The Dust: Book Three - Sanctum (16 page)

Willoughby chuckled. ‘Of course, Airbus. Do you think there will be planes here? I mean ready to fly?’

‘God yes, should be a few.’ Travers looked across the airfield at the closed hangers. ‘All we need is a pilot.’

‘I’m sure we can wheedle out a pilot or two.’ Willoughby turned as the noise of a vehicle approaching interrupted the trio.

The three men watched as a dark blue transit screeched to a halt. The passenger door flew open and a woman jumped out, wearing shades and a baseball cap.

‘Ah, young Emma.’ Willoughby said to himself as he walked towards her.

‘You’re a hard man to find.’ Emma Davis said striding over.

‘Trying to get this norovirus operation under way.’

‘Well there will be an extra thirty four infected bodies to wipe out.’ Davis removed her sunglasses. ‘That’s how many were taken out of Taunton.’

‘Did you find out anymore?’ Willoughby asked.

Slightly ashamed she had failed, Emma glanced down to the floor. ‘No, he wouldn’t talk.’

Willoughby was surprised. ‘Did you interrogate him?’

‘Yes.’ She looked back up at her boss. ‘Waters had to drag me off, it all got a bit messy.’

Willoughby rubbed his chin. ‘He’s a tough cookie, for an old guy.’

‘I think we should make an example of him.’

‘In what way?’

‘Execute him, in front of the other workers. Send out a message.’ Davis’s steely glare never left Willoughby’s eyes.

His mouth dropped open. ‘That’s a bit medieval isn’t it?’ He then ushered Davis over to the other two men. ‘I think we will leave it up to the Doyen to decide what to do with him, Emma.’

‘I’m sure Doc Robert is behind this.’

Willoughby knew Davis was like a dog with a bone. Her disdain for the doctor had been noted. ‘What would he gain from it?’

Davis shrugged. ‘Does he need to gain anything? He’s just a troublemaker.’

Willoughby changed the subject. ‘This is Chris Travers; he’s found all this aviation fuel. The spraying of the Norovirus is a step closer. All we need is a pilot.’ He looked over at the hangers. ‘And a plane obviously.’

‘Do you know any pilots?’ Travers asked Davis.

‘I think Waters has a helicopter license.’

‘Does he?’ Willoughby was intrigued. ‘He doesn’t seem the type. A ram raider maybe, but not the nous to fly a helicopter.’

‘He’s full of surprises.’ Davis smiled.

‘A plane would be better, but beggars can’t be choosers.’ Travers folded his arms. ‘What happened down at Taunton?’

Davis looked at Willoughby. She wasn’t sure it was common knowledge.

Willoughby nodded. ‘A slight mishap.’

‘Some lefty bitch with a bleeding heart decided to release the infected prisoners.’ Davis placed her sunglasses over her cap.

‘What!’ Travers looked at Willoughby. ‘What the fuck is all that about?’

‘That’s what Emma has been trying to find out.’ He stalled, and moved from Davis over to Travers. ‘Unfortunately it’s come to nothing. So far.’

Davis could not just feel the power shift, but it was actually happening in front of her.

Willoughby placed his hand on Travers’ shoulder. ‘Maybe you should take a trip down there. See what you think, see if there are improvements that can be made.

Emma Davis gritted her teeth. That soppy fucking doctor was undermining her authority.
Why had
she taken the infected out of the compound?
Not only did she need to find out, but she also needed to get some results. Maybe her time in the sun was passing, but she would do whatever it would take to keep the glow in her direction.

***

The teenage girl looked down at her bloodied hands. Her vision was blurred by the congealed red liquid seeping from her tear ducts. Wiping the blood out of her eye,s she tried to steady herself. The constant ringing in her head had long driven her insane. She growled as a naked man brushed up against her.

Crouching down low, she could feel the course undergrowth scratching her naked skin. She then relieved herself. A scuffle broke out in front of her; two young boys were biting lumps out of each other.

Her heart pounded hard as she got back to her feet. Racing at double its normal rate, she could feel the warm blood rise in her throat. She coughed and spluttered; liquid shot from her throat, spraying everything in front of her.

She licked her lips, the raging thirst that never went away called once more. She needed to find the big truck. Stumbling over the heather another woman grabbed at her arm, but she shrugged the unwanted advance off. Raking her uncut and broken nails at her, she spat blood in her face.

