Coldbrook (Hammer) (20 page)

A passenger jet roared behind the buildings as it powered along the runway for take-off. At least they were still flying. She’d been worried about that. If this had been an outbreak of Ebola or bubonic plague they’d have shut the airports, seaports and state borders. But apparently it would take a lot longer for the authorities to take action over a zombie outbreak.

Jayne gave a bark of laughter that turned into a cry, and then she walked to the airport building.

The departures terminal was busy. There were businessmen reading newspapers or frowning over their BlackBerries, families huddled together with kids excited and worried adults glancing around, and single travellers, many of whom Jayne could not read. She found herself checking them all for injuries, but all she saw was one man with a fleck of blood on his white collar.
Shaving cut
, she thought, and she had to bite her lip to hold back the hysteria.

The next flight to the UK was in three hours, and she bought one of the last places on it. She used her disabled card to get a comfortable seat, then used it again to be fast-tracked through to the departures lounge. And the whole experience was dreamlike. There were a couple of people crying, and a few who were huddling around the TV in one of the bars, but generally people seemed either unsure of what was happening or appeared not to care.

Jayne spent a few minutes watching the TV, nursing a Jack Daniel’s, more because it had been Tommy’s favourite drink than because she actually wanted it, and she realised then why everything seemed so unreal. Part of it was the fragmentary nature of the reports – there were clips of distant fires, unfocused telephone-camera imagery of shapes rushing through
darkness, and helicopter shots of people moving across hillsides. And part of it was the bizarre nature of what they were seeing. Most of the news broadcasts were confused and unclear: unscripted stories, rushed interviews with traumatised and hysterical members of the public, and a few straight-faced officials denying that the emergency services weren’t coping, and assuring viewers that all calls would be dealt with ‘within two minutes’.

But scattered among the confused live broadcasts was more telling footage. One brief clip, expertly and probably secretly shot, showed corpses being unloaded from the back of an ambulance. There were so many that they must have been stacked in layers inside, and when Jayne saw the paramedics’ face masks she gave another harsh laugh, followed by a sob. But no one looked her way. All gazes in the bar were focused on the screen at that point, as the cameraman panned along the row of corpses. Terrible wounds were revealed, injuries that belonged in a war. And every one of the bodies had head trauma.

‘At least someone knows what they’re doing,’ Jayne said, and two young guys on the table next to her glanced her way with shock written all over their faces. She finished her Jack Daniel’s and closed her eyes, feeling the burn.

Human nature meant that it would take a while for all this to sink in.

But it wouldn’t take
that
long.

Jayne spent two hours in the departures lounge willing the minutes until take-off away, because once they closed the airport that would be it. She’d be stuck here while they – the famous They, the faceless They – tried to take control of things, and reality would surround her. Once in the air and heading for the UK, the sense of the unreality of everything that had happened would increase. There, for a while, perhaps she would find respite.

Her flight was called and she boarded. She was sitting next to a middle-aged businessman whose constant chatter marked him as a nervous flyer. Her monosyllabic responses soon persuaded him to keep his nervousness to himself, and as they went through the pre-flight checks and safety demonstrations Jayne closed her eyes and could almost believe that none of this had happened. But her arm still throbbed, and Tommy stared at her behind her closed eyes, the expression on his face one of surprise as Spartacus’s bullet blew his life away.

They took off, and in the distance Jayne saw a fire blazing somewhere to the north. Fifteen minutes into the flight, an attendant told someone in the seat in front of Jayne that they were the last flight out of Knoxville. From elsewhere she heard someone whisper, ‘Morris says they’re bombing Atlanta.’

They drove through the day, hoping to reach Cincinnati by sunset.

After Vic had told Lucy why and how it was his fault, she’d surprised him by softening a little. He could not be sure how either of them could guarantee it, but their spoken determination to stay together had inspired a measure of strength in him that had been lacking before. Instinct had driven him up and out of Coldbrook, but Lucy’s love went some way to driving his guilt back down. He had much to make amends for, but she knew why he had done what he’d done. In her eyes he saw that she understood.

Lucy drove some of the way, but Vic always felt more comfortable driving. And besides, for every mile of their three-hundred-mile journey he was considering roadblocks, state border controls, martial law, public panic, and the rule of chaos. In his pocket he carried his identification card, and in the car door beside his left thigh sat the M1911. If they came across trouble, he wanted to be behind the wheel.

