The Drift, page 9
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘He didn’t look old enough to have kids this age. They look like they’re in their late teens or early twenties.’
‘Siblings then?’
‘Maybe.’ She turned the photo over. Written on the back were two names.
Daniel and Peggy. Invicta Academy.
‘Mean anything to you?’ she asked Sean.
‘Nope. You?’
Invicta Academy. It rang a bell. A very distant bell, but Meg was sure she had heard the name before, somewhere. She stared back at the photo. Why had Paul had this on him? Who were these people? If not friends or family, could they be suspects, victims? Or was she presuming too much? She hadn’t seen Paul for years. He had a new life. Perhaps he had new friends, or stepchildren. And yet gut instinct told her that wasn’t it. Something about the picture was off. Invicta Academy. What was it?
The car juddered again, creaking loudly from above. Sarah yelped. Meg raised her eyes to the roof. The whole cabin was coated in snow, more and more landing, settling. Overnight, it would freeze. And then, more would fall.
‘What is it?’ Sean asked.
‘Just wondering how much weight these cabins are designed to carry.’
‘At least twenty people, I’d say. Why?’
‘Thinking about all that snow.’
He glanced up. ‘I’m sure it’s designed to cope with snow.’ He paused. ‘But then, normally, the snow would be cleared off at the terminus. The car wouldn’t be stationary long enough for it to accumulate.’
‘The cables will stand it though, right?’
‘I don’t know.’
Another alarming creak. At the other end of the cabin, Max stood up and walked, unsteadily, over.
He smiled awkwardly. ‘We have a bit of an issue.’
‘What?’ Sean asked.
‘Well, it’s a little sensitive.’
Meg raised an eyebrow. ‘More sensitive than pushing a man overboard?’
‘Look, I don’t condone …’
‘Just spit it out,’ Sean said.
‘It’s Sarah.’
Meg glanced over his shoulder to where Sarah sat, bent over, arms wrapped around her stomach.
‘What about her?’ she asked without sympathy. ‘She’s ill? Dying? Having a crisis of conscience?’
Max sighed. ‘She needs a shit.’
Carter
They stood in the hallway and stared at the elevator.
There were no stairs to the basement. No emergency exits. The sole access was via the elevator, with the security pass that only Miles possessed.
As far as anyone knew.
Which left Carter in something of a predicament.
‘How are we supposed to get down there if Miles has the only pass?’ Welland asked.
‘Good question.’ Carter looked at Welland. ‘Is there any way you can bypass the security controls?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Could you try?’
Welland considered. Carter could practically hear the cogs turning and see steam coming out of his ears.
Welland shook his head. ‘No, there’s no way.’
Welland really was a ‘can’t do’ kind of guy.
‘So?’ Caren said.
Carter debated with himself. They had no idea what they would find down there. Miles might already be dead. In which case, at least he wouldn’t be able to kill Carter for lying to him.
‘Okay.’ Carter started to reach into the hidden pocket in his jeans where he kept his stolen pass. Lifted off the body of a girl he once knew.
Before he could retrieve it Caren had stuck a hand down the neck of her T-shirt and pulled out …
Carter stared at her. ‘Is that –’
She held up the basement pass up between her fingers. ‘Not that I don’t trust Miles, but –’ She shrugged.
‘Where the hell did you get that?’ Welland asked.
Caren smiled perkily. ‘Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies. Now – are we doing this?’
Carter nodded. ‘I guess so.’
He hit the call button.
‘Do we all have to go?’ Welland asked, twisting his T-shirt between his hands and treating them all to a glimpse of his pale, furry belly. ‘I mean, shouldn’t someone stay up here and be, like, a lookout?’
‘Good idea,’ Carter said. ‘Split up. Always works well in horror movies.’
‘And you most definitely do not look like the guy most likely to be killed before the opening credits,’ Caren added, displaying a sense of humour unseen in the three years Carter had tried to avoid her. Perhaps all it took was a little horrific slaughter to bring out the best in some people.
