The Hurst Chronicles (Book 1): Hurst (6 page)

Chapter Twelve

Picking their way along the main road at walking pace, rounding abandoned cars and other detritus that littered their path, Zed cursed under his breath.  The bulky Mitsubishi Land Cruiser in front was carrying Mila and Riley and bumped heavily over some loose rubble. With a loud hiss, their back right tyre deflated. The Mitsubishi rumbled over to the side of the street and stopped, scraping on its rims.

Zed pulled in behind them and switched off the Land Rover’s ignition. He leaned forward over the steering wheel and peered out of the windscreen up at the buildings to the left of them. It was a row of suburban houses on the outskirts of town that overlooked what would once have been tidy flowerbeds full of roses and hydrangea bushes and manicured lawns. Today, those same gardens were an impassable tangle of weeds and bushes, grass growing lush and long. Zed shook his head. “Not good, not good at all,” he muttered to himself. Sean sat beside him in the front passenger seat of the Land Rover, looked back at him puzzled.

“So what?” he said shrugging his shoulders, unfazed by this latest set back. “We got a spare, yeah? We fix it and be on our way. It’ll take ten minutes. Tops.”

Zed shook his head. “Not here. Not now. In broad daylight? It’s too dangerous. If that convoy comes past again we’ll be sitting ducks.”

He jumped out of the car and closed the driver’s door quietly, not wanting to attract any unwanted attention. They were vulnerable here and needed to get moving fast. Riley was already out inspecting the damage, her hands on hips, shaking her head.

Zed got down on his hands and knees and felt round the circumference of the tyre feeling for a hole. He found it quickly. There was a large gash made by a fallen piece of sharp masonry and glass, some of which was still lodged in the gash. He picked out a couple of smaller shards and dropped them clinking on the tarmac. He sat back on his haunches scratching the back of his head.

Sean stood behind him. “What do you want to do boss? Fix it or dump it and come back later when it’s dark?”

“We leave it some place safe and come back for it. There’s a lock up round the corner we can use, nice and quiet. Transfer all the gear to the Land Rover and we carry on.”

“You sure about this Zed?” asked Riley. “With what happened to Bob and Will. Now this? It’s not our lucky day, eh? I say we cut our losses and come back tomorrow and start again.”

“I’m not leaving Will out here. We find out where they took him and then we make the call.” He un-holstered his revolver and put another couple of rounds from his breast pocket into the empty chambers. He span the wheel and snapped it shut with a tilt of his wrist. A boyish grin illuminated his face. Life felt better with a loaded gun. “Boys and their toys,” mocked Riley. Zed looked back at her, his head cocked to one side. “We owe it to Will to at least try, don’t we? You’d do it for me right Riley?” he smirked. Riley shook her head and walked away. They both knew the answer.

Mila and Sean helped transfer their gear to the other vehicle. Cardboard boxes and rucksacks were packed full of the stuff they had scavenged from this morning’s house searches. It was food mostly, plus a few other assorted items, CDs, books and tools. The back of the Land Rover was packed to bursting. They had stacked a couple of boxes on the back seat, making things a little cramped when they all climbed back in, shoulders touching. Sean was suddenly aware of the warmth of Mila’s wrist resting on his thigh. Her hand was trembling ever so slightly. He grabbed her hand and held it tightly. She looked deep into his eyes and whispered “I’m scared Sean.” He forced a smile to reassure her. “We’ve been in worse scrapes than this. We’ll be fine.”

Zed had driven the Mitsubishi round the corner, its back tyre deflated, bumping along on the rubber and rim. He was gone for a couple of minutes, long enough for Riley to look concerned watching the street the way he’d gone. She was just about to say something when he jogged back into view. He’d parked the Mitsubishi in a small residential cul-de-sack that ran parallel to the main road. It was well hidden in a carport attached to a semi-detached retirement bungalow. It would be safe there. At least for a while.

Zed climbed back into the driver seat. Looking over his shoulder, he checked everyone was ready and slowly pulled away. He stayed in first gear as they continued as quietly as possible on their journey. If his hunch was right they were no more than a mile at most from where they were heading. He was following the most likely trail of the other group. Before the outbreak and on any normal day, the one-mile journey would have taken them a few minutes. But things had been far from ‘normal’ for some time, thought Zed.

