Coldbrook (Hammer) (11 page)

He rolled onto his back and sat up, his stomach muscles screaming.
Really should have used that gym
, he thought as he looked back down into the valley. Coldbrook sat further down the hillside, and now there were lights on in the buildings. He realised that the shooting had been distant, gunshots echoing from the slopes. No one was chasing him. His nerves had got the better of him. He tried to breathe calmly, but could not stop panting from exertion and fear. His heart fluttered like a trapped bird. He felt nauseous but it was nothing to do with the stinking ditch he had thrown himself into.

It was everything to do with those gunshots.

Something flashed down in the compound, though it
was too far away to make out any detail, and seconds later more gunfire echoed up to him.

It’s out
, Vic thought, and his chest and stomach felt heavy.
I should have sealed that duct behind me, even the hatch, even if I’d spent a minute to screw that back properly instead of just propping it . . .
But panic had gripped him, a mortal fear for Lucy and Olivia that had dulled his understanding and made his thoughts race: reach home, at all costs. The idea that the danger could be contained had not occurred to him. Never before had instinct taken him so completely, and as he climbed from that ditch he shivered at the idea.

He stepped back up onto the road and started running again, Coldbrook at his back, the long slope of the ridge ahead of him. Danton Rock was maybe a mile away over the curve of the hilltop. Already he could see the first few farm buildings. To the east the sun was smudging the division between night and morning, and he was beginning to dread what the day would bring.

The satphone shrilled again, but Vic ignored it. He couldn’t talk to Jonah just yet.
Whatever the shooting was about, they’ve got it contained
, he thought, trying to make sense of what he was doing. Trying to divert the blame. He had to keep it at bay until he reached his family.
Then
he could speak to Jonah;
then
he could find out what had really happened and how bad it was.

‘I’ll be back down there by sunset,’ he muttered, his
voice shaking as he ran. ‘He’ll be fucking furious, he’ll dock a month’s money, but he’ll need me down there.’

The lies kept coming as the road passed by beneath his feet, and the rising sun started to dry the thin, putrid mud coating his right side. He was exhausted but he ran on, ignoring for now his straining lungs and the burning in his knees and legs. His satphone had gone silent and he started to fear what that meant.

The road twisted up towards the ridge, and as it started to level out he passed the small farm on Danton Rock’s outskirts. A few cows lifted their heads to watch him pass by, still chewing the cud, uninterested. A dog barked somewhere out of sight, and he could hear the sound of a motor among the farm buildings.

He slowed down, the shaking in his chest forcing him to a walk. He passed several houses on his right and a row of shops on his left, a couple of small restaurants tucked neatly between a baker’s, a food store, and a pharmacy. He and Lucy had eaten in the Asian restaurant several times, and once they’d been in there when Holly had walked in. Vic’s surprise had been genuine – Holly rarely ventured out of Coldbrook, and when she did she tended to travel to Asheville for a couple of days away from work. It had not been the first time that Holly and Lucy had met, and he’d sat awkwardly while the two women exchanged pleasantries. He and Holly had still been involved then, and the rest of the evening after she
joined the friends who’d arrived soon after had been strained. He and Lucy had made love when they returned home, he remembered, and afterwards she had asked him what was wrong.

He started to run again, driven by thoughts of his wife.

‘We have to get away. In ten minutes. Pack a bag for both of you, but leave Olivia on the Wii for now. How’s the car? Is the tank full?’

Lucy stood at their kitchen counter, still wearing her dressing gown, hair a mess, eyes puffy from sleep. Coffee was brewing, and as she and Vic stared at each other in uneasy silence the toaster popped up three slices. Vic jumped slightly, then looked around their kitchen. He spoke with Lucy several times each day but he had not been home since breach, four days earlier.

‘You’re covered in mud.’

‘Yeah.’

He’d appeared at the back door to see Lucy stretching and yawning, mug in one hand and the other scratching absently below one breast. Then she’d seen him, her eyes going wide and a slick of coffee spilling down her front. It had not been hot.

‘I don’t understand. Why won’t you tell me why?’

‘I will. When we’re on the road,’ he said again. If he started now, he’d have to finish, and he had no real idea
how this would end. He’d drive and talk at the same time. And if he was going to scare her he’d rather it were as they were leaving than now, when she had herself and Olivia to get together. And he had stuff to think about, things they’d need to take with them.
Vic, something’s come through . . . a creature, but . . .

