Chronicles of the Infected (Book 3): Finding Home Read online

  Gus dropped his gun to his side.

  “Donny,” he acknowledged.

  Donny looked back at him with eyes both weak and strong, his body both ready and scared. There was a red mark across his neck, and old bruising over his face.

  “What have they done to you?”

  Donny didn’t reply. He hovered where he was, swaying from foot to foot, waiting intently for something.

  Gus threw his gun down the corridor behind him, away from them both. He held his hands in the air and looked expectantly at Donny.

  “I’m unarmed,” he pointed out. “You want the clean kill? You have it.”

  Donny stepped forward but did not yet attack.

  Why?

  What was he waiting for?

  Gus looked to Sadie beside him.

  “Go find Eugene Squire,” he instructed her. “Kill him. Do it now.”

  Sadie nodded and continued to run down the corridor, leaving Gus alone with Donny.

  “It’s just us now,” Gus said, and began stepping ever so slowly toward Donny, his hands raised. “Just us, Donny. You and me.”

  Donny’s head slanted to the side. His nose curled up, his eyes squinting.

  “That’s it,” Gus continued. “You remember me, don’t you? Your friend.”

  Gus was so close now he could reach out and touch Donny. But he didn’t. He kept edging, kept his hands in the air.

  “You saved my life,” Gus said. “Not just in coming back for me with those cannibals, but in giving me purpose. You remember?”

  He stood within Donny’s personal space, so close. He could not decipher the look on Donny’s face, what it was, what he was thinking – but there was something going on behind those weary eyes.

  “You’re my friend, Donny.”

  Gus began to lower a hand, slowly, toward Donny’s shoulder.

  “And I’ve come back to take you home,” Gus said.

  As soon as the lightest touch settled upon Donny’s shoulder, Donny grabbed Gus’s wrist and twisted it to the side, taking Gus to his knees.

  He kept his eyes locked on Donny’s.

  Donny sent his fist into Gus’s face, sending Gus to the floor.

  Gus did not fight back.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Sadie ran.

  Run.

  Find Eugene.

  Kill Eugene.

  She did as she was asked, powering through the corridors, sniffing him out.

  Eugene had done terrible things to her.

  Terrible, terrible things.

  Eugene bad.

  Eugene evil.

  Eugene…

  She heard it, from the corridors she had run from.

  Slamming.

  Punching.

  Hurting.

  She paused.

  Gus said find Eugene.

  But Gus was getting hurt.

  She could recognise his grunts better than anything, she knew what it was; she could even smell the blood.

  She turned back, charging through the corridors, pounding off the walls, and she found them.

  Donny above Gus’s body, fist retracting then plunging, again and again, and again, and again. Finding its way through Gus’s crooked nose. She could smell Gus’s blood on Donny’s knuckles, and she could see the state of Gus’s face.

  His eyes were closing.

  What did this mean?

  Gus hurt.

  She leapt forward and took hold of Donny’s head and pulled him away from Gus. Gus didn’t come around. Didn’t move. Just lay on the floor, so still, so unaware.

  Donny pulled her off him and raised her into the air by her throat, until he was out of reach of her swiping hands, and he threw her into the far wall.

  She lifted her head and saw him.

  Further down the corridor, behind Donny.

  Eugene Squire.

  That’s who she had to get.

  That’s who Gus had told her to…

  She jumped to her feet and ran, but before she could pounce, Donny had a hold of her hair. He pulled her back, taking her off her feet and throwing her into the wall.

  Sadie whimpered. She hadn’t felt pain like this before.

  Donny punched her, which knocked her off her feet.

  He went to punch again, but didn’t.

  She turned her head. Gus was out of focus, but he was standing.

  A puddle formed beside his foot. Drops of red dripped from his nose. His face was mangled, his features slanting in all the wrong directions, the real-life version of a Picasso painting if that painting had been doused in blood.

  “Knock it off,” he said. The words melted on Sadie’s ears but she understood them well enough.

  Eugene’s chuckle accompanied Gus’s resurgence. It was ignored.

  “It’s me you were pummelling,” Gus said, his voice deadening, croaky, as if hidden away in a box somewhere.

  Donny stepped toward Gus.

  “Well I ain’t done being pummelled,” Gus announced.

  Donny kicked Gus’s artificial leg to knock him back to the floor and dropped a knee into his chest. Gus coughed and rolled, but this did not deter Donny, who lay his fist once more into Gus’s wretched face.

  All through this, the pain was intensified by the agonising sound of Eugene’s cocky chuckle.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  It was the same corridor they had crept along before – only it no longer had the sense of cautious curiosity it once had; instead, it felt more like an omen of death.

  Whizzo and Desert both had a hold of a trolley that Gus had managed to acquire whilst Whizzo had been busy creating the water vapour bombs. The hours had gone by so quickly, Whizzo wasn’t sure how Gus had managed to venture out, loot a DIY store, and return with such a utensil in the same time.

