The Lingering (17 page)

Location: the corridor outside the ancient’s feeding zone

Date: June 24
th
2013

Time: 9:47 a.m.

Mathew Samson stared down at the pile of viscera, which had once been Queen Victoria’s beloved husband, and his stomach turned. The smell emanating from the pile of putrid flesh was enough to bring tears to his eyes, and bile to his throat.

“So, should I inform Sir Richard? I know this one was his favourite.”

Samson’s hand reached into his pocket, and pulled out a handkerchief. He dabbed at the beads of sweat covering his brow, and turned to the security guard. He had to think fast.

The events of the past few hours had caused him to rethink taking his promotion was a good idea. He knew Westbourne was a driven and ruthless businessman, but the things he had witnessed told a different story.

Westbourne was a psychopath who revelled in inflicting pain on others. He grimaced at the thought of what poor Dr Bartholomew was enduring at that very moment. However, her discomfort and pain were the least of his worries. He had to make sure he came out of this mess unscathed, which meant playing both sides.

If Westbourne won the day, then he would stay as his aid, and gradually climb the corporate ladder. However, what lay in the corridor suggested Archer’s team were far from out of the game, so he needed to cover his behind.

“No,” said Samson in as cool a voice as he could muster. “He’s busy at the moment, and I know he doesn’t want to be disturbed.”

The guard looked down at the pile of putrefying flesh. “But this looks like it was attacked.”

“Don’t talk rubbish, we’ve seen this before. The damn things eat ‘til they’re fit to explode, then they stumble over and burst.”

The guard looked at him in disbelief, and pointed at the thing’s head. “Look at it, clearly someone offed it. The hole in its head was caused by a knife, so unless it offed itself, someone did this thing in!”

Samson knew the guard was right. But he wanted to make sure, at least for now, that Westbourne remained clueless to Prince Albert’s demise. If any of Archer’s team returned, then he wanted to be able to switch sides at a second’s notice. The best way to achieve that goal was by covering up for whoever did this.

However, if for whatever reason Archer’s team didn’t return, then he would simply blame the guard for not reporting his findings sooner. Win-win, as Westbourne would say.

He took the guard by the shoulder and walked him away from the mess. “Look — Bill isn’t it?” The guard nodded. “Look, Bill, someone contacted me, a fellow employee just like you and I. He found Albert like this, and put it out of its misery. He panicked, and called me. He was trying to do the right thing, but he knows it’ll most likely get him fired. He has a wife and kids, so I said I’d take care of it.”

The guard looked back at the mess. “I don’t know, it sounds a little fishy to me.”

Samson nodded and put on a concerned face. “I know it does, but you said it yourself, there are no signs of forced entry. I tell you what, Bill. Leave this to me, and I’ll leave your name off of all the reports.”

The guard’s face brightened. “Thank you, Mr Samson, that’s a load off my mind. I just don’t want to get blamed for anything.”

Again, Samson nodded reassuringly. “I completely understand. Just carry on with your rounds, and mention this to no one.” Samson smiled, and winked. “Remember, mum’s the word.”

The guard’s hand moved to his mouth and he mimicked locking it, and throwing away the key.

Samson laughed and patted his back. “That’s the idea, now on your way.”

Once the guard turned the corner, Samson slumped to the floor and started shaking uncontrollably. His eyes turned to the mess, and his mind turned to cleaning it up. He would call one of the newer cleaning crews, they always got the job of disposing with the expired Lingering, and they wouldn’t question his orders.

He got to his feet, and straightened his clothes. Finally, he pulled a radio from his top pocket, and called the cleaners. Just to make sure no one else stumbled across his messy friend, he waited until they arrived.

Samson walked into the main control room of the complex, and paused to look at his watch. 10:01 a.m., he wondered how much time he had until Archer’s people made their move. He needed something to ensure his safety, so he needed something they would consider important.

His new position meant he had full access to the Westbourne Corporation’s darkest and deepest secrets. Luckily for him, his new security level and password would enable him to download all those secrets to a USB drive, giving him a bargaining chip to play with. However, he still had to play things close to his chest. If someone spotted what he was about to do, then he would be as good as dead.

