he walked inside he was hit with a familiar smell.
It’s funny how a house from your childhood
smells a certain way
. It created so many memories and visions. He tried the light switch, nothing happened. The natural light was fading fast, but Jake could still make out the big, farmhouse style kitchen table. The Aga, now running cold, was still in same old place and the pots and pans that hung above it were still gleaming. He gently pulled Amber into the kitchen and closed the door behind them.

Standing on the flag stones he looked up at the wooden beams that ran along the ceiling.

Jake felt warm, he felt at home. This was their sanctum.

As the sun broke through the curtains, Jake looked across the bedroom to where Amber was sleeping soundly. He had pulled one of the single beds into the master bedroom so they could both spend the first night together. He didn’t want to let his ‘Barnacle’ out of his sight. Not for the first few days anyhow.

After arriving at Old Mill yesterday evening, weary and hungry, Jake rooted through the cupboards for food. He had found some rice, some dried herbs and a tube of tomato puree. With the cottage having its own gas supply Jake was pleasantly surprised to find the small gas stove working.

Rice had never tasted so good. Amber was so hungry she polished off two full bowls with gusto. That had made Jake very happy. He could see the colour return to her face in front of his very eyes.

Amber sat at the table, the smells coming from the stove smelt divine.

‘Scrambled eggs?’ Jake asked.

‘Yes please!’ She shrieked. The thought of soft, fluffy scrambled eggs were the thing of dreams only a day or so ago. Amber picked up her knife and fork ready to attack.

‘No toast though, only crackers.’

Amber tutted as she looked at Young Red, who was curled up at the bottom of the Aga. ‘Is there butter on them?’

‘Yes, we have a little butter. Maybe we can try and make some bread later, to make toast.’

‘Yes, that sounds like a good idea.’ She nodded in agreement.

‘There you go.’ Jake placed a plate of steaming, golden, scrambled eggs in front of his Barnacle.

Without speaking she scooped up the first big fork full.

Jake had been surprised the hens had kept laying. He had to go through a few of them, picking the warmest. It was only the fact that they were free range, allowed to feed off the land, that they were still alive. Jake couldn’t work out how they were still there though. Unless his uncle still used the allotment whilst the new owners were in France. It was something that he would most probably never find out.

The green houses were pretty baron, but as Amber slept in the safety of the locked cottage Jake had sowed some tomato seeds. It may be slightly late in the season, but he still thought there would be a chance of a crop before the autumn set in.

That’s now how he had to think. Like a farmer. Planning ahead. Rotating crops, and to continue to sow and work the land. He needed this place to be self-sufficient. He thought of his old friend, Jeremiah Rosser. He would have loved a place like this.

The vegetable patches had been worked on, but he would start to use the raised beds later today. Amber could help him. She needed to learn fast.

He had also found crayfish pots, which he assumed his uncle would set in the river at the bottom of the garden. Jake remembered reading how the American signal crayfish had flooded the rivers, like a plague of locusts; eating everything in their way and killing the smaller, native European Crayfish. The river Lemon must have been one of those infected rivers.

Infected. Jake now knew how the European Crayfish felt. The very survival of mankind, hanging by a thread as an infected species rampaged across the land.

To be out in the open, breathing the clean air and feeling safe was something else though. It had been a long time since he had felt that.

When he looked up at the skies he still couldn’t get use to the fact there were no vapour trails. No planes or helicopters making a noise. Now it was just birdsong, bliss. Peaceful and tranquil.

It was only when he went over to the orchard in the adjoining field that again he felt as though he was being watched, felt uncomfortable. That was when he had decided to go back to Old Mill and wake his daughter, who had slept for nearly fourteen hours.

‘Do we have any tomato sauce?’ Amber asked.

Jake smiled at her as she piled the eggs sky high on a buttered cream cracker. ‘No sweetheart. But soon we will be able to make our own.’

‘That will be fun.’ She giggled as her teeth snapped down on the brittle biscuit.

‘It will Barnacle; we will have lots of fun here, I promise.’ He ruffled his daughter’s hair.

***

Angel held the well-worn leather reins loosely in her hands. No one on the cart had said much over the past hour. Lou Pepper was sat next to her, daydreaming. Naomi was sleeping on the back of the cart amongst the provisions. The mood had gone sullen since departing the huge compound at Taunton.

Angel, excited by seeing their old friend Jeremiah Rosser, had bounded back up the hill to tell Roger. The wind had been taken right out of her sails though, when he completely disregarded any talk of a rescue plan to try and get him out of the camp.

In fact she was the only one willing to wait till the evening, and try and find a way in. Everyone else vetoed her ideas, and opted to push on to Bickington and Old mill cottage. This had made her doubly angry, as Roger almost made out that rescuing Jeremiah was more important than finding Jake.

