The Drift, page 22
Hannah looked up. Daniel stood in the bedroom doorway, clutching the weapon he had taken from the gunman.
‘Okay?’ he asked.
No, Hannah thought. Far from it. But she was alive. For now. She nodded. ‘Thank you.’
The front door creaked open, and Cassie peered in. ‘You killed it.’
‘Him,’ Hannah said. ‘And thanks for your help.’
To her right, Lucas moaned. Hannah crawled over to him. His shoulder was bleeding badly and his hair and face were burned and blackened. He was dying. There was no doubt about it. The bullet wounds were bad, but the burns would soon send his body into shock.
His eyes found hers.
‘Es tut mir leid.’
‘What are you sorry for?’
Lucas’s voice was a raspy wheeze. ‘You understood. I work for the Department. My instruction … accompany the coach. Told … you were being driven to another location. Not the Retreat. Just … make sure it all went smoothly.’
‘You lied to us?’
‘I didn’t know … about the crash. Nor … did the driver. Same instructions. I think he was made to crash.’
Hannah stared at him. But if the driver hadn’t been part of it, then he would have had no need to escape or sabotage the door.
‘You’re sure?’ she asked.
Lucas nodded faintly then coughed. Blood trickled from his lips. She was losing him.
His eyes widened. ‘Die Zeit.’
‘Yes,’ Hannah nodded. It was time.
Lucas strained towards her, lifted his wrist and wrenched off the watch. He pressed it into her fingers. ‘Die Zeit.’ Then his hand dropped. Hannah felt the breath leave him. His head fell back and his eyes glazed. Death. You came quickly, Hannah thought. While I take the long road. She sat back on the rough floor, clutching the watch, trying to process Lucas’s words.
The driver hadn’t been complicit. Which meant he hadn’t been the one to sabotage the emergency exit. That must have been done before they left. And now, something else leapt from her subconscious to the front of her mind.
Twelve students on the coach. But there were only eleven rucksacks in the hold.
The driver hadn’t escaped. He had been with them all along. An interloper. Cassie had been right.
She turned slowly. Cassie was peering down into the basement. Daniel still stood in the bedroom doorway, holding the gun.
Hannah stared at him. ‘When were you going to tell us, Daniel?’
He met her gaze, and she knew he understood.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
Cassie glanced between them. ‘Tell us what?’
Daniel sighed. ‘That I was driving the coach.’
Meg
Sarah insisted on saying a prayer. Meg wished she wouldn’t, but then, this wasn’t about her. Maybe Max would have wanted the accoutrements. Of course, what Max would have really wanted was to still be alive. Prayers couldn’t fix that. Prayers couldn’t fix a fucking thing, in Meg’s experience.
Death was a horror, and everything we did – the ceremonies, eulogies, flowers – were just a way to try to convince ourselves otherwise. There was no such thing as a peaceful death. Those about to die regularly wet or voided themselves. There was fear in those final moments, as breath struggled to come and swallowing failed.
No one went into death willingly. That was a lie. Meg had lied to her little girl. Just rest and Mummy will be there. Mummy will always be there. But Mummy was not there. Mummy was still here. A betrayal that needed to be rectified.
As Sarah continued her holy mumblings, Meg and Sean moved Max over to the open hatch. Sean touched his lips then placed his fingers on Max’s forehead, a gesture of affection and farewell. Meg wondered what she should do. She didn’t believe in a god, had nothing to fall back on.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered to Max, leaning over to repeat Sean’s gesture.
She paused. Their presumption was that hypothermia and infection had been too much for Max’s body to cope with. But now Meg was up close she could see petechiae around Max’s eyes. And something dried at the corner of his mouth. Vomit?
‘Amen,’ Sarah finished and crossed herself.
Burst blood vessels around the eyes. Vomit. Those were signs of suffocation.
‘Ready?’ Sean asked.
Meg glanced at him. He was watching her intently.
Had Max’s death been more unnatural than they presumed? Had someone hastened his departure? Perhaps an act of mercy, or perhaps because they saw him as a burden.
