For Those In Peril (Book 2): The Outbreak (15 page)

‘Where?’ Daz’s stomach rumbled loudly as he spoke.

‘You’ll see.’ I climbed up into the cockpit, leaving the others buzzing with
curiosity about my plan.

A
couple of miles down the coast, I found a section of uninhabited, rocky beach
and dropped the anchor again.

Daz
scanned the shore with the binoculars and then turned to me with a confused look
on his face, ‘Why’re we stoppin’ here? There’re no shops,’ he scanned the land
again, ‘or anythin’.’

I
patted him on the shoulder as I passed him to ready the dinghy for going ashore.
‘Not all food comes from shops, Daz.’

‘What
d’you mean?’ He asked quizzically.

I took
a bucket out of a deck locker and threw it into the dinghy. ‘You ever watch Ray
Mears?’

‘Yeah,’ Daz answered slowly, trying to work out where I was going with this.

‘Well
then, you should know there’s plenty of food out there, if you know where to
look for it.’

‘What
sort of food?’ Sophie had come up behind us.

I
smiled at her. ‘Come with us and you can see for yourself.’

I
climbed into the dinghy, followed by Sophie and then Daz, while Claire stayed
behind with Tom. A minute later, the rubber dinghy was bumping onto the rocky
shore and we were getting out. Together, Daz and I lifted the dinghy just beyond
the water’s edge, then I set to work showing the two youngsters where we could
find things we could eat. ‘There are limpets attached to the rocks, and mussels
and periwinkles, too.’

Daz
was confused. ‘What the hell’s a periwinkle?’

I
pointed to the small black shells covering the rocks.

He
scowled. ‘But they look like snails!’

I
laughed. ‘They
are
snails.’

‘I’m
no’ eatin’ snails!’ Daz sneered disgustedly.

‘They’re not as bad as you’d think, you know,’ Sophie shot back. ‘I had some
once when we were on holiday in France. They’re a bit rubbery, but they’re okay.
Jake didn’t like them, though, they made him sick.’ She stopped suddenly and
looked down at her feet. Daz put an arm round her shoulders and hugged her
tightly. After a few seconds, she broke away, wiping her eyes and sniffing,
trying to hide how upset she was.

Daz
tried to stop her moving away. ‘It’s okay to miss him.’

Sophie
shook Daz off and, drying her face on the sleeve of the outsized jumper she was
wearing, she turned her attention to the rocks, picking off the periwinkles and
mussels before dropping them into the bucket.

Reckoning the best thing would be to leave her to it for the time being, I
turned to Daz. ‘There are other things we can eat here, too. See this green
stuff? That’s called sea lettuce and it’s edible. And if you turn over rocks and
pull back the seaweed, there’ll be crabs and butterfish under there.’

This
piqued Sophie’s interest. ‘What’s a butterfish?’

‘Here,
I’ll show you.’ I leant down and shifted a large handful of seaweed, revealing
the rocks underneath.  Everywhere there was movement as the sea creatures which
had been hiding beneath it skittered away from the unexpected burst of light. I
picked up a small crab and dropped it into the bucket, before scooping up some
eel-like fish about the size of my index finger which were flapping around
between the rocks. I held them out to Sophie and Daz. ‘These are butterfish.
They’re small, but they’re really tasty when you fry them up.’ I dropped them
into the bucket and moved on to the next patch of seaweed. 

Over
the next half-hour, we moved slowly along the shore, spread out in a rough line,
picking up more butterfish, crabs, mussels and periwinkles as we went. Suddenly,
there was a shriek from my left; I turned to see Sophie stumble backwards and
trip over a rock, sending her spilling onto the ground. Daz and I sprinted over
to her.

I was
the first to reach her. ‘What happened?’

‘Look!’ Sophie pointed at what I’d presumed was a log. Examining it closer, I
saw it was a blackened body: the skin burned from the skull and the features
charred beyond recognition.

‘Fuck!’ Daz had arrived and was staring at the remains. ‘Where d’you think
that
came from?’

I
helped Sophie to her feet. ‘I guess it must have floated down the river.’

