Carrion Virus (Book 2): The Athena Protocol (27 page)

Jane’s arm was cool to the touch. The large medical tent the patients sheltered in kept the worst of the weather out but was by no means comfortable.

“Jane,” Eric whispered. “Jane, wake up.”

She opened her eyes. “Eric? What are you doing here? What time is it?”

“It’s late.” Eric sat back in the chair. “I wanted to come and see you before I go.”

“Go where?”

“I’ve got some bad news, Jane. It’s Doctor Holden. He’s dead.”

Jane’s focus remained on Eric, her eyes unblinking, a glistening beginning to appear. “How did he die?”

Eric thought up ways to tell her how he died. Peacefully in his sleep was what he thought to say. Something in Jane’s steely gaze forced the truth from his lips.

“He was murdered, Jane. Killed by a rogue element of Black Aquila. We couldn’t get to him in time.”

She looked away. “He gave everything to fight the outbreak, Eric. Everything he could. At the end, there was nothing left for him to give. I could see it in his eyes. He was broken.” Jane wiped the tears from her eyes. “So what happens from here? I don’t know what to do.”

“You need to get your health back and when the time comes we’ll get you home.”

Eric knew she would likely end up in a displacement centre. Nobody knew when the mandatory quarantine would end.

“But you won’t be here, will you?”

Eric shook his head.

“So I’ll be left with the CAF people?”

“I’d say so, yes.”

‘What’s going on? Why are you all leaving?”

“We’ve lost too many people, Jane. We don’t have enough left to work effectively.”

Jane simply nodded. “Has any of what we’ve done made a difference, Eric? All the death and pain? Was it worth it?”

“Is it ever?” he said, standing. “I’d better get going, Jane. I’m sorry that I was the bearer of bad news. And now I’m running out on you.”

Jane picked at one of the blankets at her lap. “I regret ever volunteering after you saved me from the hospital. Do you regret your work?”

“Regrets and hindsight can only bring you down.” He patted her arm, and gave a brief smile. “Sometimes events take you along for a ride, and you either hold on or fall off.”

“Poetic words. Not like you, Eric.”

“Said by someone dear to me, not too long ago. Take care of yourself, Jane. Be sensible. You know the signs to look for.”

“Signs? I feel like you’re trying to tell me something.”

“I am,” said Eric. “I’m telling you to be sensible and to take care. See, nothing poetic.”

A roaring din rocked the small tent, several high-powered engines roaring overhead. Jane pulled her covers up. The few medical staff exchanged questions. A phone began to ring, and one of the staff rushed to answer.

“I’ll be back.” Eric ran through the maze of beds, to the exit, pulled the flap aside and stepped out into the storm.

He shielded his eyes from the snowfall in time to see two explosions rip apart a section of the security fence that ringed the airport. A fighter jet, little more than a blurred movement of light banked and turned heading back out toward the coast. A pair of attack helicopters swooped in low. They unleashed a salvo of missiles into the explosion area, followed by a torrent of cannon fire.

The wave of heat from the conflagration hit Eric, dull in the snow but he could imagine the intensity if he had been caught closer.

An alarm. An air raid siren sounded. Lights sprung up over the airport. Armoured vehicles, American Humvees raced toward the inferno, search lights shooting out terrific beams. Eric could now see figures milling about the fire. Infected. It had to be. It was the only thing in the world that could elicit such a response from the military.

Parts of the security fence, reinforced since the outbreak, swayed rigidly. Figures heaved against the fence. The CAF forces raced to intercept them, but there were too many besiegers and not enough defenders. Time to get the hell out.

Eric returned to the makeshift infirmary. Two females dressed in blue scrubs stood near the phone.

“Are there any weapons here? Anything at all?”

“This is a hospital, of course not.”

“Get on that phone, tell them that you need a security detail here immediately. The infected have broken through the perimeter.”

Eric made a snap decision. He did not trust the CAF to secure all their assets in the airport. Jane would come with him. Three more explosions impacted, not so far off.

“We’re getting out of here. This will nip.” Eric yanked off the tape securing the IV line to her skin and pulled free the needle. She let out a hiss. Blood spurted from the tiny hole. Jane watched the blood leak from her, dripping down the length of her fingers onto the floor. Eric pulled a wad of gauze from the treatment table next to the bed, pushed it against the area and taped it in place.

“Can you walk?”

