Finding Her (Chronicles of the Infected Book 1) Page 8

  “Oh, well, to heck with it. You only live once!”

  James stood up from the table and walked over to the bar, where he moved the decanter of red wine out of the way – a Faustino 1 Gran Reserva 1964 Roja that smelled divine – and filled his tumbler up with sherry. Barbadillo Palo Cortado VORS NV. His favourite.

  “May I be excused?” Stacey requested. “I wish to go look at how much meat we have left.”

  “Ah, unfortunately, one’s meat is sparse.”

  James opened the door to the kitchen, revealing the bones left upon the table. A foot remained, still within its leather shoe, as did a few fingers.

  “I worry about eating the rest of this meat,” James said. “I worry that it may presently be expired.”

  “Not to worry, we can throw it out,” Trisha replied.

  “Yes. It’s just a shame. I did enjoy this one with particular contentment. It wasn’t chewy, like so many before.”

  “It is always sad when we have to say goodbye to a good slab of meat. Especially one that has quelled our hearty appetite with such generosity.”

  James stepped toward the remaining limbs. There was still a bit of jewellery and loose pieces of clothing remaining on the side, ready to be brushed into the bin as another cadaver took its place.

  “Rightyo,” James decided. “Not a problem. It just means it’s time.”

  “Time for what, Daddy?”

  “Time for us to go back out on the hunt again!”

  Stacey clapped her hands excitedly together, beaming her sweet, adoring smile up at her mother.

  “Oh, when do we get to go? When do we get to go?”

  “Why, right away, I’d say.”

  “Yay!”

  “Best get changed. Don’t want to get anything over our dinner best. Off you go, now.”

  Continuing to cheer pleasantly, Stacey rushed to her bedroom for the flowery dress she always wore whilst hunting.

  As Trisha smiled at James, he smiled back.

  What a loving, happy family.

  Minus Twenty Hours

  21

  Dirty shoes atop a pristine, expensive eighteenth-century desk was a sure way to stick it to the establishment. The finely furnished oak polish stood sturdily beneath Eugene’s unlaced, classy leather soles, beside a pile of unsigned papers that could darn well wait.

  He opened the bottom desk drawer on the right. This was the drawer no one went in. Not that anyone ever dared snoop around his drawers, but if they did, this would be the last drawer they looked in; making it the best place for his most secret, prize possession.

  He withdrew a bottle of thirty-year-old Dalmore whisky, twisting it, allowing himself to read the label, reminding himself how damn expensive that whisky was. From the Highlands, single malt scotch, aged perfectly – one of only 888 bottles that were produced.

  It was worth thousands, except only to a true connoisseur of fine liquor; to anyone else, they wouldn’t even be worthy of the label stuck to the bottle.

  Once he’d poured himself a small glass in a fresh tumbler he also produced from the drawer, he lifted it to his nose and closed his eyes as he breathed in its rich scent. A slight tinge of coffee, mixed with an aroma of spice.

  He placed the glass to his lips, tipped a slight gulp into his mouth, and held it there. It was like Christmas cake, but richer. A definite sting of honey swirled against his teeth and mixed with his saliva. Once he had relished its sharp sting, he allowed it to coast down his throat in a thrashing wave.

  “Oh, bloody gosh,” he unknowingly whispered. He hadn’t meant to curse, or even speak, but the precious words had been released in awe at the fine taste of his vintage beverage.

  Four loud, resounding knocks shook his office door, interrupting his indulgence in one of life’s greatest pleasures.

  Rolling his eyes in aggravation at the disturbance, he placed the bottle and the glass back inside the bottom drawer. He was expecting important guests, but none of them were important enough to be privée to his fine whiskey import.

  “What?” he asked.

  The door opened and Sandra, his secretary, stood, mascara trickling down her cheek.

  “Oh Jesus,” he exclaimed. “You’re not still crying over it?”

  She bowed her head. “The French prime minister is here.”

  “Perfect.” Eugene grinned. “Send him in.”