She could see the truck door open; about twelve other infected humans were huddled around the footplate.

Pushing her way forward, screaming as she went, she managed to get near the front of the huddle.

She decided to go low. On her hands and knees she could feel the wet on the grass. Looking at her palms she could see they were red; blood red. She knew she was near.

Reaching out, searching with her hands, it became a scrum. Then she could feel something soft, something squidgy. Tugging and pulling, she fought with two men to get her feast. Bodies were rolling around on the bloodied grass, all wanting a taste of the sweet liquid.

It snapped; whatever she had been tugging at broke. She managed to grasp the piece of spongy matter. Retreating out of the rut, she scrabbled to a quiet place where nobody was. Opening her hand, she inspected her winnings. It looked like a piece of stomach lining; it was wet and oozed brown matter. Wetting her lips, she stuffed the piece of offal into her mouth. It was divine, juicy and moist; enough to satisfy her thirst for an hour or more.

Back in the huddle the skeletal remains were unidentifiable. The meat had been stripped from the bones. The entrails were scattered over the moor, and the infected were killing each other for a taste of fresh meat.

Just in front of the abandoned truck lay a blood soaked white coat. Hanging from the pocket was an ID tag. The face of Sharon Gough sat upon it. Her body, now torn into hundreds of pieces, lay scattered over Dartmoor.

The infected were now free.

Joined by many more, they now made this harsh and rugged land their home. Whoever trod upon it would now be signing their own death warrant.

Almost on mass, the mutated army moved slowly east to the mountain of rocks.

The large granite cathedral, perched high on the hill of the moor, became a sanctuary. A stone fortress. The gathering now grew. No one would be safe.

***

Jeremiah sat in his wheelchair. It had taken nearly two days for him to recover from the interrogation.

‘Try these.’ Doctor Robert handed him two painkillers and a plastic cup half filled with water.

The old farmer slammed them into his mouth, washing them down his throat with the luke warm

liquid.

The doctor locked the tablets away. He looped the large bunch of keys through his belt for safe keeping.

‘Aren’t you going to ask me?’ Jeremiah winced as he shuffled around on the thin leather seat.

‘Ask you what?’

‘If I was involved, if I helped her release the infected.’

The doctor grabbed a box of latex gloves off the work surface and shoved them under his arm. ‘To be honest, I don’t know what to believe. I thought Sharon was a trusted colleague. Granted I hadn’t worked with her for very long, but I thought she was reliable.’

Jeremiah stopped the doctor. ‘She is a trusted colleague and a loyal friend.’

‘Well obviously not!’ Doctor Robert raised his voice. ‘She betrayed me and everything we are trying to do here. It’s ruined.’

Jeremiah shook his head. ‘More Pureblood philosophy?’

‘No!’ This time the doctor shouted. ‘I was trying to find a cure, a way of bringing the infected back to normality. Now all my guinea pigs are out there somewhere.’ He pointed to the window. ‘Like I said, it’s ruined.’

‘
You
were trying to wipe them out.’ Jeremiah really wanted to get out of the uncomfortable wheelchair and stand toe to toe with the doctor. His legs were too bruised and weak to take the weigh though. ‘Infecting the infected with the Norovirus. That’s not saving them, that’s killing them.’

Doctor Robert clenched his fists in frustration. ‘Yes it is; but think Jeremiah, what does that mean?’

Jeremiah shrugged.

‘It means the infected were catching a normal human virus.’

‘They are human.’

Doctor Robert slammed the box of gloves down onto the work surface. ‘Exactly. Their immune system is still the same, unaffected. The consequences of the virus are different. We wouldn’t die from the Norovirus. That’s due to the state of the infected stomach and the poisoned blood. It can’t cope.’

‘But?’ Jeremiah could sense a but coming on.

‘But there is a glimmer of hope. If something inside them has been unaffected, then we can work on that.’

‘Like a jigsaw?’ Jeremiah was trying his best to think in layman terms.

Doctor Robert nodded slightly. ‘Sort of. It will take a lot longer now. What with all my specimens wandering around outside, on the loose. Generally killing each other and anything that moves.’

‘You never said anything?’ Jeremiah now felt even more guilty about not being able to stop Sharon.

‘No I didn’t. Only I knew; it was safer that way. Imagine if Leila K found out.’ He looked at the old farmer slumped in his wheelchair. He cut quite a pathetic figure. ‘Look at what she did to you. If she thought we were all in cahoots, well, it would have been curtains.’

