dear.”
Together the lifelong friends buried the little girl in the red Cons.
Surrounded by lawn and courtyard an inch deep in human remains, the burial of this one infected and truly-dead child was an utterly futile act.
If asked why, James would have simply replied, “Because my friend needed to.”
Chapter 7
The volunteers traipse with heavy feet into the Kirk. All are silent, all are different people from the ones who had left minutes before.
The other survivors inside the Kirk look on anxiously as we file through into the main chamber. It’s clear from their expressions that they’re shocked at how few of us have returned. Some people begin to cry as it dawns on them that this is it; that there’s no more to come, aside from Spike and James. For such a large crowd of people the silence is penetrating, broken only by the shuffling of feet. Remaining volunteers move numbly towards their family or friends and accept their embraces. There’s a lot of damage been done to these people here tonight. Some of them may spend years in therapy. Few will recover.
The thought brings back the look in Spike’s eyes as I left him and James. He’d never spared a tear or even a thought for those enemies he’d dispatched in the line of duty but was always cut deeply when innocents suffered or died. Spike had fought and campaigned publicly for years, demanding that drones only be deployed when the civilian death toll could be guaranteed to be zero. Not one death of non-military personnel. That was his goal. Our superiors had yet to comply.
Tonight’s enemies , comprising what were essentially sick people, must be taking a toll on him.
It’s barely been three hours since we left Bannerman’s and dawn is crawling over from the east. We haven’t slept in two days and my brain fog is beginning to overwhelm me. I notice our phones buzzing away on the pew where we left them and scoop mine up.
Connecting the caller, I press the receiver to my ear and brace myself for a torrent of abuse from Melville. Instead of a live call, a series of messages plays through. My scrambled brain picks through the main points.
Beta Location no longer secure.
Evacuation of Beta Location commenced.
Heavy losses.
Grounds overrun.
RFMs 1 and 2 airlifted.
RFMs 3 to 5, status unknown, presumed dead or infected.
Quarantine protocol initiated.
Proceed to Alpha Location.
Consider infected extremely dangerous.
Avoid contact if possible.
I hit replay and close my eyes as I listen to the messages again. Holyrood Palace is filled with the infected. The Queen and Phillip are in the air. Spike’s other family members, in the city for New Year, are presumably in the Palace. They’re most likely dead or infected. The military are setting a quarantine around the city. First stage is kill and contain. No mention of rescue missions. This tells me that they’re not confident that they can contain the infection and the violence.
If they fail to contain it, second stage is to eradicate. They haven’t given a timeline for extraction at Alpha Location, which could mean that they’re unsure of its status.
Fuck.
I slump to the floor and rest my head against the pew behind me. Running my options through, I painfully figure out how I’m going to tell Spike that almost his whole family are dead. As I decide to go with blunt honesty, Spike and James re-renter the Kirk. Both look in bad shape emotionally, but otherwise unharmed.
As soon as Spike sees me, his face falls.
“What’s happened?” he asks.
There’s no point in lying. “Holyrood Palace is down,” I say bluntly.
“Your gran and grampa are in the air. They’re safe.”
His eyes are trembling.
“What about the others?” he asks, voice trembling also.
I shake my head. “Presumed dead or infected. I’m sorry, Spike.”
His face undergoes a startling transformation, rebuilding itself from melted shock into steely determination.
“No. They’re still there. Still
Together the lifelong friends buried the little girl in the red Cons.
Surrounded by lawn and courtyard an inch deep in human remains, the burial of this one infected and truly-dead child was an utterly futile act.
If asked why, James would have simply replied, “Because my friend needed to.”
Chapter 7
The volunteers traipse with heavy feet into the Kirk. All are silent, all are different people from the ones who had left minutes before.
The other survivors inside the Kirk look on anxiously as we file through into the main chamber. It’s clear from their expressions that they’re shocked at how few of us have returned. Some people begin to cry as it dawns on them that this is it; that there’s no more to come, aside from Spike and James. For such a large crowd of people the silence is penetrating, broken only by the shuffling of feet. Remaining volunteers move numbly towards their family or friends and accept their embraces. There’s a lot of damage been done to these people here tonight. Some of them may spend years in therapy. Few will recover.
The thought brings back the look in Spike’s eyes as I left him and James. He’d never spared a tear or even a thought for those enemies he’d dispatched in the line of duty but was always cut deeply when innocents suffered or died. Spike had fought and campaigned publicly for years, demanding that drones only be deployed when the civilian death toll could be guaranteed to be zero. Not one death of non-military personnel. That was his goal. Our superiors had yet to comply.
Tonight’s enemies , comprising what were essentially sick people, must be taking a toll on him.
It’s barely been three hours since we left Bannerman’s and dawn is crawling over from the east. We haven’t slept in two days and my brain fog is beginning to overwhelm me. I notice our phones buzzing away on the pew where we left them and scoop mine up.
Connecting the caller, I press the receiver to my ear and brace myself for a torrent of abuse from Melville. Instead of a live call, a series of messages plays through. My scrambled brain picks through the main points.
Beta Location no longer secure.
Evacuation of Beta Location commenced.
Heavy losses.
Grounds overrun.
RFMs 1 and 2 airlifted.
RFMs 3 to 5, status unknown, presumed dead or infected.
Quarantine protocol initiated.
Proceed to Alpha Location.
Consider infected extremely dangerous.
Avoid contact if possible.
I hit replay and close my eyes as I listen to the messages again. Holyrood Palace is filled with the infected. The Queen and Phillip are in the air. Spike’s other family members, in the city for New Year, are presumably in the Palace. They’re most likely dead or infected. The military are setting a quarantine around the city. First stage is kill and contain. No mention of rescue missions. This tells me that they’re not confident that they can contain the infection and the violence.
If they fail to contain it, second stage is to eradicate. They haven’t given a timeline for extraction at Alpha Location, which could mean that they’re unsure of its status.
Fuck.
I slump to the floor and rest my head against the pew behind me. Running my options through, I painfully figure out how I’m going to tell Spike that almost his whole family are dead. As I decide to go with blunt honesty, Spike and James re-renter the Kirk. Both look in bad shape emotionally, but otherwise unharmed.
As soon as Spike sees me, his face falls.
“What’s happened?” he asks.
There’s no point in lying. “Holyrood Palace is down,” I say bluntly.
“Your gran and grampa are in the air. They’re safe.”
His eyes are trembling.
“What about the others?” he asks, voice trembling also.
I shake my head. “Presumed dead or infected. I’m sorry, Spike.”
His face undergoes a startling transformation, rebuilding itself from melted shock into steely determination.
“No. They’re still there. Still
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