The Bug: Complete Season One (26 page)

Jaden woke up with a start, lashing out at the empty space around him. He spent a second or two frantically punching the air, before remembering he was sitting alone in one of passenger seats on the train, a thin white blanket tangled in knots on his lap.

It had taken a few hours after they’d found the train again before he’d been able to get to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw his mom, pinned beneath the weight of the bug from the attic, her hand reaching out for him.

He sat up and rubbed at his eyes, like he could somehow erase that picture. The inside of his mouth felt like he’d been gargling ashtrays. He yawned, stretched, and blinked in the harsh sunlight streaming in through the window beside him. He felt hungover, which was annoying, as he hadn’t had alcohol in days.

Well,
a
day. Give or take.

His mouth was so dry it made clicking noises when he moved his lips. He needed a drink. Way more than that, though, he needed to pee.

Tiredness kept his eyelids heavy as he made his way back along the train, leaning on every second headrest for support. He passed Col, curled up in another chair, and briefly considered flicking his ear, but the bathroom was calling to him now, and his bladder was in no mood to mess around.

Stumbling into the tiny cubicle, Jaden unzipped his fly and let rip. He placed his hands on the walls on either side of the toilet, aiming with his hips to try to minimize the backsplash from the bowl.

When he was finished, he zipped himself up and spent a few seconds staring blankly at the sign above the toilet, trying to process what it said.

“Do not flush while the train is stopped,” he read. He glanced back out through the open bathroom door, shrugged, then pulled the chain. A swirl of chemicals swished around the bowl as he stepped back out into the main carriage.

A breeze tickled the back of his neck, making the hairs stand on end. The windows were all large, single pieces of glass that couldn’t be opened. The air conditioning only worked when the engine was running.

So where was the draft coming from?

The nearest door was closed. He passed it, following the breeze. “Amy?” he called. Maybe she’d gone outside to get some air. “Amy, where are you?”

There was a groan from a few seats ahead on the left. Amy’s head popped up, one eye open, her hair flat against one side of her face. “What?”

“Shit. Nothing,” Jaden said. He reached for the gun in the back of his belt. Gone. It must’ve fallen out on the seat. He looked along the aisle, considering whether to go back for it.

Amy stood up and stretched. Despite everything, he couldn’t help glancing at her chest as the stretch pushed it towards him.

“Hey!” she said.

“Sorry,” Jaden said, his eyes flicking up to her face. “Couldn’t help it, they were just sort of
there
, you know?”

Amy frowned. “What? What are you talking about? There’s a draft.”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah,” said Jaden. “That’s what I was looking for. Definitely was not looking at your tits.”

Amy looked down at her chest. “Asshole,” she scowled, folding her arms. “Go find where the draft’s coming from.”

Jaden moved past her, then stopped. “Wait. Col gave you Mike’s gun, didn’t he?”

Amy nodded up to the rack above where she’d been sleeping. “Up there. Knock yourself out. I gotta pee.”

Jaden reached up to the rack. “Remember not to flush while the train’s stopped,” he called after her. “It’s kind of the law.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” she said, then she stepped into the cubicle, closed the door and made a point of loudly locking it behind her.

The breeze whispered across Jaden’s neck. He pulled down the assault rifle, searched around until he found something that looked like the safety catch, then clicked it to the ‘off’ position.

He pressed on towards the end of the carriage. The draft came in stronger gusts the closer he got to the end, where two suitcase racks blocked the view of the doors on either side of the train.

Keeping the butt of the rifle pressed against his shoulder, he crept past the empty racks. He could hear birds tweeting somewhere close by. A fly buzzed in a figure of eight in the air between the two doors, as if trying to figure out which one to choose.

The door on the right was wide open. It wasn’t the one they’d clambered into the train through during the night, but they’d done a full check before going to sleep, and all of the doors – this one included – had been shut tight.

Jaden leaned out through the open door. Without a platform to step onto, there was a good meter-and-a-half drop onto the grass. The button to open the door was the same again above that. Far too high for anyone to reach from the ground.