Samson strolled confidently towards his glass-walled office, which sat in the far corner of the complexes humming nerve centre. A pretty woman approached him with a clipboard, but he waved her away and mouthed, “Too busy, maybe later.” She nodded, and returned to her station.

He reached the massive door of his office, and placed his hand on its palm reader. The door slid open with a small hiss, and he entered. He moved to his desk and lowered himself into his immense black leather chair. His hands caressed its soft leather, and for a moment he thought of forgetting his plans.

A loud explosion ripped him back to reality, and he leaped to his feet. A second explosion rocked his glass cacoon, cracking the walls. He had no time to lose. He rammed his thumb drive into his terminal and began to download anything that might be important. Once he was satisfied with the selected files, he dashed from his office into the mayhem of the control room.

People yelled. Screens flickered, and thin wisps of smoke hung in the air. His eyes fixed on the security chief, a large man barking orders to his staff. Samson adjusted his tie, and headed towards him.

“Chief!” yelled Samson over the din of claxons. “What happened?”

The large man turned in his direction. “We’re not sure, but it looks like the gas inlet pipes on the outer wall have exploded. The wall is breached.”

“If you have things under control, I’m going to check on Sir Richard.”

Samson turned to walk away, but a strong hand gripped his shoulder.

“Wait, there’s more. We’ve been monitoring a herd which has been showing signs of becoming a swarm; they’re heading for the breach.”

Samson’s head snapped back towards the chief. “Can you stop them?”

The big man shrugged. “I’m not sure. I’m directing all my personnel towards the breach, I’ve told them to seal it with emergency barricades. The trouble is, the barricades aren’t designed to hold back such a large number of biters … we may need to evacuate.”

Samson nodded grimly. “I understand, do what you can, but don’t jeopardize personnel. If evacuation is our only short term option, then evacuate we must. Have you contacted Hobart for assistance?”

The chief shook his head. “Not yet. I’m sending out round up crews to try and redirect the swarm. If that works, then we’ll be fine. If it doesn’t, then I’ll call Hobart and I’ll start the evacuation.”

Samson nodded again. “Okay, sounds like you have things here. I’m going to make sure Sir Richard is ready for whatever eventuates. I’ll just grab some important files from my office first."

The chief turned back to his people, and Samson ran towards his office. As he snatched the USB drive from his terminal, he turned his mind to his escape.

Clearly, the explosions were the result of an attack. The masterminds of which were most likely the rest of Archer’s team. He knew this meant there were two highly trained killers now stalking the complex.

What did they want? Well, obviously Westbourne, and most likely Dr Bartholomew too. He knew where to find both, which meant he needed to get there before Archer’s men did. If he handed them over to Archer’s people, then he might make it out of this mess alive.

Location: two miles from the ancient’s compound

Date: June 24th 2013

Time: 9:24 a.m.

Fairclough crouched down, and signalled for the others to do the same. Both Bouchard and Craig moved to his side, and both men stared at the distant herd.

“Do you think that’s the ‘erd we passed through earlier?” asked Bouchard.

Fairclough nodded. “Yep, and it gives me an idea.” He turned to the men at his side and settled onto one knee. “We need a distraction, and they’re it. We’re going to make them follow us to the compound, and then we’re going to blow a hole in the wall and send those things through.”

Craig looked at the herd, then back at Fairclough. “How are we going to get them to follow us?”

Fairclough held up his glove covered hand. “That bit is easy. We’re up wind of them, so once they get the smell of blood in their nostrils, they’d follow us off a cliff. The hard bit will be staying in front of them. Those fuckers may look slow, but once they smell blood, they’re like greyhounds.”

Craig looked at the herd again. “It sounds like too much of a risk to me. Why not just assault the compound with the seven of us?”

“There’s a good chance they know we’re coming,” answered Bouchard. “They’d cut us to ribbons if we tried a traditional assault. Fairclough’s right, this is the distraction we need.”

Craig sighed, and said, “Okay, how are we going to do this?”

“Bouchard and I will give your men a head start, maybe five minutes.”

He ran his finger through the sand making a line, then made two dots and pointed to them. “You’ll find two gas pipes on the outer wall, place your C4 charges on them, and blow the wall.”