Angel was seething, how dare he try and suggest that. She, more than anyone, wanted to find Jake. To touch him, to kiss him, to make love to him again. Roger had made her feel disloyal. He reminded her of the old Roger; the arrogant,
my way or no way
Roger.

Reluctantly she agreed to push on. After a while to reflect she could see the danger in trying to get Jeremiah out. Plus, she only said she would let it go if as soon as they got to Old Mill they would reconvene, and then go back to get him out.

Angel knew Roger didn’t want to leave Jeremiah behind, but it was his tone and the way he had said things. That little twat Harry James hadn’t helped matters either, going along with everything Roger was saying. He had just gone from being a lapdog to Lonny Gold, to brown nosing Roger. Angel was pissed off, and everyone knew it. The two boys on their horses were now quite a way ahead, as she had purposely dropped off the pace to show them she could do her own thing.

‘Angel, I’m thirsty.’ Lou whined.

‘Well have a drink of water. There are plenty on the back of the wagon.’

Lou sensed Angel’s prickly response. She had heard the shouting earlier, but didn’t really know what it was all about. She just missed Alice, and Iris. People just kept disappearing, everyone was sad. Even Jake had left them. Her heart sank.

Naomi had heard Lou moaning about wanting a drink, and opened her eyes. What confronted her made her wish she had stayed asleep.

Running towards the rear of the wagon, which was being drawn at a slow pace, were about eight naked figures.

Naomi sat bolt upright and screamed. ‘Infected!’

Angel nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard the girl shout. Angry at being scared half to death, she turned her head to reprimand the teenager. When Angel could see the eight bloodthirsty savages racing towards the wagon she joined in with the shouting.

Grabbing the leather reins as hard as she could, she cracked them hard together, yelling at the horses.

Standing up out of the bench seat, she screamed at the boys ahead of her. ‘Infected. We are under attack. Infected!!’

Naomi got to her knees. One of the Infected, a boy of about fifteen, was now within touching distance of the cart. Grabbing a tin of soup, she gripped it in her right hand.

The crazy young infected boy was frothing at the mouth, but running like the wind. His eyes streaming with blood, he stretched out a bony hand and grabbed the tail gate of the wagon.

Naomi needed no second invitation. She came down hard with the sturdy can, and caught the boy on the temple.

Screeching like a drowning cat, he let go of the wagon and fell to the ground. The others hurdled him as they raced ever nearer. The last of the Infected, a rotund older woman, crashed her left foot down onto the fallen boys head. It split like a melon, brains spilling onto the dusty track.

‘Faster!’ Naomi shouted, as the group were swarming in.

Angel heard the girl, but didn’t answer. The horses had started to trot, but it was no use. They were tired and underfed.

‘Help!’ Angel screamed at the top of her voice. It worked, Harry James turned around in his saddle.

Two naked bodies clambered onto the flat bed of the cart. Naomi continued to hurl cans of food at them, but with little effect.

As she tried to climb over the boxes of dried pasta and rice, a clammy hand grabbed her ankle. Naomi shrieked.

Lou Pepper looked around, and could see Naomi holding out her hand for help. She was too scared to move, and started to mutter to herself. ‘Row, row, your boat, gently over the sea. ’The rhythmical nursery rhyme almost made her regress. Anything to take her mind off the shouting and the frightening nude people.

Angel slammed her feet onto the metal foot plate, tugging at the reins as if she was heaving in an aeroplane. ‘ Whoa!’ She hollered.

The horse came to an immediate and bone shaking halt.

Naomi could feel herself move forward, but managed to hang onto the side of the cart.

The two infected bodies had no such luck. Flying through the air, the first one, a man in his forties, crashed into one of the horses. His neck snapped on impact; the brittleness of his bones made the head sheer clean off. It crashed to the floor and rolled to a stop next to a stone.

The second attacker, a woman, caught her head on the back of the bench seat as she somersaulted forward. Her skull exploded on impact, and sprayed everyone on board with congealed blood and bone.

Lou Pepper, finding she was dripping in sticky liquid, stopped her nursery rhyme and screamed till her throat hurt.

Harry James was now riding back to the girls, as if he was on the favourite in the thousand guineas. He could see all the bodies flying through the air, and then came an enormous cloud of dust.

Without pausing, he rode around the cloud and attacked from the rear.

Pulling out an old cricket bat he had found back at the farm, he gripped the handle tight and entered the dust.

A naked woman of about thirty five climbed onto the back of the wooden cart, spraying blood into the air as she yelled.

Angel spun around to see two bodies moving towards them through the dust cloud. Looking down at the foot plate she could see a small round metal holder; poking out the top was an old, black leather horse whip.

The naked woman was now standing on the flat bed of the cart,snarling and snapping her teeth. Behind her was a man in his twenties; at around six feet four he was a giant of a figure, without an ounce of fat on him. His torso was smothered in dried blood, and dangling from his dripping tongue was a crucifix, pierced into the flesh.