Welland let out a deep sigh. ‘This sucks, man.’
The elevator pinged. Caren and Carter raised their guns. The doors opened.
Something small, brown and white and furry leapt out, barking excitedly.
‘Dexter!’ Carter exclaimed.
Caren lowered her gun and wrinkled her nose.
‘He stinks.’
Carter scooped the little dog up into his arms. ‘Hey, fella. Did you get stuck in the elevator?’
‘Well, he hardly called it himself,’ Caren added, sticking a foot in to stop the door closing. ‘Looks like he’s left us a little present too.’
Carter ruffled the dog’s ears. ‘Aw, did you do a little shit? Did you?’
Caren rolled her eyes. ‘Okay, the animal love is great. Can we get on now?’
Carter put Dexter down. ‘Okay. Stay up here, buddy.’
They stepped in, trying to avoid standing near the deposit in the corner. But Dexter wasn’t about to relinquish his new-found company. He bounded in after them.
Carter looked at Caren and shrugged. ‘Looks like he’s coming with us.’
She pressed her pass to the controls and hit ‘B’.
‘Great. When we all end up dead, he can feast on our corpses.’
The elevator slid silently down. Carter and Caren drew their guns as the doors opened.
The corridor was empty and lit by the emergency lighting, green strips along either side. Helpfully, it cast a ghoulish glow to proceedings.
‘Man, it’s like fucking Halloween down here,’ Welland moaned.
For once, he wasn’t wrong, Carter thought.
They stepped out. Carter led, Caren behind him and Welland trailing at the rear like a sulky child. Dexter scampered around their legs. The doors on their left were open, which was wrong. Normally, when the power was working, they were closed. The systems really had gone haywire. He glanced at Caren.
‘You ever actually use that pass to come down here?’
‘Once or twice,’ she said. ‘Just to check.’
‘On what?’
‘What do you think?’
Guns still drawn, they walked towards the first open door and peered inside. This had been the junior doctors’ office. Three desks, ancient laptops gathering dust on top. People weren’t so devoted to their computers or devices now. What was the point? The internet and phone networks were patchy, the news was all propaganda, TV was the same regurgitated shows and social media wasn’t remotely social.
On the other wall, a large cork pinboard hung, peppered with curling pieces of paper. Jokes, cartoons, ‘funny’ workplace mantras. A take-out menu from the restaurant in the village. And a page from a newspaper:
INVICTA ACADEMY.
New research wing opened by Professor Grant.
Carter stared at it for a moment then turned.
‘Let’s check the next one.’
They withdrew and entered the second office. His office, Carter thought. The Professor. There was just one large mahogany desk in here, with an expensive-looking leather chair behind it. A heavy sideboard stood against one wall. Once upon a time, it had contained cut-crystal glasses and bottles of fine wine and whiskey. Those had long since been drunk. Straight out of the bottles.
The desk was bare except for a glass paperweight and a picture in a wooden frame. A girl, with fine mousy hair and cool grey eyes. Not quite beautiful. Her nose was too long and her face a little thin. But striking. Determined.
‘Carter?’
‘Yeah?’ He turned.
Caren was frowning at him. ‘There’s nothing here. C’mon.’
He picked up the picture and laid it face down. ‘Coming.’
They exited the office and checked out the labs. All empty. The only sounds were their own footsteps and the hum of the refrigeration unit.
‘No one home,’ Caren said.
‘So, shall we go back up?’ Welland asked, hopefully.
Carter gave him a look. ‘Sure. After we check the chambers.’
There were a dozen isolation chambers in the basement. Officially. Unofficially, it was a baker’s dozen. There was a thirteenth chamber, remarkably secure, and remarkably well hidden. Officially, of course, none of the chambers existed. Their true purpose was known only to a few important people. And the survivors.
Carter could smell the iron tang of blood before they even turned the corner. Dexter bounded ahead. When he reached the door to the isolation chambers he stopped and whined.
Know the feeling, buddy, Carter thought.