Road surfaces had degenerated quickly without anyone to repair them. From smaller potholes, vegetation spreading out from verges and walkways, weeds and tree roots pushing through the tarmac and whole sections collapsing, it was treacherous to the unwary to say the least. Another few years and some of these roads through the Forest that had existed in some form since Roman times would be completely overwhelmed, reclaimed by nature.

They were heading for the hospital on the other side of Lymington. Zed had heard talk of another group holed up there and thought he recognized one of the men who’d taken Will. He knew him by reputation only. A former policeman, given the imaginative nickname Copper by those who knew him locally. Supposedly one of the good guys. Or at least he used to be. Who knew what he had become.

Chapter Thirteen

Will woke up and blinked rapidly, rubbing his eyes. His sleepy gaze fixed on a poster promoting safe sex with a picture of a young smiling couple holding hands. Above the couple and superimposed on a fluffy cloud was a list of clinical conditions and names for sexually transmitted diseases. Will recognized some of them but puzzled over others. Chlamydia? What the hell was that? His head was still pounding and the words danced a little, making his vision swim. He shook his head to try to clear his thoughts. A sharp pain made him reach up and touch the back of his scalp. His fingers came away damp with blood that was leaking from the crude gauze and tape, surrounded by matted hair crusted with dried sweat and blood. He tried to raise his other hand but it jerked back, handcuffed to the bedpost.

Memories of earlier events came flooding back into focus. The scavenging trip. Being discovered by the other group. How had they found them hiding? Of course, Will you idiot. The cigarette butt. Stupid school boy error, he thought to himself. He remembered the hood over his head. A short drive in a large diesel vehicle. Yes he was sure it was diesel from the sound of the throaty engine and the distinctive smell. They had taken him to a large building which he assumed was a hospital from the overpowering stink of disinfectant that masked something else he couldn’t place. The sound of boots on linoleum tiles and what little décor he could see under and through the hood confirmed his hunch. He closed his eyes and tried to remember. It was all a jumble. The interrogation. The man they called ‘Copper’ who slapped him hard when he failed to answer their incessant questions, one after the other in quick succession. They had asked him about Hurst, how many were there, how they were armed. So many questions. They had injected him with something. That explained why he was still a little woozy, light headed. His thoughts remained cloudy, muddled. He sat bolt up right, adrenaline surging through him as one painful memory broke through the fug. They had killed Bob. Why, why? They didn’t need to kill him. Shot him in the head. The neat circle in his forehead, the blood on the carpet. His anger boiled over and he slammed his fist down against his knee. The self-induced pain helped clear his head and brought his situation in to sharper focus.

The hospital room was virtually bare, a private overnight room for one person. Other than a tired looking hospital bed, there was a cheap pine wardrobe and a side table with flowers in a vase that had long since wilted and died, the water green and stagnant. In the corner was a plastic-looking chair with brown vinyl upholstery with ridges running vertically. A grey metal wall bracket for a TV screen long since removed and an aerial socket, were all that remained of creature comforts.

He checked the drawers of the bedside cabinet. There wasn’t even a bible. But wait. Was he getting confused? Maybe only hotels had bibles next to the bed? He couldn’t remember, it was all such a long time ago since he’d stayed in a hotel on holiday. The clean sheets, the buffet breakfasts. A thin layer of dust covered the whole place. The broken blinds allowed through a few shafts of sunlight that struck the whitewashed walls next to the door. Dust hung heavy in the stale air. Other than the pervasive smell of disinfectant, there was something else bad that lingered. He couldn’t quite place it. His mind wandered momentarily as he thought of his first job helping out in a meat processing plant in Sandton, back in South Africa, working with chicken carcasses. It was the smell of death and it made him swallow involuntarily, his mouth suddenly dry and devoid of saliva. The window rattled a little on its hinges, not quite closed, cool air seeping in. He got to his feet and leaning as far as the cuffs would allow him, he managed to flick the corner of the white aluminium blinds, allowing a fleeting glimpse of outside. He was on the second floor and down below he could make out a series of heaps on the tarmac. The blinds fell back into position again and he stretched and flicked them again. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he realized that one of the heaps was piled with shoes. There were hundreds of shoes, of all shapes and sizes and colours. Children’s shoes, high heels, brogues, slippers. So many shoes.

