Panic (19 page)

When Victor had discovered the policeman's change of uniform, and the subsequent loss of the micro-camera, his rage had been primordial, and he had made sure the girl paid the price.

Now, the policeman was simply leverage. It was obvious the girl cared for him somehow, obvious that if ever threats on the brother proved less than persuasive, threats on the cripple would do the job nicely. And besides, he had found something in the policeman's uniform pocket that excited him enormously, something that, if he was right about it, would be worth keeping and showing to the man. One final act in the policeman's drama before Victor finally decided to remove him from the equation.

They were, Victor thought as he returned to his home, like a marvellous little family, a family of obedient little children, all ready to please the master of the house in one way or another.

As Victor approached the hatch, he felt his cock twitching in anticipation. The little bitch would be pleasing the master of the house soon enough. Maybe he'd even move the action down to what had become the hospital wing of his little house, and get her to please him right in front of her idiot brother.

Victor snorted, and opened the hatch that was hidden under a pile of refuse in the squat surface building, and descended the ladder, locking it again from the inside.

             
The day’s work is done
, he thought excitedly.

             
Playtime.

Michael had lain in silence for hours, trying desperately to think of ways that he might be able to escape the situation in which he now found himself.

A couple of times, he had tried to call out to Jason, but the big man's head didn't even move.

Rachel, evidently, was on another floor, out of earshot. Michael wondered how big this place could be, and just what would drive a man to build himself an underground prison in the middle of nowhere.

He thought back to his meeting with the man in the woods, the man he was certain was the Victor that Rachel had spoken of, remembering the wild, unhinged look in his eyes when he had removed the hood, and shivered.

He spent a while fruitlessly searching for sleep, and then he heard the footsteps approaching, and stared at the open doorway, suddenly wide awake.

Rachel appeared there. Her head was bowed, but Michael could see the blackening eye, the swollen, bloodied lip, and a cold fury filled him.

Behind her, another figure appeared. The man from the woods. Victor. As Michael watched, eyes narrowing, Victor slid his hands around Rachel's waist. Rachel tried – and failed - to suppress a flinch.

"Why don't you go back upstairs, my dear," Victor drawled amiably. "I'd like to have a little discussion with our friend here."

Rachel turned without a word, and shuffled away, her eyes never leaving the floor. Victor watched her leave, and when Michael heard a door closing distantly, he found the man's psychotic eyes returning to his own, drilling into them.

"Hello, Michael," Victor said warmly, and Michael noticed that the odd Germanic accent he had used when they first met had now vanished, replaced with nothing at all, a flat, controlled tone that revealed nothing about where Victor was from.

"How are you feeling? You had us all worried
, you know."

Victor strolled to the chair by the be
d, and sat in it languidly. He affected a babyish pout, a mockery of concern.

"Not as badly as I might have exp
ected, in the care of a lunatic," Michael replied coldly.

Victor's eyes darkened.

"I don't think that's any way to talk to the man who holds power over whether you live or die is it Michael?"

Michael sneered.

"You think you're some kind of god down here, hiding out like a coward?"

Victor flinched, just a little. After a moment he visibly relaxed, and forced a laugh: a mean, mirthless sound.

"A god is precisely what I am now Michael. What is a god, do you think? I think it's just a symbol of power, and in the brave new world taking shape above our heads, I think I'm going to appear very powerful indeed."

Michael eyes narrowed, as if trying to hold in the pressure of the frustration building behind them.

"What do you know about it, what's going on out there?" He snarled.

Victor smiled serenely.

"Apt that you should bring God into this Michael, for I believe our divine maker" – the words came out laced with contempt – "is at the very heart of this. People, after all, are ruled by fear in one way or another. It is fear that makes us all toe the line. Fear of retribution, in this life or the next. That was a very nice touch. That certainly gave the notion of God some...longevity."

Michael's brow wrinkled. Victor's rambling was becoming more and more incoherent, even as the man himself became more animated, losing his grip on the steely control with which he tried to conduct himself.

"The trouble with God is that now there are just too damn many of us, and increasingly people are wondering: where the hell are all the miracles? And once people start to question it..."

Victor shrugged, as if his conclusion was obvious.

"You're insane," Michael spat bitterly.

Victor shrugged,
and flashed a benevolent smile.

"So you keep saying. But it's all relative, isn't it Michael? We're only as sane as the world allows us to be. Am I any less sane than the majority? The unthinking herds that now wander the land above us, killing each other with their teeth? Am I less sane than that retard in the next room, trying to find answers in the peeling wallpaper? Less sane than you? You speak of sanity in the same way drooling idiots speak - spoke - of God, as if it is some cornerstone of your humanity, some treasure that you can hoard. Have you learned nothing? The sanity of humans is a veil of lies, and that veil has now been lifted. We're animals, Michael, you, me; everyone. Creatures of instinct, born in violence. What is happening up there is no disaster, it is an epiphany."

"You did this," Michael said. "I don't know how, but you're involved. You have turned your own species into rabid dogs, not me, so: yes, you are the one who's insane."

"You are sane because you are allowed to be Michael
," Victor said, his eyes glittering dangerously. "Because I am allowing you to be. Remember that. But alas, you are wrong: this is not my doing, at least not entirely. I was merely a cog in a much greater machine. The difference between us, Michael, is that I was blessed with enough intelligence to notice when the wind changed direction, while you were merely carried along by it."

"So let's see how your sanity holds up shall we?" Victor said casually, reaching into a pocket and pulling out a piece of paper.

Michael squinted at it, and felt his heart lurch painfully.