The door to the chambers, normally sealed, was half open. They stared at it.
‘So, are we all ready?’ Caren asked, as if they were about to begin a high-impact aerobics class rather than enter the seventh circle of hell.
No, Carter thought, but he nodded tersely and stepped inside. Caren followed. Welland whimpered, ‘Oh man,’ and trudged behind them.
Carter had been right. Dark red blood. All over the floor and up the walls. Smeared across the glass screens of Chambers 1 and 2. The source lay about halfway down, between Chambers 3 and 4.
‘Jesus fuck,’ Welland moaned from behind him.
Caren just let out a low whistle between her teeth. Dexter sat down and started to lick his balls.
Carter moved forward. Tentatively, trying to make sure he didn’t touch any of the blood. They were all vaxxed, but that wasn’t a hundred per cent foolproof. As had been proven in the past.
He reached the body. Not Miles. Another Whistler. Blue jumpsuit, long grey hair. Face caved in – a catastrophe of smashed bones and blood. What was her name? Carter couldn’t remember. She had been one of the nurses, Miles had told him. Carter had only ever known her as Supply 02.
He stood and looked back at the others. ‘Dead.’
‘Two down,’ Caren said.
He nodded. Where the fuck was Miles?
They stepped over the body. In Chamber 3, a wasted figure crouched in the corner, face hidden by long, matted hair. This one didn’t have much left in him. All but drained. A skeleton sheathed in skin.
‘He was a doctor, before he became infected,’ Miles had told Carter. ‘He would bring female recruits down here sometimes, sedate them and, well, you can surmise the rest.’
Carter turned away. Dexter had finished his male grooming and trotted ahead of them. He stopped outside Chamber 4 and sat, panting happily. Caren and Carter exchanged glances. Three Whistlers had been contained down here. Three lots of supplies. Two were dead. One wasn’t going anywhere.
Which left …
They walked up to the reinforced glass. Each chamber contained a bed, a chair, a wall-mounted TV, a small bookcase and a sectioned-off washing and toilet area. A small red light on the door indicated that the chamber was locked.
Miles was sitting inside, flicking through an old paperback and looking bored. He glanced up at their approach.
‘Finally.’ He shut the book and chucked it on to the bed. ‘I wondered how long it would take you to find me and let me out.’
Hannah
She was ten when her mother killed herself.
Her father always said it was a cry for help. The sleeping pills and alcohol were just too much for her mother’s frail body. But Hannah knew that her mother never did anything unintentionally. If the overdose was a cry for attention, it was intended to be her final one. She controlled her death as rigidly as she had controlled her life.
Aside from Hannah, control was all her mother had. Hannah’s father had been a distant figure in both their lives for as long as Hannah could remember. A fleeting shadow in the corner of her eye. A transient ghost who walked in and out of rooms but never settled. Hannah had known bad smells that lingered longer.
‘It’s your fault my mother died!’ she had yelled at him once, in a rare display of teenage angst. ‘You didn’t love her enough.’
Her father had fixed her with his chill gaze and said, ‘Love cannot save people, Hannah. Only science can save people. One day you will understand that.’
Hannah did. She understood that her mother didn’t want to be saved if she wasn’t loved. She understood that science saved the many, not the few. And right now, if she wanted to survive, she would have to save herself.
Statistically, if Hannah was infected, she had a 98 per cent chance of showing symptoms. If she did show symptoms, she had a 75 per cent chance of dying. If she survived, well, that was the other percentage she didn’t want to think about. Of course, they had about a 99.999 per cent chance of being blown to smithereens in the next two hours so maybe it didn’t really matter.
‘We keep this between us,’ she said to Cassie. ‘At the moment, our priority is the bomb.’
‘Sure thing.’ Cassie nodded. ‘Way I see it, we’re not getting out of this alive anyway. The only question is whether we get out in one piece.’
Hannah stared at her. ‘And I thought I was a pessimist.’
‘I prefer to think of it as being a realist. The fact is, if just one of us is infected, we probably all are –’
‘That doesn’t mean we’ll all die,’ Hannah said.