Lucy had spent the first hour of the journey trying to call friends in Danton Rock on her iPhone. Her first couple of calls were answered, and Vic cringed as he heard her telling those at the other end that they should pack and leave immediately. ‘Forget the damn school fayre!’
she said to one of them and to another she whispered, ‘Something’s gone wrong down there and you shouldn’t hang around.’ But then her third call was cut off unexpectedly, and after that the whole cellphone network seemed to go down. She’d tried a dozen more numbers ten times each, including those of her parents and her brother. It was only as the last call connected and a heavy, loaded silence was the only answer to her desperate pleading that she put the phone down.

She’s beginning to understand. This is my fault
, Vic thought. But Lucy said nothing more, and she did not try to call Danton Rock again. She said she wanted to save her phone’s battery.

They kept the radio on, turned down low so that Olivia couldn’t hear it. She was happy playing her Nintendo DS, and the chirpy jingles of the
Keep a Puppy
game provided a surreal theme to the stories they were hearing. As the day wore on and they drew closer to Cincinnati, Lucy moved over in her seat so that she could touch Vic. A hand on his thigh, arm around his shoulders, something that involved physical contact – he took as much comfort from it as she did.

‘You can’t blame yourself,’ she told him as they listened to a report about a huge fire in central Knoxville.

‘I can,’ he said. Lucy squeezed the back of his neck, and from the back seat Olivia started singing.

The radio reports grew in severity, until one channel
said they were suspending their Sunday music programming to bring all the updates on the developing situation.

‘What’s a zombie?’ Olivia asked.

Lucy flicked the radio off and glanced at Vic.

‘Just a silly monster from the movies,’ Vic said.

‘No such things as monsters, honey,’ Lucy said.

They exited the freeway and pulled up outside a rest stop. Olivia whooped and hollered, delighted that they’d reached their holiday destination, and Vic looked at the trucks and motorbikes and dusty cars lining the parking lot, wondering at his child’s sense of imagination. Outside the car, stretching the several-hour journey from their limbs, Lucy stood close to Vic and entwined her fingers with his.

‘They’ll have the TV on in there.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Olivia will see.’

He bit his lip and watched his beautiful daughter skipping beside the car’s hood, singing softly to herself, so vulnerable and dependent.

‘It’s spreading quickly,’ he said.

‘Moving as fast as people can run,’ Lucy said.

‘Faster.’ Vic brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear, and she gave him a strained smile. He’d treasure any smile from his wife now as a gift.

‘Jonah hasn’t called,’ she said.

‘He’ll be busy.’ Lucy nodded slowly, rubbing an ache in the back of her neck. ‘Holly Wright went through,’ Vic said, not sure why he’d blurted that now. Perhaps she had been on his mind, beneath the fear for his family and what was to come. Perhaps leaving her behind was just another facet of his guilt.

‘Through the breach?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Where the thing that started this came from?’

Vic nodded, unable to answer. He felt a weight behind his eyes, and his heart was thumping fast.
Don’t let me see that look in your eyes
, he thought, remembering the dream of his sister and Lucy.

They ate, used the toilet, and left the diner as quickly as possible. As Vic drove, Lucy tried once again to call her parents in Los Angeles and her brother in Seattle. But the networks were still overloaded.

As she put the phone down once more, they passed by the sign for Cincinnati.

They met Marc Dubois where Jonah had arranged, in a private staff car park at the university. He was sitting on the hood of his car as they pulled up, and Vic saw him checking out their RAV4. In one hand he carried a satphone, in the other he held a cigarette. He did not smile but leaned in Vic’s window, breathing cigarette smoke over him. ‘One, two, three,’ he said, nodding at each of
them without expression, and then he turned away and dialled his phone.

Vic glanced across at Lucy. She raised an eyebrow, then he opened the door and stepped out. His legs and arms were aching, both from the long drive and the escape from Coldbrook that had preceded it. He wished once again that he’d spent more time in that gym.