‘Hey,
someone’s comin’!’ Daz was looking along the beach to where a figure was moving
towards us. ‘It doesn’t look like they’ve got a gun or anythin’. Maybe they’ve
got some real food they could give us.’ 

Daz
waved and called out, but the figure didn’t answer; it just started moving
faster. That was when it hit me: if a dead body had been washed up here, then it
was possible that some of the still-living infected we’d seen clinging to debris
from the devastated city had also ended up on the same beach.

‘Quick, back to the boat!’ I grabbed the bucket and pulled Sophie after me as I
stumbled as fast as I could over the uneven shore.

Daz
stayed where he was. ‘But what about them givin’ us some food?’

I
called out to him. ‘Daz, I don’t think that’s a person … at least not anymore.’

Daz
stared at the approaching figure. ‘How d’you know?’

I
shouted back. ‘It’s the way it’s moving; it’s just not right. Just trust me and
get going.’

Sophie
and I were almost at the dinghy, but Daz was still watching the figure. As it
neared, it was increasing its speed, moving over the slippery rocks faster than
seemed safe, and certainly faster than any thinking person would move.

‘Daz,
come on!’ Sophie implored him.

He
finally turned and ran after us. I dropped the bucket into the dinghy and
started to man-handle it back into the water. A second later, Daz joined me. The
tide had dropped further while we’d been on the shore and it was now a good ten
feet from the water’s edge. As we lifted the dinghy over the rocks, I looked
over my shoulder and saw the figure was closing rapidly. ‘Come on, Daz, put your
back into it!’

‘I’m
goin’ as fast as I can!’ As he spoke, Daz slipped on a clump of seaweed,
dropping the dinghy and falling onto the rocks. I glanced back at the figure: it
was no more than forty feet away and at the speed it was going, it would be on
us in seconds. Daz scrambled back to his feet and started to lift the dinghy
again. A few feet further on and he stumbled again. The infected was now close
enough that I could hear its feet slapping against the rocks as it sprinted
towards us.

Sophie
cried out, clearly terrified, ‘Ben, do something!’

Realising we’d never get the dinghy into the water before the infected got to
us, I started searching for something I could use as a weapon. My eyes settled
on the short wooden paddles I kept in the dinghy in case there was a problem
with the engine. Pushing Daz and Sophie out of the way, I grabbed the nearest
oar and turned just as the infected launched itself towards me, mouth open; face
contorted with rage. I swung the paddle, catching it on the side of its head and
sending it spinning to the ground. It snarled as it struggled back to its feet
and threw itself at Sophie. Daz pulled her out of the way just in time and I hit
it again, this time from the side. Again it went down, but only momentarily. It
whirled round to face me, what was left of its badly burned clothes flapping in
the breeze, and roared. Before it could move, I lashed out, the oar smashing
into its left cheek. It tumbled onto the rocks, and I fell on it, hitting it
again and again until it finally stopped moving.

As I
tried to regain my breath I stared at what remained of the infected. I’d killed
some the night Glasgow was bombed, but it had been too dark to see the damage
I’d inflicted. Here, in the harsh light of day, I could see every detail: the
head no longer looked human; instead, it was little more than a mush of flesh
and bone fragments; there was blood everywhere, dripping from its body, running
down my arms, spilling on to the rocks and splashed across the side of the
dinghy. Even though I knew I’d had to do it, I was revolted by what I’d just
done, but before I could react, there was a shout from Daz. ‘There’s another
one!’ 

I
straightened up. Sure enough, a second figure was now fast-approaching, and then
a third appeared behind it. I dropped the blood-covered paddle, and Daz and I
hurriedly lifted the dinghy the remaining few feet back to the water. The
nearest figure was close enough that I could now see it had once been a woman
and while the first infected looked like it might have been swept downstream
from what was left of Glasgow, this one was too clean and well-dressed to have
come from the city, which meant the infection must have reached the island.

