Humanity lost, p.1
Humanity Lost, page 1
Humanity Lost
Book One
of the
Vampires & Zombies Trilogy
By Bridget Esk
Published 2011.
Copyright © Bridget Esk 2011.
The right of Bridget Esk to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
Cover by Turbozutek.
To my husband, Chris,
without whom this story could not have been told.
Chapter 1
“I don’t like the look of that fog and filthy air,” Fergus commented ominously, squinting into the salt spray. “A storm is brewing. Bad things are coming.”
“No?” a voice over his shoulder replied. Fergus didn’t turn around, but continued to level his gaze at the clouds massing on the horizon. The voice behind him, the only female one on the floating rig, continued. Fiona would make conversation, even about the blindingly obvious. “The sky does look a bit dark, doesn’t it?”
Fergus nodded by way of reply, and Fiona plunged on. “Graham has been trying to pull up weather reports, but we’re in a dead zone. We can’t connect to anything. And the radio is still out of commission.”
She was used to Fergus’s laconicality, but Fiona was also concerned about the deteriorating weather, and she felt the need to talk out loud, even if it was mostly to herself.
“Jimmy and Matt are getting the motorboat ready,” Fiona reported. “They think we should head for land. Graham, of course, doesn’t want to do anything without a corporate order from head office. But even he is getting concerned about the cut in communication, and the supply helicopter not turning up.”
“Who said I was concerned?” a posh English accent cut into their conversation, such as it was. Fiona’s dark ponytail whipped around as she turned to face the wiry man who had just appeared. He was barely taller than she was, and Fiona reckoned that a persistent bout of small-man syndrome was what made Graham so confrontational. Fiona, however, wasn’t one to shrink from a challenge.
“I did, and you are,” Fiona said directly.
Graham bristled. “I am not concerned. This salvage operation is proceeding exactly as planned. Storms are common in the North Sea. There is nothing unusual going on.”
“Then why were you drafting a memorandum of concern to the Aberdeen office?” Fiona challenged. “Don’t try to deny it. I saw it on your clipboard.”
His back still to his teammates, Fergus smiled at the waves. Fiona didn’t miss a trick. He could just imagine Graham puffing out his chest, getting ready to assert his authority. Fiona would be squaring her shoulders and jutting out her chin, ready to argue back.
Fergus turned and saw he had guessed correctly. What was it about oil rigs and explosions?
“The helicopter is now six days overdue, and our supplies are dangerously low,” Fergus said in his characteristically mild tones. “We cannot contact anyone, on shore or at sea. This rig has been drifting since the explosion took out the moorings. We’ll soon hit the eastern currents, and that will drag us further out to sea and likely out of British territory. It won’t be a successful salvage operation, Graham, if the rig isn’t secured before it’s drifted into international waters.”
“Mate, that’s the longest speech I’ve ever heard you make,” said a mountain of a man that had arrived on deck while Fergus was speaking. With a large nose and floppy ears, Jimmy looked like he shared distant ancestry with an elephant. “What’s the occasion?”
Seemingly dwarfed beside him, though tall enough in his own right, a slim, eager youth looked anxiously back and forth between Fiona and Graham, who were still standing head to head. Matt was perpetually pleasant and good-humoured, and he hated conflict. Even the suggestion of it made him stressed.
“Fergus was just outlining our current predicament to our illustrious leader,” said Fiona, unable to contain her glee at Fergus’s ability to silence their manager.
“What he was going to add, before he was so rudely interrupted,” Fiona winked at Jimmy, “is that a storm is going to break within the hour, so now’s the time to move. Otherwise we’ll have to batten down the hatches, and we’ll next see the sun when some Somali pirates are hauling us out to shoot us and lay claim to this rig.”
“We don’t know that a storm is going to break,” Graham said petulantly. “We don’t have a weather report.”
“And we’re not going to get a weather report as long as we’re in a dead zone,” insisted Fiona. “I know! Let’s ask the boy who grew up by the sea what he thinks. Jimmy?”
Four pairs of eyes turned toward the towering man that was Jimmy McConnell. It wasn’t hard to imagine him as a sailor, with his windswept hair brushed over the tops of his large ears, and his easy stance even as the rig bobbed on metre-high waves.
“Well,” started Jimmy, who always took a while to get warmed up. “The colour and shape of those clouds promises a summer squall. At the current speed of the wind, I’d reckon we have about 45 minutes before the storm breaks. And it could be a wild one. Might rage for a couple of days.”
“I’ve got all the GPS equipment transferred to the boat,” Matt added eagerly.
“You what?” Graham shouted. “That’s company property! Who said you could move it? Just because you fancy yourself a whiz kid on computers doesn’t mean they’re yours to move as you wish!”