  “Right you are.” She turned to leave.

  “Oh, and Sandra?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Sort your face out, you look like a tramp.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  She backed out of the room and moments later, Eugene’s guest entered.

  Eugene rose instantly, wearing a wide smile and holding his hand out for a hearty handshake. As the handshake was reciprocated, he took a moment to look over the appearance of his newest alliance.

  The man was short, with a large moustache and a suit that made him look like a penguin in disguise. He was unmistakably round, with a double chin and a sweaty brow. He was the kind of person Eugene would dread being stuck in a lift with.

  The man looked over his shoulder in confusion at the state of Sandra’s makeup.

  “Oh, don’t mind her,” Eugene said. “Her boyfriend got eaten yesterday. Pierre, is it?”

  “No, mon ami, it is Pascal.”

  Whatever.

  “Pascal, it is a delight and a privilege to make your acquaintance. Please, come into my office, have a seat.”

  Casting his mind over Eugene’s elaborately decorated office, Pascal made his way to a leather sofa and plonked his hefty arse down. Eugene sat on the sofa opposite.

  “Can I get you anything?” Eugene offered. “A cigar? A brandy? A coffee?”

  “Non, non, I will not be staying long,” Pascal insisted in a French accent so thick Eugene had to listen carefully to understand it. “This meeting will be brief. I do not like to leave my country unattended for so long, such is the present situation. I am sure you understand.”

  “Of course, of course.”

  “I just wanted to meet you, seeing as we are offering you something so big. If it means we give up part of my country’s resources, especially those concerning our defence, I like to know who I will be dealing with.”

  “I completely understand. And what you are doing for us is a huge favour.”

  “I would not do it should I need the bomb, as I am sure you comprende. We have already quarantined Marseille and Calais, and set them for detonation on them. Our situation is not as bad as yours, I am led to believe.”

  Eugene nodded. He wondered how long it would be until he’d be able to finish off that brandy.

  “Well, I’m glad I managed to meet you in person – if only to express my dear gratitude. We are in your debt.”

  “Please, at a global crisis, we need to stop being different countries and be one world. It is essential for our survival.”

  Survival.

  Eugene stifled a chuckle at the word.

  This was about survival. It had been all along.

  Unfortunately for Pascal, it just wasn’t his survival this was about.

  22

  The accelerator on the Citreon C4 Picasso felt like a soft sponge. It sent the car gliding down the dirty track of the abandoned A road with swift ease. Gus had always wanted one of these, which he acknowledged was strange – most men would crave a BMW, a Jaguar, or a Ferrari. Gus had always found such cars to be compensations for what men lacked, whether physically or in their gumption. No, Gus had always wanted a Citreon.

  It was due to an advert he’d watched before a movie. He’d taken his daughter to see Frozen, and she had turned to him and said ever so sweetly, “Daddy, that looks like a nice car.”

  Since then, it had always been a car that he craved.

  “You know what I’ve always wanted?” Donny blurted out from the passenger’s seat.

  Gus scowled at the interruption of happy thoughts; he’d forgotten Donny was even there.

  “A
cool set of shades,” Donny continued, regardless of the lack of acknowledgement at his unwelcomed conversation starter. “I mean, I’ve had them before, from the poundshop and stuff. But I always saw them in windows of shops that were far too expensive for me to go in, and I always thought – those would be cool. Like, I saw them on this computer game, on this main character with a long leather jacket – which I know I would totally not be able to pull off – and I thought, that would be sweet. Yeah, I’d like a cool set of shades. Would just complete my look.”

  Gus glanced in the rear-view mirror, hoping Sadie could exchange an irritated glance. Not that she would understand what Donny was babbling on about – Gus could barely understand it himself – he just liked the thought that he didn’t have to put up with this imbecile alone. As it was, Sadie was laid down on the backseat having a nap, totally uninterrupted by the bumps and twists of the road.

  “You’d look good in a cool set of shades,” Donny continued.

