Pestilence: A Post Apocalyptic Survival Thriller (Surviving the Virus Book 8) Read online

  Pestilence

  Surviving the Virus, Book 8

  Ryan Casey

  Contents

  Bonus Content

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

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  Chapter One

  Jaan sat in the back of the helicopter and stared out at the vast, open sea.

  It was morning, but it might as well have been night. So grey, so grim. So endless. He stared down into the waves and wished he was back home in Estonia, way before any of this shit happened. The crystal blue beaches of Kuressaare. Sand burning the bottoms of his feet. The sound of music and laughter and happiness.

  But that was a long time ago. The life he lived now was a far cry from the one he lived back then. And he couldn’t exactly pretend it was only yesterday. It was almost a decade ago, now. A decade had passed since that fateful day where everything went to shit. First, the initial wave of the virus. Reports of insanity, globally. Internet going down. Towns and cities spiralling out of control.

  Then came the survival years. Bunkering down and resisting a rapidly changing infection. Fighting infected like they were monsters. Dehumanising them. Seeing them as something distinctly... other. All for your own sanity.

  And then, a few years later, the second blow.

  People dropping dead. People who seemed to be fit and healthy. All falling at the click of a finger. The virus, gone. A new world given the chance to restore itself.

  That’s when things changed for Jaan.

  He’d been picked up by a group in Russia. Told secrets about the virus. About the long-term plans for the new world. About research being done by powerful groups in the shadows—research that could change everything. And about how he was going to be a part of navigating this new world; of ushering it in.

  But things had changed from those first days. The plans had transformed, developed. They had evolved.

  And now Jaan sat in the front seat of the beginning of those new plans.

  Plans that had been researched.

  Plans that had been tested for.

  Plans that would work.

  Only this time... there would be nowhere for the virus to hide.

  There would be nowhere for anyone remotely infected to hide.

  He sat on the front row of the end of the world as everyone knew it—and the beginning of a new world, a better world—and he couldn’t help feeling nerves creeping through his stomach.

  This was the test run. The beginning of something new.

  And all evidence suggested it was going to be a great success.

  Which was good news for humanity and its future, sure.

  But it was also bad news for so, so many.

  “You okay, Jaan?”

  Jaan looked around. Saw Viktor sitting opposite, dressed all in grey, like him. Rifle on his lap, just in case they came across any resistance. Resistance would come. Of course, it would. Especially when they enacted their plan. Especially when they pulled the metaphorical trigger. Especially when it all began.

  Jaan didn’t really like Viktor. He was a bit of a pig. Had some nasty shit to say about women and was a pretty run of the mill racist. And he was a fiery prick, too. Not someone you wanted to get on the wrong side of. Built like a brick shithouse, as he’d heard Brits say in the past.

  He smirked. He liked that phrase. Made him laugh.

  “You laughing at something?”

  Jaan shook his head. “Nothing. Just a memory.”

  “Better be just a memory. Ain’t walking into any funny business, and you know it.”

  He said it with a knowing lightness to his voice. Like he would find it funny but wasn’t quite willing to go all the way and admit it. Jaan knew for a fact this guy would find it funny. He’d find what they were going to do goddamned hilarious.

  He was a brute. A monster. Because they needed compassion towards the people who were going to suffer at their hands. They needed understanding. Because as much as what they were doing was right—as much as it was the only option—that didn’t mean it was something they should enjoy. It didn’t mean it was easy.

  Jaan just sat there. Stared back out the window again. Listened to the somewhat therapeutic rattle of the helicopter rotors overhead. He missed home. He missed his family. He missed his ex-wife, Kristie, and his daughters, Suzanna and Khloe. He missed life.

  He kept on staring out at the water and wondered what the after would be like. Would he be able to settle down again? Would he be able to move forward? To move on?

  And how easy would it be to start again in a new world where the blood of the old world was smeared across your palms?

  He stared down into the waves when he heard Viktor speak again.

  “Shit. You see that?”

  Jaan looked up, out the window to where Viktor was pointing.

  He didn’t see anything. Not at first.

  Not until he looked closer and saw it.

  In the distance, right ahead, he saw land.

  The unmistakable boundary of land.

  He felt a knot in his stomach. Heard Viktor laugh, excitedly. Inside, he felt totally cold.

  “Here we go,” Viktor said, clapping. “Here we fucking go!”

  He chanted a few times like a football hooligan.