‘But you’re scaring me!’ Lucy said. ‘You look—’

‘Everything’s going to be fine. I’ve been running, that’s all.’ He moved to the side and glanced at his reflection in the oven door. He no longer looked like himself, and he wondered if mere mud and exhaustion could do that.

‘Olivia won’t want to go. She’s only been up twenty minutes, she hasn’t even had . . .’ Lucy nodded at the toast, and Vic moved quickly across to her, grasping her upper arms and pulling her close. He stared into her gorgeous blue eyes for a few seconds, seeing how this was upsetting her but unable to change course. Then he hugged her to him, thinking of the dream and his dead sister, and those brief moments of suspicion he’d seen in his wife’s eyes.

‘Something came through,’ he said.

‘What?’ Her voice was muffled against his shoulder.

‘Just trust me. I’ll tell you everything I know when we’re rolling. But I want to be away from here in ten minutes.’ Vic let go and moved back, looking her in the eyes again and loving everything about her. She was scared, but she’d sniffed back any tears.

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘But Olivia will—’

‘Daddy!’ the little girl shouted as she ran into the kitchen, and Vic’s smile as he spun around to sweep her up was genuine. Olivia hugged him tight around the neck and her long hair brushed against his face, tickling his nose. ‘Wow, you’re all dirty.’

‘Yeah, I know, sweetie!’ he said, hugging her back. This was everything he had left Coldbrook for. He turned so that he could see Lucy and offer her a smile.

‘Hey, honey,’ Lucy said. ‘Daddy’s been keeping a surprise from us.’

‘Has he found Rosie?’ Olivia asked, so serious. Rosie was a doll she’d lost over a year ago, a ragtag creation that still seemed to visit her dreams.

‘Not Rosie, sweetie,’ Vic said. ‘But we’re going on holiday.’

‘Yay! No school?’

‘No school,’ he said.

‘How long for?’

Vic glanced at Lucy, and something in his eyes must have struck her for the first time. She leaned gently against the kitchen worktop for support.

‘Only a few days,’ he said. ‘That’s all.’

Vic wanted to leave in ten minutes, but it was almost twenty before they were sitting in their RAV4, Olivia strapped into her seat in the back with a Nintendo DS
open on her lap, Lucy clicking her seat belt and sitting back, staring straight ahead. When he’d stretched to push several large water bottles behind the front seats, she’d caught sight of the pistol in his belt. She’d hardly said anything since and it was time to tell her what he knew.

‘Lucy, everything I’m doing is for—’

‘Should I call my mother?’ Lucy asked. There was a quiver of fear in her voice. ‘Or Richard? He and Rhian are in Seattle, should I—’

‘Don’t call anyone!’ Vic said, more sharply than he’d intended.

Lucy blinked and stared at him wide-eyed.

He sighed, started the car, and sat back in his seat for a moment, eyes closed, trying to remember everything they had packed.
Should have brought more food
, he thought.
And water. Only ten litres of water
. Lucy had thrown a load of clothes into a suitcase and a kitbag, and Vic had added some heavy walking boots, coats and gloves, even though it was still only September. Toys and books for Olivia, a mobile charger for his phone, the spare five hundred dollars he kept in an envelope in his desk drawer. When he’d casually loaded a compact tent and camping stove into the car, Lucy’s glare had been thunderous. But he’d ignored it and walked away, because there was so much left to do.

‘Where are we going?’ Olivia asked, breaking the
awkward silence. Vic looked at her in the rear-view mirror, hunched down over the DS and immersed in her child’s world.

‘North,’ he said. ‘Somewhere nice. It’s a surprise.’

‘You’ve no idea, have you?’ Lucy whispered.

Vic glanced across at her, then squeezed her leg, hoping she’d place her hand on top of his. She remained stiff and upright in her seat, nursing her mobile phone and staring through the windscreen at their house. It was a big family home, double-fronted, small pool out back, hot tub, and entirely the product of Vic’s work at Coldbrook. The facility paid their mortgage, and there was the promise of complete ownership of the property upon project completion.
They’ll have the house from me
, he thought, and he barked a short, bitter laugh as fear flushed coldly through his veins.

