The Dust: Book Three - Sanctum Read online

  ‘Oh God.’ Roger went to get up as Klaudia fell onto the floor, spilling her wine over the carpet.

  ‘Right you, I think it’s time for bed.’ Angel went to help her up.

  ‘Nooooo, I want another drink.’ She stumbled to her feet, trying to loosen Angel’s hand on her arm.

  ‘I think Angel is right.’ Jake also tried to steady her. ‘We have a long day tomorrow.’

  ‘Okay, okay you all win.’ Klaudia slurred.

  ‘I think an early night would help us all.’ Naomi opened the door leading into the hallway.

  Jeremiah then stood up. ‘Tomorrow is a big day for us all. Clear heads are needed.’ He looked across at Klaudia. ‘For those of us who are going to the rocks, and for those of us who are not.’

  With that Angel and Naomi took Klaudia up to her room. With some assistance from Harry James, Jeremiah Rosser also retired to his quarters.

  That just left Roger and Jake.

  They spent about ten minutes cleaning up. Roger was still thumbing through the record collection when Jake re-entered the living room.

  ‘Here you go old boy.’ He put on his best World War Two officers accent.

  Roger looked up. A sherry glass was thrust in front of him, nearly full to the top with the finest ruby port. He carefully took it from his friend.

  ‘A little snifter before we retire?’ Jake held his glass out to touch Roger’s.

  ‘Indeed.’ The glasses clinked together.

  ‘To Old Mill.’ Jake sipped his port.

  ‘To us, to all of us.’ Roger toasted the house.

  ‘Good luck tomorrow my friend.’ Jake looked at his pal, they had been through so much together.

  Roger was fiddling with the record player, almost shielding it from Jake. ‘Remember this?’

  Jake listened. Then the first few chords of Gimmie Shelter by the Rolling Stones seeped out of the speakers. Jake remembered; the old truck, not long after they had picked up Angel and Lou Pepper. They had switched it off then, too frightened of the reality in the lyrics to the situation they had found themselves in.

  Now it seemed different, maybe it was the port. Maybe it was Old Mill.

  They two of them stood nodding along to the music.

  ‘This has to be one of the best songs ever recorded.’ Roger went for an air guitar.

  Jake, still drinking his port agreed. ‘Can’t think of many better.’

  Then, as the chorus rode hard into their ears, they both burst out into song.

  Rape and murder. It’s just a shot away, it’s just a shot away.

  How true that line was.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  ‘Get up.’ Davis shouted.

  Waters didn’t move. He still hadn’t quite worked out what the hell was going on.

  ‘For fucks sake.’ Davis then ran past the prostrate Waters, in the direction of the camp. ‘The Infected. They are attacking the helicopter.’

  Waters shot up off the damp grass. He’d grown quite attached to that Sea Sprite, and he wasn’t going to let anyone damage it.

  Davis skidded over the flat rocks as she drew closer to the vehicles. She stopped; she crouched down and made sure she wasn’t seen.

  There were at least sixty of them. Crawling over the helicopter and the truck like ants. Bits of metal were being ripped off. Material from inside both vehicles was being shredded, and glass was being smashed.

  Waters crawled next to Davis. ‘Shit a brick.’ Was about all he could say. His beloved Sea Sprite was now rocking back and forth from the sheer volume of bodies that were now on it.

  ‘We’re now officially fucked.’ Davis slid her pistol back into its holster.

  ‘What can we do?’ Waters was itching to fight.

  ‘Nothing, it’s pointless.’ She held him back. ‘It would be suicide to even try.’

  ‘Fuck that for a game of soldiers. They are going to leave us with nothing.’ Waters drew his gun.

  ‘Don’t be a brain donor.’ Davis tried to grab him, but he was too strong.

  ‘Are you coming?’ He turned to Davis.

  She shook her head. ‘I want to stay alive.’

  ‘Better to die fighting than to be a coward.’ He took aim at the helicopter.

  ‘Don’t!’ Davis shouted. ‘You won’t last five minutes.’ She picked up the radio pack.

  ‘See you on the other side.’ Waters grinned at Davis and then let off a round.