“I told him to move it,” Fergus cut in quietly. “I thought it would be prudent, given that we’re likely to be leaving soon.”
“No one has said we’re leaving!” Graham’s face was taking on an increasingly deep shade of puce.
“And anyway,” he suddenly switched to a wheedle, as a thought occurred to him, “why would we take the GPS? It’s not even working now, is it?” Graham smiled, as if he’d settled the matter.
“Initially we’ll have to navigate by compass bearing,” Jimmy explained patiently. “Once we’re out of the dead zone, we’ll record our coordinates, and then be able to relocate the rig.”
Out of Graham’s sight, Fiona bounced merrily. For all his good nature, Jimmy wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, which made the sight of him lecturing their manager all the more amusing.
“Listen, why don’t we take a vote?” Fiona suggested.
“I’m the manager. You’re to listen to what I say. This is a salvage team, not a bloody democracy!” Graham shouted.
“Graham, although we’re not sure exactly where we are,” Fergus spoke calmly, “given how long we’ve been out here, chances are we’re less than two days from leaving British waters. A storm could push us out to sea all the more quickly. Head office would not be happy if someone else salvaged this rig. We need to get ashore and record our progress.” His wide grey eyes held Graham’s angry ones.
Fergus’s nickname at uni had been ‘Mesmer’ for his ability to link to what mattered most to people, and then use it to talk them ‘round to his way of doing things. He hadn’t lost his knack.
“I want the crew to be ready to leave in ten minutes,” Graham barked. “All valuables locked down and secured, and make sure we take an accurate bearing so we can get back to this rig ASAP.”
Matt breathed a sigh of relief that this had been decided without further shouting. He ventured one more question, “Who do you want to crew the boat?”
“We’d better have you to run the GPS gear, and Jimmy for his sailing skills,” Graham listed. “I’ll go, of course, to keep an eye on you. We’ll need to leave at least a couple on board to maintain our claim.”
“Johnson and Hedges can stay,” Fiona volunteered. “They hate the motorboat, anyway, and I’ll bet they’ll be happy to tuck in here. Then Fergus and I could come for shore leave. What do you say, Fergs?”
“It’s not shore leave. It’s an opportunity for us to report our progress to head office, since our telecoms aren’t working,” Graham clarified, fulfilling his need to always be in control.
“In that case, you definitely want me along, as you’ll need me to proofread your report before you submit it. Can’t have a page full of typos sent to Aberdeen, can we?” Fiona smiled sweetly at Graham.
For such a tough nut, Fiona knew how to turn on the charm when needed. That, she claimed, was why her family name was Sugar.
“Fine,” grumbled Graham. “Fergus, let Johnson and Hedges know what’s going on, and be at the launch in five minutes.”
“I’m awfully glad we’re going ashore,” Jimmy confided to Matt as they headed to the boat. “I’m really sick of beans. We don’t even have bread any more. I mean, beans on toast are boring enough, but just plain beans? I used to like beans. I don’t like them so much after having them every day for a week straight.”
***
The boat rocked wildly in the surf. The storm had broken half an hour after they’d launched, and as skilfully as Jimmy had handled their skiff, the squall was winning the race to the harbour. The sun had been blotted out by the roiling clouds, and they were sailing almost blind.
Without warning, Jimmy pulled the boat into a tight starboard turn.
“Jimmy, what the hell was that?” Graham shouted over the wind
Jimmy nodded ahead. “We’re almost to land. I didn’t realise we were so close. I’d thought there’d be a light house to warn us.”
Matt consulted his GPS screen. “Jimmy’s right. It looks like there’s a harbour up ahead. Jimmy, veer to port 20 degrees.”
A few minutes later, Fergus was jumping up onto a pier to secure their docking lines. By this time the rain was torrential, and everyone grabbed a piece of equipment to carry ashore. They made for a low building at the end of the pier.
“No lights,” commented Matt. “I wonder if they’ve had a power outage.”
They banged through the door and paused inside the threshold, dripping onto the concrete. It was shockingly quiet compared to the storm raging outside.
The small building, not much more than a shed, really, appeared to be empty, except for a man resting his head on the lone desk at the other end of the room.
“Bugger’s fallen asleep on the job,” Jimmy commented. “It’s a wonder he can sleep with all that wind blowing.”
“Probably drunk,” said Graham with derision.
Fiona, meanwhile, had crossed the open space between them. She bent down to the man, and then turned back to her team with a grim look on her face.
“He’s dead.”
Chapter 2
“The poor bugger died at his desk?” Jimmy looked sad. It was difficult to believe that such an impenetrable mass of flesh had such a soft heart.
“Fergus, call someone,” Graham instructed. He made no move to step any closer to the body.
