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

  “Good,” Kirsty said, a smile creeping across her face. “About time you cheered up.”

  She turned around and walked over to Iqrah. And as Noah watched them walk off ahead with Bruno by their side, he couldn’t shake the sense of disquiet that had come over him. The only thing he could compare it to was that fucking Rains of Castamere episode of Game of Thrones. Everything seemed okay. It felt too calm. The calm before the storm.

  And yet he couldn’t put his finger on exactly why things felt so wrong.

  Probably because he had something to lose now.

  He shook his head. Didn’t like that thought. Made him feel uneasy.

  He walked off after Kirsty and Iqrah. Reached their side. He felt alert, on edge. The sense they were being watched grew in intensity. They were far away from the perimeters. Far away from any district, as far as he was aware. And it didn’t seem like there were any infected on their tail.

  But just the knowledge of the price on their heads.

  Of how dangerous they were.

  Particularly for Kirsty to be around.

  It unsettled him deeply.

  “I think we should get off this road,” Noah said.

  He stopped. Didn’t even realise he’d spoken until the words came out his mouth.

  Kirsty looked back.

  Iqrah looked back.

  Both of them frowned.

  “What?”

  Noah’s heart pounded. “Something… something isn’t right here. I can feel it.”

  Kirsty shook her head. “What do you mean you can—”

  “I just know something isn’t right, okay?”

  “Okay,” Kirsty said. “Okay. If you say so, Nostradamus. But we’re gonna have to keep moving through here to get off the road anyway. Unless you…”

  Noah didn’t hear another word.

  He heard a gunshot.

  And then he heard a yelp.

  He didn’t hear anything else.

  Didn’t see anything else.

  Only in front of him.

  Only Bruno.

  Standing there one second. Ears raised. Head tilting.

  And then a bullet slammed into his leg, and he let out an almighty whine.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Noah watched Bruno hit the ground with a yelp, and his entire world stood still.

  Blood oozed out of his back leg. He tried to scramble back to his feet but just kept on falling back down, hitting the ground. He whined. Let out little cries of pain; cries that he wanted Noah to take away. The way he looked at him with those big, innocent eyes just filled Noah with guilt that he couldn’t do more. That he couldn’t act.

  “Noah!”

  He looked around. Saw Kirsty staring at him with those big wide eyes. She had Iqrah behind her. Both of them staring off into the distance, over Noah’s shoulder, over to where those gunshots had come from.

  Noah turned around, and he saw them right away.

  Four of them. Armed with rifles. Pointing them at Noah, at Kirsty, at Iqrah.

  Society.

  His first instinct was to lean into anger. To sink into that void that he felt resurfacing within him again.

  But the more he leaned into it, the more he sank into that urge for destruction, the more his head ached, the more blood he tasted at the back of his throat, and the more he realised he wasn’t strong enough.

  Which meant he had to try something else.

  He had to get away.

  He wanted to stand his ground. He wanted to fight. Especially after what they’d done to Bruno. His dog. His only dog left. His companion, who he’d saved from neglect, all those years ago. His friend.

  He wanted to fucking gut them for what they’d done.

  But then he heard Bruno whine again, and he realised there was nothing he could do but run right now.

  “Get off the road!” Noah shouted.

  He turned around. Ran over to Bruno’s side.

  Bruno didn’t look in a good way. Panting. Tongue dangling out. Still wagging his tail, even though his body was shaking, even though he was in pain.

  Blood trickling from his leg.

  “Hey, lad,” Noah said, stroking his head. “Hey. It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’m—”

  A bullet whooshed past.

  So close to Noah’s body.

  And then more gunshots fired out, over towards Kirsty and Iqrah, who were a way down the road now.

  He looked up at them. Heart racing.

  The way they stared at him, sympathy in their eyes, defeat in their eyes.

  “Noah, quick,” Kirsty said. “It’s… it’s too late. I’m sorry, but it’s too late. We need to go.”

  He felt that lump in his throat. Looked down at Bruno, lying there, wagging his tail. Bullets kept on sweeping over him, past him, towards Kirsty—she was the target, that much was clear. They wouldn’t risk shooting him or Iqrah. At least, that’s what he thought, anyway.

  Unless something was different.

  Unless something had changed.

  He stared down at Bruno, and he prepared to do the hardest thing. Say goodbye to his friend. To his companion.

  But then he felt resistance inside.

  He looked up at Kirsty. At Iqrah.

  “Go,” he said.

  Iqrah narrowed her eyes. “Noah?”

  “Both of you need to get away from here. You need to get to Morecambe. Get yourselves to safety.”

  Kirsty shook her head. Bullets kept on peppering her way. “But—”

  “No time for ‘buts’,” he said. “I’ve got this. Me and Bruno stay right here. Go. Now!”

  He saw the hesitation.

  He saw the resistance and the reluctance.

  And then he saw Kirsty mouth something—something he couldn’t decipher from this distance—but something that looked like “I’m sorry.”

  And then they turned around and ran off into the distance.

  Noah looked down at Bruno. Stroked his shaking head. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

  He took a deep breath.