Jane nodded, and threw the covers back. Eric pushed the safety rail down from her bed and she swung her legs over the side. She reached out and Eric supported her as she stood. She wore only a hospital gown.

“Clothes?”

“They took them away. I have nothing.”

Eric wrapped Jane in one of the bed blankets. She grasped it tight beneath her chin. It fell to just below her knees. She slipped her feet into thin hospital slippers. Walking outside in them, in the temperature and snow would mean losing toes. They did not have time to search for more appropriate footwear. Eric took Jane by the hand and led her through the infirmary, past startled and panicked patients. He ignored all questions and pressed on. One of the nurses stepped in front of him.

“You can’t leave! What do we do? I called and they said they’re aware of the situation.”

“Then sit here and wait for someone to help you.”

“But you’re not waiting.”

“Look,” said Eric. “I can’t help you.”

Jane let out a yelp as her unprotected feet disappeared into the carpet of white. The crackle of gunfire ripped through the night. High-powered, likely .50 calibre pounded in the near distance. Infected poured through the several gaps in the security fence. CAF forces engaged them where they could, but there simply was not enough of them. A group charged through the snow toward the infirmary.

“Time to leave,” said Eric, scooping Jane up in his arms.

Eric ran, and Jane clung to him, her arms tight around his neck. She was not heavy, but pushing through the snow and wind made the five-hundred-metre dash to the car painfully slow. He knew what the infected were capable of, what they could endure. They would not be likewise hampered.

“It’s cold,” she stammered. “So cold.”

“Think about the summer. Imagine you’re on a beach somewhere.”

“You’re joking, right?” Her teeth chattered.

“Then try a cruise ship.”

They raced through the airport grounds to where the car was parked. Eric’s breath burned in his chest. He was unable to speak. He laid Jane on the ground and patted down his pockets, searching for the keys. For one, horror-filled moment he believed he had left them in the infirmary. He found them in his pocket, a single key attached to a ticket with a number. One of the pool cars available to Black Aquila. He unlocked it and opened the door, and threw Jane into the back. Eric got in and started the engine. Another attack helicopter flew overhead, low. He put the car into reverse and turned.

“This cruise ship is mighty uncomfortable,” Jane said.

“It’s the best I could come up with.”

“I can’t feel my toes.”

It would not be a long drive back to either the hotel or the Black Aquila Chinook which would be flying them out of the city.
Wheels up
was scheduled for very soon. Eric decided to head for the Chinook first. With Williamson being so well-connected he would no doubt be aware that the perimeter had been breached.

Eric checked behind. Jane was propped up on one elbow, sprawled over the back seats.

From Eric’s periphery, he saw the approaching shadow too late. The impact jolted the entire vehicle. The driver’s airbag inflated with a bang. The car flipped throwing the two occupants about like ragdolls. Eric landed heavily, smashing his shoulder against the door. Behind, Jane screamed before falling silent. The car rolled a few more times then came to a rest.

Eric groaned, letting his vision return. A dull calm settled on him, the world beyond forgotten. Blood dripped from a scalp wound. He wiped at his forehead. Jane! He turned where he lay. Jane lay still, breathing but unconscious. Eric moved, wriggling himself to the door of the car. He kicked out at the buckled hinge, knocking the door free. He pulled at Jane’s arm, not softly, and dragged her between the two front seats and out of the passenger door. He scooped her up and slung her over his shoulder.

The Humvee they struck had been knocked off course, the front wheel slightly buckled. Two soldiers inside, attempted to restart the engine.

He moved on, Jane’s weight feeling as though it had doubled. Eric scaled a small embankment and went down the other side. Two-hundred feet in front of him, the landing area where Black Aquila embarked for operations. The black Chinook waited, rear door open. Men moved about outside, loading boxes onto the aircraft. Shouting would be pointless. Eric moved forward with all the speed he could muster, knowing full well that hell snapped at his heels. His feet left snow-covered grass and landed on tarmac. Carter stood at the edge of the ramp, waving for Eric to hurry.

“Who’s that?” he asked.

“She’s coming with us.”

“You’re both hurt. We can’t take her out with us, you know that. Everyone on this aircraft has been screened. She hasn’t.”

“I’m not leaving her, Carter. Get out of the way.”

Williamson stomped down the ramp. “Stop pissing about and get on board.” He pointed to the skies. “It’s starting to get a little busy up there.”

Aircraft were taking off in rapid succession, large cargo planes for the most part.

“He’s trying to take this woman out with her.”