  They paused as they reached the entrance, peering out at the training army. Eating, combat drills, and obedience training – all in their allocated parts of the vast room. The superior infected worked with such power and perseverance, their bodies still moving with inhuman jolts, and their human faces revealing monstrous eyes.

  “Do they ever rest?” Desert whispered.

  “I wondered that,” Whizzo said. “I mean, have you ever seen a zombie sleep?”

  Desert mused on this for a moment. She’d never thought about it, but it was a fair point. The zombie in the basement hadn’t seemed to have had any rest over the last few days.

  “Sadie does,” Desert pointed out.

  “Yeah, but is that out of necessity or boredom?” Whizzo questioned.

  Desert went to continue this debate then decided it was better left for another time.

  They each took a side of the first bomb. Whizzo had created them bigger than his prototype in an attempt to create a larger wave upon explosion. Honestly, he had no idea whether these things were actually going to work like he thought they would; it wasn’t like they’d had time to test them.

  But he hadn’t pointed this out.

  What would be the point?

  There was no other option, and to create doubt in the others when they’d placed such great faith in him was unfair.

  Though who it was unfair to was unclear.

  They crept along the edge of the room, the bomb between them, praying the army did not notice, and placed it in the room’s corner.

  Whizzo fixed a device to one of the bombs and clicked something.

  “What’s that?” Desert asked.

  “Detonator,” Whizzo responded, as if it was the most stupid question anyone could have asked. They crept silently out of the room and back into the corridor.

  “Where now?”

  Whizzo withdrew a few screwed up pieces of paper from his back pocket and spread them out on the floor. They were, or at least he believed them to be, blueprints of the compound. The layout looked similar enough, at least.

  “Back out,” Whizzo said, tracing his finger along the map and looking for the route to the next corner of the room via the outside of the compound. He h
ad planned this, but that was before he’d spent many hours creating explosive water vapour devices – his memory wasn’t quite catching up with him as quick as it was before.

  Nevertheless, he led them both out and hoped for the best.

  They trekked through the woods, moving far away from the building so as not to be noticed by snipers, and walked almost a mile until the next point. It would have easily been a few hundred yards along the building’s perimeter, but they couldn’t risk being seen, and a mile hadn’t sounded so long when they weren’t lugging around a giant trolley.

  A sniper was atop the roof, settled in their position, looking over their path back inside.

  They were going to walk right under their eyeline.

  “What do we do?” Whizzo asked.

  Desert peered at the sniper, thinking deeply. Whizzo watched her, no idea what to suggest, or if there was even anything to suggest.

  “No idea,” she admitted.

  “That doesn’t inspire hope.”

  She sighed. She did have an idea, but she was contemplating the many other non-existent ideas before she returned to the only idea she had.

  “I’m going to have to provide a distraction,” she said.

  Whizzo was confused for a moment, then once he realised what she was planning to do, vigorously shook his head.

  “What? No!”

  “I need to draw his fire so you can get in.”

  “Don’t be stupid.”

  “You just concentrate on getting the bomb in. Don’t worry about me.”

  “I’m not letting you do this.”

  “Whizzo, you don’t have a choice, I have to–”

  “I do have a choice,” he said decisively. “You get the damn bomb in, then there’s a tunnel you can go through unnoticed. Meet me on the other side.”

  Without another word of discussion, he sprinted away from her.

  She went to call his name, but didn’t, knowing that would draw attention to both of them.

  “Shit,” she said instead, quietly and to herself.

  She watched as Whizzo ran into the distance and became submerged amongst the trees.

  “You idiot…”

  She looked to the sniper.

  As if Whizzo even knew how to distract them.

  As if he even…

  The sniper stood. He’d seen something.

  He was looking the other way, however temporarily.

  She had to trust him.

  This was the moment.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Such satisfaction came so rarely.

  Taking the superior genetics and pumping it into himself – yes, that was good.

  Killing Hayes as Hayes cried like a helpless morsel – yes, that was great. Hell, it was fucking brilliant.

  But this…

  This was the tops.

  Standing aside, watching Gus Harvey get beaten to death by his old friend, now his adversary.

  The only satisfaction missing was that Eugene wasn’t doing the pummelling himself.

  He was tempted to tap in. To move Donny out of the way and step in himself.

  But what could be more satisfying than watching Gus die this way?

  The proverbial thorn to his proverbial side.

  The annoyance; the insistent, constant, badgering irritation – the fly that hovers around your face and won’t be swatted away.

  The hinderance to his scheme.

  He should have had him killed when they were back in the facility. Back when he kept him alive for information that his scientists were perfectly able to deduce themselves.

  Then again, he wouldn’t have had the opportunity to watch this.

  And watch it he did!

  His deplorable, infamous grin widened. His arms shook with giddiness. His legs practically bounced with excitement.

  Like a child meeting a puppy, he just didn’t know what to do, there was too much to smile about!