He flicked the blinds again, leaning as far as he could reach without the handcuffs cutting too badly into his wrist. The heap next to the shoes was even larger and towered precariously with what looked like clothes of every description. There were trousers, shirts, dresses, coats, hospital dressing gowns, and socks. It reminded him of a scene from a war movie he had seen years ago. What was it called? When Allied soldiers had liberated prisoner camps, they had found heaps just like these of clothes and shoes, gold teeth, reclaimed from the bodies, surplus to requirements. It made Will shudder remembering. He looked again beyond the piles where smoke was billowing from a fire pit.

He turned away quickly as the blinds fell back into place. He realized with horror that the discernible shapes he could make out in the smouldering remains were human.

Will closed his eyes and wept.

Chapter Fourteen

A time later, Will wasn’t sure how long, but he was beginning to feel better. His head had stopped throbbing so much. There was a light tap on the door and the sound of keys rattling in the lock. The heavy fire door with a small viewing window swung open and the large frame of a bearded man filled the doorway. He had a rifle with a wooden stock slung just visible behind his back. He stepped inside and glanced around the room, checking that Will was still cuffed to the bed. He moved aside to let in a young man with glasses and thin stubble on his chin. He was wearing a white coat, moderately tall, black hair, dark complexion, Asian and seemingly awkward to Will, as if he were somehow uncomfortable in his own skin.

The heavy metal door swung back and clicked closed behind him, sealing them off from the bustle of the hospital beyond. Will heard the key turn and heavy footsteps walk away down the corridor.

“How are you feeling?” asked the new arrival, his hands thrust deep in the pockets of his white coat. Will sized him up before answering.

“You don’t look old enough to be a doctor,” barked Will in a gruff voice. He swung his legs back up on to the bed, putting his hands behind his head and looked at the ceiling, ignoring the doctor.

“Hey listen, if you don’t want me to take a look at that cut on your head. Fine by me. I’m just doing my job.” He made to leave turning his back on Will.

“Don’t kid yourself, yah. You’re as bad as the rest of them. First you beat the crap out of me, and now you want to fix me up? What kind of hospital is this? Don’t tell me, you were just ‘following orders’. Don’t make me laugh,” he mocked.

“Whoa there mister. I’m one of the good guys. Don’t lump me in with that other lot, will you, please? Those new guys are off their rockers. Nut jobs. I’ve been here since the beginning, before those guys arrived and took over. We could have got out, they gave us that chance, but we chose to stay. They made this place secure and for that they get my gratitude. For the record, that doesn’t mean I like what they do or how they do it. Give me a break yeah?”

Will shrugged his shoulders and looked back at him, unrepentant.

The young man dumped his bag on the floor, strode over to the chair and sat down purposefully, unrolling the tools of his trade on the bedside cabinet. The surgical kit contained scalpels, scissors, what looked like a sewing kit and syringes, all neatly secured in their Velcro holders and fabric loops.

Will inclined his head submissively towards him and the doctor firmly grabbed hold of both sides of his head, like a veterinarian might grab hold of a wild beast. He ripped off the gauze and tape without warning, ignoring the patient’s howls of protest. He leaned in close to get a good look, peering through the glasses perched on the end of his nose at the nasty looking cut behind Will’s left ear. Some heavy bruising surrounded the wound. He donned a pair of disposable surgical gloves and gently pressed either side of the wound.

“Yes, you’ll definitely need stitches. How did you get this, dare I ask?”

“One of your boys hit me from behind. Won’t forget him in a hurry. The others called him ‘Copper’.”

“OK, I know who you’re talking about. Friendly chap. Like I said, I don’t condone violence. I just get to patch people up. More work for me, you might say.”

