The Dust: Book Two - Pursuit (16 page)

‘Oh fuck.’ The words just slipped out. He moved on to the next body, an old man, it was the same, the eyes had been taken out. He moved to the next body, a small boy of about seven, again no eyes. He walked past every lamppost and not one eye was intact.
Was this the work of the infected or just groups of blood crazed murderers taking advantage of a world with no law?
Roger swung around holding his hand to his mouth, burst into tears.
What sick world was he now living in?

He had seen enough, gripping his loaded rifle he ran from Royal Crescent, down the grassy bank and towards the smaller houses which dotted the outskirts of the city. The bodies hanging from the lampposts haunted his mind and he screamed out loud to try and force them out. He felt as though he was being watched wherever he went, even though he hadn’t seen one moving body, be it clothed or not. Again, he ran and again, he could see the dust particles swirling around in the midday sun, he held a tissue up to his mouth, but it was pointless, you couldn’t escape it.

Finally Roger stood at the bottom of his street, he looked at the road sign,
Hill Crest,
he wiped the dust from the top of it. Now he walked, as the house got closer, his walk got slower. The anticipation of what he might find was becoming too much. The lack of life he had encountered in Bath and the swinging bodies of Royal Crescent wasn’t good, the whole city felt and looked abandoned. Roger got to the small metal gate which was situated four paces from his front door, he pulled out his keys. He walked to the white UPVC door with the number sixteen attached to it and touched it. The door moved, it was unlocked, ajar, Roger gently pushed it open. His heart skipped a beat as his hallway opened to him, it was if he had never been away. The old wooden table stood on the right hand side, with the telephone sat neatly upon it, a few letters were neatly stacked up behind it. One thing was for certain, the place was too neat and tidy for any of the Infected to have ransacked his gaffe. He wanted to call out, to tell them he was home, he had made it. Roger wanted to feel Suzanne’s welcoming arms around his neck and the warm kiss which promised so much. He wanted to pick his two girls up, Jessica trying to act cool, but not being able to hide her smile and Emily full of hugs and kisses, Lou Pepper reminded him of Emily.

He touched his wife’s leather coat as he held the bannister and took the first step up the stairs, it was so quiet, eerily silent. The steps creaked as her reached the top. The girl’s doors were shut tight, but the main bedroom, his and Suzanne’s bedroom, the door was half open. He moved closer and the smell hit him, his heart sunk, he felt sick, he had come across this smell many times over the past few weeks.
Maybe it was the cat,
the thought slightly lifting his spirits, Pixie was always curled up on their bed, perhaps she had died of starvation. Was he clutching at straws? Roger took a deep breath and pushed open the door, he slowly walked onto the deep cream carpet and turned to face the bed.

He realised he had been stood still for almost seven minutes, staring at the body which was covered neatly with a sheet on the king size bed. His lovely wife, his beautiful Suzanne looked peaceful, restful even. He hadn’t broken down, he hadn’t even cried, he just looked at her in silence, studying her. Deep down he had prepared himself as much as anyone could for this very outcome. He knew that Suzanne had a different blood type to him, he also knew that his blood theory was proving itself correct. Everyone they had encountered was A positive, so why should Suzanne be an exception to the rule. He moved forward and kissed her forehead, the skin was cold on his lips and felt tight, he pulled the soft lined sheet over her head.

‘Goodnight my darling.’ he whispered.

Roger walked heavily back to the landing, his footsteps leaden, he felt the juices rise in his mouth and for a split second felt he might vomit. He took a few deep breaths to compose himself and then entered Emily’s room, it was empty. He was elated, yet frightened to his soul at the same time. If she wasn’t there then where was she? He moved quickly to Jessica’s room, again it was empty, this time there was no elation just panic, just dread. Where were his girls?

***

Sarah Hardcastle looked through the darkness of the trailer and into the caged area, where the Infected humans were. They seemed to be sleeping, but their bodies trembled as if constantly shivering.

‘The boy is weak, he can be turned.’ The voice next to Sarah wasn’t that familiar but she had heard the Scottish accent a few times before.

‘Excuse me.’

A woman in her early thirties cropped hair and a nose ring slowly pointed over to Harry James, who was sitting, staring into space, looking dejected. ‘We can win him over.’ She gently nodded. ‘Gain his trust.’

Sarah moved away slightly. ‘I trust no one.’ She answered.

‘Well that makes two of us, but we need to do something, don’t we?’

