No turning back, p.26
No Turning Back, page 26
He looked up as the door opened. Olivia entered holding a tray. Her mouth opened as she silently, and exaggeratedly, formed words.
“The walls aren’t soundproof,” Pete said.
Olivia grinned. “Ah, foiled. Dinner?”
“Please.”
“Did you bring two?” Avalon asked.
“Just one for the patient,” Olivia said.
“He’s only been lying there,” Avalon said. “That hardly warrants room service.” She grabbed her notebook, and left the lab.
“She’s in a mood,” Olivia said.
“We had a fight,” Pete said.
“Why?”
“It’s about Leo’s next novel. He wants to set it aboard a spaceship, but she thinks it’d be technically impossible for his survivors on that moon to build one. I clearly didn’t agree with her vociferously enough.”
“How’s the neck?” she asked.
“Itchy and stingy and sore,” he said. “But I’m fine, just a bit antsy. Why’s Lisa not here?”
“She’s in quarantine next door, in the office, talking with Tess and the colonel, and has been pretty much since we got back. You eat, and I’ll catch you up.”
“Have I missed a lot?” he asked.
“Not really, but we’re staying here tonight. It’s because of the helicopter. I think they’ve decided it’s too dangerous letting Lisa try landing it on the deck, so we’re not going to bring it with us. There’s enough fuel to fly it a few hundred miles, so that would cover D.C. and Norfolk and then back.”
“If we’re staying here overnight, Leo can’t be worried about radiation.”
“We wouldn’t reach open water tonight anyway,” Olivia said. “Which I think means it’s something he is worrying about, but I really don’t want to.”
“What did they find at Annapolis?”
“It’s a real disaster zone,” Olivia said. “A big explosion tore chunks from the buildings. There are zoms everywhere. They didn’t even go ashore in the end. But it looks like there were a lot of military vehicles gathered nearby, as if they’d been readied for some kind of pushback which never began. Oh, and the bridge to the peninsula was demolished. It’d be difficult to get a ship, even one like the Archangel, through the wreckage. I don’t know if that helps decide things or not.”
“Do you mean because of the video left for Lisa? Did you see it?”
“You can, too,” she said. She took a small tablet from her pocket. “It’s not good, Pete.”
The screen was paused, but showed five seated people, cuffed and bloody. Two wore Lisa’s blue and gold-trim working uniform, two wore military fatigues, while the fifth wore battle-stained jeans. Behind them were two guards in black coats, both holding baseball bats.
“Does Lisa know them?”
“Just the woman on the left,” Olivia said.
“Harriet? Right. Yeah, Clyde had to shoot her,” Pete said.
The chairs were ornate, with hand-stitched fabric and curving white frames, while the room the prisoners were held in had silk curtains and gilt wallpaper. The windows had been boarded with plyboard. Illumination came from somewhere behind the camera.
“Are you going to press play?” Olivia asked.
“I was just thinking that room’s the kind of place you’d sign a peace treaty.”
“Or start a war,” Olivia said. “You didn’t see the room?”
“We saw a tunnel, the hall, and then her bedroom. It was very minimalist. Ah, I’m stalling.” He pressed play.
A man stepped forward, into the frame. He was about fifty, balding, clean-shaven, tall and large but with the flab of someone who prized steak and beer over cardio. He wore military camouflage, but he didn’t look like a soldier. At his belt were knives, but no gun. In his hand was a metal case which he placed on a walnut side table. Opening it, he withdrew a syringe, filled it from a vial, then placed it on the table. He repeated the action, carefully, deliberately, four times, until five syringes were on the table. He glanced back at the camera before stepping aside, then walked behind the row of prisoners.
“There’s no sound,” Pete said, as the torturer opened his mouth.
“No,” Olivia said. “We think this was recorded on the tablet, but the videographer had their finger over the mic. Corrie’s trying to recover the sound, but I don’t think we need it.”
