was painfully, impossibly real.
‘What have I done?’ Jonah said aloud and he thought of Bill Coldbrook slumped dead in his chair, the emptysleeping-pill bottle on the floor beside him. Had he known? Impossible: he couldn’t have, because if he had surely he would have—
Jonah thought of the dreams, the thing in his room, how he’d actually felt the feather-touch of its finger lifting his eyelid. ‘They were dead, too,’ he muttered, remembering the shambling people in his nightmares, the bitten man being whisked away by a machine like none he had ever seen before.
Jonah closed his eyes for a moment, shutting out the terrible images so that he could gather his thoughts. But they were loose and elusive, shocked apart by this terrible reality.
He looked again and the guard was on his feet, backed into the corner beneath the camera. Jonah saw only the sub-machine gun and the man’s hand and forearm, and the screen flashed five more times until the bullets ran out. The attackers jerked and danced at the bullets struck them, but only two fell. One stood up again, his hand scratching at his chest as if he was irritated by a fly bite. The other, Estelle, stayed down, the top of her head blown off. And Jonah concentrated on her as the shapes pressed in below the camera and the guard met his end, waiting for her to move again. She did not. Her eyes were open, looking lifeless through the lens.
‘Blew her head off,’ he muttered.
He steeled himself, then ran through the facility’s cameras one more time. Three out of twenty-three had ceased working, but on every other screen he saw only those mad people walking – he could tell by the blood, and their injuries, and their slack faces, and the way their arms failed to swing as they moved that they were not merely survivors – and a few motionless. He tried to zoom in on these, but the angles were wrong, and picture quality worsened the further in a camera zoomed. Only on one of the bodies did he see clear evidence of severe head trauma.
Jonah started to shake. Could they
all
be infected?
Everyone
? There were places to hide in Coldbrook’s three levels: cupboards and locked rooms, nooks and crannies, empty spaces left over from construction of the underground facility more than twenty years before. And those three closed doors in one of the accommodation corridors – maybe survivors were hiding in there. If so, he hoped they were people who had seen what those infected – those bitten – could do. Otherwise they might be tempted to open their doors.
He glanced at the reinforced viewing window in Secondary’s single door, but there was no face there looking in.
I’ll have to leave sometime
, he thought, and fear shivered through him. He breathed deeply and tried to pull himself together. Panic could help no one, least of all him. The news would be spreading beyondColdbrook by now. His new aim must be only to stay alive and gather whatever information he could.
3
Vic heard gunshots. They were
shooting
at him! He flung himself into the ditch beside the road and felt cool slick mud closing around his arm and hand. The palmtop slipped from his pocket and splashed into the mud. He panicked, trying to prevent himself sinking deeper. The muck stank, but he welcomed the smell because it meant he was outside. Down in Coldbrook the air was sterile and clean, but to Vic it always smelled artificial. Real air was tainted by life, and he was glad to be free.
He rolled onto his back and sat up, his stomach muscles screaming.
Really should have used that gym
, he thought as he looked back down into the valley. Coldbrook sat further down the hillside, and now there were lights on in the buildings. He realised that the shooting had been distant, gunshots echoing from the slopes. No one was chasing him. His nerves had got the better of him. He tried to breathe calmly, but could not stop panting from exertion and fear. His heart fluttered like a trapped bird. He felt nauseous but
‘What have I done?’ Jonah said aloud and he thought of Bill Coldbrook slumped dead in his chair, the emptysleeping-pill bottle on the floor beside him. Had he known? Impossible: he couldn’t have, because if he had surely he would have—
Jonah thought of the dreams, the thing in his room, how he’d actually felt the feather-touch of its finger lifting his eyelid. ‘They were dead, too,’ he muttered, remembering the shambling people in his nightmares, the bitten man being whisked away by a machine like none he had ever seen before.
Jonah closed his eyes for a moment, shutting out the terrible images so that he could gather his thoughts. But they were loose and elusive, shocked apart by this terrible reality.
He looked again and the guard was on his feet, backed into the corner beneath the camera. Jonah saw only the sub-machine gun and the man’s hand and forearm, and the screen flashed five more times until the bullets ran out. The attackers jerked and danced at the bullets struck them, but only two fell. One stood up again, his hand scratching at his chest as if he was irritated by a fly bite. The other, Estelle, stayed down, the top of her head blown off. And Jonah concentrated on her as the shapes pressed in below the camera and the guard met his end, waiting for her to move again. She did not. Her eyes were open, looking lifeless through the lens.
‘Blew her head off,’ he muttered.
He steeled himself, then ran through the facility’s cameras one more time. Three out of twenty-three had ceased working, but on every other screen he saw only those mad people walking – he could tell by the blood, and their injuries, and their slack faces, and the way their arms failed to swing as they moved that they were not merely survivors – and a few motionless. He tried to zoom in on these, but the angles were wrong, and picture quality worsened the further in a camera zoomed. Only on one of the bodies did he see clear evidence of severe head trauma.
Jonah started to shake. Could they
all
be infected?
Everyone
? There were places to hide in Coldbrook’s three levels: cupboards and locked rooms, nooks and crannies, empty spaces left over from construction of the underground facility more than twenty years before. And those three closed doors in one of the accommodation corridors – maybe survivors were hiding in there. If so, he hoped they were people who had seen what those infected – those bitten – could do. Otherwise they might be tempted to open their doors.
He glanced at the reinforced viewing window in Secondary’s single door, but there was no face there looking in.
I’ll have to leave sometime
, he thought, and fear shivered through him. He breathed deeply and tried to pull himself together. Panic could help no one, least of all him. The news would be spreading beyondColdbrook by now. His new aim must be only to stay alive and gather whatever information he could.
3
Vic heard gunshots. They were
shooting
at him! He flung himself into the ditch beside the road and felt cool slick mud closing around his arm and hand. The palmtop slipped from his pocket and splashed into the mud. He panicked, trying to prevent himself sinking deeper. The muck stank, but he welcomed the smell because it meant he was outside. Down in Coldbrook the air was sterile and clean, but to Vic it always smelled artificial. Real air was tainted by life, and he was glad to be free.
He rolled onto his back and sat up, his stomach muscles screaming.
Really should have used that gym
, he thought as he looked back down into the valley. Coldbrook sat further down the hillside, and now there were lights on in the buildings. He realised that the shooting had been distant, gunshots echoing from the slopes. No one was chasing him. His nerves had got the better of him. He tried to breathe calmly, but could not stop panting from exertion and fear. His heart fluttered like a trapped bird. He felt nauseous but
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