  But all Jaan could do was sit there.

  All he could do was stare.

  In the distance, on the horizon, he saw the unmistakable landmark—the Eiffel Tower-lite that was Blackpool Tower.

  And even though he knew exactly what he had to do—even though he had prepared for so many years for this moment—Jaan felt terrified.

  It was time for phase one to begin.

  Chapter Two

  Noah heard footsteps outside the bus shelter and felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

  He opened his eyes. Stared up into the darkness. He must’ve been sleeping, but it didn’t feel like he’d been sleeping all that deeply. That was kind of the way these days, at summer’s end. He never slept deeply. Not while he and Iqrah were so under pursuit from forces on all sides. Not when someone could stride in and take her away from him at any damned moment.

  He h
eard rain pelting down onto the stone roof of the bus stop above. Outside, he heard it falling from the trees and onto the road. The vague outline of an old country pub, long ago abandoned. The smell of warmth to the air, a freshness that always followed the downfall. A taste of phlegm in the back of his throat that always accompanied a lack of sleep.

  And those footsteps.

  No doubt about it. Someone was out there. Someone was stalking them. Society? Likely. They’d been hunting him and Iqrah down for six days now, ever since they escaped the Folkesmithe labs. They’d run into the odd infected, but their numbers seemed pretty limited despite the stories of their prevalence in No Man’s Land. Really made Noah wonder just how much all that was a control mechanism after all. Create fear to isolate the people, to put them all in one easily controllable place. Convince them it’s dangerous outside. Wasn’t that how society had always worked, really?

  He heard those footsteps edging closer towards the bus shelter and looked around. Saw Iqrah lying there, fast asleep, Bruno by her side, snoring away. He was glad they were here, at least. Glad nobody had already come in here, snatched them. And glad they were asleep, too.

  Especially Iqrah.

  He didn’t want her seeing what he had to do.

  He never liked her seeing violence.

  Even though he knew damn well she’d already seen—and been the cause of—so much of it.

  He stood up slowly. His knees cracked as he crept to the front of the bus shelter. He stood there, against the slimy, moss-covered wall, and he held his breath. Peeked around the corner.

  He didn’t see anyone outside. Only the movement of the rain, flickering in his eyes like white noise.

  He squinted over at the off-white walls of the pub, in need of a good wash. And then at the bus shelter opposite. Then further across the street, over towards a green space where people would once have walked their dogs and engaged in normal, ordinary activities.

  He didn’t see anyone.

  Maybe it was in his head.

  Maybe it was—

  Movement.

  Movement across the street.

  Over by the pub.

  Walking this way.

  He backed into the bus shelter. He didn’t want them to see him in here. He wanted the upper ground of anonymity.

  But at the same time... he wanted to know they were safe.

  Anyone out there could be a danger to them.

  Anyone out there could be a threat.

  He stood there. Heart racing. Iqrah and Bruno still sleeping away. He listened to those footsteps as they walked along the road. Splashing through the rain. Getting closer to the bus shelter. And closer.

  And he tightened his grip on his knife.

  There were ordinary people out here. Good people. He knew that. Stayed aware of that.

  But the chances that some ordinary person was just wandering around a village in the middle of nowhere—a village he happened to be in?

  That didn’t seem likely.

  He stayed stood still. Held his breath. Rain pouring. Heart racing. Footsteps splashing through the fallen water.

  And when he was absolutely sure they’d passed by, he found himself at a crossroads.

  Wait here. Because they were okay here. They were safe here. There was nothing to worry about in here.

  Or go out there.

  Stamp out any threat before it even had the chance to become a threat.

  He flashed back to the community at Westfield. That day in the woods, before things fell apart. The day that got him locked up. He’d taken out two innocent people. Dumped himself in a huge mess.

  But at the same time, he thought of other times. Times he hadn’t acted. Times he’d let things go.

  He tightened his grip on the knife and stepped outside.

  He saw them walking up the street.

  He couldn’t tell, but in the moonlight, he swore they were all in black.

  Holding a gun.

  Society colours.

  He crouched. Crept along. Stalked him as quietly as he could. He swore he heard something crackling. Something like a walkie talkie.

  His heart raced even more. His certainty about what he needed to do.

  Take this person out.

  Eliminate the threat.

  Protect Iqrah, and Bruno, and himself.

  He crept further down the road. Approached the semi-detached houses, as this person—a man, no doubt—walked on past.