An older woman stepped into the frame and walked to the table. There, she turned around, speaking to the camera. At least sixty, though possibly older, her hair was jet black, pinned into an iron-firm bun. She was short, with bony arms, and a wrinkled neck. She wore a long black skirt, black short-heeled boots, and a black, waist-length coat. It was funeral attire, and from a different era, except he’d bet she dressed like that every day. She picked up a syringe, and walked over to the first victim, Harriet.
Harriet squirmed, stretching against the bonds, clearly aware of what was in the needle.
The large man grabbed her shoulders, pushing her down into the chair as the funeral-clad woman stabbed the needle into Harriet’s thigh. The woman returned the syringe to the table, and picked up a second, walking over to the next victim, even as Harriet slumped forward. As the second victim was injected, Harriet thrashed and bucked, rocking the chair, obviously undead. The killer didn’t slow, nor did she speed up; she returned the spent needle to the table, and collected a third.
Five victims, five injections. Harriet and the young man in jeans turned immediately. The other three didn’t. The black-clad woman paused to look at the camera, then walked out of shot. The large man did the same, followed by the two guards. Just as one of the soldiers slumped, and as the undead Harriet fell to the floor, breaking the arm of her chair, a sixth prisoner was brought before the camera. Old, small, terrified, bruised, and bloody. He was there for a moment, then led away. The camera lingered on the undead Harriet, who’d managed to rip a hand free. Her legs were still pinned, as she rocked and rolled towards the so-far still human soldier, but the camera went dark before she reached him.
“That’s it?” Pete asked.
“That’s it,” Olivia said. “That vile woman who won runner-up for worst witch costume, that was Margalotta Herrera.”
“One of the sisters,” Pete said.
“And where one goes, so does the other, or so Lisa says,” Olivia said.
“The sixth guy, who was that?”
“The old man? John Clayton. Lisa’s first secretary. The guy who retired to the house with the orchard and tunnel. Did Lisa show you the card that was left with the video?”
“It had an address in West Virginia,” Pete said.
“Exactly,” Olivia said. “Remember where that plane which took us to Corn Island refuelled? Now look at the time stamp.”
“It’s the same day?”
“The day before,” Olivia said. “Clearly, the sisters came to the mansion looking for Lisa, but gave up waiting. I don’t know how long they held these people prisoner, but it must have been for ages. Clyde thinks that some of Lisa’s people made it to the mansion, and so did some soldiers, and who knows who else. They defended it, and lived there, at least for a while, until the sisters came.”
“Then the sisters left for West Virginia, but if they ever arrived, wouldn’t they have flown to Corn Island?”
“You’d think,” Olivia said. “Meanwhile the nephew ended up in New York aboard a ship from Miami. The only explanation I can come up with is that, whatever they had planned, it fell apart weeks ago.”
Pete watched the clock. His neck burned, which was probably a sign it was healing, but it added to his irritation as he watched the minutes tick by. Twelve-thirty. He’d tried reading, but couldn’t concentrate. He couldn’t help but think of the people in that video, and whether that had been the fate intended for him.
“You awake?” Tess asked, entering the med-bay.
“Just about,” Pete said. “Is quarantine over?”
“More or less, sorry about that,” she said. “There was a bit of friction after Annapolis. Some of the Georgians took this detour poorly. Sticking you in isolation was a way of showing we’ve still got rules and will apply them to everyone.”
“Sure, I understand.”
“Good on ya. Mind if we talk?” She held up a flask. “I brought tea. No one needs coffee when you can’t tell if it’s breakfast or bedtime.”
“Is something wrong?”
“You saw the video from the mansion, right?”
“Olivia showed me.”
“Good,” Tess said. “So you saw that bit with the old man at the end?”
“John Clayton, Lisa’s secretary, yes. They didn’t kill him on screen.”
“Lisa had a hunch, and Corrie cleaned up enough of the audio to confirm it,” Tess said. “He was taken to a motel in Sutton, West Virginia. That’s the address left on that card on the bed. Herrera challenged Lisa to come get him before it was too late. She wants to take the helicopter and go see if he’s still alive. I’m inclined to let her since she’s our only pilot, and we don’t have any spare fuel. The helicopter doesn’t have the range to reach Sutton, but Lisa has a vehicle stashed somewhere to the southwest. She’s going to fly there, then drive the rest of the way. We’re heading on to Thunderbolt to refuel and re-supply, but we can’t stay there long. At dusk, in five days, we’ll sail south.”