  Seventy sets of blood red eyes suddenly turned to where they were both stood. The helicopter stopped rocking.

  Davis didn’t hang about. She hot footed it in the opposite direction. Her aim? To find safe, high ground, and to contact Taunton.

  ‘Come on!’ Waters growled and let off another few volleys. Four of the Infected fell dead. The others drew closer with one thing on their mind.

  Waters emptied his chamber and slammed another full magazine in. Running directly towards the helicopter he shot as he ran, clearing a path.

  Arms and hands grappled to hold him, but they all failed.

  Waters pistol wiped an infected teenage girl off the cockpit door and he pulled the handle.

  He felt a bony hand grab his ankle.

  Without looking down, he shot a few feet from his right boot. The hand released its grip.

  Opening the door he started to climb in, but now he felt more hands grabbing at his shoulders.

  Shrugging a few off, he tried to lever himself into the safety of the helicopter. More hands were now grabbing at his thighs, and one in particular held his left boot with a vice like grip.

  This time he turned to face the horror.

  A sea of haunting faces bore down upon him. Blood was spat at him from all directions.

  He shot out another five bullets and he could see figures drop in the darkness. The result made no change to the hands, now enveloping his body.

  Waters could feel teeth sinking into his flesh. He gritted his teeth, trying to ignore the pain. He fired his pistol another three times, and then came the sickening clicking sound. He was out of ammo.

  Using his gun like club, he started to thrash anything that moved.

  He could now feel himself getting dragged out of the helicopter.

  The pain was now too much to bear and he let out a roar. Now, using his fists, he hammered down on the paper thin skulls, some cracking like rotten eggs.

  Waters could feel his legs being lifted up. He kicked out and he could hear a jaw cracking. His attempts were futile though. Whenever one of the Infected fell, another instantly replaced them.

  The veins in Waters’ neck protruded as his blood furiously pumped around his body. He was now being carried away from the helicopter.

  ‘Davis!’ He screamed. ‘Help me!’

  A fist, its skin badly torn, was rammed into his mouth. Waters tried to bite down hard, but the fist kept pushing down into his throat.

  Another hand grabbed at his crotch and started to crush his testicles.

  The harder he tried to break loose the tighter the many hands gripped him.

  The fist in his mouth now opened, breaking Waters’ jaw. It grabbed at his tongue and firmly clasped it.

  The pain was too much, and Waters could feel himself slipping into unconsciousness.

  The hand in his mouth now yanked its way back out, ripping the tongue from its root.

  Waters spat and coughed blood, screaming in agony.

  He was lucky. He had already passed out before his gentiles were torn to pieces.

  Soon after, the dismembered parts of his body lay strewn across Dartmoor.

  The Sea Sprite had been smashed to a thousand pieces. The truck overturned and set on fire. Waters attempts had indeed been futile.

  Davis sat on top of the hill, nearly a mile away from the glow. Apart from the silhouette of the burning truck, she could also make out the many dancing bodies.

  Cavorting in some sort of medieval orgy, the howls and piecing screams could be heard for miles around.

  She shivered at
the thought of what had happened to Waters.

  Davis had now never felt so alone in her entire life.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  ‘How is Klaudia?’ Jake asked Angel.

  She kissed him on the cheek. ‘Well, she sure looks her age this morning.’ Angel flashed Jake a smile. ‘If you ever did fancy her, go and take a look in the bathroom. I’m sure you’ll change your mind.’

  ‘I never fancied her!’ Jake protested, taking Angel’s bait immediately.

  ‘It’s just too easy.’ She laughed.

  ‘What?’

  Angel then mimed reeling in a fishing line.

  ‘Ha-ha. Very funny.’ He tried to flick Angel with the tea towel.

  ‘Now, now. You can leave that sort of role play to your polish cougar.’ Angel skipped across the kitchen tiles, avoiding another flick from Jake.

  ‘I give up.’ Disgruntled, he screwed up the tea towel and threw onto the draining board.

  ‘Oh come on. I’m only playing. It’s good for morale.’ Angel about turned and gave her boyfriend a hug.

  ‘I know.’ Jake smiled. ‘I’m just concerned about today.