Fairclough now ran his finger through the sand again. This time he created rectangle several inches from the dots. “This is a transport compound,” said Fairclough as he pointed at the rectangle, “I want you and your men to secure it and hold tight. When you hear from us, come with whatever you find in there. If they have armoured vehicles, all the better. Clear?”

“Craig nodded, and said, “What about you two? Where will you head for?”

Fairclough extended the line behind the two dots, creating another wall.

“Once I’m sure the herd has turned to a swarm, and I’m sure it’s heading for the hole you made, I’ll re-glove my hand. Lucien and I will then head for our original entry point, here.”

He pointed to the new line and made a dot in the sand. “If the way appears clear, we’ll enter the same way as before. This will place us close to the main building, and hopefully Dr Bartholomew.”

“What if the swarm gets into the compound?”

Fairclough grinned. “Oh, they’ll get in alright, but it’ll take ages for them to reach the main buildings. We’ll have plenty of time to find the doctor. Okay, are we all set?”

Craig nodded grimly as he signalled to his men. He shook both their hands, and said, “Good luck, gentlemen, and good hunting. Oh, and make sure you give us that five minute head start.”

Then, without another word, he and his men headed off at a full run.

Bouchard looked at Fairclough, and grinned. “You know this is insane, and that I’m supposed to be calling the shots?”

Fairclough shrugged. “We’ve never stood on ceremony before. I had an idea, so I aired it. Besides, do you want to live forever?”

The Frenchman laughed and looked at his watch. “Five minutes, not a second less. Those poor fools ‘ave never seen a swarm before, so at least give them a fighting chance.”

Fairclough nodded and set the timer on his watch. “Five minutes, but not a second more.”

Fairclough’s watch beeped, signalling it was time for him to become bait. He looked at Bouchard. His friend looked concerned, but ready. With a reassuring wink, Fairclough ripped off the glove covering his wound, and rammed his scab covered knuckles into the closest rock.

Instantly, blood began to seep from the lesions, but the rate at which the crimson fluid leaked, seemed too slow. With a sigh, Fairclough pulled his knife and dug at his flesh to increase the flow. He winced as the tip of his blade probed deeper into his hand, but finally he was happy with the torrent of blood issuing from his injury.

For close to a minute both men watched as blood began to stain the sand between them.

“I think we’re ready to move,” said Fairclough as he got to his feet.

Bouchard matched his friend’s movements, and then they both stared out at the herd.

For several moments, the herd didn’t react to the smell of fresh food on the wind. But then, one by one, the outer most members of the herd turned in their direction.

As the scent carried on the wind, the number of interested undead seemed to grow exponentially. Within seconds, nearly half the herd stared in their direction.

Both men waited, but then, all at once, it happened. It only took one of the undead to start the stampede. In the blink of an eye, the herd had turned into a swarm.

“Run!” bellowed Bouchard as he turned on his heels.

Fairclough grabbed the handheld radio Craig had given him from his pocket. As he followed his large friend, he held it to his lips. “Craig, we’re on our way!”

“Understood. We’re still half a mile from the target, but we’ll have it blown in time for your arrival.”

Fairclough looked over his shoulder at his pursuers. Damn, they could move fast when they wanted to. “Acknowledged. Fairclough out.”

Fairclough rammed the radio back in his pocket, and doubled his pace. “Lucien, hurry the hell up! They’re gaining on us!”

The big Frenchman glanced over his shoulder, and his eyes went wide. “Shit … I knew this was a bad idea!” His eyes flicked to Fairclough’s hand. “Watch where you are flicking that stuff. If we get too much on us, then we’re dead men.”

Fairclough’s eyes went to his bloody hand. Large droplets of blood flew in all directions, some of which came dangerously close to his and Bouchard’s clothes. Alarmed, he extended his hand out to his side. He now looked like a child pretending to be a one winged airplane. His arm began to burn, but he knew he had to keep it outstretched, so he gritted his teeth, and blocked out the pain.

The two barrelled along at an incredible pace, but in spite of their efforts, the gap between hunters and prey closed with every minute that passed. Suddenly, an explosion filled the air, quickly followed by a second.