‘Meg?’ Sean frowned. ‘Are you okay?’
Good question. Not really. None of this was okay. And even if someone had killed Max, what difference did it make? He probably wouldn’t have survived anyway. Chances were, none of them would. They were all just delaying the inevitable while Death kept their seats warm.
Meg turned away. ‘Yeah. Let’s do this.’
They grasped Max’s body and tipped him out of the open hatch. He plummeted through the grey clouds, shrinking to a small dot and then disappearing into the darkness. Three down, three to go, Meg couldn’t help thinking.
‘May God look after his soul,’ Sarah murmured.
‘And may the devil never catch you leaving,’ Meg finished.
Sarah glanced at her. Meg shrugged. ‘Something my mum used to say. Just remembered it.’
And now Meg remembered something else her mum used to say: ‘Be careful who you trust. The devil was an angel once.’
‘We should shut the hatch,’ Sean said. ‘Before the rest of us join him.’
They hauled the hatch back over and looked at each other. All that remains, Meg thought. Their numbers halved in less than forty-eight hours. Who would be next if they stayed here any longer? And what would get them first: cold, starvation, another ‘mercy’ killing?
‘We’re not going to make it another twenty-four hours,’ Meg said bluntly. ‘Tomorrow morning, I’m going to attempt to get to the station and raise help. Agreed?’
Sarah nodded. ‘I don’t see we have any other choice.’
Sean sighed. ‘Fine. If that’s what you want.’
‘It is,’ Meg said.
He turned and walked to the other end of the cable car. He cupped his hands around his face and peered out of the glass. The snow was melting, sliding down the panes, offering a blurry view of the station in the distance. A grey and glass semicircle sticking out from the mountainside. Like someone had crashed a spacecraft into the rock, Meg thought.
Sean craned his head to look at the supporting cable above them. Then he turned back.
‘Almost two hundred and fifty yards … not much of an incline at this point, which is one thing. The wind might have dropped, but out there, it’s still going to feel like it’s trying to tear you off that cable.’ He held his gloved hands up. ‘These gloves have grip, but not much sensation. You could easily lose purchase without realizing. Plus, if you’re holding tightly on to the cable, then it will slow your circulation and lower the warmth in your hands. So you need to keep moving as fast as you can.’
‘Okay.’ Meg stared steadily at him. ‘You’ve given this some thought.’
‘Yeah.’ He looked her up and down. ‘Your arms are going to turn to jelly before you’re even halfway. Physically and mentally, it’s going to be torture.’
‘Wow. Thanks for the pep talk.’
‘I’m just preparing you. You need to understand how tough it will be. You need to know you might not make it.’
‘Fine. Got it.’
He continued to stare at her, as if he wanted to say something else. Then he shook his head. ‘You’re stubborn as hell.’
‘And that’s one of my positive traits.’
He managed a small smile. ‘Are you really sure about this?’
‘I’m not scared of dying.’
His blue eyes found hers. ‘That’s what I’m afraid of.’
They slept again. A small death. A good description. Blissful oblivion. No thought. No feeling. No pain. Everything was nothing. There was comfort in nothing.
But it couldn’t last. Faces floated in and out of Meg’s vision. Lily, her mum, Paul. And a girl. A girl with long, wavy, dark hair. The girl in Sean’s tattoo. Who was she? And how did Meg know her? The girl was drifting away. Meg tried to hold on. She was important. Meg had seen her somewhere else. Where?
And then it came to her.
The photograph.
The one Meg had found in Paul’s pocket.
Daniel and Peggy. Invicta Academy.
It was the same girl.
And if it was the same girl …
Meg’s eyes sprung open. ‘He lied.’
She sat up. Silvery light filled the car. Early morning. Sarah lay beside her. Meg looked around. The realization unfurled slowly in her stomach, like poisonous tentacles.
No. No, no, no.