‘Shouldn’t we be going?’ Lucy asked coldly.

‘Yeah,’ Vic said. He backed away from the house and drove off. As he headed towards the centre of town he looked in the mirror again, but this time not at Olivia. He watched behind them, not sure what he was expecting to see. But he saw nothing.

They drove around the town square where he and Lucy had once sat, Olivia in her pushchair, and talked about having a second child. That had not happened yet, but Vic kept telling Lucy that they had plenty of time.
The world is our lobster
, he’d say, smiling and hugging her
tight. The bench where they’d sat had a plaque dedicating it to the memory of a young girl called Alice Klein, the daughter of friends of theirs. She had died three years before at the age of fifteen from brain cancer. She’d been a popular girl, and as she had deteriorated she’d raised many thousands of dollars for the small town hospital where she’d spent her last days. She had been quite a character in town, pushed around in her wheelchair by her older brother, flaunting her baldness and the scars of unsuccessful surgery, demanding men’s shoes – just one from a pair – and holding them to ransom for charity. She’d taken Vic’s three times, and the last time it had cost him a hundred bucks to get it back. He’d had to collect it from her house, because she’d taken a sudden turn for the worse by then, dying five days later. He still visited her parents every time he was up in town. Her father worked for Coldbrook, though not in the facility – he was one of several accountants of theirs, responsible for dealing with their foreign investors. A good man, a friend to the Pearsons, he had changed since his daughter’s death, taking his work more seriously. There had also been rumours that he’d tried to take his own life, though no one wished to explore them too deeply.

I should tell David
, Vic thought. He stopped the car to let a postman cross, raising a finger on the wheel in acknowledgement when he nodded his thanks.
I should tell him, because they don’t deserve any more heartbreak
.
He drove on, and the atmosphere in the car was thick with tension. Even Olivia seemed to have noticed it; she’d closed her DS and sat staring out of the window, frowning into the sun.

They left the square and passed McCready’s, where Vic and his family had spent last New Year’s Eve. Old Walt McCready threw a big party every year, charging everyone ten bucks and laying on food, drink and entertainment until the early hours. Adults and kids alike remembered the party for months afterwards, for the quality of the home-catered food and the variety of drinks he’d ordered in for the evening. Vic remembered it most for the ten minutes he’d sat and watched Lucy dancing with some of her friends from town. He’d been gently drunk by then, and he’d realised that he loved his wife more than he ever had before. He’d even muttered a foolish New Year’s resolution to himself:
Be better to her this year than you ever have
. As they drove by he realised that he had now broken that resolution. He remembered their friends dancing and eating and laughing with them that night, and knew that he should warn them all.

Olivia sniffed behind him, and Vic realised his daughter was crying.

‘So?’ Lucy asked beside him, so cold, so afraid.

His guilt scoured deep into him. Before he could change his mind he brought the Rav4 to a halt and pulled out the satphone.

‘Honey, I just need to see how bad it is,’ he said, pressing Jonah’s speed-dial number as he spoke. By the time Lucy began to protest the call was answered, and the old bastard’s Welsh accent cut through the static.

‘Vic, you stupid bastard Yank, do you have any idea what you’ve
done
?’ The phone’s ringing had startled Jonah – he was standing at the viewing panel in the door, looking out at the deserted, silent corridor beyond – and his shouted response was partly in reaction to that shock. But it was also provoked by the words that had appeared on the little screen:
Vic calling
.

‘Jonah—’

‘Today I’ve seen people dying. Melina. Uri. And Estelle, she had her head . . . it was . . . because of you.’ He drew a breath, leaning against the door with one hand.

‘Jonah, where are you? How bad is it?’

‘Ah, fuck off, Vic,’ Jonah said, and he disconnected. His head was spinning, heart galloping, and he sat down gingerly on the edge of the desk. The palpitations made him cough, and for a moment he was sure the dizziness would increase and he’d hit the floor.
Break a hip
, he thought,
and wouldn’t that be just fine? Survive all that and then break a damn hip?
Wendy would have laughed at the irony in that, but then she always did
have a skewed view of life. Bill Coldbrook had once said,
The more we think we know, the more humble we should become
, and how right he had been. Had Jonah’s own pride and arrogance caused this catastrophe? Perhaps.