  Donny continued to pull back his fist and lay it into Gus’s contorted face, squishing Gus’s features and bending them in ways they should not be squished and bent.

  Eugene did wish Donny had been more inventive.

  It was like before the infection had spread, back when he used to watch films involving torture, and the captor just keep punching or working on the chest, and he’d sit there thinking…amateurs.

  No, the real way to torture a man is to cut his dick off – as soon as the scissors were placed beside the shaft he’d tell you his wife’s bra size for all you cared.

  But no, Donny was still just focussing on the face. The face was becoming a bloody, unrecognisable mess, yes, but it was still not as creative as Eugene would be.

  He looked at his watch.

  He hadn’t much longer.

  As much as he was relishing this, they had things to do and places to be.

  He sighed.

  He didn’t want to tell Donny to end it, he wanted it to carry on, he was enjoying it too much. Like when an awesome film comes to an end and you watch the credits thinking why did that have to stop?

  But the credits needed to roll.

  The curtain needed to fall.

  And Eugene needed to invade a few countries with an army of superior geneticised beings.

  He laughed.

  What a thought…

  “Donny,” Eugene said.

  Donny didn’t look back. Too engrossed in his work. Such a good boy.

  “Donny!” Eugene tried again.

  Donny paused and looked back at him.

  “That’s enough,” Eugene said. “Finish him so we can get on with our lives.”

  Donny nodded and turned back to Gus.

  1 HOUR

  Chapter Forty-Four

  It was probably the stupidest decision Whizzo had ever made – and he’d made some stinkers.

  He ran close enough that the sniper would spot him and, as soon as he saw the sniper rise from his seat, he retreated once more to the shelter of the trees.

  The sniper took aim.

  “Shit,” he said.

  I hope Desert knows what to do…

  He ran in zigzags, creating a difficult target.

  But surely the sniper would know what this was?

  No one would normally run in zigzags beneath trees. Wouldn’t the sniper realise that this was a diversion?

  Fuck it.

  He made the decision not to overthink every aspect of what he was doing and to just continue.

  And, just as he found himself calming and growing confident in what he was doing, a quick whistle of wind then a tiny explosion of mud yards behind his feet stiffened his legs and shook his chest.

  He fell. The trees and bushes and leaves all melded into a green blur. The sky overhead burst a migraine-inducing light between the branches.

  He’d never been shot at before.

  And he needed to get up before he was shot at again.

  “Come on, dickhead,” he told himself. “Gus does this all the time.”

  He pushed himself to his feet and sprinted forward. He avoided zigzagging to cease any pattern to his running and ran erratically instead. He wondered if the sniper was watching, as he ran a good while without another shot.

  Then one grazed his leg and sent him sprawling into the nearby bush.

  It hurt like someone had smacked a hot, wet towel against his calf.

  He pulled up his trouser leg. It was just a graze. A scrape of red. He had been lucky.

  He pushed himself up again and ran. He refused to believe that the pain was there as, after all, it hadn’t hit him properly – and Gus had run many times with a bullet lodged in his calf.

  He glanced over his shoulder. He was halfway across the length of the compound, but the sniper was still there, nearly out of view but still aiming.

  What if he went out of sight?

  Would the sniper not alert others that he was there? Could he expect a parade of armed guards? Or even worse – could he expect the army?

  He just had to h
ope that a single idiot like him was of such little concern that they wouldn’t bother to pursue him. Considering that they were planning on invading multiple countries might be to his advantage – he wouldn’t be important enough to worry about.

  The sniper took one last shot, and it hit the tree just past his head.

  He kept running and he was out of sight.

  He still kept running.

  What about Desert? Would she have found the tunnel?

  He just had to rely on her, like she had relied on him. Be confident in the knowledge that she would make it. That she would be there, waiting for him, the bomb planted.

  She could handle herself.

  But not against an army of…

  He shook his head and just kept running. It took him a few minutes of jumping over logs, ducking branches and stumbling over bushes, but he made it to the other side.

  Two guards stood outside the entrance.

  He stayed out of sight.

  What about those two guards? Would she know they were there?

  He had no way of telling her.

  Why is she not here yet?

  He suddenly had a desperate, grave, sinking feeling in his gut that this was a ridiculous mission. They didn’t know if the devices he created were even going to work, never mind whether they would successfully accomplish the task of placing them at all four corners unnoticed.

  Someone approached the door from the inside…

  But they didn’t.

  It was just a flicker of light fooling his eager mind.

  Could I help her?

  He could take out those guards.

  He shook his head.

  Who am I kidding?

  He couldn’t take out anyone.

  Then there was more movement. Another flicker of light? No, there was something.

  The guards were distracted.

  A bloody hole appeared in one of their foreheads, then the other, and they both fell.

  Desert appeared from the door, pulling the trolley.

  She looked around, just as terrified as he was, searching for him.

  He appeared from the bushes and, immediately upon seeing each other, they ran into each other’s arms and tightly embraced.

  “Did you do it?” Whizzo asked.