So how was the door open?

Maybe someone had been inside, and left during the night. But no, they’d have spotted them during the search.

Although, it had been dark. Someone could have been hiding under the seats, just waiting for their chance to... what? Run away when no-one was looking? Jaden shrugged and hit the button to close the door. He’d leave the mystery-solving to Col. He was the detective. Or, named after one, at least, which amounted to pretty much the same thing in Jaden’s book.

He had barely turned away from the now closed door when he heard the hiss. It came from the next carriage along. The narrow door leading through to it stood open, the way they’d left it after the search last night.

A figure stood halfway along the carriage, staring back at him. A man. No. Not a man. An
asshole
. An asshole with a big, bristly beard.

“Holy shit,” Jaden whispered. “Dave Fucking Gatward.”

The former captain of the school sprint team broke into a run. He was limping, though, his legs seeming to fight back against him as he stumbled along the carriage.

Jaden raised the rifle to his shoulder. He took aim. “Fuck you, Gatward,” he spat, then he pulled the trigger.

There were a series of cracks, much quieter than Jaden would have expected. A rainbow of colors splattered across the charging Gatward’s chest and spattered over his beard.

Jaden gawped down at the rifle. “Paintbull gun? Mike, you fake-ass lying fuck!”

Gatward roared as he hurled himself the last few meters towards Jaden. Lunging forwards, Jaden slammed his hand against the door button. It closed with a hydraulic hiss, just in time for Dave Gatward to smash, face-first, against it.

“There, that ought to hold you,” Jaden said. He stepped up to the glass and raised his middle finger. “Bow before my superior intellect, bitch.”

Gatward slapped the button on the other side. The door swished open.

“Ooh, fuck,” Jaden yelped, turning and running as Gatward made a grab for him. “Amy, don’t come out!” he cried, tearing past the bathroom and powering his way along the carriage. Gatward was behind, but not gaining. If anything, he was falling behind.

“Not so fast now, are you, Gatward?” Jaden crowed. “Sprint team my ass.”

He reached the seat he’d been sleeping on and searched frantically for the gun. “Fuck. Fuck, where is it?”

Gatward was closing now, but looking more unsteady than ever. No, not unsteady. Uncontrolled. Like he was just learning to use his legs for the first time.

“Wargh!” Col jerked awake in time to see the bearded, rainbow-colored figure striding past him. “What the fuck?”

Gatward stopped. He turned.

“Shit, no, no, no,” Jaden babbled. He launched himself at Gatward, slamming a shoulder into his ribcage and knocking him off his feet. Gatward let out an inhuman squeal and held on, dragging Jaden down with him.

Drawing back his fist, Jaden punched him in the beard. Once. Twice. “Fuck,” he hissed. “That hurts.”

Gatward’s hands were suddenly on his face, thumbnails digging into his flesh. “Argh! Ow, ow, fuck off,” Jaden spat. He tried an open-hand strike to Gatward’s cheek. While it didn’t hurt his fist this time, it didn’t seem to bother Gatward much, either.

The thumb’s squirmed upwards, searching for Jaden’s eyes. He tried to pull free, but he was trapped by a chair behind him, and there was nowhere to go.

He caught Dave’s wrists, tried to force the hands away. Down on the floor, Gatward opened his mouth wide, and the horror of it almost made Jaden forget the fight.

Gatward’s tongue was gone. In its place was a squirming, wriggling insect which seemed to fill Dave’s whole mouth. Its mandibles were like long-nosed pliers. They snap-snap-snapped as Gatward’s thumbs hunted for Jaden’s eye sockets. And speaking of eyes…

“Well, that’s unpleasant,” Jaden grimaced. Two spindly legs were extending up and out through Gatward’s bottom eyelid. They danced in the air, as if feeling their way. Jaden wanted to look away, but didn’t dare. “Ew,” he said, swallowing back his nausea. “I fucking touched your face with my fist.”

“Look out!” Col cried. Jaden managed to lean to the right just as Col pointed the police revolver at Gatward’s head. Col pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. “Hang on,” he said, studying the gun.