She pushed herself to her feet. Her breath puffed out like smoke. She walked over to the window and peered out. Mist caressed the glass. The grey shell of the station was barely visible through the drifting swathes.
You’d be insane to attempt to try and climb across the cable in this weather.
The fucker. The crazy, motherfucking fucker.
‘Meg?’
Sarah was sitting up. She yawned, stretched and looked around.
‘Where’s Sean?’ she asked.
Meg stared at her grimly.
‘He’s gone.’
Carter
They had been fucked almost as soon as they entered the forest.
They skied down to the point where the trees thickened, wind lashing at their faces, while more fast-descending flurries of snow obscured their goggles. Miles had managed to ski with an old sled tied to his back. At the edge of the treeline, where the snow petered out to a bed of mulchy pine needles, they stopped, and he dropped it to the ground. Carter pushed up his goggles. It was more sheltered here. But the darkness and suffocating smell of pine already felt claustrophobic.
In a dark, dark wood, there was a dark, dark house … and why the hell was he thinking of that old kid’s rhyme right now?
Miles pulled a sharp knife out of his belt.
‘What’s that for?’ Caren immediately asked.
‘Breadcrumbs.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Have you never read Hansel and Gretel?’
‘I gave up on fairy-tales a while back.’
Miles turned and carved an X into the tree trunk nearest to them. ‘So we can find our way back.’
‘Right,’ Carter said, thinking it was optimistic to imagine that any of them would be making their way back, but hey, look on the bright side.
‘So, ready?’ Miles asked, taking out the tranquillizer gun.
‘Ready,’ Caren said.
Carter just nodded. He wasn’t ready, but he was all out of options.
They trudged into the forest, every step increasing Carter’s sense of foreboding. The trunks of the old trees were the width of two men, and the insulating blanket of pine needles overhead cut out light and deadened sound. Only a few flakes of snow penetrated through. The pine was making his eyes and nose itch. Their breath sounded like bellows.
Every few steps, Miles stopped and marked another tree. Carter looked back. He could see one rough cross behind them. Beyond that, just darkness, like the trees were softly moving, closing ranks in their wake. This was never going to work, he thought. They had no idea where they were heading, or how far they might have to go, or even …
Miles suddenly stopped and raised a hand. Carter almost walked into him, and Caren bumped against Carter’s back.
‘What?’ she started to say.
‘Shhh,’ Miles hissed. He dropped to a crouch. Carter and Caren looked at each other and then followed suit. Carter squinted over Miles’s shoulder. He couldn’t see anything but more trees. And then he spotted it. Movement. What he had mistaken for another tree trunk was a figure, clothed in brown animal skins, dark green snowsuit bottoms and some kind of bizarre woollen knitted hat. And now he could hear it – a muffled whistling.
The Whistler paused for a moment, head raised to the air like an animal catching a scent. Carter could just see a white flash of skin beneath the hat. Then quickly, the Whistler turned and disappeared into the trees. Miles motioned for them to follow. They crept forward, brushing past more thick trunks. Carter had lost sight of the Whistler. But he could see that the trees were thinning out. Patches of sky, flakes of snow. Not much. It was still twilight in the forest but ahead was a small clearing. And in the small clearing … a settlement.
Normally, the Whistlers lived a nomadic existence. Shunned by society for fear of infection. Hiding from those who would put them in the Farms. Many were infected with the Choler variant, which made them violent, unpredictable and dangerous. They usually lived alone or in small rag-tag groups. But there were rumours that some had formed more traditional societal structures, in remote places. Where they could live, undisturbed.
These dwellings looked sophisticated. Tents, obviously looted, a couple of rudimentary huts made from logs, a large fire pit in the middle of the settlement and another structure that seemed to have been constructed from scrap metal. Carter stared at it.
Lettering ran along one side: INVICTA.
The realization hit him like a punch in the gut. No.
He took a step forward. Distantly, he heard Miles hiss, ‘Carter. Look out.’
His foot caught on something. Glass and metal clanged and clunked loudly above him, shattering the still of the forest.