  Gus sighed. Was he still going on?

  “I mean, you could probably pull off a leather jacket. You have that whole awesome action movie kinda vibe going on. Speaking of which, is it true you have a shot leg?”

  Gus ignored him.

  “Can I see? I’ve heard the bullet is still in there.”

  At times, Gus thought of the bullet in his right leg as a souvenir, a trophy that showed how much he had endured. But most of the time he saw it as a burden, something that ached when he tried to run, which was something he was likely going to have to do a lot of they were to be successful in rescuing this girl.

  “I take that as a no.”

  Finally, the kid takes a hint. Gus had been wondering whether the silence Gus replied with was giving him enough indication as to how much Gus did not want to engage with him.

  “A cool set of shades, though… Man…”

  Is this kid still on about those bloody sunglasses?

  Gus considered for a moment what would happen if he chucked Donny out of the car. Honestly, would anyone miss him?

  Did he even have a function in this mission anymore? There was a faulty radio bashing around the car floor. Unless Donny could use it to establish contact, his part was redundant. Then again, if Donny could use it to establish contact, it wasn’t like there was anyone Gus desperately wished to talk to. Why was Gus even keeping him around?

  “You know, if you get tired or want to sleep, you could let me drive. I can drive. Honestly, I passed my test just before, you know, it all happened. It was my fourth time, but I passed it.”

  “You ain’t driving no soddin’ car with me in it,” Gus grunted. He instantly mentally scolded himself for engaging. This meant that Donny would only try more, and talk more, and go on more about all the useless tripe that came out of his mouth.

  Honestly, why did he save the kid again?

  “Oh, wow. Okay. Well, you know, you got to sleep sometime, and we need to get there ASAP – so if you change your mind, I’m here, ready to put my foot down and take us from A to B. After all, I’m not the one who crashed us – just saying! Not meaning anything by it, just saying, pointing a few truths out.”

  If this kid did not stop rattling on…

  Gus considered throttling him. Punching him. Kicking him. Tying a bit wad of duct tape around his gob so he learnt to keep the damn thing shut.

  Whatever it took.

  “I’d look cooler driving in shades, mind.”

  Mention those shades one more bloody time…

  “So, tell me more about yourself,” Donny prompted, only to be met with more vehement silence. “Right, okay. Look, I just thought we should get to know each other. What about family, you got one?”

  Gus’s hands gripped the steering wheel. Tension filled his arms, his muscles poised, his teeth grinding.

  “Oh, crap, I forgot, sorry, I knew that they had… Sorry.”

  Gus closed his eyes and attempted to gather himself. To do all he could to remain calm.

  “So what actually happened to them, anyway?”

  Gus slammed his foot on the brake, bringing the car to a screeching, sudden stop.

  He placed his finger on the button beneath the passenger side’s window, and the window beside Donny’s face travelled downwards. Donny was instantly met with the groaning of a few nearby infected who, hearing the noise, came closer.

  Donny frantically tried to push down on the button on his side but, with Gus holding his down, it overrode any power he had.

  “What are you doing?!” Donny cried, desperately clicking on the button beside him. “Come on, man!”

  The zombies raced toward the open window, enticed by the smell of Donny’s flesh, by the sound of him wildly screaming.

  “Come on, man!”

  “If you ever talk about my family again” – Gus spoke in a low, husky, aggressively quiet voice – “I will feed you to them.”

  Donny’s eyes met Gus’s. They filled with fear. He looked back in those steel pupils, understanding that Gus meant every word he said.

  “Okay, okay, I understand!”

  Gus let go of the switch.

  Donny pushed down on his, watching his window shut just in time for the closing zombies to slam their bloody faces against it.

  Gus put the pedal to the floor and sped away.

  They drove for the next few hours in silence.

  23

  Gus’s legs were aching with the stiffness of a four-hour drive. This was only exasperated further by the bullet lodged inside his calf. The pain always became more apparent during stages of cramp or coldness. Like a solid intensity pushing a warm spike against his muscle.