“How far away is Sutton?”
“From here? About five hundred kilometres, due west.”
“How far from Sutton to Thunderbolt?” Pete asked.
“About nine hundred kilometres,” Tess said.
“That’s not too far,” Pete said.
“Maybe a year ago,” Tess said. “Pete, Lisa’s making a one-way trip. I’m next to certain the sisters never reached West Virginia. I’m just as certain Lisa won’t reach Thunderbolt before we leave. Lisa presents a problem to me, a problem for the Pacific. I don’t know whether we can charge her with anything, or whether the public, or the politicians, will want to. Her leaving solves a lot of problems. That doesn’t mean you have to go with her.”
“But you’re asking me anyway?”
“No, I’m telling you how it is. You’ve done your part, mate. So have I. So has everyone on this ship. We were tasked with destroying the cartel, and we did that in Colombia, and on Corn Island, and when we sank the Archangel. I feel no compunction in ignoring this lead. The sisters didn’t get to Colombia, so they probably died on their way to Sutton. Mr Clayton is dead, and it will never be known how. You don’t have to go with her.”
“But you can’t spare anyone else? Pete asked.
“I can’t spare you,” Tess said. “We’ll need you down in the Pacific.”
“But maybe Mr Clayton needs help,” Pete said. “Who else is going to help him, but us?”
“Clayton’s dead, Pete,” Tess said. “Kempton can manage well enough on her own. You don’t need to go with her.”
“But you don’t really need me on this ship,” Pete said. “I was a prisoner, and you saved me. I’ve got to do the same. How could I live with myself if I didn’t?”
“I want you to understand this really is a one-way trip,” Tess said. “We’ll endeavour to remain in Thunderbolt for five days, but I can’t guarantee it. If the marina has been overrun, we don’t have the ammo to clear it, so won’t have the supplies to linger. After Savannah, there’s no knowing when, or where, or if, the next ship will come. This is it, Pete. I’d like to promise different, but I can’t.”
“No, I understand,” Pete said. “We’ve got to make the most of the days we have, and live them the best we can. I think I have to go.”
“Your quarantine’s over, so talk with your family before making any final decision,” Tess said.
He found Corrie, and Rufus, waiting with Olivia in his and his wife’s cabin.
“I really want to see kangaroos,” Olivia said. “What do you say, Rufus? Want to chase some ’roos?”
The dog growled sleepily.
“Lisa can’t go to the Pacific,” Corrie said. “She knows it. At best, she’s facing house arrest. So am I, when the full story gets told.”
“If it gets told,” Olivia said.
“I told Tess,” Corrie said. “I’d told her most of it before, and I think she’d worked out the details I omitted. Leo worked it out on his own.”
“It doesn’t mean they’ll tell anyone,” Pete said.
“They have to,” Corrie said. “You can’t build a society on secrets and lies. We can’t risk a revolution, or an uprising, or even discontent. Have you seen Leo’s mapping of oceanic dead-zones? The world’s on the brink. Leo doesn’t know if it has a future, but he’s not worried about the zoms anymore; that’s a clear sign of how bad things are. I don’t want to make it any worse. I’ll go with Lisa.”
“Then we’ll come too,” Olivia said. “Family sticks together.”
“You don’t have to,” Corrie said. “And I don’t want you feeling that you have to.”
“I do feel I have to,” Olivia said. “It doesn’t have anything to do with Lisa, but how could I possibly live with myself if we left that poor man to die?”
“That’s what I said to Tess,” Pete said. “We’ll go because someone has to, and there is no one else but us.”
Part 3
Jam Today, a Future Tomorrow
Virginia and West Virginia
19th April
Chapter 33 - The Billionaire Biker Gang
Amelia Court House, Virginia
“She’s about ready, mate,” Clyde said. “I’m expecting a good yarn next time we meet. Thunderbolt, five days.”