‘Shit!’
Carter glanced up. Old bottles, tins and other bits of junk had been strung in the tree branches. He looked down. A thin piece of twine stretched between two trunks. An alarm. He had walked right into a trap.
Hooded figures emerged from the dwellings. Something came flying past. A rock. Then another. Out of the corner of his eye, Carter spotted someone raising a crossbow.
‘Move out!!’ Miles instructed, backing into the forest.
Carter didn’t need to be told twice. He turned to follow Miles. Something struck his head above the ear, hard, and he staggered, falling to his knees. He clutched at his head. Wet with blood and it stung like a bitch. His vision momentarily blurred.
A hand grabbed his arm. ‘Get up.’
Caren hauled him to his feet. He swayed, then steadied.
‘I’m okay.’
She nodded. They started after Miles, who was already way ahead. First rule of survival. Know when to run and never look back. Also, don’t be last. A rule Carter was royally screwing up. Caren was faster and fitter. He was going to get left behind. Left behind with the …
Something crashed down from the trees and landed on Caren’s back, knocking her to the ground. A Whistler. She screamed in shock and pain. The pair rolled and wrestled on the forest floor. A mass of flailing arms and legs. In the twilight, Carter could barely make out who was who. A flash of blonde hair. A glimpse of white skin. Caren smashed her fist into the Whistler’s face. The Whistler howled, a horrible, high-pitched sound.
‘Shoot!’ Caren screamed.
Carter pulled out his gun. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t get in a good shot. Not without risking shooting Caren. The Whistler grabbed Caren’s hair and clawed viciously at her face. Carter pointed the gun. The Whistler turned. Female. White skin stretched like gossamer over her skull. Could it be? He hesitated. The Whistler stretched its mouth wide, revealing sharp yellow teeth. Smiling. Then it ducked its head and tore a chunk out of Caren’s neck.
‘Nooo!’
Something whooshed through the air. The Whistler jerked upright. Another ‘whoosh’. The Whistler swayed and then crumpled on top of Caren. Carter looked up. Miles stood a few feet away, the tranquiliser gun in his hand. He had come back.
‘Next time,’ he said to Carter. ‘Don’t hesitate.’
He strode forward and pushed the prone Whistler off Caren with his foot. ‘Although at least now we have something to show for –’
The Whistler reared up, teeth bared and lunged for Miles, grabbing his leg.
Carter raised his gun and shot it twice in the head. The Whistler collapsed to the ground and lay still.
Miles pulled his leg free. He glanced at Carter and nodded. ‘Better.’ Then he bent and slung Caren up over his shoulder with surprising ease. ‘Let’s go.’
They half stumbled, half ran back through the forest, Miles following the marked trees, Carter constantly checking behind them, even though he was pretty sure no more Whistlers were following. Caren was barely conscious on Miles’s shoulder. Blood from her neck darkened the back of his blue snowsuit.
Finally, they emerged back out on to the mountainside. Carter bent over, panting. Miles laid Caren down on the ground. More red immediately stained the snow underneath her. Miles grabbed the sled and slid Caren on to it, securing her body with bindings.
‘Miles,’ Carter gasped. ‘She was bitten. Didn’t you see?’
‘Yes,’ Miles nodded, tugging a knot tight. ‘I saw. We need to get her back before she loses any more blood.’
‘She’s infected.’
He looked up. ‘So, you’d rather I leave her for them?’
‘No. I –’
‘We take her back,’ Miles said firmly. His gaze was glacial. ‘She’s all we have.’
Carter and Miles dragged the sled uphill. With a body tied to it, this was laborious work. How had they ever thought they could manage two?
Their feet slipped and slid out from under them. The wind tried its best to huff and puff them back down the slope. Caren moaned and whimpered. She was fading, Carter thought. They all were. Maybe this was it, he thought. They would die here on this godforsaken fucking mountainside. After everything he had done to get here, to make it, to survive, he would be lost to the snow and the stomachs of wild animals.