  He stretched his leg out, wincing at the pain of his ache.

  He grabbed the petrol pump, hoping there was something left in it. The station looked as if it had been deserted for a long time. Dust blew from the top of the pump, settling on a cement floor adorned with mossy tufts declaring themselves through the cracks. The shop beside him was a wreck. Smashed windows with ransacked shelves, crawling with insects parading beneath the door.

  He squeezed the pump trigger.

  Yes, finally some luck.

  He put the pump into the car, squeezed, then stood back and surveyed the surroundings.

  An uncomfortable silence descended on the station. It was too deserted, too derelict. He reminded himself to be aware; the undead enemy could spring an attack on him at any time.

  Through the dirty window he could see Donny turning around and engaging Sadie in conversation. She was laughing. Whatever he was saying, it was entertaining her, and she childishly giggled in response.

  He hadn’t seen her guffaw like that. It was nice, seeing her happy. Seeing her saved from the reality of her situation.

  She was sweet. She brought on that fatherly instinct that made him want to nurture her. Which, of course, was a stark contrast to the explosive violence of her earlier fighting. The way she tore apart those zombies that attacked the cottage…

  The speed of it – he’d blinked, and she’d already torn through another three. The agility. The strength to dig her nails through the face of the undead.

  But most of all, the sheer violence. The immunity she had to the splatter of blood and guts over her. She had finished tearing them from limb to limb, drenched herself in red, then turned back to Gus as if seeking a father’s approval for drawing a good painting.

  “Donny, my name is Donny,” Donny was telling Sadie.

  Sadie nodded.

  Gus watched as Donny searched the car for another item, something he could point out, some way he could teach her the language that, in all likelihood, she once spoke fluently. With a lack of options, he pointed at the steering wheel.

  “Wheel,” Donny slowly told her. “Wheel.”

  Sadie looked confused.

  “This is a wheel. Can you say wheel?”

  “Whe–”

  “Wheel.”

  Sadie took a second, then without hesitation, announced, “Wheel.”

  �
�Yes!” Donny exclaimed, looking for something else to point out. “Seat.”

  “Seat,” she repeated.

  He pointed at himself. He smiled.

  “Friend,” he said slowly and sincerely.

  “Friend,” Sadie replied, with a smile, placing a hand on Donny’ heart. She turned her finger toward Gus, who watched from outside. “Friend?” she asked.

  Donny looked to Gus.

  Gus looked away. He didn’t feel like much of a friend.

  “Yeah,” Donny confirmed, nodding after his hesitation. “Friend.”

  Gus finished pouring petrol into the car and directed his limp toward the shop. The bell still jingled as he opened the door.

  Walking down each aisle, he found little to salvage. The shop appeared to have been looted a long time ago, and there was little left for him to ration.

  His orders came from the prime minister. The government had re-established itself. Most survivors had homes, they had plans in place to solve the country’s situation – but when Gus walked through a ransacked shop with dirty shelves left to grow mould, it reminded him how much the world had still all gone to shit.

  They could make out like they were on recovery, but they weren’t. It was just the best of a bad situation. Things weren’t looking up. There was never going to be a true resemblance of society again. Because they could bomb London and destroy the quarantined zone – but the virus still existed.

  Just as he turned to leave the deserted shop, he felt something crunch beneath his foot. He pulled his shoe away and looked down.

  An abandoned pair of sunglasses lay on the floor.

  He picked them up and left the shop.

  He got into the driver’s seat and felt the mood of the car instantly change. Whatever happy conversation was going on had abruptly ceased. Donny turned back to face forward, and Sadie returned to gazing out the window.

  Gus paused.

  He threw the sunglasses onto Donny’s lap.

  Donny lifted them up, then turned his inquiring gaze to Gus.

  Gus didn’t look back. He couldn’t. He wasn’t one for apologies.

  He didn’t plan to live long enough to ever have to grow to like this kid. He just had to tolerate him.