  And then he stood up and lifted the knife to his throat.

  The Society guards stopped in their tracks.

  Kept their rifles pointed right at him.

  “Not another move,” Noah said.

  The guards stayed there. Rifles pointed. Totally still. Like this was one they didn’t predict.

  The guy leading the way—muscular, well built—shook his head. “No bullshit now, Noah. Your time’s up, and you know it.”

  “No,” Noah said, smiling. “See, that’s not true. It’s your time that’s up here if I cut my throat.”

  “You wouldn’t do that.”

  “You want to try that? Want to risk it? Really?”

  The guards held their ground. Then Noah saw the leader lowering his rifle. Reaching for something on top of it.

  Something Noah knew already switched between bullet and sedative.

  “Touch that switch, and I’ll do it too.”

  “What—”

  “Not another fucking move,” Noah said.

  The guards stood their ground. Wind raced down the streets. Clouds crept over, blocked the stifling sun.

  And Noah could only stand there, knife to his neck, Bruno whimpering for help behind him.

  “Noah,” the guard said, his voice shaking now. And then he reached up. Grabbed his mask. Pulled it away.

  The guy behind the mask wasn’t as Noah expected exactly. He didn’t look… nasty. He didn’t look all that mean. Ginger guy. Pale face. Looked just like an ordinary bloke.

  “Look,” he said. “I’m Colin. I know… I know these fucking masks are dehumanising—”

  “What’s dehumanising is what you just did to my dog.”

  “You need to see the bigger picture. We’re getting desperate here. The whole damned country—the whole fucking damned world—is at the risk of falling if we don’t act fast.”

  “Look around,” Noah said, pressing the blade closer to his neck.
“I’d say the world’s already done a good job of falling if you ask me.”

  “Don’t pretend you haven’t seen the changes yourself,” Colin said. “Don’t pretend you didn’t see what we saw at Blackpool.”

  Blackpool.

  The bodies in the tram.

  Something about them. Something different about them.

  “What happened at Blackpool?” Noah asked.

  Colin opened his mouth. Then as if by command, he closed it again. “We need you to come with us, Noah. And we need the girl, too. Iqrah. I’m sorry. I know it’s awful. I know it’s fucking savage. But you might just be our only hope, and you don’t realise that yet. So stand down. For the good of everyone. Please.”

  Noah held the knife to his throat. And in that weird instant, he wondered if he was in the wrong after all. If he was the one who should be standing down. If he’d just stayed in those labs with Kelly all those years ago, maybe this would’ve been over. Maybe the world would be a better place.

  And Iqrah. As much as he cared about her, as much as he wanted to protect her… maybe her sacrifice was just necessary.

  “Put the knife down,” Colin said. “I’m begging you. We can help the dog. No more bloodshed. Please. Just put it down.”

  Noah’s heart raced.

  He clutched the knife.

  So close to slicing his own throat.

  So close to ending it.

  And then he looked into Colin’s eyes, and against all his instincts, he started to lower the knife.

  Colin nodded.

  “Good,” he said.

  Then he lifted the rifle and hit the switch.

  “I’m sorry for this.”

  He pulled the trigger.

  Peppered Noah with sedative darts.

  Noah tumbled back. Fell to the ground with a smack. Cracked his head on the concrete.

  He tried to get back to his feet. Tried to scramble up, but once again, his vision was fading, his consciousness blurring…

  He looked around at Bruno, lying by his side.

  Staring into Noah’s eyes.

  Panting.

  Struggling.

  But wagging his tail.

  And with his last bit of strength, Noah reached over and put a hand on Bruno’s back.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s…”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Noah opened his eyes—again.

  Blinding light shone down from above. Cool air blew across his face. It felt like wind. Was it wind? Was he outside? Something in his head told him he was inside, locked away somewhere. That he was a prisoner again. In a van. Or being carried along by a group of Society guards. Something like that.

  He heard a crow cawing somewhere nearby. Its little feet tapping against the concrete. He could smell something sour, something rotten, like off-milk. His throat was dry, the only taste on his lips the metallic tang of blood. His head ached and throbbed like mad.

  Where was he?

  What’d happened?

  He looked around. Realised he was on the road still. That was it. He’d been walking through a little town with Kirsty, Iqrah, Bruno. And then…

  It came to him in a rush.

  Bruno.

  The gunfire.

  The bullets.

  Kirsty and Iqrah shouting for him to follow, crying out for him to join them, that it was too late for Bruno.

  And then standing his ground and holding that knife to his neck before that Society guard—Colin, he was called—stabbed him in the back and popped him full of sedative darts.

  He leaned forward. His head ached like mad. What’d happened? Had he tapped into that void within? Channeled the virus without realising?

  Or was this something else?

  He looked around and froze.

  There were bodies all around him.

  Four bodies.

  Bodies of Society guards.

  He sat there. Heart racing. Blood trickled from their nostrils. And this weird film covered their skin. This slime.

  A slime that reminded him of Blackpool.

  A smell that reminded him of Blackpool.

  Where something wasn’t right.

  He looked at these bodies, and as much as his instincts told him this was related to him… there was another voice in his head telling him something was different.