“What do you mean
hang on
?” Jaden yelped, still struggling against Gatward’s insistent thumbs. “Just fucking--”

The carriage was filled with the roar of gunfire. The top of Gatward’s head exploded, but it did little, if anything, to dampen his resolve.

“Argh, let go of me you headless bearded fuck,” Jaden sobbed, still fighting the arms. “In the mouth!” he said, shouting so he could hear himself over the ringing in his ears. “Shoot him in the mouth.”

Col leaned in. He shoved the barrel of the gun into Gatward’s mouth. He turned away.

The gun fired. The arms stopped. Jaden fell backwards, his face a mess of blood and brains and bits of bug. He kicked away from the body, scrabbling along the aisle until his arms gave out and he collapsed to the floor. Col knelt on one of the chairs, keeping the gun trained on the body, just in case.

“Dave Gatward,” Col wheezed, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I know, right?” agreed Jaden. “Dave Fucking Gatward.”

Along the corridor, a toilet flushed. The bathroom door opened, and Amy stepped out, wiping her hands on a paper towel. She looked at the body on the floor, across at Jaden, then up at Col.

“So,” she said. “What’d I miss?”

May 25th, 12:48 PM

“Leanne? Leanne, where are you?”

Hoon’s voice echoed along the corridor and up the grand staircase. He waited until it had faded, then listened for a reply, before trying again.

“Marshall?” he shouted. He turned to his sister. “What’s the other one’s name again? Darren?”

“Daniel,” Moira corrected.

“Aye, that’s right.” He raised his voice again. “Daniel? Marshall? Where the fuck have you got to, you useless pair of cu--”

A door just along the corridor opened a crack. “Sir?”

Hoon strode towards it. “There you are, Marshall.” He pushed open the door and gave the room an admiring glance. “Fuck me. How the other half lives, eh?”

He noticed Immy, asleep in Marshall’s arms. His eyes darted across the room again, searching this time, rather than taking in the scenery. “Where’s Leanne?”

“Hmm? Oh, aye,” Marshall said. “She… eh, I think she…”

Hoon closed the gap between them in two quick paces. He raised his hand to grab Marshall by the throat, then remembered Immy and stopped himself just in time. He kept the hand raised, though, like he could do a Darth Vader and choke him through sheer willpower alone.

“Where
the fuck
is she?”

“She went out,” Marshall said. “Looking for Daniel.”

“
She
went looking for Daniel? Why the fuck did she go looking for Daniel? Why didn’t you go?”

Marshall’s mouth opened, but no words emerged. He wilted under Hoon’s glare.

“I know that, chances are, the organization we both work for probably no longer exists,” Hoon said, “but just in case it does, let me make one thing very fucking clear, Marshall. Very fucking clear.”

He leaned in, bringing his voice down to a low growl. “You’re fired.”

Hoon stepped back, much to the disappointment of the whispers in his head. “Where’s your gun?”

“Sh-she took it,” Marshall stammered. “Leanne… I told her to take it with her. I wanted her to be safe.”

Hoon shook his head. “Safe? You are some fucking piece of work.” He turned to Moira. “I’ve left my gun in the bar. Stay here. Make sure nothing happens to the baby. That useless arsehole’s expendable, so don’t fret yourself over him, but keep the wee one safe.”

Moira nodded. “Will do.” She held out her shotgun. “Want to take this?”

“Naw, you’re fine,” Hoon said. “Spotted something out in the hall that’ll be just the very dab.”

“Right you are,” said Moira. She watched him open the door. “Bob,” she said. “Be careful.”

“Aye.” Hoon nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

He stepped out and pulled the door closed behind him. On the wall directly across from the room hung a round wooden shield. Behind it, crossing over each other, were two claymore swords. He slid one free, gave the blade an appreciative nod, then turned right along the corridor.

He didn’t know she had gone that way, but the bug did. He was beginning to understand it now, its instincts becoming almost an extension of his own. She had gone that way, but there was something else down there, too. Something… new.