“Thunderbolt, sure,” Pete said. “See you there.”
“Remember rule one,” Tess said. “Do take care, until we meet again.”
“Until then,” Pete said. He watched Tess and Clyde walk back to their launch, then turned his back on the water, and walked to the helicopter.
Corrie had rigged a camera to the cabin which would broadcast images as they flew west. When the helicopter was out of receiving-range, the icebreaker would depart.
“Having second thoughts?” Lisa asked.
“Absolutely,” Pete said. “Doesn’t mean I’m changing my mind.”
“I would understand if you did,” Lisa said. “There’s no need for you to come with me.”
“If we all left the tough jobs to other people, we’d end up with… well, with a world filled with zoms and radiation,” Olivia said. “One apocalypse was enough, thanks.”
Corrie raised her carbine and fired. “One zom. That’s our signal to get aboard,” she said. “If we see another, it’s time to take off.”
Five minutes later, they were in the air.
As they flew, it was impossible to hear anything but the roaring motor and churning blades. Outside, it was impossible to see any hope for the future of humanity. The devastation was so extensive, so complete, so much more obvious from above. Branchless trees, glass-less homes, lifeless bodies, some of which slowly lumbered beneath them. Entire forests had been felled. Whole suburbs had burned. A town had been completely replaced with a crater. It wasn’t Norfolk, but without the map, he couldn’t identify it. He bowed his head, thinking of the world he’d known. It hadn’t been such a bad place, all things considered. Not bad enough to deserve this.
Far sooner than he’d expected, and much sooner than he was prepared for, Lisa began their descent. As the helicopter set down on the branch-strewn highway, an avalanche of grit pattered against the cabin, while a jungle of leaves were shredded by the rotors. Something much heavier was dragged into the turbine. The helicopter shuddered, just before it thumped to a heavily final landing on the woodland highway.
Pete grabbed his bag and carbine, and opened the door. Before he could step outside, Rufus leaped, disappearing into the cloud of dust. Pete followed, keeping his head well below the slowing, but smoking, blades.
“Haste is always a fugitive’s ally,” Lisa said, as Rufus returned. He circled around them warily, before settling his gaze, and ears, on the road behind.
Lisa grabbed her bag from the helicopter.
“Where are we, Lisa?” Corrie asked.
“And where are we going?” Olivia said. “Guess I should have asked that sooner, right?”
“Unfortunately, I believe we landed a few miles short, but behind us, in the east, is the town of Amelia Court House. We are about a hundred and eighty miles south-southwest of Annapolis.”
“Sutton was due west of the peninsula,” Pete said.
“Indeed, and then we want to travel a lot further southeast in order that you should catch the last ship leaving this hemisphere. We need a vehicle, and this is the nearest location where I concealed one. If we follow this highway west, we will soon reach a motorbike showroom and garage.”
“Oh, that’s right, your bio said you love riding your bike across the country,” Olivia said.
“That was another lie,” Lisa said. “Between the bugs and the noise, I would much rather travel by car if I have to, plane if I had the choice, and ship if I had the time.”
“Yeah, that was a nice plane,” Pete said, as he slung the bag over his shoulder. “So why lie to the journalists about liking motorbikes?”
“So there were no questions as to why I would own a showroom and garage,” Lisa said.
With Olivia by his side, he followed Lisa and Corrie, who now followed Rufus, along the highway away from the helicopter. Without the rotors’ thunder-burr, the world became artificially quiet and apparently empty. But the ocean-roar of silence quickly subsided. A crack and crackle came from the woodland on either side. The trees, though young, were densely planted, with a fern and bracken barrier between the trunks and the roadside. On the southern edge of the road, the verge was raised in a rain-channelling berm, while in the north it had been dug into a deep gulley. With as much ash as rain having fallen in recent weeks, that gulley was more sludge than water, which churned, grew, rose into a two-legged swamp-monster as a zombie stood.
“Leave it,” Olivia said, at the same time as Pete.