  Why?’

  ‘The fear of the unknown.’ Jake let Angel go. ‘It could get messy up there on the rocks.’

  ‘We’ve come through this type of thing before. Remember York.’

  Jake gazed into Angel’s eyes. He swore he could see into her soul. She had this amazing way of calming him down. ‘You’re right, again.’

  ‘I’m always right, and don’t you forget it.’

  Thirty minutes later, and everyone had gathered on the patio outside. The early morning sun shone down, it was the perfect morning.

  ‘Me, Harry James and Naomi will take the western path. Roger pointed to the map that was unfolded on the wooden picnic table.

  ‘And us?’ Angel asked.

  ‘You and Jake will take the path to the south.’ Roger jabbed at two places on the paper map. ‘Here we will stop and contact each other.’

  ‘Search and survey?’ Jake enquired.

  ‘Exactly. Let’s just see what’s occurring. Then we can decide a plan of action.’ Roger looked round at everyone concerned.

  Jeremiah coughed. ‘Aren’t you forgetting someone?’

  Roger looked to Angel. ‘I think, Jeremiah, you should remain here at Old Mill.’

  ‘Not on your life.’ The disgruntled old farmer stood tall. ‘I want to be involved. You need all the help you can get.’ His voice became more animated. ‘I will not be a nurse maid to the kids, I’m a man of action.’

  ‘Calm yourself.’ Angel walked over to Jeremiah. ‘You have only just recovered from a bad beating.’

  ‘If you have recovered?’ Jake interjected.

  ‘I will be the judge of that.’ Jeremiah wobbled as he raised his walking stick in the air.’

  ‘For God’s sake man.’ Roger took over. ‘You will stay here. Look at you. You will slow us down.’

  Angel was mortified. She nudged Roger in the ribs. He could be so inconsiderate sometimes.

  Jeremiah looked down at his legs. Deep in his heart he knew Roger was right.

  ‘We need you here.’ Naomi took the old farmer’s arm. ‘Klaudia is a mess; you have seen her this morning. She’s being sick as we speak.

  Jeremiah looked over to the cottage. ‘Maybe. She did take it to the limit last night.’

  ‘And some more.’ Harry James laughed, much to the disapproving look of Angel.

  ‘If any of the Infected attack here, at Old Mill, we will need someone here to defend it.’ Jake added.

  Jeremiah was no fool. He knew they were talking his role up. Making it sound more important than it really was. ‘Okay, okay. I will stay.’

  ‘You know it makes sense.’ Naomi rubbed Jeremiah’s arm. ‘We will be back as soon as you know it.’

  Jake and Roger glanced over at each other. If only that was the truth.

  ***

  ‘Grab your coat. And bring a gun. If you haven’t got one, we will sort one out for you.’ The Doyen pulled on his combat jacket and zipped it up. ‘We leave immediately.’

  ‘But I don’t understand why I am needed?’ It was too late. Doctor Roberts’s words fell on deaf ears. The Doyen was already marching down the corridor.

  The doctor strode through the corridors; they were unusually quiet. Where was everyone?

  He had spent the last couple of days holed up in his lab, trying to work out how he was going to cleanse the bodies of the infected. He was working on a theory of flushing the bad blood out, and replacing it with the clean blood. The stocks of A positive were now plentiful. The doctor knew many innocent survivors had been killed to collect it; he was just obeying orders and staying alive.

  As he passed the intensive care ward he decided to quickly call in to see how the patients were progressing.

  Opening the double doors the silence hit him. Something was dreadfully wrong. The bleeps of the machines, and the constant trolleys being pushed up and down the ward, were not there.

  Pushing the heavy plastic strips, that hung down from the door frame, away from his body the full horror hit him.

  Everyone was dead.

  He counted sixteen bodies. Four beds were empty. The large Welshman, who had been making great progress, had gone.

  Doctor Roberts studied the bodies. Pale and gaunt, he could see they had been dead for at least twelve hours. Their blood had been totally drained. What in damnation was going on?

  As he ran through the rest of the hospital wards he came across more bodies. All had been emptied of their blood. Anyone that couldn’t walk was dead. Anyone with limbs missing, was dead.