Hoon hurried along the corridor and around the corner. His eyes went to the ceiling in time to see the back end of something scurrying around the next bend. He moved to follow, then heard a
thud
and a muffled squeal from the room beside him.

“Leanne?” he called, rattling the handle. Locked. “Leanne, hold on!”

He stepped back, then drove his shoulder against the door. Once. Twice. It held fast. Something smashed inside. Leanne screamed. “Help! Help me!”

“Fuck!” Hoon spat. He barged at the door again. Wood splintered, but the door still didn’t give.

He took another step back, picked a spot near the handle, and brought his foot up.
BAM!
His boot slammed against the wood. The door rattled in its frame. He drew back again, then stumbled sideways as a chunk of the door exploded outwards with a
bang
.

“Leanne? Leanne?” Hoon bellowed. He kicked the door again, and this time it flew open, smashing against the wall on the other side.

He ran into the room to find Leanne kneeling on the floor, the rifle in her hands. Daniel was on his back across an upturned table, a ragged hole roughly where his heart should be. Leanne was staring at him, her breath coming in heaving gulps.

Leanne’s head jerked up. The rifle pointed at Hoon. “Is… is it you?” she asked. “Are you you?”

Hoon rested the sword against the wall. “Aye. Aye, I’m me,” he assured her. “It’s just me.”

She didn’t lower the gun. Not right away. It wasn’t until Hoon knelt down in front and gently nudged the barrel aside that she let it fall onto the carpet. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in close.

“He was going to hurt me,” she said. “He’d been… He’d been…”

“Shh, it’s OK, it’s OK, you did what you had to. Alright? You did what you had to.”

“But… but I killed him. I killed him.”

Hoon leaned back, but kept a hold of her. “Aye. And usually I’d be the first to frown on such behaviour, but you had no choice, Leanne. It was him or you, that’s what it came down to. Him or you. And if one of you had to go, I’m glad it was Darren.”

“Daniel.”

“Whatever,” said Hoon. The sudden bark of a shotgun stopped him before he could say any more. A moment of silence followed, which was broken by a baby’s screams.

Leanne and Hoon scrambled to their feet together. “Immy!” Leanne gasped.

“Keep hold of the gun,” Hoon told her, stepping past Daniel’s body and snatching up the sword. “Stay close to me. If I tell you to run, you run.”

Leanne nodded and they charged out into the corridor. “Moira! Coming in,” Hoon announced, before barging into the suite.

“Oh, thank God,” Marshall said, rushing over to pass Immy to Leanne like she was a bomb about to explode. Immy thrashed about, wailing, her little face turning shades of red.

Moira stood over near the window, the shotgun trained on a gaping hole where the glass should have been. “What happened?” Hoon demanded.

“It was this big insect-thing, sir,” Marshall began, but Hoon silenced him with a look.

“I wasn’t asking you,” he said.

“One of the buggers from the cellar, I think,” Moira said, not taking her eyes off the window frame. “Climbed up outside, broke the glass and tried to get in.”

“What buggers from downstairs?” Leanne asked, rocking Immy from side to side. The baby’s screams became quieter sobs. “What was it?”

“Bugs,” said Hoon. “But big ones.” He turned back to his sister. “You get it?”

Moira shook her head. “Don’t think so. Agile little shit. Think it dodged.”

“Fuck, then that means they’re smart,” Hoon said. “That’s all we need.”

He crossed to the window and cautiously peeked out. The bug in his head was conspicuously silent, giving nothing away.

There was nothing on the walls above or below the window, but there was something on the grass. Lots of somethings, in fact.

“Fuck me,” Hoon whistled.

“Do you see it?” asked Moira.

“Hmm? No, not that. Them.”

Moira and Leanne joined him at the window. Marshall hung back, shifting his weight uneasily from foot to foot. “What is it?”

They were people. Or had been, at least. They stood all over the castle grounds, five or six meters apart. Their bodies twitched, their curved fingers clawing at invisible enemies in the air. Their feet remained planted, though. Rooted to the spot, not moving.