Sophie
and Daz scrambled into the dinghy as I pushed it away from the shore. When the
water was deep enough, I climbed in and started the engine. As we motored back
to the yacht, I surveyed the shoreline. There were now five infected converging
on the spot where we’d been standing just moments before, pacing around, trying
to work out where we’d gone.

‘I
wonder how they knew we were there.’ Sophie was staring back at the beach.

It was
Daz that answered. ‘It was probably you screamin’.’

‘No,
it wasn’t!’ Sophie retorted defensively; then, with less certainty, ‘Was it?’

She
turned to me for an answer, but I didn’t have one; I was too busy thinking about
how close we’d come to being attacked and what I’d done in response. It had
saved our lives, but it was something I’d never have thought I was capable of
and I found it deeply unsettling.

Chapter Seven

Back
on the yacht, I showed Sophie and Daz how to cook the sea creatures we’d
collected by throwing them into a large frying pan along with some butter, olive
oil and a couple of cloves of garlic I’d found in the door of the fridge. The
mussels and the periwinkles went in first. As they were cooking, I killed the
crabs and removed their legs and claws before tossing them in as well. Lastly,
in went the butterfish: they were small enough that I didn’t need to worry about
gutting them first or removing any bones. Once the mussels had opened and the
butterfish had crisped up, I emptied the contents of the pan into a large bowl
and set it on the table in the saloon. I passed plates out to the others and we
sat down to eat. Daz regarded the food with suspicion and seemed at a loss as to
where to start; Sophie didn’t seem too keen either.

‘Come
on, you two, it’s just seafood.’ Claire spooned a mix of mussels, butterfish and
crab claws onto her plate as she spoke. She picked up one of the butterfish and
after breaking its head off, she ate the rest in one go. ‘You know, this is
really quite good.’ She eyed me curiously. ‘How’d you know about this stuff?’

‘I
learned it as a kid. When we went on holiday, I’d sneak out in the morning,
before anyone else was up, and go down to the beach. I’d collect stuff like this
and then make a fire out of driftwood so I could have it for breakfast.’

Sophie
was intrigued. ‘How old were you?’

I
thought back. ‘Eleven, maybe twelve.’

‘And
you were allowed out on your own? Mum won’t even let me walk home from school
with my friends.’

Claire
cracked open a crab claw. ‘Things were different back then.’

‘I was
allowed out on my own when I was a lot younger than that.’ Daz took a tentative
bite of one of the butterfish. ‘Well, it wasn’t so much bein’ allowed out; more
that my mum was usually so blootered she never really noticed.’ Daz stopped
suddenly, realising he’d revealed something about himself that he hadn’t meant
to. His face burned red and he shifted awkwardly in his seat.

I
quickly changed the subject. ‘How’s the food?’

‘It’s
no’ bad.’ Daz took another small mouthful, ‘I didn’t think I’d like it, but it’s
quite tasty really … as long as you don’t think too much about what it is.’

‘Spoken like a true gourmet.’ Tom laughed and then let out a yelp of pain.

‘You
need to be careful, Tom.’ Claire scooped the inside out of a mussel and popped
it into her mouth. ‘I think maybe we should take out that chest drain later;
it’ll make it easier for you to get around, and the sooner you’re closed up, the
less likely it is you’ll get an infection.’

I
picked a periwinkle out of its shell. ‘We can do it after lunch. It’s not like
we have anywhere else we need to be.’ I looked at Tom. ‘That okay with you?’

Tom
shrugged. ‘Might as well get it over and done with.’

‘Okay,
I’m not going to lie to you, this is going to hurt, and it’s going to hurt a
lot. I’d give you some of the gin, but I need what’s left to keep everything
sterile.’ Tom was lying on his back on the floor and Claire was kneeling beside
him. Laid out on a nearby towel was the last of her surgical pads, a pair of
scissors, Tom’s cigarette lighter, and a needle and thread I’d found in the
drawer under the chart table.

‘Ben,
you’ll need to hold him down so he doesn’t move. Can you come down here and push
on his shoulders? Daz, you do the same with his legs. Sophie, I’ll need you to
pass me things when I ask for them.’ Claire looked round. ‘Everyone ready?’