‘Why not leave?’

The Scottish woman laughed quietly. ‘You think we can just leave do you?’

Sarah didn’t answer, but noticed that the boy had seemed to have given up. His posture was slumped, and he had been staring into space for the past hour.

‘Look what happened to that Angel woman, that crazy son of a bitch is taking us across the country to find her. We are prisoners! Make no mistake about that.’

‘I know that.’ Replied Sarah. ‘At least we haven’t developed Stockholm syndrome like some.’

‘You mean the Middlesbrough lass?’

Sarah nodded.

The Scottish woman smiled. ‘I think that’s more like stupid syndrome than Stockholm.'

‘What’s your name?’ Sarah asked.

‘Janine, Janine Davidson.’

Sarah was just about to ask her how she was picked up when the brakes of the articulated lorry made them lurch forward.

‘We are stopping.’ Sarah wanted to sneak a peek through the canvas.

‘I can hear voices, not the bastards either, but new voices.’ Janine moved closer to the front, but not too close to disturb the twitching Infected. She looked back at Sarah and whispered. ‘It’s men, I can hear men’s voices.’ Sarah Hardcastle shuffled over to the Scottish woman as fast as she could and went to put a hand over her mouth to stop her speaking any more.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Janine Davidson protested.

Sarah made her look behind. Harry James was now stood up pointing the gun straight at her, she gulped.
Was it worth the risk?

‘What we going to do, boss?’ Archie looked at the three figures stood in front of the lorry waving them down. They all had assault rifles and wore military fatigues.

‘Are they army?’ Elizabeth asked.

‘I’m not sure, they are dressed like the army but that doesn’t mean they are, does it? Nothing is what it seems anymore.’ Lonny Gold stopped the lorry a few feet from the men. ‘Archie stay here and be ready for a fight.’ He opened the driver’s door and slid across the seat, he looked back at his young accomplice. ‘If you think they are going to shoot, shoot first.’ Lonny then jumped onto the floor.

He strode over to the three men who were now looking at the lorry. ‘Can I help you gentlemen?’

The tallest of the three stepped forward. ‘Staff Sergeant Matthews, of her Majesties British Army, where are you going?’

Lonny shrugged his shoulders. ‘We are heading south, to the coast.’

‘Why?’ The sergeant barked.

‘Why not, the country is in a mess, so I might as well try and survive whilst looking at the sea. Breathe in some of that clean air and all that.’ Lonny Gold grinned.

‘You should get to a camp.’ Matthews didn’t smile, he took himself very seriously. ‘It’s not safe out here.’

‘Do we have to go, is it an order?’ Lonny looked over the Sergeant’s shoulder at the two Privates standing behind him.

‘No, but it’s the sensible thing to do. You can get into trouble very quickly out here and that usually leads to a painful death.’ The Sergeant noticed more figures sat in the cab.

‘I have survived so far, I think I will take my chances, thank you.’

Matthews didn’t reply to Gold and walked up to the cab door. ‘How many of there are you?’

Gold turned around and followed the Sergeant. ‘Are we under martial law or can we continue with our journey?’ He turned and raised his eyebrows at the two Privates.

‘There is no law anymore sir, just small pockets of soldiers trying to set up some sort of order.’ He tapped the canvas of the trailer as he walked around the back. ‘What’s in here?’

‘Nothing, just a few personal belongings.’

‘Open it up.’ He turned to Gold pointing his gun.

‘Is that an order?’ Gold laughed.

‘You could be trafficking people, carrying guns or drugs.’ He waved the two Privates over.

‘I can assure you we are just trying to get to the coast, to live a simple life whilst we are still alive to do so.’ Gold was getting twitchy as the two Privates started tapping the heavy canvas with their guns.
If those naked animals in the lock up get disturbed, then holy hell would be let loose.

‘Bradshaw, open up the back.’ Sergeant Matthews ushered the Private to the back of the lorry.

‘Now look here! This really is none of your business.’ Gold followed both men.

‘Sergeant Matthews.’ The second private disturbed his senior. ‘There is a flashlight coming from the woods.’ He pointed to a hill a few miles away.

‘What, where?’ Matthews backtracked and looked to where Private Collins was pointing.

‘There Sarg, it must be Hutchins.’

‘Shit.’ Sergeant Matthews took his field glasses out to scan the area. ‘Come on Collins we have to get up there. I can’t see anything, but it’s certainly the distress signal we set up.’