  He crept closer to him and raised his knife when the man stopped.

  He went to look around.

  Noah knew he had no time to waste.

  He ran at the man.

  Lifted his knife.

  Buried it in his neck.

  “Pl—please! Ple...”

  Noah pulled the knife away and buried it again.

  But something was wrong.

  Something was wrong, as the warm blood splattered over his hand.

  This man. He wasn’t wearing a mask.

  He wasn’t wearing Society gear.

  And he was holding a fishing rod. Not a gun.

  Noah looked down at this gaunt, crying man, lying on the road beneath him, and he felt a wave of guilt crash up to him as he spluttered away.

  “Please... please...”

  Noah’s jaw tensed.

  Tears stung his eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m...”

  That’s when he heard more footsteps behind him.

  The hairs on his neck stood on end.

  He spun around and lifted his knife, ready to take down any attackers, anyone who ambushed him.

  But when he saw who stood there, his heart sank even more.

  Iqrah stood there.

  Bruno by her side.

  And she looked at the blood dripping from Noah’s knife, at the spluttering body of the man on the road behind him, and Noah saw the crushing disappointment and horror in this girl’s eyes.

  Chapter Three

  Iqrah didn’t speak to Noah the following morning.

  They woke to bright blue skies. A slight chill to the air, teasing autumn to come. Birds chirping overhead. A light breeze rustling the leaves of the trees all around. It was quite a peaceful, serene scene, in all truth. But it was always during the most peaceful moments that Noah felt most on edge. Because it was in those peaceful moments that you could get complacent. That you could let your guard drop.

  Noah knew a thing or two about letting his guard drop during seemingly peaceful moments.

  He thought about Kelly and Baby Edward on the road, all those years ago. He thought about his determination to move on. His eagerness to get to safety. And he knew he needed to keep his guard up now. Maybe now more than ever.

  Because not only were he and Iqrah important. But they were actively wanted. Actively pursued by Society guards with bad intentions.

  And the more time passed without confrontation, the more Noah started to fear things were so close to slipping out of control.

  Iqrah walked slightly ahead of Noah, Bruno by her side. He didn’t like her getting too far from him, just in case. He’d already seen her get herself into some shitty situations in the past. He felt the need to keep her close. To never loosen his grip. Because loosening his grip could be dangerous. It could be risky.

  He didn’t even want to make the journey he was making right now. The journey to Blackpool, to try and find any trace of her long-estranged parents. He thought going to any former populated town was risky. Especially one where the Society would know about. That’s why they’d held off initially. Noah figured they’d know about Iqrah’s links to Blackpool, so they’d send people over there right away—if there weren’t people there already.

  So they’d held back. Resisted. Waited almost a week.

  But it was finally time to face something that Noah wasn’t sure he even wanted to face at all.

  And he was growing progressively worried that he’d already lost his grip on Iqrah.

  He tried to keep calm. Trie
d to keep his cool. Tried to just ride out her sulk. Because she always snapped out of them eventually. And the more he rode it out, the more likely it was she’d just let shit go.

  But he was tired, and he was antsy, and she was bugging him. So he couldn’t hold back. He couldn’t resist.

  “You just gonna sulk around all day then?”

  Iqrah turned around. Late teens, but a childishness to her, a lack of maturity to her, the hallmarks of a child who’d grown up very much in this world, a walking contradiction of maturity in some ways and innocence in others. Went with the territory considering she’d been dragged out of primary school by the virus, had her education halted, and been forced to grow up in a very different way to tradition. “Maybe I will,” she said.

  The hairs on Noah’s neck stood on end. “Well I’d appreciate it if you didn’t.”

  “And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t randomly kill everyone we come across.”

  “Is that what this is about? Last night? Really? Still?”

  “Still?” Iqrah shouted. “That man did nothing wrong. He just walked past. He walked past, and you did what you always do, didn’t you?”

  “If I didn’t, we’d be—”

  “Don’t say it.”

  “Say what?”

  “What you always say. How it’s about me. How it’s about looking out for me. Making sure no harm comes to me. Or whatever bullshit you always peddle.”

  “So you don’t believe me?”

  “I know you want the best for me,” Iqrah said. “But you... you can’t just live life like I’m the only one in the world that needs saving. That needs protecting. Because there’s others, too. People out there. Normal people with normal lives. And if you do those things to them, if you hurt them... how does that make you any different to the people you’re trying to protect us from? How does that make you any better?”