chapter sixBridget had to admit she was taken aback when the first of the virus victims woke up.To begin with she thought they might not be needed here after all. Perhaps the effects of whatever this was had worn off, just like she’d said back on the bus. That because the disease was non-fatal—had actually been keeping these people alive, albeit in a hibernation-like state—it might have run its course and they’d simply recover, as you do when you get over the common cold. The violent shaking had simply been them shrugging off the last remnants of this illness. Except the person she was looking at wasn’t awake, was he. That is to say, sure, he was sitting up, but his eyes were still healed over, the secretions still attached to him like candyfloss to a stick. He was staring right at her, but not really seeing. How could he, with his eyes welded shut like that? She had to go to him, help him. But damn, it was so eerie the way he was
chapter sevenIn the darkness, he could hear her voice:Thank you! Oh God, thank you so much. You came!The last thing he remembered was a flash of light, so bright he thought he might have gone blind. Just like the—Oh no, he thought. He remembered where he was now, in the real world. What he’d been doing: rushing over to try and stop that soldier from shooting the kid in the head. There had been an explosion, the bus maybe? And right now he was lying on the ground, might even be dying. But somehow that didn’t matter.The real world was so very far away from this one, and he didn’t get to visit the dreamscape very often. Didn’t get to spend time with her, very much.You came! she repeated. I knew you would.‘I had to,’ he said, though he didn’t even have to open his mouth. ‘You know I did. Where are you?’I can’t tell you that. She sounded frustrated. They won’t let me.‘Who?’ he asked, but didn’t get an answer.I
chapter eight‘He’s awake! Oh, thank God,’ said Bridget.‘Keep it fucking down.’ That voice was gruffer. The man who’d refused to load the boy on the bus—and had probably been right not to do so... Andrew suspected that was to blame for the explosion. Timms, the soldier had been called. ‘We don’t want those bastards to find us again.’Andrew was on the floor, lying down. It was dark, but only because there were no lights on, nothing to give away their position. Bridget helped him sit up.‘Are you okay, Andy?’ she asked in hushed tones. ‘You took quite a knock to the back of the head.’He nodded, wished he hadn’t. If he could have touched his skull there he would’ve felt a lump, Andrew was certain of it.Bridget went on to explain what had happened since the bus. They’d managed to escape the Sleepers at the car park, making their way through the backstreets.‘The strange thing was none of the Sleepers we came across th
chapter nineRadford stood in the makeshift watchtower that had been erected when they set up camp. He stared out beyond the cordon.Warning bells had first started ringing when the “expedition” didn’t check in on the hour. Many attempts had been made to raise them since, but to no avail. Now they’d been out of contact for almost three hours. It was dark, and the major had a really bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.He’d taken his concerns to General Fitzpatrick, naturally—but he’d been in a meeting with Colonel Huxley. ‘They’re not to be disturbed,’ Dutton had informed him in no uncertain terms.‘Excuse me?’ said the major, glaring at him, which had been known to reduce some men to tears.‘He’s in the middle of something very important.’‘Our team has gone dark, Dutton. This is important, as well. We need to—’Dutton sniffed. Probably his allergies again, but Radford couldn’t help thinking the man was being dismi
chapter tenLesley Timms couldn’t believe the events of the past hour.He couldn’t believe the events since the bus really, but what had happened after the storage place—that was complete fucking insanity. That Strauss guy was supposed to be the one with all the brains, wasn’t he? Posh education and all that, while the rest of them had to rough it in ordinary schools... And they didn’t come any rougher than Gegley Comp, Timms’ old stomping ground. You learned how to stick up for yourself there or ended up with your head woven into the carpet. All those fucking colleges and universities obviously didn’t teach you any common sense, though, did they? Not as far as he could see—because Strauss had almost got them killed several times since those freaks out there started coming back to life.Not back to life. They weren’t dead—the Doc had been at great pains to emphasise that when Timms wouldn’t go near them. Wouldn’t help carry that boy
chapter elevenStrauss had worked feverishly since they’d found Suzanne.She’d been there, exactly where she said she’d be—waiting for him. Waiting for Andrew to do something about all this, and he wasn’t about to let her down. He had absolutely no idea how he’d been able to do some of the things he’d done since he’d tranquilised himself. By rights, he shouldn’t even be up and about. But not only had he brought his people here—correction, Suzanne had brought him (he’d have been lost without her), become clearer the closer they drew to the hospital, coming into sharper focus like a chart at the opticians when they try the right lens—but he’d been able to talk, communicate. Been able to work, and work hard, taking samples of her blood and get them analysed, comparing them to the previous ones they’d taken now by using the hospital’s equipment.Suzanne was holding the Sleepers at bay, he understood that. She could do this here, because
chapter twelvePrivate Jackson Monks thought things couldn’t get any worse.His luck had kept him alive so far out here, but now the sleepers were on their way to the hospital, and to top everything off Strauss’ assistant Bridget had gone bonzo in the original Sleeper’s room. She’d knocked Timms out and stolen his gun, using it wildly and catching poor Coleman in the crossfire. She’d tried to kill Suzanne Parris for reasons he could only guess at. The way Strauss had held the woman’s hand, some connection there he wasn’t privy to. He’d said he was being led here, so maybe... It was in the realms of fantasy, though Jackson had never been adverse to a bit of that in his life; his love of the imaginative genres taking him out of himself, and also providing common ground between him and Strauss, to his surprise.Now the Doc was coming down with the sickness, after being slashed by Bridget. She’d gone to the window and though Monks had ru
chapter thirteenNorman and Betty Eley had been dreaming. Or at least it felt like it.They were young again, on holiday: one of those package deals the travel agents organised, including lots of sand, sea and... It had been a long time, a very long time, yet here it had been no time at all. The years had fallen away and when they got to their hotel room they’d barely been able to keep their hands off each other. Norman was just so wiry, Betty curvaceous, with no sign yet of the pounds she’d pile on later in their marriage.They’d spent what seemed like an eternity in bed, carrying on like teenagers—though, to be fair, they were only just out of their teens. Back then they’d made all the decisions together, in fact Betty had loved it when Norman stood up to her and made a few himself. When had the change come, that she’d had to be the strong one, the person in charge? She had no idea and didn’t want to think about it right now; she w