A small, folded square of paper, emblazoned with his name in Glenda the receptionist's spidery handwriting.

"You didn't find the time to read this Michael? I thought not. Allow me to read it for you: '
Michael, the call came over the radio while you were gone. I tried to reach you but the phones are down and I can't raise you on the radio. It's a message from Aberystwyth PD. They said paramedics have been called out to your wife, she had something wrong with her eyes. Your daughter is missing. They want you to call them urgently. Glenda.
'"

Michael’s world collapsed. His worst fears were realised. St. Davids wasn’t the start of anything. Just a town like any other. The virus was not a dam breaking in this town, it was a tsunami. There was nothing to stop it.

No...Claire...

Victor saw the realisation spreading across Michael’s face, and giggled.

Michael struggled to sit up, grasping feebly toward Victor's throat. Victor leaned back, evading him easily, and laughed.

"There it is Michael, you see? The animal inside, simmering below the surface. You'd kill me now if you had the chance, and you wouldn't even realise as you choked the life out of me, that you were simply confirming that I am right, and you are lost. Are you struggling to save yourself? The girl upstairs who humbles herself every night to meet my needs? Your daughter? The
world
?"

He cackled.

"The world you knew is gone Michael, and it is not coming back. The decision was taken long ago, the outcome decided before you or anyone else was even aware there was an argument to be had."

"You see
, Michael," Victor said, leaning closer. "The virus is in all of us now. We've been breathing it in for years, and it has lain dormant, waiting for someone to push the button and activate it. You're one of the lucky ones, and you know why? Because of me. Because the virus spares only those with my blood type, and because I designed the fucking button for them. You live because of me, as do all the others."

Victor stood, and walked to the doorway, turning back to fix Michael with a smug grin.

"So, Michael, tell me, how am I any different to God?"

Michael laughed coldly.

"The difference, Victor, is that a real God would know what was standing behind him."

Confusion passed across Victor’s face, and then his eyes widened in fear.

Before he could turn, Jason's massive fingers curled around his neck, gripped him like a steel vice, and began to choke the life out of him.

"Jason
, wait!" Michael yelled, and locked his gaze onto Victor's bulging eyes.

"Is there an antidote to this, can it be reversed?"

Victor grinned.

"Fuck you."

Michael's head dropped in despair. He didn't see Victor die, but he heard it, the crunching, snapping of the man’s neck as Jason's massive hands closed inexorably.

When Michael looked up, Jason was standing over him, one hand outstretched. Jason's eyes, once boyish and then utterly empty, were now filled with something else, bottomless pools of rage that sent a shudder through Michael. When he spoke, his voice was flat. It sounded like steel.

"Let's go and find your daughter."

It took the battered trio a long time to make their way from Victor's bunker, carefully picking their way, avoiding tripwires, testing every inch of ground before they deemed it safe to step on, moving slowly until they were sure they had cleared the perimeter.

Rachel and Jason had suggested that they should go, and return to Michael once they had gathered what they needed, but Michael had refused. The new world was not a place that would take care of him, but a place he needed to meet head-on.

Jason carried Michael on his broad shoulders until they reached St. Davids. The big man was not speaking, but his was a presence that could not be missed now, and he moved with a burning intensity that made the air around him sizzle with tension.

He would, Michael thought, be a good ally in the days and months ahead, and a very dangerous enemy. He was glad to have him back.

Rachel, after the initial shock of seeing Jason animated again, was subdued and distant, but Michael looked into her grey eyes and saw the strength within them, and knew that she would heal. They all would.

They made their way to the small St. Davids medical centre and found Michael a wheelchair to use. It was cramped and basic, but it would do the job. It took him a while to adapt to this new way of moving, but he had done a lot of adapting lately, and this one little thing would not stop him. Not now.

They gathered some supplies – food, medicines, and whatever they could use as weapons: knives mostly: long, sharp blades retrieved from the butcher shop in the town square. Jason found an ancient-looking hunting rifle in the storeroom of the hunting and fishing shop, and a box of rounds. It would do.

Michael sat in his chair as Rachel and Jason loaded up the car, helping where he could, passing bags to them with his good arm.
Thankfully, the other arm did not seem broken, but was just another source of pain. When he considered the dead weight of his legs, Michael was glad to have the pain.

When they were done, Rachel turned to him.

"You think he was lying, about there being an antidote?"

Michael mulled it over.

"He didn't say there wasn't. If there were no hope at all, I'm betting Victor would have told me that with relish. It's out there, somewhere."

Rachel nodded, and helped Jason lift Michael out of the chair, placing him gently on the back seat.

They took the road north, aiming for Aberystwyth.

When they reached the top of the hill that overlooked St. Davids Michael asked them to stop, and they helped him back into his chair.

He wheeled himself to the lip of the hill, and put on the brake.

Where St. Davids had been, there was now just a dark absence, a vacuum in the night. A civilisation that had survived fifteen hundred years had been extinguished in a day. Michael wondered whether the ancient streets, stained dark with blood, would ever again be a place for humans to live.

He became aware of Rachel, standing next to him in the dark, looking at the place that had once been her home.

"Will it all be like this?" She said softly. "Was Victor right? Is the whole world gone?"

"This was planned," Michael said without emotion. "Somewhere out there, the people who planned it are waiting for the worst to pass, then they will come back, and society will be rebuilt, and it will all be the same as before.

“There
will be more out there like him,” Michael said. “They are the dangerous ones now.”

Rachel nodded, shivering in the cold night air, and returned to the car.

Michael set his collar against the wind with a grimace. On the horizon to the East and the North, the sky was lit by an orange glow.

Cities, burning.