Carrion Virus (Book 1): Carrion City (17 page)

‘Then tomorrow will be interesting. Think I’ll go get my head down.’

‘Tomorrow is going to be a storm. I’ve got that feeling.’

‘Good to see you, Brutus.’ Eric turned and walked to the door.

‘How’s the family?’ Brutus called after him.

Eric did not turn, but knew Brutus was smiling. Did he know what had happened? Impossible.

***

Nobody passed in the half-hour since Gemma began her vigil.

‘You should come and see this. It’s insane.’

Gemma switched off her camera and joined Stacey on the sofa. She took hold of her wine glass. In a situation like this, there was little left to do other than have a drink.

A live news report near one of the military barricades was on TV. An excited reporter talked about how they were not allowed within a half-mile of the actual checkpoint. Behind her, military vehicles and personnel filed past. No weapons were shown.

‘Don’t you think it’s weird that none of the soldiers have guns, Stace?’

Stacey drained her glass and placed it onto the table. She shrugged. ‘Not really. It’s not as if the army is going to start shooting people. Besides, you see guns, you panic. I know I do. I was in New York a couple of years ago.’

‘Guess so. I just think it’s weird.’

A thud came from the landing, followed seconds later by two smaller ones. Both women sat upright, watching the door. Neither spoke for a moment.

A heavy bang hit the door.

‘It’s probably just my neighbour. He’s always banging about.’

‘On your door?’

Silence. Gemma eased back into the sofa. ‘Relax. The door’s locked. We have wine. We’ll be just fine.’ However, she didn’t feel fine.

Stacey reached for the bottle. She shook it, watching the remains of the cork cling to the bottom.

‘I’ll get another.’ Gemma retrieved a bottle from the kitchen and returned to the living room. Stacey was white. ‘What’s wrong?’

Stacey pointed to the door. The hairs on the back of Gemma’s neck tingled. The door handle turned. Slowly at first, then with urgency. A weight slammed against the door. Shrieks followed, like someone suffering unimaginable pain. The bottle slipped from Gemma’s grasp, smashing on the floor. Stacey screamed.

***

Magarth slipped to his knees, threw his hands out to avoid tumbling further onto the snow.

‘Come on!’ He heaved himself up, looking behind for signs of pursuit. He saw nothing through the falling snow. Even the streetlights were cloaked in white and dimmed to a grey.

He still didn’t have an escape plan. After leaving the guesthouse, he ran through the streets, hoping to find a bus or taxi. He encountered only a few people, hurrying to be off the streets.

A scream. It was close, and the scuffling of feet.

Magarth broke into a run, moving faster than he thought he ever could, arms flailing for balance like a windmill in a storm. Dark silhouettes appeared at the very edge of his vision. Thoughts of Maria and their baby kept him moving.

He took a moment to check behind. A group of perhaps ten, heading his way, and fast. The noise they threw told him they were infected, and after him. He headed for the first side street and leapt over a small brick wall, landing heavily in a garden. Swearing he pulled himself up, stumbled to a door and hammered with both fists.

‘Please, let me in! I need help!’ He stepped back. Curtains covered the window. A thin swirl of smoke climbed from the chimney.

‘They’ll kill me!’ He thumped the door a final time. The infected were close. Too close. There was nothing left but to try the next house. He ran through the garden, lifting his knees high, and dived over a dividing wall. His landed face first into the snow. On hands and knees, he scrambled to the doorway, spitting snow as he went. He ripped the taser from his bag, pulled himself up onto his knees, and found the doorbell. Taser in his right hand, he jammed the doorbell with his left not letting go. His right hand shook. So did the taser, but he was ready. If they reached him, he would shoot.

‘Go away,’ a female voice commanded from beyond the door.

‘Please! Let me in! There are people after me! Things after me! Monsters!’ He pushed the doorbell again and again.

‘The TV said not to let anyone in.’