Fergus picked up the phone from the desk and dialled 999.
“This is Fergus Murdoch. I need to report a death –” Fergus frowned and turned back to the others. “It’s a recording, saying that all operators are busy.”
“The GPS says we’ve landed in Ekt,” Matt reported. “Is that a big place?”
“Ekt?” Fiona repeated. “Never heard of it.”
“Maybe that’s why there’s no answer? Cause they’ve only got, like, one polis?” Jimmy suggested.
“The rain’s easing off. Let’s go outside,” Graham said, edging toward the door.
“Dead body giving you the creeps, Graham?” Fiona commented wryly.
“No,” Graham retorted sharply. “But if the phone’s not being answered, we can’t do anything from here, can we? We need to find someone to report this to. And some place with an internet connection, so I can contact head office.” And he was out the door.
“You sure he’s dead, Fiona? How?” Jimmy asked.
“I don’t know, Jimmy. There’s not a mark on him. But he’s definitely not breathing,” Fiona replied.
“C’mon, Jimmy, help me with this equipment,” Matt, looking a bit pale, said to distract him. “Graham’s left his bundle behind.”
“I’ll give you a hand, son,” Fergus said, and they followed their manager outside.
“It seems kinda quiet, eh?” Matt asked, as they looked up and down the empty street.
“Wee villages are quiet, especially when everyone’s sheltered inside during a storm,” Jimmy said. “Let’s find the local. Bet everyone’s in there, warming themselves with a pint ‘til the storm’s passed.”
“Graham? Which way would you like us to go first?” Fergus asked quietly.
“This way,” Graham said, and strode off purposefully. Fiona snorted softly, but fell into step behind him, prompting the others to come along.
The street appeared the same as many villages in Scotland: a row of terraced houses, with the odd one displaying signage over its door. From where they walked, they could see a shop/post office, a butcher’s, and a fish mongers. The local pub was not, as yet, evident.
Reaching the end of the main road, the group turned right into a residential street. Still there was no sign of life. The house windows stared at them like dead eyes, dully reflecting the dim after-storm light. Not a curtain twitched, not a face appeared. The residents of Ekt were well involved in their own affairs: no one was interested in this strange band wandering their streets.
As they turned down yet another empty lane, Matt broke the silence. “Does this seem a bit weird to anyone else?” he asked, a little anxiously. “I mean, not even a cat has crossed our path since we landed, nor have we heard a dog bark. Even if there’re only 30 people in this tiny place, surely the law of averages says we should have seen someone or something living? Especially as we’re going to run out of streets soon.”
“Aye, all we’ve seen is one deed punter,” Jimmy interjected.
“And all those stores that we passed being empty. Isn’t that strange, too?” Matt pursued his train of thought. “I mean, okay, cool, small place, you might not have any customers in, fine. But where were the people behind the counters?”
“Maybe they just nipped out for a cup of tea and some goss,” Fiona suggested.
“But would you leave your door unlocked?”
“It’s village life, Matt,” Jimmy said. “Everyone knows everyone in a place like this. No one is going to steal from the local butcher unless they want to get a meat cleaver through their skull.”
“I still think it’s weird,” Matt mumbled, slightly put out that no one agreed with him. “Don’t you, Graham?”
“’Sake, Matt!” Graham stopped abruptly and turned on the sandy-haired youth. “Would you PLEASE learn to say my name properly?! I’m sick of your stupid American pronunciation!”
“I’m not American, I’m Canadian,” Matt said sullenly. “Besides, what’s wrong with the way I say your name?”
“You say it like it’s a unit of measurement: gram,” Graham fumed. “The proper pronunciation is Gray-em,” he exaggerated. “It’s a British name. If you’re going to be in our country, say it right.”
“I’ll say yours right when you say mine right!” Matt threw back.
Fiona almost tripped, she was so surprised. She’d never heard Matt be cheeky with anyone, especially not their manager. The tension must be getting to him.
“Pardon me?” Graham said, sounding even more poncy than usual. “And how, pray tell, do I mispronounce your name?”
“It’s Leblanc. Le-blahn, with a nasalised vowel at the end,” Matt adopted the same exaggerated tone that Graham had just used on him. “Not Le-blank. The ‘c’ is silent. I thought they taught you French in school here. Surely you’re familiar with French pronunciation?”
“Gentlemen,” Fergus said softly, but his words carried down the street and silenced the bickering. “We may just have stumbled upon the population of Ekt.”
His four teammates turned as one to see what Fergus was looking at, but their view was blocked by a sandstone church. They rushed down the street.
“You forgot to say, ‘and lady,’” Fiona teased Fergus when she drew level with him, but her smile quickly faded.