Williamson looked between Eric and Jane. “We can’t just leave her here. Take her on. Hurry.”

Eric moved up the ramp. Williamson assisted with Jane. They lowered her into one of the chairs and strapped her in. Her arms and legs were heavily lacerated. Thick shards of glass protruded from several of the wounds.

“Can you feel your toes now?”

Jane shook her head.

Eric took the seat next to her. Williamson next to him. Carter closed the rear hatch and gave the signal for take-off.

The Chinook shuddered, then the ground fell away.

“We don’t know how this happened, Eric. The CAF was caught unaware. We didn’t know such a large migration of the infected could move without being detected. The weather probably masked some of the movement but this is a disaster. We got the order to bug out ASAP.”

“What about the hotel?”

Williamson smiled. “Nobody came. I guess they’ve got bigger issues right now.”

The events at the hotel not being investigated was a stroke of luck in the grand scheme of things. It meant less scrutiny for Black Aquila. Eric pulled a thermal blanket free from beneath his seat and covered Jane, tucking it tightly against her.

“We’re flying to the coast and following it south. If there’s ordinance being dropped into the airport we will try to miss the worst of it,” said Williamson.

Eric turned to the window. His shoulder burned. Below, the airport burned. New explosions popped every few seconds. Whatever was happening down there, it was murder. He thought about the nurses and patients in the infirmary, he did not even try to save them. Were they dead now? If they were not dead now, they soon would be.

The Chinook banked and turned to the coast. The sea stretched out below, opal and twinkling. A fleet of ships from many nations lay at anchor. Brief flashes lit the decks as missiles sped from the military vessels into the city. Fighter aircraft launched from an American aircraft carrier. All flying toward the city, all seeking to stem the tide of the advance of the infected. Eric leaned back, welcoming the altitude the Chinook provided. Eric was leaving Carrion City behind.

Only a select few knew that The Athena Protocol was initiated. The terrible carrion outbreak that ravaged Aberdeen would soon become the pandemic academics feared. It was coming for them all.

Read on for a free sample of Devouring The Dead

PART ONE: GROWTH

CHAPTER ONE

Andrew James Collins had gone through his regular Monday morning procedure like every other week: up at six, teeth brushed, face washed, and out the door by six fifteen for a run. It was getting harder to leave his sleeping wife, Grace, when he got up. All he really wanted to do was snuggle down under the covers with her. With a baby on the way, she had had to give up the running and he was sad she couldn’t come with him anymore. He was looking forward to being a father for the first time though. These early morning runs gave him the chance to think about the future. He forced himself out of bed nearly every morning, the upcoming marathon was his prime motivator. This one would be his third and he wanted to improve on last years’ time.

He kissed his wife goodbye and crept out of the bedroom discreetly. Andy pulled on his trainers and did his normal warm-up downstairs in the front room, doing some basic stretching. He left the house quietly and took off down the street. It was overcast and threatening to rain, so he planned to make today’s run a quick one and cut through the park. He passed through the streets, listening to the world waking up around him. The odd car and delivery truck passed him by and occasionally he would run past someone on the path clutching a newspaper or a carton of milk.

He ran through Jamaica Street quickly, down another quiet residential road, until he reached Stepney Green Park. He knew he could run around it this morning, double-back on himself, and that way hopefully beat the weather. If he was doubly lucky, he could get back in time for a cuddle with Grace before he had to get ready for work in the city.

As he jogged through the park, he enjoyed the smell of the grass and the trees. His breath fogged out in front of him in the crisp air and he ran past a park bench where an old man was sleeping, covered in soggy newspapers. There was another jogger on the far side of the park, but otherwise it was deserted. The sky overhead was darkening ominously and he increased his pace.

A boom of thunder rolled out above the trees and he felt a large raindrop break on his head. The thunder faded away and Andy followed the curve of the path through the park and out into the open. If the raindrops became a downpour, there would be little shelter. There was a crack and a flash and Andy thought it was lightning, but the ground abruptly exploded in front of him. Grass, mud, and dirt flew up into the electrified air.

He went sprawling, landing on the dewy grass. Clumps of sodden earth landed on him and he tasted blood in his mouth. He got to his feet and waved his hands in front of his face, trying to waft away the cloying dirt in the air. More thick droplets of rain began falling. Surely, the lightning hadn’t struck the ground; there was no conduit. Andy could see nothing for it to strike.