‘I’m with the DSD. You’ve heard of them? Please!’

Magarth fumbled for his ID badge and pulled it free of the cord around his neck. He pushed it through the letterbox. ‘I have a wife and child on the way. Please.’

The screams were loud now, close enough that he expected hands around his throat any minute, fingers at his eyes, fingers ripping him apart, and he expected to fire.
The taser!

‘I have a taser gun. I can protect you from those things.’

Three loud clicks and a bolt slid open. Magarth did not wait, he pushed through, knocking the woman back.

She gave a sharp scream.

Magarth pushed the door closed, and from top to bottom, locked all the mechanisms.

‘You have a taser?’

‘Flick the lights off. All of them.’

Her eyes raced over Magarth and to the taser before she obeyed. They were left in near darkness, a dim light diffusing in through the pane in the door. She was about to speak but Magarth motioned her to silence. He slid to the ground and waved her to join him. The scent of vanilla wafted about the house. It was the nicest thing he’d smelt for some time.

A blending of shadows danced behind the glass. Heavy breathing and a garble of screeches came from beyond the door. A face pushed against the window, followed by a pair of hands smearing blood on the glass. A deep-throated screech came. The woman grabbed Magarth, and he slapped a hand on her mouth.

The figure bashed at the door, once, twice, a third time, and then disappeared. The garble became a refrain of howls. It moved from the door, then grew distant, then was gone. Must have found someone else to chase, he thought. Magarth untangled himself from the woman.

‘Thank you for letting me in. I … I didn’t know how much longer I could have stayed out there.’

‘What are those things? The TV said it could be bad, but …’

‘They’re infected with some sort of influenza. You can’t go outside and you can’t let them know you’re in here. Everything has gone to hell. It’s crazy out there.’

A child’s cry sounded from upstairs. Both jumped at the sound. It was loud, sharp and exactly what Magarth did not want.

‘You have a baby? We need to keep it quiet!’

‘How do you expect me to keep a baby quiet?’

‘Do your best. Those things are attracted to noise.’

She turned quickly towards the stairs.

‘I’m Tim, by the way.’

‘I know,’ she threw over her shoulder. ‘I saw your ID. It’s on the floor.’

‘I’m Terri, and the wee man making that noise upstairs is Liam.’

Magarth picked up his DSD card. The picture was taken at a time when he did not think nightmares could be real. He poked his head into the living room. A phone sat on a small stand, next to the sofa. He looked back to see if Terri returned. He was alone. He picked up the receiver and put it to his ear. The single tone droned on.

‘Damn!’ He picked through his pockets. He was in need of a pill and fast, but nothing, they were empty. He scoured through his rucksack. Nothing. The contents were upended onto the floor. No pills. ‘Damn!’ he cursed again. He must have left his supply back at the guesthouse.

‘Tim?’ Terri called softly from the top of the stairs. ‘You can come up now, Liam’s asleep.’

***

They both watched the door, paralysed, helpless. The wine from the broken bottle pooled around Gemma’s feet. The latch splintered. Raspy growls and snorts came from the other side. Another thump and the door gave way, the security chain snapping, thrown clear of the doorway.

A bloodied figure crashed through the door. It fell and skidded along the floor, then let out a roar. Stacey screamed, scrambled over the back of the sofa escaping the reaching hands of the infected. The monster snapped its jaw over and again. Its eyes rolled then steadied and rolled some more. Then fixed on Gemma.

She recognised him. Her neighbour. Naked, apart from a pair of blood-streaked white boxers, his body marked with bleeding sores. He sniffed in Gemma’s direction.

‘Run, Gemma!’ cried Stacey.

Gemma took a couple of steps back, putting the coffee table between she and her neighbour. The infected lunged, fingers wide and grasping. Gemma slapped at his clammy arms, the skin wet and slick. Its hands went to her throat. With impossible strength, it pushed her back, until she crashed against the wall. Christmas baubles fell from a shelf. Then a vase, then books.