Gold looked over to the wooded hill, and sure enough a small light was flashing on and off in the distance.

‘Bradshaw stay here and don’t let this man go anywhere.’ Matthews pointed at Lonny Gold and then tucked his field glasses back into his jacket pocket.

‘Now really, you could be gone for hours.’ Gold protested.

Sergeant Matthews then pointed his gun at Gold. ‘I don’t like you, and I certainly don’t trust you. Something isn’t right here.’ He pushed Collins in the direction of the flashing light. ‘Bradshaw, keep him here till we return.’

‘Yes sir.’ Private Bradshaw raised his gun and pointed it at Gold.

With that the two men jogged off in the direction of the wooded hill.

Gold looked at the Private,
this shouldn’t take long.
‘Elizabeth, can you come out here please.’ He could see Bradshaw was unnerved by Gold. ‘Don’t worry fella, just someone who wants to meet you.’ He smiled to himself,
ten minutes, tops, and then we should be on our way.

***

Roger ran into his back garden, he could see all the windows had been smashed. ‘Jessica.’ He called out. ‘Emily.’ He looked around in blind panic, where were his little girls?

The sound came from the garage at the rear of the garden, it was tin of some sort being kicked around. Roger edged his way towards the flaked, blue back door with the rusty handle. Suzanne had asked him a million times to get a new garage door, with a lock that worked. He reached out and pushed it open, inside it was dark and smelt of oil. He instinctively pulled the cord for the light but remembered there was no electricity.

Another crash made him jump and he fell back and hit the brick wall,
what the hell was that?
The longer Roger sat there on his haunches, the more his eyes became accustomed to the gloom. He could see a figure rocking back and forth, he looked down at his gun, it was loaded and ready to use.

The figure then darted across the garage in front of the small window and the hair moved from side to side, shoulder length hair, it was a young girl. Roger shuddered,
was it one of his girls?

‘Emily.’ He whispered not to spook the young girl. ‘Jess.’ Again he called out in a hushed tone. Before he could look again, a spade came flying in his direction hitting him on the arm. Roger cried out in pain dropping his gun. A half empty tin of white emulsion then crashed just above his head, he was under attack. As he turned to retreat out of his garage the shadowy figure dived out of the murkiness and landed on Roger, scratching at his face. He fell on his back under the force, and cracked the back of his head, he dug deep to keep himself conscious as he held off the hissing assailant bearing down on him.

As his eyes began to focus, he could make out teeth snapping millimetres from his nose, he summoned up the last of his strength and pushed the girl off. As she crashed into an old filing cabinet, a shelf above it gave way and old coffee jars full of screws and nails came crashing down covering the concrete floor. Roger grabbed his gun, but before he could point it, the girl came back at him with a hand full of steel nails. They shredded his neck and punctured his upper arm, he shouted out as he felt his skin tear. Bringing the butt of the shotgun around it cracked the side of the head of the girl and she fell like a stone. As the adrenaline pumped around Roger’s body he went to finish off the child with a short sharp crack of the heavy wooden stock. He looked down at his attacker and his eyes widened to saucer size as he saw his daughter Jessica looking back at him. He froze, he felt weak, his stomach turned over.

‘Jess, my darling.’ He cried but as the girl went to sit up he could see the blood running down her face, it wasn’t from the wound either, it was from her eyes.

‘Oh Christ.’ He stumbled back. Jessica hissed at him and sprayed him with blood. She was infected.

Roger stood at the far end of the garage for ten minutes, watching his daughter, banging her head against the wall, coughing up pools of blood. She was manically scratching the floor and the tips of her fingers and they had nearly worn down to the bone. Roger cried, silently, so as to not give away his position but crying, none the less. All he wanted to do was to hold her, to cradle her as he had the day she was born, to tell her everything was going to be okay, he felt physically sick. Another five minutes went by and Jess was self-harming so badly Roger couldn’t believe she had enough blood in her body to last another second, on she went, scratching and biting, hissing dementedly. He concluded that the heart must have been over producing blood, which would account for the bleeding eyes and the constant hissing and spraying. The coughing up pools of blood must have been a way of getting rid of the excess liquid. Enough was enough, Roger couldn’t stand by and watch his little girl go through any more pain. Shooting her would have been the easiest way but he so wanted to hold her once more, his face was damp and salty from all the tears he had shed in the darkened corner of his garage.