Bouchard altered his direction towards the sounds of the blasts. “Come on,” yelled the Frenchman over his shoulder, “if they managed to form an opening in the wall, mark it with your blood.”

“Do you have the other glove handy?” panted Fairclough.

Bouchard simply patted his pocket.

The two spotted a gaping hole in the compound’s wall and slammed their bodies into the concrete beside it. Fairclough rubbed blood all over the wall, and then extended his hand to his friend. Bouchard wasted no time. In a matter of seconds, he had the latex glove on his friend’s hand, and then he wrapped the wrist of the glove tight with tape.

Fairclough’s gaze turned to their pursuers. At most, they had thirty seconds to make their escape. Fairclough grabbed his friend by the arm, and started running along the perimeter of the wall. As they turned the corner, he dared a glance back at the swarm.

The undead piled into the blood-smeared wall like a battering ram. The force of the biters pushing from the rear, forced those at the front higher up the wall. Finally, the swarm began to spill into the breach, but something seemed to be slowing them. Fairclough guessed those inside the compound, were attempting to stem the flow of undead spilling into their safe zone.

Within seconds, the two came to their entry point, and Bouchard fired his grappling hook high over the wall. With a clank, it found purchase, and the two ascended the rope to relative safety.

Once atop the compound’s wall, the two drew their weapons and headed straight for the main building. The two moved quickly through the labyrinth of corridors, rooms and doors. The pair moved systematically from room to room with a well-rehearsed precision, which only came from years of training and working as a team. Each room only took a matter of seconds to check, and all seemed to be empty. Suddenly, the lift at the end of the corridor sprang to life. Both men looked at each other, and then headed for the lift with their guns raised.

Samson waited for the lift to open on the floor housing Sir Richard Westbourne’s lavish accommodation. He looked at his watch, then at the floor number above the door. The main control room was only two levels below ground, and Westbourne’s dwellings a mere two levels above the surface, but travelling the four levels seemed to be taking forever.

After an eternity, the number indicating Westbourne’s floor lit, and a bell chimed. Samson levelled his eyes on the doors, and double-checked that he still had his USB drive in his pocket.

His hands moved rapidly from pocket to pocket. Where the hell was the USB? With more relief than he had ever felt in his life, his hand settled on something small and rectangular in his jacket.

He pulled out the tiny device, and stared lovingly down at it. When he looked up again, the doors were open, and two muscle-bound men stood pointing their guns in his direction. Samson instantly raised his hands, along with the USB drive, above his head.

“What ‘ave you got there?” growled Bouchard.

The man in the lift looked up at his hand. “Oh, it’s a USB drive containing vital data concerning the Westbourne Corporation’s activities in Australia.”

Fairclough reached out and snatched away the drive. “And I suppose you were about to destroy it!”

The man shook his head vigorously. “Not at all. I found the ancient you dispatched.”

Fairclough and Bouchard looked at each other.

“Don’t worry I covered your tracks. I guessed you would be back for Dr Bartholomew, so I made you the drive.”

“Why should we believe you,” asked Fairclough as he eyed the drive.

“My name is Mathew Samson. Sir Richard recently promoted me to being his aid, and in my short time in the position, I have seen things that terrify me. I always knew he was ruthless, but he’s more than that, he’s insane.”

Fairclough and Bouchard looked at each other again, then the big Frenchman nodded. They both returned their gaze to Samson.

“Okay, Mr Samson,” said Fairclough as he pocketed the drive. “Let’s say we believe you. Do you know where Dr Bartholomew is?”

Samson nodded vigorously. “I was on my way there when you stopped me. I was going to see if I could help her.”

Fairclough turned and gestured towards the corridor. “Lead the way, but be warned, try anything and you’re dead.”

Samson’s complexion drained a little, but he complied with Fairclough’s order. The three headed off at a brisk pace, and after a number of twists and turns they came to two large wooden doors.

“She’s in there with Sir Richard. I’ve taken the door’s securities offline, so there unlocked,” whispered Samson as he pointed at the door.

Fairclough and Bouchard took up positions either side of the doors. Fairclough gestured for Samson to move back, which he did happily. Then Fairclough held three fingers aloft, then two, then one.