“What the Devil are they up to?” Moira asked.

“Not a lot,” Hoon said.

“Why aren’t they trying to get in?” Leanne asked. “I mean, not that I want them to, or anything.”

“Some of them are in,” Hoon said. “They’re in the bar. I’ve tied the door, but it’ll no’ hold for long. That lot out there? They’re just stopping us making a run for it.”

“I could take a few out with the rifle,” Moira suggested.

Hoon shook his head. “Wouldn’t be enough. We left the cars down at the gates. We’d never make it.”

“What about the trucks?”

Hoon and the others turned to Marshall. He tried to smile, but it came out somewhere closer to a sneer. “The trucks,” said Hoon. “Aye. They’re out front.”

“There’s a soldier. Caitlin,” Marshall said. “I could find her, ask her for help.”

Hoon shook his head. “She’s dead.”

Marshall blinked. He made a sound that was like a laugh, but wasn’t one. “What?”

“Your soldier. All the soldiers. They’re dead. Darren, too.”

“Daniel,” Moira corrected.

Hoon rolled his eyes. “Aye. Him. You knew who I was talking about, didn’t you? You don’t need to correct me every bastarding time.”

“Dead?” Marshall repeated. “What do you mean, they’re dead?”

Hoon sighed. “I’d have thought that was pretty fucking self-explanatory. You know being alive? Well they’re the opposite of that.”

“Yeah… but, but, I mean… how?” Marshall stammered. “Daniel. Cait… The soldier. How did they…?”

Hoon fought the urge to glance left and right at Moira and Leanne. “Those bug things. The big ones. But does it really matter? They’re dead. We don’t want to be, so we need to focus.”

“Where’s the UZI?” Moira asked. “That could come in handy.”

“It was in the room with Daniel. On the table,” Leanne said. “I should have taken it, sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Hoon said. He clicked his fingers at Marshall and pointed to the door. “Go grab it. Round the corner on the right. Door’s wide open.”

Marshall went pale. “What? What? Why me?”

The bug stirred in Hoon’s head. “Because I’m telling you to.”

Marshall glanced at the others, then straightened his shoulders. “You’re not my boss any more.”

Hoon almost made a grab for him, almost caught him by the hair, almost smashed his pathetic wee face off the table. Instead, he gritted his teeth, flexed his fingers, and waited for the whispering to stop.

Marshall took the silence to mean Hoon was reconsidering. He tried to press the advantage. “We should all go. We’ve got no window in here now. It’ll be safer if we go together.”

Hoon stepped closer until his huge, pock-marked face was all Marshall could see. The DCI opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, then took a steadying breath.

“Look, Martin,” he said, his voice surprisingly level. “We’ve all got a job to do here. Leanne’s looking after the baby, Moira’s keeping them both safe, and I’m trying to think of a way that we can all get out of here without being eaten, or Christ knows what else.”

He put a slab-like hand on Marshall’s shoulder. “You’re scared. I get it. And no wonder. But I need you to suck it up and do this one thing for me, OK? Just do this one thing.”

He leaned in even closer and dropped his voice to a whisper. “Also, if you don’t, I’m liable to rip both your upper and lower intestines out through your cock. So there’s that, too.”

Hoon straightened up. He smiled. “We sorted, then?”

Marshall’s tongue flitted across his dry lips. He nodded. “I’ll go get it.”

“Good lad,” said Hoon.

“Can I at least get a gun?”

“Can you fuck. Go.”

Marshall looked imploringly at Leanne and Moira. Leanne shot him a supportive smile, but made no move to give him the rifle that was slung across her shoulder.

“Right.” He nodded. “Well, I suppose I’ll see you.”

“Don’t milk it, Marshall, you’re going round the corner, no’ to the fucking moon,” Hoon told him. “Hurry up.”

With a final nod, Marshall crossed to the door. He stood with his hand on the handle for several long seconds, finally pulling it open just in time to stop Hoon shouting at him. He slipped out and closed it gently, testing it once to make sure it hadn’t locked behind him.