Will winced as the doctor worked away efficiently behind his head, gasping a couple of times when gloved fingers pressed too hard. For a big hardy builder, who had been a labourer all his life, he hated needles, and blood. At school, he was forever the boy who fainted in the playground after slicing his shin open on a rusted nail. He’d been balancing on a plank of wood when he’d slipped and fell, but his classmates knew better than to make fun of him. He had always been just a little taller and heavier-set growing up which made others fear him. His physique and imposing presence had made him a promising rugby player until he clean broke his wrist when he was barely twelve and never played again.

Looking down at his feet, Will mumbled into his chest, his voice sounding awkward and strained. “You’re Indian right? Never been treated by an Indian doctor before.”

“Well you clearly haven’t lived long in this country then. My father was a dentist, my brother a surgeon, my sister a paediatrician. You could say it runs in the family. Anyway, I’m British, born and bred.”

“Fair enough. I don’t have a problem with it. I was just making conversation. So what do you know about this virus?”

“You’re asking the wrong person, I’m afraid. I mostly look after old people here. Routine stuff really. Dementia, Alzheimer’s, Parkinson’s, palliative care. Don’t get to see many killer viruses or tropical diseases here on the south coast. Big city hospitals get those high profile cases. Ebola, malaria. Shame really. Might spice things up a little round here. My knowledge of viruses is really dated, goes back to medical school and stuff I picked up from the press and medical journals they had in the staff room. I know bits and pieces, but nothing of any use.”

“But as a medical man, you must have some idea what we’re dealing with. What if you had to make an educated guess?”

He pondered the question thoughtfully and then launched in to his answer with growing confidence. “Well if you put me on the spot. I’d say it sounds a lot like the Spanish flu outbreak after the First World War. Killed millions, more than the war itself. But this is more lethal and spreads quicker. Of course, cheap airline travel and tourism probably accelerated that spread considerably. Based on the patients we saw and treated, I’d say around one in ten people have some degree of immunity. Some were worse affected than others, but most died within three to five days. Some survived longer, but very few got better. We threw everything we had at it. Antibiotics were useless. We did little more than prolong their agony for a few hours or days. The outcome was almost always the same. It’s a very effective killer.”

“It sounds like you admire the virus?”

“Oh I do. Don’t you? We’ve known something was coming. Mother nature has been perfecting the flu virus over millions of years and looks like she’s cracked the code this time. Of course, if the CDC, you know the Centre for Disease Control in the States, or the World Health Organization are still functional, then they may have developed a vaccine. By now you might expect them to have inoculated health workers and the military. Right now they may well be mounting a rescue mission to save us ‘Brits’. Who knows?”

“But could it be done if they have the right resources?”

“Sure if we had a lab here with all the kit, samples of the virus, an electron-microscope, bio hazard suits, air purifiers, then no question, we would keep trying till we found something that worked. Might take decades though. All we’d need would be an army of scientists, unlimited money and resources. Hey throw in someone with immunity, patient zero…while you’re at it, perhaps find me Elvis and Lord Lucan. But take a look around you. We’re mostly working in the dark ages here. We barely have enough power from the emergency generator to keep the lights on, let alone anything discretionary. We have a skeletal team and the man in charge is a psychopath, but apart from that, we have everything we need,” he lamented sarcastically.

The young doctor finished up the stitches behind Will’s ear and patted him on the head like a dog. “There you go. Good as new.”

“Thank you. I owe you one. What’s your name?” asked Will.

The doctor smiled. “Doctor Ganesh, but you can call me Raj.”

“Well Raj. If I figure out how to get out of this hellhole, I’ll come and find you.”

The doctor packed up the plastic case with the syringe, scissors, bandages and other assorted items, paused at the door to say something and thought better of it. He knocked twice and heard the guard on the other side jangle his keys and unlock the door. The rotund guard opened the door just wide enough to let him pass and ushered the doctor out. Will sat on the side of the bed smiling, opening and closing his fingers in a childlike goodbye.  The guard curled his lip and slammed the door shut, relocking it.

Will puffed out his cheeks and slumped back against the wall, exhausted.