  Tears filled his eyes as he entered the children’s ward. There had been fifteen children under three. They were all dead.

  The doctor felt dizzy. He held onto the side of a bed to stop himself from falling. He looked down at the medical chart.

  Magdalene aged 4.

  She lay dead in her bed. The little girl looked asleep, but the grey skin and the hollow cheeks told another story.

  Doctor Robert then threw up.

  He needed to get out of the building, he needed some fresh air.

  Sprinting back down the long corridor, his echoing footsteps bounced across the walls.

  He pushed the exit door open with such ferocity that the window smashed.

  He fell to his knees on the small patch of grass opposite the large court yard. With his head in his hands he started to sob uncontrollably.

  ‘Pick him up.’ The Doyen ordered one of his henchmen to assist the doctor. ‘And give him some of this.’ He handed the burly man a bottle of unopened water.

  The Doyen turned back to one his trusty lieutenants. ‘I think our doctor has just done his morning rounds.’

  ‘What the hell have you done?’ Doctor Roberts shrugged off the unwanted attention of the henchman and staggered over to the Doyen.

  Another shaved headed Pureblood walked forward, to stop his path to his leader.

  ‘It’s okay.’ The Doyen motioned him to let the doctor pass.

  ‘It’s not okay.’ The doctor spat. ‘You have killed children, murdered them.’

  The Doyen took a step towards the doctor. ‘Calm yourself man.’

  ‘How can I!’ Doctor Robert screamed, waving his arms about. ‘Innocent men, women and children. All dead!’

  ‘They were of no use to us.’ The Doyen answered calmly.

  ‘What!’ The doctor yelled, not quite believing what he had just heard.

  ‘Taunton is to be closed. Only the fit and healthy will leave; those ready to fight.’ His steely eyes looked the doctor up and down. ‘Are you fit to fight?’

  ‘Closed down?’ The doctor’s head was spinning. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘It’s of no use to me anymore. We need to obliterate the infected from the south and push on. This base is now obsolete.’

  The doctor looked around the courtyard. There was a mix of Pureblood and patients. He
recognised some of them, Leila K being conspicuous by her absence.

  ‘You haven’t answered my question.’

  ‘What?’ The doctor counted about fifty men and women all in white overalls. Most were carrying weapons.

  ‘Are you fit to fight? Think about your answer doctor, don’t disappoint me.’

  The doctor stayed silent. The man stood in front of him was obviously mad. Was he about to upset him though?’ No. ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘We head south to Devon; there we wipe out the last of the infected. We also bring to trial the treacherous ones.’

  ‘Treacherous ones?’ The doctor asked.

  ‘The farmer and his accomplices. They have caused most of this disruption, and they will pay.’

  Doctor Robert noticed the large Welshman stood near the front, holding a rifle. ‘He’s not fit to fight. For fucks sake, he’s only just come out of intensive care.’

  ‘I will decide who fights.’ The Doyen’s patience was wearing thin. ‘Are you with us, or not?’

  The doctor had no choice. Kill or be killed.

  ‘I’m in.’

  ***

  Emma Davis kept low as she crawled closer to where she last spoke to Waters. Most of the infected had gone back to the rocks, but a few stragglers were still sifting through the wreckage of the helicopter.

  Waters was nowhere. Not even a carcass remained.

  Davis’s hands twitched, she had to fight every nerve ending in her body. All she wanted to do was take the few remaining Infected out with her gun. She knew that would be futile though. The others would hear the shots and screams; the place would soon be crawling with naked filth.

  She knew she had to bide her time and wait for the cavalry to arrive.

  She spent the next ten minutes dragging the limp bodies of Gilman and Travers to as near to the infected as she dared.

  She knew the smell of flesh would do the rest. Just to make sure, she took out her knife and opened up each of their throats. The earthy scent of pure blood would be too much for the naked animals.

  Davis slid back, and retreated to her makeshift camp on the higher ground a mile to the east.

  Only an hour earlier she had spoken to the Doyen. His good mood, when told of Willoughby’s demise, was soon soured with the news of the Infected and their rampage through the night.