‘No. But if the alternative is to end up a fucking Whistler –’
‘Don’t call them that,’ Hannah snapped.
‘Why?’
‘It dehumanizes people.’
Cassie raised an eyebrow. ‘I thought we were already dehumanizing them by putting them in the Farms –’ She broke off and covered her mouth. ‘Oops – probably not supposed to call them that either. What’s the official term – Seclusion Centres?’
Hannah felt her jaw tense. ‘What would you have the Department do? Those people may have survived, but they’re still infected. They won’t recover. Some are dangerous with the Choler variant. The Seclusion Centres are a humane solution.’
‘Locking them away. Using them against their will.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘Y’know,’ Cassie mused, ‘I seem to recall another time in history when people were rounded up and put in places like that. What did they call them, back then? Oh yeah, concentration camps.’
‘It isn’t remotely the same,’ Hannah said tightly.
Cassie smiled. ‘I guess I should have had you down as a denier, bearing in mind who your dad is.’
‘I am not like my father. And you shouldn’t believe wild conspiracy theories on social media.’
‘Still defending him when he’s willing to let you die. That’s devotion.’
Before Hannah could retort there was a shout from behind them.
‘HEY!’ Lucas’s voice. ‘Could you save the gossip for later? We need the keys.’
Hannah pushed past Cassie. ‘Not a word,’ she hissed.
She clambered back down the coach and handed Lucas the keys. ‘Here you go.’
Josh and Lucas had cleared the glass and Josh had already made a decent-sized tunnel in the snow. Lucas had scooped the excess into a large pile that was melting nearby. Hannah was surprised. This might just work.
‘Impressive.’
‘Yeah,’ Josh panted, wriggling his way back out. ‘The snow isn’t too compacted. It looks like I can get enough depth and then start to tunnel back up.’
‘Do you need some help?’
He shook his head. ‘Thanks, but this is kind of a one-man job. Plus, no offence, but I don’t want anyone else screwing it up.’
‘Fair enough.’
He shuffled himself back into the tunnel, only his feet now poking out. Hannah sat back and folded her arms. The faint heat from the air vents was already dissipating. Without the engine running it was simply residual. Soon, it would start blowing cold. They would be lucky to get another half an hour’s worth of power from the battery. She rubbed at her arms. If they didn’t get blown up first, there was the distinct possibility they might go to sleep tonight, fall into the arms of hypothermia and never wake up.
Cassie had sat down nearby, pointedly ignoring her. Daniel was at the back of the bus again, tending to his sister. An uncharitable part of Hannah (her father’s part) wished the girl would just hurry up and die. At some point, she would become a liability. A drain on their resources. Already Daniel’s time could have been better spent helping Lucas and Josh. He was a big guy. Another pair of hands would have given Lucas a break. She frowned. Talking of another pair of hands – there was someone missing.
‘Where’s Ben?’ she asked Lucas.
‘Oh, he, err, had to use the lavatory.’
Great. That should add to the already slightly ripe aroma inside the coach.
The toilet flushed and Ben stumbled out, wiping at his mouth. His lank hair was plastered to his scalp and dark circles bloomed beneath his eyes. He looked like he had been relieving himself at both ends.
‘You okay?’ Hannah asked.
He nodded, then coughed. ‘Man, I wish I’d taken that Pedialyte out of my bag. You err, might not want to go in there for a –’
A thud shook the roof of the coach. They all jumped.
‘Shit!’ Ben cowered. ‘What the hell was that?’
‘Avalanche?’ Cassie suggested. ‘Meteor strike?’
Another thud. They raised their eyes to the roof. The thud was followed by scuffling sounds. And then a grey silhouette slunk past the snow-caked windows.
Lucas clicked his tongue against his teeth. ‘I think we have visitors.’
‘Wolves,’ Hannah said, her heart sinking.
Josh eased himself back out of the snow tunnel. ‘Did you say wolves?’
