Designated (Book 2): Designated Quarantined (23 page)

Liz bowed her head, sniffling slightly as he peeled back the layer of leather to expose the plastic and paper innards that held their lives captive. With an ease and well-honed dexterity born of a lifetime of scrimping and surviving on his own wits, Robbie filtered the money and plastic into two separate piles, the towering stack of notes held down by a lump of brick while the cards lay silent and immobile in their glistening piles of wealth-infused plastic.

'Okay, so we have enough cash to get some food and drink for the next... Robbie did a quick mental leap as he tabbed through exactly what they could buy with enough shelf life to survive not being refrigerated. 'Week and a half, if we go easy and slow with it; no pigging out like last time. I know you like canned peaches, but you ate all five tins in two days and what happened?'
 

Liz blushed slightly as she remembered exactly what had happened for the next three days afterwards. 'I know; I'm sorry.'
 

Robbie smiled as he checked the rest of the slots in the last wallet they had. 'Don't be; you need the vitamins. Just don't do it again.'
 

A small slip of paper dropped into his palm, the four hastily scratched-out digits in its centre made his eyes widen with surprise as he stared at them.
 

'Thank Christ for idiots. Liz, stuff the money into the bag while I drop the cards down that drain there; we have to find a cash machine quick.'
 

She scrambled furiously to do as she was asked while Robbie disposed of the evidence of their misdeeds.
 

They slid to a halt amidst a flurry of clothes and flailing limbs, and with the urgency of a father on a forgotten birthday jammed the card into the reader in front of them. Then, with infinite care, Robbie tapped in the four-digit number.
 

Robbie's eyes slid closed as he silently prayed to a God he no longer cared for or believed in that the pin code still worked. He was wrenched out of his pious ministrations by an excited girlish squeal; dragging his gaze downwards, he stared at the shimmering blue screen and the carefully laid out numbers.
 

Quickly skimming through the balance, Robbie checked exactly what he could withdraw, milking the account for as much as he could before his window of opportunity snapped closed forever. With a static
whirr
, the notes slid into his hands, the crisp, clean ten and twenty-pound notes filling his heart as he stared at the ever-increasing pile.
 

Standing on her toes, Liz whispered in his ear the one question she had been wanting to ask again ever since he had found the pin code. Closing his fist around the wad of notes Robbie pulled Liz away from the machine, abandoning the card as they made a hasty retreat from public view and the cameras that stalked the streets.
 

'Okay, we have nearly a thousand pounds here and three hundred in the bag. So all in all, we have a little under twelve hundred pounds.'
 

He could feel the mounting glee in his younger sibling as he spoke. Cutting off her joy-filled squeals before they could happen, he continued to speak. 'We're not going stupid with food. We are getting some new clothes first; nothing fancy, but tough and comfortable, then we get food and head back to the hole, okay?'
 

Liz nodded, slightly subdued from the semi-scolding as she kicked at an empty can by her foot.
 

'Right, turn around; I want to hide this lot before we get caught with it out in the open.'
 

Tugging the bag closed, he reached forwards, squeezed Liz's shoulder gently, and turned her to face him again. 'We are also getting you a haircut and some soap so we can at least have a cold wash with some bottled water.'
 

He watched his sister's face light up as his words sank in and couldn't help but laugh as she flung her arms round his waist and hugged him as tight as she could manage.
 

'Come on let's get going.' Pulling her from him, he took her hand and slowly moved into the flow of people disappearing into the faceless mass as easily as a drop of water into a river.

18
August Eighth
Broadhead Barracks

'Right, okay, yes; I understand the urgency, but I am afraid we can offer little in the way of assistance at the moment. We're stretched thin on the ground as it is dealing with our own problem here. Yes, I do appreciate the impact the Infected are having there. Yes, I do pay attention to the international news, but as I said, without a way to suddenly ease the burden here, we cannot commit men to aiding your own forces. They're just going to have to subsist without our intervention; I am sorry, but that is all there is to it. Good day to you, too, sir.'
 

The phone clanged with the muffled chime of a bell as he dropped the receiver back into the cradle. Dragging his beret from his head, Colinson ran a hand over his sweat-dampened hair, a deep sigh of anger and agitation rising from him as he listened to the high-pitched chiming of his phone as it began to ring once more.
 

'Oh, for fuck sakes.' Lifting the receiver to his ear, he spoke, his voice politely neutral as he listened to the pleading female voice that barraged him with plaintive calls for aid.

Colinson leant his head against his folded arms as he slumped over his desk. The phone was finally silent for the first time since six thirty that morning; his eyes drooped as he lay with his head nestled in the crook of his elbow.
 

The sounds of the morning's waking denizens filled his office. The chirping of birds mingled with the distant drone of long-haul traffic as it passed them by, shielded by the five miles of fields and hedge-lined roads that wound their way to the base's gates.
 