Gemma wanted to scream but nothing came. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see her death approach. She wished to be anywhere else, cursed with any misfortune, just not here, not now. The infected grasped a handful of her hair, and ripped is from her scalp. This is it, she thought. I’m going to die.

The hands disappeared from her throat. Gemma fell to her knees, gasping for breath. She looked up. Stacey had thumped its head with a cast-iron lamp, but it did little to deter the monster, her neighbour. It jittered and shook in a macabre dance, then tensed, ready to pounce again. Seeing a chance, Gemma scuttled forward on hands and knees and grabbed it by the foot.

‘Hit it again! Stacey! Do it!’

The lamp came crashing down. A crack sounded. The infected continued to struggle.

‘Again!’

Stacey did. Again, and again. Blood spurted. The infected’s movements stopped, but she kept hitting until the lamp slipped from her grasp. Its head was open.

Stacey sobbed.

‘Stacey, here.’ Gemma reached out her arms, motioning for Stacey to join her. The girls sank into an embrace. ‘You saved me.’

***

Magarth climbed the stairs and came to the first door. Terri appeared with a candle in a jar, and closed the door behind her.

‘Not here,’ she said, ‘down there.’ She pointed along the hall to another room.

A timber desk, a laptop, small lamp, a bookcase brimming with non-fiction and photographic collections, a two-seater leather sofa, and framed family pictures on the walls. Terri placed the candle on the desk. The hint of vanilla hit him again.

‘Sit,’ she said, pointing to the sofa.

Magarth fell into the padded leather, and reached across and closed the blinds.

‘Can I put the light on?’

‘If it’s dim.’

Terri sat at the desk seat. She was attractive, tanned skin and a perfect smile, dark-red hair, pulled back in a loose ponytail. Slim and wearing pyjamas, she seemed more vulnerable than he did.

‘Are you hungry? I can make you a sandwich or something.’

‘No. Can’t say I’ve got much of an appetite.’

She twisted around, pulled open a drawer on the desk and removed a bottle of malt and two glasses. ‘My husband’s. He keeps it here for emergencies. Are you married, Tim?’

‘A wife, Maria, with a baby on the way.’

She poured two generous glasses. Magarth rolled one around in his hand, watching the enticing liquid swirl. With his supply of pills gone, this would do. He imagined sitting at home, with Maria next to him, her hand on his leg as they listened to music. A world away. No panic, no fear. Only love and laughter.

‘Where’s your husband?’ He took a good sip.

‘In the hospital. In isolation actually, for a week now. I phone the number they gave me three times a day, morning, noon, and night, trying to get some information. It’s an answering machine. They just ask for your number and the name of the person you’re enquiring about.’ Her eyes grew watery. ‘It was your DSD card that made me open the door. What’s going on? What’s happened to my husband? David Pegg. Do you know him?’ She drained her whiskey.

Magarth thought back to all the faces in the tank. To him, they had been monsters, merciless things to be feared. Her husband could have been one of them, or, one now prowling the streets. He looked at the wall, and the array of photos. A face was put to David, a picture of Terri and him sitting on a yacht, holding each other close.

‘Tim?’

‘I wish I could tell you something, but I’m a data analyst, I didn’t deal with anyone directly. I don’t know more than you.’

‘Could David be like those things that chased you tonight?’

‘I don’t know for sure. There’s a chance.’

She finished her whiskey. ‘I just hate this not knowing. I’ll get you a duvet and pillows. Sleep in here tonight.’ Terri halted before she got to the door. ‘There’s a mobile on the desk. You can try your wife.’

He reached for the mobile. The screen lit up.
No Service.

***

Gemma wanted it out of her flat. The girls wrapped the body in a duvet, and dragged the dead neighbour out into the hallway. She crudely pieced the door back together. It offered little security, so she upended a lounge chair, leant it across the doorway.