‘Marc Dubois?’ Vic asked, though he already knew who he was talking to.
Tall gent,
Jonah had told him.
Should play basketball but he hates sport. Good-looking bastard. Looks like he should be a lady’s man, but he’d more likely go for you. Marc is a genius. You’ll like him, Vic. Eventually
.

‘Jonah,’ the man said into the phone. His voice was low, slow and measured. ‘They’re here. All three.’ He nodded a couple of times, then half-turned and looked at Vic over his shoulder. ‘So you want me to kill him now, or later?’

Vic tried not to react.

‘Okay,’ Marc said. ‘Speak soon.’ He pocketed the phone and sat back gently on the hood of his car. ‘He said to kill you later.’

‘Doesn’t sound like Jonah,’ Vic said. ‘He’s usually one to act on the moment.’

‘Seems to think you might be able to help me first.’

‘Well . . .’ Vic said, trying to size up this man. He gave
nothing away. ‘I thought perhaps it was the other way around.’

‘You think?’ Marc asked. Then after a pause he offered a half-smile. ‘Just fucking with you. Here.’ He held out his hand and Vic shook it. ‘So, let’s meet your family.’

Lucy and Olivia were stepping from the car, and when Vic introduced them Marc produced a candy bar for Olivia.

‘You want to see some rabbits?’ he asked Olivia. She squealed.

‘Can I hold one?’

‘Oh, honey—’ Lucy said, but Marc interrupted.

‘Sure you can! One of them is called Olivia, and I’m sure she’ll love you.’

‘You’re just joking!’ Olivia said through her laughter.

Marc pulled a face. ‘You got me. I’m joking. She’s actually called Lady. But I’m not joking when I say she’ll love you.’

He looked up at Vic and Lucy, glancing back and forth as if sizing them up.

‘Jonah said—’ Vic began, and Marc cut him off.

‘You okay to drive?’ he asked Lucy.

‘Sure.’

‘Cool. Ride with me, Vic. Need to fill you in on a few things. My place is five miles up into the hills, and I want to get there by nightfall.’

‘Why?’ Olivia asked.

‘Because,’ Marc said, leaning in close to the little girl and putting on a spooky voice, ‘
that’s
when the
monsters
come
out
!’

‘Monsters? Like zombies?’

Marc stood again, staring down at Olivia from his great height. Then he turned and opened his car door. ‘Come on. Light’s wasting.’

‘Lady rabbit awaits,’ Vic said to Lucy, and he kissed his little girl before climbing in beside Marc.

The tall man drove in silence for a while. Vic positioned his wing mirror so that he could keep an eye on Lucy behind them, then he glanced several times at Marc. In profile he presented an intimidating picture – sharp nose, sloping forehead, bald head, lush beard, cigarette smoking in the corner of his mouth. His arms were long, his hands big. He might have been a wrestler or a boxer, rather than what he was. In any other circumstance but this, Vic might have felt comforted by his presence.

‘That old Welsh bastard really asked you to kill me?’ Vic asked, only half-joking.

Marc turned to look at him, staring for so long that Vic wanted to shout,
Don’t forget you’re driving!

‘You have a nice family,’ Marc said. ‘Your daughter is delightful. Your wife’s pretty, but sad.’

Vic sighed and looked out of the passenger window.
The RAV4 was following close behind and he wished he was still with them, singing with Olivia and holding Lucy’s hand.

Marc reached over into the back seat while still driving, rooting around for something. ‘Here. Thought I should show you this.’ He dropped an iPad into Vic’s lap and Vic winced when the corner dug into his groin.

‘What’s this?’

‘Open it, access the net. I’ll give you the website to look at.’ Vic did what he was told, then Marc read out a series of numbers and letters forming a website address. After that, a user ID and password.

‘What am I looking at?’ Vic asked.

‘Something you shouldn’t be.’

‘Whatever Jonah told you—’

‘Is true. I’ve known that man for over forty years. How old are you?’

‘Forty,’ Vic said.

‘Fucking kid. Listen here, Vic. I’m going to do the best I can, and you’re going to help me. But what Jonah told me . . . I can’t just forget that. Can’t forget what a fucking stupid prick you were, wrecking every safeguard built into that place. Can’t forget what a selfish
motherfucker
you were, leaving them down there and escaping to save your own damn skin. I’m supposed to be working with you – it’s good that I know what a clumsy fucker you are.’