As the air cleared, he saw a hole in the ground ahead, about six feet in diameter. It was circular and deep, and Andy’s first thought was that a bomb had gone off. Why would a terrorist detonate a bomb in the middle of an empty park in the morning?

Carefully, Andy walked toward the hole. There was no burning smell, no smoke, and he began to think perhaps it wasn’t a bomb. It just didn’t make sense.

He scanned around the park but the other jogger had disappeared, and the homeless man was still on the bench sound asleep. Evidently, the noise and the light hadn’t been enough to shake off the old man’s hangover. Andy couldn’t see anyone else around; there were no prying eyes or hidden cameras on the trees, and no sirens or SWAT team sprinting toward him. He took one more step toward the hole and stopped.

A strange, moth-like creature flew up into the air and hovered about ten feet off the ground. If that’s a moth, he thought, it’s the biggest bloody moth I’ve ever seen. The body of the creature was the size of a rugby ball and its brown leathery wings stretched out about six feet from tip to tip. Two antennae were sticking out of its head, waving around like divining rods. They were covered in a light fur that appeared oily; the raindrops were splashing off the creature and onto the ground, leaving the flying beast dry.

Andy looked at it with amazement. The creature had no eyes or mouth that he could see; it was like a massive moth with no face. It fluttered its wings slowly and secreted a dark liquid from its rear, a dark gooey substance that dribbled down its belly before dripping onto the earth below. The creature still hovered in the air with only its wing flapping and its antennae wiggling around. Andy took a few paces away and the creature started to follow him. Its wings flapped slowly and Andy was amazed it could remain air-born. He tried to think if he had seen anything like this anywhere before; he’d seen bats and bizarre creatures that lived in remote jungle caves on documentaries, but nothing like this, nothing in a central London park.

He took another few steps and the strange creature followed him again, this time coming closer. He wasn’t sure if it was the developing rainstorm, but the air seemed alive, as if the very atoms were crackling.

Thinking he must tell Grace about the weird flying animal, he watched as the flying beast rose higher into the air. Relieved that it was leaving, Andy heard a low humming noise. Looking closer at the moth-like creature, he realised it was coming from the animal. Its body was vibrating, its wings suddenly flapping furiously, and its whole body shuddering. Andy stepped back, alarmed, and the antennae suddenly went stiff, pointing directly at him. He turned and ran as the creature swooped.

He heard the wings beating behind his head, as he ran on the soft and slippery ground. Panicking, he turned and the creature was right in front of his face. Its wings wrapped themselves around his head and the rigid antenna dug themselves into his eyes. Andy screamed as the stinking creature’s body enveloped his face, muffling his shouts for help, and covering his bleeding eyes.

Andy sank to the floor, blinded as the antennae probed further into his head, reaching into his brain. Unable to breathe, Andy pulled frantically at the creature, but his fingers could not find a hold and the more he pulled, the more the creature dug in. His fingers slipped uselessly off the creature’s furry body. Andy’s lungs filled with blood and his heart beat furiously. Aware he was dying, Andy tried with one last attempt, one final adrenalin-fuelled charge, to rip the creature from his head.

The animal’s body quivered and with a tremendous thrust, it ejaculated a brown thick liquid into Andy. Its antennae were used for both sensing prey, and delivering its fatal poison. Andy’s body pulsed, soiled itself, and lay still as the creature continued trembling, its sticky seed flowing into Andy’s brain.

Finally, it was spent and the creature unwrapped itself from him. With its job done, the creature used its last ounce of energy to fly up into the nearest tree where it curled up in the concealing branches to die. The animal knew it had a short life-span, but was content it had fulfilled its purpose. It had little energy left and would probably wait here for a while until it slipped into sleep; unless something else came along to draw its attention.

The storm grew stronger and the rain fell on Andy’s dead body, the water pooling in his empty eye sockets. Dark brown droplets of liquid oozed from his ears, nose, and mouth, mingling with blood before trickling down onto the wet ground. Blisters appeared on his face and painful red boils erupted on his neck that popped like fresh kernels of corn in a microwave.

A young woman, another jogger, entered the park a moment later and saw Andy lying on the floor ahead of her. She raced over to him, but she knew that he was clearly dead. Assuming he had suffered a heart attack, she didn’t touch his body, but left him alone and called for an ambulance, the police, and then finally her boyfriend to tell him of the excitement. In all the confusion and drama, she didn’t notice the unnatural hole in the ground. She was so busy tweeting about the dead jogger in the park that she failed to notice when the ambulance men took Andy away, and a strange, furry, creature with huge wings flew up into the air above her.