Jeremiah sighed.
Sharon’s misguided loyalties had made things worse.

‘And answering your question; no I don’t think you were involved.’ The doctor poured himself a cup of water. ‘You are a good man.’

‘What about the Norovirus?’ Jeremiah asked. ‘is that viable, or is it a red herring?’

‘Oh it’s viable. Spray the area where they are, and in a day or two they will be dead. I have to give them something, otherwise I become redundant. We all know what happens then.’

Jeremiah flinched as he tried to lift his right arm. The painkillers barely touched him; Leila K and her lapdog had done a good job. Jeremiah was lucky to be alive.

‘I’m calling a nurse.’ The doctor rang a bell. ‘You need rest. Plenty of fresh air, and then rest.’

‘Is there any point in this?’ Jeremiah stopped trying to move his arm. ‘Any point in carrying on? Look at me.’

‘Come now, I won’t have talk like that.’ The doctor placed a blanket over Jeremiah’s legs. ‘Look at the Welshman. He doesn’t’ even remember his name, but he has fought like a rabid dog to stay alive.’

‘That’s because he has no memory of what a shit world we live in. Believe me, if he could remember, well I doubt he would have tried to stay alive. He would have let himself slip into an eternal sleep. At least we can all get some peace there.’ Jeremiah clocked the cupboard where the doctor was keeping the painkillers under lock and key. That was his plan. As soon as he could walk he knew what he was doing. Peace and quiet, that’s all he wished for; a little peace and quiet.

‘Wake up.’ Angel gently brushed Jake’s cheek. She kissed his lips.

Jake opened his eyes and smiled. He then shot up, remembering where he was.

After setting out for Taunton yesterday, Jake, Angel and Roger had underestimated how long it would take to reach the Pureblood’s base.

Harry James had decided at the last minute to stay with the girls and young Oskar. If anyone attacked Old Mill it was felt one of the boys should be there.

The trio, on horseback, had made good headway at first but the horses had become tired after only a few hours. Stopping at intervals, they pushed on through the night and decided to get as close to the large compound as they could before resting.

They had staked out the compound in shifts; one watching, one sleeping and the other keeping watch of the small camp.

Jake looked for Roger. ‘Where is he?’

Angel stroked his back. ‘Don’t worry, your boyfriend hasn’t gone far.’ She smiled. ‘He’s checking on the times they leave the buildings.’

‘Same as this morning? He asked

‘Yep, every other hour.’

‘Jeremiah?’

Angel shrugged. ‘Can’t be sure. He looks as though he’s sat in a wheelchair.’ She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t add up. The last time we were here he was fit and healthy.’

‘It may not be him.’ Jake stretched, and this was followed by a yawn.

‘Roger’s checking again.’

Jake could then see his friend climbing back up the grassy bank. ‘Here he comes now.’

Roger got to the top of the bank and hurried back to the other two. Before talking he took a big swig of water from the canteen.

‘It’s him.’

Angel punched the air. ‘I knew it.’

‘Why the wheelchair?’ Jake asked.

‘Don’t know. I could just make out a bruise on his face. Maybe he’s fallen.’ Roger offered the canteen to Jake.

‘Well, that gives us another two hours to get ready.’ Angel rubbed her hands together.

Jake took a sip of water, he glanced skywards. ‘It will be dusk then. I say next exercise break, we go in.’

‘Agreed.’ Roger looked over to Angel.

‘Hell yeah, let’s do this.’ She had already packed her rucksack.

The light had turned murky. Jake was now within touching distance of the perimeter fence. Lying flat in the tall grass, he held his hand out to Roger.

Roger pulled the large pliers from his jacket pocket and handed them over.

‘I will go up and cut a small gap.’ He whispered to the other two. ‘When I give the thumbs up we will go in.’

‘Keep low.’ Angel reminded him.

‘And move fast.’ Roger could see the doors of the buildings open as men and women in white overalls emerged.

Jake scurried on his hands and knees to the large metal fence. Griping the pliers hard, he started to cut. He needed to use both hands to get the leverage, but he soon made light work of the thick wire mesh.

He shoved the pliers back into his trouser pocket. Turning back to the other two he gave the thumbs up.

Angel and Roger moved like lightning towards the fence. Quickly the three of them pushed their way through the mesh and entered the large base.