  But fuck it. He needed to get up. He needed to get away. He needed to find Kirsty and Iqrah and Bruno and—

  A cough.

  He froze.

  Looked around.

  One of the guards spluttered blood onto the road.

  He lay on his back. Blood oozed down his bared face.

  It was only then that Noah realised this was Colin.

  Noah stood up. He wanted to walk away. He didn’t want to give this bastard any time of day. Not when he’d shot his dog and then pumped him full of darts.

  But Colin was looking at Noah with wide, bloodshot eyes.

  He was saying something. Trying to speak. Gasping.

  Noah stood there a few seconds. Still torn between walking away and staying—maybe even kicking the life out of this fucker.

  But the way Colin mouthed something.

  The way he looked at Noah. Desperately stretched a shaking, veiny hand out.

  Noah walked over to him. Didn’t want to get too close in fear of catching something. There was an irony. Fear of catching something he truly didn’t understand.

  “Heli…” he said. “Heli…”

  Noah frowned. “What?”

  Colin coughed. Spat blood onto the road beside him. Wheezed. The life drifting from his body.

  “Hey,” Noah said. “Stay with me. What? What’re you trying to say?”

  Colin closed his eyes. Took as deep a breath as his crackly lungs would allow.

  Then he opened his eyes and looked right up at Noah.

  “Heli… copter,” he said. “They came from… It came from… heli… copter.”

  And then he descended into more coughing blood. More gasping. More choking.

  And all Noah could do was back away. All he could do was keep his distance. He didn’t want to risk catching whatever Colin had.

  Because he had a feeling there was something different about it.

  Something wrong about it.

  “Heli… copter,” Colin said. “It’s… it’s too late. Heli…”

  He coughed. He spluttered. And as he lay there on the road choking on his blood, those words haunted Noah.

  The helicopter.

  It’s too late.

  And as he backed away further, he swore he remembered something.

  It was distant, hard to put his finger on.

  But as he’d faded into unconsciousness, and as he’d found himself being dragged away from here… he swore he’d heard a helicopter overhead.

  He looked at his skin. Saw that same shininess across it. Like something was on it. Some kind of fluid.

  He wiped his arm on his clothes.

  Looked at Colin, one last time.

  And then he went to walk away.

  That’s when he heard a click.

  Felt metal, right against the back of his head.

  “Not another move.”

  It wasn’t his fucking day, that was for sure.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Not another move, buddy. On your knees. Hands behind your head, where I can see ’em.”

  Noah felt his stomach sink as the barrel of the gun settled against the back of his skull. He stared at Colin’s body, which twitched away in death. The bloodied bodies of the other three Society guards. And as his heart raced, as he thought of Kirsty and Iqrah and Bruno, God bless him wherever he was… he couldn’t get over the fact that today was just fucking one of those days. That this was just fucking typical.

  The gun jammed against his head. The woman shouted again. “I won’t ask you again, fella. On your knees. Right this goddamned second.”

  Noah took a deep breath. He wanted to stand his ground and figh
t. But at the same time, he knew he didn’t have anything left in him. No fight left. His abilities spent.

  “Might have trouble lifting both hands,” Noah said.

  “What the fuck you talking about?”

  He lifted his hand and his arm.

  “Oh,” the woman said. “Shit. Would you look at that?”

  “Trust me. Done more than my fair share of looking at it.”

  “Enough with the wisecracks. On your knees.”

  Noah got to his knees. But as he descended, he turned around. Chanced a glance at this woman.

  And the one thing that reassured him through everything was what she was wearing.

  No mask.

  No black gear.

  Just holding a pistol.

  Not Society.

  “Hey,” she said. Short-haired. Bright blue eyes. Quite small, petite. Looked a bit scruffy like she’d been out here a while. And seemingly alone, too. “On your goddamned knees, okay? And turn the fuck around. No messing about here, or I’ll put a bullet through your skull.”

  Noah sighed. Hit the ground with his knees. Half-smiled, as he looked across at the bodies of the fallen Society guards. “Not sure you really want to do that. In fact, I’m not sure you really wanna hang around with me. Not unless you like being hunted by Society.”

  The woman tutted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “There’s a lot of things you should know about me,” Noah said. “Especially if you’re planning on killing me. What I can do. What I’m capable of doing. The infected. I... I can do stuff to them. I have some control over them. And I can do stuff with the virus to normal folks like you, too. So you’d better be careful here.”

  The woman puffed out her lips. “Look. I don’t care who the fuck you think you are, bighead. I don’t give a shit about any of that crap. All that matters to me is that you’re a well-built guy who looks like he could do a fair job of helping out with a bit of work for some friends of mine.”

  Noah frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  The woman grabbed him with surprising strength. Yanked him to his feet. “These folks. They pay me to come out here. Find waifs and strays like you. And then when I’ve taken ’em back there, they pay me good.”

  “And what do they do with people like me?”

  The woman smiled. A few of her teeth were missing, and those that were left hardly looked in the best condition. “That’s for you to find out. Now come on. We’ve got a hell of a long walk ahead of us.”