* * * *

The bus journey to work changed little, no matter where you were headed, thought Tom. He looked around the bus at the coughing lady, the stinking old man with rolls of newspapers under his arms, the obnoxious school children playing obnoxious music from their obnoxious phones, and the atypical surly driver. Tom tried shuffling further to the window, away from the fat woman next to him whose blubbery rolls of fat were threatening to engulf him and his bag. He cursed her in his head and focused on the street outside, raindrops spilling down the glass and obscuring his vision. He used to get off here, go into college, grab a coffee, chat to a couple of guys on his course, pretend to be interested in what his boring tutor was lecturing him about, shoot home as quickly as possible to avoid doing any real work, and get straight back to doing nothing.

There was no escaping it though - those cushy days were over. One week. His parents had given him one week’s grace between leaving college and forcing him to get a job. So here he was, squashed up on a bus that smelt of piss and chips, headed to what was probably going to be a very boring day at a new job. His father had a word with a friend, and got him in ‘Fiscal Industries.’ Even the company’s name sounded boring. Apparently, it was a call centre and he didn’t know what he’d be selling. Thanks dad, thought Tom.

He yawned and his breath fogged up the glass. The fat lady got up as the bus stopped, and Tom was grateful he wouldn’t have to squeeze past her when he got off at the next stop. The streets were full of people, scurrying through the rain to work. His father had told him he was wasting his time taking media studies at college. Certainly Tom couldn’t see how he was going to use his knowledge in a call centre, selling foot-rot pills to old folks for seven quid an hour.

He’d rarely been to this area of the city, but then he’d seldom had cause to. Tom preferred to stay near home or college; there were enough pubs not to need to go into the city. Here, executives, rushing from one meeting to the next, populated it. Why would he want to mix with people he had nothing in common with? Abundant skyscrapers scratched the skyline whilst at ground level, the rain pelted down on grey concrete and black suits.

Tom finally spied the building he had to get to, and pushed the button to get off. He tried not to breathe in as he passed the old man with the newspapers. He slung his satchel over his shoulder, and stepped off the bus into the rain as it pulled up by the side of the road.

“Watch out, idiot,” said a nondescript man bumping past him, trying to dodge the raindrops as he rushed to his office. Tom shrugged and looked at his watch: nine a.m. He looked around at where he would be working as the bus pulled away. He stood under the bus shelter, sheltered from the rain, marvelling at the skyscraper in front of him. He tried counting the floors, but could only get up to twelve before the misty rain hid the rest. We used to build churches, he thought, now we have giant, glass, monoliths to worship, and money. C’est la vie.

Tom checked the road and ran across to the entrance. He was struck by how much glass there was: the doors, the walls, and even the tables. Hope they’ve at least got proper walls in the toilets, he thought, as he slipped unobtrusively through the large sliding doors. The interior of the foyer was huge: marble columns sprouted from a smooth, slippery marble floor, and vast chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Men and women bustled past him, to and fro, ignoring him; Tom felt invisible. He approached the reception desk.

“Good morning,” said the beautiful young girl behind the glass desk. Tom couldn’t help but notice that her complexion was perfect, and her hands were perfectly manicured. Through the glass desk, he also noticed her long legs. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad working here.

“Hi, I’m Tom, Tom Goode. I’m here to start work today at Fiscal Industries,” he said, smiling, while reading her nametag: Jessica.

“Certainly, sir, please take a seat, I’ll get someone to come and fetch you,” said Jessica. She gave him a smile and picked up the phone.

“Thanks,” Tom said. “So, Jessica, what’s it like working here? You like it?”

She ignored him and proceeded to ask someone to come down to get him.

“Seats are over there, sir,” she said, ignoring his gaze, and spinning her chair around to talk to her colleague.

“Pleased to meet you, too,” he muttered, walking away to the black leather sofas. He sat down and marvelled again at the building. The entrance alone was bigger than his entire flat, and the whole place was spotless. Men and women sped past him to the lifts at the far end, already at work on their mobiles. Suddenly Tom felt very out of place. He straightened his tie and looked down at his shoes; he hadn’t even polished them this morning. He surreptitiously licked one finger and bent down to rub the scuff marks and dirt off. As he did so, his phone vibrated and he took it out.