The door to his office slowly slid open, drawing his attention for a moment. Looking up through strained and bleary eyes, he stared at the willowy figure in the doorway. The petite, trim curves were tantalisingly familiar to his senses, and yet he could not place the form that was slowly swimming into focus.

She slipped across the floor with the slow grace of a lazy jungle cat, covering the distance in a slow walk that begged to be watched with unscrupulous candour. His eyes travelled over the curves of her hips to the supple wave of her stomach and chest, drinking in every line and every subtle imperfection as if it were the last thing he would ever see.
 

Reaching out with a slender arm, she let the folder drop from her grasp, the inch-thick file falling to the desk with a crack akin to a rifle shot. The echoing report jolted him to his senses, his eyes dragged into focus by a wave of shock and adrenalin so sharp and sudden he felt as if he had been cleaved in two. Staring upwards, his eyes connected with Susan's, her gaze quizzical and almost concerned as she stared down at her boss.
 

'You okay, sir?'
 

Colinson ground the balls of his hands against his eyes as he chased away the thought dogging him before trying in vain to reply. 'Yes, fine, thank you Staff Sergeant. I'm going to take a personal hour. Could you see to it I am not disturbed? After the morning I've had, I want to try and stave off the migraine I can feel marching its way up my spine as long as possible.'
 

Susan nodded as she turned and crisply marched from the room. With a pain-tinged groan, Colinson unfurled the blinds and let them drop into place. The echoing clatter made him wince as the blind finally clattered against the windowsill, coming to a rest in a rippling sheet of slatted steel. David pinched at his temples as he slumped backwards onto the small settee in the corner of the room, the padded faux-leather seat cushioning his fall as he hit, air rushing out from under him in a high-pitched whoosh that left a childlike shimmer of a giggle in his stomach.
 

With a shrug, he slipped his jumper over his head, letting the merino wool and polyester pullover fall to the floor in a crumpled heap. With a smooth, quick movement, he slipped his fingers through the top three buttons of his shirt, letting it sag open. The cold air in the room tickled his sparsely haired chest as he swung his feet up, his clothes twisting slightly under his weight as he fought to find a more comfortable position. Finally settling on his side, Colinson shifted his shoulder, resting his head on his folded arm and slowly slipped into a fitful sleep.

****
 

Sweat fell like rain as they moved, their forms twisting, spinning like dervishes as they clashed and danced. Hands and feet a blur of impacted movements; a dull grunt echoed as fist connected with jaw, the sound of a body hitting the hard, compacted dirt filling the air.
 

'Keep your guard up; do you expect anyone or anything to be as lenient as I am?'
 

Derek stepped forwards as he spoke, his hand outstretched to help Janet up from the floor. With anger shimmering in her eyes, she slapped the proffered hand away. Pushing herself to her feet, she launched herself forwards, her balled fists scything through the air towards Derek's face.
 

Ducking past the miniature wrecking ball, he caught the flying fist, levered Janet's arm up, and twisted against her elbow as his body moved, dragging her still moving form across his hip; with a muffled yelp of surprise, she sailed over his head to land in a dust-obscured bundle of arms and legs five feet away.
 

'Don't rush your opponent blindly; are you fucking stupid? All you do is leave yourself open for exactly what I just did or worse. I could have had a knife, a gun or anything else in my hands and it would have opened you like a fish from muff to jaw.'
 

Janet stayed mute as she levered herself back onto her feet, her eyes aflame as she dropped low and slowly began to circle Derek. Her eyes flitted from his hands to his feet, watching for the slightest shift in his posture, a subtle swaying of his weight to another position—anything that would give her some indication of what could be coming.
 

Derek swept forwards, his feet shifting in an instant as he watched Janet's eyes move back to his hands. Shifting through her rising arms like sand through a sieve, he struck, his elbow rising and connecting with the base of Janet's chin as he hooked his leg between hers. She tumbled backwards, her weight and balance lost in the deluge as she collapsed over his leg.
 

Derek's hands snapped downwards, his right hand curling into the collar of her shirt as he raised his left and sent it sailing towards her throat. Janet's eyes snapped shut as she saw the hand descend, her mind racing as she waited for the impact that would inevitably end her existence; but there was nothing, just the cold air humming over their heated sweat-drenched bodies. She listened to the sounds of birds and the muted popping carried on the wind from the ranges beyond the borders of the base's interior.
 

Slowly, her eyes opened, stung by the glare of the noon sun as it hung high in the cloudless sky. Shifting her gaze, she let her eyes settle onto Derek's as he stared at her, his breathing even and steady as his fist sat mere inches from her exposed throat.
 

'Never watch their hands.' His only reply to her questioning gaze. Letting his body relax, he stood, pulling Janet none to gently upright as he did. His eyes were impassive and unmoved by the dishevelled and slightly scuffed woman before him.
 

'We will pick this up next week. I cleared it with the hospital administrator. Kevin will fill in for you. Women's showers are over there. He jerked his head in the direction of the barrack block as he turned his back on her.
 

'Clean yourself up and I'll meet you at the car in an hour.'
 

Without another word, he left. His form quickly vanished to nothing as he strode away, leaving a slightly bewildered and none-too-pleased woman in his wake. Janet retrieved her coat from where it lay on the grass outside the ring. She winced as a sharp spike of heat lanced up from the base of her back. Grimacing, she pressed her balled fist into the bunched and over-tightened muscle, righted herself with a slow, deep breath, and made her way towards the barracks.
 

****
 

The ride was silent; the only sounds filling the car were the incessant drone of the engine and the sound of the road beneath the wheels. Neither of them spoke as they began to wind through the slowly darkening streets as they chased the dwindling daylight.
 

The hum of twilight insects filled their ears as they stepped from the car, her gait slow and uneven as she limped from the bruises on her hip. Watching her move like a half-crippled leper made Derek's heart drown in its own tears, but part of him knew, even relished the thought of being able to count on her to protect their daughter if anything should ever befall him.

Silence reigned supreme as they stepped inside the house; its dark sanctum was a cool, inviting well, a safe hidden harbour from the oppressive heat of the day that seemed to linger on the air, even as the day slipped into night and the sun once more dropped from view, chased away by the snapping dogs of the moon's onward advance.
 

Swallowing his pride, Derek cleared his throat, drawing Janet's attention away from the advancing silhouette that slowly approached from the darkness. Looking past her, he caught eyes with Siobhan as she stopped short of them, a small smile plucking at her lips as she pushed her glasses back into place.
 

'Sib, could you go check on Maria, please, and give us a couple of minutes?'
 

A small frown crinkled her brow for a moment, but any retort or reply fell away as she took note of the situation for what it was. Nodding, she quietly scampered up the stairway and vanished from sight. Baker turned and looked at Janet, his face a mixture of emotion as he stared at the set of emerald orbs.
 

'About earlier, I...'
 

He stopped, unable to think of anything beyond those three words, his mind a swirling mess of conflicted emotions and temperamental self-loathing.

'Well, I don't honestly know what to say. I mean, I could say something but whether or not that is the right thing to say remains to be seen.
 

'I could end up saying the wrong thing and just make things worse… or I could say the right thing at the wrong time and that would be just as bad as saying the wrong thing, which is just as wrong as saying nothing, and saying nothing doesn't seem like a good thing, as saying nothing means I don't care. But I do care, and I don't want to seem like I don't care by saying the wrong thing and saying the wrong thing is worse than saying nothing, and yet everything I say except the right thing would be just as bad as saying nothing or the wrong thing. Does that make sense?'
 

Janet stood staring at her husband as he babbled like a confused teenage girl, his hands roving through the air, flitting about like errant birds as he stared at the floor, unable to make even the simplest of eye contact.

A loud crack echoed through the corridor, a stark silence filling the void it left behind. Derek felt the heat spread through the side of his face as he went rigid, unable to fully process exactly what had just happened in the second it took for Janet's hand to connect with the side of face. A stinging welt of sour red spread through his cheek as he slowly felt himself gather the scattered pieces of his fragmented mind.
 

A deep, coppery tang filled his mouth, the hot scent of burnt pennies filling his nose as he touched the inside of his cheek, his fingers coming away stained with the taint of his own blood. Nodding, Derek slumped back, coming to rest on the bottom of the staircase. The wide, open, bottom step rose up to meet his descending form.
 

'I needed that, thanks. Never thought I would be thanking someone for slapping me in the face.'
 

A soft snort left him as he finally glanced up at his wife, her palm glowing red, a look of pain and anger slipping across her features as she rubbed her thumb over her palm.
 

'Derek, honestly, what can we say to one another about today? You did what I wanted you to do and I got what I asked for. You told me exactly what was coming and how it would play out. There is honestly nothing to say that would in any way change what has happened. Besides, I know you; you would have kicked ten bales of shit out of anyone else who had tried to teach me half of what you did, regardless of whether or not you knew about it. I love you, Derek, but there are times when we need to set aside feelings and just get on with it, and this.
 

She pointed to the rising welt on the base of her chin and the swath of abraded skin that ran down her shoulder and across her side like a sadistic watercolour. A slowly purpling haze of blood flooded her shoulder and side; the pale sickly stains of bruised flesh were beginning to rise to the surface.
 

'It's all part and parcel of it; nothing can be avoided if I am going to learn what I need to. I can't play nursemaid to the injured and sick while you go out hunting the depraved and the wicked, then expect you to come running at the drop a hat to rescue me when things don't go how I want them to. Life doesn't work like that.'
 

Derek sat mute as Janet stepped forwards and leant against the banister, her arms pulled tight around her as she looked down at the man who, through it all, was still the same bumbling boy she had met at nineteen when he had stumbled into the accident and emergency room of King George's hospital where she was working as an intern.